#whatever i do it anyway. glimpse into my sick & twisted mind

[77ngiez-archive]

the "me" i always wanted to be

[jackrrabbit]

cooking at 3am /// Osamu x f!Reader

Request: Imagine cooking together with Osamu at 3am because neither of you could sleep (or because ‘Samu got the midnight munchies lol). You don’t have anything specific in mind; you’re just playing around and feeding each other little bits of what you make.

A/N: bruh you said munchies and my mind said [[ h i g h o s a m u ]] sorry this went in a kinda different direction? but still fun 3am cooking project vibes :P

Tag/warnings: fluff, light drug use (weed), you and Atsumu are lowkey Bros™️, Osamu's kinda baby 🤧

Osamu’s not good at smoking.

He doesn’t really know how to inhale—you know, hold it in his lungs so it can soak in or whatever—and when he does, he coughs. Except he tries to repress the coughs. Even if he wants to hide it, he’s always close enough to you that you can feel his chest moving from trying not to cough when he takes a hit.

And also, like every baby smoker, he can’t really tell when it’s kicking in until he’s off the deep end.

“Can you feel it yet?”

“No.”

You shoot Osamu a glance where he’s sitting on the ground in front of the couch, watching a nature documentary on Atsumu’s TV with a glazed-over look on his face. “You sure? Your eyes are super red.”

“I can’t feel it. Give it—“ He holds out his hand and honestly you’re pretty sure he’s had plenty, but it’s Atsumu’s vape so who cares. You hand it over and Osamu holds it up to his mouth and sucks, eyes fluttering closed as the light on the side of the Pax glows yellow.

God, he looks hot when he does that. Something about a hot guy smoking, yeah? Actually, no. Something about your hot boyfriend smoking.

Except 'Samu holds his breath a second too long and you can see the urge to cough hit him… Wait for it, you think to yourself, and a second later he hacks and wheezes the vapor out in a wispy cloud that reflects silver against the semi-dark. You coo in sympathy and pat his back. “Want some water?”

Osamu shakes his head, hand over his mouth to stop the coughing. On the tv, David Attenborough talks about penguin courtship rituals and Atsumu (who’s been draped on the couch next to you for the past few hours) gives a light little sigh in his sleep. You check the time. 3am. Bedtime. Too bad you and 'Samu are both too high to drive home…whoops. Guess you’re spending the night at Atsumu’s place.

Osamu rubs his bloodshot eyes like they’re itchy, which they probably are. “Hey, can we— uhh… Do we have pancakes.”

“Pancakes, babe? You mean the ones you made for breakfast?”

“Yeah, there’s leftovers…I made you extra and you didn’t want them.” He twists around and gives you an incredibly dirty look, like this is something you did on purpose to hurt his feelings. “If you don’t want them I’m going to eat them.”

“Wait, 'Samu—“ But Osamu's already getting up off the floor to wander over to the next room. You debate pausing the show—it’s a really good scene—but you leave it going for Atsumu's sake because you’re pretty sure the narration is the only thing keeping him asleep. He’s kinda drooling on your shoulder and you have to push him off to go follow your boyfriend to the kitchen.

“What is all this stuff? Ugh…” Osamu's pawing through the fridge. There’s a lot of crinkling, plastic sounds—you catch a glimpse inside and all of the shelves are stacked up with plastic bags and styrofoam containers.

You yawn and hop up to sit on the kitchen island. “Takeout? I don’t think he cooks.” Atsumu's going to get a lecture tomorrow for keeping 2-week-old Indian food in his fridge. God knows you heard it way too many times before you and Osamu moved in together. You don’t envy 'Tsumu.

Osamu sits down in front of the fridge, fumbles with a drawer, and pulls out a bag of moldy grapes. “Gross…who lives like this…”

You snicker into your hand.

“I can’t find the pancakes.” 'Samu's pulling the plastic drawers all the way out now, setting them down on the floor as he inspects the contents of the fridge.

“They’re not here.”

“You ate them?”

“No, I— Hey, put those back in,” you tell him helplessly as he shuts the door of the fridge, ignoring all the leftover food he took out. Yeah, half of it was probably off anyway, but Atsumu's gonna be pissed if he wakes up and there’s takeout going bad all over his kitchen floor.

“You threw away my pancakes?” Now the look on Osamu's face is utter betrayal. He stands up off the floor and glares sulkily at you. “I made those for you…”

“I didn’t throw them away, they’re—“ You hold back a laugh and wish you had your phone on you (where did it go?) so you could take a picture. He’s so cute when he smokes. “—they’re at home.”

“At home?”

“Yep, at home. The place where you and me live, remember?”

“Oh.” Osamu pauses, reaches out absently to grab the edge of your sleeve. You’re wearing one of his hoodies. “We’re not at home?”

“Nope. We’re at Atsumu's place,” you tell him through a giggle.

He plays with your sleeve, contemplating. “Why?”

“Because we’re out of weed and he said he’d smoke us out. And we like hanging out with him.”

“Oh. We do?”

“Yes.”

“…’Kay.” It takes Osamu a second to accept this, but then he nods seriously. “(Y/N), I'm hungry.”

“I know. What do you want to eat? You could probably have any of that stuff, I don’t think he’ll miss it.”

'Samu thinks about it for a moment, scanning the array of takeout containers spread out across the kitchen floor. “I want pancakes.”

“The pancakes are at home, remember?”

“Yeah…” Osamu flips over his grip on your sleeve and traces his thumb down the lines in your palm. “I could make some?”

More pancakes? “I don’t think 'Tsumu has eggs, babe. Or flour. Or…baking soda?” You’re not really sure what ingredients go into pancakes. Whatever cooking skills you possessed pre-Osamu have deteriorated significantly since you moved in together and he took over any and all food preparation for your household.

He pouts at this, and his hair is a little messed up, and he’s so pretty that you can’t stand how much you like him in that second. Mine mine mine, something in the back of your brain says. He’s mine.

You reach up and Osamu obediently ducks his head down so you can smooth his hair back into place and fix the bits that are flipping over his part. “Is there anything else you want to eat?”

“Onigiri.”

“Oh…” Well, at least Atsumu probably has rice. “Sure. Ok. That’s your specialty.”

“I want ya to make it for me.”

“What?” You frown and pull your hand out of his. “You know my cooking sucks.”

“No it doesn’t. (Y/N)’s food’s the best.”

“You own an onigiri shop, come on—“

“Please?”

One of his bangs falls back in his eyes and without thinking you reach up to put it in place. “Okay, fine. But you can’t complain about it if it’s not good.”

He smiles and you want to blush. “Yes! I promise.”

So you do it for him. Even though you’re high too. You measure some rice and water into the rice cooker (Osamu has to give you pointers on how much of each to put in) and you scrounge around Atsumu's depressingly bare kitchen for a few sheets of seaweed and some easy fillings. Osamu pulls a stool up to the island counter and rests his chin on his hands so he can watch you with a bleary look of adoration on his face.

It takes you…maybe half an hour to be done? It’s hard to gauge time when you’re high. You and 'Samu both jump when the rice cooker finishes and plays the little rice cooker song, which will remain stuck in your head for the foreseeable future. 'Samu hums it in a loop while you shape the rice into lopsided triangles and wrap the nori around it.

“Here,” you tell him when you set the plate down in front of him. He looks entirely too happy to be eating your mediocre food for someone who literally does this for a living, but who cares.

He picks one, takes a bite, swallows. And blinks.

“What do you think?” you ask in spite of yourself.

“Umm…salty,” Osamu says.

You grab one to try yourself and it’s salty. Like, ocean salty. Yuck. “I told you it would be bad,” you complain, trying to tug the plate away but Osamu grabs it and pulls it back.

“Noooo…it’s good,” he lies, although his face is giving him away. Still, he takes another bite and chews enthusiastically.

“Shut up.” You tug a little harder but Osamu doesn’t let go.

He swallows, pulls a face, and takes another one. “So good. I love it.”

“Shut up. You sound so fake. You’re going to get sick if you eat that.” You keep pulling, but he insists on pretending it’s edible so you admit defeat and help him finish the onigiri off. God, they’re awful. But he keeps eating and so you do too.

When you’re done, your mouth feels dry as fuck and you want to sleep almost as much as you want to drink about a gallon of water. “Is it bedtime yet?” 'Samu asks, wiping his mouth and then rubbing his eyes again.

The clock over the oven says it’s past 4. “Yes. It’s bedtime.”

“Wait—we’re…we’re not at home, right? We’re at 'Tsumu's?”

“Mhm.”

“I prolly drove here…I dunno if I can drive now,” Osamu tells you slowly, like he’s apologizing. “I think I'm kinda high.”

“Oh yeah?” You hold your laugh back and put your hands up on his cheeks. “How do you feel?”

“Dizzy. Blurry? Like…you’re in slow-motion.” His hands come up to layer over yours. “You’re pretty in slow-mo.”

“Prettier than usual?”

Osamu closes his eyes, scrunching them up to think and then looking over your face intently. “Same amount, just slower. So it’s easier to see.”

“That so?” You slip your hands around to drape over his shoulders and get up on your tiptoes to give him a little kiss on the cheek, because he’s earned it. “You know what, I think I'm kinda high too. I think we’re going to have to have a sleepover.”

“On the couch? S’not big enough for us both.”

“You can sleep with 'Tsumu in his bed…or I guess you could sleep on the ground?”

'Samu's mouth twists and his brows draw together. You can practically hear the gears in his mind turning while he considers alternatives. “Can we share the bed?”

“I think Atsumu's gonna want it. It’s his house.”

“But he’s already sleeping.”

True, you can hear Atsumu snoring lightly from the living room underneath David Attenborough’s description of endangered falcons in the Philippine rainforest. You should really wake him up—matter of fact, you should really clean up the kitchen because it’s a huge mess—but 'Samu's already pulling you away. And you’re so sleepy.

“He’s going to be pissed tomorrow,” you tell Osamu through a yawn, but you let him steer you in the direction of Atsumu's bedroom, holding your hand.

“Don’t care…I hate sleeping without you.”

“Yeah,” you say, and you squeeze his hand and he looks back at you like you’re the literal best thing in the entire universe—and you decide you should get him high more often. “Same.”

[elysianslove]

it’s ironic, he thinks, just how true the saying is. you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone. it makes him want to laugh, despite how sick to his stomach he feels just thinking about it. it keeps him up at night, an unamused, sickly smile tugging at his lips as he hogs the blankets all to himself, the mocking ghost of a tug at the corner of the heavy duvet.

he pleads to the stark sky, bother me, and whimpers to the unforgiving stars, be the pain ringing in the back of my mind, because at least then, you were there. constant, steady, grounding. you were there, and now, you aren’t.

he hears of you through your shared, mutual friends. he learns of your dramatic changes in your physical appearances and wonders if he’d done you a favor, because he sees a glimpse of you on a phone from the corner of his eye and can’t help but think of how good you look. he learns of everything you’ve achieved, everything you’ve become, and wonders when he’ll be receiving a thank you.

and then he immediately thinks of how much of a piece of shit he is.

it’s two months after the last reminder of you is gone that his mind travels back to the first two months with you, where you’d sat on the roof of his home and confessed to him, “my biggest fear is having everything i’m being loved for be everything i’m hated for,” only for him to later prove you right. it’s a build up, he supposes. had been. like the tension of a ticking time bomb. it builds and builds and builds, and the pressure rises, and rises, and rises, until whatever strand or thread holding everything together snaps, and everything falls apart, ugly and wretched. everything it shouldn’t be.

your morning kisses are unwelcome now, they’re too clingy and irritating.

your blanket hogging is a nuisance, and the reason for the bags under his eyes.

your stubbornness is provoking, threatening.

i don’t like the way you‘re dressed— people will look.

don’t wear my clothes. you have your own.

we don’t need to plan everything. live a little!

come on, it’s just one party. we deserve to have fun.

suna remembers being greeted in the morning by you, every day. he remembers loving the way your lips tickled his skin, the way the sun kissed yours through the small cracks in the blinds, and the way your eyes sparkled alive the moment they met his. he remembers the little arguments you’d have nightly about your harsh tug of the blanket, his halfhearted grumbling as he searches deep in the closet for an extra one, as you end up laying half on top of him by the end of the night anyways. he remembers how attracted he was to your strong personality, your ability to hold your own, against others, against him, even against yourself. he remembers loving your style, loving the way you dressed yourself, the way you accessorized, the way you made the simplest clothes look glamorous. he remembers coming home to see you drowning in another one of his shirts and a pair of ugly patterned boxers, laughing so hard his stomach ached as your skin warmed and as you pinched at his arm in feigned frustration. he remembers his infatuation with your concentrated eyes flickering through travel plans, through different websites and endless hotel reviews. he remembers the nights in, the nights where the world outside didn’t matter.

only the two of you did.

he’s not sure if he saw it coming, if he could have ever. he should have, of course, what with your distance from him. although it hadn’t been physical distance, it was much more painful: seeing you just on the other side of the bed, but somehow being so out of reach.

he’s whisked back to reality, back to the present, as train tracks rumble and crack loudly, as the train rushes past him, forcing wind to breeze through his hair and settle a shiver at the base of his spin. yet, he doesn’t flinch. only buries his hands deeper in his pockets and waits for the doors to snap and hiss open. when they do, he’s pushing himself inside without a second thought, eyes unfocused on the ground beneath him.

and he nearly misses it.

nearly misses you. slipping past him like he’s yet another stranger among a million others in the crowd, hopping off the train and onto the platform. his mouth parts, but his choked up words serve a pathetic attempt at calling out to you, and the doors hiss close before he’s given a second chance.

ironic, he thinks again.

he makes out a blurred shape of you as the train begins to move, before you’re gone, dissolving into yet another wisp of the breeze.

ironic, he repeats, because he’d always assumed that falling out of love is natural. falling out of love happens. it hurts, but it happens. it pains, but it happens, and healing is inevitable, promised. but as the dull ache in his chest deepens, as it spreads across his limbs, numbing the tips of his fingers, closing up his throat, twisting at his gut, clouding over his mind, his heart halts with a deafening realization.

he’d never fallen out of love with you. he had only craved a reminder for why he had ever, and when you’d given it to him, provided it on a silver platter for him, every morning with your ticklish kisses, and every night with your blanket hogging, he’d taken it, and burned it to ash.

and now he watches as you emerge reborn, while he withers away.

it’s that kinda night, yes it is 😁👍🏼 do i know why i chose suna? not really, but it is what it is. this is kinda one of my biggest fears and it’s why commitment is so scary to me but let’s not get into that. i hope you guys enjoyed, even if that was a little sad :(

[godwrecks]

𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗻𝗲𝗿 𝗦𝘂𝗻𝗮

𝗣𝘁. 𝟮 - 𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗪𝗮𝗻𝘁

word count: 4.1k

tags; college au. angst. confession. fwb. drugs. fluff if you squint.

The first thing you registered was the light buzzing - no, vibrating of Suna’s phone. Much too dazed by your sleep, you didn’t wonder who was blowing up his messages this late at night. Raising up the sheets to shield your naked body from the cold, you tried to get some sleep, but Suna’s incessant tossing kept you from doing so.

You finally turned to him, eyes squinting at his illuminated face. “Why the fuck is your screen so bright?” You groaned and nuzzled into his chest, wrapping an arm around his bare torso. He merely chuckled, quickly putting away the phone.

“Why so cranky, you just woke up,” despite speaking in hushed sentences, his voice still dripped with mocking. Suna placed his hand on your hip, and though it remained in its station for a few seconds, he soon started trailing his fingers along your waistline.

“Can you even call it waking up? I didn’t sleep at all,” he cocked his head at that, bringing you in closer to him. “I guess I’m at fault for that.”

You smiled quietly, clearing your head as much as possible to get a wink of sleep, though you knew he’d be up and going soon. It had been a few weeks since the...incident, if that’s what you could call it. Nothing changed, really, for better or for worse. Sometimes he was more careful around you, but your relationship was only good for sex. That’s what you had to remind yourself, right? But everything remaining the same was what bugged you. You knew better than to demand more because this was never meant to go past fuck buddies. And while he started coming to you slightly less high, sometimes even seemingly sober, you knew better than to get your hopes up.

With your head like this on his chest, you could hear his heartbeat. Steady. Steady, while yours seemed to always mess up and skip around him. And yet with the slow rhythm of his heart, of his breathing, you surrendered to sleep.

When you woke up again, the sunlight was already rudely peeping past your curtains, and the other side of the bed was empty. Still adjusting to the light, you looked around the room slowly, filled with a strange relief when you found Suna dressing up.

“Practice?” You rubbed your eyes carefully, putting on a hoodie and wobbling when you stood up to reach him. He smiled arrogantly as he ran a hand through his hair, proud of the mess he made of you.

“Yeah. I gotta stop to get something on the way, so I’m heading out now.” His voice was still raspy from sleeping, some of his locks awkwardly falling over his eyes.

Though you wanted to smile at the sight, you knew he was talking about his plug and picking up shit from him. It wasn’t that you judged him for smoking - if that had been your preference, you would’ve known better than to get involved. You and Suna started out as friends, and you had been good friends for a long time at that. Some of the boys on the team always smoked together, and you almost always happened to be there with a few other girls, sometimes even taking a hit you’d be offered. Some of those girls were flings you’d never see again, others were girlfriends. But you were just a friend at the time, not thinking much of the tall and laid-back middle blocker.

“Will you be there tonight? For the party, I mean,” he spoke casually, sitting down on sheets that now smelled like him. “I’m not too sure. I have an assignment due, and I have to be up early tomorrow,” he nodded from his place, tying his boots. You hadn’t been going to many parties lately. The semester nearly ending meant your workload was accumulating, which also meant seeing Suna less. It was at parties and gatherings that you really got to see him, anyway - he was always busy with volleyball and zooted out of his mind most nights he was free. Your thoughts were abruptly cut when you felt his lips press against your forehead, finding an apologetic smile when you looked up.

“You’re starting to bore me,” he joked, but it still made your smile falter. You wanted to give yourself a good slap; since when had you become such a crybaby?

“I’m gonna go now, don’t miss me too much,” Suna stood in the door, offering a charming wink.

“Bye, loser,” you smiled back before shutting the door right in his face.

You had tuned into your laptop to absorb every piece of information from the lecture, or at least try to, as you sat in the library. A quick glance at the clock told you it was nearly midnight. Surprisingly, the library was open all night for students to study - go figure, maybe they guessed most procrastinate until the night thereof. You were taking a few sips from your drink when your phone lit up for an incoming call.

“Rin?” You spoke quietly, not bothering to decipher what the background noise was on his end.

“Baby! You picked up,” his voice was lighter than usual, a mixture of sweetness and relaxation. Suna was the type to become touchy when he was intoxicated, whether by alcohol or drugs. His hands wandered everywhere and he became extremely affectionate, even cuddly, though it was mostly him grabbing your ass. You had only ever seen it for yourself; it was what he did when you were around, and you didn’t have the heart to ask what he did, or who he did it with, when you were absent.

“What’s up?” You let out a sigh as you leaned back in your chair, fingers toying with the straw of your cup.

“I wanna see you,” he spoke and you guessed he had walked out of whatever room he was in.

“I’m studying right now. I told you, remember?”

“Mm, yeah, yeah, you did,” Suna grumbled before a sharp noise echoed through the line, followed by a curse.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just knocked some shit over. Anyways, come on, just take a break.” You took in a sharp breath, wanting to knock your head against the wall. You knew when to say no, but when it came to him that never meant it was easy.

“I really can’t, Rin. If you just want a girl all over you, call someone else,” you flinched at your own tone, stupefied by the coldness of it.

Whilst you were pondering the source of your sudden anger, Suna was chuckling, probably shaking his head. “Hey, hey, where’s that coming from?”

“Well, I’m just giving you a disclaimer. I’d love to be there, but my grade for this class is desperately crying for help,” you laughed, hoping to cover up whatever that had been.

“So what? I just call someone else?”

“If that’s what you want right now,” you frowned, a detestable panic rushing through you. It was so stupid to even suggest so in the first place, what were you hoping to accomplish? Maybe you just wanted to check for yourself what happened when you weren’t there to satisfy him.

“Unfair, much?” He sighed, and you wished you were facing him right now, if only to catch a glimpse of what goes through his mind.

“How?” You ventured with a gulp, heart pounding against its cage.

“You’re the only girl who doesn’t sober me up,” your stomach twisted onto itself at the smirk on his voice. You felt sick yet couldn’t point down the reason why - there were several. You being foolish enough to even think of this fact as a confession, him only calling you because he just wanted his high to last. Was he using you? The thought raced through your mind, along with a few scenes of you laying next to him.

“Hey,” he blurted out seriously. Between you only remained the loudest silence you had heard.

“Hey,” you were utterly breathless, struggling for air as your lungs closed up and rebelled against your will. You wondered if this was truly so shocking. While you were in the back of his hair, this fear was always forced to the back of your mind. You had knowingly mistaken every moment for more than it was.

“Are you o-”

“I need to go, actually. I’m still at the library, so I should head home. Have fun, yeah?”

Before he could even reply, you ended the call, gripping your phone so tightly that your knuckles went white.

The ride to your apartment was loathsome, to say the least. Not even the loud music could keep you away from your thoughts long enough. You turned the engine off and made your way to the elevator. In the process of searching through your backpack, your phone almost slipped from your hands when you jumped in surprise, startled at the arm sticking through the closing doors.

Your heart dropped when they opened up to reveal a panting Suna staring right through you.

“Rin, what are you doing here?” You stammered when he pressed the button to your floor, nearing your figure.

“I came here to see you,” he was still slightly out of breath, eyes scanning you as if they were searching for something. Had he run for so long?

You took a look at your handwatch and cringed. It was late, but not late enough for him to come knock at your door.

“Thought you’d be busy until later,” you replied dryly, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“Yeah, well, change of plans.” His sleazy eyes never left you, and you regretted not taking the stairs.

“I’m sorry I made you come all the way here, but you should go-” You stared at the hand wrapped around your wrist that pulled you closer until you stumbled forward.

“Don’t do that.”

You chuckled viciously, a sound that bruised him. “Sorry I’m not really in the mood to have sex right now.”

“You know that’s not what I’m here for.” Suna started to be visibly frustrated, or at least you thought so by the strength with which he was gripping the pole behind you.

“Then why are you here? That’s all we’ve ever done, Suna,” the name rolled off your tongue awkwardly, and as distasteful as it was for you, his flinch made it clear that he disliked it even more. The elevator doors opened and you walked out, straight to your apartment with the hopes that he’d stay behind.

“Oh, so now we’re back to the last-name basis?” You felt him right behind you, his heavy breathing audible.

“I’m sorry, okay?” You half-assed the apology as you struggled with your keys, the slight shake in your hands slowing you down.

After stepping inside, you turned just in time to see his shake head.

“Why are you being like this all of a sudden?”

Your eyes rolled back at his indifference. How could he be so dense? Was he feigning innocence like this was a game to the both of you? It may have been for him, but not for you.

“I don’t know!” A step towards him and you were already too close. You felt claustrophobic from the way he hovered above you. “Maybe because I feel fucking stupid? I know there’s nothing between us, I’m well aware,” the laugh that formed in your throat was bitter, yet it didn’t compare to the tightening of your chest. “But this just isn’t what I want anymore.”

Suna looked at you as if you had gone insane, unaware of the slight craze in his amber eyes. “What do you want?” He grabbed onto the door, stepping forward until he had cleared his way inside.

“Not this, not whatever you want out of me.”

The grin on his face, unlike his usual striking ones, branded an emotion he had never worn before. “Which is?”

“Making you cum while you’re high, apparently,” you sneered back, tearing his hand away from the door.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding,” Suna gritted through his teeth, slamming the door shut. You groaned, debating how hard you would have to smack his head with your backpack to give him a concussion.

“Oh, am I? You said so yourself.”

“You’re twisting my words,” he pointed his finger at you accusingly, fuming with every breath.

“How so?” This time you didn’t back off. Instead, you hit his chest, resisting the urge to claw at it so he’d at least keep a distance. “If you care to explain, go right ahead!”

“I never said that’s all I want,” his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to keep calm, which was turning out difficult for the both of you.

“Right, because only seeing you after you've smoked wasn’t enough of a message. I don’t even see you throughout the day!”

“How is that only my fault? You never told me you wanted something else, and you were as happy to fuck as I was whenever I knocked on your door.” You could only scoff at his words, amazed he could even dare to try and blame you.

“You know damn well this isn’t on me. I'm not the unavailable one, I'm not the one that's always gone until it's convenient. I'm not the one who barges in and acts like they own me, or did you forget about that already?” You had begun to scream out without realizing, but the rage you felt burning through the cracks of your heart was urging to be released.

Suna stood there quietly, staring at you with distant eyes, like he was too busy making sense of his own thoughts to even mind yours. When the clock ticked away and he had still not spoken a word, you inhaled, bracing yourself.

“Listen, this was nice. And I’d like to stay as a friend, so let’s just leave it at this. If you had plainly admitted that all you ever wanted was sex, I would’be been slightly better now.” The words were calculated and detached as you held onto the sleeves of your cardigan.

“You’re not fucking getting it, it’s not just the sex that I want,” Suna finally mumbled, but your hand was already placed on the knob.

“Well it's all you ever cared to ask for.” You opened the door and stepped away, unable to look anywhere but at the floor.

“When I said I didn't wanna leave you, I didn't mean- I meant…” each word was a separate struggle, and you lacked the strength to bear it any longer.

“What did you mean, Rintaro?” You only offered a tired smile as he stood there once again like a fish out of water. A silent challenge he never took on.

It only took you a few seconds to decide to push him from behind towards the door. You were angry, and heartbroken, and definitely not okay, but something like this was not worth losing him over. Despite everything, he had been a great friend before.

“Have a good night,” and with that, you spelled away the image of the tall brunette you came to adore.

You were still dripping from your long shower, the robe you wore doing little to collect the water before it hit the floor. It was early afternoon, not even 24 hours after the fight, yet it felt like an eternity had passed. You hadn’t heard from Suna at all, and a part of you wondered if you would soon or if he would disappear for a while. Shaking the thoughts away, you walked over to the kitchen to grab a drink when the doorbell rang. You frowned, scrambling your brain for anything your friends had said about coming over, but you were sure none had the plans to visit. The moment you opened the door, the scent of musk and ginger washed over you.

“Please don’t shut the door on me, you seem to have taken a liking to it,” he blabbered out as soon as your eyes met. You hesitated, shifting your weight on your feet.

“What are you doing here?”

“Give me a chance?” You frowned, scanning his face for ulterior motives but all you found was honesty. Despite it, your stomach sank at the sight. Though you didn’t know if you had wanted to see him or not, you wouldn’t have imagined it would be this hard.

“Rin, really, what are you-” You couldn’t finish your sentence, too bewildered to properly speak. Another glance at his face told you he was sober - he even looked more put together than he usually did, though it looked like his volleyball uniform was under his outerwear.

“For someone who was so upset, you should at least give me the opportunity,” he joked tediously, ignoring the dense air that had formed between you two.

His smile was rueful, and genuine from what you could see. “Just...let me do this properly. Dress up and let’s go to my game,” he announced, hints of timidity teetering his voice.

You simply gazed at him, lips forming a thin line. “What are you doing? Just- what are you planning?”

“Nothing!” He swallowed down, raising up the hand that was holding two bags. You raised an eyebrow at it, unamused. “Here, I got you something.”

Receiving it from his cold hands, you looked carefully into it before digging through it. “You’re joking,” you hissed, dangling the pink lingerie in front of his face.

He was smug, toying with you for his pleasure as always. You would have too if you had not been in this situation.

“It was a joke. That’s not...really what,” he quickly delved into the other bag, holding out a small, black box. You surveyed it before cocking your head, taking it from him and opening it. The necklace inside was pretty - beautiful, actually. But you didn’t want his money, you wanted him, which was likely a harder request. “It’s not gifts that I want, Rin,” you sighed, now painfully aware that he would never be something you could predict.

