#who handed me a traffic cone with a sign on it and was like ‘just put it in front of whatever bathroom you use and block it off completely’

[in-tua-deep]

Had a staff meeting yesterday where my boss congratulated us on our counseling center being wildly committed to diversity bc the university asked him to compile all the stuff on our websites and trainings that might be targeted if certain laws go into effect and uh. his job is very hard right now

[briefalpacashark]

~Drunk Boys~

The boys from 141 get drunk and you have to pick them up.

Warning: Drunk, violence.

Parts inspired from New Girl. If you know you know.

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One lovely evening you sat in your little office space. The boys had headed off quite some time ago for a few drinks. Your usual Friday night outing didn't include you that time because of a few reports you had put off. It was pulling onto 1am when your phone started to ring. It was a new number you had never seen before.

“Hello, this is Y/N speaking,” you said.

“Hey uh doc?” It was Gaz voice that came through the call. 

“Gaz?” you asked.

“Who you talking to?” you could hear Jonny ask in the background.

“I'm talking to doc,” Gaz stated.

“Oh, why?” Jonny whispered.

“I don't know,” Gaz murmured back. It didn't take a detective to establish by their slurred tones that they were drunk.

“Gaz, why are you calling me from a random number?” you asked.

“I don't know. Our phones got wet,” he explained.

“Our?” you asked.

“Yeah Me, Soap, Ghost and Price,” he stated with a sassy tone, as if it was your fault for not knowing. 

“So you fucked you phones?” you asked.

“Yeah,” Gaz nodded.

“And you called me, why?” you asked. There was silence for a bit.

“Captain, why am I calling Doc again?” Gaz asked.

“Because we lost the fucking car and we need a lift back to base,” Price snapped in the distance.

“Because we lost the fucking car and we need a lift back to base,” Gaz tone was much calmer and sweeter than Prices. A small smile worked its way onto your face.

“Alright, ill be there soon. Where are you?” you asked, making your way to the door.

“Not at the base,” Gaz said.

“I know that Gaz. Where are you now?” It was like talking to a toddler.

“Oh, We're at McDonalds,” he said before the line went dead. There were three McDonalds in the town. You thought they would be at the one closest to the bar. You were right. You were about to pull into the car park when you paused. Alittle down the street, right under the McDonalds sign sat four blobs. Driving up to it, you slammed on the brakes at what you saw. 

Price was sitting with his arms crossed. His hat looked to have been ripped in half and then shakily put back together with some staples, a tuft of his hair sticking out the top. Next to him Ghost with a traffic cone on his head and one tucked in his lap as he sat cross-legged. He was hugging it, and the one in his lap had been drawn on, and made up to look like a person, with a hat and a bikini loosely tied around it. One of his jacket sleeves was missing as if it had been torn clean off. Jonny sat next to him shirtless, with a patch of hair missing from his chest. Over it a pink glittery 21st birthday sash. His mohawk sprinkled with glitter and a kilt. Gaz had left in a pair of jeans, he was now in a pair of pink booty shorts that you would place money on that had some word like bitch or booty on the back of bedazzled gems. A crown of beer cans ducked taped around his head compelled the fit. All about them, strewn across the floor was a variety of McDonald's food, ranging from ice-creams to nuggets. They were all happily munching away. And they were all missing their left shoe?

You got out of the car phone at the ready.

“Say cheese boys,” you called. Drunkenly, they all looked up in your general direction, taking a photo. You chuckled, pocketing your phone and hands as you looked over them all. Wondering what the hell happened to them. 

“Ah, it's doc. What are you doing here, lovey?” Jonny asked in excitement, throwing his hands to the air.

“I'm here to pick you boys up,” you said.

“Pah, no we're alright. We've still got to go to another bar. Ain't that right LT?” Jonny asked, waving you away.

“Aye. I want another lager,” Ghost stated defiantly.

“I think you boys have had enough. Just look at the state of ya,” you gestured to them. 

“Wow, body shaming. Shame on you Y/N,” Gaz slurred, shaking his head disappointingly.

“Your all wet. Each of you has a piece of clothing damaged and all of you haven't even made eye contact with me yet,” you explained. Instantly, they all turned to stare into your eyes.

“Bull shit,” Jonny hiccuped before taking a bite of his burger. 

“Sargent, Report,” Price spoke up. You paused, considering his words as he stared down at the road in front of him.

“Report sir?” you asked. He nodded, tipping forward ever so slightly. Your eyes widened. He was absolutely plastered. They all were. 

“Your all drunk as fuck,” you said simply, your sentence finishing in a bewilder chuckle. The boys could hold their liquer, hell you have ever seen Gaz and Jonny drunk. 

“Am not,” Jonnys offended tone had you laughing again.

“Of sorry. My mistake, your only eating ice cream burger because you want to,” you jabbed you fingers at the burger in his hands. The ice cream was dripping down his arms and it looked like he had stacked nuggets, chips and a shit ton of cheese into the mix.

“As a matter of fact I did want to,” he said moving his hand about, the contents of the burger slopping onto the ground.

“Awww,” Jonny whined.

“Five second rule bruv,” Gaz said reaching bow to pick up a handful of the mess reconstructing the burger and handing it back to Jonny.

“Thanks Gaz,” Jonny seemed genuinely thankful. You held back a gag as he moved it to his mouth.

“Don't eat that,” you warned. You sure as hell didn't want him getting sick of all the gems that were now thrown into the burger mix. 

“I'll do what I want to do, because I can do whatever I want to do because I can do it,” he slurred.

“Jonny you eat that burger and I'll never speak to you again,” you proposed the ultimatum. He paused, pondering for a moment.

“What if I drink it?” he asked.

“Your gonna drink a burger?” you asked raising an eyebrow.

“Aye,” he nodded confidently.

“I bet you a tenner you can't,” Price spoke up. The poor man looked to be dozing in and out of sleep.

“I'll take that bet,” Jonny said.

“Jonny that was on the road,” you pleaded.

“And?” he asked.

“Put it down,” you ordered sternly. With a grumble, he chucked the burger down like a toddler throwing a tantrum. The boys held back their giggles. You heard that right giggle. And it was stared by none other than the man himself. Price. He was giggling. The high-pitched noise sounded off coming from him.

“Ohhhhhhhh mums mad at you,” Gaz joked, nudging his side.

“Sod off,” Jonny grumbled.

“Alright where’s the phone you called me from?” you asked.

“Why?” Gaz questioned.

“Because you called me from a random number, which means you had someone else’s phone. By the state of you lot I wouldn't be surprised if you stole it,” you explained.

“Right, it's over there,” Gaz grabbed his thumb to the phone booth. You first thought they had called you from it, but when you noticed the little pink box, you walked up to it to get a closer look. It was an iPhone. In a pink case, it was cracked to kingdom come and they had somehow lodged it in the credit card reader. You tried tugging it out to no avail. What you did find was Gaz’s phone propped up on the little stand with his contacts open with your name and number on it. Deciding not to question the backwards thinking that led them there you pocketed Gaz’s phone, walking back to the boys.

“Alright, I want the truth ok. What happened?” you asked a little concerned.

“Meet up with some airforce boys. They tried to act all high and mighty,” Price shrugged.

“Said they could drink more than us,” Ghost added.

“We had to prove them wrong,” Jonny explained.

“And we did. But then they brought out, Um what was it called?” Gaz clicked his fingers. 

“Abstanance,” Jonny proclaimed proudly. 

“Absinthe?” you asked in shock.

“Hell yeah, drunk those fuckers under the table.” Ghost nodded.

“Dunk yourselves under the table by the looks of it. Why are you wet? And what the fuck happened to ya shoes?” you asked.

“The ducks were drowning,” Gaz stated simply.

“And there was a bar that takes your shoe when you start a tab. It's to prevent running out without payed your tab,” Jonny added.

“So you all rescued ducks and ran out on a tab?” you asked. The boys pondered for a moment realized how bad it sounded. 

“Yes,” Ghost nodded.

“No,” the rest of them said. 

“And only Ghost rescued the ducks, I fell in, Gaz tried to rescue me but couldn't and Price saved us both,” Jonny explained as if it fixed it all.

“You shouldn't have been hanging around ponds this drunk. It's dangerous,” you murmured.

“For your information, it wasn't a pond,” Gaz stated defensively.

“Oh yeah, what was it?” you cooed back.

“It was the fountain,” he pointed across the way into the park where a fountain was lit up. A knee deep fountain. 

“Right, get in the car. Come on,” the boys groaned.

“We can't,” Gaz said.

“And why not?” you asked.

“Cause,” he trailed off. “Legs an’t working,” he finished. The boys all gave him approving nodds thinking his excuse was to tire brilliance.

“Well, I guess I'll just help you. Come on,” you helped Gaz up first, sliding him into the back of the car. 

“I don't wanna go,” Jonny whined.

“I know big guy,” you cooed. Sliding him in next to Gaz, you shook your head when they started giggling. 

“Your turn,” you gestured Ghost up. 

“Am I under arrest?” he asked.

“What? No,” you shook your head.

“Oh really. Seemed like it.” his hint of sass had you pointing to the car. With a grumble he got up and walked to the car, slipping into the middle seat. You frowned, ducking your head to see the other door open, Jonny now sitting at the far side and Gaz nowhere to be seen. Looking back to the makeshift picnic, you saw him back at the phone booth.

“For fuck’s sake, Stay,” you order the two in the car. Walking up to him, you frowned as he held the phone up to his ear.

“What you doing Gaz?” you asked.

“Ringling Doc. She needs to come pick us up,” he said whole heartedly forgetting that you were there already. With a huffed you took him by the arms, pulling him back. You sighed when you saw Ghost and Jonny sitting back on the curb happily munching away. You sat Gaz in the back of the car, deciding to lock the back door this time. You then filed in Jonny than Ghost. Closing the door behind them, you made your way back to Price.

“Come on sir,” you called softly. He looked up to you and with the biggest beaming brightest smile, and he giggled. God you had never seen anything more pure.

“Your sweet Doc,” he said. 

“Thank You sir. Now can you get in the car please,” you begged. 

“Yes Ma’am,” he nodded, suddenly shooting to his feet. And with that, he toppled back like a domino landing in the bush.

“Christ,” You scrambled to get him out, practically carrying him to the car. Putting him in the driver's seat you buckled him in. When your head rose to make sure the boys were all in you were met by empty back seats. 

“Doc, we can't leave the boys,” Price stated pointing out the window. Where the three men were gathered around a tree relieving themselves. Only Gaz seemed to just be standing there and Jonny appeared to be pissing on Ghost's boot.

“Get in the car!” You called out the window. Begrudgingly, they all piled back in. 

“Hang on, I need a piss,” Price spoke up just as they all buckled in. With a tired sigh you patiently waited. Then when he returned you drove off. 

“Wait, a minute, this ain't the way home,” Gaz suddenly pointed out.

“Yes I know. I think I know the bar you're talking about. We're going to go back there and pay your tab and get your shoes back. The higher ups would have a field day if you guys got in trouble,” you explained. Pulling up to the bar, you parked the car.

“Wait this is a police station,” Jonny pointed out. Yes, on the other side of the street, there was a police station. 

“We should go fight that police officer,” Ghost suggested.

“What? What police officer?” you asked.

“The one we stole this from,” Gaz said, pulling a taser gun that had been tucked in the back of his pants.

“You stole from a police officer!” you exclaimed.

“First of all he was an absolute piss head. A real fucker,” Price spoke up in a logical tone.

“Yeah, he tried to arrest Gaz,” Ghost added.

“Prick,” Gaz grumbled.

“Let's do this Lads,” Price grinned at the rest of them. Like a toddler hyped up on sugar.

“Actually, I think that might be a bad idea,” Gaz spoke up.

“Gaz,” Price called and Gaz hummed in response.

“I got two of these and you got two of those. And we got whatever da fuck Ghost is, lets go,” he held up two fists before stepping out of the car.

“No NO nonononono,” you reached over trying to grab at Price, but he was already gone.

“I swear to god if any of you move I'll give you tetanus shots in the morning,” you threw the threat back at the remaining men in the car. The tetanus shot was one of the worst shots you could get, and they all had bad memories of it. So at the threat, they quickly did their seat belts back up. 

“Christ,” you hissed, quickly hopping out of the car when you saw Price walk up to an officer hanging around outside.

