#this is like when it took me about three years to understand twitch

[ex-furry]

i've always seen zac oyama on my dash but i really hadn't Actually thought abt him in so long and i'm realizing that it's just bc i didn't understand what dropout was

[dcxdpdabbles]

Freelance Inventor Part 2

Dedicated to @jimmysorsprinkles Thank you for enjoying my random dabbles. I saw that you wanted more Dads, Danny/Bruce, who are unknowingly co-parenting, so here it is! (set during the first prompt through the years of Danny just being a dad whenever he's home)

"I just don't know what to do," Bruce admits, watching Dick stomp about in tiny angry circles, muttering in his native tongue under his breath. He's been out there for about a half hour, doing laps in the yard. Danny knows he deliberately chose to do so under the window leading to Bruce's office.

The kid definitely wanted his guardian to know he was mad at him .

It was the fact Dick was unconsciously hunching his shoulders, curling his fist, and even raising his knee slightly higher than he needed for his stomps that were a nod to Bruce whenever the man was upset.

It seemed like Dick had picked up habits from Bruce during his short time here. If anything, Danny thought it rather cute if it weren't for the fact Dick was so upset.

"What happened?" He asked, standing beside Bruce, overlooking the pre-teen throwing a fit.

Bruce's frown is sharp and hinted with just the edge of uncertainty that anyone who didn't know him well would have dismissed. "He was being reckless in one of our extreme sports, and when I rightfully scolded him for it, he took it as me not trusting him."

Danny tilts his head, considering. It's been over three years since he became acquainted with the Waynes, and in that time- between his travels, his inventing, and his general desire to learn all he could in any way he could- he noticed that Dick was very quick to anger as a defensive mechanism.

This clashed horribly with Bruce's own mechanism- which was shutting down or at least emotionally wise. While Dick sneered and raged against the world, Bruce tried his best to forget he was human and detached himself from the situation.

Which wouldn't be so bad if it didn't feed into Dick's insecurities or Bruce's anxiety when they both reacted to adverse situations.

He has spoken to Jazz about it, and his sister has given him some advice that has helped him smooth things over with the young boy. Empathizing and paraphrasing the boy's issues was a big step in letting him feel heard and his feelings acknowledged.

For Bruce, he treated him like a ghost who had never seen a human. Plenty of ghosts were never human, were born in the ghost zone, or had been there for so long that they had forgotten what humans were like. Danny took time to explain why someone reacted the way they did- at least, why he thought so- and never made Bruce feel less for needing the help.

It was fun, in a way, to see Bruce's eyes lighten up with understanding and get him to talk about his rooted issues, but having to do so on carefully balanced tones and word choice. Phantom had so much practice de-escalating ghosts that it was a walk in the park with Bruce.

"I'll talk to him," Danny promised, leaning over to rest his hand on Bruce's shoulder and not batting an eye when the taller man landed down to rest his forehead on Danny's shoulder.

Where Bruce couldn't say in words, he yelled in his actions. It reminded him a bit of Wulf.

Bruce took a deep breath before nodding. "Thank you."

Danny hummed, reaching up to pet Bruce's hair like he would soothe Wulf, on days the werewolf would twitch too much at the door slamming, and suddenly his friend was mentally back in Walker's prison. "No problem. But, I will also be speaking to you later, and you are going to listen to Dick's side of the story without interrupting at dinner."

"Yes, Danny"

Alfred threw him an approving smile as he marched outside to meet Dick's rage-filled eyes and nervous hand twitching. He could catch the ending bits of whatever rant the boy was muttering.

"You're right. Bruce is an idiot sometimes." He starts grinning as the boy's eyes narrow further.

"You don't speak Romani."

"I may not understand what you're saying, but trust me, I feel it." Danny chirps, watching Dick's shoulder relax a little. " What did he do this time?"

"You won't even believe it!" Dick snaps, and then he's off, Danny keeping pace with him step by step as the boy works himself into another frenzy.

Later that night, Dick explained that he hated how Bruce made him feel so belittled and unimportant, his voice tight with a itch to fight, and Bruce carefully- with significant prompting from Danny- explained how he didn't mean it that way. He was only worried that he was about to watch Dick die in front of him, and he couldn't live through losing his family again.

Dick looked shocked to be considered family, and Danny swore he helped the boy sneak into Bruce's office, which so happened to have the adoption papers Bruce was hiding. Alfred gave him a large sample of pudding for dessert.

______________________________________________

"Hey, kid," Danny whispered, watching Jason tense up momentarily. It's not overly noticeable, but Danny has grown used to seeing little ghost blobs show emotions by how they twisted and twirled over the years, so he could tell what the slight tightening of the fingers around the book meant.

Anxious.

It would be understandable if Jason had been present for another one of Dick's and Bruce's explosive arguments. He came from a household that had an older male figure beat him whenever Willis got in a mood, so while he knew that Bruce or Dick would never hit him, Jason still tried to make himself scarce.

Jazz was the one to point out Jason's usage of escapism in the form of books to comfort himself, and so Danny took whatever time he could manage to read the same books as Jason while on his travels.

"What?" The boy grunted, voice soft but weary.

Danny sits across from him, making sure to stay in Jason's eyesight at all times. He had realized in only his second visit after meeting Jason that the boy did not like having someone too close in his space.

He grew up on the streets where being weary of older men kept him alive- Danny would never fault him for what he had to do to survive.

Unlike Dick, who was always down to talk about why he was upset if only to rant, Jason preferred to have a distraction. So he offers him a smile that he hopes projects You're safe with me and pulls out a book from his bag.

Jason's eyes light up at the cover. "I had some theories on Mr. Darcy being in love with Mr.Bingley before he met Elizabeth, and Bruce won't agree with me. Help me find citations as proof?"

"It's so obvious that he was, how can the old man not see that!" Jason snorts, tilting his head in a cute habit that he picked up from Dick. He really looks up to his big brother no matter how tense things can get.

Danny is glad he's gotten Dick to explain to Jason that he didn't hate him, but he was going through a lot, and Jason as a street kid, understood on some level.

"The old just hate listening to other people's suggestions even when we're right!." Jason leans over to read the book Danny places between them, considering Jane Austin's work while Danny files away the real reason he's upset with Bruce.

Later, after Jason and he present a bemused Bruce with a report on why Mr.Darcy is bi and had feelings for his best friend before meeting his wife, he tells Bruce to explain why he didn't consider Jason's suggestion in their extreme sport.

Jason goes to bed that night with a better answer than "because I said so," and Danny forces Bruce to go up to his room and re-read Pride and Prejudice to connect with his youngest.

Alfred offers them extra blankets and pillows since the two get so caught up reading to each other that Danny just decides sleeping in Bruce's bed is easier than walking down two wings to the guest rooms.

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

"I'm not going to bed," Tim snapped when Danny knocked on his door. His fingers are flying over the keyboard of his computer, his little face glowing from the computer screen, and Danny is almost reminded of himself whenever he gets caught up in his work.

It may worry Bruce and Alfred, but Danny is a Fenton. He knows what it's like to have his brain run over time and sacrifice sleep or meals to get his ideas into the world.

His mother is the same, his father is the same, his sister is the same, and even Danny's clone is the same. It's fitting that the little boy he caught following Batmam around with a camera is the same since he all but forced Bruce to adopt him.

He hadn't meant to.

He had been testing an air purifier when he returned to Gotham since Bruce and the kids were out of state, and his ghost hearing picked up the sound of a camera click.

Imagine his surprise that when he turned to the roof opposite him, he found the tiny little face of an eleven-year-old staring back, holding a camera, and Batman swinging away in the distance. Danny became attached to Tim that night, even after he chased the boy down to ask if he was safe.

He did not like the implications of his parents always "working" while Tim ran amok in Gotham.

It took almost two weeks of following Tim around Gotham to help him with his photos before the boy allowed him to take him to Wayne Manor. It took three more before Bruce realized that Danny wouldn't allow Tim's parents to win him back, and together, they took the Drakes to court.

Danny has never been more grateful that Bruce was loaded with money and that his inventions gained him contacts in high places that wouldn't mind taking the Drakes down.

Tim was a lot like Bruce- where he shut down- but he needed people to be around him more. Sometimes just sitting in the same room- where Tim could glance up and see him- was enough for the boy to be at ease.

This was great for Bruce, who thought he didn't need to do much to make Tim happy- until Danny reminded him that Tim was a poor boy who was gutted for any form of parental approval.

He had to almost punch Bruce after overhearing him tell Tim he was proud of him, but there was room for improvement. Bruce meant it as helpful, constructive criticism, but Tim- whose parents all but drilled how useless he was- only heard criticism.

Only heard, he was not enough.

So now Tim was going, who knew how many hours without sleep, trying to fix whatever issue he thought he had caused. How a fourteen-year-old could have caused issues at his adoptive dad's multimillion-dollar company was beyond Danny, but it meant a lot to Tim, so he didn't need to understand it.

He just needed to respect it.

"Don't want you to," Danny grunts, throwing himself on Tim's queen-sized bed. "I just wanted to know if I could crash here. Bruce pissed me off."

Tim's fingers pause. "What did he do?"

"He tried to tell me how to handle my inventions' payment. I'm a freelancer! I know how to do that." Danny complains while twisting under the covers. Tim slowly turns around to look at him, but he acts like he doesn't notice. "I know he'll try to talk to me in the guest rooms, but he won't find me here. I just don't want to listen to another "I can do it better" lecture."

After a moment's pause, Tim admits. "He did the same to me and my team."

He means Cassie, Bart, and Conner. The little team of photography buddies Bruce introduced Tim back when they started homeschooling him. Dani suggested pulling Tim out of school is one of the best advice his clone ever gave him.

Tim took the pictures, Cassie and Conner modeled, and Bart made the clothes. Their work was slowly gaining traction online, and Tim seemed to glow whenever the Team was mentioned.

"Course he did." Danny sigh. He leans back into the pillow. "Know why he did it, too. Bruce doesn't want me to be taken advantage of, but it's hard not to hear him think I can't keep up, especially when my family is doing the same thing."

"Yeah," Tim's voice is soft. "It's frustrating that all your hard work is overshadowed or that everything you've done so far doesn't prove that you know you can."

Bingo. Danny discovered Tim's issue; now he just needs to bring it home.

"I know I'm great at what I do. You said so yourself- my past proves I am crazy good at work. I leave other people breathless in awe all the time. I can adapt and overcome so much faster than others. Bruce can see that, but he forgets to praise it." Danny huffs like he's trying not to be forgiving, and it causes a smile to unwillingly appear on Tim's face.

"I'll talk to him tomorrow but today I'm being petty and hiding. Thanks for letting me sleep here"

"You're welcome, Danny." Tim goes back to his typing, but only after a minute or two of Danny asking if he can turn off the light does the boy save his work and shut his computer down.

The room is plunged into darkness but Danny doesn't need the light to see how Tim sinks into his mattress. Tim is smart- crazy smart that every part of him that's Fenton crows with pride- and he can easily see through Danny.

"Thank you Danny" He doesn't say what for but he doesn't need to.

Danny reaches over, grabs the blankets, and makes sure they cover the small shoulder, tucking Tim in properly. "Any time kid"

The next morning, Bruce wakes them up with a powerpoint of all the things he thought were impressive about Tim and his team's last photo session. A powerpoint for Pete's sake.

But it makes Tim smile so much that Danny lets it slide. At least he listened when Danny chewed him out for forgetting to praise Tim.

Alfred offers Danny some of his private tea jars, which according to Dick, means Danny is in for life as Tim, Jason, and Bruce go over the PowerPoint again. Jason has begone to heal for his bitch of a mother's betrayal a few months ago.

Thankfully, Danny was in the area when he called and reminded the lady why she should not mess with Bruce's kids. Dani paying her a visit in her jail cell was just the Fentons' sending their regards.

(His dad gave Dani the ani-creep stick, and his mom hacked the cameras to loop. Jazz just watched hours of her to realize what made the woman scream and cry before sending the clone on her way. It was a good family bonding moment)

No one believed the woman claiming to be haunted that her son was Robin. Honestly, where on earth she got that idea Danny would never know.

His Jason, the sweet school-loving boy who graduated as valedictorian, running around punching criminals? Honestly, what was she going to claim next?

Bruce being Batman?!

Please.

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (i)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or any shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky at his little shit supreme, Very Loud reader, images and memes that all have alt texts.

A/N: yes this is literally harmless in a different font. do not ask me if anything doesn't make sense. i cannot explain. i resurface every 3 years to present you with ideas born from menty b's. ANYWAY shout out to my beloved ryan and shane. pls enjoy <3

Bucky doesn’t appeal to the youths.

Apparently. 

On God, he cannot fathom why.

He had definitely left the house in the last six months, maybe. Smiled in at least two pictures that existed on the internet. He even knew what Discord was. Sort of.  

By all accounts, he should be treated as the modern day icon that he was.  

“The youths?” he repeats, the word so foreign on his tongue it felt odd to even say it.

“Your numbers are the lowest of the whole team.” The latest tech-dude, with a tablet twelve models ahead of the one Bucky had in his room, tells him monotonously. “Wilson, Romanoff and Barton score the highest. Everyone else lies around the middle. You are dead-last.”

Bucky has the audacity to look offended. 

“Anything to say?” Their PR head, Maya, asks him, amused. 

He stares, formulating the wittiest one liner he could in three seconds.

“I don’ care,” he mumbles. 

Maya sighs. “Look, the team took the decision together. As far as I’m aware, you are still a member. You need some PR if you guys want to stay in the public’s good books.”

“No one’s gonna listen to me.” Bucky wasn’t exactly the poster child for American values. He couldn’t even vote until three years ago, and that came only after the full wrath of a Steve Rogers descended on the email inbox of the DMV. 

“That’s why it’s important to get them to like you,” Maya emphasizes. “Or the idea of you at least. A very sanitized, corporate friendly version.”

His eyebrow twitches unintentionally.  

“And also you signed the contract.”

Well. Shit. 

Truth be told– and he has openly and rather loudly stated this on numerous occasions even especially when no one asked– he doesn’t understand why they need a PR team. The world has calmed down significantly over the last few years. Bucky hadn’t really been out crime-fighting as much as he was people-watching. There hasn’t been an earth-shatteringly dystopian-level event in the longest time, and there seemed to be a group of spandex-clad teenagers who seemed to do a good job at taking care of them when they did threaten to occur. Go kids.

Even if they needed PR, he could arguably understand the appeal of Sam and Nat and why the people would want to see more of them. Bucky, on the other hand, looked like he crawled onto Earth most days of the week. 

“What do I have to do?” he asks ultimately, knowing there was no way to get out of this. “Interviews?”

The intern shares a look with Maya. Bucky shares a look with the ceiling. 

“The team agreed to do a series of videos, each focusing on a different niche,” she begins, “Crash courses on science, pointing out mistakes in spy movies. Once a week.”

Bucky nods along. He can pinpoint Bruce and Nat for those.

Maya stares at him.

Bucky stares back.

“So,” she says slowly, like he’s a moron, “you would–”

“No.” 

The intern sighs heavily like they discussed that this was going to happen. Bucky was getting predictable. This annoys him even further, for some reason.

“Only once a week, and it doesn’t have to be anything crazy–”

“I’m not doing videos,” he interjects. “I’ll tweet a few times. I’ll even go outside. But ’m not doin’ videos.”

A big step was to get the Avengers off Twitter after the regular shit-storm that occurs every time they’d quote-tweet another politician calling them shitheads. Getting them back on seems counterproductive. 

“Fine,” Maya relents, looking at the intern. “We'll work something out.”

Bucky leans back in his chair, and meditating on ways he can weasel his way out of those too.

So they stick him in a couple of interviews.

Bucky, as the recluse extraordinaire that he was, does unsurprisingly terrible at them.

Variety does a piece on him that was supposed to take up 2 pages. They send back half a page worth of usable material and Bucky gets a lecture on how monosyllables don't count as answers.

He grunts in return. Maya’s itch to smack his shoulder with the rolled up draft increases.

They set him up for pap walks. Just him getting fast food for the team, or sitting in the park.

They don’t take into account that Bucky was trained professionally for years on how to hide, sneak in and out of places without a soul knowing he was ever there. 

The paparazzi spend three hours waiting for him outside the pizza place, while he’s been home for two hours with two demolished pepperonis and an order of mozzarella sticks. 

They give him access to his Twitter. 

He tweets some dumb shit and gets shadow banned by that evening. 

Maya is sick and tired, and the interns have shifted three times since the whole ordeal started. Bucky honestly feels a little bad. Maybe he should try to be like Scott, who not only wrote a book, finger-gunned at photographers, did an interview a week, but also agreed to a podcast and a video series about literally anything they suggested. 

“Play nice,” Sam tells Bucky one evening. 

It’s an off-hand comment, not even really looking at him while he says it. 

Bucky doesn’t need to ask what he’s referring to, but he thinks that maybe he has gone too far.

He begrudgingly agrees. 

Therefore, it begins. 

They stick him in the background of a few videos. Just to interact, add his commentary on what was going on, suggestions. 

Then the jokes really start.

“I just don’t got anything to add,” Bucky tries, in a failure of an attempt to justify his lack of contribution. 

Maya only stares at him, but Bucky swears he can hear her curse quietly, even though her lips don’t move even a millimeter.  

He is not put in another video. 

And so he finds himself here. 

In a meeting room that he’s convinced is barricaded from the outside so he can’t slither out the door again. Another intern with pink-tinted glasses that took up half their face.

Maya’s in the midst of explaining to him that sure, his numbers had gone up by a decimal, but that was because people had started editing him into the backgrounds of other pictures for other users to find in a perplexing take on Where’s Waldo.

“Videos seem to be working,” she ties it together. “But we need more than you just standing silently behind Captain Rogers.”

“But it’s working,” Bucky objects. “I don’t see why it has to change.”

Maya sends him a glare. Bucky decides then it’s good to shut up. 

“Are you on the internet a significant amount?” the intern asks. The glasses on their face have changed colours to green. Bucky’s eyebrow furrows. 

“No.” 

For the next thirty minutes, he is subjected to a pop quiz about too many words ending with ‘core’, ‘coded’ and ‘eras’. He’s surprised that he knows what cottagecore is. He definitely doesn’t fucking know what a tomatogirl, nor does he want to. 

“What do you like doing?” the intern enunciates, pulling up a spreadsheet of niches that had built a dedicated community around themselves over the years. “Makeup? Cleaning? Parkour?”

Bucky wonders if they’d really create a montage of him just micro cleaning the kitchen every week. It doesn’t sound half bad. 

Beyond that, the only thing he can think of is woodworking, which Sam introduced him to. While he spends time creating little figures, he wouldn’t say it was– 

“You really are dead silent,” the intern breaks his train of thought, tone almost that of wonder. “Guess the whole ‘ghost story for seventy years’ is more true than I thought.”

Bucky throws him a weary look, and works on unclenching the fist that tightened involuntarily. 

“Was that necessary?” Maya’s voice comes coldly. “Take fifteen. Go find the other one we were supposed to meet.”

While sheepish and somewhat apologetic, the kid still looks relieved to be out of there. To be honest, Bucky isn’t really offended– he’s grown a thick skin over the years. But he also thought the guy was a little shit now. 

Maya turns back to him, but Bucky finds that the table contains wonders far more interesting than the conversation at hand.

“Back to what we were talking about.” She ruffles through something on her laptop. “Puppets? History?”

He wordlessly shakes his head. 

Been the former, seen too much of the latter.

Maya’s head tilts abruptly. “You like ghosts?”  

He wonders if the prior conversation had anything to do with this insightful question. 

Bucky shrugs. “Don’t exist.”

“Really,” Maya deadpans. “Aliens and multiversal baboons are fine, but no ghosts.”

“I’ve seen aliens and multiversal baboons. Never seen a ghost in my life,” Bucky argues right back.

“Other people have seen ghosts.”

“Good for other people.”

The door swings open right as Maya’s eyes narrow at him. Guess it wasn’t padlocked. 

“Whatever it is you think I did, Maya, I didn’t. I think,” you announce in a volume too much for a closed room, stopping when you see Bucky sitting cross-armed and looking delightfully disgruntled. “Oh hey, Barnes. Fancy seeing you here.”

Bucky had met you. The newest addition to the team that had made a grand entrance a couple of weeks ago. He thinks you stay on the floor below him, but he has nothing backing this hypothesis other than the disco funk music that had started appearing at odd hours of the night. 

“Please sit,” Maya cracks a smile at you that Bucky had yet to earn. “Sorry, I know our meeting is scheduled for later, but I figured we could kill two birds with one stone.”

You look between her and Bucky, who hasn’t moved an inch since you got here, much less even said hello.

“You must be really bad if Maya had to call me in,” you tell him outright. “I’m usually like, her last option.”

“Thanks,” Bucky replies dryly. 

“Look, here’s my final pitch.” Maya sighs, before turning to you. “You’re new, and we need something to introduce you slowly to the public.”

“Oh, am I finally getting hard launched?” You grin, and Bucky doesn’t know what that means. “Just imagine me kicking my feet, giggling or whatever.” 

“And he needs… an upgrade.” Maya’s thumb juts out towards Bucky who simply rolls his eyes.

“Right.” Your sight lands on him from across the table. “I’ve seen the memes.”

“What memes?” he grunts, because while the team had definitely seen them, it didn't occur to anyone they should show it to him. He loves them. Really. So much. Die for them. 

You only look too happy to pull out your phone and start typing.

“Do you know what skinwalkers are?” 