“I know that, angel. But I never treated you, or did something nice for you, and most guys do with, you know,” he trailed off, eyes darting away from your face.

“My problem is you only calling me when you’re high. That issue won’t be solved with gifts,” you massaged your temple, slowly becoming a mess as you tried to put the pieces together and figure out what he was doing.

“I’m not a damn addict, princess. It’s not all I fucking care about,” Suna swore as he leaned against the door frame.

“I know that! I never said you were, but you can’t just go from only giving me that to acting as if you actually want us to be something more. So tell me, how am I supposed to feel?” Though your voice nearly broke, you held onto the door - determined to at least stand your ground. You had been clear with him. You had specified you couldn’t do this anymore, so the least he could do is respect that.

His eyes narrowed for a moment, glimmering ever so briefly that you wondered if the change had been a figment of your imagination. “Listen— I've never,” his chest trembled with a breath before he continued. “I've never been in love with someone, alright? I don’t know how it fucking feels, and that was the last thing I planned on doing. And don’t get me wrong, I was hooked on you from the very beginning. But then suddenly you're the only person I’m attracted to,” Suna’s voice was uncharacteristically weak, threatening to crack at any moment. “And believe me it wasn’t for lack of trying, because while my dick was inside someone else, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to see you. And I didn’t- I don’t know how to process that, all that you fucking make me feel. I don’t even know if I want to process it at all, if I’m being sincere.” His lips lifted into a pained smile that didn’t reach his tormented eyes. “But when you ended that call, you sounded so hurt I panicked. And I don't have a plan, and I'm rambling, and this is probably the most I’ve ever said at once, but if I know something, it’s that I can't let it end here,” his throat bobbed but his steps to you were resolute. You almost turned away when his hands cupped your cheek, spanning the skin delicately.

You couldn’t find your voice for all it was worth. It was hard to tell whether your brain was working faster than your heart.

“You say that, but,” you jerked when you felt a tear trickling down your cheek. Suna’s fingers stuttered undecidedly, but his thumb wiped away the salty trail. “Assuming you truly felt that way, you never acted on it. Actually, you acted very differently,” you hiccuped, biting the inside of your cheek in shame.

“You want me to be honest with you? I feel like such a mess around you, like I might explode. It’s easier to deal with that in certain situations. Hence me restricting our time with each other to me being high,” Suna murmured, shrugging a shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to deal with it. I was scared all the good I’d ever do for you is a nice fuck. What if that’s all I get until I mess up? You’ve got it so together and I’m here, not even able to talk about my stupid feelings.”

You gaped at his pale face: the beautiful carving of his features, the slight quavering of his bottom lip, the long eyelashes framing half-mast eyes.

“You mean that?”

He laughed at your simple question, likely expecting more after everything he had let out. You wanted to give him more, but you were unable to, still trapped in your fear that it would all be fake.

“I do. And I’m sure it can’t just be me who feels like this.” With a look at you, he pinched your cheek gently, looking for an answer.

“It’s not just you. Obviously,” you grumbled disapprovingly. It was pretty obvious to you, but he still smiled sweetly, the frenzy in his face slowly fading.

“I’ll probably miserably fail, but I at least wanna try. I wanna do this — with you. So please let me. And if it’s not enough for you even after that, then I won’t waste your time anymore. But give me the chance.” His hands lowered to your jaw and neck while he spoke the words, forcing you into a retreat.

“Rin, do you even know how relationships work?” You scoffed, quirking your eyebrows at the boy.

“Yes. No. In theory?” You couldn’t help but laugh at his response. He really was awfully cute sometimes.

You eyed his waist, reluctantly deciding to wrap your arms around it with a heavy sigh. “I’ll probably regret this and get my heart broken.”

“Hopefully it’s not your heart that gets broken,” Rin quickly added, looking down at your body with a sneaky grin. You glared at him, hiding away the smile on your lips.

“You know we have to like- go on dates. During the day and all?”

He nodded like this was a work interview and he was expecting the question.

“Okay, so get ready. Let’s go to my game,” he signaled over to your room given your bathrobe, but you could only stare at him cautiously.

“I mean it. Come cheer for me,” Rin leaned down to you with the whisper, reaching your eye level. You nodded, rushing to get dressed once he planted a kiss on your cheek.

“You know,” he started off casually, grabbing your hand. “I might’ve cried if you hadn’t come back with me.”

“Oh, really?” You smirked at him, curiosity filling you.

Swiftly noticing your mood shift, he explained. “Well I talked to some friends...for advice, or whatever. So if I had showed back alone, those two jerks would’ve never let me hear the end of it.”

He squeezed your hand as laughter soared through you, your free hand traveling to your abdomen when it began hurting. “Seriously?” You added when you managed to control the laughter, gaining a glare from Suna.

“Seriously.”

When your eyes had returned to the road ahead of you, he lifted your intertwined hands to his mouth, kissing the back of your palm.

“I’ll do this, so just don’t complain anymore okay?”

This was so long??? If you actually read all of it, THANK YOU LMAO. also sorry for the weird spaces sometimes, i like writing in docs so i don’t lose anything aha so it b weird sometimes idky. okay yeah thank you !!

art credit: damnzucoyy on tiktok

[onechicago-upsteadrhekker]

I’d go black and blue (to make you feel my love) - Upstead one-shot

I’m an hour late for posting on Valentine’s Day but better late than never right??

I wrote this for the @upsteadofficial Love Song Prompt Challenge! It’s probably a little different from a typical V-Day fic but what can I say? I apparently love angst and hurting my own feelings.

Also a HUGE shout out to @mashleighh! Thanks for listening to my ramblings, checking my stuff and always making things better❤️❤️

I hope you all enjoy it!

Read on AO3

Worrying her lower lip between her teeth, Hailey watched Jay slip down the hallway dodging the various cops coming in and out of the run-down house before he turned the corner and disappeared from her view.

Blinking, she tried to push down the urge to follow him. She had a job to do and she’d told Jay she would cover for him, but the text Jay had just showed her mere seconds before settled uneasily in her gut.

Jim. I need your help. Please come over.

“Hailey!”

She gave a start, turning to Kevin who had clearly been calling her a few times, a puzzled look on his face as he tried to get her attention. Realizing she was still standing in the middle of the busy hallway, she moved off to the side with Kevin to let forensics pass.

“You okay?” Kevin asked, his eyes following a couple of patrol officers passing them before turning his gaze back on Hailey, “I called your name like five times. Where’s Jay? Sarge wants to know if you found anything from the security footage.”

Whatever Kevin had just said didn’t register; her eyes still trained down the hallway Jay disappeared through. Sliding her gaze back to her coworker, Hailey gave his chest a distracted pat already moving towards the front of the house, “I need to go. Will you cover for me?”

But before she could leave, Kevin gently grabbed her arm, “Hold on. What’s going on, Hailey?”

She turned back to him, sucking in a breath as she debated over how much she should tell him.

“It’s nothing serious,” Furrowing her brow, she shook her head, “Not yet anyways, but I need to go make sure Jay doesn’t do anything reckless.” She saw Kevin opening his mouth to say something, but she cut him off, “Kevin. Please. Just do this for me, okay? I know what I’m doing.”

Hailey flashed a small, reassuring smile at his concerned expression before she took off in the same direction Jay had a few minutes ago hoping that for once, the sick feeling in her gut was wrong.

*

Her headlights lit up Jay’s truck as she quickly pulled over to park behind it, turning off the engine to sit in the dark for a couple of seconds as she decided what she should do.

It was obvious he wasn’t in the truck and the nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right wouldn’t leave her alone. After a brief debate in her head over whether she should go undercover or not, the over-cautious part of her won out, quietly opening her car door and tucking her gun into the back of her waistband.

Hailey definitely didn’t want Angela Nelson to find out who Jay was and her by association, but she wasn’t about to enter a situation blind without him and not have a firearm.

She crept up the worn stairs and cautiously peeked into the windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of Jay doing nothing but repairing a broken appliance.

If that was the case, she could then creep back down the steps, shake her head in annoyance for overreacting and never tell him that she’d followed him, but as soon as she saw the front door slightly cracked from where it had been kicked in, her heart sunk, knowing that she was right to worry.

Swallowing hard, she ordered herself to get it together so she could get Jay out of whatever mess his big heart got him into. She was a cop; she knew better than to jump to conclusions without evidence.

But then the part of her that quietly dreamed dangerous dreams and lingered on forbidden hopes also knew all the scenarios running through her mind were very real possibilities

The house was deathly quiet, and it made the hair stand up on the back of her neck as she carefully swung the door in and edged into the living room as quietly as possible, her hand never straying far from where she’d hidden her gun.

Hailey was barely a few feet inside when she heard the distinctive click of a safety being flipped off followed by cool metal touching her temple, “Make a move and you die.”

Before she could react, she was pistol-whipped in the back of the head. Her last conscious thought to dump her star and pray that Jay was still alive.

*

When Jay came to, the first thing he noticed was that his hands were tied behind his back, the second was that he was in some sort of basement and the third was that he wasn’t alone.

His head was pounding, and his vision was blurry, but he would know that blonde hair anywhere.

At first, he thought his mind was playing cruel tricks on him. He hoped his mind was playing cruel tricks on him because why would she be here?

God, she shouldn’t be anywhere near here. Not like this, not laying on the cold, hard floor, unmoving.

He blinked a few times, her facial features partially hidden by blood-matted, blonde hair coming into focus.

His heart stopped and his breath shuttered in his chest. His worst nightmare just came alive right in front of him because it was Hailey. Passed out and tied up a few feet away, out of his reach.

A million questions ran through his head of how, why and who but the most prevailing one was if Hailey was still alive.

Desperate, Jay tugged on his restraints, ignoring the pain it caused his shoulders and wrists. Squeezing his eyelids shut as he strained away from the pole he was tied up to and towards Hailey’s still form.

He had to get to her.

Tears that had nothing to do with the physical agony he was in sprang to his eyes as he realized there was no way he was getting out of the binds he was in. The steel chains were trussed behind his back and around the pole in such a way that he didn’t have much slack if any at all.

Just out of reach. A cruel twist of fate, mocking him. Reminding him that she was always just out of his reach. That she was there with him but not in the way he truly wanted.

Except now, in this moment, it wasn’t metaphorical. And god if that didn’t anger him even more than his cowardness in telling Hailey how he really felt about her.

Because there was nothing he could do. Her skin was unnaturally pale, and he needed to put pressure on her sluggishly bleeding head wound but the damn chains wouldn’t budge. He trained his eyes on her upper body, watching intently.

Was she even breathing? God, he couldn’t tell.

*

“Hailey!”

She was floating in that state between restlessness and unaware, not sure where her dreams stopped and reality started.

“Hailey!”

Jay’s voice wasn’t uncommon in her dreams, but he wasn’t saying her name in the husky manner that she’d come to assign to her night visions.

“God, Hailey! Please do something--say something. Anything! Please…”

Why was he being so loud? And why was her bed so hard?

“Please, just let me know you’re alive.”

It was the sound of his voice breaking that brought her back to the present.

The text message. Angela Nelson. Following Jay.

Jay. His voice. He was alive, thank god.

A sharp pain shot through head when she tried to open her eyes and that’s when she remembered getting knocked out. She moaned, trying to take stock of her injuries over the pounding that slowly surfaced to accompany the harsh stabbing. Her hands were bound in front of her and her ribs hurt from an injury she doesn’t remember receiving.

“Hailey! Oh, thank god!” She heard Jay croak out followed by a murmured, “She’s alive. She’s alive,” Clearly talking to himself.

And that’s when she realized he must have thought she was dead.

Oh, Jay.

He must be tied up far enough away from her to not be able to check for a pulse. Knowing that if he were able to move, he would be right there next to her.

She redoubled her efforts to open her eyes so she could at least see him and reassure him that she was okay. Maybe figure out where they were and ask if they could manage an escape or if they should sit tight, knowing that Jay had probably already run all the possibilities through his mind.

Groaning, she forced her eyes to open and she found herself thankful for dim lighting, “Jay?” She managed to rasp, trying to figure out exactly where he was in relation to her.

“Yeah, I’m right here Hailey.” He paused, and she could almost hear the way his jaw clenched in frustration at not being able to move, “Can you come over here? I just need—I need you over here. Next to me.”

If they weren’t in such a dire situation, Hailey might have downright swooned at hearing those words fall from his lips after she’d recovered from the shock. As it were, her heart was beating a little too fast in her chest and that feeling in her stomach might just be borderline butterflies.

Clearing her throat, she answered, “Just give me a sec.”

She slowly stretched each of her limbs as much as she could with her hands tied in front of her, carefully checking what hurt and what didn’t before she even attempted to sit up. Once she was satisfied that she wasn’t majorly injured, Hailey turned so that she was lying flat on her back which instantly caused her head to spin and her stomach to churn.

Letting out a low groan, she closed her eyes and willed herself not to be sick as the world slowly stopped spinning.

“You good?” Jay’s worried voice cut through the dizziness.

She sucked in a deep breath and decided it was best not to lie about her condition, “Yeah. Just feeling a little sick. I’m like ninety-five percent sure I have a concussion.”

Before he could respond, Hailey forced herself to sit up, using her abdominal muscles since her hands were tied in front of her. If he said anything to her after that, she didn’t hear it, white noise flooding her eardrums as she desperately tried not to pass out.

The comforting words of “Breathe, Hailey. Just breathe,” reached her as she started to become accustomed with sitting upright, finally feeling confident she could open her eyes without seeing stars.

She was facing Jay, and the first thing she noticed was the blood coating his hairline and running down his neck. His lip was a little bloodied and his eye was slightly swollen, and it made her stomach clench in a way that had nothing to do with her head injury.

Gingerly, she scooted herself over to his side, grateful he was only a few yards away and angered as she realized that the way he was tied up meant he didn’t even have an inch of slack.

When she finally maneuvered herself so she was sitting shoulder to shoulder with him, she couldn’t stop herself from leaning her head on his shoulder. She told herself it was because she was still dizzy, and while she knew that was part of it, she knew she craved the comfort of being physically connected more.

And if Jay resting his head on top of hers was any indication, then he needed that physical touch just as much as she had. Silently reassuring themselves and each other that they were here. Together. Alive.

After a few minutes, Jay broke the silence, “What are you doing here Hailey?”

She couldn’t help the humorless uptick of her lips at the irony of the situation, “Well, I had a bad feeling, so I pinged your phone and followed you in hopes of getting you out of trouble.”

Glancing up at him, she gestured half-heartedly to the basement they were in, “You can see how well that turned out.”

When he didn’t say anything, Hailey lifted her head so she could get a better look at him. Careful eyes roamed over his slightly slumped form, checking him more thoroughly for injuries.

Now that she was closer to him, she could clearly see the beginnings of a black eye and an obviously split lip. The blood from his hairline mingled with blood that seeped from a wound on the back of his head, running sluggishly down the slope of neck and into the collar of his shirt.

She was relieved to not see any blood lower down on his shirt or pants, so she concluded that the most damage had been made to his face. His head injury did concern her slightly but he seemed pretty lucid so she figured it couldn’t be that bad.

Hailey knew it could be a hell of a lot worse, and that thought was what prompted her to raise her bound hands and gently touch his face in the pretense of checking his wounds but really, she was just reassuring herself that he was okay.

A lump formed in her throat when she thought about what she could have woken up to.

Shaking the thought away, she dropped her hands, sighing, “What happened, Jay?”

She felt more than saw his frustration. At himself, at the situation--she wasn’t entirely sure, but she had a pretty good feeling that it might be both.

“I got to Angela’s house and when I knocked, there wasn’t an answer, so I kicked in the door. The next thing I knew I was being hit in the back of the head with a pipe or something and then I woke up here.”

He tilted his head back, resting it on the beam he was tied up to. His eyes fluttered closed and she could see his throat working, “God, Hailey,” He turned to her and she was slightly surprised to see tears swimming in his eyes, “When I saw you lying over there, not moving. I-I thought my heart had been ripped right out of my chest. You scared me so bad. I didn’t know why you were here—I didn’t even know if you were alive.”

The way he was looking at her felt dangerous and she couldn’t help but think that they had been here before. Not even four months ago, standing in the breakroom when the threat of being torn apart was looming over their heads. When she was afraid to really look at him; afraid of what she’d find in his eyes if she did.

But today, right in that moment, when they were tied up and unsure of what the future held, she looked. She looked him right in the eyes and she clearly saw what he’d been telling her every time she’d caught him looking at her from across Molly’s and in every knowing glance they shared in the bullpen.

In the way he always checked with her silently before busting down a door, telling her without words that he had her back. In the way he told her he trusted her only using in his eyes.

And now. He looked at her like she was the very breath he needed to breathe. Like the world could crumble and he wouldn’t even blink.

He was looking at her like he was just realizing what love was; his eyes telling her that he loved her.

He was opening his mouth to say something. She wasn’t sure what—it might have even been those three little words, but before he had a chance to get it out, there was a commotion from the floor above, breaking their gaze.

They were suddenly brought back to steel chains and dirty basements, reminding them of the danger they were in. If they didn’t figure out a plan, their great love story could be over even before it had the chance to begin.

“Do you know why we’re here?” Hailey asked a little shakily, drawing back when she realized how close she was to Jay’s face.

Blinking, he did the same and she could almost see the spell fully breaking as he slipped back into level-headed detective.

“From what I gather, Angela helped some friend of hers steal some drugs. The people who she stole them from didn’t take it too kindly; she called me and now we are here,” He said it in the weary manner of one who had been there and done that way too many times.

And sadly, they had, but this time it was different because they were the ones caught in the crossfire.

Hailey sighed, wincing slightly from her bruised ribs, “Where’s Angela?”

Jay shrugged, “She was here when I woke up. She’d been shot in the side, passed out. The two guys who have us carried her out of here; said something about dropping her off at a hospital because they didn’t want any unnecessary blood on their hands. And besides, it was pretty clear she wouldn’t be able to give them any information. Not in the condition she was in.”

Sighing himself, he turned his head towards her, “I don’t what they ended up doing with her, and frankly I don’t care at the moment. I’m more worried about getting us out of here.”

That wasn’t like him to just disregard someone he’d been trying to help—or anyone for that matter—for his own gain, but she had a sneaking suspicion that he really meant he was more worried about getting her out of here.

He was always putting others before himself. Her especially now that she thought about it, and she knew it was just another way of him telling her he loved her.

As soon as they got out of this mess, they needed to have a talk.

“Alright,” She nodded, “So what’s the plan?”

Jay’s heart swelled. Those words, the sure look on her face, the absolute trust she held in her eyes. She was looking to him for guidance, entrusting him to get them out of this without even one ounce of hesitation.

The love he felt for her only seemed to grow with each passing second and he was tired of hiding it. He’d intended on telling her, showing her exactly how he felt, but then he was reminded of the situation he’d dragged her into and the need to protect her outweighed anything else.

And it was because he loved her so much that he needed her to be safe. If anything happened to her—

He knew there was no coming back from that.

Once they got out of here, he was going to tell her everything he’d been harboring in his heart for what felt like ages. He was going to lay it all on the table; that she was it for him and even though he was terrified at the thought of losing her, he was going to work his ass off to make this work. To show her that they could do this.

He knew he had made mistakes in the past, especially regarding his love life and he knew that being together and working together had its fair share of challenges, but he wasn’t about to let her go. Not when he finally found the girl he knew he was meant to be with.

The sound of a heavy steel door clanging shut snapped him out of his thoughts and if he subconsciously tried to inch in front of Hailey despite his restraints, she didn’t call him out on it.

“They don’t know we’re cops, and you know nothing,” Hailey heard Jay rapidly whisper to her before turning back in time to see their two captors appear at the bottom of the steps.

The taller of the two made a beeline straight towards them and Hailey could feel Jay tensing up, using his broad shoulders in an attempt to shield her. It didn’t do much good because the next thing Hailey knew, she was being jerked up, a gun pressed to her temple.

“You are going to tell me right now where those drugs are,” The man’s words were harsh, his breath was heavy on her ear and she could smell the vodka on him.

Jay looked panicked but in control as his jaw clenched in barely restrained fury. She couldn’t help but notice how hot he looked, and she immediately kicked herself for even thinking it under these circumstances.

“She doesn’t know anything,” He practically growled, “Let her go.”

Vodka man brandished his gun menacingly towards Jay before returning it to the side of her head, “She was at that house! There was a gun in her waistband! She knows something!”

Hailey kept quiet, trying to weigh the risks of attempting to knock him out but she decided against doing anything while the other guy was lurking in the shadows. With Jay tied up and unable to move, she knew she wouldn’t be able to take both of them down, especially while tied up herself.

The words that fell out of Jay’s mouth next made her heart beat wildly, and not in a good way, “I’ll tell you all I know, okay? Just take me and leave her alone!”

But that was a lie. He didn’t know anything, and she knew once these guys figured that out, there was no telling what they would do to him. He flashed her a look, pleading with her to be silent, to let him do this for her.

She didn’t want to, but she knew that the best chance of their survival was to do what Jay was asking. So, she stayed silent, glaring when Vodka Guy threw her down and unchained Jay from the pole, leaving his arms bound before hauling him up.

Hailey watched as Jay was shoved towards the steps, his eyes never leaving hers until he was out of her sight.

*

A series of muffled cries suddenly broke the relative silence she’d been sitting in for the past hour and it took all of her might to not scream out his name as she desperately fought with the chains wrapped around her wrists and feet. There were tears brimming in her eyes and she could feel her heart shattering.

They were low, guttural shouts filled with pain and she could only imagine what they were doing to him to make him sound like that. Jay was the toughest person she knew, had endured things beyond her comprehension and hearing him like that scared her.

And knowing that he was in pain for her and that there was nothing she could do about it made her physically sick.

But more than that, she was livid at the people doing this to him. How dare they touch a hair on his head? How dare they do this to him? That this was to be his payment for doing something so kind, so good in a world filled with hate.

Jay was a good man—a great cop—with a golden-heart that wouldn’t let anyone stand in his way of what he thought was right and that was what she loved most about him.

She loved him. And she wasn’t afraid to admit any more.

If this whole experience had taught her anything it would be to not hold back. Life is short, and she knew that. She’d been in similar spots before and had these same profound revelations about how precious life was, but today felt different.

Because the truth was, he had her heart, completely and irrevocably. He had it before she even had the chance to say no and the way she loved him made her question whether she’d ever truly loved anyone before.

She’d been scared before. Falling in love with another partner; just falling in love in general. It was risky and scary and honestly downright terrifying. But what she felt for Jay, she was starting to realize was worth the risk.

Life wasn’t without risks, and experience taught her that a lot of the time she ended getting hurt when she took them, but right here, right now, listening to Jay literally telling her and showing her how much he loved her in every scream, she knew the potential of what they could have wasn’t pointless or without reason.

It was the whole damn universe.

And if someone asked her right here and right now, she would give up her spot in Intelligence, her career, her life, everything—all without a moment’s hesitation, and she would do it all for Jay.

Being thrust into this situation with him has removed any old inhibitions and the lines that were being carefully walked had been completely eradicated.

The whisperings of her heart that had once told her she should give it a try, that he felt the same were now roaring inside of her with words of “I told you so.”

And it was ripping her heart apart.

After all, they say actions speak louder than words and right now, Jay was screaming.

*

It was silent now, and it had been for a little over an hour. Hailey was starting to think she’d rather hear Jay be in pain than sitting in the quiet, wondering if he was unconscious, bleeding out, or worse, already dead.

The only thing that had kept her from going totally down the rabbit hole of worst-case scenarios was attempting to get out of the chains she was in. She was grateful that she hadn’t been tied to the pole as Jay had been, giving her the mobility to scoot around the floor in hopes of finding something that could help her out of her restraints.

She was done waiting for the team. She needed to get them out of there as quickly as possible even if she didn’t know exactly how she was going to go about it yet.

A few minutes into her search, she’d found a file and she’d been diligently sawing back and forth at the weakest part of the rusty chains for last hour or so. It seemed to be working, and she felt like she was finally getting to a point where she could just break them by applying some outside pressure.

The sound of a door banging shut caused her head to snap up and she quickly hid the file in her back pocket. What she saw then she knew would be haunting her dreams for years to come.

The nicer of their two captors had Jay’s arm slung around his shoulder, practically dragging him down the steps before he deposited him in a heap beside her.

“What did you do to him?” Hailey couldn’t help but gasp out, already moving to shield Jay protectively.

He didn’t say anything, and she could see the remorse in his eyes as he headed back up the stairs and out the only door to the basement. As soon as he was gone, Hailey turned to Jay, fighting back the tears at seeing him in this condition.

There was significantly more blood in his hair, his lips were split in multiple places and she was pretty sure he had two black eyes, but that wasn’t what looked the worst. His shirt was torn, and she could see significant burn marks from a taser dotting his chest along with what looked like shallow cuts from a knife.

“Jay,” She whispered brokenly, hoping to get some kind of reaction from him, “Jay, babe.” It fell from her lips effortlessly and she didn’t even think twice about what she had said as she moved to use her body weight to break her chains.

As soon as she could use her arms and legs, she knelt beside him to cradle his face and used the pads of her thumbs to stroke his cheekbones, “Hey Jay. Look at me, baby. Look at me.” Not waiting for a response, she quickly started going over his body to check for other injuries all the while murmuring his name over and over again.

This time she gasped out a sob, all the air leaving her chest as she rucked up his shirt and found the distinctive welts from being whipped covering his torso and back.

“Oh my God, Jay,” She cried softly, wanting to provide him with some kind of relief but afraid to do anything, not wanting to cause him any more pain, “What did they do to you?”

She was surprised when he moaned, not expecting a response as he let out a raspy “I’m fine”.

Hailey couldn’t help but let out a watery chuckle, her hands going back to carefully frame his face as she caught a glimpse of those vibrant green eyes she loved so much, “Only you would say that in the condition you’re in.”

“Kev called undercover. The team’s close,” Even talking seemed to cause him pain, but he powered through knowing she needed to know this, “Found the drugs. They’ll be here soon.”

It was spoken brokenly, but she got the message, and she couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief. There was no way she would be able to get him out of here by herself with him so injured.

Why did he have to be so adamant about her not knowing anything? He didn’t know anything either, but he’d somehow kept their captors from really harming her.

“Hailey,” Jay practically wheezed, catching her attention as he opened his eyes to find hers, “I can’t sit like this. It-it hurts too much.”

She barely managed to stop from crying again, biting her lip as she willed herself to stay strong for his sake. For him to admit he was in pain she knew he must be in a lot of it.

“Oh God, Jay,” Hailey swallowed back another wave of tears as she helped him move in a more comfortable position. She ended up half cradling him, his head resting on the swell of her breast and a protective arm around his shoulders to keep his back up off the ground.

She ran a gentle hand through his still miraculously styled hair, rocking him slightly and in all honesty, at the moment, she felt more like a woman sick with worry over the man she loved than a badass cop looking out for her partner.

Hailey’s not sure if she’s ever cried this much in her entire life or worried so deeply.

“What were you thinking Jay? Why would you offer yourself up like that?” She whispered to fill the silence, a couple of tears escaping on their own accord.

His gaze found hers. Strong, steady and certain in spite of all the pain, “I wasn’t about to let them hurt you. Not on my watch.”

Jay shifted in her arms, wincing slightly, “It’s my job to protect you, Hailey. And that doesn’t mean I don’t know you can protect yourself because you can—you’re a freaking badass, but it’s more than that,” Pausing, he reached up to tenderly brush away her tears with the pad of his thumb before whispering, “it’s because I love you and I can’t bear the thought of you getting hurt if I can prevent it.”

Before she even had a chance to respond, the tell-tale sound of the metal door shutting prompted Jay to move faster than she thought possible with his injuries. She scrambled up after him, but she could tell he wanted to keep her behind him in an attempt to protect her.

If it was anyone other than Jay, Hailey would balk at the notion, but she knew that’s just who he was and how he operated. It was how he protected the people he loved. She knew it wasn’t some caveman idea that she wasn’t capable of taking care of herself. So, she stayed behind him, letting him do what he does just as he let her be the badass she was any other day.

