#threaded hook bolt

[plantfeed]

setting: outside the museum somewhere, idk some kinda garden / patio gig. maybe there's a bandstand or a flowery trellis or something equally romantic n gross. status: closed for piper @laughstrack

“...the corsage was my mum's idea,” rory admits, unsure if that makes the whole thing sound more or less lame than it already is. “she, uh… she really likes you.” more than once, inga had urged rory to redirect his attention from a certain curly-haired thespian to the proverbial girl next door. “sorry if it feels like, totally inappropriate or whatever. i know it's not prom.”  talking about the cluster of flowers around her wrist serves a larger purpose ━ it allows rory the opportunity to take her hand in his, turning it this way and that in the guise of looking at the petals, now that the joint that the two of them had come outside to share is long since burned out. there’d been a moment when rory had pressed the joint back into her mouth that he’d thought about kissing her, but she had a throat full of smoke. maybe she’d get angry if he tossed her joint aside and wasted all that weed to aggressively start making out with her. or maybe she’d have liked it, found it edgy and called him a stud. either way, it’s too late to tell now. as custom, rory had found himself thinking this could be it, a moment, only to fumble it through his inability to act. this time, he isn’t squandering it, the hand that isn’t threaded through her fingers trailing his thumb over the throbbing blue pulse point of her wrist. it feels like having a live animal under his thumb, something delicate and dangerous that pulses in his stomach. “i, uh… i kinda wish i had asked you to prom.” instead he'd taken catherine cooper, and she'd blown him in a closet at an after party he wasn't even meant to be invited to. his eyes refuse to meet piper's out of fear that they might accidentally reveal every secret longing he’s ever had. it sometimes feels like piper gets him in a way that other people can’t, a split psyche shared since sandpit days. “kinda wish a lot of things, honestly.” 

[fasteners-bolts]

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[pinkie-quinns]

(posting some old twitter threads here for posterity's sake)

Chrissy and Eddie breakup. She's a lesbian, apparently. Has finally come to terms with it. It's half a decade of Eddie's life in the dust. He... he doesn't exactly handle it well.

But Steve's there for him, offers Eddie a shoulder to cry on.

They’re drunk when Eddie says no one’s ever been in love with him. Not really. So Steve kisses him.

But Eddie’s straight.

He always has been.

He freaks the fuck out. Bolts. Lets the calls go to voicemail. He’d lost his partner and one of his best friends in the span of a week and it’s not fair and he’s pissed off beyond belief at Steve for doing it. 

But he’s also confused. And he also can’t stop thinking about it. 

He stews on it for weeks. Avoids mutual friends like the plague. The band lets people know he’s alive, apparently. Between losing Chrissy and Steve, he feels like there are chunks of him missing. So he gets drunk. Hooks up with blondes who kiss him all wrong. 

He’s five whiskeys deep and when he finds himself banging at Steve’s door. Steve answers with his hair mussed and his voice sleep-rough. And Eddie tells him he’s really fucking pissed at him. And Steve apologizes again. And it should be enough but it’s just fucking not. 

So Steve apologizes again and again and again, all blubbery and guilt-ridden. It's only making Eddie more angry. And he doesn’t know why. And he’s too drunk for this shit.

So he shoves Steve against the door and kisses him stupid. 

He wakes up in his own bed the next morning and he's sure he dreamt it. (He’s been dreaming it a lot lately.) But his lips are all stubble-scrapped and his mouth is cotton but he remembers how his friend's tongue tasted and he just.. Wants to cry.

Cause he’s not gay. He’s not. Other people are. Most of his friends are. And he’s fine with that! He’s been a good ally.

Well, maybe not to Chrissy. But only cause it broke his goddamn heart. Only cause he loved her so much. Only cause he'd never felt that way about anyone before or anyone since.

Except well— Fuck. Shit fucking fuck.

So he calls her. He’s kind of hoping it’ll ring through but she picks up straight away, lets out a soft little hey. And it breaks his heart all over again to hear her voice. But he takes a breath and says, “I kissed Steve.”

And she pauses. “You kissed Steve?"

And then he says, “Well, he kissed me first. But yeah. I got drunk. Jeez Chris, I got wasted. And then I— yeah, I kissed him.”

And she's quiet for a long time, just soft breathing and static. Then she says, “Thank you for telling me, Eddie.”

And oh. That’s what it was, wasn’t it?

So they talk about it. All of it. And he really listens to her this time. He couldn’t the last time, couldn’t hear over the sound of his heart fuckin’ shattering. Then he’s the one blubbering apologies cause his girl was going through all this shit totally alone and he is now way too familiar with how bad it sucks.

And then they talk about It. The big It. All the stuff her mama drilled into her brain since she was in diapers. All the names that got spat at him between hall shoves. Shit they couldn’t be 'cause then they’d be wrong, shit they couldn’t be 'cause then they’d be right. 

And when they’re done and the conversation turns into How’s the band? and Is Marcel still driving you crazy? Eddie feels ten pounds lighter, almost whole again. Like he was but better, all glued together in gold. Well, almost altogether.

He really needs to talk to Steve. 

He knocks on his door again that night. This time not at 1 AM, this time sober and remarkably dehydrated.

And Steve answers. This time put together, this time hair done and voice in its day pitch (Eddie kinda misses the sleep rasp). And he looks.. fuck. He looks perfect, doesn’t he?

Eddie’s spent all day mulling this conversation over. But standing here now he’s coming up blank. He mutters, “I- I was an asshole.”

Steve opens his mouth but Eddie just trucks on.

“–you were an asshole too, man. But me, uh, probably more?” 

And he ignores the way his stupid traitor eyes start to water, always do when the moment feels too big. “–Sorry about that. Sorry that I freaked, sorry that I was pissed at you for the shit I was just pissed at myself for. Sorry for, uh. Yelling at you. Sorry, um. Yeah. Sorry for kissing you. That definitely wasn’t cool. It’s been uh... a confusing month. Shit. I’m so sorry Steve.”

Steve just leans against the door. Normally he wore everything on his face. Couldn't win Texas Hold 'Em to save his life. Not now though. Now it feels like Steve could have a sleeve full of aces and Eddie wouldn’t know a thing.

But then he says “Eddie” so quiet it sounds like he hadn't even meant to. Like it just slipped onto his tongue.

Eddie can’t do anything but blink, “Yeah?”

“Let me um-” Steve swallows, “Let me get this straight. Where’d you land?”

God, this shit was humiliating, “Not that. Straight. Not straight.”

“Ok. Cool.”

“Yup.”

“And me–” Steve scratches at the back of his neck, “where did you land on me?”

Eddie feels like he’s gonna explode. But he can’t bolt. Not again. Even though every bone in his body wants to. So he plants his feet, coughs, “Well, I pretty much assaulted you, didn’t I?”

Steve rolls his eyes, snarks a laugh. “Sure. Yeah. I’ve been totally gone on you since, I dunno, forever. You were straight. You were basically married to your high school sweetheart. All it took was one of those things no longer being true for me to totally nosedive. But sure, you threw yourself at me.”

This was. It was a lot. 

“Steve–”

Steve waves a hand, stops him. “‘No one’s ever been in love with you. Not really.’ That’s what you said, dude. Meanwhile, shit, cards on the table here? Every relationship I’ve had in the last five years has been a pointless attempt to get over you. So yeah, it was weird to hear, Eddie.” 

Steve won’t look him in the eye. His neck is craned towards the ceiling.

Eddie whistles through his teeth, “Maybe, uh… maybe give me a bit more time?”

“Oh.” Steve finally glances up. His poker face is all gone. He looks like a kicked puppy. “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

“I’ll probably just need a week or two? I mean, fuck man, that’s a whole other, like Phylum of pornography I’ve been missing out on for the last 25 years. I gotta get myself acquainted before I can, you know–” He reaches out, rubs at Steve’s bicep with a wink, “Get myself Acquainted.”

Steve’s whole body is shaking. Eddie can feel the relief flitting out of him. “Jesus Christ, Munson.”

“Then I’ll take you out, Harrington! Show you the town.”

“Dude, will your dick even work at that point?”

“On the first date?” Eddie gasps, “Lord Harrington, how improper!”

Steve just shrugs, “Rules are different for guys.”

“What? Wait seven years and then hope you land a sexuality crisis?” Then Eddie’s leaning in, closing the space between them. Trying to ignore the pounding in his chest, thinks maybe he's never been so terrified. 

Steve smiles into the kiss. “Yeah, Munson. It's something like that.” 

[tinyundercover]

pepper & felix

part five

Pepper doesn't know how to handle his emotions.

MASTERPOST word count: 4.4k

Pepper stood behind the toaster, peeking around to examine the kitchen. It was late morning, and the sun was beginning to shine in through the window. Felix wasn’t up yet. Good.

He stepped out and craned his neck to examine the cabinet above him. One of the doors was cracked open by an inch, as usual, and he vaguely wondered if Felix had been leaving it open on purpose. It left a strange feeling in his chest as he tossed his hook up.

It had been four days since he had accepted the salad from Felix, but Pepper hadn’t felt comfortable enough to approach Felix again. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to. He was still a borrower, after all, and even if Felix seemed kind, it was hard for Pepper to entirely trust him. Besides, what would he even say to him? Hey, Felix, I think you might actually be my soulmate. Yeah, I know I’m the size of your pinky and you could kill me with the flick of a wrist. Wanna hang out?

He huffed as he clambered up into the cabinet, scooping up his hook and thread with him. Containers and jars loomed over him, and he began to ease his way between them.

When his soulmate had contacted him a week ago to tell him that he had found a tiny man living in his walls, Pepper had panicked. There was no way his human soulmate had actually caught a borrower at the same moment Pepper had been caught… unless…?

That realization is what led him down a path of watching Felix from the walls, anxiety nibbling at his chest. It had to be a coincidence that Felix liked to sing, too… or that his soulmate had caught a borrower the same night Felix had caught Pepper… or that his voice had sounded so familiar.

He hadn’t left the walls for three days straight. Even if Felix had been nice enough to let him go, it didn’t mean that Pepper wasn’t slightly traumatized from the whole ordeal. And he just couldn’t face the fact that Felix might actually be his soulmate.

When he had realized that he was running short on food and he just needed to run out and grab something, he finally decided to reveal himself to Felix. Running entirely on adrenaline, he had lingered by the bookshelf, ready to bolt just in case Felix decided to change his mind and grab him up anyways.

But… Felix had apologized. He had offered Pepper fresh vegetables, which was very hard to come by for a borrower. And he didn’t even try to touch him once.

Pepper held his breath as he wrangled with an open packet of crackers, hoping he wasn’t making too much noise to wake Felix up yet. He paused briefly to listen for footsteps before yanking out a round salted cracker, twice the length of his arm.

It only took a minute to break it into four pieces and cram it into his bag. He still had a bit of space left inside, so he began to search around for something else he could fill his bag with.

Just as he was examining the label on a box of tea, he was alerted to the sound of footsteps entering the room. Felix usually didn’t open this cabinet before he left, but Pepper ducked behind a jar of peanut butter, just in case.

He listened cautiously to the sound of Felix moving around the kitchen, and his shoulders tensed. It was astounding just how big one person could be. Pepper wasn’t going to forget soon just how easily Felix had trapped him in a fist.

Pepper shifted uncomfortably. If Felix really was his soulmate (and what more evidence did he need, really?) then what was he supposed to do about it? He had lived his entire life as a borrower, avoiding humans. He couldn’t imagine trying to… to date a human. Or even befriend one, for that matter. It wasn’t his fault that the universe had forced him to have this telepathic connection with a human.

And Felix wasn’t even supposed to know that borrowers existed! Pepper didn’t want a human to even talk to him again, let alone touch him. Soulmate or not, Felix was a human, and Pepper could not trust him.

He caught his face turning red and he shook his head, running his hands through his black hair. The last week had been filled with nothing but confusion and stress. All he wanted to do was sink into his hammock and sleep for five days, but no, he had to go on his stupid borrowing trip so he didn’t starve.

Pepper rolled his eyes and, listening carefully to the sound of Felix’s footsteps, he snuck through the cabinet once more. He approached an open box of green tea, thankful that the sound of the kettle outside would cover up the small noises he made as he pried open the box and tugged out a packet.

As if the universe was against him, he was alerted too late to the sound of the cabinet door swinging open. Shit. Cursing under his breath, he ducked behind the peanut butter jar again, but not before the light from outside caught on his small form.

There was a distinct pause in Felix’s movements, and Pepper’s heart pounded. Then—

“Is that you?”

Pepper’s eyes darted around the cabinet, as if Felix could possibly be talking to someone else. 

Would it be impolite to ignore Felix, especially after all the human has done for him so far?

Stomach twisting with anxiety, he peeked around the jar, stiffening under the curious gaze of blue eyes outside the cabinet. “…Sorry. Didn’t think you’d notice me.”

Pepper had almost forgotten just how massive Felix really was. The human took up the entirety of his vision outside the cabinet, and from this close, Pepper could see all of the little details on his face. Being at his eye level did help to calm the borrower’s nerves, because at least he didn’t feel completely helpless from up here.

Felix’s hand was still lingering on the cupboard handle, as if he was afraid to move it. His lips twitched into a soft smile, and Pepper’s gaze lingered on them for a moment. “You’re okay. Um— what are you doing up there?”

Pepper clutched the tea bag closer to his chest, and Felix’s gaze danced to it. “Oh,” the human said. “You—”

“I can put it back,” Pepper said hurriedly, his heart racing. He had totally forgotten that what he did was typically considered stealing by human standards. 

Felix’s eyebrows shot up, and he glanced at the open box of tea. There were four boxes in total, with dozens of tea bags inside. “Oh— it’s okay, I don’t care at all. Take as many as you want, honestly.” His features softened, and he reached in to pick out a teabag between his forefinger and thumb. “And— listen— you don’t have to hide. From me. I don’t mind if you hang around here.”