“No.”

“That’s what they say you look like, lurking in the back of all your friends’ videos,” you continue, swerving around your phone to show him.

Bucky doesn’t look impressed. He can’t say he blames them either, which makes him inexplicably maddens him.  

“At least they’re calling you their boyfriend,” you add, entirely unhelpfully. “That’s gotta count.”

“Right.” Maya clears her throat. “The both of you–” 

“Are getting paired together, I suppose,” you hum. 

Bucky’s eyebrows pull together. 

He barely knows you. Just a little bit on how you ended up here, that you enjoyed hanging out with the team, figuring out your place in the compound, and were seemingly doing a great job at it. 

You were… loud. And open. 

Bucky feels the compulsive need to compensate for that by doubling down on how silent he could get, as if the two of you couldn’t co-exist in the same space in equilibrium. 

Maya pointedly raises a finger at you. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“For the right price, I will believe in whatever you tell me to.”

Her face lights up brighter than Bucky's ever seen.

“Great.” Maya slams her laptop closed. “See you later.”

Bucky’s left staring as she exits, not even throwing the both of you another look.

“That was quick,” your voice cuts through the silence. “What was that all about?”

 “Don’ ask me,” he grumbles, with a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what was about to follow. 

“Ghost hunting?” Bucky echoes a week later, as expected.

“Yes,” Maya tells him simply. “Two of you. A series based on paranormal activity.”

“I don’t even believe in them,” he reiterates. 

“That’s the point,” she emphasises. “Skeptic and believer. It makes for a good contrast.”

“Why us both?” He hopes it doesn’t come off as offensive. He just doesn’t see why he can’t do this with Sam. Even Clint, if a gun was really pressed to his head. 

“I’m new, no one gives a shit about me,” you say brightly and full of promise. “Yet.”

“Exactly. It’ll be low key. Not an overwhelming number of viewers, no expectations. It’s perfect for launching one Avenger and re-launching another.”

“Sounds rad.” You grin, leaning back as your feet rest on the chair in front of you.

Maya looks relieved for a moment that at least one of you was on board. “No promises on anything. We shoot one video, and if it does well, we stick with it.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Bucky argues. 

“Then you have until tomorrow morning to give us another feasible idea,” Maya dishes back.

Bucky retreats into his seat, arms crossed over his chest. 

Truth be told, he considered himself to be the most boring person in the team and though he had made his peace with that, he was sure thar bringing that up now would entail Maya shooting him in the foot.

“Fine,” he agrees and the sighs around the room are loud. 

He scoffs. So fucking dramatic and for what.

“Put her there, partner.” You stretch ungracefully over the large table, sticking out your hand.

Bucky eyes your hand. “Do you even believe in ghosts?” 

“I do now, yeah.” You nod seriously. “Love ‘em. Can’t get enough of them.”

“One video,” Maya reminds him as a balm. “And if it doesn’t work, you’re off the hook forever.”

Off the hook? Forever? For Bucky?

Yay. 

“One video,” he reiterates.

You roll your eyes before smiling when he leans forward to grab it. You yank it up and down clunkily. He blinks at you, letting go slowly. 

“Thank fuck,” Maya groans, head dropping onto the table. 

Your smile is wild. “Guess we’re doing this shit together.”

He doesn’t even have to look very deep in his soul. He already knows he’s going to suffer.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

to keep up with updates for this fic and others, please follow @shurisneakersupdates and turn on post notifications!

also i'd absolutely love to make this a community led fic like how harmless was! if you have memes or any paranormal ideas or just any prompts in general, please please send them my way <3

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[darknight3904]

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ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏᴄ! ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ / ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ /ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ɴᴇᴀʀʟʏ ᴀ ʏᴇᴀʀ ʜᴀꜱ ᴘᴀꜱꜱᴇᴅ ꜱɪɴᴄᴇ ʟᴀᴅʏ ʀʜᴀᴇʟʟᴀ ᴀʀʀɪᴠᴇᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴄᴏᴜʀᴛ. ᴀꜱ ʜᴇʀ 11ᴛʜ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴀᴄʜᴇꜱ ꜱʜᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʏᴏᴜɴɢ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴀꜱ ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴀꜱ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇꜱ ᴊᴀᴄᴀᴇʀʏꜱ, ʟᴜᴄᴇʀʏꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇꜱꜱ ʀʜᴀᴇɴʀʏᴀ. ᴛʜᴇɴ, ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴏꜰ ʜᴇʀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ-ᴅᴀʏ ᴄᴇʟᴇʙʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴀ ᴍʏꜱᴛᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴀɴ ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ ɪɴ ᴋɪɴɢꜱ ʟᴀɴᴅɪɴɢ.

This story will follow canon events of HOTD and Fire and Blood. However, I am changing some of the years when things took place so I can build my story's plot better.

126 AC

Rhaella peers down at the baby whose big brown eyes captivate her. She decides that Joffery Velaryon is Westeros' cutest baby when he smiles at her.

"Does he cry a lot?" She asks

"Sometimes. Mostly when he is hungry." Rhaenrya says

"Aren't babies always hungry though?" She asks

"I suppose they are..." Rhaenrya replies "I guess that means he cries a lot then."

Rhaella smirks at her cousin's admission. Even if he did cry a lot he was still cute.

"Rhaella what are you doing in here? You rarely visit without Jace and Luke." Rhaenrya asks

"I am hiding from the Septa. She insists that I learn about history with Heleana." Rhaella sighs "If she had half a brain she'd know Maester Edric has taught me it all already."

Rhaenrya lets out a snort of laughter at her half-a-brain comment.

"Our histories are important." She says "I will agree with you though, Septas can be a bore."

"I'd much rather be in the training yard with Jace and Luke." Rhaella admits "I don't understand why I must learn to sew while they get to fight with a sword."

"That is the way of the world," Rhaenrya says

"The way of the world can go fuck its-"

Rhaella stops her speech when her cousin's eyebrows shoot up.

"I mean to say it is idiotic that I cannot train with them."

Soft silence settles as baby Joffery coos in his crib, laughing when Rhaella sticks her tongue out at him.

"Do you truly wish to be outside with them?" Rhaenrya asks

"Of course. I want to be like Visenya in the books that line the shelves in my room." Rhaella says looking up at her cousin, "Since I do not have a dragon I wish to have another way to fight."

Rhaella watches Rhaenrya's face and doesn't miss the way the corner of her mouth twitches into a slight smile.

"Come with me." She says

As if it's magic, a wet nurse is there to watch over Westeros' cutest baby and Rhaella is following Rhaenrya through the maze of halls and stairways that lead the the training yard.

"Ser Harwin!" Rhaenrya calls

They waltz past Ser Criston Cole who is working with Aegon, Aemond, Jace, and Luke. Aemond's eyes widen when he sees her out of the castle and standing in the muddy yard.

A monstrous-looking man answers Rhaenrya's call. His mess of curly dark hair has been tied back neatly and he bows as they approach.

"Princess. My Lady." He greets

"This is Ser Harwin Strong, Rhaella. He is Lord Commander of the City Watch." Rhaenrya says "Lady Rhaella wishes to train, the way the Princes do."

Rhaella isn't entirely sure about this Ser Harwin. She expects him to turn her away, mutter something about her being a girl, and for Rhaenrya to tell her to go back to her sewing.

"I'll teach her." He says

Rhaella nearly falls over at his acceptance.

"You will?" She gasps

"It is a request from Princess Rhaenrya herself. I'd be foolish not to accept." He smiles at Rhaella and then Rhaenrya. "Tomorrow we will begin. I expect you to be dressed in something worthy of a great sword fighter."

Rhaella looks down at the silk dress she had been dressed in just hours ago.

"Of course." She smiles

"For today, I want you to go back to the Septa. Sit and do your lessons and tomorrow you can spend as much time as you want with Ser Harwin." Rhaenrya says

Training is harder than she had expected, and a lot dirtier too. The practice swords are so heavy they make her arms ache. It had been three months since Rhaenrya had introduced them and Rhaella was sure she was disappointing Ser Harwin.

"Straighten your arms, plant your feet. Having a strong stance keeps you from being knocked over." Harwin's voice commands as she swings at a straw-filled man, "Jacaerys, you too. You look like a gust of wind might blow you over."

Ser Harwin was tough, Rhaella could tell that he was an experienced fighter. She wanted to do her best under his tutelage but she found herself failing. Perhaps it was because the sword was too heavy, or maybe she didn't like the feel of mud between her fingers. What she did know though was that the sharp eyes of Criston Cole were not helping things. It felt like he was watching her every step whenever she arrived to train. She swore he was also watching Jace and Luke who often were beside her in training.

"Perhaps they cannot carry your orders out simply because they are too weak, Strong," Cole says

"Ignore them, boys, Rhaella. One day you will all be stronger than him." Harwin says

Every bone in her body was aching by the time she got back to her chamber. After working with the swords Harwin had taught them hand-to-hand combat, something he claimed was just as important as working with a sword. The only plus of today was that she had been able to overpower Jace and land a good hit on his side. He'd probably get her back for that one in a few days.

The sound of her door opening had her groaning. She loved Heleana but she did not wish to talk about bugs at this moment

"Heleana might I bathe and then come to visit you I am dirty from training still." She said not bothering to look at the door from her seat at her desk.

"Not only are you dirty but you smell awful."

"Aemond!" She exclaimed and shot up.

She had found herself becoming a bit more self-conscious around the prince in the past few months. She'd often make sure to her hair til it was perfectly silky or spray a bit of sweet-smelling perfume before going to see him. Maester Edric said it was a part of getting older and becoming a woman. Rhaella believed it was because she didn't want him to make fun of her. How could she become a great warrior if she was made fun of by her closest friend?

"We have not spent much time together recently. I thought you might be upset with me." Aemond said walking over to her.

"I am not upset with you." She affirms "After training I am often too tired to move. Not to mention Heleana and I have been spending time together as well."

"Heleana and her bugs can wait, you were my friend first," Aemond declares, sitting down on the end of the bed.

Rhaella lets out a small laugh of amusement at Aemond's possessive tone.

"Your name day is soon right?" He asks

"In a fortnight. I will be 11." She smiles

"You're getting old." Aemond teases

"You'll have your own name day eventually as well. 10 years is a very serious age." She says, trying to sound like an adult

"You're 10 now and you laughed when Luke drank his water too quickly and water spurted out his nose just a week ago." Aemond reminds

"Anyone would've laughed at that!" She defends

Her eyes widen when she sees how her Uncle Viserys has planned to celebrate her name day.

"I do not think a feast is necessary, Uncle." She said

"Of course it is, it is your first name day with family. Tell me have you ever had a grand celebration for your name day?" He asks

Rhaella's mind combs through the name days she can remember. Most of them were spent with cousin Gerold teaching her to hunt or Edric gifting her new perfumes.

"I have not..." She trails off

"Then a true celebration is in order. I have invited many lords and ladies of the kingdom. Even your cousin Gerold has sent word he will be here." Viserys says

"Are you excited for tonight?" Maester Edric asks

Rhaella catches his gaze through the mirror as a handmaid braids her hair.

"I am nervous. I do not know most of the people who will be at this party." She sighs

"You don't need to worry, they are here for you. You should focus on having a good time, this is your first proper name day celebration." He says, "I wish I would have been able to give you a celebration like this when you were younger."

"I don't. Every name day I have spent with you, Gerold, and the staff of Runestone has been perfect." Rhaella admits

The party is as lavish as Viserys had described. Numerous plates of food are piled high with dishes she couldn't even name. Music played as they ate and Rhaella hoped she wouldn't get anything on her dress.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Viserys asks

"I am, Uncle, thank you." She smiles truthfully

"I used to have feasts like this for Rhaenrya every year on her name day. She asked me to stop after she was married." Viserys reminisced

"I am sure they were wonderful." She says

Supper goes by smoothly as the many guests talk and feast. It is after the food has been devoured that Rhaella can feel herself beginning to sweat. She is sure they expect her to dance or make some big speech, anything that will have all eyes on her.

A sharp tap interrupts her train of thought.

"Do you want one of these? There weren't any on your side of the table." Aemond asks, his hand is out stretched with a delicate-looking pastry in it.

Her glance drops to the table where a large plate full of them rests just within arms reach of her.

Laenor nudges Rhaenrya who sits by his side. His wife had been scolding Luke for eating too quickly and making himself sick.

"I believe Prince Aemond is blushing." He whispers

Rhaenrya follows his gaze to the young children who are staring into each other's eyes.

"He is handing her a pastry," Rhaenrya observes, " He looks....rather foolish."

"His face is red, look at his cheeks and ears." Laenor laughs

Suddenly the young prince's eyes fall on Laenor and he immediately switches his attention to the intricate hairstyle Rhaenrya has donned for the evening.

"Yes, very uh well done, the braids." He mumbles

"Don't tell me you're afraid of a child." Rhaenrya laughs

"Little boys don't like it when people know their crushes. Aemond won't want me knowing his." Laenor says, thinking back to how embarrassed he was when Laena first found out about his crush on his father's cupbearer.

A moment passes and before he knows it, Rhaenrya grabs his arm.

"Looks like you were right." She says

Laenor's eyes follow his wife's and he is surprised when he sees Aemond leading Rhaella, the same nervous little girl who nearly combusted when she tripped in front of him once to the center of the room for a dance.

"Maybe he'll step on her feet." Aegon's disinterested voice carries across the table.

A lively beat starts up and all eyes are on the two children who clumsily try to recall all the dance skills they've learned in their lessons over the years.

"They shouldn't be the only ones down there. Rhaella looks like she's going to faint and Aemond...well he clearly isn't doing well either." Laenor says

He's about to ask his wife to dance for the first time in years when the doors to the hall open wide.

"Gods help us." He hears Alicent murmur.

Rhaella can feel the sweat trickle down her back as Aemond tries to lead her in a dance. She hasn't had many dance lessons but she swore she did better in those than she was now.

The sound of opening doors makes her and Aemond pause. A man and woman, with two young girls behind them, enter the room. Each of them had valyrian features but the man stood out the most.

"Daemon." Her Uncle calls from behind her "I did not think you were coming."

Daemon? As in...

"And miss the first feast thrown in my daughter's honor, on her name day?" His foreign voice fills her ears for the first time ever.

Daemon Targaryen. Her father has shown his face to her for the first time ever.

"Let's go back to the table," Aemond whispers as he grabs her hand to lead her back towards their family.

"Daughter." Daemon calls "You have grown up."

Rhaella feels like someone has stuffed cotton into her mind. She does not know what to do, or how to reply to this man.

Aemond leads her back to the table and she stiffly sits back down.

"Someone bring chairs. Lady Laena must sit down." Ser Lanor's voice makes its way into her mind.

At some point, the pregnant wife of Daemon's sits down, most likely near her brother. Her daughter, those half-sisters Rhaella had heard about many times were in her peripheral vision, as was her father.

"Wonderful party, brother. Truly a worthy display for my eldest." Daemon praises

The room is silent and Rhaella watches as Daemon takes a long sip of wine from the cup a servant brings.

"So, daughter. I'm glad to see you take after me in looks. You look a bit like my mother, Alyssa." He says with a playful smile "Either way I am glad you don't look like that bronzed bitch. If that had happened I'd remained in Pentos."

Brozed bitch? Did he mean your mother? He was speaking ill of your deceased mother?

"Daemon. Enough. This is a night of celebration. You are not here to torment anyone." Viserys speaks up

Daemon shakes his head a bit and laughs before his attention is drawn to Laena.

The music begins again and Rhaella feels like her heart has lept into her throat. So many times she had imagined what it would be like to meet her father. She was told that he was a fierce warrior with a blood-red dragon named Caraxes. Instead of the gallant dragon rider she had expected, she was met with a crude man who clearly shared no love for her mother.

Her eyes were bleary with tears when Edric approached the high table to retrieve her.

"Your Grace, might I take Lady Rhaella back to her chamber. I think tonight's events have been a bit too much for her." He asks

"Yes, I think that is for the best." Visery's words bounce around in her mind as Edric helps her stand.

She locks eyes with Aemond one more time before leaving. His eyes seemed like they were full of pity as he disappeared from her view.

"I'm sorry, my lady. I've spent years filling your head with tales of his heroics. I failed to teach you what a crass man he truly is." Edric softly said

"It is not your fault. It is not anyone's but his own." Rhaella whispered back.

Ewww, cancel Daemon!!

Jk. I love Daemon. He's just going to be a bitch for now. (In true Daemon fashion I guess.)

Anyway sorry if some people seemed a little ooc. I like to Imagine Rhaenrya, Laenor, and Viserys as pretty jolly people, especially towards kids.

Next Part

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[worth-the-chaos]

Adventures in Babysitting - Steve Harrington x female!reader - Chapter 14

Chapter Summary: Nancy and Robin take a shot in the dark and Steve tries to protect you from the supernatural. When the darkness comes to get you, will his love be enough to protect you?

Content Warning: Upside Down scary stuff, swearing

Word Count: 6.0k

Author’s Note: Sorry this chapter took longer; I’m involved in a lot at college and I’m in some executive positions in the organizations I’m a part of and somehow everything is going wrong at the same time (yay!) so I’ve been putting out a lot of fires (like a girl boss of course). I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

Message me to be added to the taglist and get updated when the next chapter is posted!

Series Masterlist | Part 13 | Next Part

***

“Do you guys understand any of this?” Steve asked Lucas and Dustin as the three of them sat in the Wheelers’ basement. He was staring at the words on the article Nancy and Robin had found and none of it was making any sense to him. He was scared. Not knowing what was going to happen to you and when was tearing him apart and he needed to understand so that he could find some way to fix it. To protect you.

To save you.

A chill ran down his spine as he thought about it. He thought back to the way you had stood there, locked inside your own body and twitching slightly as you were trapped in a nightmare he couldn’t wake you from. He thought back to your activities afterwards. How you felt when he had shown you just how much he loved you. The way your body moved against his. He thought about how you were all he ever wanted—no, needed—and he couldn’t bear the thought of living a life without you in it.

“It’s pretty straightforward,” Dustin stared at him judgmentally.

“Oh, ‘straightforward’? Really?” Steve asked, not adoring the condescension in the freshman’s tone.

“So far, everyone Vecna has cursed has died, except for this old Victor Creel dude that Nancy found. He’s the only known survivor. If anyone knows how to beat this curse, it’s him,” Dustin explained. Steve could see a glint of optimism in the young boy’s eyes and he desperately wished he felt the same way. This situation just felt so hopeless though. How the fuck were they supposed to combat an otherworldly threat when the attacks were occurring cross-dimensionally?

“That’s assuming he was even cursed, Henderson, which we just don’t know,” Steve spat back, frustrated with the lack of answers. “How could Vecna have existed in the 50s? It just doesn’t make sense.”

Steve dragged a hand down his face in an attempt to keep his frustration at bay. He snapped his head up when he heard your voice lilt down the stairs, getting closer as you descended them.

“As far as we know, Eleven didn’t create the Upside Down; she just opened a gate to it,” you specified as you joined the group. Steve was quick to throw an arm around your waist, pulling you into him. Now that you knew that your time may be limited, Steve was extremely touchy. It was as if he thought that holding onto you would prevent another vision. You knew better, but still leaned into him, soaking up the comfort of his affection. You flushed as you remembered your activities from last night, desperately wishing that you had more time so that you could have more nights wrapped up in each other’s presence.

“Yeah, the Upside Down has probably existed for thousands of years…millions even. I wouldn’t be surprised if it predated the dinosaurs,” Dustin hypothesized, and you glanced over to see Lucas roll his eyes a bit. You couldn’t help but chuckle. Even at the end of the world, those kids could still make you laugh.

“Dinosaurs? What are we even talking about? Come on Dustin, you can’t just—“ Steve started but Lucas cut him off to refocus the conversation.

“Okay, but if there wasn’t a gate in the 50s, how did Vecna get through? How is he getting through now?”

“And why now?” You added.

“And why then? What he just pops out in the 50s, kills one family and he’s like, ‘I’m good’ just to come back thirty years later to kill some random teens? No offense,” Steve quickly added the last part turning to you as you glared up at him. You rolled your eyes and pulled away from him a bit before reaching into your back pocket.

“I almost forgot,” you said, fishing three sealed envelopes out of your back pocket. “These are for you guys.”

You handed them the envelopes. Steve furrowed his brows as he looked at you confused, studying the sealed letter in his hand. Dustin began to open it but you stopped him quickly. “No! What are you doing? That’s not for now. Don’t open it now!”

“Okay,” Dustin replied confused, stopping his previous movements. “I’m sorry, but what is this?” He held up the envelope and waved it slightly to emphasize his question.

“It’s…it’s a fail-safe,” you answered, your voice small. You caught Steve’s expression fall as you said it and you felt your heart ache in your chest as you thought about how you wouldn’t be able to be there for him to help him grieve. You felt a pang of guilt as you realized you would be the one causing his pain. “For after…you know, if things don’t work out.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, y/n?” Steve took a step towards you and grabbed your hand.

“Steve,” you looked him in the eyes, a pained expression across your face. Before he could continue arguing with you, Nancy, Robin, and Max bounded down the stairs. You all turned your attention towards the girls as Nancy opened her mouth to speak.

“Okay…we have a plan,” she smiled at all of you and suddenly you felt a feeling in your chest that you hadn’t felt in a while:

Hope.

You all quickly moved to sit on the various couches in the basement, Steve sitting next to you with a hand on your thigh as you listened to Nancy’s game plan.