Except for this moment when she was terrified, worried about Jay who by all accounts shouldn’t be standing.

“Where’s our father!?” The drunk one exclaimed angrily, stomping into the basement, “You said your people were getting our drugs and now my father’s not answering my calls!”

He was focused on Jay and Hailey’s eyes were drawn to the pipe she’d found when she found the file, cursing at herself for not bringing it with her to Jay’s side. It was only a few feet away; if she could just get there before their captor noticed, she’d be able to knock him out.

His reactions were slow because of the alcohol in his system so that’s what she was banking on, but she also knew it made him more dangerous and unpredictable.

The gun pointed in Jay’s face made her nervous and she was hoping to get out of here without either of them getting shot but if someone had to take a bullet, it was going to be her for going for the pipe.

It happened so fast. There were two loud pops and suddenly Jay was on the floor in front of her.

She could vaguely make out Adam calling her name as he dashed across the room, knocking Vodka guy’s gun out of his hand but all Hailey was focused on was Jay, on the ground, bleeding. She dropped to her knees, hands immediately going to the gunshot wound in his shoulder and yelled at Adam to call an ambulance.

Kim was suddenly in front of her, kneeling at Jay’s other side and Hailey looked up, her hands still keeping pressure as tears welled in her eyes. Meeting her friend’s gaze, she whispered out brokenly, “He just took that bullet for me.”

*

“What the hell, Will?” Hailey exclaimed in disgust, pissed off about the entire situation.

The red-headed doctor looked about as exasperated as she felt and part of her felt bad about the harried look in his eyes, but she was getting anxious and he wasn’t cooperating with her, so she didn’t feel too bad.

“Hailey, it’s against hospital rules,” Will stressed for what felt like the one-hundredth time. He shook his head; and he thought Jay was stubborn.

If possible, the frustrated look on Hailey’s face grew as she crossed her arms, somehow looking very formidable sitting cross-legged in the middle of a hospital bed wearing nothing but a hospital gown.

“Rules are overrated,” She stated through a clenched jaw.

Will’s eyebrows rose, “Uh. Not gonna lie. It’s a little alarming to hear that coming from a detective.”

She just glared harder and Will was starting to realize he had nothing on a pissed Hailey Upton.

He wasn’t sure if they were engaged in a battle of wills or what, but he was afraid of what she might do if he broke their gaze and looked away. He was honestly a little afraid to blink.

He’d gotten to know Hailey pretty well because of her partnership with Jay, but he wasn’t quite sure he realized just how fierce she could be until this moment.

How fierce she could be when it came to his brother.

Will had always noticed the concern and the protectiveness she’d had when it came to Jay’s injuries on the job. He’d thought the nature of their jobs was the reason for this but over time he’d started to wonder if it was because there was something more there.

Today, he stopped wondering. It was clear there was something there and when Hailey turned her head to conceal the tears welling up in her eyes, he wondered what exactly went down between her and his brother in that basement.

She turned back to him, the determination and love clear in those glassy blue eyes he knew his brother had fallen for, “Will, I have to be with him.”

Still, he hesitated, “Hailey…”

And just like that, the angry pissed off look was back on her face despite the tears in her eyes, “I’ll have you know that I can make your life a living hell, Will Halstead.”

The threat was clear in the way her jaw was clenched but he could see her resolve starting to waver and he just didn’t have the heart to argue with her anymore, hospital rules be damned.

His head dropped in a resigned nod, “Alright. You win,” The relief that wafted off of her was palpable and he couldn’t help but give her a small smile even as he tried to look stern, “But, you have to take it easy because you’re a patient too. Also, if I get fired, I’m blaming it on you.”

*

If there was thing Hailey Upton was capable of, it would be getting her way when she wanted it.

Maybe it was all that time spent manipulating suspects in giving her the information she needed or maybe it stemmed from wheedling sweets and trinkets and whatever the hell else she wanted out of her older brothers when she was a kid, but usually, when it came right down to it, she was always able to convince people to hand her the requests she’d made on a silver platter.

And that’s how she found herself sitting on her own hospital bed that had been rolled into Jay’s ICU room for the foreseeable future.

As soon as the nurses that had transported her from her room were out of sight, Hailey very carefully got out of her bed, maneuvering around the IV going into her hand and gently slid in beside Jay. He was asleep but she knew from Will that he had already been awake, asking for her first thing as he came out from under anesthesia.

She was extra cautious to not upset the various lines running from his body and to machines monitoring his vitals as she settled in bedside his warm body, gently resting her head on his uninjured shoulder.

Hailey didn’t know how long she’d been laying there when she felt Jay shift, his voice slightly horse, “You know, I might start enjoying hospital stays if they mean I wake up next to you.”

Lifting her head, she blinked back tears for what felt like the millionth time in the last twenty-four hours. He was staring at her like she was his whole world, and he was just realizing what life was.

She wanted to kiss him. Was planning on it, but first she had to know, “Jay, why on earth would you take that bullet for me?”

Hailey was pretty sure she knew the answer. She was pretty sure it’s the same answer she would give him if she’d just taken a bullet meant for him, but she needed to hear it and not when he was laying on a dirty basement floor, writhing in pain.

She wasn’t sure laying on a hospital bed in a hospital right after he’d been shot was any better but it’s what they had, and he seemed pretty coherent for someone who had just had major surgery.

“Because I love you,” He said it so simply, so matter of fact and she marveled at the way it was so easy between them now.

And all it took was being kidnapped together.

Something happened between them while chained together in that basement. Something they had both been fighting for a while now and maybe it seemed sudden or rushed but Hailey knew in her heart of hearts that she and Jay were meant to be together.

Love wasn’t something you forced. It was something you had to wait for, maybe even had to get hurt along the way to really understand, but she now knew it was worth the wait.

“I love you too,” She almost whimpered before kissing him.

It wasn’t lusty, but it had an almost frantic urgency about it as they both silently acknowledged they could have very easily not had this moment.

He kissed her like he thought he’d never see her again and he told her yet again with his actions that he would follow her to the ends of the universe and to the very last of their tomorrows.

She knew they still had a lot to talk about. The things he especially went through in that basement, but she knew that could wait because they were alive and that was enough.

Because there was no doubt in either of their minds now.

They were right where they belonged.

Leave a comment! I’d love to know what y’all thought!!

[ca-8]

Zuko x Reader Scenario: When You First Meet

She could get in so much trouble.

No disciplined, sane child would ever dare to sneak out at night, especially those with parents who act like the most important people to have ever existed. Parents who always expected their children to be well-behaved, respectful, quiet, and incredibly boring for every second of their life. Parents who don't have a clue of what relaxation meant, even if some sort of high-class professor gave them a month-long lecture about it.

Basically the kinds of parents (Y/n) was so sick of.

The nine-year-old bit her bottom lip as she ever so carefully pulled the door to the beach house shut. Once she was sure no one had woken up and was on their way to give her another five-hundred-hour lecture on her ‘ignoble’ actions (whatever that meant), she snuck down the stairs and dashed toward the direction of the beach. 

‘Is it this way? Or was it the other way?’ she questioned. She forgot, and her mind wouldn’t let her remember. Her heart was racing; she had never done something this audacious. If her parents had already woken up and discovered that the pillows under her covers were not her, she’d be better off being alone with a fully grown dragon while covered in the finest jewels. 

And yet, at the first sight of the moon just barely hanging over the ocean as its light painted a shimmering white streak over the water, she instantly abandoned the worry. Here, on the quiet, isolated beach, she was free.

(Y/n) took off her shoes, and her toes instantly sunk into the cool sand. Her eyes scanned the beach, from the giant rocks asserting an aura of dominance, the tranquil ocean reflecting the twinkling stars that partnered the moon, and instantly to the lone turtle crab. 

A wide smile spread across her face, and she quietly approached her favorite animal. It stood at the end of the ocean line, gazing up at the stars. Something tightened inside of her; it looked so...lonely. 

“Hello!” she greeted, perhaps a bit too loudly than she intended, when she bent over it, suddenly covering its view. The turtle crab jumped and shrunk back a little in its shell, though (Y/n) still could see its upside-down face. 

“Why're you by yourself? Where're your friends?” she asked, jumping down beside it and making sand fly all over her pajamas. It stared back at her, then ever so slowly emerged from its shell. (Y/n) gasped. “Do you not have any?”

The turtle crab only blinked in response. “That’s terrible!” she exclaimed. "Buuuut then again, I don’t have any either, so… Hey, why don’t the two of us be friends?” She got on her knees, and the turtle crab’s only view was her giant smile. It blinked again, not saying yes, but also not saying no. 

“Great!” she cheered, embracing her new friend. Though a turtle crab wasn’t really her original ideal friend, every single kid she met proved themselves to be the most stuck-up, boring, rude people in existence, so maybe this was the better option. “So what’s your name?”

She immediately felt stupid when it didn’t, or, rather couldn’t, respond. “Ehehe, right, uh, you can’t talk,” (Y/n) realized. “But don’t worry, I can give you a name! What abooouuuttt….” The young girl scanned the animal for a quick moment before saying, “Misterrr...Snapper?”

It stared right at her, the moonlight reflecting off of its black eyes. “I’ll take that as a yes.” She got up and bowed respectfully to the small creature, just like how her mother taught her whenever they approached someone important. “Nice to m-I mean, my name is (Y/n) (L/n), and I’m delighted to meet you, Mr. Snapper.”

She glanced at the turtle crab again and let out a soft laugh, then carefully picked it up and put it on her head. Her stomach flipped, and she couldn’t help but envision how loud her mother would be when she’d tell her to get it off her head. But, for now, she put the thought aside and focused on being glad it didn’t panic and run off. 

“You’re weird,” she giggled, “I like you, Mr. Snapper. Now, what should we play tonight?”

The night always seemed to last forever, so (Y/n) and Mr. Snapper could do whatever they wanted without anyone saying otherwise. When the moon would lose the war over the sky with the sun, it could be the second she’d stop running around the entirety of Ember Island. 

But doing that seemed pointless. And Mr. Snapper didn’t look like the type to enjoy marathons or running in general anyway. 

“I know!” (Y/n) abruptly exclaimed, making Mr. Snapper bounce on her head. She gazed up, expecting to see his curious eyes, but only obtained the sight of the twinkling stars. “What do you think about being the Dark Water Spirit?” 

~

“He...He’s gone,” (Y/n) whispered in the deepest voice she could make, staring dreamily at the ocean line where the moon had almost touched the water. She glanced back at her princess, Mr. Snapper, who stood silently with the white shell on his head. She didn’t know why she expected him to say his lines in a high-pitched, princess-y voice. 

“Yes, this glorious land is finally free from the Dark Water Spirit,” the young noble said, moving Mr. Snapper in a way that made him appear as if he were talking in the high voice she was doing for him. “And now, we can be together, Noren.”

(Y/n)/Noren picked him up and stared into her mortal girlfriend’s eyes as huskily as she could (she also tried not to burst out laughing when she thought about it). “I never thought I’d fall in love with a mortal, but I can’t seem to take my eyes off of you, Yua.” 

Mr. Snapper/Yua blinked, the moonlight reflecting off of his/her eyes. The shell began to fall off his/her head and (Y/n)/Noren fixed it quickly. “Does that mean you’re going to stay mortal? I can’t exactly marry a dragon, you know,” Mr. Snapper/Yua “said”. 

“Hm, let’s just say you’ll be seeing the best of both worlds. Now kiss me, Empress!” Yua and Noren gazed into each other’s eyes for a blissful eternity, and they slowly leaned into the moment of affinity. Their lips were close, even though Yua seemed to be pulling away for some reason, and then-

“Um, what are you doing?” 

(Y/n)’s soul was yanked out of Noren’s body and forcefully transported back onto Ember Island. Inches away from her face was no longer Empress Yua, but Mr. Snapper without his crown. And standing a few feet away from them was none other than Prince Zuko. 

The Prince of the Fire Nation was here. He was standing right there. Staring at the daughter of a lowly noble as she was about to kiss a turtle crab.

Had the air only turned unbearably hot and heavy to her or did something set the moon on fire? 

“Nothing,” she answered immediately in Noren’s voice. (Y/n) cleared her throat, mumbled an “I mean”, quickly held Mr. Snapper by her side, then put on the most innocent smile she could muster. “Nooothing,” she said in a voice much higher than it was supposed to be.

The Prince stared at her like she was standing on water and speaking three different languages all at once. “O...kay…” he said slowly. 

'Who taught you to talk in such an absurd way to the Prince?' her mother's voice suddenly echoed within her mind. 'Fix your posture and throw away that ridiculous smile. And please, dear, speak NORMALLY.'

“S-SO!” she yelled, making him jump and instantly breaking every one of mind mother's rules. “What’re you doing here? On this beach? That my, uh, family bought? I think? Cause you, uh, have your own beach, cause you’re a prince, a-and...um…” Her smile widened despite her infinitely growing urge to bury herself as deep into the ground as possible and hide there forever.

“This is actually my family’s beach,” he said with eyes knowing this was the dumbest girl on the planet. “You’re the one not supposed to be here.”

'Once again, you're acting like an embarrassment to our family,' mind mother muttered.

Everything inside her twisted and tightened and told her to run. Though there were tsunamis of embarrassment hitting her relentlessly, there were also tiny ripples of realization. “Huh, so that’s what that sign meant when it said ‘Prince Ozai’s Beach’,” (Y/n) commented. 

The Prince winced. “What? Are you-?”

Her eyes widened as they caught the animal he held in his arms. “IS THAT A TURTLE CRAB?” she shouted, then ran up to the boy and bent down to get a better look at the other turtle crab. Prince Zuko jumped back and hissed at her to be quiet, and her instincts told her to bring back the courtesy for him she had just thrown out the window. However, she only inched closer because LOOK AT THAT ADORABLE LITTLE FACE HOW DID SHE NOT NOTICE IT EARLIER?

"Awww, so cuuuute!" She reached out to pet it, but it sank back in its shell. Mind mother sighed, creating a tiny hint of guilt inside her. 

"H-Hey!"

(Y/n) looked up at the nine-year-old Prince, glancing back at the turtle crab every few seconds. "Keep your voice down or else you'll wake up the whole island!" Prince Zuko whisper-shouted. 

She stood up, cocking her head, then caught a glimpse of the turtle crab again. "What're you doing with it anyway?" 

"Um…" He glanced down at the turtle crab. "N-None of your business!" he insisted hurriedly with a hint of pink on his face.

She squinted her eyes at him, and the stern look in his onyx pupils faded away to the same confusion from earlier, then discomfort when more quiet seconds had passed. "You're...here because Miss Green broke into your room but you couldn't keep her there so you brought her back to shore because you wanted to make sure she made it back home safely!" (Y/n) took in a large breath, filling her almost-empty lungs.

The Prince stared back at her with widened, bewildered eyes. "...Who?" he said. 

"Your turtle crab's name! I named it that because it reminds me of my first teacher, Mrs. Red, but since it has a green shell, well, you know. Also, totally off-topic, but have you noticed that red and green go so well together? I've been getting into sewing lately, and I was thinking that Ms. Green and Mr. Snapper, that's my turtle crab's name, by the way, could have red and green sweaters! Wouldn't that be adorable?" 

He said nothing. He didn't exactly look angry, but not really pleased too.

Her smile dropped, then she giggled nervously. "Sorry, I'll stop talking. A-And you don't have to call it that if you don't want to! Or name it at all! I-I was just-"

The Prince went against his fear of being caught as he let out the loudest laugh (Y/n) ever heard.

Her entire body felt like it had been engulfed by every firebender's element. Her family might as well have formed a crowd around them with their disapproving gaze. 'Maybe Mr. Snapper can help me start a new life under my bed,' she thought as she gazed at her feet.

"You're weird," the Prince suddenly said, chuckling. 

(Y/n) snapped her gaze up at him and saw his weirdly relieved smile. "Oh, thanks!" she said, feeling her own smile curl upon her lips. She wasn't one hundred percent sure if he really meant that as a compliment, but his face didn't hold any signs of mockery. 

Her stomach did a backflip. Was the Prince, one of the most important people ever, being...kind of nice to her?

Prince Zuko laughed again, then after a quick moment, his face went back to being serious. "Um, please don't tell anyone I'm doing this, okay?" he said.

(Y/n) beamed and nodded. She stood in silence for once while Prince Zuko sighed, walked over to the edge of the water, then placed the turtle crab on the rolling water. 

Mr. Snapper wiggled out of her arms and crawled over to Ms. Green. Zuko stepped back until he was next to (Y/n), and the two animals stood together facing the moon with their claws just barely touching. 

"Ah, that's so adorable!" (Y/n) squealed. "It's like Yua and Noren!"

Zuko turned and raised an eyebrow at her. "You know about Love Amongst The Dragons?"

The girl gasped dramatically, swiftly putting her gaze on him. "Know it? I'll have you know that I've memorized every single line of that play!" she said, holding her head high with pride. "I can perform every character at any time! In fact, I was doing just that before you interrupted my final act." 

'You do realize you're still talking to someone much more important than you, right dear?' mind mother whispered. (Y/n)'s grin was wiped off her face along with most of her pretension. 

Surprisingly, he didn't look offended. "That's my favorite play, too," he said with a hint of enjoyment on his face. "Was that why you were about to make out with your turtle crab?"

She blushed furiously and pouted, averting her eyes. "M-Maybe…and his name's Mr. Snapper..."

Prince Zuko chuckled again and after a moment of weirdly comfortable silence, a frown appeared on his face. "Hey, I need to head back. And you should go in case the guards kick you out."

"...Th-There are guards here?" (Y/n) whispered. She ran over and fiercely hugged Mr. Snapper, then went back over to him, her voice slightly increased. "Why didn't you say so?!" 

He smiled the most carefree grin in the world. "I thought you knew, since you're on my dad's beach."

"Well, it was nice meeting you Prince Zuko, but now I need to figure out how to escape before my parents have to get me out of prison." She quickly bowed, her heart fluttering at the sound of the Fire Lord's grandson enjoying her joke (hopefully it stayed like that). 

"Wait!" he suddenly called.

She was beginning to run back to the beach house when he did. (Y/n) turned around and said, "Yes?"

"Um," he started, hesitating. The young girl cocked her head; someone like him shouldn't be nervous about talking to someone like her. If anything, she should still be the one hesitating and worrying about what to say. "What's your name?" he finally asked. 

She flashed a grin as the moon began to lower into the light pink sky. "(Y/n), Your Majesty." Before he could respond, she ran off the beach as fast as she could, hoping to see her parents still asleep within the beach house.

[skullrock]

the campers, chapter two - Steve x Reader

gif by @harringtown

chapter two: the trainee 

series summary:Steve gets a job as a camp counselor at Camp Know Where, intending on using the summer to discover himself. When things start to go wrong at camp, the only people that can help him are the Party, Hopper, and his mortal enemy - you. [Enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort]

chapter summary: Steve gets in the swing of things quickly, much to your dismay.

warnings: swearing!

word count: 2.7k

a/n: you can catch up on the series here! hope you enjoy this chapter!

===

Dustin and Steve are luckily paired into the same cabin, but they have different rooms. Steve’s roommate isn’t in when he goes to drop off his things, but Dustin assures that the man, Nico, is a cool dude.

“Not as cool as you though, Steve,” Dustin says, giving him a firm pat on the back. Steve smiles slightly and nods, appreciating the sentiment. Especially after being blasted by you.

“Are you going to tell me what’s up with you and Y/N?”

“No,” Steve says curtly, shutting and locking his room.

Dustin waits a few moments to see if Steve will fess up, but he doesn’t. Actually, Steve sets his jaw tightly, making Dustin even more curious. “I guess you guys don’t like each other, huh?”

“No,” Steve says again. He runs a hand through his hair. “Well - she doesn’t like me.”

“She knew you as Asshole Steve?”

Steve sighs heavily. “Yeah. She knew me as Asshole Steve.”

Dustin shrugs as they start to make their way to their orientations. “You’ll just have to show her how you changed, that’s all.”

Steve scoffs and shakes his head. “It doesn’t even matter.”

Dustin knows he doesn’t mean that, but he stops prodding for answers.

They continue their walk down from the cabins to the activity center, filled with classrooms, the cafeteria, and research labs. Steve enjoys the area already, happy to see the sun glistening off of the lake and the large hemlocks and oaks. The wind smells like pine and juniper, even in the summer, relaxing Steve’s mind. The woods do scare him now, there’s no denying that. But these aren’t the sinister woods behind his house in Hawkins. These woods are welcoming and cheery, bright and charming. Steve loves the open fields for archery and tag, the courts for basketball and tennis. He decides he’d really like to help out with the intramurals, giving up on the science aspect before even getting the chance to explore it.

Steve’s train of thought is derailed when he hears a sweet voice call out, “Dusty-bun?”

Dustin turns on his heel, a smile spreading widely across his face. He runs to meet her halfway, picking her up and twirling her. The girl laughs happily, and they kiss for a moment before Steve clears his throat. “Is this Suzie?”

“It’s Suzie,” Dustin says, sighly happily. “Suzie, this is Steve.”

She extends her hand and Steve takes it, surprised by how firm her grip is. She’s alright, Steve thinks. She’s got this Mormon vibe going on, but her smile is bright and her personality is welcoming. Steve’s happy to find out that Suzie is an actual person, and while she has no Phoebe Cates in her at all, she’s a perfect match for Dustin.

Steve third wheels as they continue to walk towards the activity center, again being pulled back to his thoughts. His mind falls on what you’d said earlier.

It feels like a rock sits in his gut when he thinks about camp when he was younger. He knows he was an asshole, he can feel it in his bones. He knows he hung out with Tommy H. and some other dickheads, and he has glimpses of memories of tripping, pushing, and pranking. But he really doesn’t remember a lot. He’s not sure if he’s from the concussions or because he willed those thoughts out of his memory - but they aren’t there. Only insignificant ones remain. Like how his bedsheets in his cabin were blue and red plaid; how he would wake up at 7:15 to take a walk before Tommy would wake up; he even remembers the bitter taste of the orange juice hitting his tongue at breakfast. It’s like his mind zeroed in on the insignificant things so that the hurtful memories stay in the back of his mind, sitting like a cobra, waiting to strike.

The trio arrives at the activity center.

“I’ll see you tonight, Steve,” Dustin says. “Don’t worry - you’ll do great.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Steve mumbles, anxiety twisting in his gut. “Nice to meet you, Suzie.”

She smiles brightly and starts off, but Dustin stays behind. “Hotter than Phoebe Cates, right?”

Steve forces a smile and nods, giving him a thumbs up. “You really did it, man.”

Dustin winks and walks away, leaving Steve alone and sweating bullets. He hates being alone - he can’t stand being by himself anymore. Especially now that he knows you’re on the loose here, probably plotting some sick pranks. But he forces himself to move his feet up to the orientation check in.

“Name?” a man with the nametag Josh asks.

“Uh, It’s Steve. Harrington.”

He gets his bundle - a nametag, a hat just like Dustin’s, a few lime green and yellow Camp Know Where shirts (reading LEADER on the back), a drawstring bag, some pens, and a notebook. Steve forces himself to not make a face at the shirt - it’s disgusting and it will certainly ruin his chances with the ladies. He’ll wear it - he’s just not happy about it. And, besides, the first girl he interacted with at camp nearly bit his head off, so maybe he shouldn’t be so worried about his chances. Maybe he should be worried about not fucking up this time.

He takes a seat in one of the large lecture halls, sitting as far away from everyone as possible. Nearly everyone who walks in waves at him and sits close, making Steve clench his fists and bounce his legs. He literally does not remember how to be social - it’s like a second language that he forgot. It pains him that he can’t strike up conversations like he used to, but those around him help.

“Hi, I’m Kara,” a girl his age says, sitting down right next to him. “Who are you?”

Steve blinks. “Oh - I’m Steve.”

She reaches out and shakes his hand, smiling. “You’re new, right?”

“Is it that easy to tell?”

Kara laughs. “Don’t worry, Steve - you’ll get the hang of the flow soon enough.”

Okay, maybe he does have a chance with some ladies.

You come into the room, eyes searching for Steve. You see your buddy Kara talking to him and you curse under your breath. She’s not supposed to be friends with him - she’s probably going to try to bone him in the next week, too, and you don’t want that either. You march up to Josh, the leader of leaders, and pull him down to your level. “You cannot - you will not - pair me with Steve Harrington.”

Josh’s brows furrow and he looks up at Steve, remembering him from earlier. “What, you scared of that dork?”

You groan and roll your eyes. “He was such an asshole to me - we used to go to camp together. He made my summers hell, Josh. I can’t be around him.”

Josh pauses and shrugs. “Okay, no problem, I’ll pair him with someone else.”

You sigh in relief and take a seat at the front, where a panel of veteran counselors sit. You try to be social, but the bile keeps rising from your stomach to your throat. You feel sick. You feel like this summer is going to be an absolute nightmare. And while you’re so far beyond who you used to be - that kid who couldn’t even look people in the eye - you’re scared that his presence will revert you back into that little girl. And it’s the last thing you want.

Josh claps his hands a while later, signalling the start of orientation. Steve shifts in his seat and pulls out his notebook and a pen. He doesn’t know shit about note taking, but he reckons he should try. You grab your notebook too, excited to learn and meet with the new folks.

“Welcome to Camp Know Where!” Josh says.

The room erupts in cheers and Steve can feel his old self creeping back in, the insult of dorks running through his head - as if he isn’t clearly one himself. But he composes himself, clapping lightly along with everyone else.

“Here at Camp Know Where, we want to create a welcoming, safe environment for our kids to explore the world through science, math, engineering, and technology.” Steve writes it down quickly, forming the acronym “SMET”, and giggling to himself.

“It’s our job as counselors to facilitate learning in a fun, positive, and energetic way. Through orientation, you’re going to meet your fellow counselors, learn some things, and find a designation at camp. We work with you! If you think you’d be better at doing science, we’ll help you find your place in the classroom. But if you’d like to work with intramurals, we can place you out in nature. However, we still want to make sure everyone has a good grasp at all activities, so you’ll be cycled through everything we have to offer at Camp Know Where.”

Steve writes down “science - intramurals - whatever - know it all.”

“Today, though, we’ll be doing some icebreakers, and then some brainstorming.”

The room erupts in groans, Steve’s perhaps being the loudest.

“Relax, they’re fun.” Josh beams and holds up a clipboard. “I’m going to split everyone off with a partner now. This will be your partner all through camp. You’ll do something with everyone, but your partner is like your mentor. The newer folks will be paired with someone who’s been here a while to help you get in the swing of things.”

You shift in your seat. Maybe you’ll make a new friend - maybe you’ll get along famously - it was an exciting concept.

Or, it is, until Josh calls out, “Y/N and Steve.”

The shit eating grin on his face is unimaginable. He looks down at you, smiling, eyes shining, as if to say, get over it. If you had a bat, you would have hit him with it. Your stomach sinks, it rolls, it twists. Your palms sweat, your head races, but it stays forward, eyes trained on the podium in front of you.

Steve feels the exact same, except his legs are telling him to get the hell out of there. He knows his protests will fall on deaf ears, and who would accommodate him, anyway? He rests his head in his hands as Josh continues to read off names.

“Alright, get with your partner. We’re going to play two truths and a lie!”

Phenomenal, you think. The worst icebreaker of all time, and it’s with Steve Harrington.

You push yourself up out of your seat and force your legs to move towards him, sitting down next to him but a chair away, keeping a distance. Steve’s okay with it - it actually helps him breathe.

The rest of the room fills with laughs and chatter, but you both stare in silence for a long while. Finally, Steve says, “So -”

“We aren’t friends,” you interrupt. “We aren’t friends now, we weren’t friends then, and in the future, we won’t be friends. Got it?”

Steve swallows hard and nods. Despite the dryness in his throat, he tries to apologize. “Look, I know I wasn’t nice when he were kids -”

You scoff. He continues. “But I swear to God, or whatever, I’ve changed. I’m not like that anymore. I - I don’t even hang out with Tommy. I just hang out with Dustin and this girl called Robin, you don’t know her - she’s pretty cool -”

“Save it,” you say harshly. “We can talk since it’s our job, but I don’t care about your life now, and I know you don’t care about mine.”