Pepper’s stomach had dropped at the sight of Felix pinching up a teabag; he had instinctively thought the human had been reaching for him. Once the human’s hand had retreated, and Pepper’s heart rate went back to normal, he actually processed what Felix had said.

“Oh.” He peered closer at those wide blue eyes. “That’s… good to know.”

Felix suddenly seemed unsure about something, chewing his lip. His large hand lifted to the cupboard handle, and Pepper secretly hoped he would just close it and walk away. “Are you gonna stick around up there?” Felix asked, a bit awkwardly. “I need to leave for class in a second, but if you need a hand, I could— um, I could help you down.”

The borrower immediately stiffened, alarm bells filling his mind. He briefly remembered the feeling of being held tight in a fist, and he found himself backing away into the wooden cabinet wall behind him. “I’m— I’m gonna stay up here, yeah. No help necessary.” His voice wobbled.

Felix wasn’t blind, and he immediately understood that he had overstepped a boundary with Pepper. He flushed, taking a step back. “Right, no worries.”

The human left the cabinet door open as he finished preparing for class, brewing his teabag in his thermos and answering a few quick texts. Once his bag was on his shoulder, ready to go, he approached the cabinet again, where Pepper had barely moved aside from shoving his tea packet into his bag.

“Okay, I’m heading out.” Felix’s large hand rested on the cabinet door. “Do you want me to leave this cracked open?”

“…Yeah. Thanks.” It was strange, to have a human openly consider Pepper’s needs.

Felix bid him a quick farewell and closed the cabinet door, leaving it hanging open with more than enough space for a borrower to get out of. Only once Pepper was alerted to the sound of the front door shutting did he feel comfortable enough to approach the cabinet door and latch his hook onto the edge.

His mind was still racing, an hour later, as he entered his room under the floorboards with a bag packed full of crackers and tea. What would have happened if he had accepted Felix’s proposal of picking him up? He’s sure the human would have just safely deposited him on the counter in a matter of seconds, but a darker part of his mind whispered thoughts of being shoved in a pocket or dangled in the air. 

Felix would never do that, Pepper scolded himself… but twenty-two years of human horror stories were difficult for the borrower to forget.

As Pepper made a beeline for his pantry (a small divot in the wall covered by a handmade curtain), he froze, ears pricking towards the sound of soft breathing. His stomach chilled, and he spun to his left, staring at his hammock.

A tan arm dangled from the side of the hammock, and a bushy head of black hair could barely be seen amongst the pillows and blankets. Pepper’s heart immediately swelled, and he couldn’t help but exclaim, “Basil!”

“Wha…” A pair of brown eyes appeared, blinking sleepily down at him. It only took a second for Basil to process what she was seeing.

“Oh! Pepper!”

By the time she swung herself over the edge, Pepper had already raced forward, throwing his arms around his older sister in a tight hug the moment her feet hit the floor. 

She was a bit shorter than him, but just barely. Her arms were strong as she held him tight, and Pepper was comforted by the thought that she must be eating well.

“What are you— what are you doing here?” Pepper grabbed her shoulders to look at her, eyes shining. “God, it’s been so long.”

With no way to communicate with other borrowers, Pepper hadn’t been able to talk to Basil in almost a year. 

“I wanted to visit!” Basil explained excitedly. “I just got here an hour ago, and man, when I saw that your place was empty I got so scared that you died— but I realized your pantry had fresh food in it so you must still be around.” Her eyebrows raised approvingly. “Where the hell did you get all those vegetables? You must have improved your borrowing skills since I last saw you!”

Pepper laughed as she gently punched his shoulder. He suddenly felt the need to change the subject. “So, you just decided to take a nap in my bed?”

“Hey, it took me four days to get here, I deserve a nap.” She sent him a grin before peering at the bag on his shoulder. “What’d you get?”

When Pepper showed her the contents of his bag, she laughed. “Dude, you drink tea now?”

“It’s good for you,” he said defensively, although he was smiling. “And it’s got caffeine. Here, let me make you some.”

As Pepper expertly cut open the tea bag, Basil rambled to him about how the last ten months had been for her. She, coincidentally, had also picked up sewing clothes as a hobby. Her dark green pants, reminiscent of human cargo pants, were apparently her “greatest accomplishment” so far.

A family of borrowers had also moved into the house she was living in, after having been kicked out of their old home due to pest control. Basil had some sweet stories about how she had helped to babysit the kids from time to time. Pepper smiled as she talked, his heart warm at the thought that his sister had been happy and thriving.

He handed her a small cup, made out of aluminum foil. The tea inside was cold, obviously, but that was something that didn’t bother most borrowers.

Basil sent Pepper a suspicious but playful look as she took a long sip of her tea. She pondered for a moment. “Meh.”

“You don’t like it?” Pepper laughed after taking a sip of his own tea.

“It’s fine, but I wouldn’t waste space in my bag for it,” Basil said thoughtfully. “I’d rather grab some chocolate or something. That has caffeine, too, I think, and it tastes a thousand times better.”

Pepper blinked as a fond memory resurfaced in his mind. “Aw— remember when we were kids, and we still lived by the bakery? And you nabbed that brownie? I miss that.”

Basil lit up instantly. “Oh my god, yeah! I was, what— thirteen? I was so proud of myself.” She grinned. “Does the human here have any chocolate?”

Pepper hesitated. “Oh, uh— he actually eats super healthy, honestly. I’m not sure if… he’d have that.”

“Ohhh. Is that why you have cucumber in your pantry?” Basil teased. Pepper rolled his eyes in amusement.

“Yeah, actually.”

Basil had already stood up, tossing her aluminum cup aside. (Pepper noticed fondly that she had drank all of her tea.) “Anyways, let’s go borrowing. I’m sure we’ll find something cool. And if we don’t, I can just make fun of your lame climbing skills.”

“Wha—! I’m a great climber!”

“Let’s test that,” Basil snickered. 

—

After a long trek through the walls with lots of complaints from Pepper (“I literally just got back from a borrowing trip!”) and interjections from Basil (“Womp, womp.”) the pair of them finally emerged onto the counter, peeking around the toaster.

“He’s definitely not here, right?” Basil prompted. Pepper nodded.

“Yeah, he has class until four, and then he’s got some friend thing. He won’t be home all day.”

Basil side-eyed him. “How do you know that?

Her brother blinked rapidly. “I overheard him on the phone yesterday,” he lied, knowing full well that Felix had told him all of that telepathically. Basil nodded in understanding, although her brown eyes remained curious.

Pepper allowed her to take the lead as they trekked across the counter, approaching a fruit bowl. He hadn’t mentioned his soulmate situation to her yet. He wouldn’t even be sure how to begin, honestly.

Would she think of him differently, if she knew? 

He watched her warily, as if she might start shouting at him. Basil, like every other borrower, was not very fond of humans. If she knew that Pepper had such a strong connection to a human, would she be upset with him? Scared, even, that he might put her in danger?

His stomach squirmed as Basil tossed her hook up to the edge of the fruit bowl. “Have you heard of soulmates?” He asked suddenly, trying to sound casual. Basil climbed up into the bowl first, and Pepper followed. 

Basil shot him a glance from where she was examining a grape. “What, like, the hands-clasped-over-your-chest thing? The mind connection?”

Pepper blinked in surprise. “Yeah, actually.”

She nodded, yanking a round green grape off of its stem. “Yeah, I actually used to talk to my soulmate, when I was twenty-one. It didn’t last long, though.”

Pepper stared, dumbfounded. “Wha— seriously? Wait— what happened? You never told me this!”

���It just wasn’t a big deal,” Basil said offhandedly, shoving the grape into her bag. “I mean, we talked for a few weeks, and it was nice. But she lives halfway across the country, and… I don’t know, once we realized we would never actually see each other, we kind of just… moved on.”

Pepper’s heart sunk. “I’m so sorry.”

Basil shrugged. “Like I said, it’s no biggie. That’s just how life works. Soulmates aren’t for everyone.” She suddenly straightened up, brown eyes wide. “Wait— don’t tell me— are you talking to your soulmate?”

Pepper flushed, busying himself by picking up a grape as well. “Yeah, actually. For two or three weeks now.”

“Holy shit.” Basil grinned, punching his shoulder. “That’s awesome, man. Don’t get too attached though— do you know where they live?”

Pepper’s mouth opened, then closed. Basil was still staring at him expectantly, but before he could answer, the front door opened.

Shit. On instinct, the two of them lunged over the edge of the fruit bowl, scrambling to hide behind it. Basil sucked in a quick breath at the sound of human footsteps, leaning closer to Pepper, and he held her arm protectively.

“I thought you said he wasn’t gonna be home all day,” Basil hissed under her breath, brown eyes peeking around the fruit bowl. Pepper’s stomach turned.

“He was supposed to,” Pepper explained anxiously, peeking around the bowl as well. He craned his neck to observe Felix as the human hung his coat up on the opposite wall. “He must have come home early.”

“You think?”

Pepper’s stomach was doing cartwheels. He wasn’t particularly afraid of Felix— at least, not in the same way Basil was— but he did not want Felix finding him right now.

The human hummed quietly as he set his thermos down, only a few feet away from the fruit bowl. Basil’s grip on Pepper’s arm tightened.

Felix briefly glanced in their direction, and it was that moment in which all three of them realized a fishhook was still dangling innocently on the edge of the fruit bowl.

“Motherfucker,” Pepper said under his breath.

Basil was also mumbling a string of curse words, inching closer to Pepper as Felix squinted, leaning closer to the bowl. His next words made both borrowers freeze.

“Pepper? Are you around?”

Slowly, ever so slowly, Basil turned her head to stare at Pepper.

Pepper’s throat went tight, panic suddenly seeping into his veins. He watched as Basil pulled her hand away from him, taking a step back, intense brown eyes flickering around the room as if she was searching for an explanation, or perhaps an escape route. He swallowed hard, sucking in a sharp breath.

“Please, don’t panic,” he said quickly. Overhead, Felix spoke again, voice gentle but curious.

“You forgot your hook.”

Basil was frozen, speechless. Pepper’s heart was sinking into the floor below. “Basil, please, just… stay here. Please.”

Hands shaking, Pepper sent Basil one last miserable look before stepping out from behind the fruit bowl. He vaguely heard Basil’s small, shocked gasp as Felix’s gaze landed on Pepper.

“Oh, there you are.” Felix relaxed microscopically now that he knew where Pepper was. He had been a bit anxious that Pepper had gotten hurt or lost somehow, indicated by his abandoned hook. 

“…Hey,” Pepper said stiffly, reaching towards the thread of Basil’s hook. It took a moment for his shaky hands to unlatch the hook and tuck it under his arm. “Sorry, I… I forgot this.”

“It’s fine,” Felix assured, blinking at Pepper’s uncomfortable behavior. He hoped Pepper still wasn’t uneasy about his offer to pick him up this morning. “It seems important to you, so I just… wanted to make sure you didn’t lose it.” 

“Ah,” Pepper said hollowly. It was difficult not to turn and look at Basil, as he felt her intense gaze bearing into him. He would never reveal another borrower to a human, no matter the circumstances. “Well. Thanks.”

Felix hesitated, fighting the urge to peer closer at the shaking small man. “Are you… alright?” 

Pepper was trying to figure out what to do, heart racing. “I, um… yeah, I…” Pepper spared a glance to the side, and his stomach turned to ice.

Basil was gone.

Fuck. “Sorry, I— I have to go.” Spinning on his heel, Pepper rushed towards the toaster. He sensed Felix’s surprise as the human spoke.

“Oh— ah, okay, then—?”

Pepper had already squeezed his way through the crack in the wall and was now staring around, heart pounding. Where did Basil go? How did she just sneak off like that? How was he supposed to explain this to her?

“Basil!” He called out helplessly, hoping Felix wouldn’t be able to hear him through the walls. “Basil, I can explain! Where are you?”

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and there— hidden in the shadows of the walls, was Basil.

A needle was gripped firmly in her hand, pointed at Pepper. Brown eyes narrowed, dark and fiery. “What the fuck was that.”

“Listen, it’s okay,” Pepper said hurriedly, stepping towards her. Her grip on her needle tightened.

“You’re— friends with that human?!” Basil demanded, aghast. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“We’re not friends, exactly, he–”

“He’s probably looking for us right now!”

“No–!”

“What, are you his pet, or something–?”

“He’s my soulmate.”

Basil stilled, her needle wobbling. “He…” Her gaze flicked to the wall, as if she could see Felix through the wood. “He’s your soulmate?”

Pepper’s heart pounded against his chest. His throat was tight as he miserably said, “Yeah. But… but he doesn’t know.”

At Basil’s bewildered expression, Pepper hurriedly began to explain everything; how his rocky relationship with Felix began by being caught and trapped, only to be released with an apology. How he realized quickly that Felix and his soulmate were actually the same person, and had since then struggled with his own feelings, terrified of Felix but subconsciously being drawn to him as well.

Basil didn’t speak throughout his entire story. Her eyes remained dark and focused, her grip on her needle unrelenting. Once Pepper finished with the reassurance that he hadn’t told Felix anything about her, she spoke up, voice cautious.

“Why don’t you leave?” Her brow furrowed. “He knows you live here.”

“I know those are the rules, but–”

“This isn’t about the rules,” Basil interjected, making Pepper jump. “You need to leave so you can't talk to him again. This… this isn’t normal.” Her features hardened even further, brown eyes narrow, glistening slits. “I’m not mad at you, Pepper, I understand that this is fucked up, and it’s not your fault. But– just because he’s your soulmate doesn’t mean you have to put yourself in danger just to talk to him.”

Pepper hesitated, stomach doing backflips. “Felix isn’t dangerous.”

Basil choked on her breath. “Pepper. Are you even hearing yourself right now?”