While you were trying to deescalate the situation and explain to the cop why there was a drunk man trying to pick a fight, the boys were watching from the car. 

“She's scary,” Gaz whispered.

“What a fucking woman,” Ghost grumbled.

“I think I'm gonna ask her out,” Jonny declared. Ghost head snapped around faster than light.

“Fuck off,” he grumbled.

“Don't tell me what to do,” Jonny rumbled back.

“I bagsed her. You can't do shit,” Ghost said.

“Fucking when?” Jonny asked.

“Just then,” Ghost stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

“You can't bags a woman,” Gaz interjected.

“I know, women are strong beautiful beings to be respected and we are to respect their choices,” Ghost said, all the boys agreeing.

“But I still bags her,” he added at the end. 

“Fuck you Brit. If you like her, do something bout it!” Jonny snapped his blink slightly delayed. 

“Suck a cock scotsman,” Ghost snapped back.

“Do-Do you think you can beat me in a physical altercation of feisty cuffs?” Jonny fumbled with his words, raising his fists slightly. His aim was to star threateningly at his face but he missed the mark slightly staring at his knee. “I will beat you in a way you have NEver Beeenn beaten before,” Ghost stared at Jonny’s unfocused gaze. Before casually reaching over and giving him a gentle backhanded tap on his face. 

“OHHHHHH,” Gaz called from his middle seat.

“DAMMIT!” Jonny explained as if he had just received a full on punch but didn't move in the slightest.

“You just got hit in the face lad,” Gaz giggle.

“Hit me again!” Jonny dared. So Ghost did, repeating the same action. Only it didn't seem to compute in Jonny mind the second time. “I dare you, you put your hands on me one more time, Cause I swear, it will be an, I will-” Ghost reached over his wrist wrapping around the back of Jonny neck.

“Come closer so I can put you in a choke hold,” Ghost asked politely.

“No!” Jonny declared going to hit back only for his hand to completely miss and fall to the side harmlessly. The two fumbled in the back of the car not really accomplishing anything.

“Guys, look he's gettin the cop!” Gaz announced. They all looked out the car window to see the cop walk off.

You had tried and failed to calm them down. Price had demanded to see the cop that tried to arrest Gaz. The boys all piled out of the car, some more graceful than others, before rushing up to you.

“Oh god no, get back in the car please!” you begged.

“Gotta get loose,” Jonny stated, starting to do jumping jacks.

“Guys Doc is right. We should go,” Gaz stated.

“Pussy,” that one word from Ghost was all it took for Gaz to shrug his jacket off and start stretching.

“You guys are really gonna fight a cop!?” you asked, bewildered by it all. 

“Yes we are!” Jonny yelled confidently.

“No you're not!” You yelled. You couldn't believe it. It was like all common sense had been turned off in their heads.

“Ohhh Jonny’s in trouble,” Gaz grinned.

“Fuck you,” Jonny called reaching out to try and give Gaz a slight tap on the nuts.

“Dont touch my balls!” Gaz cried. 

“Yeah Jonny,” Ghost chuckled, amused by it all only for Jonny to try and hit his. Bewildered, you were utterly bewildered as you saw the group of highly trained soldiers all become involved in what you assumed was a game of hit the dick. They were all relatively bent over trying to protect their jewels while simultaneously trying to hit each other. Even price had been pulled into it.

“Guys come on,” you begged. 

“He touched my penis!” Jonny cried in a high-pitched voice.

“Don't touch my penis!” Gaz screamed right back. 

“Can I help you boys?” A cop walked out of the station.

“Officer. Hi. I am so sorry about them there just a little drunk, I'll get them home safely,” you quickly interjected yourself between them.

“It's the cop!” Jonny declared pointing at him. The cop was beyond confused. Because for one, he had never seen the boys before in his life. 

The truth of the story was that it was a comply different cop that had tried to arrest Gaz. They looked similar, and that was about it. And the only reason why he was trying to arrest Gaz was because he had stolen his taser gun.

But the boys could hardly see straight, so when they heard the cop was there, they trusted his words comply. 

“Come on, let's go!” Jonny declared as they all crowded around the poor man. Well, you tried to keep them back trying to speak over their taunts for a fight. The cop spoke into his radio, requesting backup.

“Please, this is all a big misunderstanding. They're actually really nice blokes,” your words fell on deaf ears.

“Pig!” Ghost said.

“Oh look, the little boy needs back up. We can take em,” Gaz said.

“If Laswell finds out about this, she’ll have your heads!” Your yell instantly had the boys silent.

“FUCKEN RUN!” Price ordered the fear filling them. Instantly they took off down the street.

“Serpentine!” Gaz yelled had them all running in a squiggly line. Which had Jonny and Gaz running into each other. Ghost even knocked his head on a low post not even flinching as he kept on running. That left you standing there out the front of the police station with a group of police officers. And you all watched as the boys disappeared down the street. 

“So um that,” you trailed off, pointing to them. “I uh,”

“I have no explanation for that,” you whispered in defeat. 

When you found Gaz he was still running down the street.

“GAZ GET IN THE CAR!” you yelled out the window.

“FUCK THE POLICE! FUCK POLICE WOMEN!” he yelled.

“WHAT!?” you yelled. He instantly stopped running up to the car window.

“I have nothing against women, officers. I understand how my words were terrible. I just heard you were a woman and everyone calls you all policemen so I wanted to be inclusive but I realize I was just singling you out,” he explained drunkenly.

“Gaz I'm not a police woman. Get in the fucken car,” you ordered.

“You can't fool me. FUCK POLICE WOMEN!” he yelled, taking off sprinting again. 

“Fuck this,” you grunted slamming on the breaks and jumping out he car. Gaz wasn't really sure what happened but one moment he was running down the street and the next he was in the back of the car the seat belt cut and tied around his hands and feet.

The others were a bit harder to find. Price was up a fucking willow tree. Getting him out of the tree was a fucking mission. You ended up just throwing random stuff at him until he eventually fell out. You used branches to tie him up and put him in the car as well. Finding Soap was a lucky find. You saw him stumbling down the street and when you called out to him he rushed into a club. As you walked in you realized quickly that you wouldn't have much luck finding him. It was packed to the brim and you couldn't see over anyone's heads. So you make your way up to the DJ booth.

“Hi, I'm trying to find a drunk scotsman. He's a vet. Do you mind?” you asked, gesturing to the microphone.

“Anything for our boys,” he said, handing it over.

“If you're a Scot and wearing a kilt, come up on stage for your prize!” Everyone cheered as you tucked yourself behind the DJ stand. Jonny walked up on stage basking in the cheers, raising his hands high in the air. 

And then you crash tackled him to the floor, tying him up with some power cords.

“Fucks sake Jonny,” you grunted after you had lugged his body out of the club and into the car. 

“Wow, they caught you before me, Captain. I'm surprised,” Jonny grinned smugly. You spent the next hour searching for Simon. You were about to give up when you decided to ring his phone. If Gaz’s still worked there was a chance his did too. Hearing the ringing you frowned. It wasn't just coming from your phone. Looking back to the boys, you could hear the muffled sound.

“Hello?” Ghost asked through the phone. His actual voice sounded once again from the back. Getting out of the car, you rounded it before pulling the boot open. There Ghost lay, his large body comedically tucked into the back, the Traffic cone still in his arms.

“How long have you been in there?” you asked.

“Since you caught Gaz,” he stated simply. With a deep sigh you gestured him out of the back. You knew you didn't need to tie him up and helped him to the front seat. Locking the doors, you started to drive everyone back to base.

“Boys, we've been kidnapped,” Price stated slowly. 

“Like hell we have,” Jonny whispered back.

“What are you boys whispering about back there?” You asked. With your eyes on the busy road, you failed to see them untie themselves and jimmy the lock.

“RONDEVU AT THE PUB BOYS!” Price ordered. Instantly, they all threw themselves out of the car and legged it in opposite directions. You had slammed on the brakes once they had done it. You watched them run, letting your tired head fall to the steering wheel.

“Give me strength,” you pleaded. This time you weren't so lucky in finding them. 

What happened was your phone rang again. From a new number.

“Hello?” you already knew who it was.

“Hey doc. Can you come pick us up? We lost the car,” Gaz's voice wafted through.

“Sure where are you? You asked.

“The police station,” he whispered bashfully.

So there you were back at the police station. You smiled bashfully at the officers the boys had tried to fight. Luckily for them you were a sweet talker. And the fact that they were military helped as well. They would have been charged with theft of a police officer and walking out on a tab. But you returned the taser gun, which hadn't been discharged. And you paid the tab with a generous tip getting their boots back in the process. The boys embarrassingly walked out of the station looking like puppies that had just been kicked. 

“Are you mad at us?” Jonny asked.

“Not mad, Just disappointed,” you shook your head. For the four drunk men the sentence was devastating, making them drop their head in guilt. A tiny smile pulled at your lips.

“Come on, let's get you home,” you ruffled Jonny's hair gently pulling them all out of the police station.

“Can we get McDonalds on the way home?” Gaz asked.

“I want an ice cream,” Price spoke up.

“Sure, why not?”

This time, the drive was much more peaceful. When you got back, you made sure they were all changed, well hydrated and tucked into bed. Which was incredibly hard because they had hit the pass out drunk stage. Ghost was the hardest. You managed to get him on the bed and his shirt and jacket off relatively easily. You paused momentarily as you saw his bare upper body. God damn the greek sculptures could take pointers from him. Your gaze softened as you saw all the scars and bullet holes that lined the ripples of his muscle. He's been through a lot. You felt slightly perverted as you undid his pants. Only they were wet and long, so you stood there yanking at them pulling them off inch by inch. Now you were using your whole body to get those bad boys off, so it didn't surprise you when you flew halfway across the room when you finally got them off. Breathing heavily, you gently lifted his legs back onto the bed. Grabbing the blanket, you tucked it up to his chin, your hand brushing against the wet mask. While the room was heated, it was still cold. Plus, you couldn't tell if it was water or blood from the hit that was on the top. 

“Alright Simon, I'm gonna take off your mask. But I'm gonna close my eyes so don't worry. I just don't want you waterboarding yourself in your sleep,” you whispered. He gave no response. With a deep breath, you reached up and closed your eyes. Your hands gathered the material at the bottom of the fabric and started rolling it up. In your focus you hadn't noticed Simon's eyes snap open at the movement. His hand had almost snapped around your wrist, only stopping when he saw your eyes closed. Slowly, he let his hand fall as you pulled the mask fully off. 

“Alright, now let's see if you did any damage to that head of yours?” you asked. Your hands brushed away his hair from his face, humming at the loose curls. His heart stirred as he stared at you, loving the blissful feeling your hands gave him as they moved across his face. When you were happy that it was only a lump he had sustained a small giggle left on your lips.

“That's gonna be a shiner mate,” you whispered.

He watched as your smile dropped slightly when her thumb brushed over a scar. You got a weird sense of DeJa'Vu as you thumb gently traced the scar. So many scars. Life certainly hadn't been kind to him.

"What am I gonna do with you huh?" you asked softly. Brushing his hair back once again, you stood.

“Night Simon,” you whispered before blindly making your way out the room. Simon watched the door close before looking up at the ceiling. His hand clasped over his rapidly beating heart as he came to the sudden realization. 

He was absolutely smitten for the Doc.

“Fuck,” he grunted.

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=COD Master List Here=

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[corpsebasil]

The Summer I Loved You -> E.L.

🐚🍸🪝

Part 2!

That night, clad in a bikini top and shorts, you walked barefoot to the beach with the other girls, Chad and Ethan already somewhere at the party. Anika had talked your ear off for half an hour, desperate for advice on what to do about she and Mindy’s anniversary, and you’d happily obliged. Tara and Mindy had mixed the drinks, and now the four of you were all slightly buzzed and approaching the group of college students milling about near the water, the ocean a dull roar in the background as it settled.

You spotted Chad first, talking closely with a blonde girl in a halter top, the two of them laughing as they spoke. Mindy and Anika beelined for the kegs propped like traffic cones around the beach, Tara making her way over to steal Chad’s attention from the girl he’d just met.

Ethan, on the other hand, was no where in sight.

“Have you seen E?” You asked Chad, following after Tara, and your roommate gave you a quick, confused glance.

“Thought he went back to the house to meet up with you?” He said and your eyebrows furrowed.

