#was terribly sick last week but now back on track

[lenaboskow]

PLS PLS PLS GET INTO HOW WOULD CHRIS REACT I find it so interesting, because most of the times is Chris just going "Great ! Im happy!" which valid, but honestly? I really like when it's more complex than that, like in the fic Pinky Promise by rainbow_nerds, that explores a bit the fact that Chris does in fact has abandoment issues, like I don't doubt that Chris (even angry) wants his dad to be happy, but c'moooon, his mother was his primary caretaker (because his dad left for the military, though it always hard for me to get the Diaz Timeline), then she left him, then she came back, then she died, his dad almost died at least twice (that he is aware of), Buck in the hospital, etc. Chris is going to have many complicated emotions ! I love him ! And I just wished people explored more all that potencial, you know?

i vividly remember making a diaz boys timeline back before the s7 finale but i just spent thirty minutes looking for it and i'm pretty sure i never posted it so... oops. maybe i'll make one later with the references but (apologies for the mess this is i tried to make it organized but i’m sick so there’s only so much i can do lmao):

when you look at it, buck has been consistently in christopher's life longer than shannon ever was, even if you restart after the lawsuit. shannon was him primary caregiver until he was about three, and then for a year it was eddieandshannon, after which she left. after that, it was consistently eddie. even if he wasn't around that often because he was working, he was still there, and that's what chris remembers. she came back for about half a year when he was seven, but then she died.

not counting the lawsuit, buck has been in christopher's life since he was eight. but the lawsuit wasn't that long, it was a few weeks at most, so the real answer is he's been in his life since he was seven. that's seven years at this point. to chris, buckandeddie has been a constant, more so than eddieandshannon, even if it's not the same type of partnership. and that's just a fact. sure, he'd known shannon for seven years, same as he's known buck, but technically she wasn't there for all of it. that's what he remembers.

but the same way eddie thought he needed to be with shannon romantically so as not to ruin the relationship, chris probably thinks eddie and buck need to keep the status quo not to ruin the relationship. especially when you take into his warped view of romantic relationships. shannon, ana, marisol, they all ended terribly for eddie. and buck? i'm not sure what he's told chris about his relationships, but he doesn't have a much better track record. abby ghosted him, ali left at the first sign of trouble, there was the whole jonah scenario with taylor (who actually was in christopher's life, so that definitely messed with chris a bit), tommy broke up with him seemingly out of nowhere...

it makes the most sense that chris wouldn't want them to date. if chris was home when they told him, i can imagine him calling pepa or carla, kind of a parallel to him running away to buck in s4 (which he can't do now for obvious reason). i don't think the arc would last long, i think whoever he ran to would start the conversation and tell him about an ex that they're still friends with, and then eddie would come to pick him up and they'd talk it out, there'd be a buckley-diaz scene, end of ep.

but if he was still in texas? he'd probably yell at them over the video call and then refuse to answer any calls or texts afterwards. buck and eddie would probably "break up" for an ep or two, and be absolutely miserable. this probably culminates in eddie taking a trip to texas (alone, maybe not even telling buck) and talking it out with chris, addressing their mutual fears about the relationship and eddie explaining that even if it doesn't work out, they'd still be friends, and even if that doesn't work out, buck would still be in his life, that it wouldn't be like when his mom left. there's definitely a video call to buck in this, after eddie and chris have talked their feelings out, and then chris would ask to come back home, effective immediately.

but there's also the question of how chris would react if eddie tells chris about his feelings for buck (pre-relationship). he'd probably tell eddie he can never act on it, then tell buck the same thing (without telling eddie) and then there's a few eps of buck and eddie acting distant from each other before chris snaps and says "you weren't supposed to act like you're already divorced!". of course that's if he's in la. if he's in texas it would probably play out the same way it would've if they were already together after they stopped avoiding each other and finally talked it out.

of course, they could go the easy route and have chris say "it's about time" but this is 911 we're talking about, they probably won't do that

[malbenita]

Girls are heh

[dottores]

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine, reader gets a bit hurt in this chapter but only briefly.

notes: y'all we are officially 50k words in omg what a milestone. we are almost there--they are going to meet soon... but technically.... well you'll see. there are THREE special cameos in this chapter

A WARM WELCOME

“Now is not the time, doctor.”

Pantalone didn’t even raise his head to look at Dottore as he scribbled away at whatever parchment he was writing on. Dottore pressed his lips together, eyes cold beneath his mask as he watched Pantalone, unmoving. The windows of his office creaked against the winds outside, fireplace crackling to keep the room warm but other than that, silence rang loudly between the two of them.

Finally, when Dottore made no move to leave, Pantalone looked up. “What is it? I have a week to prepare for the induction of the Eleventh. I don’t have time for petty complaints.”

Dottore should be insulted, he could feel his irritation rising at the man’s comment but he forced himself to push it away. He had more important things to deal with, notably, his soulmate and as much as he hated to admit it, Pantalone’s resources were necessary if he wanted to find her before someone else did… before she got herself and by extension, him, hurt.

“You offered me resources a few years ago,” Dottore finally said, watching Pantalone carefully for a reaction. “I would like them now.”

The Regrator was a sharp man. Dottore did not have to go into detail for purple eyes to flicker down to his thumb, where the red thread connected him to his soulmate. He watched as Pantalone’s brows furrowed, as he tried to figure out why the sudden change after years of Dottore denying her very existence to him. 

“You have terrible timing, doctor,” Pantalone murmured, pushing the parchments aside as he leaned back in his seat to look up at Dottore. “My resources have been all but expended between the upcoming event and trying to track down that menace to the east who has been slaughtering our underlings.

Dottore’s lips twisted. “It is not my timing that is terrible,” he said coolly, Pantalone raised his eyebrows and Dottore exhaled. “It’s hers. I believe she is here. In Snezhnaya.”

Pantalone exhaled, turning his head to the side to look out the window. “That’s not good,” he murmured. 

“I know that,” Dottore said shortly.

“Why not send one of your segments?” Pantalone asked after a moment, pen tapping against the wood of his desk in an unsteady manner that had Dottore’s eye twitching in annoyance.

“They’re busy,” Dottore answered tensely. 

A lie. Both Epsilon and Rho were back in Snezhnaya City with nothing to do until Dottore decided what research he wanted them to continue on after finishing a round of successful experiments in Archon residue down in southern Liyue. Dottore just didn’t want to send them after her. 

Epsilon was Epsilon. He could not trust that the segment wouldn’t do something foolish driven by the emotions that the rest of them did not have or were not capable of understanding. He was the one that Dottore worried about the most ever since the thread appeared, fearing that he would do something that would irreparably strengthen the bond… like forcing Dottore to meet her because he thought it would be best for them.

And Rho had been the one most vocal about at least letting the kids meet her and if the kids met her, he knew it would inevitably lead to Dottore meeting her and that was the last thing he wanted. 

He had a feeling that Pantalone could read right through the excuse if the unimpressed look on his face had anything to say about it but Dottore did not waver, raising his chin and staring down at where the man was sitting. 

“Unfortunately, I don’t have the resources to look for her right now,” Pantalone finally said, shaking his head and scooching his chair back to ruffle through one of the drawers of his desk. “If you can send one of your segments to take out the threat in the east, I might be able to conjure some up and have them keep an eye out but right now my hands are tied.”

“Fine,” Dottore said sharply. “Give me the information you’ve gathered. I’ll send a segment to track him down and kill him.”

Pantalone raised his eyebrows again, this time not even bothering to ask the question that Dottore knew was dancing through his mind: I thought your segments were busy, he could hear the mocking words just through the man’s expression. 

Instead, Pantalone just slid a thick folder across the desk to give to Dottore. He snatched it and tucked it under his arm, intent on passing it off to Rho before he returned to his labs, waiting for Pantalone to confirm that he would look for her.

“We don’t want him dead. We want him captured,” Pantalone warned. “Pierro wants information from him… then I’ll convince him to pass him off to you. Another test subject, you’re welcome.”

Dottore only smiled thinly. “And the girl?” he pressed.

“I’ll do what I can,” Pantalone said. “What do you know about where she is? Western or Eastern Snezhnaya? The border? I need to be able to narrow down the search, I can’t send men all across Snezhnaya with the upcoming event. I need them in the city to prepare for the arrivals of the aristocrats.” 

“I know that she is in Snezhnaya,” Dottore told him. Maybe he would know more if he would swallow his pride and reach out to her, but that simply was not an option. 

Pantalone stared at him, irritation thinly veiled behind his purple eyes. “You do not like making things easy, do you?” the corners of Pantalone’s eyes crinkled in annoyance at Dottore’s words before he finally sighed, shaking his head. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” he finally repeated, “but with nothing to go on, I can make no promises that I’ll find her before someone else does… so, for all of our sakes, I suggest you try to narrow that down.”

It was cold. 

You knew that was something you should have expected and you thought you prepared adequately for it but now, you thought that no amount of preparation could have made you ready to face this. As soon as you had crossed over into Snezhnaya, the temperature had plummeted, the sheer cold was beyond anything you had ever felt before--cold enough to crack the stones of the buildings in the small villages littered throughout the countryside, cold enough to freeze you from the inside out.

Traveling during the night simply wasn’t feasible, as soon as the sun crossed the horizon, the already bone-chilling temperatures plunged further. You had been lucky the first night when you were traveling down the main road deeper into the northlands--you had bumped into an older man traveling back to his home from the one of the villages, he had ushered you back to his place and he and his wife had looked after you, warning you that you wouldn’t live through the night without shelter in Snezhnaya.

Since then, it’d been a game of survival. The deeper you got into Snezhnaya, the more winding and confusing the roads became, the harder it became to track down villages to find inns to stay at and the more nervous it made you about finding shelter for the night. You thought that Snezhnaya was a trap laid out for foreigners, only those who were born and raised there knew how to navigate the lands without meeting an untimely end. 

The tundra of the east appeared endless, a daunting venture you dared not make, and the forests of the west were dark and maze-like with dangerous creatures prowling about and the threat of getting lost and not making it to an inn before night fell was high… but the forest was the only way through to the mountain range south of the Snezhnayan capital city. If you wanted to get to the heart of the Fatui, you would have to trek through the forest and pray you stumbled upon one of the villages before the sunset. 

You exhaled, leaning back in your seat at the bar of the inn you were staying at as you swirled your empty glass between your fingers. You had reached the end of the main road, the only way further into Snezhnaya was through the forest now but the thought of entering it made you anxious. A part of you thought you might be better off heading back home. 

“Another?” the bartender questioned as he walked by you but you only shook your head, thanking him quietly as you remained lost in your own thoughts. 

You couldn’t turn back. Not now, not yet. You had promised yourself and your father that you wouldn’t return home until you had ample evidence to bring this to court… unless you died trying to get it.

Your grandfather didn’t want you going north. He thought that no amount of evidence would be worth you risking your life for but you disagreed. You didn’t think there was any world in which you’d be able to live with yourself knowing you didn’t even try. 

From the corner of your eye, you noticed that he was looking at you again--the man sitting at a table in the corner of the room. You couldn’t see his face, there was a hood masking it from view but you could feel his eyes on you, he’d been watching you for nearly thirty minutes now. A part of you wanted to confront him, grab your stuff and head over to his table and demand to know why he kept staring at you but… the more logical part of you knew you shouldn’t. You didn’t know why he was staring at you and all of the worst possibilities were running through your head:

Does he know what you’re here for?

Is he Fatui?

Is he planning on attacking you?

Your vision vibrated from where it was hidden beneath your cloak, warning you to prepare for a battle but you were not the battle type. You had never learned how to wield your vision in a combat manner and you didn’t know if he had a vision or not, you only knew that he had a large claymore set down on the seat next to him and all you had was a small blade that couldn’t even be called a sword. You had only learned to use your vision in the way your father and grandfather taught you when you were younger and it was not something you enjoyed doing to people. 

Finally, you forced yourself to stand up. Your gaze caught the window on the far end of the room as you rose to your feet--it was dark already, night had fallen and the hazard of the cold had become even more real. 

With a sharp inhale, you turned on your heel to make your way over to the table the man was sitting at. You watched as his head turned to follow you as you approached him and you watched as his body tensed, gloved fingers gripping the edge of the table tight as you slid onto the bench across from him.

“Is there a reason you keep staring at me?” you finally asked. You leaned back against the wall that the bench was placed against, feigning ease, but your legs were tense, ready to move at the first sign of an attack.

“You’re not from here,” the man said after a moment of silence, you caught a glimpse of red beneath the hood he wore. His accent was foreign--unlike the Snezhnayan dialect you’d become used to throughout your travels. 

“Neither are you,” you retorted. He shifted back in his seat, the lighting of the inn revealing equally red hair hanging in his eyes, cold and empty with something dark thinly veiled behind them that made your skin crawl--eyes that had witnessed massacre, eyes that promised vengeance. Vengeance for what? You didn’t know. You weren’t sure you wanted to know, you knew it would lead to nothing good. 

You suddenly felt as if you had made a mistake. 

“There aren’t many foreigners this deep in Snezhnaya,” he noted cooly. “Just merchants… are you a merchant?”

Somehow, you felt as if ‘yes’ was the wrong answer. 

He was accusing you of something, you could feel it in your bones but you didn’t know what he was accusing you of. Being a spy? Was he Fatui? 

“I’m not a merchant,” you said, taking in a small puff of air when you caught the blood smeared across the man’s chin and neck as the hanging lights in the middle of the tavern swayed a bit. His lips pressed together subtly at your words and your vision was becoming even more erratic--danger, danger, danger, it warned you.

Somehow, you knew now that ‘no’ had been the wrong answer too. 

“It’s hard traveling through Snezhnaya without knowing what paths to take, you can get lost easily… all of the paths on the old maps have been snowed out,” he responded. “How’d you make do?” 

“An older couple living off the main road pointed me in the right direction,” you told him. “How about you? Are you a merchant?”

You knew he wasn’t. No merchant traveled with blood staining their faces and a weapon the size of the average person. He had no goods that he had arrived with, he’d shown up at the inn a little after you had with only his sword in tow and his eyes were unfriendly and glacial, unlike the faux charisma that painted the expressions of merchants as they tried to get you to buy their products.

The man stared at you for a moment and then he said, “No,” with no further explanation.

The Fatui usually traveled in groups or as pairs. He had a foreign accent. He wore no mask or sigil that affiliated him with the organization as they usually did. Who the hell was he?

And then you remembered the hushed whispers of the elderly couple you had stayed with--warning you that the Fatui had become more active in their area because of a belligerent wreaking havoc throughout central Snezhnaya who had been spotted at a nearby inn. They told you to take care because they didn’t think that the Fatui would take kindly to any outsider in the area so long as the hostile remained terrorizing their strongholds but…

Was this…?

You watched him carefully, trying to figure it out without having to ask. You were several miles from where you had been staying with them now and it had been two and a half days. Traveling through Snezhnaya was slow and arduous, the wind fought you with every step and half of the time you were dragging yourself through snow that reached your knees. 

If this was him, then maybe… 

You didn’t even have a chance to finish the thought, head snapping to the side as the door to the inn slammed open and cold air rushed through the tavern at the entrance, blowing out half of the candles keeping the room lit up. Your stomach churned uncomfortably and from the corner of your eye, you watched as the man you were sitting with reached for his weapon. 

Who the hell was traveling in the dead of night?

Your throat felt tight as you watched another hooded figure step into the inn. You couldn’t make out his features in the dim lighting, you couldn’t even tell if he was armed or not but there was an odd vial that glowed blue even in the dark hanging from his right ear.

The bartender had paused in making a drink for one of the other patrons of the tavern, a wary look visible on his face that you caught as the chandelier swung dangerously beneath a harsh wind. You let out a shaky breath, the cold from outside was already creeping beneath your cloak and freezing your skin. You wondered why no one was shouting at him to close the damn door like they did to other people who arrived until the bartender finally spoke up, voice shaky: 

“Lord Harbinger,” he breathed out. “How can I-”

The man’s head turned in your direction--no, you realized, not your direction, his--and that was the only warning you got before the world around you exploded. 

The entire right side of his body felt like it was on fire. Dottore let out a spew of curses as his hand spasm and he dropped the vial he had been studying right to the ground, watching as the glass shattered and the silvery liquid splattered all over the floor, dissolving the tiles and eating through the ground.

Dottore exhaled, briefly shutting his eyes before looking down at the mess on the floor. His lips twisted in annoyance as he realized he was going to have to restart what he had been testing but the annoyance very quickly faded, instead shifting into confusion as the pain persisted. His gaze drew over to his arm--nothing was wrong with it on the surface level but it was a blinding type of pain that had him gritting his teeth, like a jagged blade was tearing through his bicep.

It was…

He hadn’t felt anything from her in nearly two weeks. No anxiety, no fear, no anger or sadness and certainly not any pain. He stared down at his arm, where the pain was coming from, and not for the first time since the accursed thread showed up, Dottore had no idea what to do. He thought that he should reach out to her, figure out what was going on and get a general idea of where she was so he could send one of his segments to find her. The pain was more than anything he had ever experienced through her and he wasn’t sure if it was just because she had a low pain tolerance and he was feeling what she was, or if it was because the pain was actually that bad. 

Neither boded well for her. 

But if he reached out to her, if she was fighting someone, it could distract her. 

Dottore’s teeth grit together. He didn’t know what would happen to him or the segments if she died. He didn’t know how it would affect them. Logically, he thought it shouldn’t affect them at all. They hadn’t met her yet and if the bond worked anything like how they believed it did, it shouldn’t take effect until after they met, which wasn’t going to happen… but after two weeks of silence, Dottore was unsure. Every day that passed, an odd, unfamiliar feeling expanded through his chest. He didn’t know how to describe it besides overwhelming and unwelcome but he knew it was because of her silence and the lack of communication through the bond. It caused an emptiness that made him question everything they had learned about the bond. 

And if mere silence could cause that, he wasn’t sure he wanted to risk knowing what her death would cause.

Are you okay? 

He asked it before he could decide against it, taking a seat back down at the lab table he had been working at as he waited for a response. Each second felt like an eternity, he could hear the silver liquid still eating through the ground below, sizzling and cracking as the floor dissolved wherever it touched the substance. 

He wondered if she would just ignore him like he did to her for years on end.