Silence stretched between them for a moment. Pepper hesitated, trembling, while Basil stared. Finally, his older sister muttered, “I’m sorry, Pepper, but I can’t stay here.”

He blinked, alarmed. “What– you can’t go back home now! It’s too far, you just got here–”

“I’m not going home,” Basil corrected. “I don’t know where I’m gonna go, yet. But I can’t stay in this apartment with… him.” She held her other hand out expectantly, although it shook. “Give me my hook.”

Pepper couldn’t speak. Silently, numbly, he stepped forward, setting the hook gently into his older sister’s hand. She relaxed microscopically, sending one last glance at the wall before backing up. “I just… I just need time to think about this. I’m sorry.”

He nodded mutely, standing rigid. 

“Please stay safe. I care about you.” Her lips tightened. “I’ll– I’ll see you around.”

She backed away, sending him one last hollow stare before spinning on her heel and vanishing into the darkness after a matter of seconds. Her light footsteps faded quickly. Pepper swayed on his feet, mouth dry, mind racing. 

Misery sank into his bones, cold and heavy. Thoughts of his frightened sister floated around his mind, followed by memories of Felix’s kind demeanor, a terrifying human that had all the power over Pepper and chose not to use it. 

Basil was wrong.

His feet moved before he could think about, making a beeline for the crack in the wall, stumbling out past the toaster. “Felix!”

The human jumped, his mug clattering in surprise. He had just dropped a tea packet into the hot water. “Pepper– you scared me–!”

Pepper barely processed the fact that the human was towering over him, as he craned his neck to meet those startled blue eyes. “I trust you,” he insisted suddenly, eyes wide. 

Felix stiffened, blinking down at him. “Wha–”

“I can’t believe I’m actually telling this to a human but— you’ve been so kind, and considerate, and— and you don’t treat me like a pet, and you— you—“ Pepper’s words came out in a rush, heart pounding. Felix was frozen. “This is hard for me, talking with you— but I know that you’re trying to make it easier for me, and— and I appreciate that.”

Pepper suddenly found himself walking towards Felix’s hand, which was still resting on the handle of his mug. Pepper’s stomach twisted unexpectedly, but he fought through it, approaching the massive fingers that outmatched him in size. “Pepper,” Felix said in a hush. “What—”

Fueled by adrenaline, Pepper placed his tiny hand onto Felix’s finger, meeting the human’s gaze. 

Felix’s eyes were wide, shocked. His shoulders were rigid, as if he was scared to even move a muscle. 

The skin underneath Pepper’s hand was warm. The borrower sucked in a breath, but kept his hand still. This was the closest proximity he had shared with Felix’s hand since he had been snatched up a week ago.

“I just need you to know that,” Pepper confessed, the realization of what he had just impulsively done creeping up onto his face as a blush. His heart pounded. 

Felix blinked rapidly, unable to tear his gaze away from the tiny palm resting delicately on his finger. Pepper was visibly nervous, willingly touching Felix for the first time since the human had held him against his will.

“I…” Felix was terrified to even breathe wrong, lest he frighten the borrower and ruin the moment. “I don’t know what to say.” Appreciation filled his hesitant voice, laced by surprise and worry. 

Pepper was still blushing, hard. He tentatively pulled his hand back, acutely aware that he had just touched a giant and survived. “It’s okay. I’ve just had a weird fucking day.” He dragged his hand down his face, shoulders shuddering. After a moment, he asked quietly, “Is it alright if I… hang out with you, for a bit? I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Felix’s blue eyes were soft, kind. “Yeah. Of course.”

----

EEEEEEEEEEEE I AM SO EXCITED ABOUT THIS CHAPTER!! Pepper is finally starting to feel comfortable with Felix, but poor Basil is terrified that her brother is so close to a human </3

TAGLIST: @smallsday @compact-katrina

[fluloa]

Si fpom

Jake sully x reader [series, part two]

PART ONE

The sand burns beneath his feet, his skin hot and irritated from Eywa's unforgiving sun. Jake pats his ikran firmly on the chest, breathing steadily. He watches as people crawl out of their pods, emerge from the blue water and judging by their expressions, they aren't happy. He looks back to his family, gaze lingering on his oldest seeming weary and his fingers grazing the bow strapped to his ikran.

"Neteyam," he whispers sharply, and he looks to him, cowering away from the bow with a small huff through his nose. "On me," he commands his children, unable to hide the nervousness peering out of his tone. "Tuk," he mumbled, stretching his hand out for her to take. She runs to grab it, before settling her hands on the back of his leg.

Jake readjusts his slipping loincloth to sit comfortable on his hips before stretching his arms out wide, making sure to walk slowly and steadily. A sign of peace, a sign he could only hope they accept. He isn't able to stop himself from staring at the spears that some of the people hold, noticing the sharp, hard points of them. He does his best to keep his face neutral.

Two young boys and a girl crack through the thick group, slightly circling his sons.

"What is that? That supposed to be a tail?" One cracks, snickering and the other laughs with him. "How are they supposed to swim—"

The girl suddenly hits the cocky boy's arm, voice stern, "Do not, Roxto and Ao'nung."

Suddenly, the hushed talk of the people dies down a few notches.

Jake tilts his head to see a figure pushing— no, melting through the crowd, because they seem to be immediately parting for the said figure. He hears the light sound of shells rattling, smooth feet treading on the sand and before he can even catch his breath, there you are.

Weirdly enough, his mind jumbles. An unusual, unfamiliar bolt jitters through his body, settling at the pit of his stomach. Like a jolt of electricity.

You're of status. That much he can tell. Your black hair lavers down your back and over your shoulders, with a bundle of pearls and crystals twisted through it. You wear a lengthy sarong that lies loose around your hips, the right side cutting only at your calf. There are three crystalloid waist-beads that wrap around your torso, and your threaded top only covers what's necessary, and that too, is sprinkled with colorful spangles. Anklets, armlets, bracelets. A necklace that's crested with precious seashells and looped with glossy pearls. Your body is wet, skin dotted with water drops as if you had just gotten out of the ocean.

You scoop your hair out from your neck, unsticking it from your skin and moving it all to the back of you. He doesn't think he's ever seen a movement be done so gracefully.

A being that's ethereal, nothing he has seen before and it's something about you that reels him in like a fish caught on a hook. Your gaze finally locks with his, eyes ripe with curiosity and poise. His stomach does a flip, suddenly feeling the heat burning from beneath your expression. Your face is unreadable, your chin held high as you examine him and his family, and the sudden big whooshes from above him is the only thing that pulls his attention away from you.

Three big sea animals with long wings ride in, splashing into the water and one rider soaring on them is recognised easily. Tonowari, chief of the Metkayina, the reef people. He emerges from the water with a sense of power flowing behind him, and he strides with strength as his spear digs deep into sand each time he takes a step. They exchange greetings, and Jake's feels a sense of relief at the calm connection, as he knew Tonowari was a fierce leader.

But it wasn't him Jake was worried about.

Ronal emerges through the crowd, hips swaying gently and her face is unreadable, just like yours. She holds a strong aura, and her skirt rattles powerfully against her teal skin as she takes long, wary appearing steps.

"I see you, Ronal, Tsahik of the Metkayinas," Jake rushes, connecting his fingers to his head and releasing them swiftly. She says nothing in return, only flicking her eyes over his kids scattered behind him.

"Jakesully," Tonowari begins. "Why do you come to us?"

Jake licks swiftly at his lips, "We seek Uturu."

"Uturu?" Ronal snaps, like he has just insulted her with three striking words.

"Yes— sanctuary for my family," Jake reaches for Tuk standing meekly behind him, grasping her hand and bringing her gently forward.

"We are reef people," Tonowari lets a soft, unbelievable laugh escape from his chest. Ronal begins to circle Jake and his family. "You are forest people. Your skills will mean nothing here."

"So we will learn your ways, yeah?" Jake pleads.

Ronal grabs at Jake's tail, earning a little jut of his body from the unexpected action. She strokes her hand down Tuk's arm. "Their arms are thin," she states loud. It takes him by the unexpected when he feels another set of hands settling on his tail, and he whips his head around to see you, fingers grazing the length.

"Their tails are thin as well," you say, earning a small nod from Ronal. You drop his tail, now stepping over to his little girl behind him. "Mother," you murmur, jutting your head towards Tuk and she follows the movement, humming lowly. Mother. You were the clan leader's daughter, the next tsahik in line. He now understood the mutual energy you both shared.

"The thinness of your body parts will make you weak," Ronal then pulls on Kiri's tail, earning a whiney ow from her but the tsahik completely ignores it. "You will be slow in the water."

Ronal examines her arms, then moves to settle on her hands, and her eyes widen. She swiftly grabs at her them, swinging them up for everyone to see. "These children... are not even true na'vi." She strides over to the next kid, and of course, she lands on Lo'ak. She pushes his hand up too, revealing the same five blue fingers, "They have demon blood!"

The thick crowd swirls with gasps and terror-filled whispers, even a round of hisses chucked out. But Jake is quick to wave his hand out in front of Ronal's face, a sudden desperation, a sudden need to protect his family rushing in. "Look. Look!" Ronal's gaze snaps to him, eyeing the way his fingers wiggle around. "Look, I was born of the Sky People and now I am Na'vi. Alright? You can adapt." He turns to his worried family, "We can adapt."

"My father was Toruk Makto," Kiri rushes to tell, her eyes hung with slight desperation in them. Jake bites at his tongue, pulling all his inner strength together to not clamp his hand over his teenage daughter's mouth. "He lead the clans to victory against the Sky People. You know the tale."

"This is what you call victory, child? Hiding amongst strangers?" She towers over the teenage girl, her gaze darkening with disgust. She whips her head to Jake, "It seems Eywa has turned her back on you, chosen one."

An immediate, breathy hiss comes from Kiri, which is then met with a hiss from Ronal right back, dangerously leaning over her and that's when Jake places a hand on Kiri's shoulder and gently rocks her back a few steps. "I apologise for my daughter. She has travelled for a long time and is exhausted." He shoots her a look while explaining, tightening his grip on her shoulder slightly.

"Dad..." Kiri is quick to complain, but stops her next coming words when his expression hardens.

"Toruk Makto is a great leader, all Na'vi people know his story." Tonowari suddenly speaks out, extending his arm outwards toward Jake. "But we Metkayina are not at war," Tonowari turns to him. "We cannot let you bring your war here."

As Tuk numbly reaches for Jake, he immediately scoops her up by her torso, laying her head against his shoulder as her body presses sleepily at his chest. "I'm done with war," he plains, tone hugging a tiredness. "I just want to keep my family safe. That's all." He wraps an arm around his daughter's back, feeling the burning warmth of her sun-exposed skin. "Please," he adds.

A long look is exchanged between Ronal and Tonowari, and as restless anticipation boils at Jake's stomach, Tonowari turns around to him once again. 

"Toruk Makto and his family will stay with us." Immediate relief floods through Jake's system, and he gives a reassuring pat to Tuk's small back. "Treat them as our brothers and sisters. But they do not know the sea, and they will be like babies taking their first breath. We shall teach them our ways so they do not suffer the shame of being useless."

Jake huffs out a breathless laugh, mixed with soft adrenaline and consolation. "Well— what do we say? Thank you."

A round of thank yous are heard, and a short, quiet one is added on by his attitude-filled daughter, Kiri.

"My eldest daughter will teach you the ways of Metkayina, Jakesully. As for my other daughter and son, they will show your children what to do," Tonowari speaks and a choked scoff is heard from beside him. Your jaw tightens, eyes setting wide as you whip your body towards your parents.

"Father," you dash. "You cannot exp—"

"It is decided." He booms, not sparing you even a look and your lips break into a snarl, a tiny and annoyed hiss breaking past your them. You seem to collect yourself just a moment after, breathing in through your chest before you take a large step forward.

"Come, I will show you our village," you invite, letting a small smile spread on your face and placing your hands neatly behind you. "Tsireya," you call, and she quickly follows after.

"Come!" the younger girl behind you cheers, and Jake swears he hears a soft laugh from in front of her.

He's quick to join you.

The ocean waves crash against your feet, splashing at your ankles as you toss food into a young ilu's mouth. You hold a basket at your hip, filled with fresh fish that is ready to be eaten.

Tsireya stays restless beside you, rising up and down on her toes as she helps you. "What do you think of Toruk Makto and his family?" you ask, dipping your hand into the basket again and wrapping your fingers around the thick of a fish's wet body.

Beforehand, you had examined Jakesully and his family from afar as they settled into their new home. You were relieved that they had seemed to like their marui pod, and hoped that they found peace within it. While they attempted to grow comfortable in their new home, you couldn't help but awe at their appearances. Their skin colour was a shade so blue, their eyes a vibrant, startling yellow.

Jakesully is intriguing looking, you figured, and you found yourself letting your eyes linger on him when they had firstly arrived. Even just before, you had to forcibly pull your eyes away from him and the action of the readjustment of his leather clip around his torso.

"I find them interesting. They're so.. blue." Tsireya replies. You throw the fish into another ilu's mouth, a happy chirp flowing from the eager animal as you do so. "You were upset about teaching Toruk Makto the ways of our people. Why?"

You blink, collecting another fish in your hands, "I was not upset about that. I was upset about the fact that father throws tasks at me repeatedly, and just expects me to handle it with the snap of my fingers. I'm aware that this was a completely unexpected event, but... it can get infuriating. Mother is the same."

"I understand," she responds, tucking a bunch of hair behind her ear.

You huff out a breath of air. "Fine, I must admit that I was a bit tempered in the moment. Toruk Makto does not seem like the ideal man to teach."

Tsireya laughs, "I understand that, too."

"Mm," you make a small, giddy humming noise. "Lo'ak seems ideal though, yes?"

"What?" she frowns, and your smirk widens.

"I saw you making big eyes at him," you tease, kicking her ankle softly with your foot.