“Than’s to Nancy’s newspaper minions, we are now rockstar psychology students at the University of Notre Dame,” Robin started, handing you and Steve each a folder containing the fraudulent academic files for one Ruth and Rose.

“Nice GPA,” you smirked, looking at Nancy and she smiled back at you. It felt nice to be optimistic for once.

“So we called Pennhurst Asylum, told them we’d like to speak with Creel for a thesis we’re co-writing on paranoid schizophrenics—“ Nancy continued, but Max cut her off, having been there for the whole conversation.

“To which they said no,” the redhead explained.

“But, we landed a three o’clock with the director. Now all we have to do is charm him and convince him to let us talk to Victor,” Robin added on.

“Yeah, we’ve been doing our Victor Creel homework,” Steve started, holding up the article printout, “We’ve got a lot of questions.”

“A lot,” Lucas emphasized.

“So do we. Hopefully Victor has the answers,” Nancy answered.

“Wait a second,” you spoke up, staring down at the file folder in your hand. “Where’s mine?”

“What?” Nancy’s face scrunched up, clearly confused by your question.

“I said, where’s mine?” You repeated yourself, holding up the file folder, your jaw beginning to set as you realized you weren’t being included.

“You’re not going,” Nancy replied, reaching over to grab the file from you.

“I think the fuck I am!” You stood up quickly, pulling the folder out of her reach. Steve quickly grabbed you by your belt loop, rolling his eyes and tugging you back down to sit next to him. You sat in a huff and he quickly pulled the folder away from you. “Hey!”

“Y/n, you’re not going. End of discussion,” he said plainly, handing the folder back to Nancy.

“I can’t do anything here Nancy! Maybe I could help with this asylum director guy….or-or-or I could ask Victor the right questions; I know what it’s like after all,” you defended yourself, but you could tell by the looks you were getting that no one was going to change their mind. Nancy opened her mouth to speak, but Robin spoke up before she could get a word out.

“Look, y/n. It’s too dangerous. Just let us do the heavy lifting, and you stay here where it’s safe.”

“Nowhere is safe, Robin. It doesn’t make a damn difference where the fuck I am,” you spat. Robin’s heart sank at your words because they were true; it didn’t really matter where you were. Vecna would find you regardless.

“Y/n, if you won’t do it for yourself, would you do it for me?” Steve spoke up. The expression on his face made you break, letting out an angry puff of air before you responded.

“Whatever,” you grumbled, quickly standing up and going upstairs. Your eyes were welling with tears and you didn’t want everyone to see you in your vulnerable state, even if it was completely understandable. Steve started to stand to go after you, but Dustin stopped him.

“Just, let me try and handle this,” the boy spoke up. Steve wasn’t sure why he was letting him, but shrugged. He knew how much you cared about the kids, especially Henderson, so it was worth a shot at least.

“Y/n?” Dustin asked after he had ascended the staircase. He caught sight of you wiping tears from your eyes before you were able to turn away and hide it.

“What do you want Dustin?” You asked, your voice sounding watery as you continued to cry, a small sob escaping your body.

“We’re doing everything we can,” he started, “and I know it doesn’t feel like enough, but it’s the best we can do. And I know you want to be in on all of the action, but I think it’s okay for you to take the backseat on this one.”

“I can’t just sit around here doing nothing,” you cried out, still trying to gain your composure as you turned around, wiping at the tears falling down your face. “I mean, I just…I just want to be out there so-so I can fix it. I don’t want any of you guys getting hurt,” you added, trying to swallow the lump in your throat as you looked at Dustin.

“Then stay here and protect us. Okay? You’ve always done a kick-ass job at it, so be here for us now. The most important thing is that when all is said and done, you’re still here. So let Nancy and Robin sort it out because I know they will. We all will,” Dustin reassured you. You walked over to the boy and pulled him into a tight hug. You still felt guilty about the way he had to grow up so fast, fighting unimaginable horrors while trying to figure out who he was and where he fit in. You couldn’t even imagine what that would have been like at his age.

With the pang in your chest, you felt pain return to your head, groaning as you let go of Dustin and put a hand to your temples. You felt something warm trickle from your nose, reaching up to wipe at it, fresh blood smearing across the back of your hand.

“Y/n, are-are you okay?” Dustin stared up at you, wide-eyed and frantic. You took a deep breath and the pain subsided a little, as you nodded at the boy.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” You replied, giving him a weak smile in an attempt to hide the many ways you were not in fact okay.

You tried to take your own words to heart as the two of you made your way back down to the basement.

I’m still here.

***

Nancy and Robin had gone off to go try and talk to Victor Creel, leaving you, Steve, Lucas, Dustin, and Max to twiddle your thumbs in the Wheelers’ basement while you waited for answers that likely weren’t coming. You were sat next to Steve and he was running his warm hand in circles across your back as you sat there, head in your hands and foot anxiously tapping.

You were restless. You couldn’t sit here doing nothing; you had loose ends to tie up in case Nancy and Robin’s investigation didn’t turn up roses. You needed to make sure you were ready to leave this world behind, and presently you weren’t.

Suddenly you stood up, causing Steve to jump as he had zoned out, his thoughts drifting elsewhere before your sudden movement had brought him back to the present. You marched across the room and picked up Dustin’s walkie.

“If we go to East Hawkins, will this still reach Pennhurst?” You asked, inspecting the gadget in your hand.

“Of course, yeah,” Dustin replied.

“Woah, why are we talking about East Hawkins?” Steve stood up, taking a slow step towards you. He looked concerned and confused; a brutal combination. You gave him a look that immediately had his anxiety skyrocketing. “No…no! Absolutely not!”

You paused, you and Steve staring each other down as if you were about to have a shootout in an old western movie. Much like reaching for the draw, you slowly reached into your pocked, grabbing the contents before lifting your hand up and dangling Steve’s car keys in between you. His mouth gaped open, his mind not quick enough to process what was happening before you grabbed your backpack off a folding chair and bolted up the stairs.

Steve stood frozen for a second, in disbelief that any of this could really be real before darting after you. “Y/n! Y/n, come back here! I’m serious!”

It didn’t do much to stop you, seeing as you were already out the door quickly pacing towards the familiar BMW. “Y/n…Y/n! Seriously, I’m not fucking joking. I’m not driving you anywhere!” Steve shouted after you as he started to catch up.

“Steve, if you think I’m going to spend what might possibly be the last day of my fucking life in the armpit that is Mike Wheeler’s basement, then you’re out of your mind,” you shot back, still sauntering towards the car. If your life wasn’t in jeopardy, Steve would have thought it was hot; the swish of your hips, the way your hair bounced with each assertive step you took, the way your jeans hugged your ass. But now was not the time to get distracted.

“I don’t think you heard me, y/n. I’m not fucking driving you.”

“Oh I heard you loud and clear, Harrington. But if you won’t drive me, then I guess I’ll have to drive myself,” you said, unlocking the driver’s side door to Steve’s car.

“Um, fuck no!” Steve exclaimed, putting a hand on his car door to hold it shut as you attempted to open it. You whipped around, your eyes shooting daggers at your boyfriend. His face was mere inches away from yours as he leaned on his arm, his bodyweight keeping the door shut tight. You continued to stare into his eyes, your stern expression causing his to break as he sighed and relented, dropping his arm in exasperation. “Fine. But I’m driving.”

You tossed him the keys as you smirked, walking around the car as you eagerly hopped into the passenger seat.

“That was kind of wild,” Lucas mumbled to Dustin and Max who all stood dumbfounded by the encounter between the two of you.

“Yeah, she’s got him wrapped around her finger,” Max chuckled, “good for her.”

The three kids piled into the backseat of Steve’s car and Steve drove off after making sure everyone was appropriately buckled. The radio that was usually always on remained silent, no one really in the mood to listen to whatever overplayed tune was undoubtedly being broadcasted across your small town. You navigated, hesitant to tell Steve where you actually needed to go. You could tell he was nervous, his right hand reaching across the center console to squeeze your upper thigh, needing to hold onto you.

After you had spent a decent amount of time driving, you finally saw the sign you’d been looking for. “Turn here,” you spoke up, clearing your throat uncomfortably as you said it. Steve looked at you questioningly but followed your instructions, slowly turning into the Roane Hill Cemetery.

“I’ll just be a minute,” you assured Steve as you began to unbuckle to get out of the car. He gently grabbed your elbow, stopping your all fire hurry to exit the vehicle. “Steve—“

“Y/n, I get it. I just want you to know that I’m here for you, okay? We all are. You don’t have to go through this alone,” he spoke gently. You turned over your shoulder and saw the sincerity in everyone’s eyes.

“This,” you replied, looking out the car window up the small hill of the cemetery, “this is something I have to do alone.”

Steve nodded, giving your arm a gentle squeeze before letting go and looking at you with sympathy as you began making your way towards the clearing at the top of the hill. When you made it to the top, you took a deep breath as you read the name on the gravestone. Jim Hopper.

You hadn’t interacted much with Hawkins’ Chief of Police much before the Upside Down had entered your life. In fact, though you knew he was an effective cop, you wrote him off as an egotistical asshole, rolling your eyes at his usually irritating antics. However, after all that you had been through together, he became the kind of person you wanted to emulate. He did the best that he could to protect all of you kids. He would do anything to make sure you were all safe. He’d even given his life for it; the ultimate sacrifice.

He was truly a hero. But now he was gone, nothing left of him besides the grave in this cemetery and the memories in your heart. You felt guilt tear through your chest as you noticed that the flowers you had left the last time you came had began to wither and wilt.

“I don’t really know what to say,” you started off, tears beginning to well in your eyes. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t fix any of this. I’m sorry that I couldn’t keep the kids safe like I should’ve. I’m sorry that you can’t be there for El. I’m sorry that you didn’t get to see her grow up…that-that you don’t get to see her smile anymore. Every time I keep telling myself that all of this is over. I-I keep lying to myself and acting like everything is fine and that I’m happy and that everything is going to turn out alright, but I think deep down I know that it isn’t going to be.”

Tears began to stream down your face. “We all deserved to have these normal lives that we always pretend to have, you know? Those kids deserve to have normal lives. They shouldn’t have to worry about monsters underneath their feet and alternate dimensions that want to do them harm. They deserve to have the kind of lives that you wanted them to have, and I’m sorry I couldn’t make that happen Hopper. This all just feels like one big mistake…or-or a nightmare I can’t wake up from. And I feel guilty every time I look at Steve and my heart lets me feel lucky for even just a fraction of a second because if anything is true, we are not fucking lucky.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as you wiped your nose on the back of your sleeve, breathing in a shaky breath as you tried to fight the sobs that your body desperately needed to let out. You felt guilty admitting it, but the happiness in your relationship with Steve did scare you. You didn’t deserve to be happy; you were sure of it.

When you opened your eyes, your heart stopped in your chest. The clear skies that had been there once before were now overcast as fog poured around you into the cemetery. You heard distorted laughter that sounded like it came from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. A chill ran down your spine as you heard a voice ring out.

“Y/n.”

***

Steve looked up the hill towards you. You were still sitting in front of a gravestone and you looked okay enough, but Steve didn’t trust any of it. He had a bad feeling deep within his gut, and he began to unbuckle his seatbelt. “Alright, it’s been long enough.”

“Steve, just give her some time,” Max spoke up. She knew that you were going through some things and knew you needed the space.

“I have, alright Mayfield? I’m calling it. If she wants to be mad at me, she can be fucking mad at me,” he grumbled as he slammed the car door shut, making his way up the hill. Cemeteries always made him feel uneasy, but he was confident that the pit in his stomach was unrelated as he swiftly jogged up the hill towards you.

“Y/n, baby? It’s time to go, alright? I know it’s hard, but we really need to get—“ Steve’s words died on his tongue as he saw you sitting there, unresponsive. Your eyes were rolled in the back of your head and blood began dripping down your nose.

“Y/n? Y/n! No, no, no, baby wake up! Wake up, y/n, you’re scaring me,” Steve’s words were short and shaky as he quickly went to wipe your nose, his first instinct being to take care of you. “Guys!”

Steve yelled down the hill and the three kids came running. Steve continued to shake you, watching as your body jolted around but you stayed catatonic, somewhere else in the moment, no doubt in some terror filled nightmare. A far off whimper escaped your lips and if Steve wasn’t already losing it, he would’ve lost it right then and there.

“Y/n! Please wake up!” Max shouted, snapping in front of your eyes, hoping it would draw them forward and alert, but they stayed rolled back in your head, eyelids twitching and fluttering.

“Come on, y/n. Get out of there!” Lucas yelled, beginning to shake your shoulders too. Steve turned towards Dustin, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt.

“Call Nancy and Robin! Just go! Call Nancy and Robin!” He shoved the boy, and he fell backwards, tumbling over as he scrambled to make his way back to the car. He had never seen Steve so desperate before and they had been through a lot together. Dustin felt his blood run cold. This was life or death.

“Y/n, come on baby. I love you, please come back to me!” Steve cried out, squeezing your hand in his, hoping that wherever you were that you could hear him somehow. “Think of all the things we haven’t gotten to do together yet…I mean, we-we have a whole life ahead of us! I want to do it all with you, but you have to come back to me.”

His voice cracked, and when you didn’t respond he began shaking your shoulders again, feeling sick to his stomach at the way your head lolled in every which way, your neck unable to support the weight of it. Your nose continued to bleed and your limbs were twitching. He could see your neck straining and it reminded him of the way you looked as you tried to breathe through a panic attack.

“Y/n! You gotta get out of there!” Lucas shouted.

“Y/n! Please! You’ve got this, come on!” Max chimed in.

Dustin finally came bounding up the hill, dropping Max’s walkman and a bunch of cassettes in front of them that he had dug out of Steve’s glovebox. “Steve! What’s her favorite song?!”

“Why?” Lucas asked, panic radiating from his voice.

“It’s too much to explain right now! What’s her favorite song?!” Dustin screamed.

Steve didn’t need to be told twice, rifling through the tapes until he found the one with a label and his shitty handwriting on it. His hands were shaking as he fumbled the cassette, shoving it into the walkman before quickly and haphazardly placing the headphones over your ears. His hands trailed to either side of your face as he looked at you, his eyes frantically searching your face, hoping that whatever fix Dustin seemed to think he found would be instantaneous.

The cassette tape had all of the songs you guys would belt out in the car when they played on the radio. He loved hearing you sing off key to the songs and the way you’d dance in the passenger seat making faces to fit the lyrics of the songs. He had finally decided he couldn’t wait around for the radio to play all of your favorites, desperately wanting to watch you dance every time he had a chance to, so he made you a mixtape with all your favorites. He was saving it to give you for your first anniversary, which was now four months away. But after all, in this situation, it was either early or never, so he pressed play and Running up that Hill by Kate Bush began to blare through the headphones.

It had been a second and nothing was happening. Your eyes were still rolled in the back of your head and you were still twitching. “It’s not working Dustin!” Steve shouted, his hands falling from your face as he turned towards the Henderson boy. No sooner had he lost contact with you did your body begin to lift off of the ground, your legs coming uncrossed as you levitated out of reach from your friends down below.

“No! Y/n!” Steve shouted. He wished he hadn’t let you go. Maybe if he hadn’t he could have kept whatever was about to happen from happening. He thought back to all of the horrors Eddie had described and he began to hyperventilate. He couldn’t watch that happen to you. You were his everything.

In your nightmare, you were tied up by vines, pressed against some sort of pillar staring straight at Vecna. He kept insisting you belonged there, reminding you of how much danger you put the kids in. You deserved to stay here in this dark and dreary hellscape. You had seen Chrissy and Fred and you felt like you could vomit thinking about your body being contorted in the same way.

“Let me go!” You choked out, hardly able to speak with the vine around your throat cutting off your access to oxygen. Suddenly you heard something familiar as a melody drifted towards your ears, building slowly in the background until the music swelled and nearly became all that you could hear. You turned ever so slightly to your left and saw a glimpse into the real world. Your heart stopped as you watched your boyfriend desperately calling your name, your body hovering several feet above his head.

“They can’t help you, y/n,” Vecna assured you, his crooked hand coming up towards your face.

“You’re wrong,” you choked out and suddenly the vine behind you snapped and you fell forward, breaking out into a sprint towards the tunnel of reality just out of reach. You tried to keep your footing, but you slipped several times on thick red pools of blood, the sticky liquid soaking into your clothes. You tried to ignore it as you continued to sprint. Your legs kept wanting to give up, but you just kept thinking about all you had left to live for and channeled that into your sprint.

You thought about Steve and the life you wanted to build together. You thought about the way you knocked on his door that fateful day. You thought about the way he let you in even though he didn’t have to; the way he changed for you, the way he tried every day to be better for you. You thought about the jokes he told that made you laugh so hard you cried and the way he’d carry you up the stairs when you fell asleep on the couch. You thought about the kisses he’d pepper across your skin whenever he had the chance to. You thought about the way you felt when you were wrapped up in him the night before and how you didn’t want your first time to be the last time. You thought about the way his brown eyes stared into yours, the way they said so much without him ever having to open his mouth.

You were going to look into those eyes again. So you sprinted. Past falling debris, through rough terrain, and towards him.

Towards home.

Your eyes peeled open and you gasped, staring at the tree line in a way you’d never seen it before. Your stomach dropped as you began falling to the ground, plummeting back towards earth. You hit the ground hard, and you were hyperventilating as everyone immediately surrounded you. Steve pushed past the kids and wrapped his arms around you, clinging to you as if you’d disappear again.

“Y/n! I thought I lost you!” Steve cried out as he placed a frantic kiss against your lips. He pulled back to look at you for a second, fear and panic across his face before he leaned in and kissed you again. You were his oxygen and he needed you to breathe right now.

You pulled away, gripping his bicep as you attempted to calm down your breathing. “I’m still…I’m still here,” you reassured him, tears falling from your eyes.

He was quick to wipe them away before he buried his face in your neck, taking a deep breath as he reveled in the comfort of your familiar scent. He placed a gentle kiss against your neck and pulled you towards him even tighter.

You were still here, and he wasn’t going to let anything like that happen ever again.

***

You all had spent the night at the Wheelers’ again, deciding now more than ever it was vital to stick together. Nancy had had to fight Steve to get him to sleep, convincing him that the rest of you were more than capable of taking turns watching you to make sure that you were okay.

“Dustin…Earth to Dustin,” Eddie’s voice rang out over the walkie talkie. Steve groaned as he woke up. He was sore from the way that his body was positioned in the chair he had been sleeping in. He grabbed the walkie off of the coffee table, pressing down the button to speak into it.

“What the fuck do you want Munson?” Steve spat.

“Oh, Harrington. Um, I’m going to need a food delivery, unless you want me going out into the world.”

“Don’t fucking do that. Just stay where you are and we’ll be there as soon as we can” Steve grumbled, sighing as he aggressively went to set the walkie back down, but Eddie’s voice rang out again.

“Hey, can you pick me up a six-pack? I know it’s dumb to be drinking right now, but a cold beer would really cool my nerves you know?”

As Eddie said it, Steve rolled his eyes, turning back towards the couch you were sleeping on, needing to remind himself of your constant kindness to calm himself down. It had the opposite effect when he saw the empty space, you being nowhere to be found.

“I’m gonna have to call you back,” Steve quickly relayed to Eddie before dropping the walkie talkie and bounding across the basement to wake up Dustin. “Dipshit! What the fuck?! You’re supposed to be watching y/n!” Steve spat as the boy finally opened his eyes.

“Yeah…yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“Where the fuck is she?!”

“She’s right there,” Dustin started, but his heart dropped as he looked over and saw that you were gone, “she was right there a second ago. I just dozed off for…an hour.”

His eyes got wide as he looked at his watch and the two boys bounded up the stairs. Steve finally cooled off when he saw you sitting at the kitchen table with Holly. You were helping her color a coloring book page, stopping every once in a while to help her cut her pancake. Steve felt his heart skip at how domestic and maternal you looked, hoping you would all get past this so that he could have the future with you that he envisioned, with perfect little combinations of the two of you sitting at your own kitchen table.

“Everything okay?” Mrs. Wheeler asked. Steve just nodded making his way towards the kitchen table. Nancy had woken up when the boys had not so quietly ascended the stairs and she was rubbing her eyes as she also made her way to the kitchen.

“I think it’s so sweet that you guys are sticking together like this,” Mrs. Wheeler continued, pulling Nancy into a very stiff and awkward side hug that she did not reciprocate.

“You could try sticking together at a different house for a change,” Mr. Wheeler chimed in, not even looking up from his newspaper.

“Hey, are you okay?” Steve asked, sitting down next to you, his hand going to the small of your back.

“Yeah,” you gave him a weak smile. “It’s just kind of hard to sleep after…everything.” You chose your words carefully so as to not let Nancy’s parents in on the reality of the absurdity that was your life. “But Holly let me borrow some of her crayons and we’ve been having a fun morning.”

You smiled at the small girl and Steve felt his heart explode. Nancy stood next to you and spoke up. “Is this what you saw last night? Do you think he’s just trying to scare you?”

“Yeah, but this stuff is different,” you said, gesturing to the drawings in front of you. “I don’t think he wanted me to see any of this.”

“Maybe you invaded his mind,” Dustin suggested, “I mean, that’s what he’s been doing to you, is it that big of leap to suggest that somehow you wound up in his?”

“Yeah, maybe the answer’s somewhere in this incredibly…vague drawing,” Steve added on, holding up a piece of paper and rotating it. “Damn, we need Will.”

“I know, but I tried them again this morning and it’s the same busy signal,” you replied, putting your head in your hands.