But then, his forearm stung--a familiar feeling that he hadn’t experienced in two weeks now. He hated how that empty feeling he hadn’t been able to get rid of since he had pushed her away immediately disappeared. It made him feel weak… as if he had no control over his own emotions like a puppet on a string being commanded by a stranger. He glanced down at his arm, red eyes flying over the words that had appeared.

Does it feel like I’m okay?

At once, he rolled his eyes, regretting reaching out to her. He rose to his feet again, pacing across the room to get the tools he needed to clean the mess of his mistake but before he even got halfway there, the pain tripled and a creeping fear began to spread through his chest. He grimaced as he leaned on a nearby counter, trying to regain control over himself but he found that he couldn’t--her fear and pain was simply too intense.

What happened? 

He slid down against the counter he was leaning on until he was sat on the floor. He watched the silvery liquid from the corner of his eye, watching as it ate through the ground closer and closer to him as he waited for a response from her. He despised how he couldn’t compartmentalize her feelings. He had learned how to separate them from his and the other segments but he had never figured out how to store them away and convert them into something that was easier for him to process. 

Attacked. 

Dottore felt cold. His gaze drew over to the window on the opposite wall of his lab--it was dark out, the sun had long set and the wind was harsh. He wondered if the coldness was a result of the damning realization that she was in trouble or if it was because she was outside. Either way, Dottore needed to act--if she was still being attacked, he had to get one of the segments there and if she was stuck in the cold running after being attacked, she would die to nature.

Dottore tried to push away the rising anger--the fury that never failed to appear whenever he was put into an impossible situation because of this bond, whenever he felt like the gods were looking down at him and laughing as he played right into their sick games. 

Who attacked you? Where are you?

He shot out questions to her at a rapid speed, the pain was getting worse on his end. He could feel a light-headedness and a fuzzy feeling beginning to seep through his body and mind. She had to be losing blood and too much of it. If she passed out, that would be the end. She’d be killed by the attacker or she’d be killed by the cold, there was no other fate that awaited her. 

Don’t know. An inn at -------

Dottore stared at the indecipherable words branded onto his forearm--he wasn’t sure if they were scribbles or an ancient language that he just couldn’t understand, another way for the gods to laugh at him by dangling the answer wants right in front of his face but making it so that he couldn’t understand it. 

What do you mean you don’t know? Figure it out.

Dottore wondered if she could sense his irritation at her response. He didn’t really care if she could, maybe it would make her think harder. 

Fatui, finally scrawled itself on his forearm and Dottore thought he might want to throw something because he had called it the moment that he had realized she might be coming north, he knew that between her being a foreigner and their subordinates being anxious over the masked hostile running through their camps that something would happen. They called him Lord Harbinger. 

Dottore stared at the words trying to piece together what was going on. Lord Harbinger? Pulcinella and Pantalone were rarely, if ever, sent on missions that would end in combat. As far as he was aware, Brighella was at Zapolyarny Palace working with Pierro on something. Capitano was traveling north from Natlan for the initiation of the new Harbinger in a few days, he’d be on a boat traveling the western sea. Scaramouche? It could-

He had a blue earring, it was bright.

A blue earring, he was acutely aware of the one hanging from his own ear, mind racing as he tried to remember where each of the segments were. Lambda and Theta were in Sumeru. Zeta was in Mondstadt. Delta and Iota were on the Fontaine border. Gamma, Epsilon and Kappa were all hanging around his labs. 

Rho, it dawned on Dottore suddenly. He had sent the segment south to track down the belligerent because their subordinates had proved incapable. He had mentioned that he was closing in on the man. Had she gotten caught in the crossfire? Was she traveling with him? 

No, that wasn’t possible. All reports had claimed that the hostile was traveling alone.

Rho, Dottore spit out, reopening the connection with the segment, intent on having him find the girl and drag her back across the border into Fontaine. Where are you?

Not now, Rho responded, voice cold and angry. It took a lot to anger Rho, he had tight control over his temper unlike the Theta and Delta segments. Dottore could feel something stinging his cheek, a cut--he wondered if the hostile had actually managed to land a blow on him, no matter how small. It would explain why he was so angry. 

Get back to where you came from. Now.

Now? Rho demanded, livid. I’m on him. 

She was there. At the inn. The reaction was instantaneous as Rho’s resolve wavered. If she dies because of you, you won’t even get the relief of deactivation.

Dottore rose to his feet again once he was certain that Rho had turned back, pacing across the length of his lab, careful to step over the melted ground where the substance had fallen. 

Once he found her, this would all be over. He’d have Rho bring her back to Fontaine whether she liked it or not, and once he knew where she lived, he’d make sure to send one of the other segments to keep an eye on her so something like this would never happen again.

Finally, he would have some semblance of control over the bond for the first time since it appeared. He’d no longer be hanging onto her whims, he’d no longer have to stress about her getting herself hurt or killed and how it would affect him, he’d no longer be bound to this mess and he’d never have to worry about accidentally running into her because the segment would keep her confined to the city and he would stay far from it.

He’d send the Zeta segment. He couldn’t send Theta because he didn’t trust him not to do something rash. He couldn’t send Delta, Rho or Epsilon because the younger segments were attached to them at the hip and they would press to meet her. Lambda was an option if he could ensure that the segment wouldn’t try to ‘handle her’ as he threatened to already. 

Relief began to inch its way through him—too soon.

He had jinxed himself.

She’s not here, he heard Rho tell him. I don’t know-

Dottore closed the connection, biting back vile curses as he pressed his fingers to the bridge of the nose and tried to think. 

Where could she have gone? It had only been a few minutes. She was hurt. She couldn’t have gotten far. 

Where are you? He finally decided to ask her and he waited, and waited, and waited for a response but was only met with the empty silence he had become accustomed to the past two weeks. 

“Where am I?” 

Your eyes followed the cloaked figure carefully, trying to keep your breath steady as the pain coursing through your arm gradually subsided. Your gaze flickered to the side, watching as the red, bubbling skin of your right arm began to smooth and clear beneath whatever substance that had been smeared over the burns. 

“What is this stuff?”

You had a lot of experience with using elemental energy to heal wounds. Fontaine City had some of the best medics throughout Teyvat--Wriothesley’s family’s special trait could call upon hydro energy to heal even the most fatal and grievous of wounds. He had never been able to wield it the way his family wanted him to but his grandfather was the best of the best, he had helped you when you had broken your arm and leg ten years ago after falling down the steps of the clocktower when exploring with Wrio.

This was not elemental energy. It was odd and cool, like gelatin, but it worked as fast as any medic--in no time, the pain was gone and the burns had vanished, leaving the skin of your arm unblemished again.

“Old magics,” the person responded. Their voice was low, androgynous. You couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman.

“Why did you help me?” you asked. “Who are you?”

You didn’t know where you were now--it was a dark room, a stone building with a fireplace on the opposite wall. The last you remembered, you had been in the snow. You had started to lose consciousness, the cold and the pain too much for your body to bear. You could barely even remember what had happened: you could picture the hooded man who you had been sitting with brandishing his claymore and the man that they had called Lord Harbinger meeting him blade for blade, pale fire coating his weapon and eating away at the wood of the inn, burning through your cloak down to the skin. You could hear the screams of the other patrons of the inn as they got caught in the crossfire of the battle between the two men. 

And then you were here, in this room… with this person. 

“Who are you?” you demanded, more insistently this time when you didn’t get a response.

Finally, a reaction from them. The flames flickered across their face as they turned to face you and finally, you got a glimpse beneath the hood… but it was not a human face that stared back at you. It was a mask, dark with a spade-like pattern around the eyes, a smile painted onto the plastic. 

“No one,” they replied, “just a trouper.”

What? You thought to yourself, confused. Your nose wrinkled and your brows furrowed as you mulled over the word. A trouper? Like the entertainers at the Grand Theater? 

“Why did you help me?” you tried again, raising your chin to meet the two voids in the eyeholes of the mask. They hadn’t tried to bind you or restrict your movement, they hadn’t even taken your weapon--just a bit of concentration and you could put yourself in control of the situation. 

They tilted their head to the side, you couldn’t see their eyes or expression but you knew they were smiling, “Is that how you treat someone who saved you?”

You hadn’t even moved, you stared at them, unmoving, forcing your body to relax. How had they known what you were thinking? You weren’t a person that was easy to read--if you were, you would’ve been put on trial for treason a long time ago. 

“Why did you save me?” you asked slowly, not letting them get out of answering the question. 

“Because I want to help you.” 

Yet again, they evaded the question. Your lips twisted in frustration, “Why?”

“Because I think we can help each other.”

There it was, you recognized, taking in a sharp breath. They wanted something from you. The air around you suddenly felt cold, as if the fire across the room had been snuffed out even though it was still burning bright. They were eerily still, almost like a statue as they watched you, waiting for a reaction. 

“Why do you think that?” you asked carefully.

“Do you really think you can infiltrate the Fatui on your own?”

You were on your feet in an instant, reaching for the blade sheathed at your side but your eyes widened when you realized it wasn’t there. You only had half of a second to react before you found yourself backed up against the wall, a forearm pressed to your throat and the tip of your own blade pressed to your side, threatening to puncture the skin.

It had just been on you. How did they get it?

“Well?”

Well what? You wanted to scream, mind panicked and racing as you tried to force yourself to calm down and think but it was hard to concentrate with your air being half-restricted and a blade pressed to your ribcage. 

They wanted you to answer their question, you realized, about infiltrating the Fatui.

“Yes,” you said but you weren’t even sure you believed it yourself. You kept telling yourself that you would figure out a plan once you got to the city and had a scope of the area and more information available to you but you had a feeling that nothing would change even once there. Zapolyarny Palace would be impenetrable. 

“How?” they murmured, not letting up on you. You wanted to turn your face away, unnerved by the proximity of the mask, but you thought that would show you as weak and you couldn’t afford to show weakness, not right now. “Do you plan to storm the palace? Face the Harbingers and demand retribution for your father? Do you think you will fly under the radar of the Knave’s webs of spiders? That you can simply walk past the automatons of the Marionette prowling the streets of the capital city? You will find yourself a victim of the Doctor’s twisted experiments or the Friar’s sick games before you even hope to find the evidence you seek.” 

You couldn’t mask your expression, not after hearing that. You stared at them, lips parting as if to speak but no words left them. You felt like a fish out of water--for the first time in a long time, you were fumbling for words, your tongue felt twisted and heavy.

How were you going to do it? The question laid atop you like a crown of thorns, tearing through your skin and scarring your face. You didn’t know. You didn’t know how you were going to do it. You used not being in the city as an excuse, convinced yourself that it was the only reason you haven’t thought up a plan yet but the truth was branded right on your face as you stared at the masked person: you simply didn’t know.

“I can help you,” they whispered, leaning in impossibly closer. “I can give you your in, the chance you need to find the proof.”

“How do you know all of this?” you finally asked and you hated how your voice cracked over your words but you were scared because if this person knew all of this then it could spell your end, just like that. All they had to do was send word to the Fatui and you’d have hell bearing down on your doors.

And if they knew about this…

“I know a lot,” they said cryptically. “Would you like me to help you?”

… did they know about your soulmate?

You let out another shaky breath, staring ahead. You didn’t know what to do. If you didn’t accept their help, would they sell you out to the Fatui? Or would they laugh and watch as you fumbled your way through Snezhnayan courts and fail to acquire what you had traveled all this way for? You could feel the pain ricocheting through your head, you could barely even think straight, much less come up with an answer. 

If you did accept, you finally forced your head back on track, what did they want in return? That was what you needed to know.

“What would you want in return?”

“We don’t know yet,” they said quietly but their tone was not hesitant--if anything, it was amused. Finally, they released you, taking a step back to watch you. The eyes staring down at you were empty, like looking into an abyss.

A dangerous, dangerous gamble. It gave them too much power.

“No, I want to know what you want in return.”

We. You suddenly recognized how they referred to themself--we, not I, they were not working alone. You felt all the more suffocated at the realization. 

“Then I guess we have no deal,” they said with a sigh, making a move to leave the room the two of you were in. Your heart leapt to your throat. “I cannot tell you what we do not know. Take the deal as is or fail, you will not succeed without help. You have no way of getting into Zapolyarny Palace. It is impenetrable.”

You should take that as a challenge, tell them fuck off and make them watch as you succeeded. Your blood boiled at the condescending tone and it took all of your willpower to not snap at them. 

This was not the time for pride. You had to abandon all vices and virtues if you were to get the evidence to condemn your stepfather, if you were to bring justice to your father… and if this person were to offer you the chance you desperately needed… then maybe it was worth whatever price they wanted you to pay in the long run. 

Committing injustices in the name of justice, the thought rang through your head loud. Wrio would love the irony. 

“You can get me into Zapolyarny?” you finally questioned, hiding the way your hands were shaking behind you as you sealed your fate. 

They hummed in agreement, “You will be on your own once you’re in there. Take care not to anger the wrong people… or draw too much attention to yourself.”

You could do that, you told yourself. Once you got in, you needed to find a place. Weasel your way in as an attendant so you could search for the evidence you needed. 

“Okay,” you finally agreed. The air suddenly felt heavy and oppressive, you thought that if you looked up, you would see the blade of a guillotine dropping on your neck. “Okay, we have a deal.”

You didn’t have to see their face to know that they were smiling, the voids staring down at you glimmered cruelly, you swore you saw red deep within the eyeholes of the mask.

“Welcome to the game, spadille.”

rbs appreciated!!

[rambleonwaywardson]

Sleepless

A Clegan (Buck x Bucky) one-shot

Summary: Buck and Bucky both struggle with nightmares after the war, but they help each other cope.

Word Count: 2380

Author's note: some hurt/comfort for you all with some fluff at the end. As before, I'm posting here for now, and if I manage to build up a small collection of Clegan drabbles I'll see about putting them on AO3.

--

Bucky can’t sleep. But he could sit and watch Gale sleep for hours. 

They’ve been doing okay, since the war. They’ve had good days and bad days. Good nights and worse nights. Over time, something in both of their minds is slowly, slowly beginning to heal, and the frequency of worse is steadily decreasing. Bucky is proud to say that he can, on average, probably sleep through the night almost every day of the week now. It’s taking time, but he’s getting there. He thinks to himself that he should start keeping track: “nights since last nightmare that made me afraid to close my eyes again…”

Zero.

Tonight, unfortunately, had fallen into the worse category. 

Sometimes, when he wakes up, he can’t even remember what he’d been dreaming about. Sometimes, he isn’t sure that he had a dream at all. Just a feeling, an unease, a fear. Something that grips his mind and soul and just refuses to let go, no matter how hard he tries to shake it off. Funny how in war, in a bomber plane under attack, in a POW camp, in a near-death experience, he didn’t notice the fear so much. It was there, sure; he felt it creeping around in the back of his brain almost every second. But it was rarely all-consuming, and he did his best to push it away. He had to keep going, after all. Had to survive, had to find Gale, had to look after his men, had to make it home. There wasn’t time to let the fear drown him. There wasn’t time to truly think about how terrible, how harrowing, his experiences were in the moment. For the most part, he just had to keep going.

Now, in the aftermath, the fear pops up seemingly out of nowhere and makes him feel sick. He finds that unfair. He’d made it. He beat all of the unbeatable odds and survived. He’d found his way home, made it back to Gale. He isn’t dead no matter how hard the world has tried to do him in. And this is what he gets: he gets to remember it all in clearer detail than he experienced it when it actually happened. He gets to be haunted by it.

He made it home, but part of him is still at war.

Sitting cross-legged on their bed in sweatpants and no shirt, Bucky rests his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand. He takes a deep breath. It’s fucking unfair, but at least it’s getting better. At least this is only his first sleepless night in about a week. We can’t win all the time, huh?

Exhausted but unable, unwilling, to close his eyes again, he watches Gale in the dim light of the bedside lamp. It’s fucking unfair, but at least he has this.

Gale is still fast asleep, peacefully laying on his side with his hands tucked up under his head. Bucky’s actual angel in disguise. He loves the way Gale’s messy hair falls down over his forehead and his lips part ever so slightly. The way he curls his legs up towards his chest just the littlest bit. Bucky wants to wrap him up in his arms and hold on forever. He focuses on watching Gale’s breathing, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. It reassures him that, no matter what his unconscious mind tries to tell him, Gale is here. He’s the picture of health. He’s alive, and he’s all Bucky’s. He’s not about to get taken away in the blink of an eye. Gently, Bucky reaches out and strokes Gale’s soft hair. Gale smiles in his sleep, and it makes Bucky smile, too. He thinks to himself that he’d do everything over again if it meant he’d end up here.

When he pulls his hand away, Gale scrunches his brow and frowns. Bucky blinks, hand hovering in the air, waiting to see if Gale’s face will soften again. It doesn’t. Instead, Gale starts nervously clenching and unclenching his jaw. Bucky’s heart sinks and he reaches back out, places his hand on the side of Gale’s head again, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Gale’s breathing picks up, faster, faster. He screws his eyes shut tight and makes a soft, wounded sort of grunting sound as one of his hands curls into a tight fist under his face. 

Bucky runs his hand reassuringly over his hair the way Gale likes when he’s awake, trying to calm him down. It takes a minute, but his breathing starts to slow again, and then his eyes flutter open, unfocused and glassy with worried sleep. He scrunches his nose unhappily.

“Hey,” Bucky says softly.

Gale’s eyes find his. He tries to smile, but it’s just not quite there. “Hey.” Slowly, he sits up, the sheets falling down away from his chest so they sit in his lap as he leans forward, hands on his knees. He’s wearing a thin light gray t-shirt, but under it Bucky can see the chain around his neck and the outline of dog tags swinging against the fabric. Bucky is wearing his, too. They still haven’t quite gotten out of the habit. Oddly enough, they both have found that they often sleep better with them on.

Gale scrubs at his face with one hand and brushes his hair back away from his eyes. He checks the clock on the bedside table. 3:30 AM. Looking over at Bucky, he frowns. His voice is low and gravelly from sleep and carries a sort of guilt that Bucky wants to whisk away. “Did I wake you?”

Bucky shakes his head as he picks at the fabric of his sweats. “Was already up.”

“Mmm.” Gale nods and looks down at his lap, takes a deep breath. “What was yours about?”

They’d started doing this recently. Talking about their bad dreams. For a long time, neither of them wanted to give voice to what was in their heads. They wanted to push it away, ignore it, move on. Didn’t want to bug each other with it, add more weight to the burdens they already carried. Lately, though, they’d found that at least briefly putting words to it, saying it out loud to someone who would understand, helped them move forward a little easier. Instead of weighing more heavily on each other, talking about it lifted some of the burden away.