"I wasn't."

"Oh, I think you were, hi'i ilva." You kick her again, finding amusement in her growing fluster. She groans out your name, pushing you in the shoulder and you gasp out a dramatised grunt, "Ooow!"

"You said you were going to stop calling me that," she embarrassingly wipes at her cheek, stretching out the skin of her eye.

"But you used to love it when you were little," you pout. Her frown deepens playfully. You notice the way her eyes travel over you, and a cheeky grin of her own makes its way to her smooth lips.

"Don't look now, but Toruk Makto is staring at you." Tsireya whispers giddily, ducking her head a little.

Your back straightens instinctively and you immediately turn your head around to look, doing exactly what she said not to do. Tsireya groans because of it.

She's right. Jakesully is looking at you from afar, and when he sees that you've caught him, he pushes out a dopey smile, flicking his still hand up in greeting. You nod your head back, letting a tiny smile split your lips. He begins walking over to you, and that's when you sigh quietly.

"Go help out Toruk Makto's children," you say, handing your basket to a villager ready to finish the task. "Use nice words, and make them feel welcome. And keep Ao'nung in line. Anything goes south, call out for me."

"Alright," she giggles, and you can tell she's excitement. She grazes your arm in goodbye and trots off, filling you with a small warmth at her obvious eagerness.

You wish you too possessed eagerness for teaching Jakesully, but Eywa didn't seem to be on your side today.

When he's near enough, you gently ball your fingers in a small fist on your forehead and then release them, a soft bow of your head. "Oel ngati kameie."

"Oel ngati kameie," he returns, repeating the gesture. There's a sense of awkward tension between the two of you. It's small, but it's there.

"Come," you command, sliding your hands behind your back and he listens, trailing behind you like a lost baby ilu following its mother. He attempts to match your long strides against the sand, even flicking up some and bits of it sprigging you in the legs. "My sister is eager to teach your children. She makes a great teacher. They will learn quick."

"That's good," Jakesully grumbles. You can feel his eyes stare into your face.

"I hope I make a great teacher to you, Toruk Makto." You add, flicking your fingers in your conjoined hands.

"Jake," he says, now grabbing your attention and you spin your head towards his. "Call me Jake."

"Jake?" you ask, the foreign word springing off your tongue loosely.

"Jake." He confirms, a smirk twitching on his lips. "And what shall I call you?" he prods, letting his eyes flick a mischievous glint.

"Karyu," you reply. Teacher. You aren't looking at him, but you hope he doesn't see the ghost of a grin playing on your mouth. You do catch the little flick of his tail though from the corner of your eye.

You begin to sink into your feet into the water, ushering him with the flick of your wrist and as you dive deeper into the sea, you glide a hand along an incoming ilu. "You will make bond with many ilu. They are kind, soft creatures. Treat them as your brother, your close one," you explain, rubbing a hand over the ilu's head before you.

Jake's next to you, placing a hand on its back. You take his hand, guiding it to the base of her long neck and angling his fingers to rest at the side of it. "Feel the strong huff of her breath, the scales of her skin."

He does as told, smoothing his palm flat onto her neck. Then his ears perk up, and his eyes run over to a spot behind you. "What's that?"

You attempt to look where his gaze was set, and you sigh once seeing where it was. "That is a skimwing. Only the most skilled Metkayina hunters may mount them."

You can see the way his eyes dart open, looking to you from the side and before he can even open his mouth, you're scolding him, "It isn't wise to start with a skimwing. An ilu would be much better."

He grins for the hundredth time today, but this time you're able to catch a glimpse of his pearly teeth. "Toruk Makto can handle a skimwing, ma karyu."

The skimwing is puffing out ragged and intimidating breaths as Jake flops belly first onto his back, swinging his leg over recklessly as a few men around them struggle to keep the beast down. Its back end thrashes, splashing water wildly and hitting you a couple of times. You're at the eager man's side, keeping your own and holding down the skimwing with an arm on its side.

"You hold here, yes— tight grip, Jake. Do not let go," you declare with your voice raised, trying to boom over the loud smack of the thrashing animal beside you. Jake grabs the leather band out from his mouth, using it to wrap it around his hand and the thick handle. "Remember, when you dive back into the water, keep a good position. Strong hold."

"Mhm," Jake mumbles, half-paying attention as he yanks the band a few times, stabilising the hold. Then he looks at you, and with a quirked lean of his head, he states, "I got this."

You breathe in deeply through your chest, taking a step back as you eye him steadily.

"Heeyah!" he shouts, the skimwing pouncing into action. It swivels and bolts through the water, and you watch as it jolts up and out of it, orange bold wings flapping out powerfully. You're impressed by it, with the way Jake hops up on one foot and rides the skimwing not flawlessly, but bravely. You even begin to tilt your head to get a clearer view of the scene. But then you notice the mishap, the leak of his performance when diving back down.

The skimwing escapes him, and he's left on his side before he's jumping up from the water, locks of black hair swishing back and forth. He swings up his arm, the hand that was once twisted into the skimwing's handle, now waved up in the air as he shakes it with anger. You can hear him groaning out in frustration, and a short laugh snorkels out from your mouth. You call for an ilu, hopping on it with a chortle and gliding to his aid.

"Toruk Makto cannot handle a skimwing as it seems," you tease, earning a chopped, slightly sheepish laugh from Jake. Your grin weakens when you see his arm, now reddened with whipped marks that seemed less severe from two hundred metres away. "Would you like something to aid that?"

"This? This ain't nothing." He brushes off, shoving the arm into the water.

"Hm," you murmur, raising a brow gently. "I will aid it for you if it does not fade within a few days."

"It's fine. Really—" he sees the expression on your face, and it's an expression that tells him that you will not give up on persistence. He sighs lowly. "'right, sweetheart."

Sweet heart? A heart that is sweet, you gathered. You've heard of many stories that your mother has told of the humans, and their foul and odd language. But this, you had not heard of. It should not have made the inner of your belly swirl with a sudden warmth like it had.

You raise your head, "Let's return to the ilu."

It's at the dark of night, and Jake is sat down with his family. Just like the Omoticaya, the Metkayina gather around for supper, a large bonfire in the middle of the peaceful people. The fish he chews is warm and smokey with flavor, his body tired from the day's work. Tuk is leant against his shoulder, a yawn leaving her. Neteyam sharpens an arrow of his bow, and Kiri is playing with one of her beads mangled in her hair as Lo'ak recklessly gobbles down his dinner.

He feels a sudden glow spread through his chest, because what he feels is the similar sensation of peace. Peace, at last. It partially convinces him to believe that what he did was right. It was right to rip himself and his family away from their home, to protect them from Quaritch and the vicious forces of the RDA.

He looks out in front of him and past the bright fire, his line of eyesight landing on both you and your family. You're scratching your knee as the bonfire toasts around you, its orange light illuminating on your face and giving the shade of your big eyes a warm glow. Ronal then looks to you, and the trace of her eyebrows pinch together. "Eat, child. You have barely touched any food," she snaps.

Obviously embarrassed, you heave out a long, exhausted sigh. "Mama," you whine out, a flush erupting on your cheeks and Jake has to suppress a chuckle from breaking out his chest.

Ronal picks up your wooden bowl, jutting it toward you. "Eat," she sterns. You take it from her, side-eyeing her as you begin to stuff your mouth little by little. When Jake realises he's been looking too long, he snaps his head down, mentally slapping himself.

When the lights are out and the only noise that goes through Jake's ears is the cold wind, Jake sits. He sits in his marui, as his children sleep soundly. It wasn't out of the ordinary. It had been like this for a while, ever since Neytiri had left him and gone into the hands of Eywa. He'd just wait and wait, until his eyes finally became wary, and sometimes even that didn't happen. Sometimes he would not find the comfort of sleep at all.

But then he hears the bend of the floor nets near him, the same clatter of shells he heard earlier that day and his ears flicker against his hair. He slowly gets up, careful not to awake the sleeping youngsters beneath him as he creeps his way to the closed opening of the pod.

When he opens the cloth flap, there you are, head flicked up and looking up at him with those big eyes of yours. "Hello," you say, and it's the quietest he has heard you.

"Hey," he mutters, gaze turning to his kids for a split second.

You lean your head over too, "Are they asleep?"

"Yes." He states, looking back at you. It's quiet for a second, and he takes the moment to do a once-over of you. Your hair is completely out, wild and breezing gently through the ocean's breeze. A shawl is wrapped loosely around your form, beaded with tiny shells that dangle each time your arm shifts.

"Tsireya has told me they are kind. That they are eager to learn." You continue, adjusting your shawl to cover your shoulder a bit more.

"That's good," he says. He gets a jolt of déjà vu from the conversation you shared earlier today. His eyes drift to the way a large piece of your hair sways in front of your shoulder and pools at the centre of your chest.

You then say a word, and he doesn't quite catch it.

"Hm?" he whispers, eyes connecting with yours once again.

"That is my name," you repeat it again, the word rolling off your tongue like a run of honey. His eyes twitch wide, blinking as his mind registers it. A pretty name for a pretty girl. He doesn't say that, though.

Instead, "S' pretty."

"Thank you," you mumble, already turning to leave when he calls out your name. You tilt your head, gazing up at him through the thick of your eyelashes.

"Just wanted to say it," he admits, and fuck, shit, he's already regretting it. He expects you to do anything but crack a gentle smile, a muffled and soft laugh from you as you turn back and walk away. He watched your form disappear into the night, the clattering of seashells fading from his ears.

When he climbs back into the pod, for the first time in a while, he finds the comfort of sleep easily.

- guys im so sorry i could not do a taglist for this shit there was about TWO HUNDRED PEOPLE ASKING. i think i’ll gradually add everyone onto a taglist but for now, there is not one. sorry bbies <333

[plor-bindery]

Bound: Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

This one is for a friend, whose spouse made me a bench hook. I used @canon-in-too-deep's delightful free typeset (thank youuuu!) Binder friends, if you're not already perusing and using canon's typesets, I urge you to take a look! They are so well done, beautifully laid out, and so lovely to look at.

While the book and the cover colour were both at the request of my friend, I think P&P is my favourite book in the world, so it wasn't exactly a hardship to dig into this bind. I'm very fond of my Oxford World Classics copy from my uni days, and I also own a Penguin clothbound version... but I might need to make my own someday.

I reflected already on how this started off as a cursed bind, but I'm happy to report that though the text block cuts are not perfect, the book itself came out quite well. I'm thankful I didn't give up and start over!

Process and materials as per usual under the cut.

Materials: First time using faux leather! I am still not sold -- it's just wooqu's version of the stuff, and while the colour and texture are nice, it's quite plasticky overall. But I remain uninterested in real leather, so I suppose it's good to start trying some faux options. It was a little harder to crease/turn in, and wanted more patience with my mix. But it was easy to wipe errant glue off, which was kind of a treat. Also easy to mark with a hasty fingernail, less good.

The rest is nothing new: ledger paper (24 lb Xerox) cut down to short-grain letter (badly). I sewed on tapes since this baby is 440 pages, but used waxed cotton floss because my linen thread is quite heavy and I was worried about swell. I also used a bone folder to flatten each signature around the thread as I sewed it, which helped. Basically no swell! So far so stable?

End papers are scrapbook papers. Endbands are cotton floss on leather cord (yes, I sewed them; yes, it was a weird choice for a friend who probably won't care. I wanted the practice!)

I bought the peacock cover art when I was doing an early bind (Probationary Action, I think) from a seller on Etsy. Yes, it was horrifying to weed.

Process: As mentioned above, this started out as a cursed bind, but I pulled it out of the fire pretty well by the end! I did a trial run applying HTV to the faux leather because I was worried about the heat melting the material. It didn't seem to have that issue, but the carrier sheet for the HTV left indelible impressions wherever I pressed the edges into the material. (I press with a cheap Amazon mini-press, but I don't use a huge amount of pressure.) So I decided to do a cover/spine design that would allow me to use a full sheet of HTV that ran edge to edge on each part of the cover, so I didn't have to worry about that edge marking issue. It worked!

I have tried rounding and backing spines before, but it's almost impossible to do backing well without backing boards, which in turn need a lying press or finishing press, and I'm still over here working with wrapped bricks and two cutting boards with carriage bolts and wingnuts. So I'm trying to figure out ways to avoid needing to round/back. 20-page signatures help! Lighter thread! etc etc. I did one rounded spine (a bind of Sense and Sensibility I've never shared here) and it was... okay? Without backing, rounding is mostly an aesthetic choice anyway.

I need to get my guillotine sharpened. There was a whole saga a month back with me trying to level the blade and almost slicing my fingertip off (ouch) but the result was that I had trouble putting the damn machine back together properly and the blade sat on the fence a bunch while I was figuring it out, which definitely dulled part of the blade. I'm procrastinating about getting it done because a) terrified of cutting myself again getting the blade off and b) mad at myself that my almost new guillotine already needs this service. So for now, I'm just shoving scrap paper under every text block I cut so that the dull bit of the blade is failing to cut the waste paper and not the block. Works? Annoying, but works?

See, this is the problem with a writer doing a craft, I won't goddamn shut up once I start typing.

[diejager]

Run, Rabbit Run! Pt.2

Cw: implied smut, DARK, yandere, murder, blood and gore, Ghostface is a menace, betrayal, canon typical violence. Wc: 1.4k

Note: pt 3??

Previous

He loved the look of fear on your face, the dread that sunk into your skin, and the slight shaking in your hand. Your face drained, seeming so frozen that he thought you stopped breathing and died, heart seizing frightfully; but he knew that expression when your brain calculated the risks for fight or flight. On this occasion, it was flight.

You bolted, legs swinging you over a window and through the tall grass (or corn, was it a corn field? It didn't matter to Ghostface). In your instantaneous act of terror, you chose a random direction, unaware that you were leading him to a corner. He followed behind you, neither too close nor too far, just at the right distance to have your heart beat frightfully and not hear his breathing.