Nancy suddenly started reorganizing the papers, folding them and overlapping them until they made an image that made some semblance of sense.

“It’s…it’s a house,” you spoke breathlessly. You weren’t sure how you had managed to draw a deconstructed house considering you weren’t even close to being an artist, but hey accidental accomplishments are accomplishments nonetheless.

“Not just any house,” Nancy looked at you wide eyed. “It’s Victor Creel’s house.”

You shuddered as Nancy and Dustin quickly moved downstairs to tell the others about their discovery. You got up and moved the other way towards the Wheelers’ family room, desperately needing to remove yourself from the oblivious remainder of the Wheelers that were in the kitchen. Steve quickly followed you, gently grabbing your hand as he spoke up.

“Hey, baby…what’s wrong?”

“Steve, I just don’t have a good feeling about this,” anxiety was etched across your face as you said it. He squeezed your hand and pulled you towards him.

“I know, y/n. But answers are good…that means we’re getting somewhere,” he reminded you.

“But that’s the thing,” you started, “just because we’re getting somewhere doesn’t mean it’s anywhere good. Vecna’s smart, he knows what he’s doing. I mean, what….what-what if we’re walking into a trap! What if this is exactly what he wants us to do? We can’t keep just following every thread he gives us. He’s weaving a web, Steve. And if we’re not careful, we’re all going to end up getting caught in it.”

“We have to try though, right? We can’t just give up or else we’re putting everyone—not just us—everyone in jeopardy,” he tried to appeal to your selflessness and world-saving tendencies, but really deep down, he only wanted to follow this thread because it meant they had a shot at saving you.

He dropped your hand, holding his up between the two of you, and you were met with the familiar sight of his extended pinky.

“To saving the world?” He asked, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. Your face relaxed for a moment, your lips breaking into a small smile.

“To saving the world,” you agreed as you wrapped your pinky around his before leaning in and placing a gentle kiss to his lips.

You didn’t like where this was headed, but you could at least give it your best shot. If it meant that you and Steve could have more pinky promises and more soft kisses, then it would be worth it.

You just hoped that it wouldn’t ruin you in the process.

***

a/n: I hope y’all enjoyed the chapter. Reblog to give me a much needed boost of serotonin ;)

taglist:

@season4steve @sassyheroneckgiant @tangledinthegreatxscape @maeve-wileyy @palachannie @chaerfull @usaguisenpaisblog @emilieluckwood @sabrinadelreyy @mochminnie @xprloki @kitdjarin1 @kissmxcheek @daemonskitty @bethsvrse @aheadfullofsteverogers @quinnsadilla @chervbs @sheisjoeschateau @goosy-goose

[apollyonsdarksecrets]

You can call me, Sir.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

Summery: She’s reserved, emotionally cut off, and spiraling down a dark path; one she can’t get out of on her own. Aaron Hotchner may be her only help, but at what cost? When he shows up to her hotel room, contact in hand, she realizes it may be more than what she bargained for.

Warning: 18+ Only MDNI SMUT. Language, BDSM, Dom Aaron, emotionally detached reader, typical CM violence, childhood trauma, abusive father figure, age gap (reader 25 Aaron 40) doesn’t line up with a specific time line, use of Y/n because story is set in 3rd person for the first half then switches POV, last name for reader is Smith,

Specific chapter warnings : Failed CPS case, implied abuse with belt, clothes shopping (I tried my best to be as body neutral as possible), sugar daddy Arron, sales lady is rude towards reader, Things are getting spicy, first rules, use of pet names, reader is described as having hair long enough to sweep over one shoulder, trying on clothes, Let me know if I need to add anything!

A/N: The amount of love that has been shown for this story so far has absolutely filled my heart! I’m sorry this chapter took a minute to come out, I got married last week sooooo 😍 that slowed the process down a little. Haha 💜

*~*~*~*~*~*

9 years ago

The worst part was the way her nose stung, like a million tiny needles stabbing her all at once. But she had to breath through it, because only selfish, weak, incompetent people cried. So she forced her thoughts solely on the older woman who sat across from her, her grey hair loose around her shoulders, and the bright pink blazer she wore with matching skirt. ‘I think name is Deloris?’

Not what you would have thought when you heard the term ‘CPS worker’. She smiles at the young teen as if she was Y/n’s best friend and there isn’t a care in the world as her fountain pen taps against her yellow notepad. “You’re mother must have been a lovely woman.”

A muscle in Y/n’s jaw twitches, but she manages to return Deloris’ smile briefly. “She was.”

“So is that really the reason you have been skipping school?” Her green eyes were full of mock sympathy, and Y/n can only assume how many of these ‘troubled teen cases’ she has had to work.

“Yes ma’am.” It was the 8th anniversary of Y/n’s mother’s death. Today. She can hear her father in the other room, moving about the kitchen, pretending to not be listening through the thin walls. Y/n squeezes the pillow in her lap tighter to her churning stomach, already anticipating how the rest of the night will go.

“I’m sorry, dear. I know losing a loved one can be hard, but that doesn’t mean we can go about making things hard for the ones we still have.” Deloris tilts her head, her lips in a slightly pout as she regards Y/n, who only bites her cheek to keep quiet. She drops her chin to her chest, fanning shame with a small nod, placating the woman. “Good. I’m going to go talk with your father now, I hope you understand the severity of the situation you’ve almost caused. I expect to hear you are in school tomorrow.”

Deloris doesn’t take long in the kitchen with Y/n’s father, her pitchy laughter grating on Y/n’s ears. Her father escorts the worker to the door, his hair is combed, beard neat and he’s dressed still in his work clothes. A fitted grey collard shirt and jeans. His usual Forman outfit. At one point in Y/n’s life she can remember thinking her dad had been very handsome, but that had all been before the drinking.

“Have a good evening Miss. Deloris.” Her fathers southern accent is always laid on heavy whenever he is trying to impress someone, or to get his way. And for most of his life it worked well. Y/n wonders sometimes if that is how he had charmed her mother.

As the pine door shut, Y/n closed her eyes, taking a steadying breath before the storm. When she opens her eyes again, she’s staring at the brown tweed couch across from her, out of the corner of her eye she can see her father’s still form in the archway of the living room.

The sound of leather hissing through his denim belt loops makes her stomach drop, her breath quicken in her already tight chest. “Gone an got me in trouble huh?” He folds the worn leather over in his hands, snapping it together watching as she jumps in her seat. Her gaze remains focused on the spot Miss. Deloris had occupied, the old springs and cushioning holding her shape. “You ain’t learned trouble girl.”

Present Day

It’s almost unbearable how cold it is outside, the dark clouds over head threatened to snow on the busy sidewalk as you shove your hands as far into your jacket as they will go. Aaron is pressed against your side, his arm wrapped around your back, directing you through the crowd and to the front of a large store.

Chic’s End

Your nose scrunches slightly at the different mannequins in the brightly lit windows who’s clothing is on the higher end of fashion. Pieces you’d never find in your own wardrobe. Aaron guides you towards the door but you stop abruptly shaking your head. “Hotch, aren’t there places a little less… fancy?” Your tone gives away your discomfort as you scan the nearly empty store.

Aaron sighs, stepping around you so he can look you in the eye. “Rule number one: call me Aaron when it’s just the two of us, Hotch is too formal. Now I’m sure there are, but you deserve to be a little spoiled…” He pauses, his phone vibrating in his pocket making him frown. “Now go inside, let me check this and I’ll be right in.” As he fishes for his phone he pulls open the door for you, letting you walk in with a small head rush.

‘Our first rule?’

You take the moment you have some to look around the store front, a few customers are mingling about the rows of clothing, associates putting away inventory or helping their guests. A brunette is standing at the register, her hair sprayed and pinned into a tight bun atop her head. She glances at you, her nose turned up at your simple outfit, without a word of welcome she goes back to her work.

The door is opening a moment later, a small bell going off as Aaron steps in, the icy breeze trying to follow. “Sorry, David was checking in.” His voice reaches the woman at the counter, grabbing her attention. She watches as he shrugs out of his winter jacket, her gaze fixing on the flash of jewelry on his wrist with a smile.

“Is he okay?” You ask, handing Aaron your own jacket as he hangs them on a coatrack.

“Oh yes, he’s-.”

“Good afternoon, is there anything I can help you with?” You turn, the same woman from before now standing in front of you. She’s wearing a form fitting black dress, the apparent dress code for the establishment, a silver name tag pinned to her collar reading ‘Denise.’ Gone is her dismissive attitudes from before, her blue eyes staring intently at Aaron with a sly smile.

You feel something in your chest squirm, making you take a step in front of Aaron as you pull your best smile into place. “Oh thank you, but we are just-.”

A warm hands is suddenly on your shoulder, pulling you into Aaron’s side. “We’re looking for some work attire; blouses, pants, skirts and such. Along with more casual wear.” He squeezes your shoulder as you slide him a disgruntled look.

Denise regards you with a tight lipped smile, nodding her head slightly. “Of course. Right this way.” She turns on her heel, an extra sway in her her step that makes you roll your eyes as you pull out of Aaron’s grip following her. He follows behind a few paces, regarding you with masked amusement.

She takes you to the back of the store, pointing out the sections of racks you’ll need and where on the walls you can find work appropriate pants and skirts. Denise turns to Aaron once again, stepping to close for comfort as she stares openly at his suit. “You know, we have the latest in Brioni’s suit jackets that I think would complement you rather well, Mr…” She brushes her hand against his arm and your eyes widen.

“No thank you. I’ll let you know if we need any further assistance.” Aaron comes to stand beside you, his expression hard to read as he places a hand on your lower back. Denise’s eyes narrow slightly, her smile faltering before she pulls her emotions back.

“Please do.” She saunters of, throwing one last look over her shoulder.

You laugh unbelievably, “Jesus… she was a bit forward.” You turn toward the rack beside you, picking up the first shirt your eyes land on. It’s a simple white blouse with navy blue pinstripes, the neckline is a little low for your taste but otherwise it’s very pretty. You pick up the tag and instantly drop it, your mouth falling open.

“What?” Aaron asks, sliding the clothes along the pole, looking through the selection.

“This! These clothes are way to over priced.” You turn the tag towards him, and he squints at the small numbers. ‘75.56’. He frowns slightly and you think he’s about to agree with you, call this whole ridiculous thing off until he shrugs.

“That’s not so bad.” He grins at the incredulous look you level him, showing perfect teeth. “Darling you’ll come to realize the value that comes with certain things. Soon enough you’ll see the value in yourself as well.” He chucks you under the chin softly and you think that’s it.

You’re going to explode.

Everything it too much.

“Hotch, I can’t just let you waste that kind of money on me. You don’t know what you will need it for later, bills, or -.”

Aaron steps into your space again, bending down until he’s eye level with you and you clam up. His eyes are dark, burning with an intensity that has your shoulders slumping slightly. When he speaks his voice is quiet but direct, leaving no room for misunderstanding. “What did I say our first rule was?”

You stammer, your grip tightening on the fabric still in your hands. “You said… to call you Aaron.”

“Correct. So that’s one. Now, when I say I am doing something for you, buying you something, getting you something; do not doubt me. If I couldn’t, I wouldn’t. Do I make myself clear?”

All you can do is nod, your throat dry and tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth. “Good girl. Now if you really find calling me Aaron to difficult, you can always call me sir.” You suddenly look like a fire had been lit underneath you, your face flushing a new shade of red he’d yet to see before. You turn away from him, trying to hide your emotions and aggressively shuffle through the clothes before you.

Aaron straightens with a satisfied smile.

*~*~*~*~*~*

An hour in and there is a mount pile of clothing in the cart in front of you. Everything you’ve selected draped over one side and everything Aaron selected on the other. You had found a discount rack, the red tags a twisted mess by now, but the 15% off sign did little to quell the guilt eating you.

“Okay… this is more clothes than I think Garcia even owns. I think we should-.” You’re talking absently, glancing up only to find Aaron is walking in the opposite direction of the checkout. “Oh for the love of all things holy.” You quickly follow, pulling the cart behind you as the hangers rattle together. He stops in front of a display of eloquent evening gowns and you follow his stare to the forefront of the display. A deep emerald green satin dress takes your breath away, with a sweetheart neckline and a slit that goes half way up the mannequins thigh. You peak around the back in awe, it plunges well down to the lower back, a sheer material with beautiful rhinestones occupying the negative space.

Aaron watches as you pick up the bottom of the dress, rubbing the buttery material between your fingers. “I would love to see you in it.”

You shake your head, though your focus remains on the dress. “There’s no reason to, when would I ever wear this? Besides we’ve been here for nearly an hour, if we don’t leave soon I’m sure Denise is going to jump your bones.”

Aaron chuckles at that with a shrug. “You might not be wrong, she’s been lurking around the corner ever since I took my jacket off and she caught sight of my watch.” You glance down at his wrist as he shows you a golden Rolex. You hum in understanding, putting the two together. A handsome, stylish man, with a nice suit and a watch that coasts a couple of grand. She sees dollar signs. “Go ask her for a fitting room.”

Glancing around you notice she’s no more than ten feet away, pretending to be busy with an already neatly arranged display of sweaters. You walk over, hands clasped behind your back. “Excuse me?”

She doesn’t bother to look up, her head tilted as if in contemplation as she stares at the stack in front of her. “Yes?”

Your jaw clenches slightly, but you smile regardless. “I’d like to try that green dress on, where are your dressing rooms?” That finally catches her attention, she looks around you to the dress your talking about and then to the cart beside Aaron, the red tags turned her way. With a bemused smile she finally looks you in the eye.

“Sorry, that dress isn’t on sale, dear. Maybe come back some other time.” Her high voice carries farther than she thinks, reaching Aaron who’s eyebrows raised in surprise before furrowing as anger bubbles in his chest.

Before you can say anything he is by your side, startling you both. “She didn’t ask you if it was on sale. She asked if you had a fitting room.” Denise pales, his voice is harsh and edged making her shift on her feet as she begins to stammer

“Well I… it was just-.”

“Just what? It’s a simple question, this is a clothing store so you must have fitting rooms. She would like one opened.” Denise can no longer keep eye contact, her gaze flickering from his face and away again. “Now.” The command in his voice makes her move, her mouth agape and she’s pointing indirectly over her shoulder. She turns, quickly walking away and you’re left to stunned to react. Aaron’s hand finds your back again, pushing you forward, his other hand on the end of the cart.

The dressing area is three beiges booths with deep red curtains for doors. A large mirror takes up one wall that is lit up like Time Square during Christmas, and there are mirrors in the booths as well. “You said the green dress?” You nod, giving her your size and she’s running off again, her head down and face red. Aaron takes a seat in one of the mahogany chairs, folding his arms across his chest. He’s watching Denise leave with that same look he gives every unsub as they are being hauled off to their final destination.

“Um… thank you, for… for that.” You speak up, breaking the silence waiting on Denise to return.

He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, his black shoe tapping the polished floor. “You don’t typically show when you’re upset or irritated, I had to step in. I also couldn’t stand by and let you be berated like that.”

This time it’s you who crosses their arms, glowering at him. “I wasn’t showing I was upset, so what she was being rude? It didn’t affect me.”

His lips pull into a sarcastic smile, head shaking. “Sweetheart, I’ve been working with you for three years, nearly four. When you get upset over something, even if it is trivial, you dig your nails into your palms. Most likely because you would rather focus on that then what’s stewing in your mind and your chest.” You blink at him, awareness washing over you as you shake out your hands, crescent indents marking your flesh.

Before you can snip at him Denise is back, placing the dress in one of the rooms and leaving without a word. Aaron raises an eyebrow and you huff, turning and walking into the booth before snatching the curtain closed. You take a moment to breath, your annoyance merging on anger as you begin to undress.

You have to force yourself to remember this is all apart of the contract, this is all small steps to whatever greater end goal he has. You can’t fully trust he’s doing this out of the kindness of his heart, no one is like that. Working a career where you catch murderers and kidnappers and rapists has shown you such. The thought lingers at the back of your mind that maybe he’s pushing you to break and go to therapy where they will force your leave. It wouldn’t happen, you’ve come to far to let anyone treat you that way.

You step out of your pants, bending down to pick them up when you notice movement in the mirror. You look up, making eye contact with Aaron from where he sits and you go still. The only thing that moves is your heart as it suddenly jumps into double time.

Aaron’s eyes slowly rake over your body, the hunger in his eyes evident even from where you stand and you can feel your body respond. Heat rushes through your veins, leaving you lightheaded. He shifts in his seat, your eyes dropping to where he tugs at his pants legs, a noticeable bulge in his lap that makes your guts clench. From anxiety? Want? Curiosity? You aren’t sure. You quickly look away, his smile turning wolfish as you straighten and spin around, giving him a full peak at the matching black bra and panties your wearing before yanking the curtain fully closed.

All you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears, your fingers suddenly tingling and your lungs working for air. Shakily, checking the curtain again and again you strip out of your bra, and pull the dress over your head. The satin is soft and cool, the green leaving your skin glowing in the light. It hugs your body in ways you wouldn’t of imagined and you… like it. It screams seduction, fun, and someone you’re not but someone you once might have wanted to be…

The only issue is you can’t zip it yourself. You struggle for a few minutes, contouring your body this way or that, but you can’t get the zipper more than half way up your back.

Reluctantly you pull the curtain aside just enough to peak your head out, your eyes instantly finding Aaron’s. He raises an eyebrow, his hands clasped together in his lap and you are more than aware of why. “I need her help.” Your voice is floaty and you clear your throat. “I can’t zip it up.”

“I’ll help you.” He stands, crossing the small distance in three long strides, quicker than you can reject his help.

“Wait- no, I’m-.” But he is pulling the curtain away from the other side and you curse the interior designer with a flourish of silent profanities. In the small space he seems larger than life, all broad chest and long limbs. He steps closer and you back up, an all to familiar dance you two have rehearsed before.

He holds his hand out, a gesture of reassurance but he is still looking at you like a starved man. “Spin around, pretty girl.” Your legs feel suddenly numb, like you’d never used them before in your life as you continue to stare. “It’s okay.” He whispers, taking another half step forward.

“It’s fine, it fits well enough without it zipped I’m sure it’ll fit great when it is.” You fight to keep your body lose and face expressionless, trying to mask the feelings bubbling in your guts. Aaron doesn’t say anything, only continues to stare you down, gaze never wavering. “Really.”

“Turn around.” You don’t want to listen, but the timber of his voice makes your body ache in a way that catches you more by surprise than anything else has these past 24 hours. Cautiously you lay your hand in his, letting his pull you in before spinning you around so you’re facing the mirror. He sweeps your hair over your shoulder, his fingers grazing across the naked skin pulling gooseflesh to the surface.

You stand as still as possible, hardly breathing as he gently slides the zipper up. His palms spread across your ribs, warm through the thin fabric. “What do you think?”

“It’s a beautiful dress.” You whisper quietly, trying not to back down from his stare.

“You make it beautiful.”

“You’re only saying that.” He pulls you closer, your back hitting his chest, your body molding to his. A gasp disappears on your lips, his hips pressing into you lower back his erection prominent making you shiver.

“I can promise you I’m not.” His hand slips to your stomach, splaying across your abdomen, and a small noise hitches in your throat. He tilts his head down, pressing a tinder kiss to the crown of your head and all you can focus on is where he’s touching you and where he isn’t, but where you want him to. Your panties are suddenly slick feeling as you shift against him, his erection digging further into your ass.

“Aaron…” You try to warn, and he watches the way your eyes flutter, the shields you’ve so desperately and carefully constructed cracking under the weight of his stare. Some logical part of your brain, buried beneath the mush of your thoughts, is screaming and begging to run away. But how long had it been since you’d felt that fire in the pit of your stomach, curling your toes and making your thighs pinch together?

You’re about to open your mouth, say something, anything at all, when he is suddenly pulling away. “Come out here so I can get a better look at you.” Aaron steps behind the curtain leaving you to your spiraling thoughts and an ache you’d never imagine. Your face is flushed, eyes wide and pupils blown out over the color of your irises. It’s hard to keep the air in your lungs from rushing out in soft pants.

All you can think is that if this is how you react to a few simple words and actions, you’re screwed.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The next half hour is spent paying for your clothing, a bill Aaron wouldn’t allow you to see, then moving the bags from the car to your hotel room. You stare at them now, laid out on your bed with furrowed eyebrows and your thumbnail caught between your teeth. How would you get these in your bag and on the plane with as little notice as possible?

“Maybe we can go get you another duffle bag tomorrow.” Aaron answers as if he could read your thoughts, and if you didn’t know better you would say he did.

“It’s okay.. Thank you for the clothing.” You manage, giving him a tight smile as you glance to where he is standing at the foot of the bed.

The entire car ride was filled with tension, his presence alone setting you on edge, all while he remained calm driving down the busy streets and helping you to your room.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” He smiles at you, possibly more so from your compliance, his eyes like coffee. “Would you like to join me for lunch?”

You bite your nail harder, looking back to the bags. “I’d like to just order my food to my room, I need to get this organized and finish my reports.” You expect him to argue but he only nods, coming around the bed and kissing the top of your head before he walks towards the door.

“I’ll check on you in a little while.” With that he leaves, and as the automatic lock slides into place you crumple. You sit heavily on the bed, running a hand through your hair like it might comb your thoughts back into place.

What are you doing?

What is he doing?

You groan in frustration, the feeling of not having control over what happens next beating on your bones and muscles. You haven’t relaxed since this began and you have a feeling you won’t for a long time to come.