Bucky scratches the back of his head and sighs. “I-” Shit. It never really got easier to talk about, though. “I jumped from the fort, you know? And they were shooting at me, but they didn’t get me. I was still there. But. I looked over.” He glances up at Gale, who is looking vaguely in the direction of Bucky’s dog tags. Bucky breathes. “I looked over, and you were there, too. And I saw you, and I called your name, but you wouldn’t answer me. You wouldn’t answer. And then, I saw that you were dead. Hanging from your chute. A bullet hole through your…”

Bucky trails off, like the breath was pushed all out of his lungs before he could say the last word. He shuts his eyes tight and smacks a fist against his knee. Then there’s gentle fingers on his hand. A thumb stroking over his knuckles. I’m here, the touch says. Bucky nods. He knows. He just wishes his brain would start believing it.

“Mine was about the kid Nazi in the woods,” Gale says. This was one of his more frequent dreams, about the kids who killed George, the kid who pointed a gun at Gale’s head. In the dream, Gale doesn’t give him the chance to run. Bucky knows it by now, but he lets Gale say it anyway. He squeezes Gale’s hand back. Neither of them are looking at each other. Sometimes it’s easier that way. “I shot him,” Gale breathes out. “A kid. Just a kid. And I shot him.”

When Bucky looks up again, Gale is looking right at him, his face a mess of sadness and resignation, searching for something, anything, to make it go away. Bucky leans forward and pulls him in close, wraps his arms around Gale’s shoulders. “You didn’t, though,” he whispers.

Gale nods. “And I’m here.”

“You wanna try to go back to sleep?” Bucky asks him. Gale just about scoffs, burying his face deeper in Bucky’s neck. Bucky laughs mirthlessly. “Yeah, me neither.” He pats Gale on the side and pulls away. “Come on.”

Hand in hand – a tether proving to each other that they’re there, they’re safe, they’re not alone – they walk out of the bedroom and to the kitchen, turning on the lights. Bucky makes a show of how painfully bright they are even as he eyes the liquor cabinet in the corner. Gale shakes his head wordlessly and guides him away from it. He’d been so nervous since they came home, since the nightmares started in earnest, that Bucky would turn to alcohol to numb the pain. Months later, Gale still makes every effort to make sure that doesn’t happen. He’s thankful every day that Bucky tries his best, and that he lets Gale step in as his moral compass when the nights get hard. Bucky has no idea where he’d be by now if Gale wasn’t here with him.

So instead, Bucky pushes himself up to sit on the kitchen counter, fingers tapping nervously on his thigh, while Gale goes about making tea. Bucky never used to like tea, but he isn’t allowed to have alcohol after a nightmare and Gale insisted that coffee wouldn’t help matters either. So he lets him make him tea, and eventually he had learned to like it simply because it came from Gale when he needed Gale most. 

They don’t always wake up on the same nights. Often now, it’s one or the other at a time. And not all the dreams make it impossible to fall back asleep either, thank God. But sometimes, when they’re bad, they’ll wake each other up because they just can’t be alone. It’s an unspoken agreement: it doesn’t matter what they have going on or what time of night it is; if one of them needs the other, they’ll stay awake together. No exceptions. Every once in a while, though, like now, the night turns on both of them. Often, they barely talk on nights like these. Words tend to feel empty; they’ve all already been said. They just need to be. To touch, to feel, to breathe. They just need the closeness and the care. They need each other, and that has to be enough.

Gale hands Bucky a mug full of tea, and Bucky spreads his legs open so Gale can stand between them. Gale tries not to look too intently at the tags dangling over Bucky’s bare chest, and he raises his own mug. “Cheers.”

Bucky half smiles and raises his mug to clink against Gale’s before taking a sip, letting the comforting warmth run through his body. He closes his eyes for a moment and feels the heat radiating from Gale standing in front of him, so close they’re almost touching. When he turns his head and looks out the kitchen window, he can see stars. So many stars, a constant the past few years no matter where on the Earth he’s been. Everything is quiet. He drinks his tea.

After a while, Gale sets his mug on the counter and leans his forehead against Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky sets his mug down, too, and places his hand on the back of Gale’s head, running his fingers soothingly through his hair. Then, carefully, he slides down off the counter so they’re face to face, and Gale wraps his arms up over Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky rests his head against Gale’s, cheek pressed to soft hair. Gale is not particularly small, but Bucky is still bigger than him, and he takes comfort in being wrapped securely in his arms. Like somehow, Bucky can be a shield, protecting him from all of the bad things in his own head.

When Bucky starts swaying, Gale raises an eyebrow even though his face is hidden in Bucky’s neck. “What are you doing?” he mumbles.

“Dancing,” Bucky says matter of factly. It’s somewhat less convincing because he yawns in the middle of the word and has to say it again.

“Why are we dancing?”

Bucky lifts his head up, kisses Gale’s forehead, and leans back as much as he can so he can look him in the eyes. “Why not?”

Gale rolls his eyes, but he smiles. It’s small, but it’s real, and Bucky smiles back.

They dance all around the kitchen, first just swaying, going in circles to the music in Bucky’s head. Then Gale slips away to put a record on in the living room – it starts on Blue Skies, Bucky’s comfort song – and when he comes back Bucky grabs him by the waist and spins him around. Gale laughs even as he nearly loses his balance and grabs onto Bucky’s arms again. Neither of them are very good, and they’re even worse together, but they do it anyway. And soon they’ve stepped and turned and spun their way into the living room. Bucky has tried to lift and spin Gale around in the air no fewer than three times. Gale has tried to twirl Bucky to no avail, to the point of stepping on each other’s feet and stumbling into each other’s arms. Until eventually, they collapse onto the couch, half laying on one another, and their eyes are still tired but they’re brighter again. 

Bucky crawls forward and kisses Gale softly, slowly, before laying his head on his chest. Gale rubs his hand up and down Bucky’s back, wondering how on Earth he isn’t cold. Gale hasn’t had much tolerance for cold since the Stalag. It feels bone-deep and he often finds himself shivering even when it’s warm, unless he has something covering his body. He takes comfort in the warmth of Bucky’s skin, though, lets it calm his senses as they match their breathing to one another.

The last thing Gale hears before he falls asleep is a whispered, “I love you,” and he smiles.

[leiandroid]

yakuza / bratva au

extremely important note about this au is that, being russian, ino's name is ino yamanavka xD

many ramblings about this au vvv

hinata is the first daughter of the yakuza's hyuuga family. she murders her father in cold blood with his own katana after a psychotic break. hanabi becomes the boss by default and is out for hinata's head for revenge. hinata runs away to russia. she regains awareness somewhere in russia after her episode and after a few weeks is found by low level bratva members that answer to a certain faction led by ino.

ino is instantly taken by this exotic yet dangerous beauty and recognises that she's not all right up there. instead of wasting her she takes her in, much to the familys protest, and makes hinata her right hand. ino's goals are to climb the ranks and take over the entire russian mafia as the top leader.

hinata has reverted to a "childlike" state for self preservation. she is shy and cheerful and nervous and meek; qualities her father literally beat out of her to shape her up to becoming the next head of the hyuuga. despite this, hanabi would be the one to grow up to be the ruthless protege he always wanted and so tossed hinata to the side. the trauma endured and the pressure and ostracisation by the whole clan caused her to eventually snap.

the guilt and grief of killing her father then has her reverted to a childlike state where she constantly seeks for his approval. she took her father's sword with her and his "spirit" lives in the sword. she seeks the swords approval and talks to it as if it were hiashi himself. and in her mind the sword praises her for how far she's become, berates her for her mistakes, etc.

when she kills she becomes hysterically insane, and in the aftermath she becomes cold and unfeeling for some time before she goes back to her normal childlike state. basically she lives in a constant state of disassociation / multiple personalities (?)

ino manipulates her to do her bidding, assures her she's okay, that she's amazing, that her father is so proud of her. she eases hinata's nerves and anxieties with sweet words and sex.

ino came from a poor background where her father sold her to the bratva for money and medicine to help his sick wife. she grew up in the mafia and was used and abused all throughout. every year, every day that passed, ino would have an ever growing hitlist; members that raped her, beat her, humiliated her, etc. and on the top of that list was her fathers name.

when she was old enough to put her plans to fruition, she tracked down her parents house only to find that they had died long ago. not being able to have the last word she is fueled by hatred and goes on a killing spree on the rest of her list and kills her boss and takes his place and threatens the remaining living members of the faction to either join her or die.

over time she becomes a terrible and horrifying leader and is now the boss of a significantly large faction that has control of a sizeable area in moscow.

she has spent time in prison where she received most of her tattoos. (dot under the eye to denote homosexuality, rose to indicate that she turned 18 in prison, nautical stars that tell of her authority, eyes on her chest to mean she is always watching, "cyka" a forced tattoo calling her a bitch, spider to show that she's an active criminal, gun to show she's killed and is/was for hire to kill, roundstone that means trust no one, and various other tattoos with real world meanings).

half her face was burned with battery acid in prison. her back is littered with scars from cuts and from lashes as disciplinary measures growing up in the mafia.

hinata's irezumi tattoos include motifs of ame no uzume that represents inner beauty and kindness, with various other details like bamboo and ginko leaves and little creatures like crabs and goldfish that represent strength, perseverance, sacrifice and loyalty.

ino genuinely cares for hinata in a very fucked up, selfish, and narcisstic way. their relationship is very complex. ino has a girl that constantly seeks her dead fathers approval, and ino has to act like the concept of a father doesn't sicken her to her bones. in a way, they both drive each other mad. ino grows to hate the sword that has part of hinata's love and attention, but understands that if the sword were to disappear then hinata would too (mind and body).

ino drives hinata to kill, which frays her mind a bit more every time, and in turn the energy ino puts into not letting hinata fall apart at the seams causes her a great deal of stress and gets in the way of a lot of her plans to take over. by the end of their conquests they are barely held together by a thread.

they do get very far together but they meet a grim fate when after hinata is forced to kill a child, she loses the last thread keeping her together then murders ino then kills herself immediately after. they become stuff of legends within the mafia.

[whumpy-wyrms]

The Last Lab Rat #12: Fever Dream

previous | masterlist | next

content: lab whump, captivity, fever, drugging, comfort, electrocution, parent death mention, winged test subject whumpee, scientist carewhumper

— 

Dew was getting closer and closer to escape, and he couldn’t be more terrified.

The past week, he had been planning a real escape with his little snake friend. He and Sasha had been crawling through the vents every night, mentally mapping out every twist and turn, every exit and entrance, every dead end. It was hard without a flashlight, but they would make do. The two of them decided to take it slow; no use rushing something and risk being caught, having the entire plan ruined.

They weren’t in a hurry. They knew Dew’s escape plan had to be absolutely flawless, with no possible way of getting caught. So even if it took weeks, they would take it slow.

But after everything, lying to the scientist was taking a toll. Dew had accidentally constructed an intricate web of lies he had to constantly keep track of. If Anton confronted him on just one hole in his stories, Dew would be done for. He’d crumble, too scared for what would happen if he kept lying.

So Dew tried to avoid his captor growing suspicious at all costs with the only way he knew how. Dew hated talking to Anton like a friend, having friendly conversations with the scientist after experiments, talking about his life, laughing, smiling. But gaining Anton’s trust was a priority. Besides, if Dew did get caught in this web of lies, maybe his captor would go easy on him because of this.

It was about a week after he met Sasha, and Dew found himself with a terrible headache, right after waking up. The lights were off, so it must’ve been early in the morning. He rolled over and held his head in his hands, feeling the heat radiating off of him. His stomach felt like shit too. No. Was he getting sick? He supposed that made sense, considering how long he’d been here. But this certainly wouldn’t help things.

Dew laid there for hours, unable to fall back to sleep. Eventually, the lights clicked on, making him wince and squeeze his eyes shut. A little bit after that, he heard the sound of footsteps walking up to his room.

“...Dewey? Are you okay?” Anton asked, walking into Dew’s room and putting the tray of food on his nightstand. The truth was, Dew looked like absolute shit. He was racked with sniffles and coughs, with piles of used tissues littered around him. Oh. Anton’s lab rat must be coming down with something.

Dew only mumbled an incomprehensible response, curling into himself and moving deeper under the warm blankets, as if searching for a false sense of security. Anton walked closer, now noticing that Dew’s wings were trembling.

“Hey, Dewey? What’s wrong?” Anton’s voice came out soft, quiet, as if he didn’t want to scare the little guy more than he already was. “Are you sick?”

“What does it look like?” Dew hissed, but his voice came out groggy and strained. He sounded absolutely miserable. He looked miserable. “I’m sick, Anton, obviously. I probably have a fever or something.” The scientist tilted his head and reached out his arm to Dew’s forehead, trying to feel his temperature.

“Don’t touch me.” Dew flinched back and swatted Anton’s hand away with his wing. He turned his body to the other side and buried his face into his pillow. “Just leave me–” Alone. Dew shuddered. He didn’t want that either. His voice softened. “I mean… Can you um- j-just get me some water? Please? The stuff in the bathroom sink is gross.”

Anton stepped back, giving Dew space. “Uh, Sure.” When the scientist left, Dew had a sudden spurt of coughs and sneezes. He groaned into his pillow, wishing he didn’t feel like this.

“Here you go, Dewey.” Anton smiled and handed him the water.

“My name’s not Dewey,” Dew complained into his pillow.

Anton smirked. “What was that, Dewey? Your voice is all muffled.”

Dew immediately sat up and shot Anton a glare, then groaned in pain and held a hand to his head. Too fast. He sat up too fast and now the room was spinning and his headache was worse.

“Gimme the water,” Dew said, sniffling.

“Pfft, rude.” But Anton handed it to him anyway.

Dew flopped back down onto the bed when he was done, and rolled over. “My head hurts,” Dew said weakly. “Can you um, dim the lights a little more? It’s hurting my eyes.”

“Oh. Okay.” Anton turned the lights down until he saw Dew visibly relax.

“Thanks,” Dew said.

“Don’t mention it. But, Dewey. You can’t just stay in bed all day.”

Dew turned to look at him incredulously. “I… I have a fever I think. I’m sick. A-Anton, I can’t- I don’t feel good.”

“Well, yeah, but I can just–”

Dew squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He didn’t want to deal with Anton’s antics right now, whatever that man was planning. Dew took a deep breath and opened his eyes, looking away. His eyes widened at something new. “...Wait, what is that?” He asked, surprised. He sat up and pointed to a bag that he noticed was sitting on the floor next to the wall.

“Oh,” Anton said as he picked it up. “It’s the night-light you asked for.”

Dew looked at him with a puzzled expression. “...Really?”

“Yeah, you wanted one, remember? I don’t understand all your silly fears, but whatever.” Anton tossed a strange object to Dew, and he scrambled to catch it.

The night-light in question was a little, round, white cartoonish ghost, made out of plastic with small LED lights in the middle. There were two little black dots for eyes and a small smile printed on its face. Dew turned the light on, and quickly squeezed his eyes shut at how bright it was. He turned it off, and rotated it around in his hands. It was cute, a bit silly, sure. But it was bright enough to light up the vents. It was perfect.

“Um, thanks,” Dew said. “I like it.”

“Cool. Oh! I got something else for you.”

“You did?”

“Yeah.” Anton smiled and pulled something out of the bag. Dew looked up, right as a blur of something fluffy and white was being thrown at him. He scrambled to catch it and get a look at whatever it was. Anton snickered, standing awkwardly next to his bed. “I saw it at the store and immediately thought of you.”

Dew looked down, and in his arms was a large, very fluffy and soft… chicken plushie? “What…”

“You both have wings! You’re like a giant chicken.”

“I’m not a chicken!” Dew said angrily, clutching his plushie in his arms anyway. He had to admit, it was really soft. He had a lot of plushies back home, and he missed snuggling with them. “What is this, um, for anyway?”

“I just thought you needed a friend. I suppose it gets lonely down here without me.”

“...Yeah,” Dew said quietly. “It does.”

Anton figited and walked closer, voice turning serious. “...Dew, how are you feeling?”

“Not good. I just wanna rest. …Please.”

“Hmm,” Anton hummed. Dew broke out in a burst of coughs. “I have an idea.”

“W-what kind of idea?” Dew asked miserably. “Can I just have some headache medicine or something?”

“Yeah yeah, hold on.” Anton waved him off while fishing something out of his pocket, seemingly not paying attention to what Dew was saying at all. The scientist pulled out a tape recorder, and clicked it on. “Alright,” Anton said. “The date is Saturday, September 21, 7:32am. Test subject seems to be sick with a fever. I’ll do some tests, and then–”

“Tests?” Dew asked miserably.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t feel good, Anton. Ca-can we just take a break? For one day?”

“You’ve had a lot of breaks recently, Dew. I wanna have some fun.”

“So do I.” 

Anton shrugged. “The experiments are fun.”

“They are not! They’re– They’re painful and traumatizing!” Dew wrapped his wings around himself and curled deeper into a ball.

“...What’s fun for you then?”

Dew furrowed his brows. Was Anton really asking what Dew liked to do for fun? Why did he care? “Um,” Dew began. “Playing video games, drawing, going outside, flying. Anything that, you know, doesn’t hurt.”

“Hm.” Anton sighed. He looked deep in thought, which never ended well. “There is this one thing I’ve been wanting to try out.”

“...Does it hurt?”

“It shouldn’t,” Anton shrugged. “If you behave.”

“Mmm,” Dew hummed anxiously, considering his lack of options. “O-okay.”

Anton smiled wide and ruffled Dew’s hair, who in turn, tried not to shy away from it. Behaving meant accepting Anton’s kind gestures, right?

“Okay, so I guess you wanna be healed from your fever, huh?”

“What? You can…?”

Anton rolled his eyes. “Of course I can.” He pulled out a flask of glowing fluid from behind his back, and held it out to him. “Drink this. You should go back to normal. In fact, you’ll probably even feel better than you did before.”

Dew eyed the flask warrily. It was no different from the other strange fluids the scientist makes him drink, but this gave Dew a weird feeling. It was a dark purple, with rivers of red and colorful specks flowing through it. It looked thick, with bubbles popping and floating upwards. Just looking at it made Dew more nauseous, the opposite effect it was supposed to have, Dew thought.