No icebreakers are played between you - the only thing played is an intense staring contest, which makes you angry and Steve horrified. Finally, Josh claps again, and then the real orientation begins. Josh hands out papers with scenarios on them, the goal being to brainstorm ways to demonstrate good leadership. Things like, a camper is obviously intoxicated - what do you do? and what’s the best way to improve a camper who isn’t doing well?

“Wait,” Steve says as Josh places the paper down. “Are we sw- switching partners?”

“Nope!” Josh says, popping the ‘p’. “Not yet.”

Steve wants to die.

To your surprise, Steve has some pretty phenomenal ideas for how to be a good leader. He even delves into how he would bond with the campers - he’d play sports with them, facilitate idea generating, become someone they can come to and confide in. He wouldn’t shut down their ideas, but rather help them expand on them. You think that he actually has some really good concepts.

“I just want them to trust me, you know?” he says quietly. “I want them to feel like they have a chance and that they can come to me for anything.”

You furrow your brows. “How’d you get these good ideas?”

“Dustin,” he admits, a bit sheepishly. “And some of his friends, too. They’ve helped me understand how to be better at listening and helping and understanding.”

You nod stiffly, not wanting to become too impressed with him. “Well, you have some solid ideas.”

Steve’s eyes widen and brighten. “You think?”

You shrug. “They’re not bad.”

And just like that, Steve feels like he has a purpose.

The room forms back together to go over their responses, and for the first time in his life, Steve offers his perspective in a public setting without being condescending or rude. The feeling of raising his hand was awkward and unknown, but he kept doing it, in love with the nods of support from the other counselors. Someone said he must have a knack for being a leader, and Steve beamed brighter than he had in months.

You, of course, hated it, but you had no authority to tell him to shut up. To you, it seemed fake and, frankly, out of nowhere. But you couldn’t help to agree with some of his points and ideas. You hated it.

You all break for the day at five. You practically run out of the room, gasping in the fresh air outside quickly. Josh walks past you and slaps your back, turning around to smile at you. “Have fun?”

“I will kill you.”

“Can’t wait!”

You’d lost your appetite after the hours spent with Steve, so you stay outside, sitting on a picnic bench and contemplating. You wonder if Steve is right when he says he’s changed. Past Steve would never say such things, would never even bother to put in an effort. But he was giving more of an effort than most people in that room, and it genuinely shocked you. Maybe Dustin had something to do with it - but that seemed improbable, too. The whole thing was so bizarre that it made your head spin and your knees weak.

You see Dustin heading inside and call out for him, beckoning him over. His brows furrow tightly but he walks over, sitting down across from you. “Why aren’t you eating?”

“What’s Steve’s deal?”

“Look, I hated him too,” Dustin says. “I mean, I really hated him. Like, I wanted to punch him -”

“I get it.”

“Right. But he’s changed. He got sober really fast a few years back and he hasn’t been the same since.” Dustin pauses, choosing his words carefully. “A lot of stuff has happened to him… and I think it’s changed him for the better. He’s been through a lot. He’s just trying to find himself now. That’s why he’s here.”

You sigh heavily. “You think he’s better?”

“I know he’s better.” Dustin smiles. “And that’s why I think you should give him a chance.”

“No way,” you scoff. “He never gave me a chance.”

“Shouldn’t stoop to past Steve’s level.” Dustin’s smile widens. “You’ll hurt your back.”

You roll your eyes. You don’t want this kid to be right, but you know he is.

“Just - give him a chance, please? He really deserves one. He’s my best friend… he deserves a shot.”

You sigh again. “Fine.”

===

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[nonopi]

fever dream Jack x Miranda, Mass Effect 2

Jack aims to sleep her sickness away, but what she gets instead is a cryptic fever dream.

for @lesbianically, my @masseffectholidaycheer giftee!

---

Jack wanted to be anywhere but here. Trapped between the commander Shepard standing in the doorway and the bed she was currently lying paralyzed on, under a barrage of Cerberus-issued blankets.

"She doesn't nurse just anyone back to health." Jane had a big smile on her face again, like she’d just found out some grand secret. "And I would know."

"Just shut up," Jack hoped she sounded as ferocious as she imagined, despite the pile of blankets muffling her voice and how stuffed her nose was. "Go away."

She heard Shepard laugh again before retreating back into the common area. Finally, quiet at last. Normally she could take a little teasing from the commander, but she couldn't even breathe out of her nose right now. Standing was out of the question. And why did she feel so, so cold? She wasn't used to covering her entire body with cloth, but now she couldn't get enough of it.

Jack closed her eyes tightly, willing the sickness away. It's mind over matter, baby. A motto that had done her well for the most part. But this was something she couldn’t control, as much as she hated to admit it. It infuriated her, frustrated her, and it made it even worse that Miranda was the one actively taking the time to make sure that everything was being done to get her back in top condition. Miranda was in control. Miranda was in control of Jack’s livelihood. 

Literally, anyone else would be better. Even Mordin fucking Solus. In fact, why not send Dr. Chakwas in? The actual doctor onboard the ship.

She only had one option at this point. Sleep. Rest. Heal. If time was the only thing that could fix her, she might as well not be conscious to suffer through any of it. If only her brain would shut up for five seconds to drift off into sleep. Sleep didn’t come naturally to her under normal circumstances anyway, this probably wasn’t going to be the exception.

Jack’s eyes split back open, immediately snapping onto the pills Miranda had left on the side table next to a bottle of water. She remembered it in a groggy haze, she was awake but feigning sleep as soon as she heard the telltale sounds of Miranda’s boots hitting the floor. But she was not fooled by that charade.

“Take these pills when you’re ready to sleep,” she set the pills down without hesitation, her voice just as trained and unwavering as ever. “Dr. Chakwas said they’ll clear up some of your symptoms but it’ll knock you out. Don’t throw them away.” 

She would’ve rolled her eyes if she could.

But what Jack remembered the most was when the silence stretched out but neither woman moved a muscle. She didn’t know if Miranda was waiting for a reaction or a verbal response but she wasn’t going to give her one. But that wasn’t it at all, it was a cold but smooth hand laid to rest on Jack’s forehead. The sensation soothed her headache, made her feel vividly present in a way she hadn’t even before she fell ill. Something about being detached, aggressive enough to keep people away, never vulnerable enough to let people even get a glimpse of herself, her true self. To let someone touch her in such a way, a way that couldn’t be misconstrued as hostile or with ulterior motives, just the intention to feel and to help.

And when she felt her eyes spring open, gaze landing on Miranda’s too-pretty face and her carefully schooled expression and the other woman only had this to say, “Take the pills, Jack. We’re the same, we hate the loss of ability. But if you’re going to be vulnerable anywhere, it might as well be here.”

Then she turned and left without another word and Jane came in shortly after, Jack’s head still reeling from whatever had just happened. 

And now? The stupid cheerleader was right. How long was it worth it to stay miserable and staring at the blank wall that touched her bed just to maintain some control over a body that had betrayed her with some higher purpose of fighting a virus? Even if she trusted nobody else on board, she did trust Jane. And Jane trusted everyone else, even Miranda. Was that enough for her?

Jack took the pills and the water and swallowed. 

It was only a matter of time now.

---

Dreams that faded into nightmares she was accustomed to. No one lives through horrors like she had without bringing it with them everywhere, subconsciously. She meant it when she said she didn’t sleep well. Ever.

But drug-induced sleep? It wasn’t her first time. Plunged into eternal darkness, no concept of time or surroundings or a body. It was nothing and she was no one. And waking was jarring and incomprehensible. The concept of not existing seeped into consciousness and followed her ruthlessly, sometimes bringing her to tears.

This was not that way. Not yet. 

It was not blackness but warmth. It was not the cosmic void, but the cosmic heat and light of places she knew. This is where her dreams and nightmares were, sequences fading in and out, creating cohesion where there logically was none.

She let it happen, watched as her body took her places. First an errand for Jane for something in the cafeteria that did not belong there. Then they were off the ship and on Omega, red lights dominating her vision. They were all walking somewhere, the entire crew. She couldn’t gather if it was in panic or in excitement. She followed and followed until she was on the Citadel. At least she had the decency to know she hated it here in reality. But something was wrong and she was pushing herself over the railing and into the decorative pools that separated the walkways. She had to find something. Or someone? She sloshed through the shallow waters knowing it would take her to the lower levels of the Citadel, somehow ending up in the seedy bars that the Alliance military officers sometimes frequented. But it wasn’t quite right, something was off about the bar because where it once had faceless walls, it sprouted wings of corridors of cells. 

“Where is she?” It was Jane. She couldn’t see her but she must be near. Her voice was hoarse and when Jack tried to respond, her throat hurt too. Had she been yelling the same?

But she felt the anger, seething rage, pouring out of Jane’s voice and into her own. “Where is she?” An echo, she was already summoning her biotics to force an answer out of an unknown entity. Faceless. Dark. A cigarette in his hand was the only light upon him.

“You can’t have her.” Her own voice again, her heart pounding in her chest, fear winding her body tight, fear not for herself but for another. How long had it been?

She could feel the tears, a torrent down her cheek. “Speak, you sick fuck!” But she couldn’t move forward, towards or away from the man. Her biotics fizzled away until she was just Jack, her hands balled into fists, her emotions too much for her.

Jane pulls at her arm and they’re running away. Something pursues them. They’re running through the corridors of cells, the water from the presidium pools hinders their every movement. Searching, searching, they’re looking for someone. She’s so grateful to Jane for being there to help her.

And suddenly there’s nothing again. Jack kneeling in a pool of black water, a body in her arms. The white suit of a strong woman. The jet black hair twisted and stuck to her pale face. But she’s okay. They’re both okay.

“They can’t have us.”

It wasn’t her voice this time. It was Miranda’s.

---

This was worse than a nightmare. She could quell fear. It was something she was so violently trained to do. But waking from a dream, a nightmare, where she wins. And the woman in her arms is someone she couldn’t get out of her mind because everything she did, everything she stood for made her feel so passionately angry and confused and frustrated. 

She knew they were the same, god damn it. 

Miranda didn’t have to say it to her face. They both craved control because they didn’t have it for the majority of their lives. They were both victims of the same thoughtless and cruel people who did not care about the body count, they only cared about progression.

Jack knew all that. And she didn’t care. She didn’t want to fucking care.

But a dream like that held her hostage. Whoever she was in that dream, seeped into this reality now. That Jack with Jane by her side, that Jack who so desperately searched for a missing Miranda, who held her close, and fought against The Illusive Man to keep her away from him, to keep her independent, indebted to no one but herself. Who was that woman? Because it was not her and the thought made her both exhausted and fraught with worry that she never could feel that way again. She would only be that Jack in dreams. Because reality was too cruel to love anyone. Or let anyone love her.

She took a deep breath and touched her forehead, feeling the unhindered air fill her lungs and clear her groggy head. Maybe it was okay to let that Jack stay in the back of her mind. A beacon, a symbol that she could move toward in the darkness. Because she didn’t want to fight forever. She wanted somewhere she could stay and protect and live. 

It wasn’t something she allowed herself to think about often. But Jane opened the door again and maybe it was okay to let it stay open this time. And maybe she could let other people through too. People who helped her. 

People like Miranda?

She groaned and rolled over in her bed, sticking her arms and legs out to meet the cool recycled air. “Over my dead fucking body.” Even though she said it out loud, into her pillow, she wasn’t sure she believed it anymore. 

Or maybe it was just the sickness talking.

[malkumtend]

I Like Your Laugh (A CrowSquirrel AU fic) - Chapter 10.

If a cat were to ask Ashfoot if her eldest son had ever gotten into fights before, her response would be that all-too-familiar mother’s laugh to the sky before laying down with a droll, “How long have you got?”

In other words. A lot.

Her son, as prickly as he was, didn’t help himself most of the time. He was no bully by any means, but he was no pushover either. He fought with all his might whenever he found himself in a scuffle, be it with clanmates or even other clan Warriors when encountered on the border.

Needless to say, Crowpaw was used to wounds. He could deal with a few scrapes or bites; all it would take was a day and they would close up again. And even though he hated losing, he understood the best thing was to suck it up and re-strategize for next time; then he would be the one basking in victory.

He was going to be a Warrior soon; he couldn’t afford to get bothered over a loss.

It was like a coping mechanism.

Now, it was failing.

Because, for some aggravating reason, he couldn’t force away the stinging in his shoulder whenever he moved, and the flashing wracks of pain in the clawmarks on his neck made him hiss softly whenever they panged.

The cuts hadn’t been too deep and whatever blood that had been drawn had dried. But none of that gave Crowpaw any comfort, he still boiled from the anger and indignity of his loss.

He knew it was stupid. He couldn’t have done anything, Brambleclaw had come out of nowhere, when Crowpaw’s back was turned. It also didn’t help how freakishly large the Warrior was, Crowpaw had felt like he’d have had better luck in pushing off a log than the Thunderclan cat.

But whatever he said couldn’t change the fact that the Warrior now held something over him.

He hated that.

Half of the sun was now visible over the shape of the hill, whatever light sprouting was now dull and toneless. The orange sky darkened and crept around the cats as dusk padded closer. At least the air had cooled and they were all full with prey. It would make the approaching night a tad easier to get through.

Not so much for Crowpaw.

He almost felt guilty, Squirrelpaw and Feathertail and kept close by him, trying their best to pepper him with light jokes and comforting purrs. Deep down, Crowpaw was truly grateful for their efforts, but it wouldn’t shake off the looks he had received from the others.

He didn’t mean the mistrusting, deceitful glares he’d typically receive, he couldn’t care less about those. It wasn’t like he trusted the other Warriors himself. No, it was how they looked at him now that bothered him, and it didn’t matter who it was, he would be furious to receive those looks from anyone.

Those soft, sympathising glances that made him turn cold.

Just because a cat had caught him off-guard, they all stared at him as if he was some wet kit crying for mama. He was almost a Warrior for Starclan’s sake! He was willing to fight again and again for his clan whenever he was needed, he deserved their respect not their thin compassion!

Feathertail had tried to tell him that the others would go easier on him now they knew he wasn’t looking for trouble. Crowpaw could have started spitting. They should have known that already from how much he’d tried to help the group, but no, it had to come because that hare-brain had attacked him. It was just bitter sympathy, nothing more.

Crowpaw didn’t need that kind of friendship.

He kept his gaze low so he didn’t cat any of those condescending glimpses anymore. Though he was still aware of the presences beside him. Nobody had said anything for a while now, an eerie silence loomed over them and no one really had the desire to say anything in fear of provoking anyone.

Like always, Brambleclaw had made his way to the front, but he was shadowed by isolation. Tawnypelt may have been only a few steps behind him, but it was as clear as the sun that she was aggravated by her brother’s actions. Whether or not Brambleclaw cared was not an issue as he hadn’t met a cat’s gaze since the fight, Crowpaw assumed it was just his fox-brained stubbornness.

Stormfur was walking closer to Feathertail than normal, they shared a hushed conversation, but it wasn’t a mystery on who it was about. Before, Stormfur usually was the most obvious in how much he distrusted Crowpaw’s friendship with his sister, but now he kept on sneaking gentle glances back on the apprentice. It stung Crowpaw like his cuts were frazzled with saltwater.

And Squirrelpaw.

She hadn’t left his side once.

And while part of Crowpaw desperately wanted to appreciate her friendship, a stronger feeling just made him feel sick.

He didn’t want her pity.

Even now, Squirrelpaw continued to stroll beside him. She wasn’t saying anything anymore, she’d learnt that was pointless after Crowpaw’s obvious lack of investment in small talk. But she was still there, close enough to be brushing fur with him, and she was warm and humorous and Crowpaw knew she only wanted to cheer him up. But those eyes! Those sad eyes that kept on finding him! They frustrated him so much!

“You don’t need to keep looking at them.” Crowpaw monotoned when his wounds felt her gaze for the hundredth time. “They’re already healing.”

Squirrelpaw had jumped enthusiastically when he actually spoke again, but her ears fell back in disappointment when she heard his tone. “I know. I’m just checking them.”

“Thanks, but I already said I’m fine.”

Squirrelpaw managed a wry smile, “I’m sure that’s what you thought before you were going to fight those kittypets with your scratched side.”

Always one for a laugh. If only Crowpaw was.

“These aren’t as bad as that.” He wasn’t lying to her. The wound from that thorn had been strangely deeper than Brambleclaw’s claws. “Just give it a night and it’ll look like nothing happened.”

Crowpaw winced when he saw Squirrelpaw’s eyes narrow. The Thunderclan molly shook her head weakly, “That isn’t the point.” Her gaze found the front of the group, narrowed on her target. “It shouldn’t have happened at all.”

Crowpaw felt a chill go through him. He couldn’t talk about it right now. It made his head hurt.

“Well, it already did. Just drop it.” Then they could try to move on at least.

“And if I say no?” Squirrelpaw remarked listlessly.

Crowpaw’s tail swung agitatedly. His jaw tightened. “What’s the point? Done is done. I can handle a few swipes.”

“You just want me to act like nothing happened?” Squirrelpaw asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, that would be great!” Crowpaw wondered why his mind wanted him to sound gentle but his voice just came out cold. Idiocy. His tail drooped even further in guilt, but he couldn’t find the heart to apologise. Not right now.

Squirrelpaw blinked slowly at him. Her head dropped for a moment, rising and falling in a quick puzzled pattern, then reserved to face down with a heavy exhale. “Fine.”

Crowpaw’s eyes widened and he tilted his head to face her. She didn’t usually give up so easily, not with her natural stubbornness. What was going on? Yet, as if on order, she looked completely uninterested in what had been said before. She just wandered beside him, face up, blank expression, abnormally indifferent.

Wait? Wasn’t this what he wanted her to do. He wanted silence, and she’d given him silence.

The silence was deafening.

Crowpaw twisted away from her exasperatedly, whining softy as his neck stained again. Fox-dung! Now he was annoyed by something else that was completely unreasonable! This afternoon was stretching out like a nightmare! He couldn’t wait for it to get dark already so he could try and sleep this stupid day away.

A more uncomfortable quiet now surrounded Crowpaw, one that made his fur prickle and his mind fuzz. He swallowed and it felt like a river was overcoming a mound of sand. The cuts were not throbbing so frequently now, but he still felt ill at ease.

He knew what he wanted to do. Say something to her. An utterance of thanks. An apology maybe? Crowpaw knew it couldn’t be any worse than the nothing he had brought between them, but no words would form.

He didn’t feel like he deserved to say anything.

Not when the cat who he’d stood by her against had left him bleeding.

He grunted at his own stupidity, but he still wouldn’t bring his mouth to move.

And so the silence reigned until Crowpaw noticed someone slow down in front, only regaining the normal speed when they were right next to him.

“Hey guys.” The shadow remarked in a familiar tone, but an unfamiliar friendliness.

Crowpaw didn’t respond initially. But Squirrelpaw chirped with her normal comity, “Hi Stormfur.”

The Windclan apprentice could tell Stormfur was waiting for him to say something. Tough luck, Crowpaw considered. He wasn’t interested in whatever phony politeness the Warrior wanted to offer. Looking forward, he saw Feathertail looking back. Upon seeing his gaze, she gave him an innocent smile and looked away.

Of course. She had put him up to this.

“Are you doing alright?” Stormfur asked anyway.

Knowing he wasn’t going to respond, Squirrelpaw answered for him. “They don’t sting anymore he says.”

From the shadow, Crowpaw saw Stormfur nod. “That’s good. Brambleclaw really went for it, I was worried.”

He couldn’t resist. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

Stormfur gave out a small blow of air, and Crowpaw could feel Squirrelpaw’s eyes cutting into him. “Crowpaw!” She snapped, clearly holding herself back.

“No, it’s fine. I understand.” Stormfur sighed, his yellow eyes flashing with forgiveness. “Um, how are you holding up, Squirrelpaw?”

You would want to know that, wouldn’t you? Crowpaw rolled his eyes.

The Thunderclan apprentice exaggeratedly groaned, “Honestly, it feels like my paws are about to drop off.” Crowpaw could share that sentiment. It had been hard enough walking without the scars of that fight, he couldn’t describe how exhausted he was now.

“Ugh, I know what you mean.” Stormfur groaned. “I’m trying not to lose faith here, but I’m seriously wondering how long it’ll be before we start thinking about turning back.” He said, solemnly looking out to the endless hills.

Squirrelpaw rose with a start, “No, don’t say that!” She exclaimed, her tail pointing to the air. “We’ll get there eventually! Even if it takes until we are elders, we can’t just give up!”

Crowpaw could appreciate his friend’s optimism, but he too was beginning to lose hope. In all honesty, he’d been sceptical of this journey from the beginning, and now he was slowly fearing that he was right all along.

Not that he regretted coming along, of course. Even if he went back without some special message from Starclan, he had some things to look back on fondly.

Stormfur let out a raspy chuckle, “I feel like an elder now!” He said stretching his strained neck.

Squirrelpaw laughed along and Crowpaw could tell that the Warrior was blushing when he heard it. Crowpaw stiffened, as if things couldn’t get even more annoying.

Squirrelpaw whipped her tail excitedly, “Oh, you just need to loosen up a little! Like Feathertail!”

Stormfur seemed to flinch at his sister’s name, suddenly realising what he was there to do. “O-Oh yeah. Heh, you’re probably right there.” Starclan above, he was horrible at hiding his nervousness. “Um, listen Squirrelpaw?”

“Yeah?”

“Could I just have a word with Crowpaw?” Stormfur asked.

Crowpaw had to hold back an audible groan.

Squirrelpaw didn’t speak for a second. She looked at her friend, and Crowpaw wanted to give her a begging look. He couldn’t handle his friend’s company now, nevermind those he still didn’t really like. But he didn’t have the heart to do it. He couldn’t meet her eyes.

It’s that reasoning that made Crowpaw unsurprised when she agreed to his request.

She rubbed her pelt against Crowpaw once more, still smiling despite his mood. “Have fun.” She said, walking ahead to where Feathertail was, but still shooting cautious glances back at the two toms.

Crowpaw felt like he wanted to smile at her.

For a long time, the two toms did nothing. Just a replaced silence between two cats who were not as close. Inevitably though, it was Stormfur who broke the ice.

“So, listen,” Was that embarrassment in his voice? “About earlier?”

Crowpaw sniffed dismissively. It was just like he thought. All it was going to be was empty pity that didn’t mean a whisker, the kind you feel for a hatchling that’s been thrown out of its nest before you give it the killing blow.

But he had to just take it in now. Just take in his stupid sentimental dirt, chew it up and spit it out when he was most certainly looking. He knew what this was. He allowed his face to rise without meeting the warrior, already looking unimpressed.

“I’m sorry.”

Crowpaw was surprised.

FOX-DUNG!

He has to get this moving or else he would quickly lose his cool. He allowed himself to find enough strength to murmur.  “About what? You didn’t do it.”

“No.” Stormfur quavered, “That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry about how I believed Brambleclaw so quickly.”

(He did what?)

Oh… that. Crowpaw honestly hadn’t thought much of it at the time, he’d really been too furious at the rat who had just beat him up. But if he thought about it clearly, he could just about make out how sharp and full of anger Stormfur had been at Brambleclaw’s accusation.

He’d really believed Crowpaw had attacked Squuirrelpaw.

Thinking about it now, Crowpaw realised how angry that made him. He knew that Stormfur probably trusted a rogue with Feathertail more than he did Crowpaw, but to think he would just spring on her with tooth and claw out of nowhere?

He really had no brains at all.

But still… It wasn’t like they’d ever gotten along in the first place, Crowpaw would have probably thought the same thing if he’d seen Stormfur pinning down Squirrelpaw. Besides, if the fool was apologising with his tail between his legs, there was no reason to hold a grudge. It would just get tiring. He was already angry enough at Brambleclaw.

Plus, if he held a grudge against Stormfur, that would definitely incense Feathertail. He didn’t want that. Internally, Crowpaw shrugged. It wasn’t worth getting bothered about.

“Whatever, it’s fine.” Crowpaw said, flicking his ear carelessly at the Warrior.

Stormfur looked astonished. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, you don’t believe him anymore now, do you?” Crowpaw gave him an icy look, pointing towards his bruised face as an explanation.

“No, not at all.” Stormfur shuffled around awkwardly, “I shouldn’t have thought you’d try to hurt her.”

Crowpaw noticed Stormfur’s eyes soften at the mention of her. The Windclan cat let out an exasperated puff of air. At least that explained Stormfur’s anger a little more.

“No, you shouldn’t.” Crowpaw agreed stonily, “Just because that fox-brain said so, it doesn’t mean a mouse-tail.”

Stormfur seemed to take it on the chin, sighing guiltily. “Yeah, I know, I know. It’s just that…”

Crowpaw flicked the Warrior with his tail to shut him up. “I get it. He’s a Warrior; why would he lie? The answer is that he’s a self-righteous idiot.” Crowpaw fumed, his claws glinting as they flicked out.

Stormfur made a small humming noise, his fur shivering slightly. “Maybe. It’s just, I mean, he’s her clanmate. I thought he must have been right.”

“Well he wasn’t.”

“I know.” Stormfur’s lips turned up. “It was kind of impressive that you didn’t just take it, though.”

Crowpaw lifted his head in bemusement. “What are you talking about? I didn’t land a strike on him.” Bramblelcaw hadn’t been the one left almost limping, he didn’t have blood seeping through his fur. What did Crowpaw have to be proud of?

Stormfur chuckled lightly, “Crowpaw, look at him. None of us would have if we were pinned under that! I certainly wouldn’t have done much better.” The grey warrior looked down warmly. “But still, most apprentices would have been in tears if that had happened to them. At least you just got up without making a hassle about it.” Stormfur nudged the apprentice playfully. Friendly. “I, for one, respect that.”

Crowpaw stared at the elder cat, not knowing what to say. Stormfur respected him? Just because he’d tried to take on Brambleclaw back. “But that’s just what any Warrior would do?”

Stormfur laughed, flicking Crowpaw’s ear with his tail. “Maybe any Warrior, yes. But not just any apprentice. Only one as stupid and brave as you would do that, Crowpaw.” Stormfur piped.

Crowpaw could have cringed as he felt a sudden admiration burst for the Riverclan cat. This cat had only days ago claimed that he didn’t trust Crowpaw with his sister, and now he was openly praising him for just not taking Brambleclaw’s attack like a young kittypet? Despite himself, Crowpaw couldn’t deny the Warrior’s words gave him a jolt of pride.

Stormfur didn’t pity him at all. He respected him.

Luckily, Crowpaw was able to cover that up. “I’m not as stupid at him, at least. You still think he makes a good Warrior?”

Stormfur hardened with a sigh. “Skilfully? Without a doubt.” Crowpaw frowned but he too had to admit the mouse-brain was good in terms of strength. That’s clear enough… “But I have to admit, I am worried about his attitude?”

“It took you this long.”

“Shut up.” Stormfur quipped softly, making sure no one else could hear them. “I was talking to Tawnypelt earlier. Even she is getting concerned about how officious he’s become?”

Crowpaw winced. His own sister doesn’t trust him. The grey apprentice scoffed though; he certainly wasn’t going to give the fool any sympathy now. “He’s always been like that to me.”

Stormfur looked forward pitifully, “I was okay with it before when it was just him acting like a leader. But… if he loses it like that again…” Crowpaw could see fear begin to well inside Stormfur. Something erupting in his memory.

Crowpaw pursed his lips. Then he gave the Warrior a light push with his pelt. “Steady. After what happened, I don’t think he’d dare.” And he didn’t. Brambleclaw surely couldn’t be stupid enough to try that again after how it had made him look.

Stormfur gave the apprentice a gentle look. “Starclan, I hope you’re right. Or else-”

“WAIT!”

The two toms, along with every cat, spun their eyes towards Squirrelpaw. The molly’s nose was in the air, sniffing and quivering in excitement.