He loved it, running after you as he did before, one step behind you and so close to having his hands wrapped around your pretty neck. He wondered if you'd let him in again, to bite your neck and shoulder with red kisses, to take you apart in his arms, and to let him talk to you about the things he did - only this time, he wouldn't shy from sharing the gruesome stories he painted for the world to see.

He turned sharply at the corner, determined to cut you off before you left the walls of this weirdly shaped maze. He flashed his knife, the one he intended to gut you with, and jumped at you. You caught the glint of his knife too late, gasping for air when his body tackled you, rolling on the floor. You groaned in pain, cheek laying on the rough, dirt ground of the farm. Ghostface's body was warm and heavy, and strong, he straddled you and cooed.

"Missed ya, doll," he didn't have a distorted voice, he had no use for a voice box in the Entity's world. He couldn't be fought, he couldn't be stopped, and he couldn't be killed. "Didja miss me?"

His voice was familiar, too familiar to be normal. The drawl in his words and the soft, yet raspy tone of it reminded you of home: Pennsylvania. You knew he started there, killing off the people you knew before ultimately choosing you and failing to kill you. It was the cataclysmic event of your life, it festered fear and paranoia of everyone you knew and met.

His gloved - they were also warm - fingers played with your sides, moving upward to knead the flesh of your shoulders and pinch your nape. You flinched at every touch, even the softer, appreciative ones from the killer made you jump. He threaded through your locks, locking with the base of your hair and pulling your head back. You yelped at the harsh motion, feeling your hair being pulled from its seams with the force of his grip.

"I asked you a question, (Name)," he hissed in your ear, his mask kissing your cheek. "It's impolite to ignore your boyfriend."

You gasped, his use of words sent chills down your arched back. It couldn't be, could it? The thought of Ghostface and Jed being the same person made your heart drop. Tears blurred your sight, threatening to spill the second you connected the dots he placed for you.

Jed was a tease, but he was loving and caring, he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in his world. Although he found interest in the murders since the start of your move, his words made the twisted truth into a dark fantasy that people got hooked on. That never stopped him from loving you, spending the night in your bed, comforting you when your paranoia and nightmares hit you so strongly that you crashed. He was the light in your life, a pillar of reassurance and comfort.

Unlike the reaper, renamed Ghostface by Jed, was a cold, calculated killer that found pleasure in blood. He murdered as he loved, mixing both in a perverted need. He stabbed with passion, he killed with devotion, and he drew stories up with fascination. Ghostface was the killer you ran from, he was your demon as you were his obsession.

"N-no- no-," you cried, nails digging into the ground. You felt frustrated, angry, and betrayed. Were you being lied to by the killer or was he telling the truth? You wanted to ignore him, block out his familiar voice and the words he kept singing to you. "You're not-"

"Not Jed, hmm?" you could hear the mocking pitch in his voice, his head tilted forward, letting his nose touch your cheek. "That's mean, doll. I thought we had something going on. Really, I really thought we had something, didn't you?"

"Shut up!"

Your enraged outburst earned a scoff from him, he crawled off your body and moved you to face him just as you were planning on pushing off the ground and running. He cocked his head left, straddling you once more with his hand mockingly waving his knife. The threat hung on a thin string, and Ghostface had an unpredictable pattern of instantaneous and planning acts. If he wished to gut you where you laid, he would, but if he wanted to watch you run, he'd let you go with a cackle echoing in the eternal sunset.

You wished you could move, hit him, dig your fingers into his clothes until you got to his skin and claw him bloody, you wanted to hurt him as he hurt you, but your hands were pinned beneath his knees.

"What? Can't run now, can ya?" he chuckled, voice light with perverted mirth. "You had me running all 'round since Pennsylvania. Home's real far now, isn't it?"

Your teary eyes glared at him, lips pulled in a toothy sneer, you hated him. (Did you really hate him? He was Jed, wasn't he? If his words were truthful then you felt torn in two.) Dirt smeared your face and your hair formed a messy halo around your head like the angel Ghostface spent years hunting.

His thumb brushed the smudged brown on the apple of your cheek, but you turned to bite him, teeth clicking when they didn't bite any skin. He clicked his tongue, quickly taking his hand away from your volatile mouth. He knew you were a biter, he remembered you biting into his shoulder when he got rough, begging for him to bite back. You were a little minx when you were comfortable.

Though you were adorable, denial wasn't something he appreciated from you, that glint of doubt in your eyes almost felt insulting. You were so attentive, eyes following his every movement, he liked the attention. You followed his hand, reaching for his mask, eyes widening when he tilted the ghostly face up and peered down at you with hazel hues.

You gaped like a fish out of water, shocked into silence. New tears brimmed the corners of your eyes, rolling down your temple in quiet submission. Your breath stuck in your throat, body trembling beneath him.

"Da-Danny?" you whispered, voice so quiet he almost missed your words. God, he loved the stutter in your words, a nervous little wreck he mended as Jed.

"Good eyes, but look closer, babe. I know you can do it," he lowered his head, breath mixing with your panicked ones. Panic looked good on you as fear and dread did, he wanted to eat you alive. "C'mon, (Name)."

"You-you're Jed too?"

He rolled his head back, chuckling at your meekness, you made yourself smaller, wanting to hide from him. The bubbly personality he grew up knowing turned into an introverted and paranoid survivor. He was drunk on the knowledge of the change he brought, changing you into the person you were, he broke your cocoon and clipped your beautiful wings. He wanted you to himself before, and now still.

"Bing! Bing! Congrats, babe! I knew you were smart, " he chuckled, fingers digging into your neck. He watched you gasp for air, struggling to free yourself from his hold. "Oh, don't worry, we'll see each other again."

He raised his knife over his head, the sharp edge gleaming gold with the setting sun. A crazed glint crossed his eyes, flashing darkly in his beautiful face (you always found Danny pretty, the dark-haired introvert was handsome, and Jed's hazel eyes reminded you of Danny. Your liking of Jed probably stemmed from your little crush on the dark boy from your neighborhood) when he finally swung his trusty weapon.

"We'll have eternity together, doll."

Next

[kaywavy]

transforming soffits reorganizing keys formalizing immersion joints justifying kick extractors advising aggregates managing elbows recasting connectors achieving aluminum trowels officiating disks exhibiting absolute spigots progressing coil hydrants jerry-building reflectors informing casters inventing rubber hoists performing wrenches judging chalk adapters upgrading ignition paths

regrowing flashing recommending ratchets approving barriers sweeping impact fillers sewing mirrors detailing collectors enforcing measures distributing systems presenting plugs interwinding registers piloting ash diffusers gathering cranks supplying eave pockets undertaking scroll stops accelerating straps designing fittings protecting diamond boilers logging downspouts correlating shingles uniting mallets qualifying electrostatic lifts sharing clamps obtaining circular fluids ranking foundation gauges sensing miter brackets originating space networks translating drills regulating guards selecting gable padding utilizing pellet dowels reconciling artifacts altering pulleys shedding space filters determining vents representing mortar remaking flash rakers supporting funnels typecasting rotary chocks expressing junctures resetting auxiliary vises professing strip treads inlaying matter trowels questioning drivers forming edge fittings sketching blanks overshooting spark breakers rewriting controls playing tunnels inventorying buttons enduring joint handles effecting ratchet bibbs unwinding couplings forsaking vapor conduits defining sockets calculating heaters raising grids administering tiles measuring resources installing ignition remotes extracting corners manufacturing ventilators delegating consoles treating mounting stones enacting jig deflectors intensifying alleys improvising cargo pinpointing bobs prescribing arc masonry structuring metal chucks symbolizing lathes activating plumb kits adapting coatings fixing channels expediting cordage planning compressors enlisting hangers restructuring keyhole augers shearing ridge hardware collecting reciprocating bolts maintaining corrugated dimmers whetting hole collars conducting mandrels comparing assets compiling sealants completing paths composing equivocation wheels computing dampers conceiving electrostatic treatment ordering cotter grates organizing ties orienting ladders exceeding materials targeting thermocouples demonstrating emery stock expanding latch bases training wardrobe adhesives overcomming[sic] fasteners streamlining storm anchors navigating springs perfecting turnbuckles verifying gate pegs arbitrating arithmetic lifts negotiating outlets normalizing strips building surface foggers checking key torches knitting grinders mowing planers offsetting stencils acquiring bulbs adopting rivets observing avenues ascertaining coaxial grommets slinging wing winches instituting circuit generators instructing wicks integrating pry shutters interpreting immersion lumber clarifying coils classifying wood bits closing cogs cataloging matter strips charting holders conceptualizing push terminals stimulating supports overthrowing shaft spacers quick-freezing connectors unbinding ground hooks analyzing eyes anticipating gateways controlling proposition rollers converting power angles coordinating staples correcting benders counseling joist gaskets recording gutter pipes recruiting drains rehabilitating rafter tubes reinforcing washers reporting guard valves naming freize sprues nominating rings noting straps doubling nailers drafting circuit hoses dramatizing flanges splitting framing compounds refitting stems interweaving patch unions placing sillcocks sorting slot threads securing mode cutters diverting catharsis plates procuring load thresholds transferring syllogism twine directing switch nuts referring time spools diagnosing knobs discovering locks dispensing hinges displaying hasps resending arc binders retreading grooves retrofitting aesthetics portals seeking stocks shrinking wormholes assembling blocks assessing divers attaining lug boxes auditing nescience passages conserving strikes constructing braces contracting saw catches serving installation irons recognizing fluxes consolidating fuse calipers mapping shims reviewing chop groovers scheduling lag drives simplifying hoists engineering levels enhancing tack hollows establishing finishing blocks

[andtheyreonfire]

all to make you mine

ao3

WC: 4,500

AN: yo why's there a little guy in my coffee wtf

~

Ren’s grappling hook misfires, throwing him into freefall.

He jolts, twists, flailing just for a second. It’s odd: every time he falls, the borrower’s reminded of the cartoons Ryuji shows him. If he doesn’t look down, he won’t fall. His stomach has never churned at the sight of a drop before him, but he decides to follow that rule the best he can. He keeps his eyes towards an innocent-looking desk, with an innocent looking figure hunched over it. His goal, for the evening.

Because the laws of physics hate Ren, he falls. The hard, wooden floor rushes up to meet him. He sighs, aims his grappling hook at a tome resting on said desk, and fires in the blink of an eye.

He flies—tiny legs narrowly scraping the floor—before planting his feet against one of the desk’s legs, hanging by his own thread. Dammit, his target probably heard him. He was trying to be sneaky. But if a massive, looming hand happened to grab him while he was dangling off the desk...

Ren waits. Coughs. Looks up. Nothing.

He reactivates his thief mask, scaling the leg of the desk with an inhuman, borrower precision. He wouldn’t be so distracted if hadn’t just gotten off the demon device—as he heard Sojiro call it, an accurate assessment to the magical fucking brick his human friends gave him—with Ann. He can still hear her friendly, ribbing tone. The plans they made—that of course Ren never gave a definitive answer to. What if he needs to scurry around the apartment floor at that time, instead? His schedule is always a toss-up.

But, she’d understood. They shot the shit. Ann talked about her date with Shiho. Ren talked about the rat who’s been committing psychological torture on him for the path month. They’d talked about the cycle of nature, the ever-marching threat of death, what boba tastes like. Ren giggled and kicked his feet like a human girl in a movie.

Ren’s good at copying things, and his humans seem much more relaxed when he has a mask on. He doesn’t mind. It’s nice to be appreciated. Nice to sit and talk with Ann, let her call him cute and muse about his looks, even though he still doesn’t know what a modelling gig is. There’s nothing of note behind his mask, anyways. Maybe that’s why not one of them know his name.

He doesn’t mind. He loves his friends, them and their strange, human ways. Just—well.

He has a lot of masks. Switching between them can leave him a little dizzy, especially when it’s a drastic change. Especially with whose apartment he lives in.

Senses alert, he heaves himself onto the desk. He retracts his hook the second his feet meet the hard wood. His target sits just around the corner, hunched over some work or other. Ren waits, for a second, to see if he’s spotted him, but the form remains focused as ever.

Damn—wait. Phew. That’s what Ren means. He channels his instincts, thinks of every single ancestor that never let a human spot them for a solid 30 years before they died a valiant death via crow, and resolves to not meet the same fate.

With a silent, steadying breath, he darts out from behind the books, and takes cover behind one of the humans tools: a sharpener for their writing utensils.

He tenses, ready to bolt, to scratch and bite if needed, but there’s no use. Even though he ran directly in the human’s line of sight, he hasn’t reached over and grabbed him.

Without a single second of hesitation, Ren peeks around the device to see what, exactly, is so important that his human is ignoring him completely.

Akechi Goro sits with perfect posture, typing something on one of the larger magical fucking bricks he uses for his work. A cup of lukewarm coffee sits by him—instant, if Ren’s nose is correct. Akechi doesn’t look exhausted, just a bit high-strung. Absently, he chews on his bottom lip.

He’d never do so in public, lest he ruin his perfect, plush lips. Most of his behaviors he attempts to lock behind a fake-ass smarmy bitchboy—to use Ryuji's words—persona. Only Ren—a persistent rat in his apartment, he tells his neighbors after a noise complaint—is privy to what lies beneath.

The question of if Akechi’s still pretending when he drops the “Detective Prince” is one Ren can’t answer. That’s okay. Ren couldn’t answer the question, either, regarding his own personas.

Whatever mask Ren puts on is fun, though. He can be confident that it’s only a mask. He’s a wonderful person underneath. Really.

That’s why he strolls on up to Akechi, rolls up his sleeves, and drinks directly from his coffee mug.