But he reached out to grab it anyway, like Anton said. But as he was about to grab the flask, Anton pulled it out of reach.

“Dew, your hands are shaking. I don’t want you to spill it.”

Dew glared at him. “What even is it anyway?”

“Medecine.” Not helpful. “I can’t let any spill and go to waste. This stuff is hard to make.”

The “medicine” became more and more unappealing the longer Dew looked at it. But whatever, he’d rather just get this whole thing over with. “Fine.”

Anton grabbed Dew’s chin gently, and brought the flask towards his mouth. “Open.”

Dew opened his mouth and allowed Anton to bring the flask to his lips. Dew drank it; downed it all in one go, despite the disgusting taste. Anton let go of his chin and blacked away, now looking bored.

Dew felt… wrong. The second he was done drinking it, he was hit with a wave of dizziness, and leaned back against the wall for support. His eyelids were growing heavy, and it was hard to stay upright.

“What’s… happening?” Dew asked worriedly, voice breaking.

“Shh,” Anton cooed. “Just relax. When you wake up, you’ll be back to normal.”

Dew blinked heavily and tried sitting up, but Anton firmly pushed him back down. “What–”

“Go to sleep, Dew.”

Dew shook his head lightly, trying to stay awake. But once his head hit the soft pillow, and he was wrapped up in cozy blankets, his eyes finally fluttered shut. Everything went black, and Dew drifted off into a short, peaceful sleep.

Anton stepped back and looked around the room. “Holy shit this place is a mess.”

. . .

Dew woke up to see Anton leaning over him, with his usual smirk on his face. Dew’s face scrunched up in fear and he turned his head away. He wanted nothing more than to disappear into this warm bed forever.

“How’re you feeling?” Anton asked.

Dew glared at him, but after thinking about it, Dew realized he felt better.

“Woah,” he breathed. “I feel… great.” Great as in, Dew wasn’t tired anymore. He didn’t feel sleep deprived at all, quite the opposite really. Of course, he wasn’t sick anymore either. His headache was gone and his temperature was normal. Besides the obvious, stagnant feeling of fear and dread that came with being kept captive, Dew felt okay.

“Told you.” Anton teased.

“Thanks for… helping me. Really. I felt like complete shit earlier.”

“Yeah yeah,” Anton waved him off as if it didn’t matter. “I need to keep you healthy, remember? And it’s no fun when you’re… down in the dumps.” Anton trailed off. “Just eat your food.”

Dew looked at the tray. Waffles again, an apple, and a banana. As he ate, the scientist watched him.

“So…” Dew thought about what Anton said earlier, giving the empty tray to him when he was done. “What are we gonna do now?”

“Follow me.”

They headed out of the lab and up the stairs, Dew following closely behind. The scientist said nothing as they walked, allowing tension to rise in the air.

Dew also remained silent, but his mind wandered. Whatever Anton wanted to do involved going outside again, which Dew was always thankful for. Although this time, his captor hadn’t put any restraints on his wings yet, like he always did when they went outside to keep him from flying away.

Dew looked at the scientist incredulously. What was going on? Did he forget? Was this all some test to see if Dew wouldn’t try to fly away and escape? Why?

Dew kept walking by Anton’s side, too afraid to question anything. Maybe Anton just forgot. That’d be unlikely, but still possible.

Once they entered the cabin and Dew got sight out of the window, his wings started flapping lightly, excitedly, apprehensively. He wanted to fly– he needed to fly. His captor was taunting him with this. He had to be.

“A-Anton?” Dew squeaked. He didn’t want to point out the obvious, but he’d rather Anton do something about it now, rather than find out when Dew inevitably tried to escape while out there. Because Dew already knew that he couldn’t escape with Anton around, not without being so easily mind-controlled. “You um, you for-forgot something–” He hated himself for this, but Dew already had an escape plan. This could destroy it.

“I didn’t forget anything, Dew,” Anton said smoothly. “Come on, let’s go outside.”

Dew stood, glued to his spot. “I’m not stupid, Anton,” He hissed. “The second I go outside, I-I won’t be able to resist flying away, you know this! I don’t want you to hurt me for trying to escape again! I don’t want to be mind-controlled or poked with a needle o-or never be allowed outside again, or worse, just because of a stupid mistake!” I don’t want this to interfere with the plan I already have.

“Woah, jeeze,” Anton laughed. “Relax. This isn’t a trick—”

“That’s what you always say!”

“Dew,” Anton grabbed his shoulders, making eye contact. “I can assure you, this will be fun for you. As long as you behave. You can do that right?”

“Y-yeah, I can.” But he really didn’t want to.

“I know you can.” Dew flinched when Anton patted him on the head, and then they walked outside.

When they hit the fresh, cool autumn air, Dew’s wings stretched out to feel the wind in his feathers. He wanted nothing more than to jump in the air and disappear into the trees, but he had to control himself. His wings fluttered lightly in the air, basking in the sun and savoring this new sensation of a fake freedom.

This was okay. As long as Dew focused on his sensations now, he could deal with being stuck to the ground. He could gain Anton’s trust, he could stick to the plan.

Dew followed Anton a few steps away from the front door, and then off of the porch and into the grass.

“Fly.”

The word hit his ears like a truck. It was as if the entire world stopped, and all Dew could hear was his rapidly beating heart.

“W-what?”

Anton laughed, stepping away from his test subject. “You heard me, Dewey. Fly!”

“You said this– this wasn’t a trick.”

“Not a trick,” Anton snickered. “I can assure you.”

The scientist motioned with his arms, a big grin on his face. “Go ahead, fly.”

Dew glared at him, but he didn’t waste a second. He flew. He jumped up into the air and flapped his wings rapidly, never taking his eyes off Anton and the sickeningly sweet smile on his face. Dew blinked back tears, knowing freedom was right there, in his grasp. The scientist was allowing him to fly outside unrestrained, but still, Anton would never let him go. Dew didn’t know what his game was, but he knew it wouldn’t end well for him. He knew he would lose.

Dew swallowed thickly, flying just a bit higher, expecting to be shot down by tranquilizer darts or told to stop like last time— those words flowing into his brain and controlling his movements as if he was nothing but a puppet. His heart sped up when that didn’t happen, and he flew higher. His captor wasn’t doing anything besides standing there and watching him, his figure getting smaller and smaller the higher Dew went.

Dew couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He couldn’t resist freedom being closer than it had ever been before. His wings flapped into the air with a hope that was almost too much to bear. Was he really doing this? Was this it? He reached the top of the trees, and was about to fly above the forest and into the clouds when he suddenly felt a sharp pain all over his body.

A faint “It worked!” could be heard from the ground, but that hardly mattered.

Dew screamed, his voice a shattering shriek. He grabbed at his neck– his arms– his head– but the feeling of every fiber in his body being on fire wouldn’t go away. His eyes widened as he felt himself falling, trying and failing to flap his wings and catch himself. His wings had stopped working, going limp in the air while he cried. He couldn’t fly. He flailed his arms as he plummeted to the ground, down and down and down.

Dew landed roughly on a large tree branch, getting the wind knocked out of him and scraping his arms while trying to hang on. His body stinged, splinters digging into his hands and panic rising in his gut. Dew’s grip loosened and he tumbled to the ground, with no way to soften the landing.

He laid there for a few moments, his head pounding with a terrible ringing in his ears. His wings twitched as his muscles gained control over them and his body again. Dew’s hands curled into the dirt and he scrunched up in a ball, not caring that his hair was getting tangled in the autumn leaves. He didn’t move from the spot.

“Shit.” Dew heard the scientist curse as he ran towards him. Lying there would do nothing, Dew realized. He felt his blood boil, this time in anger as he turned his head to face him.

“Wh-what did you think was gonna happen?” Dew spat, still struggling on the ground, trying to sit up.

“I didn’t think you would try flying away, since I specifically told you not to,” Anton sneered.

Dew felt venom rise in his throat. “How could I resist? You told me to fly! Why the fuck wouldn’t I try to leave?!”

“Because you should have known I’m smarter than just letting you go like that. And because you should know you’re never leaving.” Anton sighed. “Come here, I’ll help you.”

“No.” Dew blinked back tears. His arm that he landed on hurt, bad. He needed help. But fuck, he was angry. Dew huffed in frustration and crawled towards Anton, letting the scientist help him stand. Dew leaned against him as they walked towards the cabin.

“W-what even happened up there?” Dew’s voice wobbled as he spoke. “What did you do to me?”

“Oh,” Anton took out the device he used for mind-controlling him. “If you fly too far away, there’s an invisible barrier that sends a shock through your nervous system to stop you from leaving.” Anton spoke as if that wasn’t completely earth-shattering news to his little lab rat. He set Dew down on the stairs, and took out a first aid kit.

“A-Anton,” Dew began, voice wavering. “Please, p-please tell me there’s a way to turn that off.”

“There is,” Anton replied simply. “But we’ll never need to use it.” Anton started looking over Dew’s wounds. He had a lot of cuts and scrapes from falling through the trees, but nothing that couldn’t be easily patched up. ��I just thought it’d be fun for you to fly outside for once, safely, without risking you escaping.”

Dew ignored what the scientist was doing and stared at him, eyes burning with hatred. He could grab the pen from his pocket and stab it into the scientist’s eye and take the device that controlled his body. He could destroy it and fly away before his captor could catch him. He could be free. Right. Now.

Dew shook those thoughts away. It was the worst idea he had ever had, and he knew it would never work. He tried to calm his racing heart, and stop the fire rising in his throat. The scientist was just toying with him. He needed to calm down before he made things worse.

He hissed back a whine as his wounds were tended to. Anton didn’t seem to care about his pain, and held Dew firmly in place.

He looked at the sky, needing a distraction. But the sun was so bright and it hurt his eyes, so he looked away. He caught a glimpse of Sasha through the cabin window, and Dew tilted his head. They were watching him. Of course, Anton had allowed Sasha free reign of his house, probably even the outside too. The two of them stared at each other. Sasha knew what he was thinking, and the snake slowly shook their head “no.” Dew knew what they meant. Don't try escaping. It’s not your time. Stick to the plan.

Despite his friend only trying to help, Dew felt himself deflate, all the hope and fiery spark of adrenaline leaving him. His only option really was to comply for now, despite being so close to freedom. It would be hard; Dew would have to force himself to fly into the cool air while not going too far away. Whatever that meant.

“What now?” Dew asked begrudgingly.

“You and Sasha done with your staring contest?”

“Uh– yeah?”

“Then keep flying out here.” Anton shrugged and sat down on the porch stairs. “It’s what you always wanted to do, isn’t it?”

“W-well yeah, but—”

“I’m not letting you go. This is the closest thing you’ll ever get.”

Dew didn’t waste his time, he jumped into the air. He hovered in front of Anton for a few seconds, before darted away into the trees. Anton smirked and leaned back against the porch railing.

Dew flew over the cabin and landed on the roof. His heart pounded through his skull and he felt like it would explode. He wanted so badly to leave, fly away and never turn back. But he knew what would happen, so he would play Anton’s game. For now.

Dew sat perched up there for a few moments, looking around him. What were the limits? Dew questioned. Despite still being trapped, he wanted to make the most of this new development. How far could he fly without his entire body being electrocuted and cause his wings to momentarily stop working? Dew shuddered even thinking about it.

He wondered what his captor was up to. Dew slowly crawled across the roof and peaked over the edge directly above the scientist. Anton looked up, Dew scurred backwards.

…There always was the possibility of Dew being able to snatch that device away from him so he couldn’t be controlled anymore. He shuddered thinking about it. The chip in his brain that allowed himself to be mind-controlled, now shocked him whenever he went too far away. It was honestly impressive how much Anton could do to him now, just to keep him his.

But Dew knew that trying to escape would be futile now. He had a plan and needed to stick to it. But… Now there was a hole in their plan. Dew couldn’t actually leave. Shit.

He would have to tell Sasha about this new development later, and fit, “stealing the device connected to Dew’s brain chip from Anton,” into their escape plan.

So for now, Dew took advantage of his free time outside. He stood on top of the roof and spread his wings out, cherishing how relaxing and satisfying it felt to finally not have them restrained outdoors. He started flying again, careful to not go too high or far and hurt himself again.

He looked down to see Anton, nothing but a fleck of dust to him at this height. It felt so surreal, like a dream. Dew had dreamed a lot about days of flying freely, finally escaping the clutches of captivity and being kept as a test subject. This felt like those dreams, this felt too good to be true, even if he was still trapped. But it also felt so real.

…Because it was. Anton simply wanted to let Dew have fun for once.

“I’m going for a walk!” Anton called from below.

Dew stared at him, and then slowly made his way to the ground. He stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to say.

“You can come with me, you know.”

Dew looked at Anton, then back at the cabin. “But–”

“The barrier isn't surrounding the house, it's around me. As long as you’re by me, you’ll be fine.”

Oh.

Dew walked up to him. “Same, uh, distance?” He asked.

Anton nodded. “Same distance.”

With that, Dew darted up into the trees, out of his captor’s sight. Anton walked the same trail they always had, but instead of walking, Dew was hopping from tree to tree, taking the high ground. It was oddly satisfying watching the scientist from above, like he was nothing but a bug that could be easily stomped on.

As Anton kept walking, Dew kept following from above, sometimes gliding in a circle above the scientist, like a crow surrounding a decaying carcass. Anton paid him no mind, just kept walking at a leisurely pace, letting Dew explore the woods around him.

Then Dew sat, perched on a tree branch, when a squirrel scurried up to him. He went ridgid, expecting it to run away. But it sat there with him on that tree branch, doing its own thing. Dew stared, confused, but content. He and the squirrel were both just… existing. At the same time, in the same space, doing the same thing, but in far different circumstances neither of them could try to comprehend from each other. And that was okay. Dew liked existing with this little squirrel.

Dew sat there for a while, forgetting that Anton was still walking. After a few minutes, Dew realized that he’d get shocked again if he didn’t keep following along Anton. But he didn’t want to leave his new friend. He’d never see them ever again after this.

“A-Anton,” Dew said quietly, not wanting to spook away the squirrel that had curled up against his leg. The scientist was far up ahead of him, down the trail, probably assuming Dew would be keeping up. There was no way for Anton to hear what Dew was saying. He sighed, and called out a little louder this time. “Anton!”

That got his attention. Anton turned, looking around in confusion on where Dew’s voice was coming from, until he spotted him very high up in a tree.

“What?” Anton asked.

Dew gestured to the squirrel. “I, I wanna sit here for a little bit. With, uh, with the squirrel.”

Anton stared. “You do that then!” He called.

“...Thanks!”

Dew sat up there for a long time, unable to tell if it was minutes or hours. But by the sun setting and turning the sky into bright hues of pink and orange, Dew realized that Anton had let him spend all day out there. He realized he didn’t remember the last time he watched the sunset with anyone. And now here he was, sitting on a tree branch looking over the forest, with his squirrel friend still by his side.

But he was getting hungry. Obviously, it must be around 6pm now. The days had been getting shorter as the weather got colder, but it wasn’t like that mattered in the lab.

Dew said goodbye to the squirrel once it became too dark to see it. He landed softly on the ground, and found Anton sitting in some grass under the tree.

Dew choked back a laugh. “What are those?” He asked.

“Night vision goggles?” Anton crossed his arms. “I don’t want to lose sight of you out here.”

“They look so stupid.” Dew snickered.

“Shut up,” Anton said. 

The two of them walked back towards the cabin, and Dew realized how cold it had gotten outside. Obviously, it was already autumn. Dew shivered as he walked, socks getting wet from the dewy grass.

He walked inside without a fuss, wanting to warm up. As Anton kicked his shoes off, Dew took a look around his cabin, having never actually been inside this place much before.

And before Anton could escort him to the lab, Dew spoke up. “Where’s Sasha?”

“In their room.”

“Where’s that?”

Anton pointed to a door, “Over there.”

Dew nodded awkwardly and shuffled his way towards it.

“Woah, hey!” Anton stopped him from moving. “Why are you shivering?”

“...I’m cold?”

Anton rolled his eyes and stepped around the corner. He came back with a blanket and draped it around Dew’s shoulders. “You should’ve told me you were cold. I don’t want you getting sick again.”

“Oh. Okay. Can I go see Sasha?”

“I don’t see why not.”

The two of them spent the rest of their free day hanging out with Sasha in their enclosure. Anton had built a large enclosure, almost resembling a mini rainforest, inside one of the rooms in his cabin. It was a perfect habitat for his snake friend; their own little world to themselves. The scientist still gave Sasha free reign of the house, it was their home too, after all.

The three of them sat in a circle and talked for a bit. After a while, they sat in comfortable silence. It was peaceful, somehow. Dew felt safe.

. . .

It was getting late, and it was hard to believe that Dew had spent the entire day above the lab, without attempting any real escapes. It made Dew feel incredibly guilty, but he knew he had to wait it out. He had to gain Anton’s trust, and he had to wait for his plan.

Eventually, Anton took Dew back down the stairs. He said goodnight to Sasha, and walked down willingly. It was hard. Dew distracted himself by thinking of what’d it be like finally escaping this place, flying freely outside for real.

Soon, he thought. He’d get out of this place soon.

The lab was dark when they opened the door. As they were walking to Dew’s room, Anton spoke up.

“So, today was… fun. I suppose. I’m proud of you for not running.”

Dew’s heart sped up. “Um, y-yeah. Thanks.”

“I wouldn’t mind having one day of the week as a free day. As long as you keep behaving, I don’t see why not. I prefer to just always work on my experiments, but your needs need to be met as well, since you’ll be here forever. How does every Saturday sound?”

“G-good. Yeah. That sounds good.”

“Great.” Anton smiled. They arrived at Dew's room, and Anton opened the door for his test subject. Dew walked inside timidly, eyes downcast. He really was getting used to this routine.

“Goodnight, Dew.”

“...Night.” The lights flickered off and Anton was gone. Faint sounds of the scientist's footsteps could be heard walking through the lab and out the exit.

Dew sighed and laid down in bed. It was so quiet. Dew missed the sounds of the birds chirping, of leaves rustling in the wind. Dew missed existing in the same space with others in a way that felt safe. Dew missed flying outside. Holy shit, that was the best thing that had ever happened to him, despite falling to the ground and getting hurt.