“Is he the cute one with the curly hair?” The blonde piped up helpfully and you slid a sharp glance to her. “Pretty sure he’s talking to Maddie.”

“Who?” You asked, tone flat, and the girl pointed.

“They seemed like they were really hitting it off. Are you like, his sister?”

“Friend.” You grumbled, earning a pinch from Chad, who dropped an empty solo cup into your hand.

“My love, can you please go and make yourself a vodka cranberry and then let me have a sip? You make them the best.”

“Oh shit.” The blonde said, once again cutting into you and Chad’s conversation. “Are you two together?”

“No.” You told her, a bit sharply, and rolled your eyes at Chad. “I’m gonna find E. I may or may not give you a sip of my drink.”

“You wound me, Y/N.” Chad called after you as you walked away, headed towards the bottles of alcohol stuck in the sand.

You mixed a drink quickly, praying there wasn’t anything funny inside the fruit juice or vodka bottle you’d selected, and looked around. Where was Ethan? You took a drink and walked the outskirts of the party, searching faces for any sign of your friend. Chad was still with the blonde, although now he had her locked in an intense make-out session that made you cringe. Mindy and Anika sat side by side by the fire, giggling with another couple. And Tara laughed as she played beer pong with a group of younger looking kids, some of them that looked suspiciously like high-schoolers.

But Ethan—oh.

Ethan was sitting on the ground, elbows on his knees as a ginger sat next to him—Maddie, you guessed—combing fingers through his messy curls. His smile was serene, eyes fixed on hers as he listened to whatever she was saying. And your stomach twisted hard, a sick, icy feeling running across your skin, as she leaned closer to him, whispering something into his ear.

You sucked in a breath and spun your heel, walking back the way you came. The necklace around your throat felt hot as a brand, suddenly heavier than the light chain should’ve been as you moved. There was no reason for you to be upset, right? He could talk to whoever he wanted. It was fine. It was—

“Y/N!” You heard him shout and then he was there, moving in front of you to halt your movements. His brown eyes were wide as he took in your face, eyebrows knitting together. “I uh—I saw you but then you walked off.”

“I’m tired.” You told him, moving to walk past as you took a sip of the drink.

“You just got here.” He protested, keeping pace as you moved closer to the water, your toes sinking into wet sand. Jagged pieces of shell were expertly dodged as you walked, eyes on the dark ground. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“You seemed busy.” Your voice was sharper than you wanted it to be, and you cringed. “Go back to what’s-her-face.”

“I don’t want to. I want to hang out with you.”

“You two looked cozy.”

“It’s not like that, what’s wrong?”

“Not like what?” You asked, glancing over as you paused. God, he was right, what was wrong with you? “It’s fine if you want to talk to a girl, E. I’m not trying to bother you, okay?”

“You’re not bothering me—fuck.” He ran a hand through the curls the other girl had just touched and you tracked the movements, feeling unwell. “She came up to me, okay? I was sitting by myself waiting for you—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me—”

“It seems like I do because you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Then why—” Ethan stopped, letting out a noise of frustration as rested his palms on the top of his head, glancing up at the night sky for a moment before looking back to you. “Why are we doing this? I haven’t seen you in months. I just want to spend time with you. Okay? You.”

You crossed your arms, sighing as you glanced out at the water. He was right—it was ridiculous that you were upset. He could talk to whoever he wanted, and it shouldn’t bother you. If he wanted to spend time with you at all, shouldn’t you just take it happily? Wasn’t he your favorite person?

“Sorry.” You said quietly, looking back to him. He was closer than, when you’d been annoyed, had registered, and you felt yourself relax a fraction when he placed his hands on your shoulders, sliding them down to pull you into him.

“You don’t have to apologize to me. I just...I hate it when you’re mad.” He frowned, a dramatic pout, and you smiled hesitantly. “I need my rock.” You smiled further, watching his eyes bounce around your face. His chest rose as he took in a breath, reaching to snatch your drink from your hand. “May I?”

“Sure.”

The two of you walked down the beach for a moment, eyes fixed on the water, the steady sound of the waves and the noises that always accompanied the night surrounding you. Ethan stayed quiet, seemingly deep in thought for a few moments before he spoke.

“So...” He started and you glanced over, curious. “Breakfast. Tomorrow.” He side-eyed you and you smirked. “Are we making the Y/N Special?”

“Pancakes with blueberries and chocolate?” You teased, watching him rub his stomach enthusiastically. “Bacon? Freshly squeezed orange juice?”

“Don’t tease me.” He groaned, shoving you playfully. “I cant wait that long. I need it now.”

“Be patient, my young friend.” You crooned, reaching out to ruffle his hair. It was soft and slightly salty; the smell of his shampoo—coconut, as always—met your nose when he moved closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you walked. “Those who are patient are always rewarded.”

“How wise.” He snorted, glancing down at you with amused eyes. “I want to juice the oranges this year, though. Last year you got pulp all over the kitchen.”

“I did not.”

“You did. You did and I had to clean it up.”

“I helped!”

“You stood there laughing the entire time.”

“You had pulp on your face.”

“Thanks to you.” The two of you shared a grin and you rolled your eyes, leaning further into him as you walked. “Besides. Chad’s not going to help make breakfast, and Anika will probably insist on some boring egg-white bullshit again.”

“She’s healthy.”

“Boring.”

Two of you argued over your friend group’s antics for a bit longer as you approached the beach house, walking up the steps and inside. The air was crisp inside the house, cold enough that goosebumps popped up on your skin. Wordlessly, as if he always did it, Ethan passed you one of his sweatshirts. It engulfed you when you wore it, covering your shorts, but you didn’t mind.

You didn’t mind anything when it came to him.

SORRY FOR THE LATE UPDATE BUT HERE YOU GO MY SCREAM FANSS

Part ONE FOR ANYONE THAT DIDNT SEE IT

[deceptive-daydreams]

The Under-Ground (18+ ONLY)

Chapter Seven - Bake Sale

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 |

Modern!Barista!Eddie AU - The calm after the storm.

Enemies to Lovers, Modern!Barista!Eddie AU, Eddie x Fem Reader

8.7K Words

Warnings - Eddie is an asshole, eventual smut, mentions of drugs and drinking, drug dealing, allusions to mental illness, I don't think there's anything else but please let me know if I missed anything

Author's Note: i think im super proud of this one omg guys also...I put a little note at the end cause i didn't wanna spoil anything by saying what i was gonna say. also i fixated so much on each section of this as i wrote it so its like half proof read and then i was like ok the rest is up to god

Masterlist

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The storm subsided at around 2:00 AM and it would go down as the biggest storm in Hawkins’ history to date.  The flooding was unlike anything anyone had seen in years and the poor unequipped town was drenched to its roots.  Minor water damage affected homes and businesses, nothing too devastating but an inconvenience nonetheless.  A few trees had been struck down, if not by lightning then by the high winds that coursed through the night like they owned it.  Streets were blocked off with caution tape and traffic cones as the damages were assessed and Hawkins Square was littered in deep puddles that would soak you up to the knee if you happened to misstep.

It was fitting.  The world seemed to look just as you felt.  Mutilated.  Tarnished.  The calm after the storm, indeed.  Although things that night looked up between you and Eddie, an invisible peace treaty signed by the ink bleeding on the coffee cup, the scars didn’t just vanish.  This wasn’t a movie, this was real life and things didn’t just become beautiful again over night.  Pain didn’t just cease because you wanted it to or because someone said the right thing.  Someone could say a million of the right things but it doesn’t excuse their wrongdoings and the harm they’re capable of.  And it doesn’t erase them as someone who would pull the trigger on you if given the chance.

The sun flowed into the room at just the right angle, the kitchen countertop illuminated with the faintest rainbow in the morning light.  Beauty after tragedy.  It was cold, god was it cold.  The apartment might as well have been a walk-in freezer at this point, a place where you could store cold cuts and popsicles without hesitation.  But it was hard to complain about your living conditions when there was a warmth blossoming deep within your very being.  Whiskey colored eyes had the same effect as the real thing.  Warming you up from the inside out, relaxing every tensed muscle, melting away every stupid problem.  It pooled deep within you, a buried desire that was clawing its way out of your chest.  You’d been without a glance of those rich and honeyed irises for at least six hours, well into the beginning of the hour of 8:00 AM and yet it felt like you’d drank them in seconds ago with the way your veins heated.  The way your blood pumped and your nerves mellowed out.  If he was like a smooth shot of whiskey, you were at risk of becoming an alcoholic if you weren’t careful.

Snap out of it.

This was not a fairytale, things could not be fixed overnight.  He was still a stranger to you, a shell, you could not settle into comfort so easily, no matter how good it felt.  It didn’t matter that the buzz lingering beneath your surface was far more powerful than the first time at sixteen.

It didn’t matter.

All you knew was hurt by the hands of those closest and you weren’t going to let it happen again.  Never again.  Not even for boyish dimples.  Not even for the stupid cup of hot chocolate.  And certainly not for the way it felt to be pressed against his back when you begrudgingly accepted a ride home on his death machine of a motorcycle the night of the storm.  But that didn’t mean he didn’t have prime real estate in the back of your mind.

–

His hair.  Several curls falling from the confines of the low messy bun that should warrant a lecture from you on the food safety guidelines but you can’t bring yourself to do it.  Soft brown tendrils framed a concentrated face, tongue poked out in deep thought at the simple task of blending ice and coffee.  The grinding of the blades against the ice for longer than necessary should have you in shambles, causing an uproar, at the very least scolding him under your breath.  You don’t.  Instead it’s as if you’re under some kind of spell, a spell that continuously draws you to the insufferable but absolute Disney prince of a man before you.  It had been years since you’d seen him in such a light and it made everything all the more conflicting.

I hate him.

Several curses escaped his delicately pink lips as the blender came to a halt, the consistency of the liquid was long overblended and almost became a thicker milk but all you could focus on as his back came to face you was his broad shoulders, far more adult than you’d ever realized.  He was no longer a lanky high schooler, his frame had filled out and it filled out in his favor.  Had his arms only recently become a touch manlier or did your subconscious automatically blur it out all those times you encountered him only to end up with even more distaste after each interaction?  A distaste which would only blind you to the man he grew into.

No, I hate him.

But the moment you would tear your gaze away it would only gravitate right back to his hands which you guessed were noticeably larger than your own but you were in no position to find out.  With his rings more than likely temporarily abandoned atop the table in the back, his fingers seemed bare.  It only further made you appreciate them, a flash of a daydream posed in your mind where large hands decorated with chipped black polish rested at your waist.  

No, no, no.

He was not yours to daydream about nor would you want him to be.

Although…it was okay to think of him as physically attractive all while still keeping him at a distance wasn’t it?  After all, he was still awful.  You force yourself to recall the horrible things he’s said to you but you can only counter it with the appalling remarks you’d made in return.  Though he committed a horrendous act years ago that would make you bleed for years to come, you knew it didn’t warrant some of the comments you’d snapped at him in passing.  Especially those about his social status.  It was becoming apparent after the previous night’s conversation that you both struggled verbally and that his crude comments were always met with your degrading criticism.  You were both instigators.

But it was proving difficult to keep him in such a villainous light when he was so radiant.  So effortlessly alluring even as he tossed his liquified concoction into the sink with his brows knit tightly together and profanities falling from his tongue, thankfully quiet enough as to not alert any customers.  In all honesty, all he’s proved was that he was an awful barista.  Even then, it didn’t bother you as much as it should, your desire to scream at him would’ve been off the charts 24 hours ago.  That desire hadn’t even been simmering beneath your surface, the only desire burning within your depths was something unspoken and something you could never let bubble over ever again.  You wouldn’t.

Reality began settling back in, an enraged customer snapping his fingers at you, demanding your attention as your eyes widened at the realization that he’d been waiting on a simple black cup of coffee for the past few minutes.  Had the shop been busier you would’ve found a polite way to shut him up but in all fairness there were only three other customers at the moment, two of which were already enjoying their drinks.  Regardless, it didn’t seem to warrant the entitled behavior of the frowning middle aged man, a simple where is my order? would have sufficed.

“I’m so sorry, let me check on that for you.”

Customer service served with a smile.  And a side of sarcasm.