*~*~*~*~*~*

If you would like to be tagged in the next parts please comment below and I will gladly add you! Thank you all for your support!

@kneelforloki @hmett20 @axionn @ncis0mrs0gibbs

[dross-the-fish]

A Spider's Touch

the train wound through the countryside carrying two young men bound for university. One a large, handsome, fair-haired Scottsman who's clothes were of fine cut and who's hair was styled in a fashionable cut and the other a slight dark-haired Englishman in dusty hand-me-downs, who had yet to outgrow the unfortunate stage of early manhood that left him with the bare wisps of a thin mustache and sideburns that would only sprout in patches along the side of a jaw still rounded with boyishness.

The two were clearly friends, they sat side by side and chatted easily and the larger of them was confident and relaxed, one arm propped over the back of the seat with his legs sprawled out in front of him. A dog eared magazine dangled loosely from his hand.

"You think old Hastie will be with us again this year?" he asked his smaller, darker companion.

"I hope so, it'll be nice to see him and with the three of us we could afford to rent a flat off campus. We're not even there and I'm already sick of the thought of living in the dormitories. Are you going to behave yourself this year, Harry?"

"I told you I would, didn't I, Utterson?" there was a faint touch of irritation. Don't nag me

"Of course, but one likes to be reassured," came the cool reply. Don't give me reasons to

They chatted awhile longer until Utterson began to nod off, his head falling to window. Henry Jekyll watched him, took note of a hand falling onto a knobby knee. It was not a lovely hand, in fact he was sure it would be quite ugly when its owner grew older. Bony fingers with prominent knuckles, dry skin around blunt, short nails that had been chewed to the quick and a thick vein that ran from the knuckle of the index finger diagonally towards a sharp wrist. When Gabriel Utterson grew old Henry was sure it would be skeletal and clammy, dotted with liver spots. Not a lovely hand…but a fascinating one, and one he couldn't stop gazing at.

Impulsively Henry's own hand reached out, traced that vein with a long elegant finger in a slow and deliberate stroke.

Utterson gave a twitch and his eyelids fluttered. Henry jerked back and made a quick show of being absorbed in his magazine. Utterson's brown knit, he grimaced rubbing his hand and looking about the cabin.

"Something wrong?" Henry asked coolly.

"I think something crawled across my hand."

"I think I saw a spider in here earlier," Henry lied.

"Disgusting, I hate those things," Gabriel shuddered rubbing a little harder as though trying to rid himself of the repugnant touch and the gesture made Henry's heart drop.

Disgusting

Loathsome…that's what you are

Don't touch me

the ugly voice in his head rasped and he felt a shameful heat rise to his cheeks. He held the magazine higher, hiding his face and he gave Utterson a hum of acknowledgement.

Gabriel Utterson would never understand why Henry Jekyll had remained so silent for the rest of the trip and he would be too busy looking anxiously for the invisible spider that had touched him to care.

…..

40 years later

…..

Gnarled, arthritic and covered in liver spots. the vein more prominent than ever.

Edward watched as those wasted skeletal hands gripped the top of a cane while Utterson stared at the abandoned townhouse once belonging to Henry Jekyll.

His hair had gone completely grey, and his mustache and sideburns had come in thick and full now on the wasted husk of a face.

When Utterson finally had his fill of grieving and walked away he passed very close by the alley where Edward hid, observing from the shadows. He stopped, as though sensing a presence and Edward went very still. The cane tilted as the weight of his hand leaned it forward, dark eyes squinting under heavy white brows scanning the darkness before him for signs of life.

he was so close…

Impulsively Edward reached out and brushed a finger along the vein of that hand with a touch that trembled and barely dared make contact.

Utterson started and dropped the cane with a clatter, shaking his hand as though trying to fling away the unwelcome crawl of a spider on his skin. He cursed. Picked up his cane and before he could rise to get a better look Edward had already disappeared.

[potassiumivy]

PLAYBOY. | jjk

❥ mdni. fic masterlist.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 008: HEARTBEAT.

✞ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐎𝐘✞

YOU WERE LISTENING TO HIGURUMA, the pretty man you met earlier talk to you three about what you should do to help your case in front of the higher ups.

you were seemingly listening, muttering little 'uh-huh's and 'mhm's, but your head was empty. every word this man said went in your ear and out the other. 

you just couldn't focus no matter how hard you were trying.

he called your name, effectively getting you out of your trance. "did you understand what you have to do?" 

you smiled brightly. "not at all." 

kirara groaned, grabbing your hand before dragging you to corner of the room. "for the love of god, stop eyefucking him!" they whisper-yelled, "get yourself together!" 

you nodded in determination, lightly slapping your face to get out of it. 

"what got you so bothered anyways?" 

you looked straight into kirara's eyes and replied without missing a beat, "i wanna ride his face."

"...what?"

"i said—"

"wait, wait. i get it. it's the nose isn't it?" they snickered, making you nod enthusiastically. "ahah! i know you so well don't i, pretty?"

"but..."

"yeah?"

"i felt something." kirara raised an eyebrow, intrigued. they wanted to ask more, but they saw higuruma coming your way from the corner of their eye. the man told you guys to make your way back to your seats, since the meeting would restart soon. 

sitting right next to higuruma, you looked down at your lap, trying to gather the courage to look at his face. "psst," you started, getting his attention,  "i'm sorry for not listening. tell me again, i swear i'll try harder to—"

"there's no need." he whispered back, glancing at you discreetly. "just let me handle everything. i promise that they'll let you come back."

"even after gojo's scene?"

"yeah. even after gojo's scence. i'm not narcissistic, but i know that i'm good at what i do." he looked at you again, this time with confidence. "even if you make another scene right now, i promise you'll still win."

you thought about what he said. "you pinky promise?"

his lips twitched, and he linked his pinky with yours under the table. "yeah. i pinky promise."

a moment so sweet, unfolding under the bitter gaze of the zenin heir. 

*✧･ﾟ:    *✧･ﾟ:    *✧･ﾟ:    *✧･ﾟ:

✞ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐎𝐘✞

*✧･ﾟ:    *✧･ﾟ:    *✧･ﾟ:    *✧･ﾟ:

naoya was the one talking now, but he couldn't focus on anything except you and the lawyer talking in hushed voices. 

too close. you were both too close to each other. 

after that moment in the restaurant a few years before, he indirectly came to your defence many times. he wouldn't openly take your side, but he would talk shit about the other side. 

when higuruma stood up to talk, naoya took the opportunity to come closer to your side, listening to your conversation with kirara.

"so? what did you feel? your pussy skipped a beat or somethin'?" they asked jokingly, but you answered seriously. 

"i think it was my heart this time," you said, which made naoya's eye twitch. "i couldn't really tell, it's the first time happening. it just couldn't be my heart, right? i don't do relationships. maybe i'm just not getting laid enough."

"hakari literally dicked you down twice this morning."

naoya left, walking back to the spot next to his dad. he had heard enough.

he liked to believe that he hated you, just like how he liked to believe that he was the only guy you were messing around with.

maybe it was out of hate, maybe out of pettiness, but he wanted you to get punished for it. 

he faced your lawyer, smirking mischievously. "you know, it's not the best option to let a whore like y/n back here. she was on the cover of playboy. what would happen if people learn about it?"

"and how would you know about the playboy cover?" hakari asked rhetorically. this made the higher ups who were nodding along to naoya's words stop momentarily to ask themselves the same question.

this was the first time that you were a little scared of being judged. you didn't want higuruma to think less of you. 

"it's scandalous enough for me to know."naoya didn't flinch, although he could feel his father's stare on him. 

higuruma intervened this time. "and what's bad about it?" 

this made you relax a little, and kirara held you hand to show you that everything will be fine. 

"it tarnishes the college's image. it also gives a bad reputation to the jujutsu society. not all clans are so unmannered like the l/n clan."

hakari was fuming so you pecked his nose to calm him down. "i'll deal with him later, kin." 

in his big speech, something fell from naoya's traditional clothing. he froze, his face burning up in embarrassment, knowing exactly what it was. 

that playboy magazine.

"how hypocritical." higuruma commented, making your friends laugh. 

"shut up."

zenin naobito shook his head, leaving the room with his clan. well, except his son. 

you guys automatically won after. not like they could defend whatever just happened. you told your friends to go back to the dorms, saying that you'll join them later. 

you went back to find naoya still standing in his spot. you raised his chin with your hand, making his heartbeat accelerate with no signs of slowing down. 

"you're so pussydrunk. not like i'd blame you." you chuckled. your phone vibrated in your pocket, making you check the caller id. 

"would you look at that... my manager got me another deal. you better watch the covers of monthly magazines." before leaving, you turned back to him, looking at him through your lashes. "just meet me at my dorm tonight, will you?"

getting out of the room, you answered immediately. "should we celebrate with some dinner, shiu? your treat, of course."

✞ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐎𝐘✞

next!!

©potassiumivy, 2024. all rights reserved. do not translate / modify / republish my works.

[ashen-vulture]

A Vulture In Therapy

It’s Never Been About Death (But It Is All I Think About)

-

The hospital was like a labyrinth. I remember having an anxiety attack the first time I went to inpatient therapy here, and the nurses who were talking to me were absolutely useless. They sent me to the wrong floor and were really pushy and suffocating even as I was starting to twitch and cry and hyperventilate.

Now I wore the same sticker tag every day and knew the route. Why did it require two different elevators to get to this floor? I have no clue. I didn’t build it.

My therapist and psychiatrist both wanted me to attend inpatient therapy, saying that it might help me develop some healthier coping strategies, and determine if further treatment would be worth pursuing. I think they were worried about how my suggestion for treatment overlapped with my obsession with death. People get concerned when I talk about how often I think about death. I have to reassure people over and over again that I don’t want to die. It’s a macabre and spiritual fascination. The historical, chemical, spiritual, emotional, and biological process fascinate me. Everything dies. It's one thing all of us animals of planet earth truly have in common.

And death feeds life. That has been the case almost since life has been.

Today was my next to last day. It helped to see other people who were struggling like me, especially when we helped each other with wisdom for our own lives. I made some friends I would never see again. I shared some good moments and some uncomfortable ones. Today was going to show them this other side of me, though.

Today we also ended up, intentionally or otherwise, with death as the main topic of discussion.

When you live in the south it’s hard to find anything that is secular. Even things explicitly said to be secular make sure that there is all the space for religious talk that people could possibly want. I mean I suppose it’s fair, we were talking about death and many people process death through religion.

Still, people kept trying to include me specifically in their religious talk, so when it was my time to speak…

Well…

“I’m not a religious person.”

Several people’s faces got awkward as they realized they had been trying to rope what they assumed was the only atheist in the zipcode into their church talk.

“I am spiritual though. I think about death a lot. I never learned how to mourn correctly. My family tried to hide death from me. I was never allowed to feel or express negative emotions, so even when someone died, I didn’t know how to cry anymore. I would just go numb. Besides, other people around me needed me, and I have a chronic need to be there for other people when they need me. I am a person who can reschedule grief. A month or two months or three would pass and then suddenly that grief would come knocking. My grandmother passed last year. It took me two months of time and three solid days alone to break down and cry.”

I tastefully edited out that the bourbon helped too, because two of the people there were recovering alcoholics.

“To me, the vulture is a sacred animal.”

I held up the painting I’d worked on during art therapy. It was of a swarm of black birds ascending into the sky. I know it looked grim and ominous to other people, but as I talked I could see them begin to understand.

“It doesn’t waste. I love scavengers in general. Creatures that take up the unwanted or lost. I see vultures and I see the grim cleaners of the world. Many people don’t see the value of the scavenger, but we’re far better off with them in it than without. Did you know that in areas with low vulture populations, rabies is more common? This is because without flocks of vultures to break down carcasses quickly, they are instead visited by feral dogs, coyotes, foxes, racoons, and many other mostly mammalian opportunist. This makes carcasses a disease vector. Parasites and disease can spread from conflicts over a carcass,” I realized I was beginning to overshare one of my hyperfixations. Time to wrap it up. “They rarely kill. They consume the rotten and undesirable. They prevent disease. I love seeing them because to me they are not just symbols of death, they’re life. There is no real death here, only the cycle of life reusing its building blocks to make more life. I don’t want to be embalmed when I die. I want to be put in the earth to rot, that way the molecules that make up my body can be where they belong. Everywhere. Death as a continuation of life. Everything that consumes me, I will be.”

I was used to creeping people out. The room was quiet for a bit, digesting the condensed documentary I had just unloaded on them, punctuated with my funeral plans.

What do you see when you look at me? I don’t look like a monster, not until you interact with me. My way of talking has never been quite human. I am physically the human animal. I don’t like that many humans don’t see themselves as animals. We are. We’ve tricked ourselves into thinking we aren’t, that we are something separated from the animals and plants and dirt, and that’s not healthy.

So I refuse to act. It unsettles people.

I am an animal of the dirt and sky and rain.

I just happen to wear human skin.

The conversation moved on.

The day’s session came to a close.

There was a new respect for vultures in that room. I walked away feeling lighter in mind and body. I stood on the 3rd floor of the parking garage and looked out over the streets.

I opened discord on my phone and scrolled back through a conversation with a friend.

-

tigergirltail - 06/06/2024 9:50 AM

Maybe wanting to be a therian is a symptom of being a therian. It didn't occur to me until last night that wanting to have the dreams was a sign.

ashedink 06/06/2024 9:51 AM

That’s a good point.

Kinda like how some people figure out they’re trans, not because of a presence of gender dysphoria, but by the absence of gender euphoria.

tigergirltail - 06/06/2024 9:55 AM

Wanting it is that first symptom.

Yeah, literally how I awakened.

-

We’ve been friends for so long, and we’re still finding new bridges to cross together.

Maybe I will follow you over this one too, if my therapist is satisfied with how inpatient therapy went.

Is it arrogant to try to become that which I hold in such high spiritual regard? Maybe that’s just human greed want it. There is no dysphoria here, I simply exist as I am regardless of my vessel.

But maybe I should try it. Maybe euphoria is waiting for me in an unexpected shape.

I mean, I’ll be an animal either way.

Maybe I'll be a happy animal.

[googleitlol]

This is leading up to some of my favourite stuff, we're getting closer to when dove and wukong can stop antagonizing each other so much but first they gotta go through a little more, uh… 'growing pains'.

Anyway have fun with this bit!

Dove Masterlist:

A Friend

“What did you do?” You frown at the three disciples looking to one another as though they didn’t have the answer themselves. “We’ve barely been here half a day!”

Bajie scratches the back of his head sheepishly while a worried smile stretches over his features. “Heh, I may have overheard our two hosts discussing how Master rejected their ginseng fruit. I was only curious, and Monkey was the one who took them.”

“You what?!” You look back at the trio in shock. You’ve heard of ginseng, a powerful fruit that can extend your life hundreds of years by smelling its aroma alone. Eating it can enable a person to live until their forty-seven thousandth year! The fruit itself can often appear to have limbs, it's what Tripitaka must have mistaken for a baby. You’ve heard how it takes nearly ten thousand years for a ginseng tree to bear its fruit, and these fools stole them?!

Wukong slaps Bajie on the arm. “Why would you tell her?!”

“We’re all at fault,” Sandy steps in, “we all ate the fruit.”

“Yeah, but Monkey had an extra one.” Pigsy tattles, his brother in question giving him a look of offence. Wukong raises his hands in defence, stepping closer to the pig. “I told you, the first one dropped!”

“And it doesn’t excuse the fact that we all ate one.” Wujing rests a hand on each of their shoulders, a subtle attempt to diffuse the situation.

“Stop it, all of you!” You shout over their bickering. Once they finally manage to quiet down, you continue. “What’s done is done, now you have to fix it before Tripitaka pays for it.”

The trio responds with groans and rebuttals, but eventually you manage to drag them back to the main hall where their master waits, accompanied by your two hosts. You can hear the two shouting at the monk before they even enter your line of sight, Monkey King bristling with bubbling annoyance as you all draw closer.  Their faces are pulled down by frowns, their anger present in the twitch of one’s brow.

The Tang Monk himself appears tired, an understandable feeling given the situation. “These two have informed me that some of their ginseng have gone missing.”

“It isn’t missing!” One shouts, pointing an accusatory finger at Tripitaka. “It was stolen, we know it! I’ve never seen a monk with such a lack of control over his disciples.”

“Master Zhenyuan tried to tell us how rowdy and disruptive your demonic disciples really are. I should have taken those warnings more seriously.” The other chimes in with a huff.

The bout of passion makes Monkey laugh. “Am I to believe you assume we did it?” The question makes you frown inwardly, the growing irritation staying buried for the sake of appearances. Is he really about to try and play this off like they’re innocent?

“Master Zhenyuan took with him everyone but us to his conference. You are the only ones present to steal it, so it must be you!” The second disciple replies, his frown deepening despite Wukong’s laughter.

The Monkey King shakes his head with a chuckle. “And why would we do that? How would we even know of this ‘ginseng’? You never told us of its existence.”

The first disciple huffs. “We offered it to your master, but he declined it.” “Ah, so you gave it to us.” “No, we ate it.”

“So you ate the ginseng, problem solved!”

“We didn’t eat the stolen fruit, we had what your master was offered!”

“Then the fruit wasn’t stolen?”

“No– I mean, yes! It was stolen! You’re mixing my words.” “I would never think to trick you in such a way.” Wukong grins, and you do your best not to roll your eyes.

Finally, the first disciple sighs. “Fine, then. We will go and count the fruit again. If there are less than twenty-eight, we will know that you stole it.” With a nod to his brother daoist, they exit towards the gardens. Back to the tree to recount the same number of fruits. What on earth does this ape think he’s doing?

A small gust of wind blows past, and you turn to see the source: another Wukong with his arms crossed, his smile so smug, you might think he managed to somehow bring the ginseng back on his own. There is, of course, one way you can think to restore the fruit, though it’s a last resort you don’t want to use unless absolutely necessary. But those thoughts hardly matter when you and the monks are faced with a second Sun Wukong.

The group looks in befuddlement back at the newcomer Monkey King as he lets out a breath. “To think they would shout at you like that, Master. You really should be grateful that I’m here for you.”

“What?” Tripitaka frowns, looking between the two monkeys while your own face pales. Realisation hits as the monk questions his disciple. “What is going on? Why are there two of you?”

“I thought to let a clone take care of our disrespectful hosts while I took care of a few things.” He shrugs half-hazardly, the copy returning to its original state as he did, a small tuft of hair.

“You just convinced them to go back and recount the fruit.” The monkey stiffens as you speak, which only serves to make the growing knot in your stomach tighten. “Sun Wukong… where were you just now?” He makes eye contact with you, and for the first time on this journey you see the impossible sight of slight regret in his golden irises. Whatever he has done, it’s best to assume that now is the time to leave. You quickly turn back to Pigsy. “Go grab our luggage, I’ll help you. Wujing, retrieve Ao Lie and bring him to the front gates. Tripitaka, wait at the gates with Wukong and get ready to ride.”

Tripitaka calls out for you as you turn to leave with Bajie. “Wait, you want us to run? Do you not think that is a bit of an over-reaction–” As he finishes his inquiry, one of the two disciples lets out a scream so loud their voice is able to carry throughout the entire temple.

“I think this is a perfectly reasonable response.” You answer, catching Wukong’s gaze for a moment and glaring before running off with Pigsy to retrieve everyone’s luggage. With how little you all carry, it took little time to gather everyone’s things and meet the others outside.

Sandy already has Tripitaka on the horse, the group exiting the gates and racing down the mountain once you and Bajie arrive. Wujing takes what you’re carrying and you transform to keep up with the other demons and horse’s fast pace. Tripitaka looks back on occasion, watching carefully for any signs that your group was being pursued.

Even without any signs of chase, you and the pilgrims continue in your pace well-into the night. Only when you distance yourself from the mountain does the group of pilgrims slow to a stop. Ao Lie diverts from the path that leads away from the mountain, guiding the pilgrims to take cover along the edges of a forest. With the cover of the surrounding foliage and night, you transform back as everyone takes a moment to breathe. Of course, just when you get a break from the demons and dilemma-inducing rivers, something has to come along to keep everyone on their toes. To make matters worse, you ran from Zhenyuan’s temple! Perhaps he might’ve forgiven the disciples for eating his ginseng, but the look on Monkey’s face before you left was enough to dissuade that notion from your mind. You just hope his disciples that had been hosting you would be alright.

Despite the worries racing through your mind, they’re put to a halt when you hear Wukong’s laughter. “That was a close one, wasn’t it?”

Pigsy, while crouching with his hands on his knees to regain his breath, looks to the disciple in confusion. “Brother, what happened?” At the question, the demon lets out a nervous chuckle.

“I may have gotten a little angry. I mean, you saw how they were shouting at Master!” He scratches his head nervously.

Tripitaka dismounts from the horse, stepping closer to his disciple. “Pilgrim, what did you do?”

The monkey demon looks between his master and his brothers, then to you before turning back to Tripitaka. His weight shifts from one leg to the other. “I, uh, may have gone back to the ginseng tree. Andknockeditover.” He adds on the last part quickly, averting his gaze to the ground.

His swiftly-spoken words are caught easily, the Tang Monk’s eyes widening considerably while you digest the information. “You what?!” 

“At least we’re out of there, didn’t you hear what those idiots were saying to you?” He defends himself, though it barely registers to you. How could he have been so stupid? Can he never learn from his mistakes?! “I couldn’t just stand there and listen to how they were treating us. Nobody disrespects Old Monkey and gets away with–”

The demon is cut off as the palm of your hand meets his face.