It was surreal, the whole day. It would almost feel like a dream. His captor had not only agreed to give him one day a week free for him to do whatever he wanted, free from experimentation and pain, but allowed him to fly outside. Sure, there was now the threat of… being electrocuted every time Dew left the area around Anton’s cabin. That was bad. But it was progress. Flying outside was something Dew had always wanted to do since he got his wings, and he did it, just like that!

The only thing that would make it better was to fly freely. He’d get there, of course, once he escapes.

Speaking of escape, Dew sat up in bed when he heard the familiar rustle of the vents above his head, signifying Sasha was there. They were a better escape artist than he was, having already found a way down here from up there. Dew supposed that made sense; snakes were escape artists in nature.

“Hey!” Sasha said, opening the latch with their tail.

“Hi,” Dew said. He grabbed his new night-light and held it up to them. “Look what Anton got me. It’s a little ghost light.”

“That’s cool. What’s a ghost?”

“I guess you wouldn’t know, huh? Okay… Ghosts are spirits. Like, like the soul of a dead person, they don’t exist in the physical plane. Nobody can see or hear them, but they can haunt people. And they’re not real– obviously. I used to believe in ghosts and then… then my parents died. And uh, if ghosts were real, my parents would have probably found a way to contact me. But they’re gone. But that doesn’t matter!”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Let’s just hope I can get outta here before Halloween. This little ghost would be perfect for that.”

“You’ll get out in no time, Dew.”

“Yeah.” Dew turned the light on, surprising them both with the brightness of it. “And look! It’s really bright so it’ll be perfect for mapping things out up there. You might have a good sense of direction, but I don’t.”

“Good idea!”

“Let’s go, it’s kinda chilly in here.”

Dew and his escape artist friend hopped up into the vents, using his night-light to make a windy and swirly map that was somewhat beginning to make sense. Their goal was to find the quickest possible route to the surface and map out a real exit. The steps after that, well… Dew just hoped he could finally get out of this torment, mostly unscathed.

Not to mention, they now had to find a way to get that device away from Anton. Escaping the cabin is useless when Dew can’t even leave without being shocked.

But they were sure they could do it, if they kept working together. Exploring the vents had been fun with Sasha. Sometimes Dew would bring his blanket up there and they would use his night-light to tell stories. Dew was thankful to finally have someone he could trust here, to finally have a friend he could talk to.

And that filled him with more hope, knowing that he’d finally be out of here soon. He would finally talk to his friends again, and spend time with his pets. He would finally sleep in his own bed and wear his own clothes. He would do whatever he wanted. He would fly, truly free.

Dew was getting closer and closer to escape, and he couldn’t be more excited.

—

This is Dew’s ghost light btw

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let me know if you want to be removed or added to the taglist!

[whiteravengreywolf]

Miracle Force Baby - a Wolfwren fanfiction

A/N: Hello everyone! I just posted a new surprised one-shot inspired by the third episode of Acolyte. The demand was really big on Twitter and honestly the idea had me racing to my keyboard. Here is the begining and if you want to read the whole story the link will be at the end.

Sabine stumbled back into bed, wishing for death. Despite having puked whatever bile was in her stomach before even taking her breakfast, she still felt nauseous. She had been feeling terrible for a couple of weeks now, on and off, and while it had been easy to ignore at first, whatever sickness she had caught had been building ever since. She curled up under the blanket. She didn’t have a fever, but light cramps twisted her abdomen, and laying down in a fetal position helped.

She felt the bed dip beside her and turned around. Shin had been making breakfast for them. It was early. They were supposed to go on a mission. Shin brushed a strand of pink hair away from Sabine’s forehead.

“It’s back again?”

Sabine nodded.

“I can call the others, tell them we have to sit this one out.”

Sabine shook her head.

“You go. Help Ezra and Ahsoka. Maybe it’ll be like last time and it’ll have passed before we have to leave.”

Shin pursed her lips.

“Maybe you should take the day off this time? Actually go see a doctor?”

“It’s just a stomach bug, don’t worry about it.”

Shin looked skeptical, but after brushing Sabine’s short hair again, she returned to the kitchen. Sabine remained curled on her side, trying to figure out what had happened in the past few weeks which might be causing her sickness. She couldn’t think of anything. They had all been very busy putting out remnants of the Empire wherever they could find them. And anyway, wherever she went so had Shin. If it had anything to do with a planet they had visited, then Shin should have been sick too.

Sabine rubbed at her stomach where the muscles were cramping. She closed her eyes and focused on herself, feeling her body within the Force. Something had changed, she could feel it. She couldn’t explain it, but it felt like the Force was at its strongest in her stomach, like there was a knot there. What kind of Force sensitive parasite had she caught?

She lost track of time, dozing off until she felt the bed dip once more. Cracking her eyes, she found Shin looking at her with concern. No one would believe it – and Shin didn’t want anyone to know – but she was caring to fault when she loved someone. If Sabine asked her to stay, she would cancel the mission and cuddle with her in bed until Sabine felt better without a word of protest.

“Are you feeling better?”

“A little.”

[pccyouthleader]

Hedgehog Hodgepodge: A Story of Espionage, Confusion, and an Evil Plan Gone Haywire

Chapter 17: Stricken

“Have you seen the news this evening?” Amy asked Sonic as he returned from a long run on the beach. She was sitting in bed with a multitude of fluffy pillows behind her back. “I’m beginning to get worried.”

It hadn’t even been a whole day since Aurora left with Shadow, and the whole village was coming apart. 

Sonic sat on the edge of the bed unlacing his shoes. “You know I hate watching the news.” The main reason for that was Soar the Eagle. That bird-brained reporter was years past his prime, and needed to hang up his press badge. 

“This is serious, though,” Amy chided. “People all over the village have become ill, and nobody knows why! Just this afternoon, the receptionist at the museum had to leave early.”

“What are the symptoms?” Sonic asked, becoming only mildly interested.

“Feeling drained, loss of appetite, pale appearance,” Amy read from a news crawler on the TV screen. “Some people are complaining of a strange rash.”

“Well, I feel fine,” he said, doing a turn for her benefit. “How about you?”

Amy shrugged. “I’m feeling the drained part, but I think that has more to do with the baby than this mysterious sickness that’s going around. Apparently it started a couple of weeks ago, but now it’s spread all across the village!”

Sonic stared at her in disbelief. How were they just now getting this news? “I’d better check in with Tails,” he said, pressing a few buttons on his wrist communicator. “Hey, Tails!” he said aloud into the receiver. “You doing okay?” There was some garbled noise over the tiny speaker, then the staticky voice of his best friend came through.

“Sonic! I…” *kkkrrrrrrrtttt* “…trying to reach y…” *kkkkrrrrzzzzz* “…not what…”

“Tails! You’re breaking up! Are you okay?” Sonic yelled.

“…fine!…” *kkzzzzzzrrtt* “…weird that it’s not…” *kkkkrrrttt* Then the signal went out.

“He sounded okay, didn’t he?” Sonic asked, his brows knit together in concern. “He’s fine,” he finally determined. 

As he stared at his silent communicator, Amy had another idea. “Why don’t you try Knuckles and Rouge?” 

“Good thinking!” Sonic pressed a few more buttons, then started calling for Knuckles. “Hey Knux! Can you hear me?” But he was greeted with nothing but silence.

After a few minutes of waiting, Amy spoke up. “Well, they did go on a cruise. Maybe they aren’t within a signal range or something.”

“Yeah…,” was all Sonic could say. He didn’t particularly have a terrible feeling concerning his friends; it just would have been nice to know something for sure. But his hands were tied - he didn’t know their exact locations, and he couldn’t risk leaving Amy alone to go track them down. He finally resolved that they must be doing fine and could take good care of themselves. 

After washing up, Sonic joined Amy in the bed to watch the coverage. He had a nagging feeling that everything was connected, but couldn’t begin to determine how.

Suddenly Amy sat up, another look of concern washing over her face. “Has anyone checked on Sticks?”

—

Sonic yawned and stretched as he prepared to trek over to Sticks’ burrow. At least Amy had acquiesced the night before when he explained that it was too late to barge in on someone. But she was anxious for him to check on their friend, and had nearly shoved him out of the bed at daybreak.

“We really should have checked on Sticks before now,” Amy fretted as she readied herself for the day. 

“You know, if she’d wear her communicator, we could have checked on her before now,” Sonic grumbled.

Amy gave Sonic a withering look before continuing. “I can’t even remember the last time we laid eyes on her! What kind of friend ignores another when the outside world is in utter chaos?!”

“It’ll be okay, Ames,” Sonic reassured her. “Sticks is a loner anyway. I can’t imagine her even getting close enough to someone to catch something.”

Amy nodded. “I guess you’re right. I’ll just feel better when you’ve had a chance to talk to her.”

Sonic knew that was his cue, so he brushed Amy’s cheek with a kiss and gently patted her tummy. Then he took off at top speed, going over the placement of Sticks’ booby traps in his mind. The absolute last thing he wanted on this journey was to become a hedgehog kabob.

Upon arrival, Sonic thought Sticks’ burrow had been deserted. Leaves had blown against the door, and weeds had grown up around the various trinkets she had collected and placed in her front yard. There were no birds chirping or insects buzzing.

This is weird, Sonic thought as he moved quickly towards the door. He just missed being impaled by a wooden pole covered in slime.

“Sticks!” he called, rapping loudly at the round wooden door. For a long time, all Sonic heard was silence. Then something fell and clattered within the burrow. 

Sonic immediately spin-dashed and exploded through the door, surveying the mess within. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he searched the rooms of the small home. There in the kitchen lay Sticks, crumpled on the floor by the table.

Sonic wasted no time. He sped over to Sticks, scooping her up in his arms and gently placing her on the sofa. He zipped back to the kitchen to grab a rag and wet it with some cold water to lightly sponge over her forehead. After what seemed like ages, Sticks’ eyes finally fluttered open.

“Sonic?” she croaked, barely above a whisper. Her face was pale and thin, and her hair hung limply on her shoulders. 

“Sticks, what happened to you?” he asked, bewildered. 

Sticks lay silent for a long time, just laboring to breathe. Then she spoke in a raspy voice. “It’s the black smudge.”

“What?” Sonic asked. “You’re going to have to be more clear.” He was well-versed in Sticks’ strange ideas and conspiracy theories.

Sticks mumbled something incoherent. After taking another ragged breath, she clearly said, “Shadow,” before passing out again.

Fear crept over Sonic. Could Shadow have done something to hurt Sticks? He thought of Aurora, alone with him and with no way to contact her family. As his mind began to run wild with the memories he had of Shadow’s early attempts to destroy him and his friends, panic surged through his veins.

Sticks began to stir once again. She tried to speak, but her words dissolved into a coughing fit. Sonic ran to the kitchen for water, then helped her sit up to sip out of a mug. 

“If Shadow’s done something terrible to you, I’ll-” Sonic began, but his words were cut off when Sticks shook her head. After several more body-wracking coughs, she was finally able to explain in a scratchy voice.

“Not Shadow… the black smudge… the trees…” *cough* “Shadow saw it.” 

She then lifted her arm to show Sonic a bubbling black rash. It appeared as if the skin there was in a state of necrosis. He stared in horror at the breakout, then slowly lifted his hand. 

“Don’t touch it!” she screeched, pulling her arm away.

“Sticks…” Sonic began, lost for words. “How long have you been like this?” 

Sticks attempted to shrug her shoulders, but it took too much effort. “A month?” she responded, barely above a whisper. Her energy completely spent, Sticks lay back down and fell asleep.

Guilt ripped through Sonic as he remembered Amy’s words: “What kind of friend ignores another when the outside world is in utter chaos?!” If only she could see Sticks now.

“I’m sorry,” Sonic said with a catch in his voice. Tears began to flood his vision. “I’m going to figure out what’s going on and get you some help.” 

Pushing up from the side of the couch, he took one long, last look at Sticks’ sleeping form before walking out the door. As he headed away from the burrow, his brain was awash with different scenarios, and he breathed a sigh of relief that Shadow wasn’t the miscreant he feared.

Picking his way through the wooded jungle, Sonic went over in his head what Sticks had said. How he wished he could contact Shadow to find out more! What had she even meant by “the trees”? 

Suddenly he stopped. He didn’t want to, but Sonic lifted his face to look at the jungle around him. There, smeared on every tree in sight, was a black substance that looked like liquid metal. The dread that had floated just out of reach since he had found Sticks began to surface. Looking up, Sonic was able to move just before a big blob of the sticky goo dripped onto his head. With great haste, Sonic darted out of the jungle, anxious to tell Amy what he had discovered. 

Bolting through the door, he ran into the house shouting for her, but there was no answer. Sonic sat heavily in a chair at the dining room table and rested his head in his hands. It was just too much to absorb all at once.

An hour later, Sonic barely heard Amy come in the front door. She approached him to give him a big hug from behind, but stopped, a curious look on her face.

“Sonic?” she asked.

“Yeah, Ames,” he answered flatly.

“What’s that black stuff on your shoulder?”

[alex31624]

Duck Comic Reading Club Week 20: Paperinik New Adventures: Extraordinary Repairs

Ok, Camera, Action wasn't good, but I'm sure PK will be back on track with this issue. Let's go…

Oh God no… is Gianmarco Villa, the guy from Urk, the worst looking issue so far…

Why I have to keep suffering?

That was my actual first impression, but as I kept reading I realize that this issue looks pretty good. The problems of Urk aren't here. I apologize Mr. Villa.

The story begins with Angus reporting how PK stopped a criminal, but not in his usual way. He was a bit more profesional. That of course made everyone freak out. Angus Fangus, a professional reporter? Must be sick.

But the kiwi has a possible scoop. He knows that Everett Ducklair disappeared every now and then, and he has a way into his secret lair. His boss shutted down the idea, afraid of the legal consequence.

Here, I have to give credit to Angus, he's a jerk, but has guts.

This intrusion doesn't go unnoticed. Angus shenanigans cut Uno access to some levels, and our favorite IA sent PK to the rescue.

And here comes what I think is the best part of the story. Camera 9.

I didn't get the Camera 9 love at first, but a mysterious retired fearless photographer, you have to love him.

He saw PK and his instincts kick in. He has to follow a story when is right in front of him.

Fangus kept tapping any button in front of him and that causes some problems for PK. He was about to be crushed but he was saved last second.

Camera 9 introduced himself as Stefan Vladuck, and I'm betting my brother-in-law's arm that that's an alias. Anyway, PK now has a partner.

Meanwhile, Angus made a terrible discover.

Look, I hate Angus, but, if you find a scientific millionaire genius' secret lair full of crazy weapons, you're gonna make assumptions. Is fair to think that Everett Ducklair is planning a massive attack.

Back to PK and Stefan, they're attacked by the security system. The action in this issue is perfectly drawn. Once again, I apologize Mr. Villa.

I've seen much worse.

Please, someone tell me that there's a huge one shot about Camera 9 life.

Then, we found the greatest weapon in Everett's arsenal.

THAT'S A FREAKING MECHA T-REX!

Holy mother of God, that's so freaking amazing. PK! Take that T-Rex and go fight crime!

Angus is convinced that Everett is trying to take over the town, and his absence is a facade. And here, he turned on is fanfiction writer powers and said that Everett is PK.

Is so funny he said that Everett and PK don't look alike, while working with Donald almost everyday.

There's more PK and Stefan action against robots, and Angus finally show his face to the hero.

Why is the centaur open and with the keys?

Also, why take the centaur when you found a freaking Mecha T-Rex?

Angus runs away, and PK is done for. All Tower secret are about to told and he will be marked as a criminal.

Ja! Yeah, no way buddy, Uno has a plan.

He sent Angus to the roof, and we have one of the best PK looks ever. He looks so frightening, absolutely marvelous.

And then...

YES! YES! YES!

HE DID IT! PK HAS KILL ANGUS!

The men pray, the women cry, the kids laugh. The world is hugging. Today we're happier. Thank you PK, thank you…

Oh. It was a hologram. That works too I guess.

PK and Stefan brought Angus to the lobby and left him on a sofa. All the other Channel 00 workers found him and he proceeded to tell his story up to the moment PK throw him to his doom.

We're back to the status quo. Angus is a weird crazy that somehow is still employee (also, why's he the anchor? who though people would like to see his face?) and PK secret identity will live another day.

Or is it?

That smile while he said best friend.

Camera 9 you bastard, you're awesome.

We're so back with this issue. So full of action and with a Camera 9 who steals the spotlight. When PK is good, is really good.

Of course, we have more of Trip, son of Raider, who apparently is terrible at sports. He can't play even a few seconds.

But he has his chances to prove himself, he only needs to stop a penalty kick. Not bragging, but I'm really good at that. Anyway, Trip couldn't and instead of suck it up, he went back in time and stopped the ball. Trip is a hero.

But he's also a proud jerk, and needs to feel the glory again, but he fails. Loser again.

But turns out, Raider, who was wearing his best Marge Simpson wig, interfered with the ball, making Trip fail. Harsh but fair. I hope Trip learnt his lesson.

Only three reviews left.

[theroyalthrones]

Behind the Scenes | Various Locations | Rosiers, Toulon, Orillia

beginning | previous | next

script below↓↓

The leaves are falling as Francesca walks. The air is crisp in a way that Francesca had never been used to. Having grown up in the more so humid and warm weather of Castellon. Her little sister is chirping at her on the phone. She will miss these times, Just as she misses the times before the present.

Leandra] Yeah, and my friend’s having a birthday party this weekend. I wanted to go but I don’t no if Papa will let me.

F] chuckles Don’t worry Lea, I’lll convince him.

L] I don’t think you can, he’s already asleep. He’s been sleepy a lot!

F] I’ve got my ways…

As she walks, she can feel people staring at her. They are afar, but they are whispering. As she walks up toward the steps of the building, someone bumps into her. Her things clatter to the ground, but the assailant does not help her pick things up.

Person] watch were you’re going, you gold digging leech.

She feels her cheeks burning, but does nothing instead of walking forward toward her counselors office.

C] Ms. Ortega, there really isn’t anything to complain about. You are on track with a high gpa, and a possibility of early graduation if you keep up the good work.

F]Thank you mr.-

C] but your grades currently… I notice a slip since the semester began.

C] Whoever you might be associating yourself with, might not be in your best interests academically. People like you need to work harder. If things keep going in this direction, Post Graduate options might dwindle.

F] Y-Yes I understand.

C] I hope you do.