Beside her, Feathertail gave her a questioning glimpse. “What is it?”

The apprentice turned to her, eyes glimmering with joy. “Can’t you smell that?! It’s salt!”

They all stared at her, unsure whether to let the hope seize them. Crowpaw quickly lifted his mouth to taste the air. Sure enough, that disgusting taste he’d received from that Twoleg pond, days ago, came back to smother his tongue. It sent a shockwave of emotions through the young cat.

“She’s right!” Stormfur exclaimed, his gape contorting into a grin. “It’s close!”

As if seizing the moment, Brambleclaw thrust his head into the direction of the sun, storming off into a sprint. “Come on!”

Every emotion was swept away from the cats, leaving cold adrenaline. They all burst off after the brown Warrior, their muscles clenching with a thrilling power. Crowpaw’s heart pounded, not with exhaustion, but with hysteria. The salty tang was growing closer and closer, beckoning them all to their destination.

Then, Crowpaw raised a brow as he saw Brambleclaw skid to a halt. The apprentice was about to lash out until he looked closer; soon enough he and every other cat paused as they met the edge of a huge cliff, towering over an expanse of blue-green water, shifting across itself in spitting white waves.

In the furthest reaches of what they could see, the sun sank into the watery bed, casting a gleaming orange glow over the horizon.

Crowpaw felt a sudden giddiness creep across him, making him sit down as he felt his paws numb in amazement. This was it. Their destination. The Sun-drown place.

This journey hadn’t been all for nothing.

For once, Crowpaw was glad that he had been wrong.

“We made it.” Feathertail’s voice came from Crowpaw’s left. Her eyes sparkled against the golden rays, glistening just like the water below them.

Crowpaw nodded to his friend. “Yeah, we actually did.” Feathertail turned to him, smiling brightly at the tom, almost looking like she was about to cry from the relief.

“Was there ever any doubt?” Squirrelpaw cut in playfully, rubbing her tail between the two cats before resting at Crowpaw’s right. The grey cat sighed aside, not able to stop himself from smiling at the apprentice’s attitude.

“Not from you, Squirrelpaw. You know best after all.” Feathertail teased with a half-lidded smirk.

Squirrelpaw shook her fluffy pelt. “The words of a genius, Feathertail.” Against the glow of the sun, her orange fur swayed gracefully, almost mimicking a small fire. Crowpaw felt his stomach settle peacefully for the first time in hours, and he snickered before he knew it.

“Great work on finding the smell.” Crowpaw praised, gently pressing his tail against the cat.

Squirrelpaw may have blushed, but she shrugged so quickly that Crowpaw couldn’t tell. “Hey, I learnt from the best.” She smiled at him.

Crowpaw smiled back.

Then Brambleclaw cut into it. “We’ve got to hurry. We have to find the cave with teeth before it gets dark.”

As much as Crowpaw tensed at the sound of the idiot’s voice, he had to let it slide. Brambleclaw was right. They did need to move on and find Midnight as soon as they could. Just because they’d found where Starclan had directed them to, it didn’t mean their journey was over yet.

“Which way should we go?” Tawnypelt asked, looking out over the cliff face. There wasn’t a clear direction now, unless they wanted to submerge themselves in a watery grave.

Before anyone could even look around, Brambleclaw seemed to have made a decision for them. “This way.” He ordered, leading along the cliff face.

Crowpaw noticed the others looking between themselves questioningly. Clearly, Brambleclaw was losing his hold as a leader. However, there was nowhere else that could have been any worse, so they just followed along. Maybe one of us can spot a place to rest if he doesn’t. Crowpaw thought.

They all kept as safe a distance as they could from the cliff’s edge, but near enough to peer over to check for the cave. It filled Crowpaw with a small anxiety to imagine any of the cats tumbling down into those waters. Especially from this height.

He shuddered to think about it.

None of the cats said anything to each other as they walked. They were all concentrated on finding the cave. Crowpaw squinted down time and time again, but all he could see was the roaring waves, jagged rocks spiking from the bottom, and the land of the cliff slowly becoming less and less steep. The latter was a comfort at least.

Another comfort was that as they travelled, they could make out plenty of places where they could rest if they didn’t find the cave. From clefts in the cliff face, there had been several hollows made in the ruinous rock, but also creases wide and deep enough for the cats to gather if they needed to.

“There are plenty of places to shelter for the night if we don’t find the cave.” Stormfur pleasantly echoed their thoughts.

“We’ll find it!” Brambleclaw insisted roughly, jumping over another cleft as he did so. The cats shared a collective groan at the crude desperation of his tone. “Don’t lose heart so quickly when we’ve just found the Sun-drown place.”

“I’m not!” Stormfur exclaimed, exasperated. “I’m just saying we have other options.”

Brambleclaw grunted, not bothering to look back. “Well how about we stick with Starclan’s option until it gets dark. Then we can follow your lead, alright?”

Crowpaw exhaled deeply. Here we go.

Stormfur’s ears went flat against his head, his eyes burning into the tom’s back. But Feathertail wouldn’t let her tongue rest. “Would you mind calming down? How is snapping at everyone for no reason going to help any of us?” She hissed.

Squirrelpaw watched carefully over Feathertail, hoping her anger wouldn’t make her lose focus. “Careful now.”

“Better than another setback, at least.” Brambleclaw spat. “We’ve been out her for days, who knows what’s going on back in the forest? Our clans aren’t going to wait while we waste another day.”

“And they might not have anything to wait for, if we take needless risks!” Tawnypelt snapped, her tail flaring in a fury. “You may want to push yourself beyond your limits, Brambleclaw, but it isn’t just you that Starclan chose!”

Brambleclaw’s shoulders broadened at his sister’s harsh tone. When he spoke, his teeth were clearly clenched. “I’m just trying to make sure nothing happens to my clan. Is that so wrong?”

Crowpaw couldn’t stop his lips from whispering. “Knowing your judgement, yes.”

It wasn’t clear if Brambleclaw had heard what was said, but his ear flicked at the sound of the apprentice. “What was that?!” He yowled, looking over his shoulder maliciously.

Crowpaw stared him down, he wasn’t going to submit to this bee-brain. “Keep your eyes on the cliff.”

“If you want to keep your eyes, you’ll shut up!” Brambleclaw grumbled, clearly not caring who heard him as the rest of the cats drew back in shock.

Crowpaw wasn’t intimidated, but before he could laugh off the threat, Squirrelpaw started forward with a snarl. “Don’t you threaten him!”

“That’s right, favour other clans over your own, like you always do.” Brambleclaw growled, his tail shaking in anger.

Squirrelpaw’s eyes blazed like the sun over the horizon. “Oh yeah! Because you treated me soooooo well when we first set off! You’re a real good clanmate, you are!” She hissed sarcastically.

Brambleclaw’s eye appeared over his shoulder, along with the grit of his teeth. “If it wasn’t for me, you ungrateful kit, you wouldn’t even be here in the first place! You should be thanking me!” The Warrior seethed with an unbelievable venom.

Crowpaw pulsed, rage filling his heart. After ever insult, every cold shoulder, after his attack, this fox-heart still had the nerve to say that to Squirrelpaw. Crowpaw wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt as enraged as he did now. His fur was on end until he could have resembled a hedgehog.

But what he also knew was that Squirrelpaw was perfectly capable of speaking for herself.

The Thunderclan apprentice narrowed her eyes, not even blinking at her clanmate’s words. “Remember what you said? I would have come along anyway. I don’t owe you anything but a rake on the ears!”

As sharp as always.

Brambleclaw let out a growl that was more like a roar. He blazed with outrage, but he knew he couldn’t react, every cat was staring at him as if he was the bad guy. His expression twisted, he looked certain to say something else, even more hurtful.

“Brambleclaw, please just shut up for once!” Tawnypelt exclaimed, stepping forward to her brother cautiously. “This isn’t helping any of us!”

“What in Starclan has happened to you, Tawnypelt?” Brambleclaw hissed softly, stopping in place.

For once, Tawnypelt looked caught off-guard. “Excuse me?”

“My leader, my clan?” Brambleclaw’s voice was low and dangerous, bubbling with icy fury. “And now my sister. Why can’t any of you understand that I’m trying my best for you all?!” He spat ruthlessly, his back quivering as he did so.

Tawnypelt stared at her brother, silent for a moment, then her lips contracted into a grimace. “Will you stop blaming everyone around you?” She erupted, taking another heavy step towards the Warrior. “It’s no one’s fault but your own that you’re acting like this!”

“Acting like what? A loyal Warrior! Is that so wrong to you?!”

“No, it’s not-” Curtly, Tawnypelt stopped. The air around the cats dropped, becoming cold and hollow. The only thing they could hear was the crash of the waves below. “…Was that supposed to mean something?”

At that, every cat realised that it had. And they shivered when they put together what it was that Brambleclaw had meant.

If there had been any regret at his words, Brambleclaw didn’t turn to show it. He continued to shake, growling softly. That was his only frustrated reply.

The scrape of Tawnypelt’s claws against the rock became evident. The Shadowclan Warrior breathed slowly and roughly. “No, Brambleclaw.” Tawnypelt said with a remarkable, frightening calmness. “There’s nothing wrong with acting loyal. But there is something wrong when you’re acting like…” Tawnypelt stopped again, wondering if she was angry enough to stoop to that.

Every cat realised what she was about to say. Every cat’s eyes widened with caution. Brambleclaw’s head rose up sharply, his claws clenched in, and his breathing became fast and ragged. “Acting like who?” He dared her to finish.

She did.

“Acting like him.”

The roar of waves built up, crashing against the rocks violently. Brambleclaw didn’t move, only motioning with the shaky, rasping breaths coming behind his fangs. No cat could find the strength to make a move. A cruel tension had swept over them all. Suddenly, with a rush, Brambleclaw twisted to face his sister. Eyes wild with furious, aching tears. “DON’T COMPARE ME TO-”

He wasn’t able to begin on his tirade. When he turned, his paw had found the edge of the cliff face. He slipped on the cleft. The anger in his face subsided, panic welling as he tumbled sideways into the hollow.

That panic swarmed over the other cats as they watched him helplessly slip through the hollow. Brambleclaw tried to cling his claws into the loose vines, but it didn’t help as soil battered his face making him cough and fall further. Crowpaw watched the frenzy in horror. Even if he hated Brambleclaw, he didn’t want the Warrior to die! But what could they do? There was no way he was going to be able to cling on, and they couldn’t reach him even if he did.

That didn’t stop Stormfur though.

“Stormfur!” Feathertail wailed after him. The Grey Warrior leapt into the hollow after the Thunderclan cat, trying to cling onto his shoulders. It didn’t work. The soil was too loose and soon both began tumbling down at a more furious pace.

Crowpaw’s heart clenched with dread. That idiot! What had he been thinking?! Feathertail’s jaw hung with hysterical fear, wanting to go after her brother, but Crowpaw held her back. He couldn’t sit back and watch more cats potentially lose their lives. If they could just take a moment to think, just maybe they could find a way to reach them at the bottom.

Then Crowpaw watched as Squirrelpaw darted into the hollow with a yowl.

He watched as she landed on top of the falling cats, and saw when they fell out of the dirt, flailing into the water.

“No!” He yowled, grim despair enveloping his heart. But he couldn’t do anything but watch as they plummeted into the unknown.

“Brambleclaw!” Tawnypelt cried, peering over the edge, but the hollow blocked her sight to where they could have fallen. Horrifically, the soil beneath her feet crumbled and she too tumbled over the edge with a howl.

“Where are they?” Feathertail screeched, trying to find any signal that their friends were still alive. Crowpaw searched desperately as well, never before overcome by such sheer terror. His heart thundered as the sound of the water rushed through his ears, taunting him. The current carried along the cliff, slow but clearly heavy. Crowpaw rushed along beside it. He couldn’t even find the time to breathe.

Come on, come on, please! Please be alright! Had he ever been this terrified before? No. He didn’t care. He just had to find his friends! The other two ran behind him as he did so. But not as fast as him. He ran until his sides hurt and his scars felt like they were burning and it was painful to breathe and he was pretty sure he was crying and when he stumbled he got back up again in half a second to continue through the pain.

His body wasn’t in control. His mind was. And it was set on one thing.

He didn’t even question anymore why he was so scared.

That would just be stupid at this point.

…

How had she ended up here?

The short answer would be that she jumped off a cliff. But that was also the dumb answer. There were so many things running through her mind, and she only knew how to handle a select few.

On the one hand, they had found the Sun-drown place. They were one step closer in completing their journey. That was the good news, and it was amazing news after all they’d been through so far.

On the other hand, she was certain she was going to lose her mind over that grey apprentice.

She couldn’t get him out of her sight. Not once. She didn’t want to. Every time she tried to keep her eyes forward and focus, some part of her panged to look back, to check over him, to hope to see him better.

It wouldn’t stop.

And after it had become clear that he was in no mood to talk, she surprisingly didn’t find herself bothered that much. She understood. So she tried to keep it quiet, to lie that she would forget what had happened that had hurt him. She knew she wouldn’t, but she would try. If that would help him, she would try.

It was only when they had found the Sun-drown place that it had worked. That was when he smiled again, looking more like the cat she had grown to adore.

But that was when another problem had surfaced. When she saw his smile against the yellow-blue radiance of the water, fizzing around him like the aura of a star.

Squirrelpaw knew that something had changed. And it scared her. It scared her more than the roar of the waves below them ever had.

That was why she had kept necessarily quiet when Brambleclaw had started on his tirade. She had other, more important things to worry about. She couldn’t be. She just couldn’t.

She thought about how Feathertail and Stormfur would never see their father again because of his feelings.

She thought about Feathertail and the way she looked at Crowpaw.

She thought about the Clans back home.

And then she finally brought up her voice again when Brambleclaw had threatened Crowpaw. She wouldn’t allow that to go unrecognised, not after what he did. She didn’t care about whatever cruel comments he had to say about her, but he was never going to attack her friends if she had anything to say about it.

Maybe her heart throbbed a little at how much it had hurt Brambleclaw when Tawnypelt had said what she’d said, but her satisfaction that someone had finally said it was stronger. If Brambleclaw really wanted to wipe away the visage of that cat, he needed to hear it. Especially from Tawnypelt.

Then he had fallen into the hollow.

Squirrelpaw did not like Brambleclaw anymore. He had shown her nothing but insults and hurt throughout the journey; while the others had given her the confidence to speak up and treat herself like the Warrior she was going to be, Brambleclaw had seemed determined to remind her that he was the chosen cat and not her.

She knew that he had no respect for her.

But that did not mean that he wasn’t her clanmate. Her Clan flowed through her blood, and it meant that she would always protect them when she needed to. No matter who it was.

That was why she had jumped. It wasn’t a choice, it was instinct.

Although she had to roll her eyes despite falling through the hollow when Brambleclaw had protested her help. “No-go back!”

A little late to do that! He’d sure picked the wrong time to act like he cared!

The wind rushed in Squirrelpaw’s ears, and it was harder than she’d thought to keep her balance as they fell. She braced herself to be enveloped by the water, taking in a deep, life-saving, breath.

Only to be met with the heavy slap of pebbles.

Squirrelpaw hissed from the pain, looking around to find her friends, where her jaw dropped at what stood before them. The cave: a massive mouth of rock, splintered with sharp pillars of stone near it’s entrance. Fresh drops of water gleamed against the murky rocks, winking in the red sunlight.

It’s here! The cave with teeth! Squirrelpaw thought excitedly.

Squirrelpaw tried to stand on her paws, and was whisked back down as a torrent of water shoved against her backside, dragging the weight away from her feet. Taking a small breath, she stopped the salty liquid from entering her mouth, shifting her small weight in the waves and just about managing to find her balance.

Nearby, she heard a mixture of frightened yowling and coughing. Squirrelpaw turned and saw Brambleclaw writhing helplessly in the water, his eyes squeezed shut in pain. He must have swallowed and gotten an eyeful of the saltwater. A protective impulse pounded in Squirrelpaw’s mind and she forcefully kicked her paws into the direction of her clanmate.

The waves were strong, but Squirrelpaw was persistent. Once she was near enough, she latched her teeth onto Brambleclaw’s shoulder, dragging him up, making sure his head was above the draining water. The tom coughed out a splatter of saltwater, hazily blinking at his clanmate.

“No.” He rasped, water spilling out as he spoke. “You can’t-you’ll drown…”

So will you if I don’t help you, mouse-brain. Was what she wanted to yowl, but she couldn’t do that without letting go of him. She kicked her paws away from the sucking waves, furiously edging towards the cave. She settled slightly when she felt pebbles beneath her feet, and the tide changed, pushing them onwards.

She found herself on drier pebbles and she shifted all of her strength into pulling Brambleclaw along with her. By Starclan, was the tom heavy. It also didn’t help that the shallow water threatened to drag him back into the watery tomb. The pebbles scattered underneath her, almost causing her to trip. Then Bramblecla seemed to lighten, and Squirrelpaw noticed Stormfur behind, showing Brambleclaw along with his head. He looked so much smaller with his fur sodden and plastered against his skin. She’d hate to think how small she looked right now.

Finally, she and Stormfur had pulled Brambleclaw onto what felt like solid rock. Squirrelpaw released him, gasping and collapsing onto her belly. Every bit of strength had been sucked out of her and she felt clagged from the water soaked in her fur. She looked down at Brambleclaw who lay still, softly panting, his eyes dimming over.

Oh no you don’t! Squirrelpaw stumbled over to where the still tom laid, and she frantically prodded him with her paw. He didn’t have the right to leave them now! “Brambleclaw, wake up!” She shouted, feeling her heart pace at the thought of darkness taking over her clanmate. They all needed each other, every clan cat deserved the right to go home a hero.

Blinking lazily, Brambleclaw rose his head, opening his eyes finally and managing to meet Squirrelpaw’s eyes. She let out a sigh of relief. Even though he was moaning in pain, at least he was alive.

“Thank Starclan.” Squirrelpaw muttered, taking a step away to give the tom some space. “I thought you were dead.”

Brambleclaw grunted weakly, “I-I’m okay.” He said, seeming to choke as he did so. The haze faded from his eyes and he softly rose to meet Squirrelpaw’s eyes. Squirrelpaw was amazed, he actually looked… thankful. Well, he should have been, anyway. But he also looked fragile. Not so much the angry cat that had darkened her journey.

She sighed. What was she thinking? This wasn’t the place. Of course, she was glad he was okay.

Something shifted in Brambleclaw’s gaze and he suddenly made an effort to lift himself up. Retching, he vomited several mouthfuls of water, clearing his body of the heavy pain. As he shivered from the cold and the sickly tremors, Squirrelpaw never thought she’d seen him this vulnerable before.

“Feeling better?” She asked.

Brambleclaw spat out whatever saltwater was left and he nodded.

“Thanks to you, he will be.” Stormfur called. Squirrelpaw found him shaking his sodden fur, but his eyes gleamed with admiration for her. It made her blush slightly. “If it wasn’t for you, that could have ended badly.”

“Oh, it wasn’t like it was me alone.” Squirrelpaw purred.

“You still jumped in.” Squirrelpaw turned with a start towards Brambleclaw. Wearily, the tom lifted his head again, his amber eyes darkened with confusion. “You could have died… Why- I thought you said you hated me.” The tom challenged, his voice numb with fatigue and mystery.

Squirrelpaw rolled her eyes. That was the first thing he thought about. Starclan… what a bee-brain. “I did.” She affirmed, her green eyes flickering with annoyance. “But you’re still my clan. What else am I going to do?”

Brambleclaw only stared at her, his eyes hazing over again with a misty expression. His head dropped again, staring at the pebbled floor, when they all heard footsteps approach.

“Brambleclaw?” The tom turned at his sister’s voice. She approached him with a hard expression, her legs were damp with water, but her body was mostly unscathed. She must have been lucky enough to find her footing on the pebbles before the wave came.

Brambleclaw’s tired eyes brightened suddenly at the sight of his sister, then dropped again, the memory of their last conversation thundering over them. He frowned deeply at the floor, but his mouth was thin with visible conflict. As Tawnypelt’s steps closed in, Brambleclaw’s hard façade crumbled like the pebbles below him, making his mouth quiver and his tail dip between his legs.

It was only when she was right in front of him that Brambleclaw found the courage to raise his head. “Tawnypelt… I-”

He sounded off when Tawnypelt leaned close against him, rubbing her head against his tenderly. Brambleclaw’s pupils shrank at his sister’s action, but when he tried to speak she swiftly silenced him. “Just, shut up.” She yapped, her voice strained with relief.

The Thunderclan Warrior did shut up, and his eyes creased with unspoken words that needed to be said, and he buried his face back against hers, sharing in her momentary fondness.

Squirrelpaw and Stormfur looked on at the sentimental display. It was kind of cringy to look at, but Stormfur pointed out that he could see Squirrelpaw smiling. Perhaps there was some hope for them after all.

“Are you all alright?” Feathertail’s panicked tone erupted around the cave. The cats turned towards the cave. Just past the rush of water and the sparkling pebbles, the cave opened its mouth in a frightening invitation. The walls were large and smooth, mostly covered by shadow, except for a small hole in the roof.

Where Crowpaw and Feathertail peered through.

Squirrelpaw’s heart leapt with alleviation. “We’re okay now. Just a little wet.”

“Hold on! We’re coming down!” Crowpaw exclaimed. Squirrelpaw’s ear twitched at the panic in his tone. That was something she’d never heard before. The two cats padded quickly down a series of clefts and ledges safely embedded in the rock, until they too had found their destination.

Feathertail wasted no time rushing to her brother and enveloping him with loving licks on the cheek. “Oh, thank goodness. I thought I’d lost you!” The Warrior exulted through her fear.

Stormfur blushed under his sister’s affection but he rubbed against her comfortingly. “Hey, hey, we’re fine. Look around, we’re here.” He cooed as his sister continued to smother him.

Now Squirrelpaw didn’t mind that she was smiling. Feathertail’s happiness had that effect on cats. She heard pawprints coming towards her and she went to grin at Crowpaw. “Here we are! Pretty amazing, r-”

She lost her voice as Crowpaw pulled her into a tight embrace.

It came back like the roar of a lion.

He was so close. His paws were wrapped around her body, never breaking, like he was afraid to let go. Her heart began to thunder again, and she lost her breath like she had been submerged by another wave.

There was wetness were his cheeks were pressed against her. It wasn’t from her fur. Had he… Had he been crying? He’d been that worried? About her?

It no longer shocked her why that made her heart melt.

“C-Crowpaw…” Squirrelpaw sputtered, she felt his grip around her tighten.

“Mouse-brain.” He tried to hide the break in his voice. “You could have been killed.” There was a low anger there, but he never let go at all.

Squirrelpaw felt something bloom inside her. He really had been… scared over her safety.

Was she meant to want to smile this much?

“W-Well, I wasn’t.” She breathed, hoping wit would calm him down. It did a little as he let out a crooked note of a laugh, but mostly he just hugged her.

“Just be quiet.” He snapped, but she could feel him smile against her cheek. “And never ever do anything like that again.”

Earlier on, she’d wanted him to cheer up. Squirrelpaw wasn’t sure if this counted at all. But it had to be better.

Why else would it feel so good?

She knew why. That was why it was such a delight to wrap her arms around him and hug him back.

“I won’t.” She promised, knowing that she would break it like she did to so many.

It wasn’t like it mattered now.

It didn’t even matter that in a few minutes they would be thrown off by what Midnight really was, and the dreading news she was to bring about their clans.

That could wait.

All that mattered was now. And now was hugging Crowpaw.

Now. It was nice.

…

[fieryfantasybooklover]

Creeping Corruption - Chapter 5 (Final Chapter) - The End

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

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@lily-chen-deserves-better @zafirafox4636 @girlwhohatesstuff @blackthorn-necromancy @daisyherxndale @brotherlipsmackariahs @themostawesomehuman @friendlyneighbourhoodreader @idontgetit-whydoihavetosaymyname @insane---chaos @rainbow-sheepofthefamily @churchthecatismyspiritanimal @cordeliacarstairs1903 @imherongraystairstrash

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Everything happened way too quickly for any reaction besides chaos. Aliens of all forms poured in from so many entrances that Jem’s head spun. The kids instantly burst into tears, sobbing and screaming and wailing. This had no effect on the alien soldiers, who surrounded them and hustled them out of the room, despite the efforts of the older ones to resist. Kit had swept up Tavvy in his arms, and was stubbornly refusing to let go of the toddler. Max and Rafe were raising hell, kicking and yelling. All the other children were crying and sobbing, but seemed to have been shocked into submission. Only Mina went quietly and without a fight. Her dark eyes were thoughtful but her face revealed nothing, having settled on a calm docile mask. At that moment, nobody could have known what she was thinking or what she was feeling.

With this series of events, Tessa snapped. The aliens had pulled her and Jem appart, and were holding them tightly. But Tessa was having none of it. Her warlock’s magic wasn’t working here, a fact she knew since she had tried multiple times to locate Jem through it. But when Tessa was angry, there wasn’t any stopping her. She wrenched herself from the alien’s grasp, vibrating head to toe with anger. Tessa might be a hundreds of years old warlock, but she was by no means frail and took down atleast 10 aliens before she was wrestled to the ground. Catching one last glimpse of Mina before her daughter was removed from the room, Tessa shouted at her daughter to stay safe, to stay alive, and that her parents would always come for her.

Tessa was again forced to her feet and turned to face what appeared to be the highest ranking alien here. Casting her eyes to Jem’s, both silently acknowledged that they would escape and find the kids again as soon as possible, but for now they needed to pretend to give up. Sighing, Tessa sagged and put up a defeated air, with Jem following suit. The head alien smiled smugly, and it couldn’t have been clearer that it considered himself to have earned a victory. And then it began talking, to which Jem and Tessa found they could still understand it.

“It appears the trap we have laid for you succeeded. Did you really think it would be that easy to sneak into our city? Into our main military base? Into our high risk prison block?” The alien shook its bear-like head with a condescending air. “I really would have expected the lone survivors of an ancient warrior race to be smarter. But then, you survived only because we allowed you too. No combination of luck or skill could have granted you life when we wanted you to perish. But it does not matter now. Your children will be coming with us when we move into your old world. By now, there will be so few humans that it will be easy to get rid of them. Even with your pathetic little bunker.” Tessa’s face paled at that, and the alien chuckled. “Yes. We know all about the bunker. And we will leave it be, it poses no threat anyway.” The alien paused. “You however. You two pose a threat, however mild. So I have decided that you will be left here, in this world. It’s extremely toxic for your kind, but over long periods of time. Your end won’t be pleasant.”

At this point, Tessa and Jem were feeling extremely sick and scared. Trembling all over, heart’s shattering, hungry and thirsty, reeling with realization, but doing their best to hide all of those.

“Oh, and if you’re wondering what we’re going to do with the kids, you needn’t worry. They will live long lives, being taught all about how their parents and their friends abandoned them to be taken. They will revere us as gods, and hate you with all their hearts. They are still young, with malleable brains and changeable memories. It wouldn’t be surprising if they were to return to take revenge.” The alien stopped talking, letting the silence stretch out. As much as the parents wanted to believe that would never happen, both knew better. Years of witnessing pain and hurt for both of them had more than opened their eyes to the harsh realities of existence and the attributes of the brain.

The aliens, satisfied that they had proved their point, threw Jem and Tessa into separate cells, locked them tightly, and pocketed the key. As the group of aliens filed out of the room, they pulled large panels of rock and what appeared to be some type of strange metal in front of the door. With each sickening clang, the room was farther plunged into darkness, and Tessa and Jem drifted farther into their minds. When the last rock slab was pushed against the door, sickening silence and deadly finality descended. Tessa turned into Jem, and finally, finally, allowed herself to cry. She screamed and wailed, flailed and pounded the floor of the cell until her hands were bloody. Through all of this, Jem held her close and let her cry. He understood deep in his bones that this was the end. There were no more miracles or second chances after this.