Stealing food from Akechi is how their relationship began. They have fun. Akechi will spot Ren doing something borrower-y, and immediately try to whack him with a broom, or perhaps a rolled-up newspaper. They’ll chase each other around the apartment, Akechi screaming profanities all the while. It’s like that cartoon Futaba likes. What was it? Tom and Berry?

They have an understanding. A warrior’s bond. Futaba’s instructed him not to use that term anymore. The masks they wear are ever-present, but here, they’re thin enough to not exist. Almost.

Ren slurps, loudly, at Akechi’s coffee, looking up at the towering figure of his human, waiting for a disgusted glare. Any second now...

Nothing. The only disgust is Ren’s, after drinking that low-effort stuff after Sojiro fed him so well. It tastes like dirt, after someone dunked it in a pile of sewage water. And set it on fire. He’s being melodramatic. He can’t help it. Akechi hasn’t spared a single glance at Ren since he strolled onto his desk.

So, Ren strolls forward, hands in his pockets, bag hitting against his back with every exaggerated step. He meanders towards Akechi’s hand, it resting adjacent to his magical fucking brick. His fingers tap against the desk, in rhythm with whatever thoughts are flooding through his pretty little head. Every tap sends the ground vibrating beneath Ren’s feet.

He stops, not four inches away from Akechi’s hand—the length of his entire body—and looks up.

Akechi Goro, for all intents and purposes, is ignoring him completely.

Ren, like the mature, talented borrower he is, vaults himself directly over Akechi’s forearm, and lands square in the middle of his device.

Instantly, Akechi’s gaze snaps down to him, genuine annoyance pinched in eyebrows longer than Ren’s forearm. Ren calls up, not a shred of self-preservation instinct, “What’re you doing?”

Akechi’s annoyance sharpens into a glare. “Get the fuck off my keyboard.”

Ren pushes a button with his foot, one of dozens scattered around him. It yields under his touch, making a satisfying click. Ren holds his foot on it, unable to stop a grin as it stays under his weight. Human technology is so fun—!

He’s reminded why, exactly, he doesn’t interact with human technology as Akechi uses it. A massive hand snatches him in a fist, forcing the breath out of his lungs. Akechi all but yanks him away from his doo-dad. He rests his fist next to his computer, grip firm as Ren squirms. His brow pinches as he types away, likely erasing whatever contribution Ren made.

Ren waits for Akechi’s shadow to fall over him, for that massive face to overtake his vision. For Akechi’s hot breath to dance across his skin, for him to lean in and tell Ren what a pesky, troublesome little mouse he is...

Absolutely nothing. Akechi continues working, eyes glued to his glowing box. Ren huffs, and sinks his teeth into the flesh of Akechi’s thumb.

For a second, the grip around him tightens, before Akechi’s gaze finally, finally lands on him. His fingers retract, to the point where Ren’s dangling over them, more than anything. “Oh, you’re here.”

He—he forgot about him? About Ren? He kicks a leg out. Akechi’s fingers retract completely, leaving him standing on the open desk. He’s not even trying. What the fuck?

He opens his mouth, about to call up to him, when he notices Akechi’s attention has shifted entirely back to his device. Completely ignoring him.

Ren stomps back over to the keyboard, stands directly on two of the buttons, and glares up at Akechi. The human’s glare would make a lesser borrower curl up and never leave their house again. “Did you fucking hear me?”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Ren crosses his arms. “What crawled up your ass and died?”

Akechi’s glare is acidic. Ren could imagine, all too easily, the red rings around his pupils. The steam pouring from his ears. Akechi grits his teeth, visibly restraining the urge to hurl Ren at the nearest wall. “Get. Off.”

Ren steps onto another key, never looking away. Make him.

It’s no surprise when Akechi yanks him up by the back of his shirt. Ren chokes, hands flying to his collar, legs dangling some half foot off the ground. With his other hand, Akechi rummages around the bottom of his desk, every jerk sending Ren swaying between his fingers.

“Since you wanted to know so badly,” Akechi growls, sparing a second to sneer at him before he pulls something out. “I have a report due tomorrow, at noon. About a case that I've already given a report on. With no prior warning from the director. As you can imagine, I don’t have time for any games.”

“Who says I wanted to play anything?” Ren gasps. Akechi, reluctantly, shifts his grip. “What if I just want to see my favorite detective?”

Akechi’s glare recedes, just the slightest amount. “You never want to see me for the sake of seeing me, Joker.”

“Maybe I do.” Ren dons an innocent look. The best he can, while Akechi’s a hair’s breadth away from crushing him in his fist. “Maybe I just missed you. Wanted see how you’re doing, you know? You must be so lonely without me around.”

Akechi smiles. The fake, forced grin that he gives to reporters, or anyone who’s pissing him off. “As you can see, I am absolutely dying without your presence.”

Akechi’s face shutters off into a sneer. Ren forced to look at the object in his hand. He blanches. “I'm sure I'll survive a little longer.”

Without another word, Akechi drops him, face-first, into a glass jar, and caps the lid.

Ren yelps as Akechi jostles him, his hands scrabbling for purchase on the smooth glass. He sets him on his desk, ever so slightly out of reach. He wants to yell back up to Akechi, to ask him what the hell he’s doing to such a poor, defenseless creature. He’s stuck trying to decide which knife of his three to pull when he notices Akechi is—

Ren gasps. Akechi’s ignoring him. Again.

Fine. Fine! Joker does not stomp his foot, because he is a grown borrower and he’s better than that. He paces in the small, circular space of the jar. He doesn’t look at Akechi. He’s not even bothered. He’s fine. Perfectly fine. He—he doesn’t care in the slightest.

He plops down, cross-legged, sparing another glance up at Akechi. The human hasn’t even given him a second glance.

What a dick.

Joker cranes his neck back, body itching to move after just a single second. Makoto called it a survival instinct. His brain is always telling him to move, as that’s how someone like him has survived for so long. Futaba compared him to one of her Pokemans—Spoink, if he recalls correctly. If he stops moving, his heart will stop, too.

Ren’s heart is currently beating out of his chest, a wonderful side-effect to spending longer than a minute in Akechi’s presence, so he’ll be fine on that front. He does stand up, pacing around the small, transparent space he’s trapped in. He knows humans use these for all sorts of things. Turns out trapping borrowers was one of its uses, too. The jar’s walls are hard, and even if he was taller than half its height, he wouldn’t be able to unscrew the lid.

Well. There’s always the self-destructive strategy. He walks over to the glass, looking up at Akechi’s massive, looming form, and asks, “Do you treat all the pretty boys you bring home like this, or am I just special?”

Nothing. He shifts an arm, crosses his legs, leans against the glass. The perfect balance between annoying and flirty. “Usually the guys I’ve been with aren’t this forward, but I don’t mind. If you wanted to keep me that badly, you should’ve just said something.”

Nothing. Nothing at all. The glass must be muffling his words—or, rather, Akechi finds it much easier to ignore him when he’s like this. For all intents and purposes, he might as well not exist.

It’s not a feeling he’s unused to.

Ren huffs. What is he, a moth? Getting defeated by some common, household object? He liked Akechi a lot better when he was trying to whack him with a broom. Ren’s better than this. He will beat this. He’ll make Akechi treat him the way he deserves.

He looks up. If he had a flat piece, he could probably, maybe, pry the lid open. However loose it is, it’d still be too tight for him to shoot his hook at. Even with some parkour, he’s too small to be able to reach it...

Ren stops. He peers over the edge of the desk. He recalls the time Sojiro broke a mug, the day when Ren willingly revealed himself. The way it shattered into a million pieces upon impact, scattered at their feet. He recalls how humans handle fragile things with such grace, as if the magic that makes objects fall will take even giants’ things away from them. He recalls how they handle him, his tiny, four-inch tall form, in the same way.

It’s unnecessary. He’s fallen before, from heights that would, relatively, injure a human. He’s walked away with only a few bruises. If he pushed this jar off the desk, it’d probably react like any other glass.

It doesn’t matter that he’s never fallen from this high before. He has his grappling hook. He’s too cute to die. Everything should be fine, right?

It’s either this, or waiting indefinitely until Akechi finally looks his way.

Joker takes a breath, and slams his shoulder into the jar.

it budges, a little. He does it again, harder. It warbles as it slides against the wood, scooting closer towards the edge of the desk. He can see the full drop, now. He slams again. If heights scared him, he wouldn’t be hanging around humans, now would he?

He tackles the jar once more, hand flying to his hook. He’s a master escape artist. A thief. A borrower with a perfect record—discounting the fact that his presence is known by at least 10 humans. He tackles it again. The jar is dangerously close to the edge. A single inch more, and it’ll teeter right off.

Joker looks up, watching Akechi’s massive, looming face. What he can see through the tangle of rope-like hair is impassive, neutral. Like he doesn’t care.

Joker body-slams the jar one, final time. It teeters, flies over the edge, and Ren yelps as he’s thrust into sharp, terrifying weightlessness.

His hand clenches around his hook, watching the swell of the floor come up to meet him, body curling and clenching as it braces for impact—

A few things happen in rapid succession.

First, the human looming above Joker, who reportedly wouldn’t fish him out if he somehow found himself in his blender, notices the tiny scream and jar falling beside him.

The second, is that his hand shoots out, catching the jar in a white-knuckled grip.

The third, is that Akechi’s face comes up to meet Joker at break-neck speed. His eyes are wide, frantic, crawling over every limb with frightening precision. He snarls, “What the fuck were you thinking?”

Ren opens his mouth, chest stuttering, “I’m fine—“

“Do you have a death wish?” Akechi continues, bringing the jar closer, inspecting Ren even as he yelps. “Are you insane? Do you particularly prefer to be skewered by shards of glass like a late medieval king? Of course, if the fall itself didn’t fucking—“

“Sounds like my type of date night,” Ren rasps. Slowly, he peels himself off the back wall, only to be thrown to his stomach as Akechi's hand flinches.

He looks up, seeing the white-hot fear on Akechi’s face gone, replaced with something like resignation. And smoldering anger. He says, flat, “What, exactly, was your grand plan with throwing yourself off a drop 10 times taller than you, Joker?”

Ah. Cutting straight to the point. Without a second thought for Ren’s poor, fragile well-being. How cruel. Though, the tone of voice suggests that he should answer honestly, lest the jar be thrown across the room—Ren included—like a rubber ball.

Because Joker fears no god and certainly no man, he answers, “I wanted to see if the stories about the strong, daring prince catching the poor, defenseless maiden from her tower were true. Though, I don’t think said princes had the social skills of a paper straw—”

Ren lets out a very mainly squeak as Akechi shakes the jar. He bounces Joker once, twice, three times, sending him flying and tumbling against the glass walls with every jostle. He stops, leaving Ren splatted against the bottom. He peels himself off with a grimace. Sun above—ow.

Ren looks up in time to see Akechi pause. His fingers tap against the jar, a sound like the patter of rain. He looks away, for a second, before smoothing his expression out into an awkward smirk. Good, let him feel guilty. Ren’s poor, wounded soul. “I don’t supposed said maidens would lose a fist-fight with a housefly, either.”

“I'll have you know, my prince,” Ren huffs, leaning against the wall in a dignified, not-at-all dizzy splay of limbs. “That I've won my fair share of fights against houseflies and grasshoppers.”

“Is that so?” Akechi looms in, smirk shifting into something more confident. He’s close enough that his breath fogs the glass of the jar, obscuring, for an instant, the sight of his massive, plush lips. “My hero.”

If there wasn’t a jar between them, they’d be close enough to touch: a small, inhuman body, pressed against lips the size of his chest.

Joker backs away. Akechi leans back, too, adverting his gaze to the jar’s floor. He sighs, tired. “Was that really your grand, daring plan for getting my attention? You couldn’t have done anything that, I don’t know, wouldn’t have killed you?”

Joker grins. He finds his grappling hook—lying on the floor, somewhere between falling and Akechi shaking the jar—and tucks it away. “You know that’s not my style.”

Akechi’s mouth twitches. A familiar movement, like he wants to smile, but doesn’t want to debase himself to such lowly instincts. He runs his thumb down the jar, covering Ren’s chest in its shadow. “Just—why?”

Well.

Akechi has been a good sport. He has, actually, paid attention to him, and his near-death experience of the day wasn’t because of the human. Ren supposes he can have this truth, no matter how embarrassing it is to admit.

Ren twists a lock of his hair, adverting his eyes. “Just...” This close, he can’t hide himself in the knowledge that he’s too small to see. Akechi’s far too close to ignore the cracks of his mask. “We haven’t seen each other since the last break your—learning-establishment gave you.”

“Golden week.” Akechi says, then blinks. “Is that all?”

“Yes?”

“That was hardly a week ago. I haven’t seen you since, either. You could’ve called.”

Ren shrugs, not sure how to express that such an action was the coward’s way out—and also violated every borrower code in existence. Breaking such rules for Akechi’s sake vs. his friends would be against their game.

A smirk dons Akechi’s face, like he’s found Ren’s hiding spot after a chase. “If you wanted to hang out, in the vernacular, you could’ve just asked.”

It feels like he’s treading on rocky ground, that the path will snap under him the second he takes another step forward. It’s not that it’d break the rules of their game. It’s not even that Akechi’s a human. It’s just—Ren can’t be too honest. “You’re busy. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Goro rolls his eyes. “Don’t lie to me. You love to interrupt.” He flicks the jar, a hard, strong punch that sends Ren flinching back. “And I'm always busy—but you didn’t even have to interrupt. Not everything’s about you, you know.”

Ren begs to differ. It’s not every day a human’s blessed with Ren’s presence. But—

As much as it physically, violently pains Ren to admit, Akechi is...right.

He’ll die before he admits that to Akechi’s face. He braces an arm against the glass, steeling himself in case Akechi flicks his prison again. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Akechi rolls his eyes. He glances back to his computer, what must be a subtle action for a human, but what’s as clear as day to a borrower. “If you’re going to stick around and bother me, I'm afraid I actually can’t allow you to do that. I do need to complete this. My schedule is quite full, Joker.”