The sky is dark, it’s been raining all evening. Lucian and Francesca have been sitting in the library, studying for exams. it’s Finals week, of their sophomore year in school. They’re sectioned off a corner of the busy library. They’ve been there since the morning, and the cluttered desk makes that evident.

Francesca phone rings, it echos in the quiet space. She picks it up and whispers.

F] Lea, I can’t-

L] crying Cesca, it’s dad.

She barely registers the words, she’s up before she can even think. Lucian looks up at her puzzled. She’s hyperventilating, she’s crying.

L] Francesca, what?-

F] My dad- cries harder I-

L] Can you walk?

He carts her over to the door.

L] you need to be there.

F] mmhmm she barely makes out

he cups her face in his hand. he forces her to look at him, to focus on what he’s going to say.

L] Listen, Everything’s going to be ok- you’ll be ok. I’m going to make sure of that, ok Francesca?

F]cries harder

They are now at the airport. They rush in to the check-in area. Things are chaotic in the airport like they always are. Lucian pulls her hand, and spins her around to face him.

14-16

L] Are you sure I can’t come?

F] Yes, Stay. It’s finals, you must take them.

L] But yours-

F] I’ll figure it out, Luc.

L]… I love you, Cesca.

They kiss, and he watches her go. It’s 2093, and little does he know that this will be the last time he sees her in person since that fateful day in the news room, 6 years from then (2099).

Weeks pass as she is in Castellon.

She waits for hours in hospitals that feel like asylums. She is anxious always, she feels the clock ticking. This is a waiting game, her father, in a condition neither thought would be possible.

She is with her sister at times too. Eating dinners in hospital cafeterias after picking her up from school. This is just as hard for Leandra as it is for Cesca. Leandra being the one to find him collapsed.

She has also been feeling increasing sick. She looks and feels terrible in fact. She is fighting symptoms of pregnancy, but of course she does not know that yet. She is also throwing up, and showing signs of pregnancy(and in the details of the post. Show bottles of medicines and stiff)

The doctors come in to announce what had already been in the back of her mind for days now.

D] It’s lung Cancer.

F] shocked gasp C-Cancer?

D] He’s in the fourth stage, Ms. Ortega. It’d be best to get his affairs in order, as he might…

The sentence blurrs out because, No, she isn’t listening. An overwhelming piercing sound overwhelms her. She is in shock, the last parent she has in the world is dying. And it’s too late to save him. In the room full of doctors, Francesca Ortega Collapses.

She wakes up, she herself is in a hospital bed of her own. A nurse who happens to be in the room, rushes to her side. She tries to speak.

F]Wh- What am I?

N] There’s no need to worry. You collapsed due to dehydration and fatigue. Ms. Ortega, were you aware of the pregnancy?

F] Pregn-?

N] Pregnancy—Yes, you are going to have a child, Ms. Ortega.

This shocks Francesca of course, on top of everything, she is also pregnant. Of course things start clicking into place.

“I’m pregnant” she thinks.

Of course, she has been feeling nasceous, sick, fatigued,etc. all of the normal ailments that something like this could cause. She thought it was because of the stress of her father. Of course she understands now, And this understand makes her panic. How is her life going to be even more fucked up than it already has become? How will she go to graduate school with a mortage to pay for? How will she become what she wants with two children to raise(her little sister)? Her life is forever messed up, and how could she wreck his?

She decides she wont, she won’t say a thing. A few months later she begins to show, she’s on the phone with Lucian, who is none the wiser. (in the shot, show her with a close up on the phone, and then a wide show with her huge belly)

L] Nick is on my ass about trying out for the team next year. I don’t think I will.

F]…

L] My parents are forcing me to figure out my degree. It’s not like I haven’t thought about it, It’s just that…

(fade off, next slide is the next part)

F] Are you excited for the semester?

L] I can’t be, not if you’re not there.

F] she laughs I can’t promise you that.

L] Are you alright, Cesca?

F] couldn’t be better. fake gleefulness

Standing in the hall of the hospital (another day). A Leandra rushed up to her, saying her father is awake.

She runs to his room, Leandra snuggles up to him. he’s laying in the bed, he’s laying with his eyes open, but he can’t speak. He doesn’t move as she gets close to him, and Cesca knows. She walks up to the bed, and lays her head on his chest. She cries.

F] crying Papa

P] Oh, La luz de mis ojos [The light of my eyes]

F] crying somore

P] I’m sorry for all the trouble i’ve caused, You’ll see. This will be behind all of us.

The scene changes, it’s nighttime. Leandra is sleeping in the bed with her father still. Francesca is sitting in a chair close to the bed. She is also dozing but is quickly awaken by the sound of a loud, singular screech. It’s the heart monitor, he’s dying.

beepppppp

F]waking up Papa?

Nurses rush into the room, it’s chaos after that. Cesca scoops her sister into her arms, as the nurses rush around (***use the motion filter on ps). ****The girls stand apart from the chaos. Francesca is shaking, she is scared. Her world has forever changed.

Fully pregnant now, in her second trimester, the girls are in a small church, they are alone in the pews. The only sign of a funeral is the large wreaths and image of their father smiling happily. And the Casket at the front. She is staring blankly, nothing is quite feeling. She feels a buzzing in her bag, it’s a call from Lucian. She see’s this as she stares at her phone.

She goes outside of the place, she stands alone outside in a dark atmosphere of rain and cloudiness.

L] Francesca! You haven’t answered any of my calls!

F] I’m sorry… things have been busy.

L] You’re voice sounds rough… Is everything ok, Cesca?

F] hoarse laugh I love you, Lucian. You know I do?

L] chuckling Why does it sound like you’re saying goodbye?

F] I am.

L] laughing now Sure, I love you too.

She stands in the hallway, the atmosphere darker than ever. She knows that’s the last time they will speak.

Time goes on like it always does. We see shots of her kissing her sister on their way to school. She runs off excitedly.

We see Cesca working at multiple jobs, A barista, a cashier.

We see them surviving, we see them laughing. We see her even more pregnant than the last time. (*maybe in a shot with her being in her third trimester with that skin detail. And in a crop top)

In one of the last scenes, she is at work. Fully pregnant and doing her job. She hunches over in pain, clutching her stomach. Possibly show a bit of blood trickling down her legs. Francesca yells in pain.

She is rushed in an ambulance, the lights are flashing. At the hospital nurses are rushing in and out. All she can do is cry, all she can do is scream.

F] NO! No-nooo

The screams fade to black, They are now back in the present. This clip will be brief. They are now in Francesca’s apartment. sitting on the floor or something. They are both crying, Francesca and Lucian.

F] through the tears Are you happy now? 6 whole years later.

L]also crying…

F] I’ve tried, Luc. To protect— I- there is no amount of words to describe this pain… I feel. How did you not notice, Luc?

L] I didn’t—…I-

F] He is- Was yours, Lucian.

L] crying intensified Mine? My?… (clearly in shock)

L] sobbing…

F] leave. GET OUT LUCIAN, LEAVE! Please. crying

he gets up, and leaves. this is it, they’re done.

[hourcat]

Piarles + nr1 ("I'm not leaving.") ❤️💙

Another year, another DNF in Monaco. Charles should know better.

Hell, maybe he should start penciling it in on his calendar.

In a way, he's almost used to it--tragedy in the place he loves most in the world, the rug being ripped out from underneath him every single time. It's been eight years, now, that he's been a Formula One driver, and every single year, Monaco has been just out of reach in one way or another. Somehow the hurt is more powerful than the joy he'd felt standing on the podium last year under the WDC lights. In 2025, Charles Leclerc had been the greatest racing driver in the world.

Here and now, splayed out on his couch back home in his apartment only a year later, Charles Leclerc had crashed out of the Monaco Grand Prix on lap 12. It makes him sick. He's Ferrari's lead driver, he's the only Monegasque in Formula 1 history to have ever won it all, and fuck, he's almost 30. He should be better. He should be better. Instead, all he is is this: sad, angry, and being swallowed up by his couch when he hears his front door knob jiggling. Maybe his mother is bringing by the dinner she's been talking about for weeks. Maybe Lorenzo forgot his camera in the guest bedroom.

"Charlo," Pierre's voice finds him like a heat-seeking missile, striking him right in the chest. Helpless to the sound, Charles grabs the pillow closest to him and crushes it to his chest, burrowing his face into it for a moment as his best friend's footsteps get closer and closer. "Why are you here?"

"Leave me alone, Pierre," he grumbles into the cushion. "Don't you have a podium to celebrate?" It comes out more bitter-sounding than Charles had intended it to, admittedly, but it's true: Pierre ended the day P3, according to the app on Charles' phone. Mercedes has been good for him so far this year--he'd be happier for his best friend if he weren't so fucking miserable about Monaco again.

Pierre plops himself onto the couch beside him. "No," he hums. "Stewards gave me a 5 second time penalty for track limits. Don't feel like celebrating P5 very much today, so." He knocks his elbow into Charles' arm. "Wanted to check in on the Prince of Monaco, considering he disappeared before I got a chance to see him once on track today."

Oops. "Sorry," Charles mutters back. He lifts his head to give Pierre an understanding nod. "Sorry about that." He shakes his head. "But I am fine, just--come back later, Pierre, we can have dinner or something. I just want to be alone right now." Maybe wallowing in it is what it takes to break whatever stupid curse he's got: maybe by pretending to give in, give up, the curse will be tricked and Charles will get it right next year. He can't do that if Pierre is here, because...well, because Pierre is Pierre, and Charles loves him more than he should and would never put him through whatever he'll turn into. It feels like a monster inside him.

But Pierre, like always, is just...thickheaded. "Hm," he says out loud, leaning back into the cushions. "No." Firm. Decided. Impossibly annoying.

Charles turns to glare at him. "What do you mean, no. Pierre, I just want to be by myself. Please leave."

Pierre shrugs back at him, looking like the picture of nonchalance. "I heard you, calamar," he says casually, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. "But I'm not leaving." He's not smug--not being an asshole intentionally or anything, from the look on his face, but Charles is suddenly full of rage looking at him. He's too comfortable here in Charles' space, and it's not safe with how close to bursting Charles feels he is.

"What the fuck," he snaps. "Pierre--"

"Charles, we have been best friends for most of our lives. I know you." He's so calm as he speaks. Charles swallows, the rage gone just as quickly as it'd surfaced. "You say you want to be alone, but I don't think that's true. You are upset, petit. Today was terrible, and I know you think you're cursed, but being alone with those feelings is not the best way to get out from under them."

Pierre knows him almost all the way through. The pit in Charles' stomach just gets deeper. "Pierre--" he tries again, but Pierre claps a hand to his arm, warm and gentle, and keeps talking because of course he does.

"So I'm not going to leave you alone. You can be as upset as you like, yell and shout and cry and do whatever you need to. But I am not leaving." He squeezes Charles gently. "I love you, Charles. More than I even know how to tell you. You are my best friend, and I won't let you carry this all on your own."

It stings to hear an I love you from the person he's been in love with all these years, the words bleeding with platonic intent as they wash over him. But he caves to Pierre all the same, because...because yes. This is his best friend, and his best friend is right. Breaking down won't help if there's no one to hear his thoughts all come out at once. With a groan, he leans over, falling clumsily into Pierre's lap with the pillow still clutched to his chest. "I hate this sport," he whispers, throat suddenly tight with emotion. "I hate it, Pierre, I hate it."

Pierre's fingers thread in Charles' hair and tug gently once before starting to mindlessly massage at his scalp. It feels good. It feels right. "I'm sorry, cheri," Pierre murmurs in reply. He doesn't say anything else. Charles doesn't think he needs to--and then he feels the press of lips to the crown of his head, and any thoughts he might've had just fall away altogether. All he knows is Pierre.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Direction

cw: paranoia, implied alcoholism, adult language

previous ///// Wildefire Masterlist ///// next

•°•°•

Alexei had no real plan.

Walking away from Spyglass and her safe haven had felt like the only option. He didn't belong there, with a ragtag team of ex-heroes. But where should he go now?

Even though he was assumed dead, Uriah had eyes everywhere. One slip up, and he'd be back. One slip up.

“Fuck…” he muttered under his breath. The rogues' new hideout was in a rundown part of the city, practically empty at this time of day, but it felt too crowded, too open. Someone could see him. Someone could recognize him and notify Fox, and then it was all over.

He ducked into an alleyway, pressed his shoulders into the ancient brick of one of the buildings. Fuck. Duck, cluck, buck, stuck. 

What did he do now? Where could he go?

Back to Chopper was the only answer he could come up with. Back to the job, back to Neath.

He needed a drink, but any bars would have people. Any liquor store would have people, and if Uriah found out he was alive…

He couldn't go back. Wouldn't go back. He'd die first.

“Fuck.” Lex rubbed his face with metal fingers, trying to ground himself. Not yet. I won't die yet. Neath could offer him protection. He'd been redlined for years and never gotten caught until Overkast.

But wouldn't this be different? 

No. No, it couldn't be. Uriah had no reason to believe he was alive, and if Lex just laid low for a while, maybe in a few weeks… months… years, everything would be back to normal.

He'd be on the job again, and he could forget all about Fox and the Tower.

And Spyglass. And her stupid quest for justice.

She wanted to take Fox down, to take Corp down. Couldn't she see that was impossible? The power the CEOs held was absolute. Any moves the rogues tried to make against them would end with them dead or worse.

It wasn't something Alexei could risk.

He could only hope that when Spyglass put her plan into action she fucked it up badly enough that the team was killed. Not captured. Not imprisoned.

He didn't want to picture them in the Tower.

Lex pulled up his hood and fished around in his jacket pocket. His mask was still there. And his gloves. He'd look a little suspicious walking around like this, but that was better than being recognized. If he kept his head down, maybe people would just assume he was sick and give him a wide berth. His stumbling gait, brought on by weeks-old injuries and exhaustion, would add to the illusion.

He slipped the gloves on and pulled the mask over his nose and mouth, then stepped into the street, feeling a little better now that he had a direction and a layer of fabric between him and the world.

Even in Neath, would he be safe? The subsector was full of opportunists; people who would sell him out for pennies. He needed someone he could trust, and there was no one he could trust. Except… there was Chopper. He'd worked under Chopper for years, never slipping, never stumbling. Would his old employer sell him out, if given the chance?

No. No, Chopper hated Corp. He wouldn't turn on one of his own for them.

And besides, where else did he have?

•°•°•

The walk to Chopper’s base was longer than Alexei remembered. Maybe it was the feeling of eyes on him, slowing him down. The constant worry of being watched that had him checking over his shoulder, running fingers along his throat to check if the collar was still in place, tracking him.

The fabric of his gloves grazed flesh every time though, and for a moment, Lex could relax. But the moment never lasted.

Chopper's place was fronted by a mechanic’s; as good a place as any to hide and repair the tools of the trade. Lex figured he'd walk right in the door, maybe pretend to peruse the scant amount of equipment for sale at the front. If something felt wrong, it would be easier to run from there.

The door jingled as he pushed it open, but there was no one at the counter. Stepping inside felt like stepping into a memory. Dingy tile floors and terrible fluorescent lighting; the sound of whirring tools in the back that he knew was just a recording being played on loop; the smell of old motor oil.

How many times had he stood here? Hundreds? Thousands? Muscle memory told him to keep crossing the floor, to walk to the back and take the stairs to Chopper’s office. Like it was two years ago, and he was still okay.

His ears pricked up at the sound of shoes on concrete, and he turned his face down immediately, pretending to study the oil cans. In his peripheral, he could see a bulky man rounding the corner, red hair going gray, hands gloved in heavy leather to avoid leaving fingerprints.

Chopper.

Slowly, almost robotically, Lex turned to face the counter. He could see the other man tense in anticipation, though the easy smile remained on his face. One hand was under the counter, no doubt resting on the grip of a gun. He’d been in the business for too long to stop being careful.

“Afternoon then,” Chopper said. “How can I help you today?”

Alexei pulled aside his mask, willing everything to be okay, to go his way for once. The other man’s eyes went wide.

“A drink would be nice.”

•°•°•

@whumpacabra @enteredin2eternity @kixngiggles @whumpsday @kiichu @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @shywhumpauthor @distinctlywhumpthing , @bloodinkandashes , @fleur-alise , @whumpy-daydreams ,

[lovebillyhargrove]

Wake me up when July is around

Harringrove slow burn. S1 Steve x Billy

Chapter 2

Chapter 3 feat. Tommy

*** Steve's pov

"Tell me once again what you saw in the photo lab, Nicole."

Steve can't fucking believe it. That weird Byers kid, he doesn't even know his first name, John or .. Nathan? Doesn't matter. Developing pictures of him, his girlfriend and his best friends partying in Steve's backyard?

Holy hell, they must be.. can they be from that unfortunate night in June when Steve finally got lucky with Nancy but then this whole terrible thing happened, and Barb went missing, and cops came to talk to him and his parents, questioned Tommy and Carol, Nancy too? It ruined his whole summer. His relationship with Nancy lost that sweet something that Steve's still trying to chase.

He is certain they never had any more parties like that, not at Steve's place, at least, not the five .. four of them, so it must definitely be from that night.

Steve's heart is racing. He tells Tommy to meet him after classes in the parking lot, before the game because they've got some business to deal with. Byers never visits the games, so he'll just be going home or wherever he's gonna go after school. He'll catch the freak there, have a couple of words with him. Maybe tell him it's wrong to spy on people, take their fucking pictures without them even knowing about it?? Maybe he's been doing it all fucking summer, not just that one time?

Okay, there's been this crazy story about his little brother who went missing last spring for .. several weeks. They found him in the end. What was it, June? Or July? Just right after Barb disappeared?

Fuck.

Anyways that fucked up story didn't give him any right to be taking pictures of them in the middle of the night. They were fucking naked in his bedroom, what kind of sick shit is that?

After the last class is finished Steve and Tommy go to the beamer with Carol and Nicole, as the main witness. Steve sees Byers walking towards his old rusty ford galaxie, head down, as usual and not looking at anyone. A true creep's behavior.

"Hey, man."

Byers stops in his tracks, a spooked expression on his face. Steve gets off the beamer and comes closer to him.

"Nicole here was, uh .. telling us about your work."

The guy clearly doesn't understand what Steve's talking about. Time to explain.

"And we'd just love to take a look. You know .. as connoisseurs of art."

Steve rips the backpack out of the weirdo's hands. Byers looks sick. Tommy and the girls are circling around like vultures.