Outside, far into the desert, a portal had been opened. The city had been emptied, with nothing but remnants left behind. Remnants, and two warlocks who would never manage to leave. The last ones through the portal were the children. The poor, confused, weeping children who wanted nothing more than to see their parents. The children that would be shaped into coldhearted murderers, the children whose emotions would be stamped out. The children who would be forced to live on the ashes of their families.

-20 years passed-

Tessa raised her head, blearily blinking her eyes. She had heard a sound outside, coming from an unknown source. It had been so long since she had heard something besides Jem… so unbearably long... Time had passed in waves and rivers, sometimes passing slowly, other times going so fast it seemed that years passed in hours. There had been some times that Tessa had wished she had died. It had been 20 long years of no food, no water. 20 long years of breathing dusty air and being stuck in one small cell. 20 long years of wondering what had happened to her daughter. 20 long years of wishing for death but not being allowed to die, preserved by whatever lingering alien magic remained.

But now, finally, the axe was falling. The door to the cellblock opened, admitting a small group of people. They appeared to be in their mid-twenties, lithe and strong, and… Tessa’s eyes widened as she realized exactly who those people must be. Jem stiffened, seemingly realizing it too. There was Rafe, tall and dark haired and stone faced and imposing. He was being shadowed by a younger boy, blue skinned and horned, with an expression of undying hate on his face. Despite everything, Tessa wanted to laugh hysterically. Even now, after so long, Max was still his older brother’s shadow. At the back of the group was Tavvy, brown haired and holding a dagger in each hand. And then, at the head of the group, was the person that would hurt the most to see. Mina. Their Mina. Looking at them with disgust and anger. That look shattered whatever remained of Tessa and Jem, and both curled up tightly, unable to face their daughter.

“Well. Look at what has become of the once mighty Tessa and Jem. Looking at you now, I’m not surprised you gave us up. You’re cowards. You and everyone else.” Tessa looked up, suddenly realizing that somebody was missing. “Where’s Kit?” she asked, already dreading the answer. Tavvy laughed, cold and empty. “I disposed of him years ago. He refused to accept the truth, so I got rid of him. He was a drag, always going on about how you loved us and tried to save us.” Tavvy looked thoughtful. “I wonder why he would do that. He was probably put up to it by you. Seems like something you’d do anyway.”

Tessa’s heart and Jem’s broke even more at that, if it was even possible. In the time where they still could converse, they agreed that Kit was their last hope. He was old enough to remember what had really happened. But it seemed like the aliens had won, again. Tavvy had been the youngest, so it made cruel sense that he would be the one that turned easiest and stayed there. Nevertheless, it hurt. So much. Turning to Max and Rafe, Tessa appealed to them with every last ounce of her soul. But she was unsuccessful. Rafe merely turned away, ignoring them. Max though, he spoke up. “You killed my dads! I hate you!” Jem attempted to speak up, but was cut off by Mina. “Enough talking! We came here to get rid of them, not to chat.” At that, she pulled out a key and unlocked the cell. Gesturing for them to get out, she withdrew a long, evil dagger from her pack.

Tessa and Jem forced themselves to their feet to exit the cell. Once they made their way out, Mina forced them to their knees, along with the phrase “Die on your knees, like the awful people you are.” Jem’s hand found Tessa’s, gripping it as tightly as he could muster. Every last memory, every last shred of love and happiness flew between them in that moment, as they kneeled, surrounded by the people who had once looked at them with love and admiration. People who know looked at them with hate, anger, and condescension. There was not a worse feeling in existence then watching love turn to hate, and joy turn to anger. There was no worse pain then being surrounded by people you loved with all your heart, knowing they wanted you dead and wouldn’t lose sleep over it. As Mina braced herself and prepared to kill them, and as the others closed ranks around them, Tessa and Jem prepared for the book of their lives to be shut.

The twisted circle of life closed as Mina shoved the dagger into Jem’s heart and let him fall limp to the floor. As Tessa wept, trembling, falling to the floor beside him, holding tight to her husband and refusing to let go. As Tessa screamed in pain and hurt as Mina ripped her mother away from her father, and looked her in the eyes. As Mina whispered, “You deserve this” and drove the dagger into Tessa’s heart as well. As Mina let her mother fall beside her father, turned and exited the room, gesturing for the others to follow.

In the end, the creeping corruption won. It won with hate and deceit and lies. It won with rage and anger and disgust. It won with murder and blood and emptiness and death. It won, as the children now adults entered a portal back. As they looked out over the cruel new world they called home, not turning back and leaving the last shards of their old life behind, stabbed in the heart, with tears still streaking their faces, the darkness finally won.

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 24

Read on AO3. Part 23 here. Part 25 here.

Summary: Remember life before you were a Resistance spy fucking her Commander? There was so much less intrigue, back then.

Words: 2500

Warnings: Handmaid AU

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: Oopsie sorryyyyyy. I gotta stick to the pacing, y'all, gotta be true to who I am.

Really happy for the feedback on the last chapter, as it was entirely new for me to write a scene with like, that many people doing that many things, haha. I'm so glad it seemed to maintain some tension. I'm out here trying to grow my writing skills namsayin'.

Anyway, I love y'all so much, as usual. I am so blessed to even one or two folks give a shit about what I write, so, thank you. <3

“Little bird.”

The sound of Kylo Ren’s voice at your door jolted you awake in the mid-dawn hours of the morning. Beyond your window, the sun was just barely beginning to crack through the horizon--goldenrod rays split through puffy pink clouds, an ombre of Easter-egg color stretching like a tapestry across the sky. Silent, you rolled out of bed, hesitating. You were in your nightgown. Should you tie up your hair, put on your dress? He’d already seen you naked, it wasn’t as if--

The door opened, and you leapt back, folding your arms over your chest as blood rushed your face. Ren stood, a barrier between you and the hallway, casting a glance over you before meeting your eyes. Jaw tensing, he stepped into the room and shut the door, sucking oxygen and tranquility from the air.

“Good morning, Commander.” You took another step back, hip hitting your mattress. 

Ren’s lids fluttered in thought as he glimpsed the sunrise, then looked back to you. “My name.”

You shrugged. “Didn’t want to test you.”

“You have an interesting way of showing it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your behavior last night.”

“My behavior?” Heat festered at your toes, climbing your spine. “What about your behavior? What about you will be safe?” There was more anger than you wanted to admit--more hurt than you were willing to acknowledge. “If your Wife hadn’t intervened, who knows where I’d be right now.”

Ren’s expression was as flat as ever. “Johana’s intervention would have been unnecessary if you had behaved.”

“I think you know very well by now that I’m not one to silence my criticisms of Gilead.” A tiny smirk tugged at your lips. “In fact, I seem to remember you being interested in those criticisms.”

His gaze drifted--he stared over your shoulder, into the wall. His hands tensed, curling in and out of fists. “Circumstances changed.”

You remembered how he’d appeared talking to Snoke, the man before you now incompatible with the boyish fear you’d seen flash behind your Commander’s eyes. You hated that this trembled your heart, urged you toward understanding--because you also remembered the atrocities he’d admitted to organizing, the bodies that hung from his hands. How could these two pieces of person find room in the same mind, how a demon could wrestle its way into humanity, tear it apart, make a home? Remembering Ren’s uncertain voice on the recording, though--Ben Solo’s voice--perhaps the demon needn’t have wrestled at all. Perhaps he’d been invited in.

Chewing your lip, you shrugged again. “Well, so have mine, Commander.” 

Ren frowned and stepped toward you, pulling something small and flat from his pocket. You flinched, throwing up your arms in defense--he snatched your hand, shoving the object into your open palm. Blinking, you examined it. It was a small, wooden handle, lined with steel bolsters, a fat silver button embedded in the scale. Tilting it in your grip, you spied the hidden blade and gasped, glaring at him.

“A switchblade?” You tried to wrench away, but he held you in his grasp. “What’s this for?”

Eyes darting over your face, he curled your fingers around it. “If the Council believes you to be working for the Resistance, their sympathy for your possible pregnancy will disappear. They will do whatever is needed to get the information they want.” He released you, nodded toward the knife. “If they attempt to capture you.”

For a moment, you were speechless, focus switching between him and the weapon. There was no way he was intending you fight anyone with such a tiny blade.

“Are you telling me to kill myself if they try to capture me?” You snorted. “Can’t you at least give me a gun?”

“Your skill with a pistol leaves much to be desired.” His tone was almost tender--you would’ve thought he was teasing you if he hadn’t just instructed you to slit your own throat if you were apprehended by the Eyes.

“Do you really think they’ll be coming after me so soon?” You pressed the button, and the blade shot out--you jumped. 

Ren took your hand again, folding the knife back into a locked position and flipping the safety, then returned his attention to you. “I’d prefer to be prepared for anything, after your performance last night.”

You sighed, tugging your arm away. “Fine. But I’m not… I’m not doing that. I hope you know that.”

“Do what you wish with it.” He turned and opened the door. His face was stone. “But you have it.”

Wiggling it in your fingers, you nodded. “I have it.”

His gaze flitted over your figure a final time, and he left, shutting the door behind him. 

The rest of your morning was, thankfully, far less eventful than your Commander suggesting you create a suicide pact with yourself. As you prepared for your walk, however, the feeling of looming dread grew heavier and heavier over your shoulders. Armitage could have made an educated guess regarding your relationship with Ren--it didn’t necessarily had to have come from a reliable source. But the idea that it was even possible, that Ofarmitage could’ve sold you out to her own illicit affair swept you in a tide of nausea. You’d have to bring it up with her. For both of your sakes.

Before you left your room, you considered the switchblade. It was thin, discreet enough that it would fit up your sleeve, but to take it seemed like you’d be agreeing with Ren--that, yes, your life was in danger, that you needed an escape plan. Yet, it was his way of giving you a choice. Of protecting you. You shoved it up your sleeve and left the house. 

Despite the continued soreness at your backside, you were able to walk normally--another fact you could be thankful for. You trudged out past the front lawn and through the front gate, noticing Ren’s car had disappeared for the day. The knife in your sleeve had already made itself at home; after only a few minutes, you barely remembered it.

You met Ofarmitage at the sidewalk, seeking out some evidence of betrayal in her demeanor, but found none. She appeared as standoffish as ever. 

“Blessed be the fruit,” you said. 

“May the Lord open.”

You sidled up next to her, scanning her, willing yourself to see into her mind. There was no good time to confront her, really. 

“What’s your relationship with Armitage like?” You kept your back straight, your eyes forward.

“Why do you ask?” No sound of tremor in her voice.

“I just…” There was some honesty in the question, despite the intention. “I wonder what he does to make you feel that he loves you.” 

Ofarmitage was silent, for a moment. No change in the shuffle of her shoes. “It’s… small stuff,” she said. “He’ll leave me things. A cube of sugar. A flower. A quarter--you know, from before.” Another pause. “He’ll make me laugh. On purpose.” A soft sigh escaped her. “He’ll make sure my uniform is straight before I leave the house.”

You swallowed. The admission brought a strange mixture of sickness and envy and pity to your chest. To imagine the awful weasel you’d met last night doing such things seemed unbelievable--and to recognize how grateful she was for such tiny concessions was crushing. And still, a whiny little voice in the back of your head bemoaned how the only things your Commander had left you were a switchblade and beltburn. 

“Knowing that he does all of that for you,” you said, “what do you do for him?”

The question brought silence crashing between you, a silence that hovered and clung to the air as you approached the Guardian checkpoint. You handed over your passes, and as the men verified them, you glimpsed her from beyond your wings. Her face was tight, chin jutting in strain. The Guardians returned your passes and you continued forward, toward the market. She still didn’t respond.

“I was just curious if--”

“Yes,” she said, “I told him. I told him, okay?”

“I knew it.” Heat--relief, rage--flooded you. “Why, though? I don’t get it.”

She shook her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I think you’re right that I wouldn’t.” If she’d told her Commander about your relationship, had she told him about the Resistance, too? “What did you tell him? Did you tell him everything?”

“No!” Her hands, still holding her bag, twisted together. “I’m not trying to… I know I want to stay, but I don’t want anything bad to happen to the Resistance.”

You balked. “So, just me, then?”

“I didn’t...” She paused, lowering her voice. “I wasn’t thinking. I just… I wanted…”

“You wanted what?” You wanted to shake her. “You knew what could happen if you told anybody!”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what else to say,” she mumbled. “I told you that you wouldn’t understand.”

You sneered. “Try me.”

“He said…” Her voice was tiny, tight. “If… If your Commander was out of the way, then he could…” You heard the distant swallow of her distress. “He’d change things.”

“Oh.” 

Ren’s words rumbled through your mind: My design is to perfect it. Perhaps every Commander was using their Handmaids in a vie for power--but Ren hadn’t pried you for information. He hadn’t even cared you were part of the Resistance. You weren’t sure who you pitied more: Ofarmitage, for capitulating--or yourself, for the creeping sense of superiority that your Commander hadn’t ever asked it of you. As if this fact made his feelings more legitimate, more real.

What did their basis in reality matter? To live them out would be to sacrifice your autonomy--to sell your soul to a monster.

“So you seriously didn’t think about what might happen to me?” You were almost at the market--you lowered your voice. “If my Commander were implicated in an illegal relationship with me?”

Ofarmitage was silent until you approached the doors. “No, you’re right,” she said. “I did think about it.” She said nothing else, and disappeared into the store.

You stood, paralyzed, for a moment. It was becoming apparent to you that love and exploitation were synonymous in Gilead. Even if there was something genuine between Ofarmitage and her Commander, it was impossible for him, in his role, to fail to abuse it. Ren had said it himself--he wanted to possess you utterly, and he planned to make you complicit in that. If only there wasn’t a part of you that was willing to risk it.

The walk back from the market was spent in silence--you were unable to decide if you felt fury or pity for her. It might have been easier to be angry if you weren’t so close to understanding how she’d made her choice. 

As you arrived at the Guardian checkpoint, you produced your passes again, taking the opportunity to check in with her. She met your eyes for a flicker of a second before staring into her feet. Pulling your lips over your teeth, you went to take your pass from the Guardian, only to find it was still in his hand.

“Ofkylo?” he said, scrutinizing it.

You’d forgotten about your knife. It suddenly felt like a boulder in your sleeve. “Yes…”

He glanced at his partner, mumbling something to him, fire coursing through your veins. Adrenaline hijacked your brain, telling you now that they’d found you, they were going to stuff you in a van, tie you up and torment you, that the only option was throw it all to the ground--forget Ofarmitage, forget the Resistance, forget Ren--and fucking run.

The other Guardian studied your pass, glancing between it and you, for some reason. Your photo wasn’t on it. “No. It’s fine,” he said to his partner. He handed it back to you. “Get moving.”

You nodded, hoping that the level of sweat at your forehead could be attributed to the weather. Turning your face to the ground, you shuffled forward, heart beating in your throat. Fury--it was definitely fury that you felt for Ofarmitage in this moment, and once you’d obtained a comfortable distance from the Guardians, it tore out of you.

“Did you see that?” you hissed. “I thought they were about to kill me.”

She shrugged. “Well, they didn’t, did they?” 

“But do you realize what could’ve happened if the circumstances were different?” you asked. “I almost just ran!”

“But you didn’t.”

“How can you be so… so blase about this?” you growled. “Don’t you see what you’ve done?”

“I know what I did, Ofkylo--”

You seized her, spinning her toward you. “You gambled with my life!”

Her eyes, shiny with tears, struck you through. “You did!” she said. “You gambled with it. All I did was tell the only person who has ever made me feel like a human in three years!” She shook her head, shoving you off of her. “I’m sorry for what I did. I am. But I didn’t… I didn’t do it so your life would be in danger, or whatever.” She swallowed. “I did it so mine would be worth living.”

The anger in your chest fizzled out, then, like you’d been doused with ice water. You drew in a slow breath through your nose, gazing at her before turning back to the sidewalk. You didn’t forgive her, no. But that feeling--desperation, emptiness, a longing to be anything other than nothing--you understood that. You understood her.  

And she was right, at least. Nothing had happened. You’d made it back to the home. At the gate, you nodded a silent goodbye to her, allowing yourself to relax, and turned into the front yard.

Ren’s black Audi had returned to the driveway. And another car was there, too--also black--a stretch Cadillac limo, the windows completely opaque. You slowed your step, fists tight around your bag, gazing at it with suspicion. The metronome of your pulse quickened with every new thrum of your heart as you crept forward, shoulders hunching--and once you approached the back door, it flew open. You screamed, hopping back. 

“Oh, there’s no need to scream.” 

That voice. Fear numbed you, plunged you into a breathless, lightless tunnel.

Commander Snoke stepped out of the vehicle, gesturing toward the door. “Come and sit, won’t you?” He glimpsed the bag in your hands. “Just leave that there for the Marthas.”

Thousands of words reeled through your head, absolutely none of them helpful. Frost coated your insides, emptied you of warmth. This was it. Ren was right. He was going to take you and torture you. You thought of the blade in your sleeve--no. You wouldn’t do that. Not yet, anyway.

Nodding, you stuck out your chin. “I’m glad you asked.” 

You abandoned the bag in the grass, keeping his gaze as you strode toward him, holding it with triumph until you bowed into the vehicle. Blood fled your face. Seated across from you, crammed against the partition, was your Commander, Kylo Ren. His eyes met yours, his expression as vacant as you felt. Watching him, your chest fell with a trembling, terrified breath. Then Snoke eased himself into the car, and shut the door. 

“Now that we’re all together,” he said, “let’s chat.”

[fanfic-scribbles]

Dark Nights

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: Sharing someone’s company doesn’t mean the same thing at all times. You learn to compromise in the face of a pandemic, and look forward.

Quick facts: Romance – Steve Rogers/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Real-life inspired, Coronavirus/COVID-19 mentions, slight angst, mostly fluff, hopeful ending

Words: 1314

A/N: I have been working on this entirely too long for how short this is. Funnier, this was supposed to be even shorter and 100% dialogue, but it sort of went where it willed. Oh well; it’s a peaceful little thing and I hope you enjoy it.

  ~

The night is gloomy and quiet. It’s actually kind of nice– the rain provides noise that has been lacking on your street. Not something you thought you’d say about New York, but, well, these are strange days.

You sit in your armchair with a drink in your hands, thumb idly chasing beads of condensation, and listen to the ‘pitpatpitpatpitpat’ landing outside. It probably doesn’t help the quiet that the TV is off, but you’ve been so unable to focus you don’t see the point. There are a handful of hobbies stashed around your apartment that could be started, a plethora of shows that could be watched, but you’ve been spending your days sleeping, waking up tired, sitting, wandering around 800 square feet, and alternating between general unease and active worry. Mostly.

The sound of your phone is enough to jerk you out of your current apathy, and you struggle to keep your drink from falling while also struggling to get at your phone to see who’s calling you. Just a glimpse of the ID then has you scrambling to answer. “Hi,” you say breathlessly, even though your ass never left the cushion. “Are you okay?”

It takes a second, but a warm chuckle floats from the receiver, through your body, and melts your bones so you sink into the chair. “I’m fine,” Steve says. “I’m good at my job, remember?”

“I know you are,” you say and lean your head back. “It’s other people that are the problem.”

“Well sometimes other people can be made to see reason,” he says. “How are you?”

You’re quiet, because that’s a question with an unpleasant answer, but Steve is weathering this just like you. “I’m fine,” you say. “I miss you.”

“Is this a new game?” he asks, gently teasing. “One lie, one truth?”

That gets a weak chuckle out of you, mostly for his sake. “The punishment for getting it wrong is that I’m going to come over there.”

“I’ll get it wrong on purpose,” he says. “But we’ll have to postpone that ‘punishment.’”

You start to reply, but it falls away. You don’t know what to say that wouldn’t come out wrong, so you don’t say anything at all. That’s a problem when you’re on a phone call and all you have is the other person’s voice. “I’m sorry I’m boring,” you say.

“It’s fine. So am I. I’m just…happy to hear you.”

He sounds so at peace and you wish that could be you, but instead you’re rocked by the feeling that you could walk to him, except you can’t, and it’s all you want in the world. “I miss you,” you say through a throat trying to close up.

“Oh sweetheart, I miss you too,” he says. “It’s going to be all right; we’ll get through this.”

“Will we?” you don’t mean to say, but do.

“We absolutely will; we’re going to pull through this.”

You don’t know if it’s the repetitive words or if there’s something in his voice, but he sounds almost desperate when he says that and, no, damn it, you didn’t want to drag him down with you. He has to keep himself as separate as anyone else, because he actually has to go out sometimes into emergency situations, and he needs to be all right. You need him to be all right. “I’m sorry,” you say and rub your face. “I don’t mean to–…I didn’t mean…that.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Steve says, his voice softer and gentler now. “It’s awful. I know it’s awful. And I miss you too. But I believe that we’re going to be okay.”

“How do you do it?” you say and look out at lights scattered in the near-empty night. A group of people smoking together under a streetlight fills you with such revulsion that you pull the blinds tightly shut. “How do you keep…doing it?”

“Probably the same way you do. But it helps that I’m a public example.”

“You’d do it anyway.”

“Yeah, because it makes sense. And I care.” His voice drops. “It’s still hard though.”

“Mmm.” You exhale. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you down. We just have to…get through it.”

“In whatever way we can.”

“Like talking to you.”

“Exactly,” Steve says. You can hear him smile when he adds, “I hope you don’t think you’re going to have a second to yourself when all this starts to lift. Prepare to say goodbye to your alone time; I’m making plans.”

“What kind of plans?” you ask and lean your head on one shoulder.

“We’re gonna go back to the park. Maybe every day,” he says. “Hold hands. No gloves.”

“What if it’s cold?”

“I’ll bring your hands up and blow on them,” he says matter-of-factly.

It sounds so ridiculous it makes you laugh. Because he would. “What about when it’s too hot?”

“Tough,” he says. “I’m going to hold onto you. All the time.”

Your smile twists somewhat, because it won’t be any time soon. “Someday.”

“It’s going to happen,” Steve says, fervently. But it’s strong, like he truly believes it, and not like he’s trying to make himself believe it. “I’m going to come back and I won’t leave you alone for a long while. When you get so sick of me that you kick me out of the bed, I’ll just sleep on the couch.”

“I would never.”

“Except that one time after–”

“You were being a disgusting asshole on purpose,” you say. “You won’t do that if you really want to be with me all the time.”

“No, I won’t,” he says. He chuckles. “I’ll behave.”

“That’ll be a first,” you say, almost under your breath. Of course he hears it and he laughs and even after he stops you cling to the memory of the sound, to his words, to his conviction. Hopefully it will sustain you until, indeed, all of this is an unpleasant memory that only vaguely passes through your mind when Steve is running his hand up and down your spine as he helps you fall asleep.

Silence passes and you can hear his breathing slow and deepen, and he shifts on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry; you must be tired,” you say.

“Not that tired,” he says. “I have an idea actually.”

“What’s that?”

“Open up Netflix. I haven’t seen that…witch show?”

Your smile grows a little bigger. “What show?”

“You know.”

“Hmm, sorry, not familiar.”

“Don’t make me do this,” he pleads.

You chuckle. “Just one hint?”

He sighs heavily. “The one with the guy…he has a sword…he wears really tight pants…and there’s witches?”

You laugh. Just a little, but it’s enough. “Ah, ‘The Witcher?’”

“Yeah, sure, that,” he grumbles.

“I love you,” you say sweetly.

“Sure you do,” he says and sighs again. “The things you put me through.”

“Mm hm. Absolute torture,” you say but you do as he said. “Why am I bringing this up if you’re the one who hasn’t seen it?”

“When I say ‘start’ we’ll both hit play, and this way we can watch it together,” he says.

You’re set up and ready to go by the time he finishes and it actually sounds…nice. “It’s not as fun when I don’t get to watch you ogle Henry Cavill in his “really tight pants.’”

“You wouldn’t watch me because you’ll be too busy ogling too,” he says. “But if it’s as good as everyone says it is I wouldn’t mind watching it again when I’m over at your place after all this is over.”

Settling against a pillow isn’t as good as the real thing, but for now Steve is with you in whatever way he can be, and eventually you’ll be past the worst of it. As hard as it is now, you can believe that. You smile, and say, “I’m looking forward to it.”

[maerose-late-at-night]

Cupid!Callum AU

There’s things about being a Cupid that most people don’t understand. How it’s more than just shooting a few strategically aimed arrows, pulling at the tightly wound string and letting the love-tipped objects land where they’re supposed to.

Sure, they get instructions from above. Names written down in nicely curled letters, indicating their targets, the people destined to fall in love with each other. But that’s about it - other than name and location of their whereabouts, the cupids themselves are left with nothing. Some of his co-workers tend to be on the lazy side, which annoys him to no end. They figure out the next possible meeting place, arrange a certain happenstance and just… shoot.

It doesn’t bear thinking how times that lack of care can end badly. Callum’s seen the result of it at times, seen the heartbreak in its wake. People being struck that ain’t supposed to, or arrows bouncing off the side. Unrequited love. Horrid affairs that break up a family, yet leave everyone sad, alone and dying just a little on the inside. It makes him physically sick to his stomach.

It’s one of the reasons he actually takes great pride in his work. Callum’s the sort of Cupid who’s not just in love with the idea of love, but who finds himself actually falling in love along with the intended recipients. He loves every little thing about it, about them,… about their stories. Wants to set them up just right. So taking great preparation, he spends his time observing them for a long time before planning their Grand Meeting. Or their Grand Moment, in case they’ve met before. He thinks it’s amazing, how some people can be blind to what’s in front of them, years and years and decades on end… and then there’s that one Moment, where they look at each other, seeing something they hadn’t before. Callum’s usually there to witness it.

And yeah, sometimes his bosses can nag him about taking too long with it, but he’s a perfectionist.

(“It’s not actually that hard,” Gabriel had told him once, annoyance pulling at the corners of his mouth, making it even tighter than usual. “We are very aware you used to have top marks in your archery classes, Halfway, I don’t see why you’re…tithering on like this.” Aziraphale, on the other hand, had sent him a kind look at that, soft and understanding. “There’s a reason you can’t rush perfection, Gabriel. Even you can’t deny this cupid brings about some of the best matches we’ve seen in centuries”. He’d winked at Callum after, before picking up his perfectly brewed cup of tea and nibbling on a biscuit. “These jammy dodgers are absolutely delightful, aren’t they?”.)

-

The first time Callum sees Ben Mitchell, he’s on his latest assignment, round the East End of London. At first glance, Albert Square seems much like any other place he’s visited so far — there’s the usual pub stood at one corner, and market stalls weaving in and out of sight. People mulling about, spending their days and shopping for things, taking shelter from the harsh weather. Not for the first time, Callum wishes he could control it - people always seem so much happier soaking up the rays of sunshine as opposed to feeling drops of rain against their skin.  Callum can’t feel either, so he don’t mind it either way. But as a general rule, he supposes when the people are happy, that’s when he is too.

He follows one of his intended targets into the safety of the pub, smiling as she tries to take cover under her leopard printed jacket, holding it up like it’ll make a difference against the downpour. Heading inside, she shakes her head a little to clear it, pushing the wet strands of hair away from her skin. She’s a pretty girl, he supposes, though he never really looks at them that way. Folding back his wings to fit through the door after her, he’s once again happy about being invisible. Being in a room like this, on a crowded night, makes him anxious, sometimes.

Scanning the place to find the best possible vantage point, he settles on an empty chair at one end of the bar. From here, he can lean against the wooden counter, turning his face towards the gathering of girls - and get to see what makes her tick. It’s only the beginning of their girls’ night out … and he might be here a while.

But then Callum catches a glimpse of a dark grey-checkered coat, hands curled tightly around a glass, and a man’s face that make him stop in his tracks. He looks weary and angry and hurt; the cut on his lip a painful reminder of something unpleasant. For some unknown reason, Callum finds himself wanting to reach out and touch. Soothe. Make it better if he can.

It’s nothing compared to when the stranger turns to him, soft blue eyes shooting daggers connecting to his own. “Right. How about you stop starin’ and let me finish my drink in peace, yeah?”