Ren raises an eyebrow. “And mine isn’t?”

Akechi raises one back. “I once saw you spend an entire day trying to domesticate my Roomba.”

“I know a spark of life is in that creature.”

“I—look.” Akechi sighs, scrubbing at his face with his hand. “If you’re going to continue to be a little shit, I have no problems about keeping you in this jar under supper.”

“Who the fuck says supper anymore—?”

“You’re the size of a key. What the fuck do you know? Just—if you want to leave, then say so. I'm not going to wait on your time.”

Ren presses his face to the jar, staring up, up, up into Akechi’s own. He swallows.

Nothing to be gained if you don’t jump, his aunt had said, before she fell down a sewer pipe.

“Put me in your pocket,” Ren says.

Akechi blinks. Slight disbelief paints his face, as if wondering if he hallucinated the words. “Pardon?”

“Your pocket.” Ren gestures to it, the massive patch of fabric below him, because he’s helpful like that. “Your hands are busy. You’re being too feisty to talk. You’ve deemed your computer more important than me. Put me inside. I'll be out of the way, and you’ll still be graced with my presence. It’s a win-win.”

Ren’s palms swelter. He’s donning an odd mask, but it seems to do its job. His chest flutters when Akechi brightens. “First, I'm sure you can imagine why I might favor my computer over the pest that keeps breaking into my fucking umaibo. Second, I wouldn’t call myself graced. Third, how, exactly, would you be winning?”

A flush creeps its way up Ren’s cheeks. “Uh—“

But Akechi doesn’t wait for an answer. With a sharp pop, he uncaps the lid to Ren’s prison. He jerks the jar down, sending Ren tumbling towards its mouth.

Ren does not scream, thank you very much.

He lands in Akechi’s hand only a few inches down. His palm is mercifully soft, a sharp contrast to—everything. He huffs, glaring up at the human’s face. Akechi only smirks down at him, and, like the scum of the earth he is, blows a gust of air at Ren’s face.

Ren sputters. Akechi’s fingers curl around him, the slightest amount. “I suppose I can keep an eye on you, while you’re in there. Try anything and you’re returning to the jar.”

Ren gathers his composure. He leans against a thumb half his height, fluttering his eyelashes. He refuses to lose here, in Akechi’s hand, surrounded by his form and heat and soft flesh...focus. “What’s the matter? Scared you couldn’t keep your eyes off me?”

“Just of losing my last single, working braincell. Do you want to go in, or not?”

Ren...does. He doesn’t think about what this means, the prospect of being so close to Akechi, so—vulnerable. He’d be right up against his chest, probably next to his heartbeat, enveloped by his warmth.

He’s—he doesn’t think about it. He’s gracing Akechi with his presence, that’s all. Absolutely nothing more.

Ren nods. Akechi sighs, and moves his hand towards his pocket. Ren finally takes note of his grey sweater, the small, slightly ratty fold of fabric over his chest. He holds Ren above its lip, gifting him a view of a dark, soft, cramped area.

He can feel Akechi’s warmth: from his fingers, from the slight heat emanating from his chest. He catches a faint whiff of cinnamon, undoubtedly from the human holding him. He’s so close. He’d just have to burry into his chest, pick up his thumb and press his lips against it...

Sun above, it’s a miracle the borrower’s survived for this long.

Akechi drops Ren into the pit. He flails, tangling his limbs in the fabric as he slides down. Ren huffs. Honestly. Beasts, humans are.

He lands in a soft corner, limbs splayed out in the bunched fabric.

It is warm.

He can hear Akechi’s heartbeat—pumping steadily, despite the claims that he doesn’t have one. The weight of his pocket stifles his brain’s constant urge to move. Akechi breathes in, and Ren moves with the rhythm, rocked against the human as he resumes work. Slowly, Ren rights himself, relaxing into Akechi’s pocket.

It’s...nice.

Akechi’s voice reverberates around him, accentuated by the clacking of his keys, “I meant what I said. Try anything, and I'm chucking this thing across the room with you inside. I wonder, would the Roomba continue if I set you in its path?”

Ren huffs, for lack of projection, he bangs his fist against Akechi’s chest. It flutters against him—a slight, stifled laugh.

It’s nice.

Akechi goes silent. For a second, Ren can’t even hear the clacking of his magical fucking brick. He thinks he’s about to fill the silence before his typing resumes, like nothing ever happened at all. Ren settles into his pocket, bunching a tiny pillow for his head and curling up. He knows he needs to figure this out before it kills him, to find what mask to wear so Akechi believes him, to figure out how to tell a human, of all creatures, the truth, but...

Later.

He hasn’t seen Akechi in so long, after all.

Ren closes his eyes, relaxes in his rival’s pocket, and very pointedly does not drift off to sleep.

He won’t let Akechi steal this victory, too. Not when he’s already stolen his heart.

[nothinglikegod]

@fatedstrands

[<-]

Legato's confession earns him the weight of stark gray eyes. Wolfwood stares at him from over one shoulder, uncertain if he's heard the loyalist correctly and how to respond to his utterance. It makes sense, really. From where he's standing - from what he knows of Legato. How did it never occur to him before, when he's known so many survivors of No Man's slave trade?

Livio-

"You don't gotta do that!" He snaps against Legato's touch. Because he's scared of it. Because it's always reached to break him before, and the feral part of his mind expects history to repeat itself. The hackles of his soul rise, and a quiver moves down his freshly reconnected spine. It takes him a handful of seconds to ease under Legato's invisible threads. It's the man's voice, more than anything that relieves the initial terror of contact.

"...You can just ask me to wait.” He means to inform, but the words come out too weak. They sound more like begging than Wolfwood would like. He stumbles against the advance of fingers on his wrist, tempted to bolt. Or flinch, but Legato’s advice is a confusing string of kind truths. Nick looks toward their would-be refuge, on the cusp of being convinced and somewhere, in the span it takes him to consider, Legato presses a hand to his chest and leans like a lover against the sturdiness that is his curse.

He can not locate his voice when faced with Legato’s unexpected closeness.  Wolfwood blinks slowly over the slightly shorter man he considers to be his oppressor; over periwinkle colored hair and the solitary eye that escapes it’s curtain. His chest collapses, along with his will. Void of breath. Void of fight. They are stranded. Not by transit, but by their bodies – by their minds.

‘Please don’t make me knock you out,’

Wolfwood exhaustively comments, “You don’t gotta do that, either.” He warily crouches to retrieve The Punisher properly, and though he is able to lift it to his shoulder, he can’t do so with his usual hook of fingers. He has to use his full hand - a hint that he’s still recovering.  

[bolton-buried]

I had the strangest dream while I was in the Strid. It’s probably nothing, but I can’t get it out of my head.

I don’t believe in prophetic dreams, but I’m writing it down anyway. Maybe this will help me fall asleep.

I’m in an empty space, a plane of plain white that goes on forever, so I pick a direction and begin to walk. Then jog. Then run through the emptiness, looking for its edge. Then I fall forward through it, tumbling head over heels into the ground that should have been there until

I land in darkness. A single bulb above my head flickering out, and suddenly I don’t know if my eyes are opened or closed. I reach forward across the cold stones of the floor, crawling with the fear of something being in the dark with me. Then I feel it

An insect—or something with skittering legs crawling on my skin. Then another. And another. The lights come back on just in time for me to see hundreds of centipedes and cockroaches crawling over me. I try brushing them off, but they keep coming. So I dig into the wall with my fingernails, pulling myself through the dirt so tightly that the bugs cannot follow. I dig upwards

And emerge in a trench, ankle-deep in blood and surrounded by men, shaking and shouting and firing across the field. A grenade falls in front of me, and I stumble backwards into a pool of blood before hearing it go off. When I stand

The walls are metal and sterile other than the blood filling the room to my waist. Cuts of meat in shapes I still can’t recognize hang from hooks—but there’s a staircase leading downwards. I follow it down, and open the door into

A hospital hallway. I hear the telltale sound of heart monitors beeping and slowing down, then stopping. The nurses all look at me like I am being mourned already. I try to shout that I’m not dead, but they silently hand me a clipboard. I won’t read it. I bolt to the door

And emerge in an empty street. It is London—I can feel it, but without the crowds. Without anybody. My feet echo on the ground as I start to run again. Desperate to find someone, anyone but the mannequins in every window, I run to

The Magnus Institute. But it’s wrong. The two windows in the front are round—the panes tinted green and the building itself looking at me with the same eyes as Elias Bouchard. Once one of them winks, I turn and run

But the mannequins from the windows are now in the street, all frozen in place as if they are real people and not plastic and rubber. Then their heads start to turn to me along a seam in the neck. They begin a jittery, stuttering walk towards me from all directions, so I pull up a manhole cover and drop to

A bunker. There’s a television, boxy like they were in the 60s. Numbers flash in the static between images of a world in ruins. There’s enough food in the bunker to last me for years, I know, but the TV won’t turn off, won’t stop showing me that nothing remains of the world I know. I open a hatch that should lead deeper into the bunker, but instead step into

A sewer, full of brightly-colored iridescent fluid, and in every direction the tunnels split and split and split in an infinite pattern. I begin to run down them, and think I could be running forever, lost in the glowing colors and endless patterns, when the tunnels let out

In front of my childhood home. I’d know it anywhere, all my memories, packed away in neat little boxes ready to come with me through the rest of my life. But then the building is ablaze. Photos of my youth, everything I’ve ever loved gone in an instant. I want to save it, but someone stands in the doorway

My father, holding a rifle. He starts charging at me and I run, stumbling over branches and roots in the small wood. A shot rings in my ears louder than his accusatory screams, then I stumble

Into white string, laid out between the trees. In my scramble to move forward, all I do is twist myself into the threads, helplessly trapped in a way I’m only just now seeing. Then a hand reaches from below with a pair of scissors. It cuts the thread and I fall

Into a river, flowing swiftly. I close my eyes, no longer afraid; no longer in need of fear. The current pulling me along is a guiding hand, the water a frigid embrace that says it will hold me as tight as it needs to keep the other horrors at bay. I do the closest thing I can to embracing it back, and take a deep breath in.

[ilexdiapason]

ami allowed to ask for a lil drabble ficlet thing from you. i give you art of fairytale joesage you give me a little ficlet perhaps i may have something in mind

(original art!)

When the knock sounds on the door of Twinkly Tailors', Joey is attempting to wrangle a particularly unwilling patch of embroidery. The damn thread just won't cooperate; it keeps knotting itself up when he tries to pull it through the fabric. Joey's almost at the end of his thread, so any interruption is a welcome distraction.

"Hi!"

Except this one.

"I heard this was a tailor's; do you do hats? Because I -"

Joey slams the door shut.

He recognises the shape of the battered hat in the stranger's hands immediately. This is a witch. Not a very good witch, judging (and Joey is great at judging) by the state of it, but a witch nonetheless. And Joey does not deal in witches.

The knocking starts again. Joey stares at the door in disbelief.

"Are you still there?" comes the voice of the witch, muffled behind the wood.

"No," says Joey.

"Cause I can come back later if you -?"

"Come back never, witch boy," he spits, and from the ensuing silence, he can only hope that that's the end of it.

Ugh.

Look; Joey's not a bigot. He's sure that some witches - maybe even this witch! - can be perfectly nice people.

The problem is that witches do magic for a living. They know what it looks like, how it handles, and how to spot it if you're looking for it.

And Joey has a secret, a very big secret, a very deep dark all-important secret upon which depends the safety of the whole entire empire of Glimmer Grove, his kingdom as the prince and rightful heir.

Joey uses magic.

Not like a witch! He keeps it quiet, he doesn't make it his entire deal, because he doesn't want to be like witches. But he does use magic sometimes. When you moonlight as a monster hunter, using a glamour to conceal your scars is all you really can do.

A witch would notice those glamours in an instant, and probably try to get him hooked on healing potions or something. And that is why Joey doesn't deal in witches. Even this one, cute-and-or-friendly as he may have been. Even that one small second of opening the door was probably too much.

Joey sighs and bolts the door locked. He has a sinking feeling that this isn't the last he'll be hearing of the witch boy.

[all-the-gory-details]

Whumptober Day 9

Polaroid / Mistaken Identity / “You’re a liar.”

TW: Restraints, partial nudity (non-sexual), knife, creepy whumper

The morning had gone by like usual. Alexei had come in to hand out food, water, and meds. Casey took a few minutes to go through Georgia’s paper cup and point out each supplement, antidepressant, and vitaman, to ease her mind. There was only one he didn’t recognise, but she quickly explained that it was her estrogen supplement.

“I don’t know how he knew my brand or dosage, though.”

“He has his ways,” Casey sighed.

Alexei came by to collect dishes, and the three started a game of go fish using Felix’s cards, asking questions with each play to get to know each other. Felix insisted on starting with simple questions, which Casey quickly agreed to. Felix tended to avoid talking about deep subjects, when at all possible. Besides, Casey didn’t know all that much about either Felix and Georgia, and favorite colors and animals seemed like a good place to start.

They only had a few minutes of playing before the door opened and Alexei walked in again. “Come on, Casey, let’s get moving,” he ordered, holding the door open and looking impatient.

Casey’s stomach dropped. “Where are we-”

“You’ve got a client,” Alexei interrupted, annoyed, “and they’ll be here any minute, so let’s move.”

Casey stayed motionless, rooted to the floor as the surprise and terror set in. He had only had a few clients since Alexei deemed him ‘trained’ enough to be on the market. He hadn’t gotten used to the paralyzing, horrible sensation of looming pain, hadn’t figured out how to push back the what-ifs and reluctance.

Alexei rolled his eyes and stepped into the room, grabbing Casey and yanking him up to his feet. He put a firm hand on his shoulder, pulling him out of his room and down the dreaded hallway. He stopped to grab something out of a cupboard, but Casey hardly noticed. He couldn’t stop staring at the steel door.