"Man, he's totally trembling. He must really have something to hide."

Harrington opens the backpack, and holy fuck, Nicole wasn't lying. There are pictures of .. all of them in his backyard that night. Byers isn't even trying to snatch those from Steve's hands. He's caught red-handed and knows it.

"Here we go."

The picture of Harrington's room window, with his and Nancy's silhouettes?? Tommy's going through the photos muttering "Fucking shit" under his breath

"Yeah this isn't creepy at all."

Wait, this is Nancy's naked back, what the fuck.

"No, this is called stalking. Mmm-hmm."

Byers is just standing there, like a loser that he is, not saying a word.

Suddenly there's an interruption.

"What's going on?" Nancy is walking towards them, looking concerned. Carol pipes in

"And here's the starring lady." Steve bets Carol is enjoying the whole scene immensely

"The creep was spying on us last June. And we only find out about it now."

"Yeah, he was probably gonna save this one for later." Carol sing-songs pointing at the nude picture. Nancy is still looking at Steve with raised eyebrows, waiting for an explanation.

Steve's feeling disgusted. There's a nasty itch in his hands, the one you get when you want to squish a cockroach

He's also slightly surprised, and not in a pleasant way, with the fact that Nance didn't immediately take their side.

"Man, that's the thing about perverts. You know they just can't help themselves."

Oh, he knows what he has to do.

"We'll just have to take away his toy."

Steve takes Byers' camera from the backpack, and the freak lunges forward cause he knows what's gonna happen. Tommy stands between the two of them

"No no, wait, wait ... Tommy, Tommy."

Steve holds the camera in his outstretched hand and drops it, theatrically. There's a sound of a shattered lense. Carol and Nicole let out a gasp. Nancy covers her mouth with her tiny hand.

Let the pervert learn his lesson.

Byers still hasn't said anything, like at all. He drops to his knees, looking at the broken camera as if he's trying really hard not to burst out sobbing.

"Come on, let's go. The game is about to start." Harrington motions for the gang to follow him, which they do. The show is finished.

Wait, where's his girlfriend?

Steve turns around to see her kneeling beside Byers picking up the torn pieces of the photos. What the fuck?

"Hey, Nance!" Steve raises his voice in irritation. She gets up reluctantly and goes after her boyfriend, leaving the weirdo weeping over the loss of his possession.

The wind comes, swishing the remaining photo shreds away.

Seriously, what the hell.

***

Steve knows he has to focus on the game. It's Hawkins Tigers vs Greenwood Eagles. It's nothing big, just a friendly match, their school always holds a game at the beginning of each year inviting a team from nearby towns, just to mark the opening of a new season. The whole school is here, and Steve has to fucking concentrate.

He can't.

That freak Byers with his camera, fucking stalking them?? Maybe the police should take a closer look at him. He was the last one to see that girl, Barb. Steve didn't even know her so well, she was Nancy's friend. Should he go to the police? Or should he just drop it? This whole thing is so unsettling, but you know what bugs him the most? The way Nancy stayed behind, picking up those photo shreds, looking like she's on the freak's side. Was she not bothered by the whole thing?

Steve could see that Nancy changed after the mysterious disappearance of her friend in his backyard. He isn't blind, and yeah, that shit's heavy but he also can't understand where his fault is in all of that and what he can do to make everything better. And yeah, he would really like to enjoy his senior year at school, is that a crime? He wants to get wild at parties and .. and do something stupid cause that's officially his last chance to be just a teenager. And he wants that. He's used to getting what he wants. He wanted a new toy? Mommy got him one. He wanted to kiss Laurie? He did, and got his first girlfriend. He then saw Amy and fell in love again? Laurie cried for weeks. It was time for the Harrington heir to get his own car? Dad bought a brand new BMW 733i which drove all the guys insane with jealousy. Amy told him he broke her heart when he started going out with Katie. Katie doesn't talk to him any more when he dumped her and went after the smart girl, Nancy Wheeler. That one required effort, but here they are. Together.

Nancy never does anything stupid.

There she is, sitting in the stands, looking all preoccupied and shit. She's not even interested whether they are gonna win or lose

Things used to be so good last spring. The thrill of the chase, of getting the girl no-one even believed would pay attention to him? One of the smartest students at Hawkins High and the king of parties, in love?

Honestly, the game is the last thing Steve's thinking about right now, too. He's playing outrageously bad, and this moron Hargrove, of course, is pleased as punch. Fucking asshole.

Nancy leaves the match early, and Steve feels like it's all his fault, everything, just fucking all of it.

A hard shove to the shoulder brings him back to the court. Sorta.

"Why the fuck do they even call you king, huh?"

*** Billy's pov

Why even bother inviting another team for a fucking "friendly match" if you aren't able to fucking score? Billy should sign off the basketball team, it's a fucking waste of his time.

This whole gathering of losers moves around the court like a bunch of sleepy snails. Guess who the worst of them all is? The captain, Steve fucking Harrington. How was he even appointed captain is beyond understanding. Did he just suck the coach off at some point, and was that his most outstanding achievement, and that's why he was given the title?

Billy is disappointed to the point of bursting out with hysterical laughter. More than half of all scored points are his. He moves around the court like a flash of lightning. The guys from the Eagles stare at Hargrove with open mouths, clearly not having expected to come across him in the lamest town of all. The stands are going crazy, sensing the victory "Come on, Tigers!"

Billy misses his team back at home so much. He wants to fucking cry. He wants a challenge, he needs some adrenaline. Playing basketball has always been a pleasure for him, but now it's a fucking heartbreak.

Harrington is the worst.

Billy can see that Steve's mind is elsewhere. Like he's trying to pretend to get focused on the game, but he's failing spectacularly. Maybe it all has to do with the scene Billy witnessed in the parking lot today while he was having a smoke before the match. That was some kind of fucked up school drama, right there. Harrington broke some guy's photo camera. Shit must've been expensive, and the guy didn't look like he could easily afford to buy a new one. Billy's gut tells him it's about that girl. Uh-oh.

He doesn't give a fuck if Harrington has girlfriend problems. If you're playing you need to leave everything you've got on the court, and fuck the rest of the world, especially your ninny quarrels.

Billy has a strange feeling like .. there's something hidden in that pouty asshole. Something deep like embers of fire, like he could actually be interesting.

Let me piss him off, properly, right the fuck now.

He sees Andy passing the ball to Harrington, and in a second the ball's already in Billy's hands. It's like taking candy from a child.

Hargrove sends the ball right into the basket, and the crowd cheers.

Captain Loser is standing there like a complete idiot.

Billy gets close to Harrington's sweaty face and whispers

"Why the fuck do they even call you king, huh?"

Steve's hissing

"Leave me the fuck alone, asshole."

"I would but we're sadly on the same team here, dumbass. Your game is pathetic."

He'd gladly push him, bring the piece of shit down, but unfortunately he can't do it to his own teammate.

Hargrove prefers it when Harrington's on the other team. At least then he can get on the guy's nerves as much as he wants to.

After the game Coach Nelson congratulates the Tigers on the victory. He kinda looks proud. Of fucking what?? Everyone is off to the showers but the coach tells Harrington to stay behind and Billy overhears him say:" Pick up your game, Harrington, will ya? Recruiters be coming, what kind of captaincy is this?"

Let the bitch get what he deserves.

Billy has won, again. He has carried the whole game, from the beginning to end, on his back.

It's only the third week of the school year, and Billy's patience is wearing thin. He's gonna go off the tracks and straight into the asylum, soon. How is he supposed to stay sane here till fucking June?

In the showers Billy makes the water colder than usual. Just to cool himself off. Yeah, he still needs to survive till June here somehow. July even, depending on how much money he'll be able to save up. One day at a time. One fucking day at a time.

Guys from the team are fucking happy the Tigers have actually won the game. In the last hundred years, probably. They are all idiots. They should hate Billy for being the absolute best, but their minds are clouded with the excitement of victory.

Freckles is again getting into his space even in the shower, for fucks sake.

"Hey, man? Great game! Wanna go drink a couple of beers with us? We're celebrating!"

Fuck, Billy almost forgot. He really needs to hurry cause Max is gonna be out after her shitty club or something. The little rat can tell her mommy that Billy was late to pick her up and if Neil gets a whiff?? Guess who's gonna get lectured on the importance of being a good brother? Sometimes after listening to his dad Billy just wants to run into a wall, head on, so that his skull gets broken and all the bullshit that Neil's been telling him, spills out, leaving his head blissfully empty.

"Can't. Gotta drive my stepsister home. The little leprechaun is probably already waiting near the car."

There's a disappointed look on Hagan's face, which even seems sincere.

"Another time, yeah?"

"Sure."

He turns off the water and walks away, bumping into Harrington on his way out. The coach must've had a long talk with him. Their bare shoulders touch unexpectedly and there's a jolt of hot hatred running down Billy's spine. He doesn't have time for that now though.

"Look where you're going, asshole."

Harrington just glares at him silently, a flame of fire in those deep brown eyes appearing for a second, and goes to wash the shame of this game off.

***

On Friday Tommy, who's sitting behind him in Spanish, whispers "Hey Hargrove.."

"What?"

"Got a minute after school? Need to talk to you about something."

"Like what?"

"Just meet me under the bleachers, man."

"Mr. Hagan and Mr. Hargrove, please stop talking in class?"

"Lo siento, señorita Delgado, pero ya hemos terminado nuestras tareas y ahora estamos practicando el habla. Le estaba diciendo a mi amigo que me encantaría escuchar su propuesta de lecciones conjuntas adicionales de español."

(I am sorry, Miss Delgado, we have already finished our assignment, and we're practising speaking. I was just telling my friend here that I'd be happy to have extra lessons of Spanish with him.)

The teacher looks at Hargrove with an astonished expression, trying to hide a smile

"Bien. Trata de no molestar a los demás."

(Alright. Try not to disturb others.)

Tommy is whispering in Billy's ear again

"Dude .. what the fuck did you say to her?"

"I told her I'd like to make love to her tonight and she told my to come by her place at nine."

Hagan is snickering but shuts up quickly when the teacher's is throwing him a strict glance.

Hargrove goes to the bleachers after classes. What does Freckles have to say to him?

Turns out, Tommy's got a plan for a prank.

Apparently, the school's gonna be without security this weekend. Old Mr. Wiggins is going to be out of town due to a family emergency, and the second guard, Mr. Crawley was just taken to hospital, and Tommy has overheard a super confidential conversation between the principal and Mr. Clark, that the principal can't find anyone to fill in for the weekend on such short notice, and school grounds will be defenseless during the whole of Saturday and Sunday.

"We cannot pass up such an opportunity. It never happens, it'll never happen. Let's do it. It's a perfect time to strike."

Hargrove wants to ask Tommy why the hell he's asking him of all people but, judging by the look on Tommy's face, he's probably in love with Billy, so he doesn't ask anything.

The "strike" means taking a fucking tractor from a shed that Tommy's father owns to drive it to the school football field and plow something scandalous on it for the whole school to see on Monday.

"Noone plays football in this school anyways. The guys won't care, principal Foster won't care. Well, not too much. The main thing, we don't run into fucking cops. But the shed is just a five-minute drive from school grounds, and there's a dirt road, leading to the gate in the back. We won't even be driving on the road across town."

Billy kinda wants to say no since the whole "I don't give a fuck about this place" thing, but he's also only seventeen, and desperate for some kind of an outlet of his pent up energy. He's been diligently doing homework and writing application letters to universities for the past month. He needs to do something different.

He's probably crazy and this is an unwise thing to do. What if something goes wrong, and the whole prank ends with him getting expelled from school?

Billy loves the idea. He can see it, so clearly in his head, the nightmare that's gonna follow? Neil's rage? Dad's definitely gonna kill him. Skin him alive.

The most important thing is to have enough time to jump in the car and drive the hell away. Then, everything can just explode and never come back to normal.

Maybe that's what he needs. The explosion, and he'll come out of the fire, cleansed of all the burdens and free.

Billy knows this about himself. He's generally a very rational person. But sometimes something gives.

"Okay."

"Really? Oohh it's gonna be epic, dude! Harrington's gonna come, too. I hope you two will .."

Tommy is clearing his throat.

"What do you mean?" Billy doesn't want it to sound menacing, yet it still does.

"Nothing. I mean .. I don't know, you always seem to be at each other's throats like .. ready to fight like two bitches."

Tommy is afraid he's said too much too harsh.

Billy is chuckling

"Yeah .. maybe."

He's in good mood today, letting a conversation like this happen.

Billy looks at the watch and Max should still be at the AV club she's been going to. He's got plenty of time to kill. So he asks Hagan for more details. He wonders if Harrington is on board with him taking part in it, but Tommy must've built the necessary bridges.

They agree to meet at midnight on Saturday near the shed Tommy has mentioned. He explains how to get there from Cherry Lane.

***

On Saturday evening Billy parks down the street cause he doesn't want Neil to hear how he's sneaking off in the middle of the night.

At 11.45 he quietly climbs out of his window, gets in the car trying to make as less noises as possible, and drives to their agreed meeting spot. He sees Tommy's car parked nearby.

The night is dark and quiet, and there are myriads of stars in the black skies above them. The thin crescent moon is hanging high, white and sparkly. Billy takes a deep breath of the fresh and chilly night air. There are black voids of sinister woods all around him.

Tommy's already waiting.

"Hey, man."

"Hey. Where's King Steve? He coming?"

"Nah. The dude wanted to but bailed last minute."

Billy's what? A bit disappointed?

Give me a fucking break.

"Miss Wheeler is staying overnight at his place so.. he's probably getting his dick wet right this second."

Tommy is smiling gleefully but

There's an unpleasant pang of .. something in Billy's heart.

He doesn't understand why, but the thought of it makes him uncomfortable. Just for a second like.. He doesn't want to hear this information.

Anyway, why the fuck does he care.

"Okay, are we doing it or what?"

"Damn right we are."

Tommy unlocks the shed door, and holy shit, the tractor's huge.

"Do you know how to drive that thing?"

"Of course, since childhood. My dad sells farm machinery, so he's been teaching me how to drive all kinds of stuff."

They walk inside the shed and climb into the tractor's cabin.

"You have the key?"

Tommy fishes it out of his pocket and looks at Hargrove expectantly.

Billy, in his turn, takes out a couple of joints he's made at home. Tommy leaves the key in the ignition, his smile wide and merry.

"Ohhh man, hell yeah! Is that from California?" He smacks Billy's shoulder

"Yeah." Hargrove clicks the lighter.

"One now, one later?"

"Fucking yes, man."

Billy's putting his butt on the huge dashboard while Tommy's climbing in the seat. Billy doesn't know how to drive a fucking tractor, so Hagan is the designated one here.

He takes a long drag of the joint, letting the hot heavy smoke roll on his tongue, like viscous glue, before inhaling it.

Californian weed, immediately bringing memories.

He misses home.

Tommy takes the joint from his fingers, but starts coughing after the first drag

"That shit's strong. Fuuck."

"Yeah. Go easy."

Hagan's second drag is a success. They sit for some minutes in silence, just passing the joint to each other.

A question slips off Hargrove's tongue, although he doesn't even know why he's asking it

"What's Harrington's deal?"

"He's alright."

Tommy inhales the smoke again

"We've been best friends since primary school. Like .. always hanging out and stuff. But then he decides to go after that Wheeler princess, and .. fuck knows what.. I mean we're still friends and shit, and I've got his back but .. he's not the same since he got together with Wheeler. Carol hates her guts."

Billy can swear, Tommy's voice got sadder, but like .. there's an undertone to it. The hell .. ? Freckles has a crush on his pretty best friend? Hagan grunts, moving in the seat to make himself more comfortable

"I'm telling ya, this prissy bitch is gonna be the death of King Steve."

Billy isn't sure why, maybe it's the weed, maybe he just really missed having at least some sort of fun, but he kinda likes this. Smoke floating inside the cabin, the darkness and the wild exhilaration of a teenager who's about to do something really stupid and meaningless and potentially definitely dangerous.

"How do you play basketball so well?"

"Man, come to San Diego and give me a couple of months with you on the street courts. You'll score every goddamn time."

Tommy nods in understanding and Hargrove's putting out the stub.

Hagan rubs his hands excitedly and grins at Billy.

"You ready for some Indiana fun, Hargrove?"

Billy gets his ass off the dashboard and stands near the seat. His eyelids are a bit heavy but he wipes his hand on his face

"Start the fucking thing."

The sound of the engine pierces the silence and out of the shed and onto the road they go.

Holy shit, that's an enormous fucking tractor Tommy's driving.

Billy has no fucking clue how to drive a tractor.

"Watch the cars!"

Tommy's laughing

"Relax, dude. I know what I'm doing. Let's go baby!"

It's really just a five-minute drive through the dark field. The tractor is loud and shaking, or maybe it's the weed pulling tricks on him already.

"Hey, Hagan, lemme, lemme .."

Billy's pushing Tommy off the seat and grabbing the steering wheel cause he wants to drive the fucking monster too. Shouldn't be so hard.

"Okay, just .. fucking drive yeah?" Tommy is shouting cause it's LOUD.

"Sure thing!" Billy's shouting back, both of them high as kites.

The whole town is asleep.

School's not that far away.

They smash the lock on the gate to the football pitch with a crowbar.

Drive into the fucking field.

Billy is fucked if Neil finds out.

"What the fuck are we gonna write?" Tommy's still shouting cause the engine's running

"Dunno! A dick?"

"What the fuck, are you a plough artist or something? You can't draw a dick with a fucking plough. It's complicated!"

Billy's shrugging his shoulders

"I'd just write ASS!"

"Yeah! Foster is gonna be mad though!"

"Who's Foster??"

"The principal! There's a fine line!"

"What?"

"There's a fine line!!"

They both think for a second. Tommy yells

"Let's draw a crown!"

"A what??"

"Yeah yeah yeah let's do it man! A tribute to king Steve? A crown??"

"I don't care!! Won't they trace it back to Harrington?"

"Even if they bother, he's fine! He's got an alibi!"

Tommy's sticking his tongue out and imitating french kissing

"Dude, stop! It looks disgusting!"

So it's a crown.

Tommy shows him the stick to bring the plough down. He's holding his hands on the steering wheel, just in case Hargrove loses control.

"Let's go, fucker!"

They make a line at the bottom of the field, and uuuuup! A little bit down .. uuup. A little bit down .. uuup! One more time, aaaand dowwwn.