“Oh, you’ll check on that?  It’s a cup of coffee.  How hard is it to make—“

“There was a mix up with the orders, here’s your coffee.  My fault.”  Eddie slid the cup across the to go counter to its awaiting consumer, eyes slightly narrowed.

There was no mix up.  You really did forget all about the bland coffee up until you were rudely reminded.  And it definitely wasn’t Eddie’s fault.

—

1 Week Later

There was no escaping how absolutely enchanting a mundane task such as scrubbing the sink was.  It didn’t make sense and yet you lingered, pretending to rinse out the blender one time too many with the hope of catching Eddie’s forearms flex in his movements as he maneuvered the sponge around the sink.

Pathetic.

Which is why you tried so hard to snap yourself out of it.  Though you told yourself a week ago that you could admire from afar, even that was starting to not feel like enough which is why it needed to stop.  Eddie Munson had finally apologized to you but that didn’t mean throw caution to the wind.  You don’t just suddenly trust someone that for years only gave you reasons to steer far from them.  The key phrase was that he finally apologized.  Meaning he took far too long.  Fucked up too long ago and prolonged inexcusable behavior so far into the future that it was beyond repairing.  He didn’t deserve your sympathy or your persisting gaze.  Sorry meant nothing in the face of years of destruction.

Keep telling yourself that.

Because all you did was remain fixated on those stupid bats decorating his forearm for as long as rinsing out the blender would allow.  You had no idea how big of a breath you were holding in as you stood there next to him until you pulled away, snagging a rag from beneath the coffee bar to dry the container.  Lungs suddenly exhausted, you attempted to regain a semblance of your composure.

Every conversation since that one night had gone the same.  A few words exchanged pertaining to work only, some on his behalf coming off as silly banter only for you to keep your focus on any task you could grasp nearby, acting as if he bored you.  It killed him but he respected it.  That didn’t mean he’d stop trying to make nice.  If the only positive response he received from you all week was an accidental crack in your smile he would take it.  It’d be gone quicker than it came but he cherished it all the same.  In the last few weeks he came to terms with the fact that he could be on his best behavior but that didn’t mean you had to accept it which in turn meant that he would have to accept that.

So your muffled answers of ‘mhm’ and ‘yeah’ to everything he said felt like the end of the world to him but if it meant peace for you then he’d endure it.  The way you’d avoid his eyes made him miss you.  You were an arms length away but he missed you.  And no, it didn’t mean he necessarily missed prodding at you because you both had this sick game of who could throw the worst insult for years, it meant that he missed your attention, whether it be in spiteful phrases or aggressive stares.  He’d take what he could get and now, he was getting nothing.  He was starved, absolutely deficient of your gaze even if it did hold such a hateful fire for him.  Eddie supposes avoidance feels even worse than face to face conflict that was never even meant to be.  And it’s only because the way you shut down made him feel non-existent in your world.  At least before he had a place.

—

1 Week Later

Before every night shift at The Under-Ground was a grueling eight hours at the auto shop.  Hours that Eddie would spend mentally ripping himself to shreds even more so than before your more recent communication with him.  Although he hated himself for even thinking about it, he’d sometimes wager the idea of picking a small fight with you just to earn a fraction of your recognition, even if in a negative light.  Then he’d quickly acknowledge that doing so would only provide further evidence that he was never worthy of a moment of your time in the first place.  And he still fully believed that.  But he was eager to someday become the guy that was.

So when Steve Harrington strolled into the shop, twirling his keys around his finger, Eddie’s grip on his wrench tightened as he pushed himself further under the Chevy he’d been working on.  He’d never forgive Steve for all that happened, he’d take responsibility for his side of things but Steve inflicted a kind of pain on you that he could read in your eyes every time he saw you.  Though you hadn’t said much about Steve to him directly, the way you fixated on him and Eddie being ‘together’ dulled a certain light within you.  How could Steve let it happen if he knew the outcome?  The same could be asked of himself but he was concentrating on Steve right now.  The best friend.  The last person in the world you’d think to hurt you.

“Hey, Munson.”

At his feet stood the man in question.  The one that he’d swear to never associate with again.  Ignoring him wasn’t going to accomplish anything however he tried regardless.

“Munson.”

Figures.

“Get outta here, Harrington.”  Eddie remained monotone, uninterested in any persistence Steve was forcing upon him.

“Please, I need-“

“Need what?  Need me to get you off again?  Get out.”  It was said between clenched teeth, patience no longer a virtue.  There was rage bubbling under the surface and if he wasn’t careful, it would boil over and create an even bigger mess.  His conscience silenced his true inner monologue though that didn’t completely shut down his capabilities of biting back.  It was just much more stifled.

“No—what?  No, of course not.”  Steve’s nerves were fried and Eddie could tell just by the shake in his voice.  Fluorescent lights did him no favors, his usually radiant glow now dull in the stuffy garage.

“Then what, what are you doing in my bay?”  A seething Eddie slides out from underneath the sedan, sitting up to glare at the king himself.  “‘Cause I don’t have time for—whatever this is.”  He gestures between himself and Steve, fingers covered in grease.

“Just—I—have you, have you talked to her?”  Distraught.  Steve has the audacity to come off as distraught.  Eddie’s deep breath only furrows Steve’s brows, the vein in his neck straining as he focuses on the nearly irate mechanic before him.  

“Listen.”  Eddie’s coveralls are further tarnished with the oily substance from his hands as he wipes them on the rough navy material, frustration evident in the way his eyes squeeze shut for a mere second.  “You two seem to think communicating through me is going to fix this whole thing but it’s not.”  If he could run a hand down his face out of habit he would.  Instead he offers another sigh, a disappointed one.  “You need to talk to each other.  You keep using the enemy as a pawn and it's just gonna blow up in your face.”

“Munson, you’re not the enemy–”

Steve attempts to make nice, tries to let Eddie know that he’s not what he claimed him to be all those times.  Truth be told, Steve was always jealous.  

“Don’t try pitying me, dude.”  

It’s silent aside from the clanging of some tools a few bays down, the two staring at each other, one displaying an expression of warning while the other creases his forehead in some form of a plea.  An unsaid call for help.

“I’m not, I’m not!  I think we’ve both fucked up.  Bad.”  Way to go, Steve.  That’ll really help your case.  “Only difference is you fucked up in high school, we were all still kids.”  His words are lost on Eddie, he can tell by the way he reaches back to release his unruly curls from the confines of a bun, his head shaking around like a shaggy dog.  “I fucked up now so there’s no–no excuse of ‘we were so young!  I was dumb!’”

His excuse was that he’s selfish.  That was really all there was to it, no bigger picture, no hidden meaning that might bring justice to his name.  Steve was a horny guy and he in all honesty hadn’t considered the consequences of his actions.  Not even after Robin just about tore him a new one after she found out about the first time.  It’s like he’d forgotten all about the absolute heartbreak you went through, the fact that Eddie harbored a sore spot in your barely beating heart was miles away from his thought process.  King Steve must not have been buried that deep beneath his surface after all, not long forgotten back in junior year like he’d thought.  He was right here all along with the knife in his hand, unintentionally but still brutally stabbing you in the back.  And in the aftermath he was forced to bathe in the product of his egocentric ways.  No amount of self help books could remedy what seemed to be another broken heart, but even worse, platonically.  

This wasn’t like when he and Nancy called it quits back in senior year.  This was in a way, more gut wrenching and possibly pulled more tears from him than Nancy’s cutting but truthful words ever could.  And that’s saying something.  He shed a lot of tears that dreadful night but he’d go as far to say that he shed more the night you caught him hopping out of Eddie’s van.  Repercussions slammed his very existence and all he could do was blame himself because you had done nothing wrong and yet he went and severed the very friendship of someone who stuck by him through every questionable thing he had done.

And it was all over someone he never had any feelings for in the first place.  And over someone you did.  At least at some point.  

“Steve, I don’t have an excuse and you know it.”  Eddie was aware that he sounded borderline pathetic but what else did he have to hide?  His gaze lowered to his filthy boot, eyes as tired as his brain was before exhaling in defeat.  “I still keep fucking up whether I mean it or not.”  His pupils seemed to dilate in mourning, of what exactly, Steve couldn’t pinpoint.  Then Eddie shook his head, resentment etched into his features as he ran his tongue behind his teeth before clicking it in displeasure.  “Why are you even searching for an excuse?  What we both did was shitty.  But for you it might be even worse because while I was the ‘bad guy’ the whole time, you were still her best friend.”

Steve was well aware.  He craved the bliss that came with being ignorant but that was no longer something he could allow himself to do.

“Yeah.”  He breathes out, earnest eyes dropping to the scuffed floor below him.

“Yeah?  That’s it?  You need to like, go beg for mercy or some shit.”  

Receiving advice from Eddie Munson was the last thing Steve ever thought he’d be doing and yet here he was.  Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson was schooling him and suddenly everything felt so backwards.  But maybe that’s how it needed to be in order for things to go back to how they were.  For you to at least talk to him, if not to beg for your mercy then to apologize profusely before leaving his fate in your hands.

“I know, man.”  A pitiful sigh escaped his lungs, too pitiful for Eddie’s liking.

The smell of fumes throughout the shop lingered in Steve’s nostrils which left him with a tinge of discomfort but nothing could prepare him for the way Eddie almost instantly stood to tower over him despite being around the same height.  It was his demeanor that made him feel inferior.  Dark eyes, deepening even more so from aggravation, lips contorted into a condemning scowl, fists clenched at his side, knuckles white.

“I don’t think you do, ‘cause why are you coming to me?”  Flared nostrils declared a new vendetta against Steve.  

“I-I…”

“Man up, Steve.  Say whatever you’re trying to say to me, to her.  I’m not the one who needs an apology.”  It was fair enough.  Steve wasn’t sure why he walked into that garage just minutes ago.  Maybe it was because despite what everyone says, Eddie was fairly level headed.  Maybe it’s because Steve needed someone stubborn to mentally beat some sense into him and Eddie was the only one he could think of to do it with no remorse.

With a noticeable gulp, Steve felt his eyes sting but didn’t dare let any tears surface.  He was not throwing a pity party.  “I don’t know how.  She won’t even talk to me–I–every time I try–”  

“That’s not my problem is it?  ‘M just your boy toy, remember?”  

Ouch.  

Among the turmoil Steve had created, he failed to understand that Eddie could be just as affected.  And what Eddie wouldn’t willingly reveal was that he was genuinely hurt.  Because you were hurt.  And because Steve seemed like the most oblivious idiot on the planet.  Sure he had his words with you and he wasn’t proud of most of them but that was another beast.  He had always been the opposing force, Steve was your right hand man the entire time.  In all honesty, Eddie couldn’t care less about Steve using him for pleasure, he cared that he did it at your expense whether he bothered to know that or not the few times they met up.  He knew he was just some guy so what was there to lose but Steve?  Steve had a lot to lose.

“Eddie, you wanted it too.”  Steve’s head shook in contemplation, longing for the right words but always finding the wrong ones.

“Yeah, well not anymore.”

Eddie’s harsh front faltered, exhausted as his shoulders slumped.  Steve ran a nervous hand through his stupid big hair and for some reason it put Eddie on edge.

“Obviously.”  Steve exhales, nodding before his eyes give away that he was lost in thought.  

“So why are you here?”

A valid question.  A question that Steve was finding he didn’t want to answer.  But he had to.

“Because–because I feel like I, I owe you an apology.”  He babbled at first, humiliating himself further before finding his footing and grasping the words that he knew would ground him.  Even if he didn’t like it, he knew this was the start of putting the pieces back together.

“Again, you’re talking to the wrong person–”  Eddie appeared worn out, head tilted back and gaze fixed to the ceiling as he let out a self soothing breath before being interrupted.

“I’m sorry for trash talking you for as long as we’ve known each other and then using you.”  He never thought he’d hear such words from Steve Harrington.  Which made it all that much more awkward to respond to.

“Thanks?”

Eddie expects that to be the end of it, waits for Steve to press his lips into a straight line in the silence and then stride out the large bay door without another word but he doesn’t.  And he kind of wants to kick his ass as more words begin to pour from his mouth. 