Callum looks around dazedly, trying to pinpoint where the man’s attention is at. It can’t be him, obviously. But there seems to be no one else; and he just keeps looking straight at Callum, his eyebrow now raised in a challenge. It makes a little crease appear right above his nose. Callum doesn’t know why, but this seems important to him. Something to remember.

“I… er -” Callum stumbles out. “Sorry, are you actually -”

“… talking to you.” The man utters, slowly, like he thinks Callum might be a complete idiot. His fingers tighten even more, poised for a fight. “We going to have a problem?”

“Oi,” the landlord says, pointing a stern finger in the man’s direction. “No fighting in my bar, Ben Mitchell. You leave the nice punter alone or you and I’ll be the ones having an issue.” He turns to Callum at that, sending him a polite smile. “Don’t you worry about him, his bark’s worse than his bite. What can I get ya?”

He doesn’t understand any of this. Really, he doesn’t. 8 years he’s been at this job and not once, not once, has any person ever been able to catch sight of him. There was this old lady, who asked him to pass the salt, but she was blind as anything, so he figures that didn’t count anyway.

Being compromised like this, he should pack up and call it a day — observing the girl will look weird if people actually see him doing it — but somehow, he doesn’t want to leave this place yet.  There’s a little hum around his chest area, like there’s something warm calling to him, and it makes him want to stay.

“I’ll just have a coke,” he says. “Thanks.”

It takes him half a second to realize he has no actual money to pay for it - his grateful smile turning watery and brittle. But then, the second the thought forms in his mind, he feels something land in his pocket. Callum pulls it out to find a well-stocked wallet, small origami flower tucked between the folds. One of the petals says “read me”, so Callum gently opens it to find a message in the handwriting he knows so well. The one that always spells out his names beautifully, artfully, with care. Come see me when you’re done, please, Callum.

He stows away his worry ‘bout repercussions for another time, ears perking up when conversation around him starts again.

“Stop sulking, will ya?” The landlord says, speaking over the rhythmic background sounds of the towel swirling through newly cleaned glass. Swish squeak. Swish squeak. “Whatever it is, I’m sure you deserved that.”

The man - Ben - huffs at him. “Oh, cheers Mick. Nice of you to immediately  assume my guilt.”

Callum dares another glance at him. He wants to look closer, but he’s afraid to move.

“Yeah, well…” Mick says. “Let’s face it, we all know what you’re like, eh?”

Ben remains silent at the reproach, but the quiet is broken soon enough.

“What are you like?”

The words fly out of Callum’s mouth before he’s even consciously spoken them. Both heads twist around to look at him once more. Ben’s still wearing that heavy set frown, but Mick is looking quite amused, actually.

Ben rumbles at him. “Don’t see how that’s any of your business, mate.”

It isn’t. Callum knows it isn’t. His instructions are clear: find the girl; set her up with her intended; leave them to their happy ever after. But he.. he wants to find out why Ben’s nice-looking shoulders seem to be carrying around the weight of the world. He wants to hold Ben's gaze and squeeze his fingers. He feels his own twitch at the thought.

Callum’s being ridiculous. He opens his mouth to apologize, but Mick beats him to the punch, answering his question.

“Let’s just say that…trouble has a way of finding Ben Mitchell.” He grins. “Or the other way ‘round, possibly.” Seeing Ben’s about to interfere with some snide comment, he continues, “Anyway, what about you er -”

“Callum.”

“…Callum.” He nods. “You just passing through?”

“Er -” His eyes seek out Ben’s, but he seems stubbornly focussed on anything else. Don’t matter anyway. “Not sure yet.” He needs to come back for his charges, anyway… but there’s no telling whether this particular glitch will reoccur when he does.

“Well,” Mick says, “Don’t let this one scare you off, ey.” He puts a hand on top of Callum’s and it’s solid but it’s - cold. “You are welcome in my pub anytime.” He winks, going on to serve some of the other punters.

Callum returns to his drink, sneaking sideway glances at Ben every once in a while. He doesn’t seem to notice - he looks folded back in on himself; lonely. Callum sighs quietly, careful so Ben Mitchell won’t hear. He’d probably kick his arse if he even knew half of what Callum was thinking.  

Standing up slowly, he throws some money near his empty glass and walks over. His belly’s full of nervous jitters; but he doesn’t know if he’ll get another chance to do this, so… so he lets his hand reach for Ben, placing it against his arm that seems mostly unbruised from whatever dangerous encounter he’s had.

“Look,” he says. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean anything by it.” He bites his lip, unsure, not missing the way Ben seems to track that particular movement with interest. “Are you okay?”

Ben blinks at him, slowly. The way his eyes have glossed over a little makes Callum think they’re hiding something; maybe it’s because of the alcohol, or just some hidden emotion he don’t want to share with the rest of the world.

Ben shrugs. “I’ll be alright.”

“Okay.” Callum’s not sure he’s satisfied with the answer, but accepts it for what it is. A brush-off. A goodbye.

He should move. The weird thing is, though, he mostly wants to move closer. Horrifyingly, he doesn’t want to just heal Ben’s busted lip, he wants to kiss it better. His hand is still on Ben’s arm and bridging the gap wouldn’t take much. He knows what to do, he’s seen a lot of his matches go at it. Some tenderly, others with a raging hunger that doesn’t seem to settle no matter how many times their lips slide across each other’s.

Who knows, Callum may have even kissed someone before, in another life.

He’s brought back to the present by Ben’s amused chuckle. “Callum.” By the sounds of it, it’s not the first time he’s called.  Ben glances down pointedly, laughing at the way Callum’s cheeks flush with color.

“Oh, right, sorry.” Callum mumbles. “I’ll just - ” He withdraws his hand and makes to exit the bar. As he walks out, he feels heavy raindrops fall. Turning his face up to the sky, he basks in the feeling.

-

When he gets back, he immediately makes his way to Aziraphale’s office, as requested. It’s one of his favorite places to be, honestly. Most of the angels have decorated their rooms sparingly (Gabriel’s is stark white and clean as a whistle), but not Aziraphale. Oh no. Aziraphale’s room is filled with dark brown shelves full of ancient tomes and paperback novels, a potted plant in one corner. Callum very much suspects he spends a lot of time walking around it, taking in the smells and talking to himself for lack of more interested partner. It breathes warmth and cosiness. Speaks of a good soul.

“Well, Callum,” he starts, a smile so wide it seems to want to extend beyond his physical form. “That was quite an adventure.” Without even asking, he pours them Callum’s favorite tea, pushing the flowered cup nearer to where he sits.

“You know,” he continues, eyes shining with happiness. “I always knew it was your heart that made you special.”

[personne-reblogs]

Hello! Idk if you still accepting ficlet prompt or not, but if you do, would you mind if I request a combination of 2 fluff prompts between 52. “i’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” and 18. “are you that desperate?” “for you, yes.”, for OPM ship Batarou? Thank you very much 🙏💖

Whoopsie, I went a little wild with this one... well, you didn’t give me any word count and I was very inspired by the shameless flirt so I included prompts 55, 61, 62 and 63 as well. Thanks Anon, I had so much fun!! Hope y’all will like it!

Fandom: One Punch Man Ship: Batarou Word count: 4k Summary: Lately, Badd has been haunted by a ghost. Kinda. It looks like a guy with white spiky hair, but Badd's the only one to see it. It's following him everywhere, and it's able to help him fight monsters, and it Won't. Stop. Flirting.

Read under the cut or read on AO3!

A Ghost Story

***

There have been better days, Badd sighs to himself. The rain that ruined his carefully stylished hair this morning, the Hero Association meeting that took his entire afternoon, the busy traffic that almost made him late for his ice cream appointment with Zenko, the empty fridge that has him walking to the nearest nightshop at this late hour.

“You look amazing tonight,” a predatory voice purrs behind him.

Ah, yes. And the ghost that has been following him for days and won’t shut the fuck up.

“You’re still here, huh?” Badd asks without thinking, and immediately regrets it.

“Not like I’ve got anywhere else to be, dumbass,” the ghost replies, and Badd suddenly feels tired. He’s heard this shit, like, a thousand times already, and it’s been less than a week. “You should have registered by now. Nobody’s that stupid.”

“Hey, watch it, asshole,” Badd grunts defensively. “‘s been a long day, okay?”

“Oh yeah? How come I didn’t see any of that?”

There’s a smirk in the ghost’s tone, and Badd doesn’t even need to turn around to know there’s a teasing look printed on its face.

“Not every hard day is about fighting, y’know. Regular human stuff is exhausting too.”

“Right,” the ghost says, and there’s a pout in that.

Badd walks through the night shop's door and automatically goes for the drink aisle. He knows the ghost comes in too, but it mercifully keeps quiet.

It first appeared after Badd killed a random tiger-level monster on his way back from Zenko’s school. It has the form of a dude with strange white, spiky hair. A dude who looks like he practises a lot of sport - something contact-ish, martial arts, maybe. At first Badd thought it really was a random guy that had arrived after the monster was dead, but then the thing had followed him everywhere, claiming it was stuck with him, and Badd had realized he was the only one to see it. Creepy.

Now the ghost - that’s all Badd can think of to describe it - is part of his life, whether he likes it or not. It usually appears at night, when it’s dark outside, maybe cuz it doesn’t like daylight or some shit. Except it also appears each time Badd is in a fight. Even in plain day. Hell if he knows why.

“Keep the change,” he tells the cashier before heading back home with a fresh bottle of coke. He’s addicted to it these days. Can’t sleep early, so he might as well treat himself with something sweet while he endures endless conversations with the thing.

“I’ve always wanted to try it,” the ghost says conversationally as soon as they’re out in the street, because of course it won’t keep quiet any longer. God, Badd feels so tired.

“I’d gladly share it with you, but, you know,” he replies as mockingly as he can, turning around and slightly shaking the bottle before opening it and taking a long sip. He makes a show of savouring it just because he can and the thing can’t. It can’t touch anything real, actually, and isn’t that a fucking ghost thing?

Except it does manage to hit monsters in fights. It has happened before. Weird.

The ghost narrows its eyes at him and crosses its arms, but a twisted smile stretches its lips.

“Yeah, but you offered anyways. See? You’re cute when you’re half asleep.”

It really Won’t. Stop. Teasing.

Will it?

***

It’s two in the afternoon when he gets a call from the Hero Association. There’s a demon level threat across town, he’s the closest S-class hero around. He immediately goes to the location they sent him - he was bored anyway.

He’s surprised by the looks of the monster once he’s there. For its level, it happens to be… small, actually. Not even the size of a human being. It jumps in and out of sight, hides behind public bins, and destroys buildings as if they were nothing.

Shit. That one’s gonna be a pain in the ass.

“Fucking finally,” an unexpected, hungry voice hisses behind him, and he realizes he almost forgot about The Thing.

It’s been two entire weeks and he almost bloody forgot.

“Stay outta my way,” Badd orders, his grip tightening on his bat, his eyes searching the place to find the monster back. It’s gonna be complicated enough without the ghost distracting him.

“Yeah, right,” the voice laughs next to him.

“Dude, I really have no time for yer -”

He stops mid-sentence because there is suddenly a building collapsing beside him, and he doesn’t even have time to swear before he gets a glimpse of the monster across the street. It seems like it is avoiding contact, staying out of reach -

And then, in a blur, the ghost rushes past him to throw itself on the monster.

Literally.

He can’t make out what happens after that, not amongst the dust from the demolition, so he runs after them.

When he finds them back, the monster lies motionless on the floor. The ghost is casually sitting on a rubble, an arm thrown around its knee, a ferocious smile spreading wide on its face.

“Gosh, I’ve missed this,” it says as if it were talking about going for a walk in the sun.

It looks that refreshed, at least. Neat.

“What the shit?!” Badd barks, because even though he’s impressed, he doesn’t like losing control of the situation.

“Not the first time I give you a hand, you know. No big deal.”

“I would’ve handled this perfectly well on my own, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, and you would’ve destroyed the entire fucking city, so, you’re welcome.”

“Ghost, I swear -”

“Oh, honey, I thought we were past that,” the ghost says with an exaggerated hurt look.

“Past what?” Badd asks confusedly.

“I have a name, you know.”

“No, I don’t.”

“What?”

The ghost looks genuinely surprised, and it shouldn’t, but it makes Badd feel extremely satisfied.

“You never mentioned it. Your name.”

“I - really?”

The ghost shakes its head with an incredulous chuckle. It gets up from the rubble, comes a few steps closer, and presents Badd its hand.

“Call me Garou.”

Badd shouldn’t try to shake that hand. It doesn’t exist. His own hand would pass through it and he’d look like a fucking moron.

But he’s curious, so he does it anyway.

And it turns out it feels exactly like a regular handshake.

“Hi. I’m Badd.”

***

He his a martial art type of guy.

Badd has seen him in enough fights to know for sure now. It’s not just the vibe and the looks - whenever they’re in a fight, the ghost Garou uses sharp, precise techniques Badd could only dream of.

Not that he’s interested in martial arts, but he has to admit it’s quite effective.

Especially when Garou single-handedly brings strong ass opponents down like that.

 Hot.

“Pfff, no fun,” Garou sighs, disappointed, before coming back to Badd. He always does. Something to do with him being physically unable to wander too far away from his human host, or some shit.

“It isn’t supposed to be fun, but whatever,” Badd points out while poking at his own enemy with his bat, just to check. It’s dead alright.

“You say that because you’re not strong enough to have a good time.”

“Right,” Badd says. He has given up on reacting to Garou’s teasing. It’s no use.

“Maybe you’d be more useful in fights if you weren’t so busy staring at me,” Garou goes on.

Badd only raises a very unamused eyebrow at him.  

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice,” his ghost insists with that stupid, smug expression of his. He even - wait, was that a bloody wink?

“Urgh, I’m gonna be sick,” Badd tiredly mumbles as he turns around to leave the scene. Now that the fight is over, Garou will soon disappear for the rest of the day. Meanwhile, there’s a piano recital Badd needs to attend.

To be honest, he’s getting used to this whole ghost thing. Garou can handle himself in a fight. Hell, he can even be of some real use, Badd has to give him that.

Such a shame he’s that much of a big mouth. It’s been almost a month now, and his lame pickup lines still exhaust him.

***

When the evening is quiet and the weather is soft, Badd loves to just sit on the wooden stairs behind his house and chill. Zenko often joins him, and they chat, or she just reads a book until it’s time for her to get to bed.

That time was half an hour ago. Now Badd is alone with Tama, purring loudly in his lap as he pets her, and he simply enjoys doing nothing.

He doesn’t really notice the nightfall.

“It’s late,” a familiar voice says in a sugar-coated tone. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

Badd tilts his head to find his ghost in his usual sitting position, one elbow casually resting on his knee, a few steps higher.

He recognizes the question for what it actually is: an attempt at starting some small talk. He’s not in the mood, so he shrugs, and suppresses a grimace when the gesture makes his bandaged shoulders sting a bit. Then he shifts to find a more comfortable position and resumes petting Tama without answering.

Garou doesn’t insist. Nice.

They spend a moment like that, in silence, and with the light breeze brushing his washed hair, Badd thinks he could fall asleep right there. The adrenaline of the fight he’s had this afternoon has finally worn off, and he feels tired, but in a good way - it’s a physical weariness, not the nervous tension he’s been used to lately.

After a while, his ghost is talking again, and it would annoy Badd if not for the genuine curiosity in his voice.

“Just wanted to ask, about earlier… How did you do that?”

“What d’ya mean?”

“I saw that monster beat the shit out of you,” Garou says, and he sounds suspicious. “You were out, man. How the fuck did you get up and win after that?”

“Not thanks to you, asshole,” Badd groans, but there isn’t any bite to it. He’s actually smirking a little.

“That kind of brute? Not my style,” his ghost snorts with a disgusted expression. “Besides, I wanted to see how you’d manage without me, and… shit, I still don’t know what I’ve seen.”

Badd doesn’t know what he’s done to make an impression on fucking Killing Machine Garou, but hell if he doesn’t secretly feel very pleased.

“Just some good old fighting spirit,” he replies in a carefully neutral tone.

“Come again?”

“Y’know. When you get all angry at stuff. Makes you go wild.”

“You… were angry,” Garou repeats incredulously.

“Well, duh! Wasn’t gonna let that jackass waste any more of my time,” Badd explains blandly, and he doesn’t get what’s so hard to understand.

He turns to watch Garou, and catches him staring right back, eyes wide in a shocked expression. Then the ghost bursts out laughing, and it startles Badd, because it isn’t one of his damn chuckles: it’s an actual, full-throated laugh.

“What?” he asks, not knowing if he should feel cheerful or offended.

“You’re really something else,” Garou wheezes, theatrically pretending to wipe a tear away. “Man, I wish you’d killed my last host sooner - where were you all this time?!”

“You mean, that tiger level monster back when I met ya?”

“Yep,” Garou nods, sobering up a little. “I’ve been stuck with it for years. Never been so bored in my whole sorry existence. The bastard spent most of its time hiding from humans.”

“Why didn’t you kill it?”

“Because I can’t, obviously. I can touch my hosts, but I’m physically unable to harm them. I thought you’d figured that much out,” Garou explains, and his voice is regaining its teasing tone already.

“So that’s why you still haven’t tried to killed me,” Badd deadpans, feeling a little more up for banter than a moment ago.

“That, and also, who would you talk to if you didn’t have me?”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s pretend I’m not the one who’d kick your ass, why don’t we.”

“SAY WHAT??”

***

Garou doesn’t know exactly where he is during the day, when his host isn’t involved in a fight. Time passes differently, and for the most of it, he isn’t really conscious. It’s like he’s in some kind of stasis. And then, when he’s awake, he’s full of energy in a way humans probably can’t imagine. He wants to talk, to run, to explode and to scream. He wants to exist.

That’s why he likes fighting so much. It makes him feel useful. It makes him feel real. It’s the proof that he can leave his mark on a world he sometimes doubts he’s a part of. He’s had countless years to train, and he’s become strong - strong enough that he’s having a good time whatever the enemy.

But, well, fighting isn’t everything. He’s had dozens of hosts, and he’s never been able to walk too far away from them without slipping into his awkward rest mode again - only to find himself stuck with the same host when he wakes up again. Which always turns up to be incredibly boring. Between humans who mostly sleep at night and monsters who sometimes don’t talk at all, Garou has learnt the hard way that he’s, in fact, a talkative guy. And isn’t that a great thing to be when the only being in the whole universe who can see and hear you is your current host?

Garou has had his fair share of boredom, to say the least.

“Hey, dipshit, you awake?”

That’s why he’s more than happy with his new host.

“When have you seen me sleep before?” Garou replies with a playful smirk, tilting his head towards the voice.

It’s dark, and he’s outside, leaning his shoulder against the external wall of the house, arms crossed onto his chest. Badd is standing a few paces further and is giving him a vaguely annoyed look.

“Haven’t heard what I just said, have ya? We’re goin’ for a walk. Come on.”

“Why, babe, it almost sounds like a date,” Garou teases in his cheesiest tone.

“We’re out of food for Tama,” Badd goes on, unbothered, as if Garou hadn’t spoken at all. Damn, he’s good at ignoring him.

“Guess it can’t be helped,” Garou sighs loudly, trying very hard not to give away how eager he actually is to just… do something. Anything.

“Don’t make that face. We’ll make a lil’ detour by that shitty park - you know the one. Who knows what we might find there, at such an hour?” Badd grins, shifting his grip on his bat, and it seems like he’s eager, too.

Yeah, Garou thinks with an amused expression as he follows Badd into the street, that’s got to be his best host ever. Badd does sleep, of course, but far less than the average human - or, well, much later, so there’s that. He’s a hero, so he’s involved in more battles than Garou can count - and he’s good at fighting, in his own way. Not exactly the fast, calculated fighting Garou is used to, but rather a raw, brutal style, with a strength and a resilience that has forced Garou’s admiration more than once (meaning his host probably won’t die on him anytime soon - not that Garou would let that happen, anyway). Last but not least, Badd is fun to talk to, even if Garou’s constant teasing never seems to pull any reaction out of him - and that’s new, because all his previous hosts had let him get to their nerves so easily, but Badd won’t even acknowledge his little game, which is fun, too.

It’s fun because it allows him to push as far as he wants without risking damaging the balance they have found, and the domesticity of it is making him more relaxed than he’s ever been.

The park is quiet and empty when they get there. Garou tries not to feel frustrated, and fails. He’s glad he can stretch his legs a little, but he really could use some action right now. It’s been days since they last were in a fight.

“Shit, we’ll have to actually buy food for your stupid cat, won’t we,” Garou mutters.

“Don’t call her that,” Badd snaps, looking down at his phone. “But yeah, looks like everything’s fine tonight. Let’s go before the nightshop closes.”

So Badd won’t react to shameless flirting, but he will defend his goddamn cat. Garou smiles as he stores the information for later use, and makes to turn around and leave - except he doesn’t.

He suddenly feels like his whole body is being weighed down. He frowns down at his feet and insists.

He stays perfectly still.

“Well, well,” a smug voice says, “That’s a pretty friend you’ve got here, Metal Bat.”

Garou furrows his brow harder. There’s a man approaching - a random dude, all dressed up in a suit, hands in his pockets. On Garou’s left, Badd moves freely to face the newcomer.

“I dunno what yer talkin’ about,” his host says, sounding only mildly annoyed. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Thomas J. Lambert, at your service,” the guy introduces himself with assurance as he comes to a stop right before Badd. His attitude exhales cockiness and audacity. Garou already hates him.

“Never heard of ya,” Badd casually drops, as unimpressed as he always is. Which seems to suck a little of the fun out of the guy. Oh, he’s really good at this.

“Well, let’s just say that I’m an esper with… very specific abilities,” the douchebag goes on, and he sounds just a tad irritated. “I can feel the aura of your pet from miles away,” he adds, not even bothering to glance in Garou’s direction.

What a prick.

“I can hear you, y’know,” Garou interjects.

“And I can interact with it, too. My power is keeping it paralyzed as we talk,” Thomas Jerk  What’s-His-Name goes on, and he still won’t spare a glance at Garou. Badd does, though.

“Ya better hurry up and spit out what ya wanna say already,” he mutters, expression halfway between nonplussed and upset.

“It’s simple, really. I can rid you of this parasite - in exchange for financial compensation, naturally.”

“Oi! I’m right here,” Garou repeats louder, because he is beginning to lose his patience. He tries against his invisible restraints, without success.

His host is silent for long enough that Garou looks back up at him, and he is stunned to see Badd is grinning slightly.

Like he finds this whole situation funny.

The bastard.

“I’d make you a special price, of course,” Mr Jackass is still saying. “It would be my pleasure to help a S-Class hero out. What do you say?”

There’s a short silence.

Then Badd makes the most self-satisfied, shit-eating smile Garou has ever seen.

“How much would that be, exactly?”

“YOU ABSOLUTE ASSHO-”

“OKAY! Okay! Jesus,” Badd laughs, before turning back to the guy. “Sorry, fella, that’s… kind of you, I guess? but I’m not interested.”

“Are you certain, sir? Just think about it,” the son of a bitch insists. “I’m sure a hero like you could use a little peace at night.”

“Nah, I’m fine, thanks. Let him go, we’re moving,” Badd says as he begins to walk towards the exit of the park - only for the guy to block his way, hands lifted in a soothing attitude.

“What about the next host, then? Surely you wouldn’t willfully condemn someone to wear that burden after you.”

“Someone would hafta kill me first, and it ain’t for so soon.” Badd is probably starting to feel pissed, because he’s articulating every word distinctly, voice low and threatening. “I said I’m not interested. Let. Him. Go.”

The brat suddenly seems hesitant, but the pressure around Garou’s body doesn’t lessen. What is he playing at? No one in their right mind would want to get on Badd’s ner-

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” the walnut says, and his voice doesn’t sound human at all anymore.

Three things happen simultaneously. The force blocking Garou slightly diminishes, allowing him to take a single, difficult step forward. Badd falls down on one knee, as if he is now being crushed. And the suit of the esper tears itself apart, revealing a slender figure with what looks like a second pair of arms.

 A monster.

“Can’t say I was expecting to run into Metal Bat today,” the monster crackles, and its face doesn’t have anything human left either. “But you happen to be linked to a very powerful creature. I need to kill it to absorb its energy.”

“As if,” Garou snarls, taking another heavy step forward, struggling to regain more control over his body. Come on. Come on!

“I can’t have you protecting that thing,” the monster goes on, as if it doesn’t know how to shut the fuck up anymore. “But I don’t mean you any harm. We don’t have to be enemies. I’ll just keep you still while I take care of it.”

From the corner of his eye, Garou sees Badd brace himself on his bat and start to get up, but the monster points a finger at him, and he’s sent back to his knees.

The pressure on Garou loosens up a little more.

That fucker can’t immobilize us both completely, he realizes.

He tentatively straightens himself up and rolls his shoulders. His muscles feel heavy and slow as they strain against the still-there tension, but they obey him. He smirks. I can work with that.

“Your pet is still too weakened to overcome me, any-”

The monster is interrupted as Garou tackles it to the ground.

The close up fight is messy - a bit too much for Garou’s liking. He has to put all his focus on every move he makes, and even like that, he can feel how uncharacteristically slow and weak his attacks are.

“Shit,” he hisses against his better judgement when the monster hits him square in the shoulder. It doesn’t exactly hurt, but it does make him take a step back, and damn, he should have ducked that one.

He knows he should go for the arms. If he could tear one or two off, he’d have more room to use his usual techniques. But the esper knows better than to let Garou get too close, which is infuriating. It constantly jumps just out of reach, and only hits when Garou’s momentum prevents him from reacting in time.

I could use some fucking fighting spirit right now, Garou thinks, and he almost chuckles at the thought. Badd’s style isn’t always the most refined, but in Garou’s position, he’d probably still have enough raw strength to beat the shit out of that motherfucker.

Shame Badd isn’t in Garou’s position. The esper had said it’d concentrate on keeping the hero out of this, which is why Garou can move at all. Big fucking A.

Garou is pulled out of his thoughts as something punches him hard in the stomach, and the hit sends him flying a few feet away. “Dammit,” he swears as he raises to his feet again, reaching to the trail of blood that leaks from his mouth with trembling fingers.

He’s already getting tired.

And the monster only seems to become faster with each passing moment.

Its attacks still aren’t powerful enough to cause any serious injury, but time isn’t playing in Garou’s favor here.

I need to end this, he thinks. The sooner the better. He takes a deep breath and shifts his weight on his feet. He won’t win by his usual ways. He needs to rely less on the speed he currently doesn’t have, and to focus more on the few hits he can land if he wants to -

Right behind him, the monster emits something that might be a giggle, and Garou realizes it’s must closer than he’d thought.

He startles, turns on his heels, puts his guard up and braces himself -

The monster is hit by a metal bat on its side and violently crushes into the trees nearby, leaving greenish, fuming fluids all over the place.

Badd is standing in its place, and his face is maculated in red.

“You’re bleeding,” his host informs him, slightly out of breath.

Garou can’t believe this guy.

“I’m - ?! Dude, your face! What happened?”

“Hit myself,” Badd shrugs, swinging his now red-and-green bat on his shoulder, keeping an eye on the monster’s form where it landed. “To clear my mind of that jerk’s shit.”

“You -”

Garou trails off, because he needs a while to process this. A few paces away, the monster wiggles sluggishly - it isn’t dead yet, as the slight pressure still weighting Garou down should have let him know, and they should go on and finish it now, but he’s too stunned to get a move on.

So instead, he blinks and lets himself slip into more familiar ground as he cracks a flirtatious smile.

“Really? You hit your own head with your fucking bat just to give me a hand?” he grins cockily. “Man, are you that desperate?”

“For you, yes,” Badd states - he doesn’t whisper it, he doesn’t shy away from it, he states it, loud and plain, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Like it doesn’t make Garou suddenly feel warm all over.

For the first time ever, he doesn’t know what to say.

“Oh, so you’re the biggest bloody flirt there is, but I can’t flirt back?” Badd teases him with an all too knowing grin, before casually walking to the monster and delivering it the final blow.