When Alexei pushed him towards it once more, the panic surged and filled his body. “Sir, don’t make me, please don’t-”

Alexei didn’t stop, sliding the bolt and pulling the door open. Casey was pushed inside. His eyes moved on their own accord, and he could not take responsibility for their sweep over the many weapons on the wall in front of him.

Something hit Casey’s back, and he flinched and turned to see a small heap of clothing on the floor. “Get changed quickly,” Alexei ordered, turning to unwrap a thick rope from an anchor on the wall.

Casey did as he was told, pulling off his old clothes and putting on a fresh white tee and a pair of black athletic shorts. He balled the dirty clothes up and held onto them nervously.

Alexei had untied the rope and added more slack. The rope was threaded through a loop on the ceiling, and the end now hung at about eye level. Tied onto it was a large, metal hook.

Alexei pulled a sturdy pair of handcuffs off a shelf, and Casey realized what was happening.

He backed away a step, shaking his head as tears started to well up in his eyes. This was all too much, he didn’t want this, he couldn’t handle this.

Alexei didn’t care. He grabbed his wrists and forced the handcuffs on, letting the bundle of clothes drop to the floor. He placed them on the hook and pulled the rope, and suddenly Casey was on his toes, hands above his head, caught like a worm on a hook.

“They’ll be here in a minute,” Alexei said, grabbing the dirty clothes and moving towards the door. “On your best behavior, understand?”

Casey said nothing, eyes screwed tightly shut.

“I said, do you understand?” The darkened tone made Casey flinch, and he nodded immediately.

“Yes, sir,” he whispered. Alexei left without another word.

The client opened the door a few minutes later, and before Casey knew it, they were momentarily blinded by the flash of a camera. Once their vision came back, blurry and littered with spots, they got a look at the client.

She looked to be in her mid 30s, with blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. She smiled at Casey, holding the polaroid camera up again. This time, Casey had the foresight to close his eyes before the flash.

“Don’t mind me,” the woman said, bending down and pointing the camera up at him. “I’m just getting some ‘before’ pictures. We can get started in a minute.”

Casey found himself not minding the wait, as she lined up a few more shots. Anything to delay ‘getting started’.

Eventually, she put the camera down on a table, laying the developing photos out in a row. She turned to the wall of weapons and started looking. Casey didn’t know whether he wanted to watch or not, whether he wanted to know what would happen to him in a minute or two. In the end, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t bring himself to look away.

“So many interesting toys to play with,” the woman mused, tapping her chin in indecision. “In the end, though, I think I’ll stick to the classics.”

She pulled a knife off a magnetic strip, a small, curved weapon with a wicked shard point and a much duller blade. Casey couldn’t help the pathetic little whimper that escaped from his lips.

He wasn’t strong like Felix, not yet at least. He didn’t know how to bite back the screams, how to stay witty and brave through the pain.

When that knife bit into his chest as she slit his new clean shirt, when it carved patterns into his skin like he was a block of wood, he wasn’t able to hold back the sobs.

The client stepped back after what felt like hours, circling his shaking form like an artist around a sculpture. She picked up the camera and snapped picture after picture as Casey hung, barely supporting his weight, letting the cuffs rub his wrists raw.

She watched as they developed, smiling at each new addition to the collection of Casey’s pain. At one point, she picked one up and walked over to him.

“Look,” She said, grabbing his chin and forcing him to stare at the polaroid, showing off the blood dripping down his chest. “Don’t you think you look just beautiful like this?”

She was gripping him so hard, and his body hurt so much, and he wanted her to be happy, to leave him alone. “Y-yes,” he muttered, closing his eyes once more.

“Aww, you’re lying, aren’t you.” He felt a jolt of fear at these words. Would she punish him for the lie? Should he have told the truth, that he thought he looked like a cut of meat, barely human and hardly pleasing to the eye?

“No matter,” she continued, and he breathed a sigh of relief. “I can see enough beauty for the both of us.”

[nihils-trolls]

Funeral For a Forgotten Friend

Quilis Kelter | Kelter Castle | Present night

One, two. One, two-

Quilis absentmindedly counts the steps she takes up and down the corridor for the umpteenth time. A distraction, from the effects of the fading adrenaline rush a couple nights prior.

Normally a bit of panic or stress didn't strike the purple very much. But this time, it was different. Intense.

She stops in her tracks, recalling finally.

Several events had been brought up to Quilis. Things she had next to no memory of. Or rather, it was like they were being covered up. Blocked out by something. She remembers feeling what could only be described as a presence. Hooking claws into it, dragging it out. Sparks and strings of some violent magical energy that refused to let go.

But finally, a release.

Looking at whatever those thorny vines were, she saw her own handiwork- yet it was alien. Foreign to her, as if she did not truly make it herself. She remembers crushing it, and the sudden flood of everything it held back.

Quilis frowns, continuing onwards to… wherever she was going. Everything since that moment has been sort of fuzzy, blurred by a sense of unease. It was a lot, after all- getting back various memories from the span of two hundred sweeps or so all at once. It was scary. Is still, she supposes. The thought of having her own mind withheld from her like that.

However, her thoughts are interrupted by a loud thud originating from somewhere close by. Normally, she'd write it off as something the construction crew was up to. But she was nowhere near where they were working for it to make sense.

Concerned, she looks around- though, she doesn't have to try very hard. As soon as she takes another step, a door to her left slams against the wall as it swings open on its own accord. Behind it is a small room Quilis uses for storage, currently. Hive decor. Fabric bolts. Thread, twine, leather and beads. A small decorative box- which once was up on a shelf- lies open and turned over on the floor.

Its contents lay spread out on the floor. A yellowing fashion magazine from over a hundred and fifty sweeps ago, a few kandi bracelets, a rock painted in neon yellow, magenta and lime green. But most notable to Quilis, as she approaches the mess, is a pair of rose-tinted heart sunglasses. She picks them out of the bunch delicately to look them over, and kneels on the floor.

Using a hand to brush off a bit of grime, she holds the glasses in her hands- staring at them for a long few moments. Quilis then exhales and begins putting these things back in their box to take with her. To take them out to the garden, grabbing a shovel along the way.

Quilis digs a hole in one of the flowerbeds, setting the box inside. Before she covers it, she removes the neon-painted rock- deciding it would serve as a marker for this impromptu memorial. When she's finally satisfied with how it's buried, she moves to sit on the grass in front of it. Quil sets aside the shovel and looks down on the place quietly.

She doesn't say anything for the longest time, only speaking up once she's felt it's been enough.

“... I'm sorry that it took this long. It never should have. Forgetting shouldn't be an excuse, but…”

She trails off to fall silent again. A gentle breeze ruffles her hair.

“I wonder if you can hear me, all the way over in the afterlife. Doubt you're still roaming these parts, you seemed pretty content back then.”

She knows that they cannot. But she wants to let herself have this.

“In all the time I'd known you, I don't think I ever got to really say thank you- for everything. You never did let me. Told me that I only had myself to thank for getting myself out of there.

… But that wasn't necessarily true, was it?”

Again, she waits. As if she was going to get an answer.

“All this time… and I didn't even miss you. I'd forgotten who you even were. I guess not having you around anymore fucked me up.”

She gives a weak laugh, but purses her lips to fight off the tide of emotions.

“I figured this is a pretty nice spot-” her voice cracks, and she pauses to recover. “Peaceful. I know you wouldn't’ve wanted me to hold on to your stuff for this long, to do anything grandiose. So, this is all I'll do.

I… couldn't possibly think of trying to bother your rest. Had been through enough of shit while you were alive, huh?”

Quilis falls silent again. Her expression sours and she looks up.

“Fuck, what a thing to knock some sense back into me.” she whispers, rubbing her bleary eyes. She then breathes deeply to focus once again, and looks back down at the marker.

“See you later, Albumi. Or, Sparky, was it?”

Her face twists again; she sighs, shaking her head some. Moving to stand, Quilis picks up the shovel and walks away- leaving this all behind her.

[mysteroads]

Chapter 2: Calling in a Favor

Summary: Beetlejuice calls Ginger for a favor, and learns some important details about a certain magic shop.

Excerpt:

“Why do you wanna go to a weddin’ shop?”

“I don’t appreciate your accusatory tone,” he told Ginger primly, then let his voice drop into a growl. “Also, it doesn’t matter. I’m calling in a favor. You don't get to say no when it's time to repay a favor, and you know that.”

Lydia raised her eyebrows at his tone, then put the phone on speaker and said, “Hi, Ginger!”

“Lydia! Honey, how ya been?” Ginger squealed.

“I’m doing good, Ginger. Look, the favor’s for my future step-mom. Can you help us out? Help me out?” Lydia smirked at Beetlejuice and he stuck his tongue out at her.

Ginger giggled, and Beetlejuice winced at the high pitch. “For yer step-mom? That’s a little different! I was worried that creep had proposed to you and you were dumb enough t’ say yes!”

Lydia’s eyes flew open wide and met Beetlejuice’s shocked gaze. Her face turned red as her mouth opened and closed and he started to get worried, then she wheezed, gasped in a breath, and then broke out into mad peals of laughter. 

“It ain’t that funny,” he muttered, knowing that his hair was bright pink to match the blush on his face. Still cackling, she tipped over onto his stomach, trying to muffle her screeches.

“You okay, Lydia?” Ginger asked, worry coloring her voice.

“She’s fine,” Beetlejuice growled, poking his friend until she rolled off him and onto the floor. “Look, Ging, I’m serious about that favor. Just go get your boss to make an appointment for Lydia’s step-mom, alright? Can’t be that hard. Your silk is top shit, ain’t it? Your boss’ll want to stay in your good graces.”

“Welllll… I guess I could ask the boss lady, but I can’t promise nuthin’. She’s a… a f-fairy, ya know? I really don’t wanna mess wit’ her.” There was a real quiver in Ginger’s voice.

Beetlejuice frowned. “A fairy? You mean a brownie?”

“No, BJ, I mean a freakin’ fairy! And before you ask, she ain't a stupid pixie or nixie or a dumb ol’ leprechaun neither! She’s tall, like six feet, and a total knockout!”

Beetlejuice swung his legs off the wall and sat bolt upright, staring down at the phone, thinking hard and fast. “Wings?”

Noticing his change in posture and the sudden tension that almost crackled around him, Lydia’s giggles cut off. He barely noticed, too focused on the phone.

“No wings, but she flings magic around like a demon, BJ! Not like a witch or wizard or even a sorceress! No spells, just magic. She’s scarrryyyy!”

“Fuck,” Beetlejuice hissed, threading his fingers through his hair. “Look, I’ll call you back, Ginger. I gotta think about this. In the meantime, you better get me a list of all the shops you have an in with, alright? But you aren’t off the hook with that favor, so don’t get any ideas.”

“Okay, BJ. Bye Lydia!”

“Bye Ginger!” Lydia said, climbing back onto the bed and closing the phone. That done, she turned and sat cross-legged, eyes intent on his face. “What was that about?”

“Which part?” he asked absently, tapping his nails against his knee.  

Lydia watched his tapping fingers and her brows furrowed. “Whichever part is making you drop some of your glamor.”

[wild-karrde]

Happy Fandom Friday!

I want to highlight two artists and two WIP fics.

These artworks by @patchmates are AMAZING. First we have Wolffe and Fox. And then we have Cody. Look, I’m usually intimidated by bigger men but WOW do these guys do it for me. Their arms! I want to squeeze them. (I also have to emphasize Wolffe’s tattoos—I am desperate for a neck and chest reveal because the hints of tattoos are a tease I can’t look away from.) The breadth of their chests is to die for; coupled with the black bodysuit and I can’t look away. Wolffe and Fox with their confident smirks; Cody looking so at peace and content 😩

And the second artwork is another Cody by @razzbberry. I wish I could speak artist lingo because I don’t know how to fully describe my emotions when looking at this. The coloring on this is STUNNING. The way Cody’s scar looks like a lightning bolt—the detail is impeccable. The emotion in his face is so impressive, and it hurts. I just think it’s a pretty artwork.

Now, onto the fics.

I want to recommend @ariadnes-red-thread for The Last Word. I thought I had recommended this when I first read it, but thinking back, I don’t think I ever did. So I want to rectify that. I’m not a Fives girly and I’ve never read fanfic of him, but I randomly came across this and it has me hooked. Mal is such a fantastic character, and I love Aria’s portrayal of Fives as flirtatious but also sensitive. The second chapter sets up for a story that promises to be emotionally fraught and hot, and I’m so excited to see where it goes.

I also want to recommend Erin’s (@sleepingsun501) Sweet True Lies. Again, I know. Bear with me. Chapter 4 dropped last weekend and it’s something I’ve been looking forward to for months. All I have to say is: Erin portrays Fox with such a sweet, soft side and it kills me. His natural charisma kills me. Everything about him kills me. (The way he talks about Keeda is so poetically attractive, it makes my heart hurt😩)

AHHHH ALLI THESE ARE ALL SUCH GOOD RECS!!!

I absolutely ADORE how Kit draws the clones! Their expressions and physiques are EVERYTHING. And that Cody piece by Nils took my BREATH away when I saw it this week! The color palette and silhouettes and every detail is just SO GOOD. The longer I looked at it, the more I just kept saying "wow" lol.

And the fics that you chose are WONDERFUL! I love how Aria writes Fives, and Mal is SUCH a cool OC. I am sitting on the edge of my seat for the next installation (TAKE YOUR TIME ARIA!). And the way Erin writes Fox in STL is SO SOFT and yet, he's SO SMOOOOOOOTH. The last line of the last chapter had me absolutely shrieking, and I CANNOT WAIT to get to know more about Keeda!

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SENDING ALL OF THESE IN!

Participate in Fandom Friday to show your favorite creators from this week some love! :)