Job done. Easy-peasy.

"Let's go, let's go, let's go!"

***

When they get the tractor back safe and sound and smoke the second joint sitting on some straw on the shed floor they mostly giggle dumbly. However, at some point Billy asks Tommy about the jobs here, and Hagan tells him about the huge super-duper construction. Starcourt, he thinks. His uncle Joe knows the contractor. Small town. Tommy promises to find out if they offer jobs. He's not sure though cause they have like professional crews working there and stuff, but it doesn't hurt to ask. His uncle asked earlier in the summer if Tommy was interested. Tommy said no cause last year of school. He's applying to a couple of colleges but most likely there's no college for him, he'll just end up working for his dad probably. Which isn't so bad.

***

On Monday morning the school is fucking buzzing.

The crown looks a bit crooked.

Like king, like crown.

Principal gathers all of seniors in the assembly hall during lunch break and calls for discipline.

"A bit too early for a senior prank? We understand Hawkins school is the best, hence the crown, but. Do not make me cancel prom."

Everyone falls silent.

Billy doesn't care about prom.

He and Tommy look as innocent as ever.

Harrington? Billy can bet a hundred bucks, Harrington looks jealous. Like he missed all the fun.

They get under the bleachers later, all three of them and Carol. Tommy does most of the laughing and talking. No-one's gonna know, just keep your mouths shut, boys. We did good. The principal is also an idiot, like Hawkins school is the best, haha.

Harrington is mostly silent, just like Billy is.

When Billy lays in his bed that night and lets the memories of his prior life bring him to sleep, he thinks that

He didn't hate Saturday night.

He's definitely not going soft on this town, but he didn't hate the night.

Tommy's okay.

Harrington is a pathetic pussy-whipped loser.

Billy would never.

***

Thank you @dragonflylady77 ❤️, as always)

Chapter 4

[kcalsforhim]

monday 25 november 2024 - 𐙚 ˚🍰 ⋆｡˚⊹❀˖°

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୧ ‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ ˚⊹

cals : ~900

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dinner : pokebowl with salad mix, cucumbers, carrots, edamame beans, avocado, chicken, spicy mayo dressing, nori seaweed seeds and sesame seeds.

dessert : teramisu cake but made out of biscoff lotus cookies... teehee

midnight overeating session / binge : 2 smoked salmon slices, a small serving of mashed potatos, half a cucumber, an apple, like 10 jelly straws, 3 pieces of candy...

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ ˚⊹

aha guys remember when i said i would go into binge recovery ? haha i failed. anyway i didnt fail nearly as bad this time, and i did cut myself once for every thing i overate... i just dont undersrand why i keep doing this lol but oh well. i talked with eli about it on a deeper level and i really began to think about it ;; im infact still thinking about it... but generally ive come to the conclusion that i need to stop centralising food so much in my life since its all i can think of.. i also want to go back to omad, and generally only not omad when i feel SICKLY and just go from there. i generally always feel like if im omad'ing i restrict better, the only cases not being when i feel siiiick to my stomach.. but then again... every time i felt sick from restricting so much... it kind of felt amazing too.. im also thinking of feeding my friend, specifically the one close to me since haku has been dieting for a long time and i dont want to overfeed him. generally i think it would be a good idea since i can dispose of food and still keep him happy... i just... really should focus on getting rid of all food that is appealing out of my life as well as just seeing it as fuel... i want to stop indulging so much... thats easier said than done... ive done alot of reflecting and honestly so far in november there has not been a single day where i felt proud of how i did, in comparison to october where i felt like i did great 90% of the days... omad is definently a good starting point, learning to say no more often... in general, food does not run away from me if i dont eat it, even in my own house. i struggle more with sweets than i do with salty stuff, im so afraid of it running away... but i need to stop being afraid... food is not my friend.. i shouldnt like it or indulge in it so much, it damages my progress and the guilt i feel after lasts for days if not weeks now... i really wish i could take controll of myself again.. but. i will. not give up, thats the last thing i want to do. in the grand scheme of things, one month of wasted time is not the end of it, i can pick myself up and i can always fix things and get back on track, i just have to keep trying and pushing... even if its hard or im having my moments where it feels like restricting is literally impossible, i have to keep trying... over... and over... and over... and over... and over... so ive kind of concluded on a few things i want to do moving forward

i want to generally try to restrict as much as i can, this is hard for me, because i actually very much enjoy food, but food is not my friend. i will try to omad as much as i can or just skip meals as much as i can.

avoid fast food places as much as possible from now on, if not all together, fast food places are packed with calories... making at home versions are ok... but i actually felt terrible the last few times and it never felt satisfying ?

stop drinking so many liquid calories...

FOCUS ON PORTION SIZES, i cannot stress this enough, dont try to fit every single last cal into what you can eat... focus on plating a satisfying amount except for plating how much you can eat (with an exception to vegetables).

today i also went out with my friend.. that was fun.. he got me some stuff which is always nice

some body checks i took.. im not very proud of what i look like, i feel like i could look so much better if only i actually tried my best...

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here is some BEAUTIFULL photo's i found online... this is waaay rather what id look like... and i should work harder from now on to get to that point...

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this song is nice and... kind of eery..

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ ˚⊹

[storiesofsvu]

Happy Thursday hoes, let’s get to it!

Todays pros: citytv thinks im in TO so I’m getting it started at six!

Cons: no subtitles.

Alright, OG up first.

Love this new detective that’s a fanboy of everyone, makes me miss rollins lol

Pls let it be a female perp. We love a good female perp.

Okay seriously, this very subtle shaky cam is fucking terrible and hurts my head.

The GROAN I let out at the sight of Samantha in her well fitted pants suit sitting there like a fucking badass pissed off look on her face. Ma’am. Please. (yes, she is the only reason I watch this show)

Okay, the pedo may be the only eye witness, but they still have blood on the murderers pants, don’t they? Would that not tie it together enough? Or is it because the eye witness was the one who lead them to him? God I hate the legal system.

I REALLY wish this show would show more of the arguing between Nolan and Sam, like these two do NOT see eye to eye or have the same opinions on basically anything. And while I know major fighting would be called unprofessional, we at least used to see the lawyers get into it, or bantering. There’s so many times that you can tell just by the look of her face that Sam’s pissed, that she doesn’t think highly of him or his decisions on cases, like she hates him. I wanna see that play out on screen LOL

SVU time!

Let’s see if this week is any better than the last ones

Liv back in therapy, we love to see it.

A crumb of EO? Will that keep the crazies at bay? (like, I don’t even ship it but fuck am I sick of it now, the baiting is hella annoying and terrible, make it happen or not, don’t keep leading the actual ship fans on…)

Uhhh… is there not some kind of patient dr confidentiality? Like this bitch could have just lost her job (esp with someone like mcgrath involved… wtf..)

ITS THIS KIND OF SHIT THAT MAKES ME FERAL. In previous episodes they’ve had situations where shrinks couldn’t testify when they were the ONE witness, and like the entire case went into the trash because of it based off this exact type of situation… where TF is the continuity??

Okay… so she’s a minor so I can see the loophole here, BUT the therapist should have told her parents….

I knew it wasn’t the math tutor…

Ok… so mcgrath threatens to kill the math tutor, but when they’re picking up the son across the street he goes rage on benson?? And the iab captain? Shouldn’t you be attempting to punch the kid or something? God I really hope this ep is his last…

“can you drop that to me?” good thing Bruno’s there cause fin would have ZERO ideas on how to do that…

“until the age of 25 the male brain is about as useful as an electrified meatball” jfc… that wins for best line of the night.

Where the fuck is Velasco? Like.. man deserves his paycheques too..

Okay, mcgrath’s wife needs to shut the fuck up, liv’s trying to help her daughter and she accuses liv of gunning for mcgrath’s job.. jfc..

I was expecting mcgrath to throw hands not pull out his fucking GUN jfc… and like.. that was infront of two cars, that’s gonna be on a dash cam somewhere…

This is one of those one case turns into 4 but there’s only 5 mins left of the episode… cmon…

“I guess I didn’t see it in myself…” THANK YOU I was just gonna bring up the whole half assed back plot of mcgrath being abusive… (which is on par for cops, and ironic that the woman playing his wife was the wife of a cop who abused/raped her in 1.o)

This very much seems like a good bye. Pls let it be a good bye. Petition to bring back Garland!

Okay… im confused, I looked at my phone for 5 seconds and lost track of what was happening. Is the iab captain joining svu, cause that doesn’t work…theyre both captains. Or is she saying she’ll be filling in for mcgrath in the meantime??

Onto OC!

Okay, I am incredibly thankful for carisi on oc, but he’s the *sex crimes* ada.. not the only Manhattan ada, he wouldn’t be prosecuting this case… lol

Me: “wait I thought he was an officer.”

Reyes: “detective?” *side eye*

Me: ah yes, okay he was promoted the writers didn’t forget between weeks.

God this entitled pos teenager… wtf… its not *your* house bitch.

Ah, thank god, here’s the arguing that was missing in OG, not surprised its Elliot. Lol.

Oh god..the bratty teen overheard that didn’t she? Fuck..

God… this girl is gonna blow the entire thing, isn’t she? Like, in todays day and age with all the social media and how teenagers (and some adults) don’t know how to go without it, there’s no way they’d cut contact with everyone and delete socials and keep things quiet.

Aaaaaannd here we go. 5 seconds in and she’s blown their new location. (also WHY would the cops even tell them the location? That seems like something they wouldn’t do until they were halfway there…)

Okay… we’re missing a daughter.. I don’t know if this is supposed to be Maureen or elizabeth but I’m assuming liz as it looks like her kids are twins and she was the twin… Also where’s dickie? (I know the brother said something about someone not being able to get a flight? Im just deaf and without subtitles I couldn’t tell ya what exactly was said lol)

How old is this younger brother supposed to be? The only info online I can find is the actor is 50 which im not sure I believe.

Okay there’s dickie he’s in the background!

These guys KNEW they were in a high risk situation and none of them have a vest anywhere near them? ARE WE DUMB?! IS IT OUR FIRST DAY ON THE JOB?

Okay, there’s the other kid.

Maureen and Kathleen giving side eye while sipping their drinks while the tea is being spilt is the highlight of this moment.

This is SOOO awkward for everyone else at the table jfc… ESPECIALLY Eli’s poor girlfriend.. like. Welcome to the family drama, don’t worry we never have to come back…

Why the fuck did jet not grab the other gun?!

Me: unfazed at Elliot body slamming a teenager.

Bell: *casually* “I’m shot”

Me: ARE YOU FUCKING FOR REAL RIGHT NOW

THIS CANNOT BE HAPPENING IF WE FUCKING LOSE HER I WILL ACTUALLY RIOT.

(BUT ALSO MAY WE STEP BACK TO 8 LINES EARLIER WHERE I WAS YELLING ABOUT THEM NOT HAVING VESTS ON?!)

I knew this other captain was going to be coming more into play, but im pissed its cause bell’s out with a gunshot wound.

Christ.

Okay well, another week and OC is continuing it’s reign as superior of the three!

Some pics for context/hilarity

[lya-dustin]

The Moon Lives in the Lining of Your Skin

chapter 2

Gil-galad x Erinti of the Maiar(oc)

“Have you always lived here?” he asks her as they wait for him to be healed enough to leave.

Rodnor sits on the bench while she tends to her garden of medicinal herbs. She cannot heal like Estë and her servants, but she can make the things that will heal people. This was her element; she tells herself as she digs her hands into the recently planted flowerbed and willed life to grow.

Especially the stubborn elf lord who refused to remember his body has limits.

It was not enough for him to be just a day or two away from recovery, just this morning he tried to spar with one of the trees and set himself back a week after being told his right hand was not ready yet.

But he had been so brave, gritting his teeth as his bones healed themselves with her touch. Been so brave that she kissed the pain away.

A mistake, she thinks, a mistake because now Rodnor knows her lips are better healers than her hands and now Erinti wonders how it would feel to kiss his lips.

She’s never kissed anyone before, the Eldar and the Edain have the most curious and strict set of ways that leave little freedom in her opinion.

“No, before here I used to live with my sister, Melian in Menegroth, but then I grew restless and decided it was time to be on my own.” She answers as she willed the seeds to grow as she poured her power into the soft earth. They grow too quickly, they always do whenever she feels infatuated with someone, “Have you always lived wherever it is you live at, Rodnor?”

“I grew up in the Havens of the Falas with my mother, Gilher. After the Nirnaeth Arnoediad we moved in the Isle of Balar, where I still live even after my lady mother faded a decade ago.” He does not mention the specifics, but Erinti cannot ask about those things he won’t say after he mentioned his mother’s passing.

“It must have been very painful for you to lose her.” Erinti paused and added as she cleaned the dirt off her hands with her apron and joined him on the bench, “I am very sorry for your loss, Rodnor.”

If she could kiss his pain away, she would, but wounds of the heart are not like those of the flesh. Erinti had cried herself for ages when Melian returned to Aman and Luthien died of the sickness that comes with old age.

She felt so lonely then, she wonders if Rodnor felt the same when his mother died.

“My thanks, Lothíriel, I am sorry for burdening you with my grief. I already owe you my life and telling you things that make you sad seems like a terrible way to repay your kindness.” The elf feels embarrassed at having been just a little vulnerable with her, Erinti wondered if that stupid notion some have of bottling everything up inside will ever stop.

“When Melian left, I felt as if my sister had abandoned me, I think by the time I finished mourning her and her family, her great granddaughter had married and had her own set of twins. A thing I learned during that time is that sometimes talking about it helps ease the pain.” Erinti had cried on the lap of a human grandmother when she finally let herself speak of the pain in her heart. The old woman had not judged her, perhaps that was what Rodnor needed to let go of some of that pain.

“My mother was in great pain, you see, my elder sister and my father passed when Nargothrond fell.” He began and Erinti did not fight the urge to hold his hand in support.

“How old were you when that happened?” the maia asked. So many kingdoms had fallen. Erinti had trouble keeping track of it all.

“I was a babe at her breast when we were sent away for our safety and that was the last time either of us saw them again.” He answers, leaning closer to her as if seeking comfort, and she leaned on his shoulder to comfort him for his loss.“I was all she had left, even if she had friends and kin to help her raise me, it pained her that her eldest child and her husband were gone.”

“When I had my hundredth begetting day, we quarreled, and I told her she was no longer burdened with raising me and the next morning she was gone.” There is a knot in his throat as he tells her this, and no wonder the death of a loved one is such a terrible thing to recount. The Maia felt awful for having even brought it up.

“The last time I saw Melian I told her she had become my jailer instead of remaining my sister. I wish I had not said such things, but I hope one day we can both apologize to them in Valinor.” She leans against his shoulder, relishing the warmth he gives.

“Perhaps we shall, my lady.” Rodnor then turns to look at her and held the Maia’s gaze. It makes her heart skip a beat and Erinti considers if they should pack provisions for two.

Been too long by your lonesome, no wonder this mystery ellon has you like this, the Maia can almost hear teenage Luthien’s sweet voice in the air.

Perhaps they have been alone too long, she thinks.

Rodnor has many questions, Erinti occasionally finds herself a little annoyed by them, but he ---like all people she was met--- is very adorable when he is being curious.

“How old are you?” he asks after they sit down for dinner one evening. Tomorrow he is supposed to be leaving and she has yet to find the courage to ask him if he would like a travelling companion.

“Older than the Ea, although this body is about as old as the Trees, and I did not grow into the person you see until Luthien ran off with Beren.” She answered as she sat back in her elegant blue silk chiton that still bore Melian’s sigil on the belt.

“So you grew at the same rate as she did, she was like your little sister, or perhaps, big sister?”

He looked handsome in her old clothes; blue was his most definitely his color. They look very well in somewhat matching blue chitons. He must be a of the line of Fingolfin, only he and his family could pull that dark haired blue and gold wearing noldo look. Did Fingon finally marry or did Turgon remarry because remarriage is not prohibited in Middle Earth?

Aredhel had a boy, but the birds say he sold his soul to Mogroth in exchange for his uncle’s city. Unfortunately, no one in the human village is brave enough to talk to her like their past generations and most of them had not been born then.

She was bereft of news of the outside world.

Last Erinti heard, Fingolfin’s youngest died with no issue and Aredhel’s one boy sold his soul to Melkor.

Who could this elf be?

“Sort of older twin sibling, I had the body of a twenty-year-old elfling when she was born and I did not begin to age until she had her twentieth begetting day.”  Erinti then spent roughly two thousand years unable to decide if she was male or female. The ainur are not born with the sex they present and some of them take more time to see what we like. Erinti had not realized she was a woman until Luthien introduced her as her sister and then it all made sense.

Not many understand that, besides she does not know his given name. When he tells her his given name then she may tell him more.

“I wish I did not have to leave; I have grown used to your company, Lothíriel.” He says when they finish readying everything for tomorrow.

Rodnor is to leave at first light after a fortnight here with her.

Is it bad that she does not want him to leave? Or that her gaze keeps going to his lips in curiosity when he mutters to himself as they made sure he had enough food and things for the travel. Erinti has never felt this before, is this how Melian felt when she first met her beloved Thingol?

She’s different now, as if she had aged that fortnight. As if she had stopped being the maia who came here to find their purpose, and now they wish to see if they can find it elsewhere.

“So have I, even if you refuse to tell me the name you gave yourself.” She teased him, looking up and thinking it was a terrible idea.

“Gil-galad. Radiant Star, after my naneth.” He is only a whisper away, looking at her with intent and desire. Desire she can feel brushing against her feä like tender caress.

If she were to step on her tiptoes ever so slightly, she could follow that pleasant feeling all the way to his lips.

“Lover of the stars, mother of starlight.” She cannot help but smile at the thoughtfulness of it. He chose his name after hers and not his father’s.

He reaches out to touch her face and she does not stop him, why would she? Even if it’s just for tonight she wants to be like girls in the tales she used to hear and sing about with Luthien.

This touch, this caress that is light and electrifying against her skin, is different from the ones before. There is something there that there never was before, not with Tilion, not with Nellas nor with Sael of the Edain.

“Leave with me tomorrow, Erinti Lothíriel. I do not wish to be parted from you.” He sounds as if the mere idea of being apart pains him, a sweet pain that she can feel too.

The maia cannot make the words come out, but she knows sometimes an action can speak louder than any word, so she takes a chance, reaches out for him and pressed her lips to his.