The echo of the slap is met with silence and wide eyes, shock engraved in the faces of your companions that you don’t digest. All you can hone in on is the source of your anger, emotion you feel boiling to the surface. You clench your fist in an effort to contain it. “Do you ever think about anyone besides yourself?! All you had to do was apologise! Is your ego too inflated for even that?”

“How dare you–” He steps into your space, eyes narrowing but you stop him again.

“That fruit didn’t belong to those disciples, it belongs to their master! What might happen to them if he returns with nobody else to blame for your actions?” You push your finger into his chest, though it doesn’t push him back much. “One might think spending five hundred years under a mountain would change a person, but you’re still as selfish and narcissistic as you ever were!”

You can feel your hand shaking with anger, and quickly turn away with a scoff. “I shouldn’t even be wasting my breath on you.” Before he can have the chance to argue, you transform and fly off, rushing into the cool night air to give yourself a moment to breathe. You’re getting too worked up, and shouting won’t change anything. Sometimes it was just difficult to remember that with him around.

You don’t go too far, finding a nearby stream pretty quickly to rest beside. You turn back and begin to pace, finding that moving often helps calm you down. It's a struggle, your anger still bubbling beneath your skin. Words can only do so much to describe how you feel. After spending all this time with him, you’d think the Monkey King might have eventually become easier to be around. Maybe you’d be able to get along with him better after all this time, but no. You’ve had moments of sympathy, moments of understanding, but every time a step is made towards the two of you coexisting peacefully, he makes you take three steps back.

After some time, you kneel by the stream, dipping your hand into the cool water and letting it weave around your fingers. Stealing the fruit was one thing, but knocking down the tree? The ginseng itself takes thousands of years to grow, it’s why you never had the option to eat it yourself during your stay in the heavens. How long did it take for that tree to grow old enough to bear such fruit? Only for it to be knocked down by an impulsive ape.

Your thoughts are put on hold by footsteps and steady trots slowly approaching, and you turn to see Tripitaka steadily making his way to you with Ao Lie. You quickly rise to your feet to meet them, their appearance reminding you of how you very publicly slapped someone in front of your group. Yes… that may have also been a bit impulsive yourself.

“Are you alright?” Tripitaka gives you a perturbed look, and you can only imagine Ao Lie would share it if not for his current form.

You quickly nod. “Yes. I apologise for causing a scene, Tang Monk. I should not have snapped the way I did, especially in front of all of you.” As you speak, he steps closer, meeting you at the water’s edge.

“For how often the two of you bicker, I was surprised it took this long for something like this to happen.” You almost see a trace of an amused smile, though it is quickly exchanged with worry. “Though, it was surprising that out of everything I’ve witnessed from my disciple, this is what has upset you the most.”

Moving past you, the monk takes a seat by the stream, gesturing for you to join him. “They all ate the fruit, you know.” He hums, his eyes watching the water.

You look down as you take your seat next to him, your hands fidgeting in discomfort as you try to distil your lingering anger. “He’s the one who stole it. He brought down their tree.”

You feel Tripitaka’s glance but are unable to meet his eyes. “Your anger, if you don’t mind my saying so, feels more personal than that.” At that, you look back at him in surprise. “Perhaps talking about it could help alleviate some of that feeling?”

You can’t help but feel a little taken aback by the offer. “I couldn’t ask that of you, but I appreciate the offer.” You give an awkward laugh, shaking your head.

“Nonsense.” He rests a hand on your shoulder. “How many times is it now that you’ve given me peace of mind? The very least I could do is lend an ear to a friend that needs it.”

Friend? The title takes you by surprise. You look at the man for a minute, who simply offers a smile. After a few moments, you return the look with a soft smile of your own. It’s been months since you’ve started this journey with Tripitaka, you suppose there isn’t much harm in sharing your thoughts with him like this.

With a sigh, you look back to the steam. “He’s never thought about anyone other than himself, it’s infuriating. Even before we began this journey, the ‘great Monkey King’ has never shown any regard for others.” You start, closing your fists as you speak.

“I remember you mentioning you’ve met before. Is it right for me to assume his actions when you first met were just as callous?” Tripitaka inquires, his assumption almost making you smile with its accuracy.

“Even before we met.” You shake your head, a frown quickly finding its way onto your face. You begin to recall the Peach Festival, how your master had planned to give you a peach of immortality for the journey, and how Sun Wukong took all the stone fruit for himself.

Tripitaka nods along as you explain the reason behind your time in the heavens. “So Sun Wukong took your chance to become immortal?”

“It was more than that.” You continue as your reflection frowns up at you. “A few months after I moved to the palace, I was retrieved by Moksa to visit a village close to our master’s home.” You look back to the man as you elaborate. “After being rescued from my own village, I spent my years growing there. When I was young and had just learned my transformation, the other children would go into the woods with me. They made a game out of trying to find me in the trees.” A soft melancholy smile begins to form on your face, the memories faint but still present.

It only lasts for a few moments. “Lin… He was a good friend of mine. Before the Peach Festival, I promised to tell him what it was like there. He had just become a man before my departure and when I came back… he was elderly. Surrounded by a family I couldn’t recognise. He died as I fulfilled my promise to tell him what I had seen before I was taken back.” You feel your eyes begin to water but continue nonetheless. “Five days later, Moksa brought me down once more to say goodbye to his wife, a woman I thought of as a sister. A week after that, our friend, Guiying. By the end of that month, I had lost nearly everyone I knew.” Your voice starts to crack so you pause to clear your throat and turn your gaze back to the stream, though you can feel Tripitaka's eyes on you.

“Whether or not I could have had that peach, I knew I would have to say goodbye eventually. But without it, I missed their entire lives. Their weddings, their first child, I couldn’t comfort them when they lost their parents. They all lived their lives… and I never got the chance to be there for it.” You notice a tear in your reflection before your expression hardens. “All because of that selfish demon.”

For a few seconds, it’s silent, but it doesn’t take long for Tripitaka to speak. “I’m sorry, I can hardly imagine how hard it must have been. I can barely hold myself together when a demon jumps onto our path.” He laughs a bit when reflecting on his own struggles, and it makes you crack a smile. “Does Wukong know what he’s done to you?” The question makes you scoff. “He wouldn’t be able to hear past the noise of his own ego even if I tried to explain. All he ever does is belittle others or talk about himself. Even how he defended himself for uprooting the ginseng tree, it wasn’t because they were disrespecting you, it was because they were yelling at his master. If it were Pigsy or Sandy, he would have laughed!”

Your reply makes him hum, the man stroking his chin in thought as you continue. “His main source of entertainment is watching people suffer. I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how he ruined my past life.” He doesn’t have a response for that, instead letting the two of you sit as the sound of the stream running past fills the silence.

“…How mad was he that I slapped him?”

Tripitaka gives an amused huff to the question. “Pigsy and Sandy had to hold him back. He stopped fighting them when I stepped in.” You look back from where the monk came from, the horse still watching over the two of you. You partly wonder what the other disciples are doing now. “I think he was less angry about you hitting him, it was more so that he wanted to have the final word.”

That sounds like Sun Wukong. “I won’t apologise for it.”

“Even if I wanted you to, I’m not your master. But Bajie and Wujing should be held accountable as well. I’ll have to think of something for them once we get far enough away from here.” Tripitaka gives a weary sigh, clearly exhausted by his disciple’s antics.

Taking in one last deep breath, you stand up and offer the man a hand. “Thank you, Tripitaka. You were right, it feels nice to have someone to share this with.”

Tripitaka smiles before taking your hand and hoisting himself up. “I am always here to listen. Like I said,  you are my friend.”

“Yes, a friend.” The word makes you smile, your anger feels lighter now, making room for something sweeter. It’s been some time since you’ve had a friend.

[lilacella]

James is in the softball team and Sirius is the head of the schools math club. When James is forced to join the club to fix her grades she finds more than her lost interest in mathematics...

Non-magical high school au, fem!James Potter, fem!Sirius Black

1+1 <3

James was jogging down from the field, high fiving her teammates after a successful game. Since James had joined the softball team three years ago their school had had a winning streak and there could be no doubt that this was causation not correlation.

She grabbed her water bottle from the bench and chugged it, then emptied the last couple drops on her sweaty head, shaking out her short wet hair. She took a hopeful look around but the girl she had been putting on this show for didn't seem to be watching. Lily Evans. A beautiful red head with green eyes and freckles all over her face. James had had a crush on her since year 7, but Lily seemed disappointingly straight. Or simply not interested, but James could hardly imagine that. She was usually quite successful with girl. Just not with this particular one she wanted more than anyone else. She shrugged dissapointedly and followed the others into the locker room, where their coach was already waiting. The coach clapped her hands loudly to gain everyones attention.

"Alright girls! Good Game! Natalie that last shot was great! You all did amazing, keep it up! Now get changed and then we'll get pizza for everyone!"

The announcement was met with cheers.

"One second, James! I need to talk to you, come over."

James followed the coach into a side room, fully expecting to be praised for her softball performance. But coach Ruth seemed otherwise inclined.

"Mr. Bracknell talked to me."

Her math teacher.

"He said your grades have been dropping since you joined the team."

James shrugged.

"I guess. I'm just busy..."

"Exactly his point I'm afraid. James, we both know that you are an asset for the team but Mr. Bracknell - and the headmaster I'm afraid - think that you are sacraficing your grades for this."

"Well, so what? That's none of their business."

Coach Ruth shook her head.

"Bracknell said that if you don't fix your math grade at least back to a B, he'll let the headmaster take you off the team."

"What?! He can't do that!" James protested. How dare they! Softball was her life!

"You have to understand, they just don't want you to mess up your A levels. Please just talk to Mr. Bracknell. I'm sure you'll find a solution."

James' fists were clenched tightly with frustration.

"So if I am currently a D student, how am I supposed to get to a B in just three months?"

Mr. Bracknell adjusted his glasses.

"Well, I agree that this could be challenging. But you are a bright student, James. You used to get straight As, I'm sure you'll..."

"No," James interrupted him, boiling with anger. "I did the math last night! Even if I got As for every assignment and test from now on, including the final exam I would only get to a C!"

Mr. Bracknells mouth twitched.

"I'm glad you haven't lost your calculation skills. Then let me make you an offer. Do you know the math club?"

James nodded. Of course she knew the math club. The only school club that had won more trophies for the school in the last year than the softball team. She didn't care much about these boring nerds though.

"Sure, what about it?" she asked, already fearing to know the answer.

"You will join them. I am sure you will be just as helpful to them, as you are to your softball team."

James cringed.

"Do I have to?"

"If you want to play softball next year, yes. You did the math, didn't you?"

James groaned in annoyance.

"Fine."

"Great. I'll let Miss Black know you'll be joining. They meet every Tuesday at 6pm in this classroom. Don't be late. She doesn't like that."

"And who are you?" The tall slender girl with the silkiest black hair James had ever seen stood before her, staring her down with piercing grey eyes surrounded by long, perfectly curved lashes. She was breathtaking. At least James couldn't breathe. God, she was so hot. Okay, maybe this was going to be more fun than she had thought. She stretched out her hand, mustering her most charming smile.

"Hi, I'm James. And you are?"

The girl stared her down with a disparaging glare and shook her hand with obvious disinterest.

"I am Sirius. The leader of this club. Didn't you at least look at the pamphlet before you got here?"

"Uh, no sorry. Easy mistake to make though. You are way to pretty to be in the math club." Smooth.

Sirius seemed to think otherwise and pulled a disgusted face.

"Oh, you're one of those people. Look, I only tolerate you here because Bracknell left me no choice. We really don't have the time to deal with the grade issues of a jock, so just sit in the back and don't get in the way." She waved James off with a slender hand and stepped to the front of the classroom, her skirt bouncing around her perfectly proportioned legs.

Oh. She was a cunt. James had a weak spot for that.

**

The evening sun shone brightly trough the classroom windows, inviting, teasing everyone stuck inside on such a lovely day. And usually James would have been teased greatly. But currently her mind was otherwise occupied.

The math club was preparing for the yearly "Prime Days", a prestigious math competition that gave away high scholarships for the winning team. James didn't need a scholarship, her parents had enough money and nothing to spend it on besides their only daughter and she knew that the Blacks were filthy rich. Still, Sirius seemed determined to win for some reason and had acquired the questions of the last few years so they could practice. Each of them was supposed to answer all the questions today and hand in their answers so Sirius could assess their personal weaknesses. But James mind wasn't filled with greek symbols and numbers. Her eyes were fixated on milky white legs, elegantly crossed, peaking out of Sirius' skirt.

Sirius was answering the questions herself, although, after 3 weeks in the club, James was sure she didn't have any weaknesses to assess. At least not mathematical ones. Sirius was absolutely brilliant. James had always been somewhat of a "math wiz" herself. She had never struggled to keep up with the material, usually rather prone to get bored and subsequently distracted. But Sirius was on a different level. Or maybe James had just gotten off track for too long and needed to catch up...

How was she supposed to do that though, when Sirius was sitting in front of her, hair in a high ponytail, eyes narrowed on her answer sheet, flipping her pen between her fingers in between frantic scribbeling, looking unbearably sexy.

I bet she knows all the answers, James thought and, as if she had heard her, Sirius raised her head and then an eyebrow, her mouth twitching almost unnoticably.

James quickly ducked and tried her best to focus on her own sheet. But the image of Sirius face stayed etched into her retinas.

"Hey Math-Queen. I've got an equation you could solve. In my pants!" Rodney laughed as if he'd made the funniest joke ever. Sirius rolled her eyes and walked past him but he reached out and slapped her ass.

"Hey! At least look at me, slut!"

James dropped her backpack, ready to run over and give this guy a good talking to, with her fists, but Sirius was faster.

With a quick motion she pulled out a thick algebra book from under her arm and slapped it across Rodneys face. The deep thumping sound gave James the impression that Sirius was a lot stronger than she looked. Rodney stumbled backwards clutching his broken nose.

"You crazy bitch! You broke my nose!"

"I certainly hope so," Sirius replied unbothered and tucked the book back under her arm. She turned to James in confusion who had just come to an abrupt halt beside her, after running to her aid.

"I thought you might need backup," James panted and ruffled her hair. Sirius raised an eyebrow. One of these days it would get stuck there.

"I can defend myself, but thank you."

She turned to continue her path but beckoned James to walk with her. "It is good that we meet I wanted to talk to you anyways."

James looked surprised and quickly stopped to pick up her backpack.

"Oh yeah? What about?"

"I looked at your test result."

James rubbed her neck nervously. She didn't want to seem stupid in front of a hot girl.

"That bad?"

"Quite the contrary, they are excellent. I thought you were dense but it appears that I was wrong. 95% and that eventhough you didn't seem very...focused." She shot James a look that made her cheeks flush.

"Oh, well, glad to hear that. Yeah...I actually used to be pretty good at math. Who knows, maybe you'll be glad you have me after all." James smirked. Sirius rolled her pretty eyes but smiled. Yes!

"I suppose you might. But Bracknell told me you are a D student? How on earth did that happen?"

"Softball."

Sirius frowned.

"What? Did you get too many balls against your head or what?"

James laughed. Funny too. That girl was a whole meal.

"No, I guess I just prefer it to studying and homework."

"You prefer to run aimlessly across the lawn, get muddy and dusty and swing a piece off wood at a tennisball?"

"Ok, so it isn't a tennisball..."

Sirius waved her off.

"I don't care. I don't get what's supposed to be so great about it."

James grinned brightly.

"You should come to a game and find out."

**

When James stepped on the field, spinning her bat effortlessly around her hand and wrist she looked around, scanning the crowd of spectators. Finally she found who she was looking for.

Sirius Black, sitting a bit further back, a book on her knees, making a face as if she'd rather be anywhere else. But she came. James couldn't surpress a grin. She waved at her and Sirius barely lifted her hand to wave back. But she waved back. They'd better be winning today.

James had never gotten changed this quickly after a game. She tore off her jersey, hastily replacing it with an oversized shirt and swapped her gymshorts with regular denim shorts, basically jumped into her converse, tying them sloppily and ran out the locker room. She needed to catch Sirius. They had indeed won but to James big disappointment, Sirius had immediately vanished. If she wanted any chance to talk to her she'd have to hurry. And God, did she want to talk to her.

She stormed out the school and saw Sirius walking down the street. Her black ponytail bouncing at every step.

"Hey, wait!" James ran, to catch up to her. Her heavy sportsbag was slamming into her side and she almost fell over her shoelaces. Sirius stopped and turned, watching her with a mixture of judgement and fondness.

"Don't fall."

"Trying not to." James was once again, trying to catch her breath. "Why did you leave so early?"

Sirius started walking again.

"I can't be late. My parents will get pissed." Her pretty face was pulled into an angry frown. James had the faint impression that Sirius wasn't too fond of her parents.

"Mind if I walk with you?"

"Suit yourself."

They walked quietly for a moment before Sirius broke the silence.

"You played well. I get why they don't want to loose you. And...it seemed like you had a lot of fun." She looked over to James with something she would have read as longing if she didn't know better.

"I did have fun. Maybe you should try it out too sometimes."

Sirius snorted.

"Absolutely not. I hate running. And I can't throw."

"You can't?"

"You should see me in P.E. I almost dislocated my arm during athletics once."

"Really? I would have thought you are quite capable after what you did to Rodneys nose."

"I am. I am just...bad with balls."

She said the last part so pointedly that James heart started beating a little faster. Had this been on purpose? Or was she overinterpreting?

She had spend the last couple weeks trying to find out whether Sirius might be into girls, but had not come to a conclusion. As far as she had found out, Sirius had never been with a boy or a girl. Her nails were long but that didn't have to mean anything. And now this.

They crossed a couple streets, James directionlessly walking beside Sirius while they talked about the game and math and what on earth was going on with Patricia Mallocks dating choices recently. They agreed that she could do better. Finally, Sirius stopped in front of a friendly looking yellow house.

"This your house?" James asked.

"No," Sirius pointed down the street towards a dark townhouse. "But I can't let you walk me there. My parents...my parents are a bunch of racists and you are pakistani."

"Half," James corrected.

"Anyways, you are brown. And if they see me with you they will probably have a heart attack." She paused, thinking. "Actually maybe you should join us for dinner!"

James laughed hard.

"Oh no thanks. I don't want to get you into trouble. I'll just go."

"I get myself in trouble all on my own," Sirius replied and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. Then she looked at James and gave her a weak smile. "Thanks for walking with me. Talking to you was...nice."

James heart skipped.

"Yeah, me too. I mean, I liked you too. I mean I liked talking to you!" She let out a nervous laugh. Sirius looked amused.

"We should do that more often. Maybe." Then she turned and walked towards the dismal looking building.

James grinned the whole way home until her cheeks hurt.

**

James was on her way home from weekend practice, taking a shortcut through the park when she saw a familiar face. Sirius was sitting on a parkbench, wearing a large denim jacket, a mini skirt and heavy boots. She looked completely different than she did in her school uniform, so James had to do a double take to check if it was really her. And she was smoking.

James got off her bike and approached the other girl.

"Having an underage smoke your majesty?"

Sirius looked up to her, seemingly unconcerned.

"You want a hit?"

"Sure." James plopped down on the bench next to her. She actually didn't smoke, bad for athletes. But the desire to put something between her lips that had just left Sirius' was too strong. She took the cigarette and inhaled deeply, immediately choking on the smoke. And there was something else...

"Is that weed?" she coughed. Sirius laughed.

"Are you surprised?"

James nodded, honestly. Sirius smirked and pulled on the joint entirely unbothered.

"Calms me down."

"You always seem calm to me."

"So it's working."

James rubbed her thighs.

"Nice outfit. Suits you."

"Thanks. Had to climb out the window. These shoes are difficult to hide in a bag."

James frowned.

"What?"

"My parents would never let me leave the house like this. Really they won't. One time I tried and mother pulled me back by my hair."

She dropped that information so casually as if it were an everyday occurrence. Maybe it was. James felt angry. Noone should be allowed to hurt someone like Sirius. She tried to banish the thought of Sirius screaming as her mother...

"Don't feel bad for me. I'm handling it just fine." Sirius interrupted her worries and lifted the joint. James frowned but didn't say anything. She was staring at her fingers, still grimly imagining what she'd like to do to Sirius parents when suddenly, a soft fingertip brushed over her earshell. Her heart almost stopped and she could feel the heat spreading from her ear over her neck down her back.

"Did that hurt?" Sirius asked.

"The helix?"

"Yes."

James shrugged.

"Not to bad. Just like if someone pinched you really hard."

Sirius hummed thoughtfully.

"I want to get piercings too. But I can't get any facial ones until I've moved out. So one more year...Maybe I should get a bellybutton one. I could hide that..."

"Would suit you. And if you need someone to hold your hand..."

"I don't." Sirius quickly said. "But thank you."

James streched out her body a little and risked to take a closer look at Sirius. She really looked great today. She always looked great of course, but today her hair was open, falling over her shoulders like black silk. Her perfectly plump lips looked like freshly fluffed up pillows. Even the constant shadows under her eyes looked good, made her more attractive even.

"Your parents sound like a handful," James finally said.

Sirius snorted bitterly.

"They aren't a handful. They are an entire metric ton of bullshit. I can't fucking wait until I can leave this bloody house." She looked grimly. Something in James head suddenly clicked.

"Oh, so that is why you want to win so badly. That's why you need the scholarship. So you can leave."

"I want to win because I like winning. But...yes. You're right." She sighed and took another hit of the joint. "I wish I wasn't related to them. I hate everything about them."