“I know…I know she should be the first person I apologize to, and, and I’ve tried to but she’s not my biggest fan right now.”  Boo hoo.  That’s the only response Eddie can conjure up so he keeps his mouth shut.  “And I guess, I feel like I can’t until I fix this first because Eddie…”  Steve sucks in such a large breath that Eddie feels like he may have been on the verge of passing out.  But he also senses it’s because all of this is very difficult for Steve to say aloud.  Within the same breath, Steve releases the rest of the words he was clutching so tightly to in his chest.  “She was so head over heels for you back then and I fucking spit on your name no matter how much she talked you up.  And I know you ruined things on your own but I went and fucked things up on my own and I don’t know how I could’ve done it so easily knowing, knowing how much she liked you and then how much she was hurt by you.  And then I went and did what I did, it just–it doesn’t make sense, I know.”

It’s quiet again.  Neither man speaking, only looking at each other in anticipation.  And after several moments of distant metal clanging against metal a few bays over, Eddie finally clears his throat.

“Harrington,”  He starts, eyes flashing with the most intimidating fire you’d ever see.   “You’re throwing the biggest pity party I’ve ever seen and if this is how you plan to apologize to her you should just give up now.”

The sentiment was cruel but beneath it was a plea of ‘get your shit together, please’.  And god, he hopes Steve picks up on it.  

“Yeah…yeah.”  Steve’s eyes were glazed over, the thinnest sheen of tears coating them before he blinked them back, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

Eddie guesses Wayne is rubbing off on him because his next words come off more wise than cruel.  An unexpected empathy resonated within him though he doesn’t fully believe it’s well deserved.

“What you need to do is just admit you messed up.  No excuses.  If she really matters to you, you don’t need to sit here and apologize to me and get all up in your feelings.  You need to talk to her and if she doesn’t wanna listen…”  He sighs, a sort of calm overtaking him.  “Well, respect it.”

Steve seemed to ponder, the advice overwhelming him but still penetrating through his thick skull.

–

Steve👸: Hey

Steve👸: Can we talk?

Sox🧦 : No

Steve👸 : Five minutes.  And then you’ll never have to hear from me again.  Promise.

“Who are you texting?”  Will leaned over to view your phone screen, ever the nosy boy.  Quickly clicking the off button, you refrain from sharing any messy details of what happened between you and Steve.  Sure he’d seen the initial smack down in the parking lot which you regret but he didn’t need to know anything more.  Hell, he didn’t even know that Robin was out of your circle.

“No one, I was just checking something for one of my assignments.”

“Liar.”  What you always forgot was how much of a bloodhound he was.  Could sniff out anything that smells slightly off.  It always caught you off guard although it only made you look like a fool since he did it time and time again.  Throwing a surprise party for his sixteenth birthday was impossible with the way he was such a detective.

“Nuh uh!”  You defended, placing your phone face down on the flour coated counter of the Byers kitchen, an egg taking its place in your hand as you cracked it against the off-white ceramic bowl.  

“Yuh huh!  Give me that–”

“Knock it off!”  Waving Will off, you threaten in a simple gesture to let the slimy egg white and yolk ruin his newest Hellfire shirt, a special edition design created just by him.  It was quite impressive actually, dragons symmetric on the front, breathing fire onto the logo overlaid with a skull and crossbones.

With a scoff, Will surrenders with his hands thrown up and eyes wide, amusement prominent across his face.  “It’s Steve, I already saw it.  So what are you trying to hide from me this time?”

“What–I’m not trying to hide anything.”  You were just further certifying yourself as a liar, but you felt this one time it was for good reason.

“Then why can’t I see it?”

An intense stare burned into the side of your face as you attempted to resume your unfinished baking, barely even started but the kitchen showcased several dirty bowls, some housed in the sink piled high in soapy water while others were scattered across the laminate.  Brownie batter, cookie dough, cake mix, the works.  It would appear as if you were preparing for a bake sale if anyone were to walk in.  But was just a Friday night turned into a full fledged baking frenzy on a whim.  Which was much needed after a particularly stressful shift at The Under-Ground, it had been busier than most days, mostly because fall activities began to ensue.  Hawkins’ famous hayride had started up for the season and dropped off several families in the square who only trickled into the shop for hot drinks and buttery yet sweet pastries.  Screaming children were not something you were anticipating hearing all night but it made you appreciate the calm of closing up after, only the sounds of you dropping change into the register mixed with Eddie humming under his breath as he swept up graced your tired ears.

“Just leave it alone.  Please?”  An eggshell is tossed into the makeshift scraps bowl you’d set aside nearby, a bit too aggressively for comfort.  A telltale sign that Will should not leave it alone.

“I’m not a baby.  You don’t need to protect me from all the ugly shit that happens.”  He was seventeen, still a baby to you.  But the irritation was apparent in the way that he grabbed the bowl of brownie batter from the counter, glaring at it like it owed him money, however you knew the glare was meant for you.  “I wanna be there for you like you’re there for me.”

Fuck.  That just about ripped your heart in two.  He was such a sweet kid, always wanting to do right by those he cared about.  You bounced the idea back and forth, should you enlighten him or continue shielding him?  Your decision was made for you when the words tumbled from your lips, your subconscious declaring that Will could forever be the baby of the group but he was growing up regardless and you couldn’t hold him to that standard for eternity.  He would eventually have to face uncomfortable situations and hiding them from him completely might do more harm than good, he deserved to be in the know and to feel like an equal rather than some naive child.

“Okay.  Um–yeah, it’s uh, it’s Steve…”

“And…?”

“He just wants to talk.”

Your wooden spoon scraped against the bowl, combining the dry and wet ingredients together, your concentration never leaving the forming batter.  Red velvet.  Will set down the brownie batter he had been inspecting, reaching for a glass dish and proceeding to butter it up generously, the oven already preheated behind him. 

“You haven’t talked to him since…”  He cocks a curious brow at you, momentarily looking up at you from his current task.

“No.  No, I don’t even wanna see him.”  Your admission is quiet, almost ashamed.  “But, um, let’s just, let’s just finish this up.”  The attempt to change the subject fails, the boy dropping his head down to catch your averted eyes.

“Do you want to talk to him?”

“No.”  You tread carefully, ever so cautious of the fact that Will had the ability to catch the slightest hesitation in your tone.

“Really?  Cause I smell bullshit.”  Such a damn bloodhound.

“Why would I want to talk to him?  Didn’t you see what happened?”  Though it was a fair point, you knew you were being avoidant and that it wouldn’t necessarily help anything, only prolong the pain and the awkwardness that would come with finally speaking to him.  It had been weeks which would already create a nasty film between the two of you, something grimy and difficult to just scrub away.

Will offers a sympathetic sigh, and unspoken ‘I know you’re hurting but isolating yourself is only going to hurt more’ and you’re fully aware that he knows that feeling all too well.  “I did see and it was really bad.  But you’re not even gonna hear what he has to say about it?”  His gentle approach was appreciated though it was just the way you talked to each other about these things.  No judgment, only the right questions.

“Will, you have no idea of some of the other things that happened years ago that make this so much worse than it already is.”  You’d regret how whiny you sounded except he’d seen you at your most vulnerable before so it was nothing he hadn’t experienced before.

“Okay, then what do I not know?”  The gooey chocolate batter is poured into the glass dish he had prepared, resembling how your feelings were about to ooze right out of your very being.

“I’m not getting into all that now.”

“No, you don’t get to do that!”  He doesn’t sound unkind but not the friendliest either, slamming the now empty bowl on the counter.  You had it coming, you suppose.  “You’re visibly stressed out, even worse lately, I’m one of the only ones that notices and I’m not even allowed to know the full story?”

“Will.”

There’s no saying no to his expression, blue eyes blinking at you and brows raised in anticipation.  There’s no trace of judgment, just curiosity and worry.  And just as you’re about to dive in head first and reveal all that you tried to withhold, the ring of the doorbell shuts you up just as fast.

The digital numbers on the stove read 10:46 PM, an ungodly hour for anyone to be ringing someone’s doorbell which is why you and Will share the same puzzled look, eyes shifting from each other toward the front door just off the kitchen.  Will doesn’t necessarily live in the most populated area so there’s reason to be concerned over a visitor at such late hours.

“You get it.”  Will rushes out.  “Nose goes!”  A speedy finger touches the tip of his nose, your cheeks flushing in irritation as the doorbell chimes once more.  “Go!”  He whisper yells, gently pushing you toward the door.  A scowl remains on your face as you take your time.  Will would do anything for you.  Except sacrifice himself to the serial killer knocking at his own front door apparently.  You’d never cursed a door so harshly for not having a peephole.

Deep down, you knew it’d more than likely be someone like Jonathan.  It was the logical explanation, he’d lost his key and since he didn’t live here anymore, now residing in an apartment closer to downtown with Nancy, he didn’t have the urgency to replace it.  But Jonathan would usually be pounding on the door, announcing that it was him.  Could it be Joyce?  Doubtful.  She always knew where everything was and keys were the most important out of everything you’d come to learn after she scolded Jonathan for not replacing his old key to the house just in case of an emergency.  Maybe it was Lucas?  He never screamed or announced his presence when showing up.  Couldn’t be Dustin or Mike, they were too rowdy and would never wait this long before jiggling the handle and yelling that they knew Will was home and to ‘answer the damn door’.  It could be El?  But never Max.  Max had a distinct knock, firm and heavy, no bullshit, never rang the doorbell.  The build up was only making you more anxious by the second as you’d reached for the doorknob.  You’d probably be the first one dead in a horror movie, you had no idea why you let Will force you to answer his door.  Regardless, you ever so slightly twisted the knob and the door creaked open, only a sliver of the outside visible as you tried your best to peek around the crack.  And before you could even begin to make out any figure awaiting entry on the porch, a large hand splayed across the wood and pushed it effortlessly, sending you stumbling back as the wind knocked out of you.

“Okay, Byers.  Where’s my dice?  And my game controller?”  

Eddie.

He’d side stepped through the door, forcing his way in obviously only expecting Will but still not realizing you stood before him as he glanced around the house.  

“C’mon you knew I’d be stopping by after work, little Byers.  I’ve been looking for that controller for fucking weeks–”

You could pinpoint the moment realization hit him that he was mouthing off to you and not Will.  His eyes seemed to almost soften.  Pupils dilating so suddenly.  And then he was speechless, mouth opening and closing but words never spilling out.  Then it hit you that you probably looked ridiculous in the Mickey Mouse apron you had been strutting around in, various types of batter smeared on your cheeks and chin, maybe some on your nose too but you couldn’t remember.  And god, you were wearing your fuzzy pajama pants littered with pumpkins and bats finished off with some fuzzy socks that were striped like candy corn.

Eddie had never wanted to fall to his knees for someone so badly in his life.

He’d never seen you like this before.

Tacky.

In the most adorable way.

“I–um, I was looking for–”

“Will?”  You finish for him, desperately trying to pull our eyes away from him but finding it impossible.  And then you realized what he was wearing which only spurred on your need to drink him in.  A black Metallica shirt cropped just above his happy trail, sleeves cut off to display his tattooed arms and black sweats that hung just right on his hips complete with a pair of black converse on his feet.  For a second you wondered how he wasn’t shivering.  You could only hope that he wouldn’t notice your drooling,  praying that the dim lighting would cast enough shadows over your face that any fondness you were displaying would be hidden.

“Y-yeah.”  He swallows, fingers tangling in a few of his curls before resting back at his side, keys dangling in his other hand.

“Kitchen.”  You mumble, pointing.

He nods, the silence taunting you both as you trail behind him into the kitchen.  Will is already staring wide eyed as you enter, looking between you with something amusing behind his expression.  And in that moment the awkwardness melts off of Eddie, his usual cocky self returning.

“Dice?  Controller?  Man, I told you I was gonna come by–”

“I forgot but I have both–”

“Oh, you forgot?”  A mischievous grin overtakes Eddie’s face, Will playing along with it as they both brace their palms flat against the kitchen island, staring at each other instantly but with playful intention.

“Ed, don’t do this.”  Will warns, unable to maintain a serious face, corners of his lips pulling despite his best efforts.

“Oh, I have to.”

Eddie fakes him out, body about to move to the right but instead quickly changing to the left to which Will screeches in mock fear, rushing to the other end of the kitchen.  Any time Will goes to make a move, Eddie is seconds quicker than him.  When Will tries to make his big escape he’s instantly caught in a chokehold, the metalhead’s arm secured around him as he ruffles his hair with a fist, the classic noogie.  Will’s laughter is contagious, a few ‘stops’ littered throughout and you can’t help but join and giggle as you watch the scene play out before you.