Garou can feel his invisible restrains vanishing, but he still doesn’t know how to move. Or how to talk, for that matter.

“Come on,” Badd laughs as he shakes his bat to rid it of the monster’s gore. “If we run, we can make it to the nightshop in time to buy Tama’s food.”

“Wait-” Garou yells after him. “Wait, did you actually -”

“Come on!” Badd yells back, tone playful, and he’s already gone.

For a few more seconds, Garou just stands there, arms stupidly hanging at his sides, mind gone completely blank. Then a wide, amused, unbelieving smile spreads on his face, and he chases after Badd.

He’s blushing hard, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Badd cares.

And they have all the time in their intertwined lives to figure things out.

[who-is-olivia]

Track 6. Only Angel

Harry Styles x OC

Olivia has to perform in the Victoria Secret Fashion Show but struggles to deal with her mental health. [3.7k]

Genre: fluff, angst

Warnings: nudity, sexual language, mental health struggles

December 2014

  They hadn't been on speaking terms.

  Two years ago, Olivia had a breakdown and decided to go back to her hometown in Brazil, right when One Direction was set to perform on Madison Square Garden. They split up to give her room to recover and it was working... until Taylor came into the picture.

  Harry never regretted the choices he made, he knew he would be miserable with Taylor knowing that Oli was just around the corner. So he broke up with her on the day they were set to travel to the Caribbean. It was very harsh on her so it’s understandable she wouldn’t take it nicely.

  Now, Oli and Frank have to perform on the Victoria Secret Fashion Show right after Taylor.  It’s an honor, Olivia will introduce two Brazilian models wearing a special bra thing, she’s gonna be wearing a beautiful lingerie piece, but she can’t control her nerves efficiently enough to enjoy the opportunity.

  This is the last rehearsal before the big performance, they mark the steps along with the sound check and the last costume fitting all at the same time. Frank’s standing around with his guitar waiting for the production’s queue to dismount while Oli leans over Nadine’s phone to watch a short news outlet on Twitter hyping the show tomorrow.

“... but the supermodels are not the highlight of the show, instead is someone who won’t even walk the stage: Harry Styles is the talk of the town as tomorrow both his ex and his current girlfriend will take the stage one after the other. Who do you think will deliver the best performance? Comment down below and don’t forget to subscribe-“

“This is bullshit” Oli shakes her shoulder trying to seem unfazed but secretly crumbling in anxiety.

“Total bullshit, I’m sorry you had to watch this-“ Nadine revolts.

“No, it’s fine, I’m just gonna get my stuff-“

“Hey, do they have extra wings?” Frank asks from the other end of the stage.

“I don’t think so, why?”

“I was dying to wear wings” he grunts and Oli rolls her eyes.

“You can wear mine after I walk the stage” Candice winks at him teasingly.

“Frank, we have bigger fish to fry” she walks up to him, leaving the girls to themselves. “We should call this off”

“Wha-Why?!”

“Because it’s drawing too much negative attention, I don’t need that at this point” she fiddles with her fingers, desperate for a cigarette.

“Oli, this is huge for the us, we can’t bail out”

“Frankie, please”

“No bug, I’m sorry” he pats her shoulder and walks away. From the corner of her eye she notices someone familiar approaching.

“Hey there, crazy!” Zayn nods.

“Holy shit, what are you doing here?” she jumps down the stage and lands in his hug. Apart from Harry, Zayn is the only 1D member she’s got to befriend. Nothing against the other boys, they all speak to each other, but he’s her actual friend. Doesn’t hurt that she got to work a lot with his girlfriend’s band recently.

“Harry told me you’d be here, I thought I’d give you a ride”

“Perfect! Let me get my things-“

“What about Frank?”

“He’ll find a place to sleep tonight” she chuckles.

  Since the show’s in London, she at least gets the comfort of staying at Harry’s place. Although they share a nice flat in New York, he needs a place in London due to the label and also to see his family. To ease their expenses, he bought a smaller place that she hasn't seen yet. Harry feels quite lonely in it, and having the expectation of her visit did nothing for his internal peace.

  On the way there, she and Zayn share a couple smokes and make small talk, planning a few tattoos while she’s in town. Soon enough they arrive and there he is, waiting to open her door for her.

“Hey love” he smiles, pulling her out of the car and into his loving embrace. At the very sight of him a huge weight is lifted from her shoulders. “Thanks mate, appreciate it”

“No worry, we’ll catch up later, eh?”

“I’ll text you, bye Zayn!”

  As he drives down the lane, Harry walks with an arm around her waist up to the flat where her things are already in place. With that out of the way, they head straight to the shower.

  He presses her naked body against the wall, her wet chest against his as their lips clash in a sensuous patient kiss. His small pecks fall to her jaw and down her neck as his wet hair tickles her, distracting her from the pleasure he’s giving.

“Haz?”

“Hm?” he hums in her sweet spot.

“Do you think I should do the gig?”

Harry stops kissing her, bringing his gaze back to her and sighing worriedly. “What could possibly make you not do it?”

“Everyone keeps speculating about the performance, they keep comparing me to Taylor and I’m just...” she cracks, hiding her face on his wet neck. Harry strokes the back of her head and shushes her tenderly, trying to get a glimpse of her.

“If you don’t wanna do it, don’t do it love. You can tell everyone you’re feeling sick and just stay here with me”  

“Yeah, but it would be amazing for Frank and I and it’s been really amazing to meet all the models and spending some time with Nadine...”

“Nadine’s great”

“She’s the fucking best” he relaxes at the sight of her smile.

“Whatever you wanna do, I’ll have your back, alright?” she nods and he leans in to kiss her playfully.

  They dry up and head to the bed, exhausted. Before she arrived, he was craving for her, desperately. He would remember their times together and twitch in his pants at the thought of it, always keeping in mind that she was x days away from coming home and putting away his misery. But having her in his arms so fragile, so unprepared, it felt wrong and he had to stop. What he feels for her is not only physical and he can’t let her emotional needs unattended.

  Oli falls asleep curled up to his side, one of her legs straddled around his waist, breathing calmly on his chest. He takes a little longer to doze off just watching her peaceful sleep, the lovely way her parted lips blow against his shirt and her eyelids twitch while she’s having a dream. Her hair is wrapped in a light pink silk sheet, soaked in coconut oil, and he can’t resist burying his nose on it and taking in the sweet scent. He loves her so much it burns, and seeing her anguish feels like walking with a knife craved in his heart, he wishes he could make it all go away... so he tries something stupid.

  At approximately 2:00am, he calls Frank.

“Aren’t you calling a bit late?” he growls on the other end of the line.

“Hey, I’m sorry, there’s just something that’s not letting me sleep”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“Probably can, I just wanted to clear my head about this” he excuses, feeling like he’s already drawing towards the unwanted results with this call. “You and Oli have to perform tomorrow at all costs?”

“Look man... I know she’s stressed out, all that bad press is getting under her skin but after we ditched Fiona and Gina we haven't been selling, at all, and we need the show if we want to stay signed for another year”

“Yeah, but aren’t you scared she’ll just... lose it?”

“I am, I still feel guilty about her breakdown... but that’s the job, she loves it, the good and the bad. Trust me, she’ll be amazing tomorrow, you won’t tell the difference between her and an angel”

“I bet I won’t... night, Frank” he hangs up. Frank is a level-headed guy, he must have thought this through already and taken the most logical conclusion but deep down it doesn’t feel right. Anyways, Harry quits his crusade to spare her and returns to the bedroom, settling in her arms again.

  But their domestic bliss is cut short by the day’s schedule. At 11:00am sharp she’s already getting her nails done and her braids fixed at Harry’s while he chats with everyone who’s busy. However, he notices Olivia is dead silent – which is very unusual.

“Guys” he calls after the nails and hair are done, “can I steal her for a second?”

“Sure... don’t mess her up!”

“I promise” he leads them to the door and shuts it, turning to where she has her head hidden behind her knees. “Love, please don’t let it get in your head”

“Too bad” she leans on her freshly manicured hands and he can see tears on the corner of her eyes.

That’s the last drop. “Hey, look at me” he tips her chin so she looks at him reluctantly. “You can both do great, it’s not a race, no matter what the bloody papers say”

“I know”

“Do you?”

She sighs, dropping her head on his palm. “No”

“Then you have to believe me, just do your best” he soothes, stroking her hair, “and if you can’t, your 50% is already bloody incredible-“

“Haz! Shut up” she laughs sadly, wiping the little droplets from her eyelids. To have her at least smiling is enough.

“I love you, alright?” she nods, “Trust me on this one, you’ll be fucking amazing”

  They both get pampered and ready to the red carpet, as usual arriving in grand fashion. He leaves the car first then opens the door to help her out, making a huge scene as she gets up on her heels and throws her thin Havana twists out of her face gently, which is quite a spectacle to the paparazzi. Once she feels the luxurious climate, her attitude shifts and she immediately grows more confident. She welcomes Harry’s arm around her waist and supports her wrist on his shoulder, staring at the cameras with a focused glance. He can feel it, her posture changes, she looks powerful, he can’t hide his gobsmacked grin at showing the world how intimidating and formidable is the woman who literally owns his heart and soul.

  Once the photographs are over, they walk to the dressing room together.

“Mr. Styles, you can’t go in” a producer holds him back.

Olivia frowns at her. “What?”

“This area is just for performers and models, you can’t go in”

“Can’t he come to my dressing room?”

“I’m sorry, it’s not allowed-“

“It’s ok” he interrupts, knowing pretty well it’s what he set up to surprise her later on. When she steps back, he takes Oli by the hand and hugs her tightly, pulling her close enough so he can whisper in her ear. “No matter how many people step on that stage tonight, you’re the only one I see, alright?”

She smirks. “You better...”

“You’re the sexiest, most talented person I know, you’re gonna be amazing”

“I hope so” she leans into him, cupping his cheek in a passionate kiss that catches him completely off-guard.

“I’ll be on the front row” he says a bit out of breath before letting her go.

  Once she turns towards her dressing room, she sees her standing there: tall, slim, fair, blonde, piercing blue eyes following her every step. Not willing to make another scene, she salutes her with two fingers in a friendly gesture, and in reply she smiles politely. Their interaction ends there.

  On her dressing room, Frank is already dressing up and strangely giggly.

“Candice is giving me her wings after the first run!” he cheers, making it really hard for the stylist to work on his outfit.

“You’re winning already then” she mocks, pulling her dress straps down and asking for Frank’s help to unzip the rest. She’s not used with the rest of the backup band so she awkwardly slides to one of the changing booths. “Where is Morgan? The show’s about to start”

  While she waits for their agent, she quickly puts on the black combo of hot pants, torn t-shirt, up the knee boots and a boa. At some point she hears something above the noise of the backup band tuning their instruments and everyone shuts up.

  The show starts.

  Taylor is the first one to perform, walking down the catwalk with some of the biggest models in the industry. They run to the side stage to watch them but the producers don’t let anyone get on the way of the running models, so she has to watch on the TV’s spread across the backstage. Taylor’s presentation is straight up perfect, she moves like fucking royalty and interacts naturally with all the models – she looks so good she might as well be mistaken for one. Oli’s legs begin to shake as the song hits the second chorus.

  Fortunately, there are two other performers watching, and they come to greet her.

“Hey Oli” Andrew is the first, thank god for a familiar face. They used to hang out after rehearsals, he’s a giant dork who’s also not used to fame. Also, his poems make her cry all the time.

“Andy! I’m passing out!”

“Wow, hang on” he holds her by the shoulders.

“I can’t follow up, everyone’s talking about it-“

“Hey, what you’re talking about? You rehearsed this, you’re gonna walk down that stage and be fucking incredible” he talks her down in that convoluted Irish accent of his.

  From the front row, Harry nervously watches top models in tiny clothes pass one after the other, trying to focus on anything else but Taylor on that moment. Every line she sings feels like she’s spitting on him. A show that lasts minutes feels like hours, and when it finally ends it’s time for Olivia.

“Holy shit” she breaths out raggedly.

“Do you want some water?” Ariana asks.

“Where’s Frank?” Oli pleads, seeing black dots on her peripheral vision.  

Frank, who had been talking to some of the models, promptly excuses himself. “You ok?” she barely hears through her thumping ears.

“I’m having a panic attack...”

“Hey, let me handle this” she hears her voice distantly, as if she’s drowning on her heartbeat. “Come with me” Taylor helps her up and takes her to one of the bathrooms, just the two of them.

  She pulls her hair out of her face and shoves it over one shoulder, helping her lean over the sink in case she feels like throwing up. She then wets her hand and throws some cold water on the back of her neck.

“Breath in, hold, then breath out, just like me” she insists. Olivia closes her eyes, breathes in, holds, then breathes out, time and time again until she can grasp her surroundings. Slowly, the thumping on her ears recedes and she can actually feel herself again. “Better?”

“Yeah...”, she takes one last deep breath, “thank you”

“Don’t worry, I’ve been there” she dries her hand on a paper towel.

Oli sighs heavily, “I don’t know if I can pull this off”

“Of course you can” Taylor counters, “Just think: you’ll be on stage with your brother, singing a song you already sang a hundred times, your fans will love it, the models will love it... and Harry’s on the front row, he’ll love it anyway”

She hesitates before starting, “I’m sorry about what happened between you”

“Don’t... I’m actually glad it’s over” Taylor looks down and nods her head, trying to figure out her next words. “Sure, I didn’t like the way it ended but I was just so anxious around him, I feel like I can breath now, it’s so funny... when I was with him I was always so nervous, afraid to say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing, like you were just then” she points to the door, “but you’re... effortless together. I wish I had something like that in my life”

“Hey” she looks up at her, “these things just... happen, I can’t explain it. Just do your thing and wait for someone to show up who happens to like you just like this. It might take a while but it’s worth it”

Taylor smiles, pulling her in for a tight hug. Olivia relaxes on her shoulder, welcoming all the energy she lets out. “I think you should go out there and rock that stage” she whispers encouragingly. “It doesn’t matter what people will say tomorrow, we know what’s up, they never will”

Olivia nods, taking a bit of distance. “Thank you so much” she squeezes Taylor’s hands.

“You’re welcome... now let’s go”

  The show-runner asks for the audience to be patient as they’re having a few technical difficulties and Harry is this close to invading the backstage and checking on Oli. His knee bops up and down frantically, looking at Liam beside him for guidance. At the first sign of applause, his eyes shoot up at the stage and there she is. Frank’s guitar riff fills the room as they walk in, him leading the way with his tall angel wings, sunglasses and skirt, his guitar wailing as if calling for Olivia to join. Then she does, parading to the beat until she reaches Frank.

“How’re you feeling tonight?!” she calls before getting her queue.

  He couldn’t look away even if his eyes were gauged off. His breathing increases, his body responding to the feast upon the stage. Two Brazilian models pass in front of her, he doesn’t look away. The entire cast of the show walks up but still, he doesn’t look away. The way her vocals reach all the way to the back of the venue makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise. She looks so powerful yet so ingenue, as if the way her hips swing is completely pure.

  But there’s nothing pure about her. The way she dances with Frank’s guitar solo, the way she smiles and bops with the models, how her braids barely cover her bare ass cheeks, it’s too much. All he can think about is ripping that lingerie with his teeth and let her encircle him with that boa, he wants to be at her mercy.

  At some point, their gazes meet and he feels a bit love drunk, lost in her beauty. She walks to the edge of the stage closest to him and blows him a kiss and he catches it in the air, keeping it on his internal pocket and winking back at her. He wants her to kiss him, he wants her to lose all decorum and just disgrace him right then and there.  

  But just as it began it ended. As she takes a bow and walks out with one of the models, Harry applauds on his feet. She smiles proudly, holding Frank on a side hug and bowing once again. She did it! It was amazing, sexy, vibrant... and Harry can’t wait to see her, not another ten seconds.

  She’s welcomed in the backstage with thunderous applause. After all, she did it! She was super scared but soldiered on and now that’ll live in history as one of her best performances ever. As soon as the clapping dies, she walks up to Taylor and hugs her tightly.

“Thank you for everything” she whispers through a smile.

“You were a-mazing!” Taylor cheers getting some distance between them and then hitching. Oli follows her gaze and finds Harry standing awkwardly in the middle of the commotion.

“Haz? I thought you couldn’t get in”

“Yeah, don’t say it too loud” he mocks, pulling a flower bouquet from behind his back. Olivia chuckles amusedly and runs to his embrace, leaving a very uncomfortable Taylor standing empty-handed.

“You were something else tonight” he whispers to her and hands her the flowers. Sensing the eyes around them, she restricts her displays of affection to a small kiss on his cheek. “How about we skip the after-party and just grab a bite with the band?”

“Sure, I just wanna watch Andy’s then we can go”

“Alright” he nods and his gaze accidentally catches Taylor’s. It would be extremely impolite to ignore her after looking her straight in the eyes so, for education’s sake, he walks up to her. “Ms. Swift”

“Mr. Styles” she replies with the same cocky attitude.

“It’s nice to see you”

“You too” they exchange a kiss in the cheek and part ways. Once Harry’s got his back towards her, Olivia and Taylor exchange a knowing wink.

  Before they watch Andrew’s performance, Oli and Harry head to her and Frank’s empty dressing room. As she walks in first to get the flowers on a pot, Harry locks the door behind him and moves to hug her waist. She closes her eyes in delight, feeling his desperate lips already trace her shoulder up to the crook of her neck.

“You looked really fucking sexy in that stage” he mumbles, taking gentle hold of her neck.

“I could tell, you were giving me bedroom eyes from the moment I stepped in” she mocks, stroking the hand that holds her on a choke-hold before turning inside his grasp and kissing him teasingly, making him dangle on the edge of sanity. He presses his parted lips on her but she pulls away slightly, licking a single strip of his bottom lip before bitting it lightly and kissing him back.

“Can’t wait ‘til bedroom love”

“Yeah? What a shame” she pushes him away playfully, “I’m not doing anything here with a zillion people outside”

“Fuck’s sake” he dramatically flops down into the sofa, “you’re killing me, honestly”

“Dead men can’t talk!” she replies, changing into her party dress and overcoat.

  Harry keeps groaning on the sofa, calling out for her until she’s ready. She leans over the back of the sofa and hugs his shoulders, he holds on to her arms for reassurance. Looking down, she notices he’s a bit too excited to go out in public, so she has an epiphany...

“... you got that James Dean daydream look in you eyes” she sings.

“Oh, fuck you-“

“And I’ve got that red lip classic thing that you like”

“Oli, don’t” he whimpers through a struggled laugh.

“We never go out of Style... es” with that one improv, he loses it, laughing his life away. She pecks his sweet cheeks over and over, leaving several dark-brown stains on his fair skin. “Come on, you’re good to go”

“Thanks, angel”

She narrows her eyes, hand hovering over the lock before grinning arrogantly, “I like that”

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Masterlist

[littleeyesofpallas]

I don’t usually dwell on American cape comic shenanigans too much, because it’s a fast and loose kind of writing that doesn’t really play well with being scrutinized or really thought about at all, at least any longer than it takes to get through a page, but man... this whole Tynion IV Batman thing is still rubbing me the wrong way...  and what bugs me is how it’s definitely not all “bad,” and in fact a lot of the build up is great, but then the resolutions (or lack there of) are massive let downs, but then also he keeps skirting by with these loose ends that feel like they weren’t forgotten but that they might get picked up later.  It would almost suggest he has a real big picture planned as a through line across multiple stories...

So, when Tynion took over with issue 86 and Their Dark Designs, he actually provided a great premise: In the aftermath of City of Bane and Alfred Pennyworth’s death, Bruce muses over his apparent old habit of sketching himself little snapshots of an idealized Gotham he holds in his head.  We have a clear establishment of the theme of Design, and also the idea that Bruce has an end game in mind.  He’s not just reacting to crime as it happens, he has a long term plan.  This is a genuinely good angle to have for a Batman story.

To build on this, we learn that Lucius is working on some new tech for Bruce and he specifically marvels at how far Bruce’s war on crime has escalated.  The bat-gear hasn’t just been getting more sophisticated over the years, its development is beginning to outpace its practical applications.

Additionally, we get a weird kind of distraction of a B-plot with various master assassins convening in Gotham under a singular organized job, but among them the spotlight falls on Deathstroke.  Does Tynion talk about Deathstroke being one of the classic anti-batmen?  Does he talk about Deathstroke’s healing factor?  No.  He talks about Deathstroke’s augmented brain processing faster than Bruce can keep up with (a trait most authors tend to overlook with Slade); this means his only means of competing with Slade is to have a plan that puts him down before his super fast brain can think of a way out, because implicitly he will out think Batman given time, and if they’re both whittled down to adapting to one another in the moment, Slade wins.

Again, our theme is Master plans/Designs/end games.

Enter the heretofore unmentioned legendary, nigh mythical, Gotham villain named The Designer has reemerged after an indistinct time missing from the criminal underworld.  His claim to fame is planning 20 steps ahead, outpacing his adversary’s planning to snub any and all resistance utterly and completely.  

He’s brought up because he once mentored Penguin, Riddler, Catwoman, and Joker in their early days(and in their 90s era outfits as a clever reference) and apparently the master plans he devised with each of them that were never enacted have been queued up by “someone.”  Designer is back, but he’s supposed to be dead; In a painfully uninteresting, cliche “twist” Joker was too KuHrAaZzY to handle and Designer turned on him rather than finish his tutelage, and in the ensuing firefight the 4 Gotham rogues killed the legendary Designer.

So, there are a lot of fun questions this raises, like who the apparent new Designer is, what his plan is, and what he wants...

Bruce has another run in with Slade and launches into an awkward, kinda whiny rant where he tells Slade that if only super villains hadn’t wasted so much of his time escalating the arms race of powers and gadgets and gimmicks, that he could have fixed Gotham years ago.  So, here we are again, this idea of plans, of reactionary escalation, and of the absolute need for a master plan that snubs the opposition before they can react and learn.  Batman beats Slade, of course, which just goes to show what we’re always meant to assume from Batman anyway, that he already had Slade beat from the get go.  He had a plan; Batman always has a plan.

So this is super cool!  It took us kind of a plodding 6 out of 9 issues of this story to get here, but this is a good place!  We know Batman has a master plan for Gotham, we know from what we’ve heard about plans/Designs as a theme that means he’s already got all his villains accounted for, and that he’s just going through the motions: turning the wheels to make the machine work.  It’s only a matter of time, now.

I’ll be honest, my thought at first when I was reading these?  I thought The Designer was Batman, or some part of Batman’s plan.  That he’d resurrected this mythical villain as part of his own master plan, to perhaps trick all his biggest adversaries to go all in on a singular massive criminal enterprise that Bruce had already designed from the get go to fail, and to take them all down with it once and for all.  It fit the profiles, and it felt like the natural direction this all was headed...

But then it was just The Joker.  Designer really was dead, Joker brought him back, stole his master plan and pulled it off himself.  He stole Batman’s money and gadgets, and took over Gotham (again).  That’s it.  It was a 9 issue/4 month long fucking prologue to Joker War.  And more importantly... NONE of these themes paid off, even a little...  And to be fair, if these had turned into something to be addressed and resolved in Joker War, I might have been okay with it...  But they weren’t...

Also there’s a (would be)great little moment towards the end here where we learn that The Designer’s original nemesis, a master detective whom he crushed and humiliated, once taught Bruce “how to lose.”  And this went nowhere.  But it could have been super interesting, because what exactly does that even mean?  Does it mean learning to accept loss and move on?  Does it mean letting the opponent’s plan succeed because if they put everything into the one plan, then it means they never actually had a follow through, so now the board is wiped clean and everyone’s back to square 1?  What exactly was the point of bringing back the Designer’s legacy if we just learned that the real Designer wasn’t even the master mind of this whole story?

So then we meander into Joker War, curiosity still piqued, but expectations drastically lowered...

Joker has all Batman’s gadgets: that’s actually kind of cool.  I like the idea of Joker having infinite resources and Batman being the one working underground.  It’s kind of been done before in pieces, but never quite as explicit as this.  It’s not genius, but its a solid premise.  Joker goes on a meta-rant about people watching “the classics” over and over, and audiences being content to see the same old story, provided it’s done right.  (A bold called shot, Tynion.)  

And we glimpse the mysterious future Batsuit that apparently Bruce doesn’t remember designing.  It’s kind of a throwback to the gray and blue look of the silver age Batman, when comics were a little more cheery and goofy and child friendly.  It’s a nice commentary on the idea that Bruce wants to make Gotham into a better place, not where he doesn’t need to be Batman, but where he can be a less grim Batman.  It speaks to Bruce’s character, his vision for Gotham, and Tynion’s nostalgia that is now being strongly established as a driving force of these stories...

Joker’s plan involves paying Gothamites, in the middle of this citywide takeover by clown gangs, to attend screenings of Zorro, at which point he’ll kill them walking out of the theaters.  Batman shows up at one theater, fights some Joker zombie things, get gassed, gets rescued by Harley and given an antidote that induces a hallucination chat with Alfred.

Laughably, in this talk Bruce admits “I failed...” when talking about letting Alfred die and letting Joker take over the city but then hallucination Alfred talks Bruce OUT of it.  So whatever it was Bruce learned about losing from the old detective, this apparently wasn’t it; this was the wrong kind of losing.

Joker mentions part of his plan was to make a new generation of heroes and villains with the massive shared trauma of the theater killings.  We’d been seeing bits of Clown Killer, but that’s it.  He actually seems pretty cool, but he wasn’t really doing much more than cameo in this.  No new villains* actually, not until the epilogue gives us the anti-hero GhostMaker.

*correction: there are a few retroactively established villains who are new to publication, but no new villains born out of the actual Joker War scenario.

The whole Batfam shows up to wrestle clowns.  For some reason Tynion or DC editorial in general went to GREAT lengths to contrive Dick being back in the old Nightwing outfit, Tim being Robin again, Cass and Steph being Batgirls, Babs being Oracle, and Damian having renounced the Robin title for this...  They don’t do jack shit; They wrestle clown goons in the background.

Yet, again one of Joker’s stupid genius plans ends with a fist fight between a highly trained martial artist and a guy in a purple suit and we’re expected to be excited about this.  Harley shows up to trick Bruce into leaving Joker to die, but of course he survives anyway...

So there are a few themes here that got heinously underutilized...  Joker’s super into this self-aware thing about this being just another Batman-v-Joker affair, and about recreating Batman’s origin, and we see this play out on the other side with the weird walk back on the Batfam’s costumes.  But we know Joker will lose, so ostensibly the bottom line here should be that, no, actually... doing the same old thing isn’t enough, and people aren’t as predictable as Joker thinks.

But if we’re acknowledging this idea that Batman-v-Joker is a thing that happens in cycles and it’s always kind of the same thing, and people are sick of it, then you know what one undeniable fact of continuity flies in the face of that?  That no matter how many times we reboot the universe and repeat this whole song and dance, Batman keeps accumulating more sidekicks.  I’d have loved if this whole thing had just climaxed with Joker “winning” in his over elaborate 1v1 grudge match only to have half a dozen extra bats bust in and kick his ass.

But more over, Batman NEVER had any sort of plan in this...  The whole lead up in Their Dark Designs, which took LONGER to set up Joker War than Joker War actually lasted, was about Bruce having this Design for Gotham...  And Joker War goes out of its way to remind us of this lingering concept, and doesn’t actually do anything with it, but tries to still dangle it over us, like... “oh no, we didn’t forget it, it’s just for later!”  And like, I’m still kind of on board for it, but less and less so the more this shit drags out without any satisfying benchmarks along the way.  And it’s just super frustrating to want to give Tynion credit for the genuinely good set up he seems to have here... Except is it still a “good setup” of it ends up not actually setting anything up?  or if what it sets up turns out to be disappointing and bad??

It’s just really bizarre to me that I honestly kind of desperately want to like Tynion’s Batman (Clearly I’m having a fucking field day digging my teeth into it) but in spite of the good that’s there, and the clear forethought that appears to have gone into it, he keeps tripping himself up somehow.