James nodded quietly.

"Must suck."

"It does." Sirius paused and frowned. "You know...I don't have a lot of friends. I mean...I don't know if I have any, really. I mean I have the club. But that's different, right? It's just...it's just so hard to connect with people. I feel like I can't get it right. And if I really try and do get it right I feel awfully drained after. Seems so easy for you..."

James put a hand on her shoulder without thinking but Sirius didn't even flinch.

"I am sure there are a lot of people that would like you. If you just let them in. I mean, I like you."

Sirius looked at her thoughtfully.

"I think I like you too."

"Oi Evans, looking good today! New hairdo?" James hollered after Lily passing her in the hallway. But the red head just rolled her eyes and kept walking. James sighed. Still no luck there.

Suddenly, an arm wrapped around her shoulder, neatly manicured fingers tapping on her collarbone.

"Well well well, James. Looks like she's not into you at all." Sirius voice was way to close to her ear. James could smell her perfume. She turned to the other girl who was smirking beside her, felt her heart flutter almost painfully and realized: She didn't have a crush on Lily any longer. She had hit on her almost out of habit, but Lily didn't make her feel like that. Sirius did. This wasn't just a simple crush anymore. This had become one of these life altering "being down bad for a potentially straight girl that will haunt your dreams for years to come" kind of moments. And that opened up a whole new can of worms.

**

James nervously plucked on her hair, despite knowing it would never really sit right and she'd mess it up within seconds anyways. She was nervous. Sirius was coming over to study and plot for the upcoming competition. The "Prime Days" were two weeks out and Sirius was getting increasingly itchy.

James grades had shot up back to straight As and it all looked like she would be able to play softball unbothered next year. But she was quite certain that she didn't want to leave the math club. Not as long as Sirius was still in it.

She impatiently looked out of the window and soon saw a black Rolls Royce pull up. Sirius climbed out of it.

Sirius would have looked great even in a potato sack and this skill was desperately needed right now, since this was what she seemed to be dressed in. Her whole, beautiful, body was obscured by this awful looking brownish sack-dress with a peter pan collar. Her hair was braided and made her look like a Wendsday Addams caricature.

Taking after her lookalike, Sirius angrily stared after the car until it vanished down the steer, then she visibly relaxed and proceeded to put down her bag and ducked behind a hedge. When she reappeared she no longer wore the abhorrent dress but instead a tight black cut-out top and a black denim skirt.

James was done staring.

"Trying to look good for me?" she hollered out of the window. Startled, Sirius looked up and then proceeded to flip her off.

James grinned and bounded downstairs. Sirius was still busy unbraiding her hair when James ripped the door open.

"Hey!"

"Hi."

James sat on the edge of her bed, her book on her lap, Sirius was leaning against the headboard, long legs outstretched on the bed. She looked gorgeous. From head to toe actually. Even her bare feet looked good to James. Bloody hell, what kind of thought was that? Since when was she into feet? Maybe she was just really into Sirius...

Sirius looked up from her laptop and smirked up at her through a couple strands of her open hair that had fallen into her face.

"Do you think I don't notice the way you stare at me?"

James froze. Panic rose up in her. This could be bad. Or good?

"I'm sorry," she choked out.

"I wasn't complaining." Oh. So it was good then. She hesitantly turned her head and met Sirius' intense gaze. Fuuuck she was so hot.

"You weren't?"

Sirius put her laptop aside and shifted towards her until her legs were dangeling off the bed next to James'.

"I like it when you look at me. Makes me feel...seen."

James nodded eventhough she wasn't sure she fully comprehended Sirius' words. She was a little distracted by her eyes and her lips and the curve of her breasts under that godforsaken top and the way she smelled...

Sirius leaned in. Just slightly but discerningly enough to leave no doubt. James heart was jumping in her throat. Was this really happening? Only one way to find out. She closed her eyes and leaned in.

Sirius' lips turned out to be exactly as soft as they looked. They interlocked with James' effortlessly, like they'd never done anything else. Sirius hand softly wrapped around her neck, pulling her closer until she pushed James glasses off her nose. They both giggled into the kiss and James lowered Sirius gently onto the bed, burying one hand deeply in the silky hair before she pressed butterfly kisses all over her face and neck.

**

"Nervous?" James asked while squeezing Sirius' hand under the table. Sirius shook her head and squeezed back.

"We're going to win this. If you can focus, Potter!" She smirked. James blushed a little and ruffled her hair.

"I'll do my best." She gave Sirius a bright smile and squeezed her thigh. Sirius leaned in and whispered:

"If you do well, I'll have a special price for you later."

James shivered and grinned. Yeah, she was going to give it her all. She implored her brain to not leave her hanging now.

It didn't. James rushed trough the questions with ease and so did the others. Sirius' strict preparation regime seemed to have been successful and the group left the first day of the "Prime Days" Challenge with a good feeling.

"I think we might actually win this," Sirius beamed. James hadn't seen her this elated since...well since something that had happened six weeks ago. For the first time at least. James wrapped an arm around her shoulder and leaned in to kiss Sirius' cheek when she was harshly pushed away.

"James!" she hissed. "We've talked about this!"

"Sorry...I just thought since we're out of town..." James felt as if she'd been kicked in the stomach and Sirius expression turned from angry to guilty in an instant.

"James...I'm sorry. I..." she looked around then grabbed James' hand and pulled her aside. "I'm just worried my parents are going to find anything out before I can move out. You...you don't know how bad they can get." Sirius stared on her loafers, brows furrowed. James reached out and gently stroked her cheek.

"You could live with me...I mean, if it gets to bad. You could always come to me. My parents won't mind, they love you."

Sirius looked up, perplexed and touched.

"James..." she grabbed James free hand and intertwined their fingers, then leaned her forehead on James' shoulder. "I'm so glad I met you."

James pulled her into her arms, squeezing tightly and inhaled Sirius' intoxicating scent. She would figure something out to help her girlfriend. And if she had to fist fight Sirius parents personally. This girl deserved better and, from now on, James would make sure she got it.

[ya-zz]

HI YAZZ

I am here for my bbg Zen cause he’s silly

Could you maybe possibly write him and the reader just chilling. Maybe it’s after he’s captured by Talon. The reader, whom he knows because they were with Genji during when he went on his little thing, is now a member of Talon and is the one who’s supposed to oversee him.

Maybe Zen Talks some sense into the reader and reader is all like “ah shit I can’t keep him here in good conscience :(“

That’s just an idea, you don’t have to use it! ILY thank you 🫶

ZEN MY SWEET ANGELLLLL

THANK YOU SWEETIE!!

Zenyatta x Reader (gen)

Word count: 1200

Years at the Monastery had served you well. Making friends with the locals in Nepal, understanding the teachings of the Shambali and of course, getting close to a monk called Zenyatta. Your mind was finally calm, even during the toughest times and you had Zenyatta to thank for that.

It was a friendly relationship, yet his younger brother, Ramattra, was not too keen on a human being by his side. You did what you could to make the younger omnic like you, but it was in vain. No matter how much you showed kindness, it wasn’t working.

That was then. 

Ramattra had since left the Monastery, leaving you, Zenyatta and your master, Mondatta there. Neither one of you knew what the younger omnic was planning, but you believed it was something right. 

Zenyatta left soon after, you in tow as you left Nepal. There was no goal in mind, mindlessly following the monk as he tried to offer teachings of peace to those he came across. During this time, you both met Genji, not just a Japanese man, but a Shimada. 

You knew of him, or at least of the Shimada clan, but you never once judged him for his past. He already had a lot on his plate with dealing with his change in body. Half human, half cyborg, it was a lot to take in. 

It took some time, but Genji finally came to peace with himself and the three of you were traveling together. 

That was then.

Several years had passed and you hadn’t seen either of them since you parted ways. You were working with Talon, bargaining with Null Sector. You had inklings about who was running the show, but your word would never be heard by the higher ups. All you had to do was follow orders. 

Most of the crew were on missions, others just coming back. You weren’t allowed in the field for the next few months due to an injury you sustained in your last mission. A shot to the head that only grazed your temple had you out of commission for awhile. You were lucky it wasn’t fatal, but the recovery was extensive, both mentally and physically. 

There was talk around headquarters of an omnic in the cells and it wasn’t long after that you had your orders to oversee this captee. It was something to do while you were recovering.

The window in the door was blacked out, the lights inside were off; they usually aren’t unless there were people inside trying to get information, but when no noise could be heard, you turned the lights on, peering into the cell. 

“No…” 

You swipe your card to get in but access was denied, typical that they hadn’t set it up yet. Of course, that did not stop you as you input your commanders code, the door sliding open instantly. You’ll take the wrap when the time comes. 

“Zen…?” You call out, approaching him cautiously as the door slides shut behind you. He doesn’t move for a moment but when he does, his fingers twitch, lights flickering on his forehead. 

Zenyatta had wires coming from his head, a small hum of electricity present in the room. 

“[y/n]?” He cocks his head to the side, wires shifting slightly. 

“You remembered me?” You kneel down in front of him. He was no threat.

“I could never forget you. What are you doing here?” The monk asks. 

“I...” There was a small hesitation. “I work here.”

“You work… here?” He doesn’t seem to believe it. 

“Yes, unfortunately so.” You sigh. “How did they find you?” 

“I cannot say for certain.” He admits. 

“Did they hurt you?” You question. 

“No. I came along willingly.”

“I see…” You were curious, but you had your ways to find out. “How is Genji?” 

“He is fine. Before I was taken here, he went back to see his brother.” 

You nod, a small smile on your face. “I’m glad he is doing okay.” Bringing your hand up, you stroke his head, the metal a cool contrast to your warm hand. “I’m glad you’re okay too.”

“Thank you for the concern.” He chuckles. 

There was an awkward silence before you hold one of the red wires circling him. “They’re extracting information from you?” 

“Yes. They believe I know who is leading Null Sector.” 

“Do you?” 

“I do not.” There was an uncertainty in his tone. “Though I have my suspicions.” 

You whisper just in case someone was outside. “Ramattra?” 

“Yes.” 

Then that struck another conversation. 

“I’m sorry about Mondatta.” 

“It was not your fault.” He says solemnly. “He believed he could bring change and peace in a more civilised matter. His work with humans were proving successful until that night in Kings Row.”

You nod. “I’ll dig around and see if I can find anything regarding his death.”

“Do not put yourself in danger. Time has since passed from that day.” 

“Zen… If it brings some peace of mind-”

“Please, [y/n].” He hums, looking at you. His optics are searching for something. 

You bring your hand to his, thumb stroking over his knuckles. “Okay…”

He nods his head. “Thank you.” There was a short pause before he speaks again. “Finding out what happened will not bring him back. We must move on.”

“I know.” You bring tilt his head up, making him face you. “Perhaps you can finish what he started.” 

Zenyatta tilted his head in curiosity. “How? I am here.” 

“Not for long.” You smile before you stand, leaving the room. There was nobody in sight as you fiddled with the system outside of the room. The security mechanisms were shut down, cuffs were released as all transfer of data halted. 

You had to be quick to get him out without anyone seeing. Something inside of you had to help your friend. You had to leave with him.

Rushing back in, you unclip the wires, helping him stand. Your hands caress his face, the golden metal shimmering in the light. 

“We’re getting out of here.” You say with a hushed voice. “Follow me.” 

You grab his wrist, pulling him along through the hallways, out of sight from everyone and the cameras. His steps were almost silent against the tiled floor as he followed behind you, listening to every command you gave him. 

It was the perfect time with the majority of the base out on missions.

After several long minutes of running and hiding, the building was but a distant memory. The crowds around the city centre were a perfect distraction as the two of you blend in. Zenyatta’s hand never left yours as the pair of you wandered through the crowds and for once, he felt safe. 

“Thank you, [y/n].” He speaks out as he walks beside you. 

“I’d rather see you safe than locked up in a cell against your will.”

“What about you?” He asks. 

“I can protect myself should they come looking for me. Perhaps… we can wander the world again? Together?” 

“Company would be appreciated.” He chuckles. “Let us get out of here.” 

“Where to first?”

He looks over at you, looking you up and down.

“Somewhere to change our clothes.”

[gothicwidowsworld]

Childhood Crushes M.A

Easily manipulated was not a description Y/N L/N’s would associate with herself, in fact the y/h/c young woman wouldn’t describe herself as someone who was easily manipulated at all. She prided herself on being a strong, independent, hardhead young woman and yet she could never say no to Marcus Armstrong. Marcus was a master manipulator especially when it came to her, all the Kiwi Racer had to do was shoot her a dazzling smile or mumble some sweet words paired with gentle kisses against the nape of her neck and she fell for his request hook, line and sinker. 

Perhaps that’s what led to her being sandwiched between two drivers on a compact three-seater sofa donning an oversized Dallas Cowboys team jersey. The successful Screaming Meals podcast was filming yet another episode and despite having Red Bull Junior Jak Crawford as their special guest the y/h/c young woman found herself also roped into discussing racing whilst sampling some wine that Clément Novalak an apparent want to be sommelier would no doubt fawn over. 

Despite having previous history with the Screaming Meals trio, Y/N had not prepared herself to relive the awkward topic of childhood crushes, Clém & James already regularly took the piss out of her regarding her taste in men (Marcus), the ongoing joke wasn’t malicious, more brotherly teasing but it could get tiring extremely quickly. “So, what about you Y/N/N who was your Disney childhood crush?” the French native asked, his narrowed dark hazel eyes sparkling with mischief from beneath his cap. Y/N could curse the goatee wearing f2 Driver to hell and back, a message that was clearly received as the man in question recoiled slightly from the young woman's burning glare. “I mean I wasn’t really a Disney channel kid… I was more of a Doctor Who & Merlin kid to be honest.” the brit replied with a shrug satisfied with her response, before sighing at the looks from the boys surrounding her, the young woman’s original answer clearly not cutting it.  “What did they not have Disney channel in England or something?” Marcus asked in faux ignorance, the microscopic twitch of his upper lip betraying his need to smirk at the girl.  

Groaning Y/N pondered for a second adjusting her position on the sofa as she racked her brains, she really hadn't watched Disney channel as a kid aside from the couple of episodes on hotel tv often in a language she couldn’t speak. The younger girl instead watched things like The Sarah Jane Adventures or more ashamedly Wolfblood. “Fine I guess if I was really pressured it would probably have been Sterling Knight AKA Chad Dylan Cooper.” 

“Ooh that makes so much sense…” James interrupted a look of understanding washing over his face. “What’s that?” y/n asked in confusion, reaching forward to grab her discarded glass of wine, a small pool of silky maroon red still present in the glass. “Why your type is a cocky bastard who smiles too much” James quipped back, the insurance broker's face turning slightly pink as a small chortle escaped. “I know that's supposed to be an insult James but jokes on you just proves I was always Y/N’s type… even if she did reject me every day for a year straight.” Marcus argued gleefully, wrapping an arm around the y/s/c woman, the second half of his sentence trailing off as he realised he’d in turn insulted himself. 

[oh-stars]

Grapevine

Love is giving them space when they need it.

a @steddielovemonth prompt | 1692 words | CW: minor character death mentioned | Rating: T

--

It wasn’t a spectacular day to start with, but Eddie really didn’t think it could get much worse than it had been. Steve had been late to work because of a phone call with their landlord that took too long and Eddie overslept because he never wakes up to the alarm, can barely hear it in his slumber so when Steve didn’t wake him up along with the alarm, there was no hope for him. They’d been panicking and scrambling to get out the door to the point they both forgot to kiss each other goodbye – which is the biggest red flag for an awful day. 

Eddie’s boss kept giving him the most impossible cars to work on, and the one time he had an easy fix, the customer was a dick. He kept nitpicking what Eddie was doing, from pointing out where the spark plugs were down to how much force he used to tighten the bolts. It was so bad that he had to work through lunch to finish on time, which meant he was clumsier than normal. And if he dropped his wrench on his face one more time, he was going to lose it. 

Steve’s day wasn’t much better, with parents calling him so frequently about the upcoming field trip that he could barely teach. Of course his students picked up on that, too, so they were especially unruly between the excitement for the end of the week trip and the idea they could get away with it. Then he had to cover for Sheila’s pick up duty and had already told Ron he’d take over his afterschool program during his paternity leave 

So they were both already in sour moods when they met up at the diner after work. 

“I’m so glad we already made this plan,” Steve admits as he adjusts his glasses to read the menu. Why? Eddie has no idea. 

“It’s a standing date,” Eddie says with a laugh, fingers playing with their straw wrappers. 

Steve shrugs. “Still better than cooking dinner.” 

Eddie lets out a breath. “You got that right.” 

“I don’t know what I want,” Steve mumbles, tapping a finger against his temple from where his elbow’s propping up his head. 

“Want me to choose for you?” Eddie asks, hooking his ankle around Steve’s. It’s an unspoken understanding in the community that they’re together, but the less said and shown the better. It’s been years since anyone’s tried to invoke some kind of reaction, but Steve’s reputation as a coach for the basketball team at the high school does wonders. Eddie’s always amazed that a few good years of a sports ball thing could have an entire community turning a blind eye to a couple of “sinners” like them. Who cares if Steve’s a homosexual when he’s leading their boys to championships three years in a row? 

Steve nods and sets down the menu. He offers it to Eddie but Eddie really doesn’t need it. 

When the waitress comes back, he orders them both breakfast platters with extra sausages for Steve and a side of pancakes to share. The smile on Steve’s face is enough to know he chose right. 

“Breakfast for dinner?” Steve asks, leaning forward. 

Eddie just grins. “Felt like that kind of day.” He really means that today’s been shitty enough and they both could use the pick me up. It’s obvious Steve’s at his limit; he only has a hard time voicing his wants on really tough days, where the world expects him to give every shred of himself over for little in return. Eddie knew this was coming, had seen how Steve was having more and more days of quiet nights and clinginess as his brain begged him to take a break. It happens a few times a year, so Eddie’s prepared. 

Steve takes a sip from his pop and plays with the straw, foot twitching against Eddie’s leg. “Are you willing to reschedule Hellfire?” he asks softly, batting his eyelashes to sweeten the deal. 

“I don’t know, Stevie,” Eddie says, dragging it out. He will, for Steve. The others will bitch and moan, tease him for bending over backwards for Steve but rarely giving the same courtesy to the others. It’s not his fault none of them are in significant relationships right now. 

“C’mon, I just want to get away,” Steve says, there’s almost a whine to each syllable. 

Eddie collapses into his side of the booth, back of his hand held to his forehead. “Fine, if we must,” he says. Getting away sounds perfect, really. Going somewhere where they can be anonymous or just hunker down in a hotel room to themselves… Yeah, that’s just what the doctor ordered. Maybe they can find a hotel that has a big enough bath for the both of them or has a hot tub they can soak in – whatever would work to sooth his aching back and joints. Then his stress could fall away too. 

Steve’s smile is so wide, even as he laughs, it nearly melts away the stress he’s holding in his shoulders. “Thank you,” he says. 

“Of course, Stevie,” he says, sitting up. He’s about to say something else when a man calls out to Steve. 

“Yes, sir?” Steve asks, taking off his glasses as he sits up to face the other patron. 

It’s Mr. Seymour, he used to work at the bank before he retired. Now he’s down at Melvad’s, giving Eddie disapproving looks whenever he stops in for his smokes. He walks forward, cane snapping against the tile loudly, and offers Steve his hand. 

Steve stands to shake it. “How are you doing, Mr. Seymour?” 

He waves him off. “I’m doing about as best as I can be,” he says. Then shakes his head. “I won’t keep you long.” Mr. Seymour gives a great big sigh and shakes his head. “I just needed to give you my condolences.” 

Condolences?

Eddie tries to catch Steve’s eye, but he’s not looking at him. Instead, Steve’s brow stays furrowed as his lips form a question he doesn’t get to ask. 

Mr. Seymour continues. “I was about your age when I lost my own father. It’s never easy, no matter how much time you get with ‘em. And your father,” Mr. Seymour whistles, “he was something special. Always knew he would make it big and he did. Haven’t seen someone who knew how to make a deal since he left Hawkins. It’s a damn shame he passed so young. Just a damn shame.” 

A pen could have dropped in the bubble of silence that surrounds the three of them. Eddie sits up a bit straighter. Why didn’t Steve mention his dad died? He went on a three hour rant after Father’s Day when his dad sent him to voicemail all weekend and couldn’t let go of the passive aggressive self-help book his dad sent for Christmas and birthdays. He would have mentioned his passing. Right?

Steve’s expression is blank. A steely look of control and a practiced emptiness that sends chills down his spine.

Shit. He didn’t know. 

“Thank you, sir,” Steve manages to say. 

Mr. Seymour nods and claps Steve’s shoulder before he shuffles back toward his table of elderly men. He gets to live in blissful ignorance of the bomb he just dropped on Steve’s world, leaving Eddie to help pick the shrapnel out of their arms and piece it all back together. 

Steve drops back into his side of the booth and runs a shaky hand through his hair. 

Eddie knows he’s far, far away, stuck in his head as the words sink in. He thanks the waitress for the food and quietly nudges Steve into eating. He doesn’t press when Steve stops after a few bites, just eats his own food and grabs the ticket to pay. Steve doesn’t even acknowledge him as he guides him back to Eddie’s van, leaving the Beemer in the driveway. He’ll call Wayne and see if he can’t take him to pick it up later, after he makes sure Robin’s got Steve. Steve shouldn’t be alone right now, not really at least.    