“Dice?”  Eddie halts his movements to ask, side eyeing the boy.

“On the desk–in–in my room.”  He answers out of breath, clutching onto Eddie’s forearm.

Eddie continues his torture on Will, rough housing a little more before stopping once again.

“Controller?”

“Coffee table!  Are we done?!”

“Nope.��  A full on wrestling match takes place in the small confines of the kitchen, both boys stumbling around and bumping into cabinets.

It was weird.  You knew Eddie and Will were pretty close but you’d never seen them like this and maybe it's because you refused to linger in a room long enough if Eddie was there.  Now you didn’t really have the urge to leave.  All you could do was watch.  Eddie’s dramatics flared as he cackled in Will’s face, Will telling him to ‘shut the fuck up’ between gasps for air.

“Tap out.”  Eddie demands.

“No!”

“Tap.  Out.”

At some point you hadn’t even paid attention to the way Will hesitated in surrendering, you were too caught up in the way Eddie’s already cropped shirt rode up in the position he was in, his waist looking all too enticing, lower back on full display however you refrained from trailing your eyes up his spine.

Stop it.

“Okay, I tap out!”  Will smacks his hand against Eddie’s forearm that was secured around him, instantly granted relief after saying the magic words.

“Eddie The Banished reigns supreme.”  He pumps his fist in the air in triumph, face scrunched in victory.

You roll your eyes but in all honesty, it’s not out of pure annoyance just this once.  It feels more like when a friend does something stupid and all you can feel is warmth flush through your body and your initial reaction comes naturally.  Effortlessly.

“Okay, now get your precious things and go.”  Will points at the door, sass overtaking every movement, the playful energy still buzzing between them.

A pang in your heart says don’t go.  But you remain quiet as a mouse in the corner between the sink and the microwave.  You don’t mean that.  You try to bargain with yourself.  Seeing him in this light does not excuse his past no matter how much of an ache you feel in your chest.  The good kind.  

“Okay, okay.”  Eddie sighs, catching his breath, a grin still stretched across his face.  “Hey, what the fuck happened here?”  He stops in his tracks, gesturing to the atrocity that has become every surface of the kitchen.  Batter and dough of all kinds smeared along the countertops, eggshells discarded along with balled up foil on Will’s side of the mess, and of course the towering bowls just about ready to tumble out of the sink, filled with suds, wooden spoons and whisks.  And of course the bag of chocolate chips that had spilled, sprinkled across the surface, some even dismissed on the floor, there was even some kind of dough caked onto the handle of the fridge.

“We’re having a bake sale.”  You break your prolonged silence from the corner, mouth upturned in almost a smirk but not quite, it’s more like you’re holding in a laugh.  At the sound of your voice, Eddie’s head snaps in your direction, molten chocolate eyes landing on you in such a way that has your breath hitching.

“A bake sale?”  He questions, doubt written across his handsome features, his tone hinting at the fact that he knows you’re bullshitting him.

“Mhm.”

“Aren’t you like–aren’t you bad at baking?”  

How does he know that?  

Will’s eyes widen and he sucks in the most subtle breath.  That’s how.

“Can’t I be bad at something but also still try?”  You argue.

“I dunno, can you?”  It’s almost mean, almost.  But it doesn’t feel the same as when he’s usually ridiculing you.  The dimple peeking out at you provides evidence of an opposite intention.  He’s teasing but not to be a dick, unless you were reading him wrong.  And there was very little chance that you were since the past few weeks at work, he had almost left you alone all together save for a few questions here and there and maybe a few bad jokes.  But other than that he was solely a coworker who you held no personal ties to.

“Well that’s how you learn.  You keep trying until you get it.  So far nothing has burned and the batter tastes good–try it.”  You don’t know what you’re trying to prove but your body had already been on autopilot, it’s sole mission to keep him from leaving.  A wooden spoon coated in red velvet cake batter is offered to him, you twirling it to keep it from dripping everywhere.  Eddie glances from you to the spoon a few times rather quickly, almost as if he’s waiting for you to psych him out and tell him to go to hell.  In a way he wishes you would just so he knows he isn’t dreaming.  He makes his way around the island, standing next to you, not too close but just close enough that he can steal the spoon from you, his tongue licking up the back of it.  The sight is strangely erotic.

“Not bad.”  He hums, continuing until the spoon is halfway clean.  You want to mention that he’ll risk getting sick from eating too much, raw eggs aren’t exactly ideal to eat even if disguised as a delicious batter, but that would show that you care.  Which you don’t.

“What am I missing?”  Will addresses the elephant in the room, containing a smile that might be too big for his face if he were to let it take over.

“What?”  You ask, head tilted in a way that has Eddie’s eyes lingering for a moment before turning his head and copying your actions, tongue still committed to the spoon, licking up every ounce of sweetness.

“Are we–did we–end up in a parallel universe?  Why aren’t you threatening to kick his ass?”  He points an accusatory finger at you.  “And why aren’t you making snarky comments?”  He points to Eddie who is still too busy licking any remnants of the mixture.

All you can offer is a casual shrug before snatching the utensil right from Eddie’s hand, tossing it into the overflowing sink.  “I’ll kick your ass if you were even going to think about double dipping that spoon in my bowl.”  You warn, a touch mean.  “There, are you happy?”  You look to Will for approval, skepticism still painted all over his face, his arms crossed in uncertainty.

“I wasn’t done.”  Eddie frowns, ignoring your threat to instead dip a daring finger into the bowl of artificial red.

“Hey!”  Both you and Will begin to reprimand him.

“Just one more–”  He doesn’t finish his thought as you grab the bowl, holding it behind your back.

“Say I’m good at baking.  Both of you.”

Eddie and Will look to each other in perplexity.  Will can’t comprehend the sudden playfulness you have for both him and Eddie.  Usually this would end up in an argument, one saying something a bit too offensive for the other’s taste and from there it would spiral.  Instead neither party is engaged in conflict but rather play and it’s not unwelcome, just…weird.

“Excuse you?”  Eddie takes the bait.

“The two of you seem to talk trash about my baking skills behind my back but I didn’t see you complaining two seconds ago while you salivated all over the spoon.”

You only receive a scoff in response, Eddie crossing his arms as if to appear more intimidating.  He only looks more like a misunderstood teddy bear.

“Say it.”

“Anyone can make cake out of a box.”  He retaliates, Will releasing a small gasp as he hides his smile under his hand.

“Oh, okay.  I’d love to see you out of all people bake a cake.”  You challenge him.

“This is more like it.”  Will mumbles, though he knows this is not at all the usual bickering that happens between you.

“Oh, you want me to out-Betty Crocker you?”  Eddie threatens.

“You can try.”  You shrug, setting your bowl back onto the counter.

“No, no.  I will.”

“Guys it’s literally cake from a box.”  Will intervenes.

And so started the greatest bake off the Byers’ kitchen has ever seen.  

–

“Okay, wait.  I have a grievance with this competition.”  Eddie speaks up, abandoning an uncracked egg on the countertop only for it to roll off and crack at his feet.  “Damn.”

“What’s the matter now?”  Will asks in mock annoyance.  Every other minute Eddie had a near microscopic complaint but it only entertained you.  Curses at wrong measurements, that his bowl wasn’t as pretty as the others, or that he wanted the whisk Will was using.

“Why don’t I get matching pants?”

You glance down at your Halloween themed pajama pants and then to Will’s.  They were a steal at Target and you couldn’t resist, knowing Will would love them as much as you did.  That, and every year you bought a matching pair for both fall and christmas.  You can’t help but feel a huge smile pull at your lips, the sight of Eddie pouting with his hands on his hips is all too endearing.

“For one, you weren’t even invited to this sleepover.”  You sass, pouring your newly mixed chocolate cake batter into its pan.  “And two, this is our thing.”  You gesture between you and Will standing a few feet next to you, Eddie directly across the island sporting an even bigger frown.

“Yeah, you kinda crashed our party.”  Will adds, snickering with you.

“Wow.  I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that and instead you pledged your undying loyalty to me.”  Always a drama queen.  “Whoa–wait, wait!  How are you already done I haven’t even–”  He quickly realizes you’re already setting your masterpiece in the oven while his bowl still contains both dry and wet ingredients, unmixed.

“Guess we can already tell who’s gonna ‘out-Betty Crocker’ who.”  You smirk.

“Oh, hell no.”  He mutters under his breath, suddenly focused on mixing.

While Eddie just about buries his head in the bowl, Will graces you with a look.  A knowing look.  You claim innocence with a lift of your brow but you both know.  You’re just too ignorant right now to acknowledge it.

–

Seeing Eddie Munson dancing and screaming to Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift was something you could never even fathom and yet here he was.  Unapologetically singing every word and putting on one giant show with Will, singing into random kitchen utensils while the speaker blared the song.  He knew every word.  You didn’t dare interrupt the choreography they had come up with on the spot, watching from your comfortable perch on the stool at the counter.  

Will sounded like a dying animal and it occasionally had you reaching up to cover your ears but your smile never faltered.  And Eddie was unstoppable.  He didn’t sound that bad though he was shouting along with Will at the top of his lungs so you figure if he actually tried he would sound angelic.  Once the song reaches the bridge you can’t help but drown in your own laughter, both of them strutting in between where the living room meets the kitchen as if it were their own personal runway.

Your eyes open, nearly crying only to find Eddie just feet away extending his ‘microphone’ to you with a raised brow and a cocky grin.  Your immediate reaction is to shake your head, your nerves instantly on edge at the mere idea of holding any kind of attention.

“C’mon, you’re gonna miss the bridge again!”  Eddie waves you over in a rush.  You don’t budge, a flash of worry washing over you and it seems that it was written all over your face.  “C’mon Roadkill, don’t make us finish off without ya.”  He half jokes, Will still screeching like a banshee behind him.  “Do it for little Byers.”  He cocks his head toward the boy, pleading eyes begging you to change your mind.

Slowly, you emerge from your comfy perch, snatching up your own ‘microphone’ with a bashful gleam in your eyes.  Just in time for the bridge again, you strut toward Will who excitedly starts jumping and nodding at your participation. 

“I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you!”  You yell in each other’s faces, wheezing as you continue dancing–if you could even call it dancing.  Your confidence skyrocketed.  Turning toward Eddie, you sing to each other the last line of the bridge.

“And I screamed for whatever it’s worth, I love you ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard!”

Chests heaving and mouths hung open, his eyes swallow you whole, dark honey slowly pulling you under.  Your first instinct is that you should run but he feels too much like home to ever willingly leave.  If it’s so wrong, why does it feel so right to stare into pools of deep amber?

~end~

Author's Note: okay if you're reading this TY SO MUCH. The scene where reader is kinda admiring eddie at work, i had 1 step forward 3 steps back by olivia rodrigo playing along with it for me and rather than something super sad, it's kind of the opposite in this case as theyre coming out of their angsty era so if you just listen to that and imagine her admiring him with a little content smile on his face as he works it makes me want to SCREAM lmk if it does the same for you ok BYE <3

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tags - @mmunson86 @haylaansmi @batkin028 @obscureenigmatic @micheledawn1975 @dreamerjj @hideoutside @hellfirefiend @emilyslutface @rustboxstarr @3rd-conchord @eddiessteady @lightcommastix @kittydeadbones @shadows-echoes @str4ngerthingsslut @winchester-angel @elegantkoalapaper

[versaceeevixen]

Seven Stages of... Shock and Denial

Investigations were had, searching for that damn master keycard. Nothing turned up. I asked my one friend Xandra if she could possibly ask the cards "where is the keycard? Am I going to get fired?" I asked her over the phone, and I didn't know what the actual spread looked like. My whole livelihood and job was on the line, and these tarot cards could possibly give me a direction on where to go. I had no answers... no clue on what exactly happened...

Like I was there, but I wasn't. I was totally removed from the situation. Like in Mario Kart when you play against yourself in ghost trails.

Xandra was one of the few tarot card readers on campus that I knew. There was a few more, but I was the closest to her at the time. She was a girl who was apart of the Lazer Tag boys like me, but not really apart of it. She had her own friend group, one apparently that she turned two of her "guy best friends" in the group against each other. By dating them and breaking their hearts. I never really thought of it really, as I was dealing with my own heartbreak.

Xandra helped me with my worst heartbreak (at the time), it was messy and along with being stuck with my Mother. I got my heartbroken over text, I thought at the time I wasn't meant to be in a stable(ish) relationship. A whole lockdown ruined my chances of having something normal. Which felt unfair, it was drilled into my head as a teenager that I was going to have a "college sweetheart." I wanted to wash my hands of the abusive relationships of the past, and have something "normal."

She would say to me about my ex "He isn't shit// You can do so much better// He's ugly." At the time, I thought that was better, and I was doing better.

Despite helping me with my woes, Xandra and I would have late night excursions doing typical late 2010's early 2020's post-lockdown college girl shit. Except stealing traffic cones and dumbshit like that. It was a vibe... at the time. She even gifted me The Modern Witch Tarot Cards deck for my birthday. Another Blue themed deck to add to my Blue Tarot card collection, despite me not trying to have blue tarot cards. It just happened that way I guess.

So, she was a shufflin' the cards, as my stomach was a shufflin' too. I don't remember much from the spread but I do remember one card.

The chariot, which the interpretation of that card for the question meant that; the key was lost either in my car, or on my way from the hill to my dorm building. I had checked multiple times for the key, I still couldn't find it.

"Am I going to be fired?"

Xandra told me multiple times that I was "fine"

Everyone told me that I was going to be fine, despite my intuition saying otherwise.

Big Sis told me I was going to be fine.

My RD after the initial investigation meeting told me I was going to be fine.

My friends told me I was going to be fine.

So, fine I let it go. The keycard was replaced at this point, and everything blew over right?

It was my turn to take over the office for "Active RA Duty" my co-worker had left her email open. I caught a glance of "RA Summer Position Offer." as I closed her email and signed into mine. I didn't have that same position extended to me.

I thought it was weird, but shrugged it off. However, I heard from another RA from an old building that she got it. I also heard another RA got the email too from another dorm building as well, along with all of the RAs from my dorm building got the offer.

"So why didn't I get the email?" I asked Big Sis, as I was shuffling and preparing my tarot cards. Because, once again she asked for another love reading about her affair with her resident. She told me that maybe they asked seasoned residents, she shrugged.

"Anyway about my question, Wha-"

I interrupted her, for once I wanted MY questions to be answered correctly. I asked the cards... What is going to happen about the key situation? About my job?

I don't remember much about that tarot spread, but I can tell you about the weather outside that day. I can tell you how her room was setup, where she was sitting in her room, and what was on her TV at the time. But I do remember this card coming up and gasping.

Upright meaning: heartbreak, separation, sadness, grief, sorrow, upset, loss, trauma, tears.

I covered my hand on my mouth, there was no other meaning to interpret that. Big Sis still, reassuring me that everything was going to be fine.

Okay, so this is the last post before things get really messy and fucked are you ready?

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

IUI - The Way I Love You

bear with me here folks

I know the Idiots are usually soft af. but my lovely spouse/fiance/soon-to-be-fiance and beta @dani-dandelino hit me with an idea and I added a dash handful of angst bc i couldn’t help it

Warnings: feelings of inadequacy, fear of breakup (no actual breakup I promise), miscommunication, drunk af Geralt, past shitty relationships, happy ending tho I promise, there’s tears but they’re happy I swear.

______________________________________

Geralt only ever got sloppy drunk when Jaskier was the DD. It wasn’t necessarily that he didn’t trust anyone else, it was that he didn’t trust his drunk boyfriend not to goad him into something stupid. 

The last time they’d both gotten fucked up outside of their apartment they woke up with three traffic cones and a “Speed Hump” sign in their living room. When they asked Triss what happened she sent them a video of them giggling as they tried to fit the sign into her trunk.

After hanging the sign in their apartment, they decided it may be best to take turns. 

This particular instance, they’d dropped Triss and Yen off and were on their way home, Geralt’s head lolling against the window as he fought to stay awake. 

“I’m not carrying your perky ass upstairs,” Jaskier laughed, snapping his fingers near Geralt’s ear. 

Geralt grumbled but sat up straight and leaned into Jaskier’s outstretched hand, “Radio.”

Affectionately rolling his eyes, Jaskier pulled his hand away and flipped on the radio. Geralt immediately gasped and started singing along off key and slurred. The first time Jaskier heard Geralt scream along to Taylor Swift he’d been shocked, if extremely endeared. 

“BUT I MISS SCREAMIN’ AND FIGHTIN AND KISSIN IN THE RAIN! IT’S TWO AM AND I’M CURSIN’ YOUR NAME! SO IN LOVE THAT WE ACTED INSANE, AND THAT’S THE WAY I LOVED YOUUUUUUUUU!”

Jaskier turned the volume down to a reasonable level when Geralt cranked it so loud his ears might start ringing. He rolled his eyes when Geralt started singing it to him, taking the shortcut home and trying to ignore the little pit forming in his stomach. 

When the song ended Geralt turned the radio down and picked up his hand not gripping the steering wheel, “Jask?”

“Mhm?”

Even in the car, Geralt glanced around conspiratorially before whispering, “I have a secret.”

Fear flared in Jaskier’s chest but he took a deep, calming breath, reminding himself who he was talking to. His boyfriend thought secrets were fun. Mostly because Geralt’s version of a secret was keeping what he made for dinner a surprise until Jaskier got home. He’d even felt guilty not telling Jaskier he was seeing a therapist when they’d started dating. For all his gruff exterior and suspicion, Geralt really was an open book with those he loved and trusted. Jaskier had a very different idea of what secrets in a relationship meant. 

“What’s that, love?” 

Geralt giggled as he traced the edges of a magnolia on the back of Jaskier’s wrist, “That is the way I love you.”

Luckily for Jaskier’s car, they were rolling up to a stop sign. He had time to loose his breath for a moment and fight back the initial feeling of shame and anger with himself before he pulled his hand away and gripped the steering wheel as he punched the gas. 

Through gritted teeth, he said the gentlest thing he could think of, “We don’t kiss in the rain.”

Geralt frowned, almost pouted at him, “I still love you.”

A part of Jaskier wanted to scream at Geralt, another part wanted to pull over and make him walk home, thankfully the loudest part reminded him the idiot was just drunk. He didn’t know what he was saying and he thought he was being sweet. There was also a good possibility he would cry himself to sleep in the passenger seat if Jaskier yelled at him and last time he tried to carry Geralt to bed his back hurt for a week. 

“I love you too,” Jaskier sighed as he pulled into their parking spot. 

He didn’t sleep well that night. Not because his sweaty, smelly, and fidgety boyfriend clung to him in his sleep, but because he couldn’t stop thinking about the ride home. 

Jaskier had lived in relationships like that for most of his adult life. Hell, even in his teens. They were nothing but all consuming passion with no connection to support it and left both parties jaded and lost. When he left his mentor he’d sat in Yen’s chair for hours and hours, until his arm had gone numb, and the only thing he could think was ‘never again’. 

And now Geralt thought he was being cute. The ridiculously meticulous and serious man was only ever sappy when he got drunk and now instead of reveling in it like he’d like, Jaskier was staring at the clock on his nightstand calculating how exhausted he’d be in the morning as the minutes ticked by. 

Turns out, he was at least in the land of the living by the time Geralt shuffled into the kitchen with his hands in his hair and a pained expression. 

“Feel like shit.”

Jaskier hummed in agreement as he sipped his morning tea and shifted in his seat to see better out the window. 

After popping a few anti-inflammatories and nibbling on a cracker before giving up on food, Geralt lumbered up behind Jaskier and draped his arms over his shoulders, “What’s wrong?”

“S’nothing. I’m just being… touchy.”

Geralt pressed a light kiss over the hellebore tattoo on Jaskier’s neck, “I doubt it.”

Tears threatened to spill from his eyes as Jaskier laid his hand over Geralt’s arm across his chest, “I don’t want to lose this.”

“Why…? What makes you think you would?” Geralt was a little slower on the draw hungover, but he knelt next to Jaskier’s chair and rested a hand on his knee as he waited for a response. He only ever looked so worried when Roach had an abscess and it broke Jaskier’s heart. He didn’t want to say it and ruin everything. 

After a deep breath in, he mumbled out his answer, “Do you really love me like that song?”

“What song?” Geralt breathed, his thumb brushing back and forth over Jaskier’s knee.

“The uh, Way I Loved You one.”

Geralt searched his face for a beat, the crease between his eyebrows only deepening, “Of course I do.”

“Fuck,” Jaskier breathed, biting his lip to keep it from wobbling as he forced all the air from his lungs in the hopes it would do something to stop the tears from falling. When it was clear he would lose the battle he leaned forward with his elbows on the table, hiding his face in his hands.

“You… don’t want me to?” Geralt sounded close to tears himself, but he didn’t take his hand off Jaskier’s thigh. 

“No- yes! No?” Jaskier sniffed and wiped at his face but didn’t lean back to look at Geralt, “I- Geralt I can’t just fill a hollow relationship with lust. We ha- I thought we had more? But if you want the- the fights and the hate fucking- I don’t- Geralt I don’t want that. Not with anyone but not with you. Ne-”

“Hey, hey,” Geralt tugged at Jaskier’s arm, gathering him to his chest when the brunette melted into sobs, “I don’t want that. That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry, love. I’m so sorry I let you think that.” He cradled Jaskier’s head to his shoulder, pressing kisses into his hair between softly spoken apologies and reassurances. They stayed there until Jaskier’s tea went cold and his sobs were closer to little gasps. 

Eventually, Jaskier lifted his head and met Geralt’s eyes, “H-how do you love me?”

Geralt licked his lips, his voice barely above a whisper, “Not- It’s not hollow.”

Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead to Geralt’s, “Please?”

One of Geralt’s hands came up to cup Jaskier’s cheek as he took a deep breath, “I’ve never loved anyone like I love you… I never wanted to be romantic with anyone until you. You… You make me feel… safe. I’m never bored of you or numb or sick of you. This is the first relationship I’ve had where I bother to fight, Jask. I love you so much it makes me do things I never thought to do and I’m glad and I never want to change anything about us. Never.” 

A shiver ran down Jaskier’s spine as relief flooded his whole body. His throat ached from crying and his shoulders were sore from holding all that tension in a way they hadn’t for years, but he’d never felt so good. Geralt loved him. Him. Not some tumultuous relationship or the sex or the drama of it all. Someone finally loved him for him. 

It hadn’t really hit Jaskier till then. They’d said ‘I love you’, sure, but he hadn’t really believed Geralt, just like he’d stopped believing the string of selfish lovers before him. 

“Thank Mellitelle,” Jaskier laughed, just on this side of hysterical as he tightened his grip around Geralt’s shoulders, “I fucking love how boring we are. And you. Fuck I really really do love you.”

“Even when I smell like my regulars?” Geralt teased, intentionally huffing a little extra and dosing Jaskier in his horrendous hangover morning breath.

Jaskier wrinkled his nose but smiled and kissed him anyway, “Of course.”

“Mhh,” Geralt pulled away for a moment, brushing his thumb over Jaskier’s crows feet in a silent request for him to open his eyes, “Can we go back to bed?”

“The crying does it for you, huh?” Jaskier chuckled, his voice was still weak but his laugh was genuine.

“I’m so dizzy, Jask,” squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head ever so slightly, Geralt plopped back onto his heels. If Jaskier hadn’t witnessed just how much he drank he’d say he was lying, but Jaskier was truly surprised he’d even climbed out of bed this morning.

“Mkay, up. Back to bed then.”

They settled under the blankets and tangled themselves back together. Geralt hummed, closing his eyes and squeezing Jaskier a little tighter.

New, happier tears threatened at the corners of his eyes but he pushed them down, opting to trace the corner of Geralt’s buttercup tattoo peeking out of his shirt, “I love you.”

Geralt took a deep breath in before he sighed out a rumbling, “I know.”

“No, Geralt. Really,” Jaskier laid his hand over the yellow and green ink, “I’ve said these words more times than I can count but I don’t think I ever really understood them until you.”

“Jaski-”

“I love you,” Jaskier’s interruption was far smaller and far more fragile than he had intended. His words just continued to spill out, “You’re steady and calm and I’ve never had that. I don’t know what it’s supposed to be like and I’m constantly scared I’m gonna fuck it up…”

Comforting fingers ran through his hair as Geralt murmured his reply, “Me too,” Jaskier just squeezed his shoulder in a bit of solidarity and a bit of selfish comfort, “But I think we’re doing alright…”

“Why’s that?”