He keeps his right hand on the center console, palm up in case Steve needs the contact. Steve doesn't take it through their drive back to the apartment, barely looks at him while they make their way up the steps. 

Steve wanders through the house in a haze until he ends up in their bedroom, door closed behind him. 

Eddie sighs and leans against the back of the couch. He can’t imagine how broken things have to be that Steve finds out his dad died through a stranger, off-handedly. They didn’t have a perfect relationship, not by far, but Steve’s mom was still alive and their relationship was definitely better. 

He shakes his head. Fuck the Harringtons. 

With a deep breath, Eddie takes off his shoes and heads toward the bedroom. He’s quiet as he slips inside and doesn’t bother turning the light on, using the hall and natural light to see. 

Steve’s just sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing. 

Eddie kneels down beside him and carefully unties his shoes. He peels them off and reaches for Steve’s jacket. “Let’s get you comfortable, baby. Then I’ll give you some space,” Eddie whispers. 

That gets Steve to look at him for a moment, dark eyes shining in the dim light. He squeezes them shut but lets Eddie maneuver his arms to remove his jacket and swap his work polo for a sleep-shirt. Steve helps him take off his pants and slip his legs into Eddie’s pajamas, the old flannels ones with a hole at the crotch that’s noticeable but not big enough to toss yet. 

“There you go,” Eddie whispers. He leans forward and kisses Steve’s forehead. “I’ll be outside if you need me or want to talk, okay?” 

Steve just nods, slipping under the covers and curling up. 

Eddie creeps back out of the room. In a moment, he’ll call Robin and let her know. But for now, he’ll give Steve his space, let him process it all on his own time.

--

Thanks to @lady-lostmind for betaing!

Ao3 Link

[whumpninja]

This was fun! I’ve never written hypnosis before, unless you count the time I did the vampire-magic-y kind.

Prompt used: Whumptober, hallucinations

Featuring: hypnosis, traumatic memories, kidnapping, blood, torture, knife wounds, drugged whumpee

Whumptober Day Eleven: The Hypnotist

"I've told you all I know."

The man seated on the narrow hospital cot does not look well. He is thin, ashen, his face drawn and hollow. His bony hands twitch constantly, nails picking at the fabric of the blanket or fingers twining around one another in endless patterns that make sense only to him. His anxious gray eyes are never still- they dart about as if he is waiting for an attack from every side.

Dr. Tarrant takes in all these minute details of his patient in only a moment. "That is not quite true, Mr. Hallows," he says. "You have told me all you can remember. That is not the same as all you know."

"I don't understand."

"The mind has two levels, Mr. Hallows. There is your conscious mind- what you remember while you are awake and alert. But there is also the subconscious mind. Details that your conscious mind cannot recall, buried in your dreams."

Mr. Hallows shudders, and Dr. Tarrant knows he has hit upon the answer. "With your permission, Mr. Hallows, I would like to hypnotize you."

"Hypnotize?" breaks in the young woman standing by the door. Mrs. Hallows, perhaps, or maybe a daughter; Dr. Tarrant isn't sure. "Is it safe?"

"Perfectly safe," the doctor replies. "But I will not do it if Mr. Hallows does not wish it."

The man wets his lips, looks from the young woman to the doctor with wide, tormented eyes, squeezes his fist, and says "Yes. Yes, I will do it."

Dr. Tarrant smiles.

——————————————————————————

He calls in a nurse for assistance. The young woman- a niece, he has learned- is allowed to remain in the room, so long as she does not interfere.

The nurse stands ready at the side of the cot. "Mr. Hallows," Dr. Tarrant begins, "I am going to put you to sleep now. When I do so, I will ask you to tell me what you remember. You will be able to recall much more clearly, I expect. When I have finished, I will wake you. I can cause you to forget everything you have told me, or I can bring it back to your conscious mind so that you remember it all. Which would you prefer?"

Mr. Hallows glances at his niece, then to the doctor. "I-I want to remember," he says quietly.

Dr. Tarrant nods. "Then remember you shall." He raises his hand, watching Mr. Hallows' eyes focus as he speaks in a low, rhythmic voice. "Alpha. Beta. Gamma. Sleeping. Five, four, three, two, one." He snaps his fingers, and Mr. Hallows slumps backward, senseless. The nurse catches him and guides his head down to rest on the pillow.

"Mr. Hallows," Dr. Tarrant says firmly, "tell me what happened to you in the month of November of last year."

The man does not answer for a long moment. His brow furrows, and he lets out a little moan. Then, with a long intake of breath, he begins to speak.

"It is cold, so cold. I don't know where I am. I don't know who has done this. There were men, strange men- two men? Two men, two m...tomb. It is dark, like a tomb, and cold. They took me off the street and brought me here- why did they bring me here? I do not understand. I cannot stand- I am standing. They hang me by my arms and I can scarcely touch the floor. I cannot see the floor- is there a floor? The room is a great black pit, why is it so dark? The two men come in again. They come in and come out and come in and come out and I do not understand. They ask me questions and I do not understand them either. They bring light with them, and I can see them now. I do not know them. I know them, they are the ones who brought me here. I do not know why. One is very close to me now; he says strange things in a whisper- whisper- whispering things I do not understand. The other is closer now, and he has- he has- a little shining thing in the dark, and it is his, it is a knife- he is closer now, the knife is closer- no!"

The shout startles the nurse and the niece, but Dr. Tarrant has been expecting it. Mr. Hallows thrashes on the cot, crying out, screaming. "Nurse," Dr. Tarrant says sharply, and hands her a bottle of opiate. "One drop, quickly, to settle him. Mr. Hallows, you are safe. You are experiencing hallucinations induced by hypnosis, but I assure you, they are not real. Only memories, my friend, only memories. I need you to remember."

The drug seems to help. Mr. Hallows calms somewhat, though he still tosses restlessly. It is several moments before he begins to speak again. "It has been weeks. Perhaps months. I barely know who I am, I do not know where I am, I do not know who the men are. There is- is blood, now." Even closed, a tear slips from his eye. The niece presses a hand over her mouth, her own eyes shiny and wet.

"I do not know why they are hurting me. I think- they know I am weak. They laugh at me for it. But I- I will use it." He laughs, a shallow, broken thing. "They leave the door open now. They think I cannot walk. They- they are right. But I can crawl. I crawl out, down- hallways, endless- twisting- turning- God, where am I?- a door! A door at last, and light. Moonlight. I am...am outside. Somehow I am standing now, and walking- no, running- must get away. I fall, in the road, and then- then someone finds me. Brings me...safe place...brings me...here."

"You will remember everything you have told me. Alpha, beta, gamma," Dr. Tarrant says. "One, two, three, four, five. Waking." He snaps his fingers, and Mr. Hallows comes awake with a gasp.

"Thank you, Mr. Hallows," Dr. Tarrant tells him. "You have given me everything I need. And I hope that I have given you some measure of peace, in return." He smiles grimly. "You never did find out who those men were. But you needn't worry. I learned that long ago. By the time you are released from hospital, you will never need to trouble yourself about them again. I will make quite sure of that."

[gaoau]

shaken with ice

Straight-Up warnings — none. word count — 3.2k

next.

Izana sits on a bench as he recognizes he's been burnt down to ashes by himself. If fraternal love was all he had, then why did he actively destroy it? All because he couldn't handle the scorching, sour truth of not properly belonging. He sits and wonders why nothing ever happens anymore now that Shinichiro is dead. He wonders why the world moves on and keeps turning, but everything around him remains impossibly still. He took as much as he could from his brother to build himself around Shinichiro's love, yet he's been left with nothing but an empty hole in his chest. He sits and wonders why he needs a random fourteen-year-old to force him out of his rut—still, his surroundings stay monochrome.

Izana sits on a rooftop as he wonders what it is about being isolated that harms him so much, to the point he can't even acknowledge it. He finds his strength better when being by himself, so isolation should be his best friend, right? Right? He's been alone and abandoned his whole life, so Shinichiro leaving him behind should be no different. He has no one to understand him, no one to keep up with him, no one to sympathize with him—he has no one to be as empty as him.

He doesn't bother looking at Kisaki while he explains his schemes. For a moment, he considered maybe Kisaki would do, but his malice can only fill up so much of his heart and nothing more. It's not what he wants. It's not what he needs. He allows Kisaki to use him as much as he pleases; so long as their objectives align, he doesn't mind playing his part to regain what he's lost. It's only been a few days since they started making their moves to build Tenjiku into the perfect opponent for Toman. Kisaki talks and talks, smoothing out the logistics of this convoluted plan. It's dreadfully boring and it feels like nothing is happening at all.

Izana isn't sure if he hates to admit this or not, but he's surprised when he hears the door to the rooftop open behind them. As far as he's concerned, no one should be coming up here for anything. The click of the lock comes accompanied by a muffled voice he's never heard before, grumbling, "What the fuck are you making me climb all those stairs for?" There's an edge in the tone and a faint drawl on the corners of the sentence. Izana cranes his neck back to find hooded eyes that match the boredom dripping from their every syllable.

He knows these nonchalant eyes—not exactly. He's seen this bored gaze before, he's seen this bored girl before. At least once or twice, sharing a few words with Kisaki before exchanging money. This is, however, the first time he's close enough to hear her speak. The black mask covering her face moves with every word she pronounces. He thinks, somewhere, in the corner of his mind, that it's amusing how her monotone voice fits her empty demeanor perfectly. His attention is trained on her as she marches up to Kisaki without bothering to glance at the other three people on this rooftop.

Izana catches Kisaki rolling his eyes in annoyance while turning towards this newcomer. "Your report, of course," is all he replies with, lips curling into a scowl.

There's a faint twitch in her brows, hooded lids narrowing just a bit more. It's interesting how a millimeter can change her expression from awfully bored to mildly irritated. "Can't I do it over the phone? The train fare's expensive."

"Do you want your pay or not?"

Her face returns to its passive neutrality, but Izana easily takes notice of one of her brows arching higher than the other. "With the agreed bonus, I'm assuming."

With a nudge into Hanma's gut, Kisaki nods towards [Name]. Almost instantly, a sickening grin grows on Hanma's face and a low chuckle tumbles from his tongue. He pulls crumpled yen notes out from his uniform pocket, carelessly dropping them onto her open palm. Izana wants to laugh at how easy it is to give him orders without exchanging a single word. [Name] visibly cringes, brows bunching up, and steps away from Hanma before she accidentally breathes in his insanity. She busies herself with smoothing out the money to make sure her bonus is intact. Kisaki glares her down.

Silence hangs for longer than any of them tend to tolerate. The bills move swiftly in her hands as she counts, "…six, seven, eight, nine thousand. Good."

"I'm waiting, [Name]."

She sighs, folding her pay neatly and saving it in her jacket pocket. Then she looks Kisaki in the eye. "I dropped her off at her place before hopping on the train. Hanagaki-kun was there at her door, looked kinda fucked up." She doesn't miss the disgruntled scowl twisting behind his glasses. She contemplates her next words briefly. She has her pay anyway, he's not going to try and raise his hand at her. Her lips curl into an amused grin underneath her mask. Izana notices her eyes narrowing as she looks down on Kisaki. "He doesn't look half bad with his hair down; I can see the appeal."

"Stay on topic," he clips immediately.

A chuckle escapes her, oddly flippant for someone that must know how Kisaki operates. She continues, "She got the first-aid and patched him up outside. From what she's told me, her father still isn't all that cool with delinquents." She scans him up and down for a moment. "By the way, your call almost blew my cover."

"I told you not to save my number."

"I didn't." She rolls her eyes, but they remain as bored as when she walked out here. "I was busy eavesdropping on 'em when you rang me up."

"How long ago was this?"

"Fifty minutes, give or take."

"You left them there alone?"

"Yeah?"

Kisaki has heard enough, it seems, as he shoos her away with his hand. "Report back tomorrow, too." He doesn't wait for her to give him even a measly nod of confirmation and turns back to Izana to finish their earlier one-sided conversation.

A shrug bounces off her left shoulder. "Sure," she pronounces with that flat monotone, dripping in dreadful boredom. Without so much as a polite goodbye, [Name] saunters her way towards the door. Izana keeps his eyes latched onto her back until she disappears into the building. Her nonchalance, her sheer uninterest vibrates against his brain in camaraderie.

It's not every day that [Name] goes on a small trip to Yokohama just to earn some cash, but it is fairly often. Izana cannot wrap his head around an empty space becoming emptier simply because she isn't around. He believes he can hear her monotone voice all the way from Shibuya. As soon as she shows up and snarls a few words at Kisaki, his eyes locate and stick to her. It's almost appalling to have to endure her flippant gaze being bored in his kingdom.

Izana is, admittedly, curious, for lack of a better word. He knows very well his own reasons for being empty and bored and saturated with his unmoving surroundings, but why her? Why [Name]? Why is she here? Why is she bored? Why does she work for Kisaki? Why does nothing ever happen for her either? He's heard Kisaki complain about her plenty of times, making mention of how obnoxious her nonchalant demeanor is and how much it grates on his nerves. He keeps her around because she's useful to him. Izana understands that. He doesn't understand [Name].

Kisaki makes her wait, Kisaki addresses her like she's a slave, Kisaki uses Hanma against her, Kisaki orders her around without regards. Izana can see it in those inexpressive eyes, that she absolutely despises Kisaki more than he despises Sano Manjiro. He watches from afar as she pulls down her mask briefly. Her flat lips are painted a dark color he can't distinguish when she's sitting this far away—it might be black as much as it might not be. From her jacket pocket, she produces a small yellow ball. It disappears into her mouth and her mask is back up in a matter of seconds. A few minutes later, she repeats it all over again.

Izana is, not admittedly, very curious. He listens in on their conversation when Kisaki approaches her to discuss business again. Her mask moves as she speaks. Kisaki is the only person she's familiar with around here, surrounded by Tenjiku gang members, but she remains hostile while glaring at him like she wants to smash his glasses into his face.

"Did you talk to him like I said?" Kisaki asks her sharply.

[Name] rolls her eyes, sighing in exasperation, "Yeah, said something 'bout wanting to save someone. I'm guessing that's Hinata-chan?" Her inflection rises in a monotone question. By the look on her face, she isn't even interested in knowing who lives and who dies as long as she gets her money.

"Anything else?"

"He fucking hates you." Her eyes narrow. Izana thinks there's a smirk on her flat lips behind that mask. "He's ready to beat you into oblivion, so watch your back, ATM."

"Don't tell me what to do; that's not what I pay you for." A faint frown settles on her brows at his words. If not Hanagaki, [Name] looks ready to beat Kisaki into oblivion herself before he can think about acting snarky again. Izana wants to know why she bothers showing up. "Keep Tachibana busy. Don't let her see Hanagaki that often anymore until this settles down." That's his last order of the day. He hands her a few bills and leaves her on her seat.

She nods her head automatically, muttering, "Sure," as she lifts her middle finger up at his retreating back. Izana keeps his eyes stuck to her while she slips another yellow ball into her mouth, counting the numbers on her pay. He is, admittedly, interested. This mirroring emptiness is something he wants to have. The nonchalance in her narrowed eyes becomes twisted in his clouded brain when he can't rationalize why nothing ever happens for her either.

[Name] finds this extremely annoying, but she's not exactly willing to do anything about it. She keeps getting calls from Kisaki at random, asking her to take a forty-minute train ride just to give a report. Why he's decided to base this new gang of his in Yokohama is beyond her and she doesn't care to ask. The issue is the burning, piercing discomfort stabbing her on the back of her head. Clearly, there's someone who's got their eyes on her, but considering she's surrounded by feral scumbags that could easily snap her in half if they wanted to, she knows better than to look around and figure out who it is.

It happens every single time she hangs around for a while, which says a lot when it's only been two weeks since Tenjiku became a thing. It gets increasingly more obnoxious, but she really doesn't want to take her chances and make eye contact with someone that will stab her for the hell of it. She remains bored at her surroundings, remains flippant towards Kisaki's threats, remains nodding her head and going along with whatever plays out in front of her. Then Tenjiku's head enters her field of vision, unprovoked. She figures if she had checked earlier, she would have been better prepared for his swallowing eyes staring at her so intently.

Izana has considered actively asking Kisaki about this little dog that runs around for him to have eyes where he can't casually see. He doesn't, though, because he's not one to be curious about people he doesn't need. The more he sees [Name] idly sitting and eating those yellow balls, the more he contemplates he's not as unique as he'd originally led himself to believe. Mikey isn't quite empty yet—Izana knows that better than anyone else—but [Name] is.

Or at least, he's convinced.

He doesn't have a name for what the voice in the back of his head is telling him. He can only recognize a faint lilt that sounds oddly similar to Shinichiro. It's not an unfamiliar feeling; he's been withdrawing from it for so long, that having it return to him unannounced is borderline euphoric. He's had more than enough of [Name] popping candy into her mouth and looking like nothing exists in the world but her. Izana is here—he's in the same world as her and he's just as empty as her and he wants her nonchalance before she wastes it all on someone like Kisaki. Whatever it is, he craves more of it.

[Name] holds his gaze with narrowed eyes that don't care how much power he has over her. Izana simply watches her every move, paying close attention as she pulls down her mask so he can finally establish her lips are colored black. Hidden inside the pocket of her jacket, he hears plastic crinkling. She pulls out one of those yellow balls. When she opens her mouth, the sunlight bounces back from the piercing on her tongue before it's blocked by her flat, black lips again. Then the mask is back up.

He's curious; why does she do any of the things she does? If she's so dead bored of everything around her, why bother showing up here? It doesn't make sense to him why she even bothers painting her lips when she'll cover them up with that stupid mask anyway. It moves along with her mouth as the candy clacks against her teeth. He hears the muffled shattering when she bites down on it.

Izana extends his open palm in front of her. [Name] limits herself to raising a brow, only slightly, barely noticeable unless he's looking for it—and he is looking for it. "Share," he orders. It's an order. It is an order. This is his kingdom, and [Name] is a part of it as long as she's here, bored or not, whether either of them like it or not. He's her king.

Her expression flattens again. She produces a clear plastic bag from her pocket, filled with candy balls she took the time to unwrap earlier in the day. It pokes at his brain and burns on his subconscious, how obnoxiously calm she behaves in the face of someone that could kill her in the blink of an eye. Not that he's planning to harm her yet, but he could. She presents the open bag to him, silently, and leaves him to take as many as he wants without complaint.

He takes two. There's powder coating the hard candy. "What are these?" he asks before popping one in his mouth. Instantly, he cringes. It's impossibly sour.

"Super Lemon," [Name] answers with that flippant tone he's heard mock Kisaki.

He shatters the candy and chews his way through burning sourness the same way he's been watching [Name] do all this time. Izana knows he's never been fond of lemons or limes or even the mildest of citrics, but he finds today he despises Super Lemons more than anything. He swallows the candy before shoving the other one in his mouth as well.

That burning sensation stabbing her on the back of her head doesn't stop, and although it still disturbs her, [Name] is no longer concerned about getting her head bashed into a rock for breathing in the wrong direction. Now that she knows it's just Tenjiku's head, she cranes her neck to the side, immediately locking eyes with Izana, who's completely ignoring whatever it is Kisaki is telling him. She holds his stare, because it's not just Tenjiku's head. It's Kurokawa Izana and she's afraid of what he can do. She's heard a lot about this guy, more than she needed. He will kill her if she refuses him a Super Lemon.

Izana wonders why nothing ever happens. [Name] stares at him, leaning on that wall like she's so fucking over everything happening around her. He hates her sour candy, but he despises the way she looks at him more. It's like she's analyzing him instead of understanding he's as empty as she is. And then she looks away, bored. 

She clearly hates being here. She's clearly bored. She frowns in contempt and sheer disgust as Kisaki snarls more orders. She nods her head regardless of the hatred in her face and does as told. None of it makes sense to Izana. Why is she here? What is she doing? Why is she bored of his kingdom? Why does nothing ever happen?

He doesn't care to ask. He dismisses Kisaki in favor of reaching his palm out for more Super Lemons. [Name] offers her clear bag for him to take as many as he wants. It stings his tongue every time he eats another lemon drop. He contemplates if he wants to admit his curiosity to himself. Cringing at the sourness overtaking his mind, he blankly stares at her. "[Name]," he calls, because he's only ever heard her given name. She meets his eyes with a questioning hum. "What's the fun in working for Kisaki?"

[Name] laughs to herself. "I actually hate Kisaki more than I let on." Izana disagrees. He's always quick to catch on to her reactions. Her attention flickers to the side while she shrugs, spotting Kisaki glancing back at the call of his name. A chuckle tumbles off her lips when her employer only glares daggers. She turns back to Izana with a hooded gaze, like nothing ever happens in her life either. "It's whatever. He makes up for it in cash."

It's the money. She's in his world for a few bills. "So you're smarter than Kisaki's dog, huh."

"Hanma?" Her brows rise and she giggles quietly. "Plenty."

Izana takes a step closer to get up in her face. She presses her back flat on the wall, but no emotion crosses her eyes. "You know we're planning to kill people, right?" Because it's the money for her, but it's everything for him. There's an empty space Manjiro carved by stealing everything from him.

He sees her shoulders relax, eyes narrowed. "The ends justify the means, I guess."

Something in the back of his mind tells him that his only sister dying isn't justifiable means to a stash of cash. He doesn't voice it, because disagreeing means they're not the same anymore. Kakucho, his servant, the one that's been with him for years dares talk back. Whatever this is—nonchalance, understanding, boredom, validation; call it anything—Izana gets high off of it. He allows it, otherwise things will never happen.