“Well,” Geralt started, shifting so he was practically engulfing Jaskier, “we both still love each other, and...” his boyfriend pinched him when he trailed off, pretending to fall asleep in a way that always mad Jaskier giggle, “Ow- and you use the hooks by the front door.” 

“I do, don’t I?” Jaskier sniffled, “And you used your words.”

“I’d use all the words for you.”

“All of them?”

Geralt really was drifting away this time, his words coming slowly as his arms relaxed and Jaskier felt their full weight over him, “Not well, but I would...” 

[neonponders]

Okay I’m in this Flayed!Steve thing now. Here’s part 2 for this post ~

It’s the angsty middle (I don’t know if I’m doing a part 3 so this might just be angst with no conclusion LOL) so I’ll put it under the cut.

• • • • • • •

Billy frowned at Max’s gaggle of weirdos from atop his lifeguard throne. She had a pass to the pool - courtesy of his job - so the extremely obvious sneaking around was even weirder than that herd of freshmen usually behaved.

Whatever. It’s summer. It’s closing time, and Billy’s got plans to be nowhere in Hawkins tonight. He’s got a concert ticket burning a hole in his locker, and he can’t help but touch it fondly after he finishes his shower -

The lights go out.

He wants to slouch and tip his head back like Max does when she’s just over it. But since he’s the boss around here, he puts strength in his legs and barks, “HEY! Lights on and get out!”

When nothing changed, he quickly yanked on his jeans, t-shirt, and shouldered his backpack - ticket safely locked within an interior pocket -

Billy’s mouth opens to bellow, but someone else beats him to it.

“MAX!”

The voice is familiar but he can’t place it. Or rather, it’s out of place, so he doesn’t believe it until he sees Steve Harrington for himself.

“Max! Get out of the freaking sauna! I’m not interested in smelling like old men.”

Billy frowned. There was only one sauna, and women didn’t use it. A mild warning bell moves through Billy’s head at why Max could possibly be in the sauna at all, but instead he chooses to intercept the guy yelling for his stepsister.

“Hey, Harrington.”

It was convenient that Billy stood behind him; he got the full view of that Scoops Ahoy uniform as Steve turned around and -

Got a sandbag in the stomach. The pool staff used those to weigh down signs and traffic cones on busy days in the parking lot, but for the life of him, Billy had no idea where it had just come from. They weren’t stored anywhere near the locker rooms or sauna.

Billy gaped as the guy vocally coughed and flew backward. A good bit of spit got knocked out of him on the way into the sauna, and then the door slammed shut.

Freshmen swarmed around Billy, running at the door to bar it shut. Byers’ brother read the thermometer on the wall. “Almost at two hundred!”

“Max.”

Her red ponytail flew around her head as she looked at him and his confusion. “Billy, I don’t have time to explain.”

“You might!” Lucas intercepted. “We don’t know how long this will take!”

A new voice asked, “How long does it take?”

Billy analyzed this new person’s sailor uniform. “Who are you?”

“Robin. Who the hell are you?”

“I work here!” Billy growled. “What the hell are all of you doing after hours?”

“Steve’s possessed by something,” Robin said.

Billy’s voice went deadpan. “It’s July.”

She grimaced, “So?”

“So take your Halloween bullshit out of here - ”

Slow...quiet laughter turned their heads to the sauna door. Yet...the laughter didn’t match the sobbed, “Bullshit. My life is bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit.”

“Two-fifteen,” Byers narrated by the thermometer. As if connected to the temperature, Steve got louder, wailing an atrocious sound that made even Billy wince.

“We’re all getting arrested for this if you don’t let him out - ”

“We can’t let him out!” Wheeler shouted. Jesus, the kid was just as bullheaded as his sister. “The Mind Flayer’s inside of him. Maybe you might be bored enough to let this thing take over our dimension, but we’re not!”

“Mike, he doesn’t know,” Max said as if trying to soothe the situation, but Billy’s eyes were on the sauna window. Steve had stood up. And Max stood too close to the door.

A fist broke the glass and gripped her hair the same time Billy dove for her. Max screamed as they both landed against the sauna door. Everyone was yelling, but through the chaos, a hand entered Billy’s vision and Steve flew away from the door as if pulled by a rope behind him.

Billy dragged Max away, but not without seeing how Steve landed on the floor, broken tiles following him from the wall. A girl stood beside them, but Billy didn’t know her. She had a nosebleed but didn’t seem to care. “Steve. Fight it. Fight.”

No laughter this time, but the sound of Steve crying was...hard to listen to. Billy and Max slowly returned to the others, all of them peering into the sauna at Steve slumped on the floor.

“I can’t. I’ve been trying. I can’t anymore. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He held his bleeding hand, but all of him sounded broken. Billy heard himself ask, “What’s wrong with him?”

“Mind Flayer,” the girl said.

“Yeah, that doesn’t mean anything to me,” Billy remarked.

“It’s a creature from another dimension,” Byers said...a bit too calmly. “It possessed me last year.”

“You seem fine,” Billy retorted, even though Byers was pale, skinny, and for some reason stayed true to that ridiculous bowl cut.

“My mom and brother got it out of me, but it won’t be as easy this time. All of the flayed people have been eating chemicals. Steve’s house is a mess.”

Robin pointed at the window, “Does that look all right to you?”

Billy refocused on Steve...and all the black veins on his arms, his face.

“Two-forty,” Byers said.

The curly-haired kid...Dustin, Billy remembered from some locked cabinet of his brain, said, “The human body can’t survive past one hundred and ten.”

“What if he’s not human anymore?” Lucas said quietly, like a secret.

“Steve’s still in there!” Dustin yelled, even though his tone was soaked with doubt. “Steve, you gotta fight it, man. Come on! I know you don’t have the best track record, but this is a fight you can’t lose!”

“I ALREADY LOST!” he screamed. Max was crying in Billy’s arms. He hadn’t realized they still held onto each other. Steve cried, “I lost. Soon as this thing’s out of me...I’m dead. I’m so thirsty. All he drinks is bleach. I’m not okay. There’s no way I’m okay. I’m sorry. Robin. I’m sorry. I tried. I tried so he didn’t see you. I tried every time...”

Billy didn’t know what the hell was going on, but Steve’s veins were black, all of them bulging beneath his skin as he began to convulse. Will moved, gasping and weirdly riveted to Steve vomiting something that looked too thick to be saliva.

Then he deflated. “That’s not it. That’s not enough. Two-fifty.”

“What’s it look like?” Lucas asked.

“It’s a cloud - a vapor. It’s - ”

“A shadow.”

Like rats scattering, they retreated from the window where Steve stood again. Except the girl remained, gazing steadily back at him as he reached through the window...not to grab her, but to test the distance.

Steve smiled. Billy felt cold. “Limited human parts.”

Her jaw stiffened as her hands formed into fists at her sides. Opening. Closing. Opening. Closing.

Opening, and rising to point her palm at the window. “When the spider leaves, the web dies.”

Billy couldn’t believe that Steve moved because of this girl, but he landed against tiled wall again...and again.

Dustin was shrieking as Lucas and Mike held him back. “You’re killing him! Stop! Please!”

The girl sobbed through the blood dripping past her mouth -

A guttural hack of a sound wrenched out of Steve, and the sauna went dark. Not like the lights going out...but like dust out of a vacuum. Soot from a faulty firework making Billy squint and then dodge out of they way of Lucas wielding a lighter and hairspray.

To Billy’s horror, the soot cloud moved. Dodging and evading the hairspray flames - some of it even catching light and moving like cinders.

Lucas, Mike, and the girl chased it out of the building, but Billy and the others looked at Robin wrenching the sauna open. Steve lay unmoving inside.

“Steve? Steve! Oh...god. We need a hospital.”

They didn’t have a hospital. But they did have a lifeguard.

“Move. Let me see him.”

Billy still had no functional idea of what the hell was going on. All he knew was that he didn’t get paid enough for any of this, and his CPR training told him: when in doubt, keep compressions going until better helps comes.

“Max, call an ambulance. Then stand outside to flag them down. Robin, help me move him out of here. It’s too hot.”

For all of Max’s faults, an unsteady head was not one of them. She took off for a phone and Robin was thankfully nearly as tall as Steve and Billy. They lifted Steve with ease and got him to a locker room bench. Dustin and Byers put cool-soaked towels underneath Steve’s armpits as Billy began chest compressions.

Both boys flinched back at the sound of bones snapping. Dustin exclaimed, “That’s not right! That can’t be right!”

“I have to break the sternum off the ribs to compress his heart. Stay the hell out of my way.”

Maybe it was the sound, or the sound coupled with Steve’s sweat and slimed-drenched face, but Robin finally broke. She ran for a toilet and heaved. Then both boys held onto her, crying as Billy gripped Steve’s hair and jaw to open his windpipe and breathe into him.

It was gross. It was terrifying. And it felt like nothing was happening. Steve was cold and unmoving. He tasted strange. Soft lips made acrid and sharp.

Voices echoed in Billy’s ears but he didn’t stop. He counted to thirty and breathed for Steve twice.

Thirty.

Breathe.

Thirty.

He still counted even after an EMT ripped him off of Steve, and left him standing vacantly in the lot as the firework of a truck sped away.

[sour--disposition]

Chaotically Unchaotic

-

harry lewis x fem!reader

-

please check my masterlist to see if requests are open

A tight, skimpy dress, dangerously high heels and more liquor than sense? Definitely sounds like a Sidemen night out.

You, Talia, Gee and Freya had walked into the club at least half an hour after the guys had told you to meet them there, if not later. What? Its not your fault that your eyelash just wouldn't stick in the corner and that one piece of Gee’s hair just wouldn’t hold its curl right. 

The guys were all congregated in or around a booth in a cordoned off section just behind the bar, because of course JJ had set something somewhat private up for the first big night out in what felt like years. You saw one of them lean over to the man in front of the velvety rope and point towards the four of you, presumably to make sure you were let through. And, as soon as you approached, he unhooked the rope and let you step through, each of you smiling and mouthing a small thank you to the man.

“It took you all long enough!”, Vik laughed loudly as you dispersed to mingle amongst the group. It earned him a half-hearted swat to the chest from Talia, resulting in Vik acting like he’d just tried to firm a punch from JJ.

You walked straight over to where Harry was sitting, sliding an arm over his shoulder and leaning down to drop a soft kiss to his cheek. “I’ve missed you, stranger”, you whispered, angling yourself to catch a quick peck on the lips.

“I hope you don’t treat all strangers this way”, he teased, shifting slightly so you could perch yourself on his lap. “I’d be very jealous, just saying”.

“Only the prettiest ones”, you replied, batting your eyelashes at him until he caved and let out that beautiful laugh of his. “I really have missed you, though”, you told him honestly, reaching forward to grab the cocktail that he’d bought you before you’d even arrived.

“I’ve missed you, too”, Harry said, resting his chin on the bare skin of your shoulder. “I was thinking maybe we don’t stay out all night, get home at a somewhat decent time, grab a pizza, watch some Blue Planet or something?”, he suggested, hand snaking round your waist to hold your thigh.

“Boggo and Y/N going home early!?”, Ethan asked incredulously from beside Harry. “That’s the most un-you thing I’ve ever heard!”, he snorted.

“Just because we have a little fun after a drink or three”, you scoffed, flicking your hand dismissively in Ethan’s direction.

“You and Harry are worse than Ethan and Harry, and that’s really saying something”, Simon laughed from the other side of the booth, everyone laughing and nodding along in agreement with him.

So, you and Harry had a small history of causing chaos on a night out. There were enough pictures of the two of you proudly posing with road signs you’d managed to dismantle or traffic cones you’d ran down the street with, and thats before you even delve into the album of videos of the two of you managing to create havoc just by walking home at 3am. Don’t even get Tobi started on how he found you and Harry in the middle of the road after one too many cocktails on a group get-away to who knows where, God knows when.

“They’re just jealous, imagine Talia and Simon running off to nab a traffic cone”, you snort, giggling as Talia lovingly rolls her eyes at you for what could be the hundredth time that night.

Harry started laughing before he’d even opened his mouth to speak. “Sorry, but just imagine Freya and Josh doing something like that”, he wheezed, causing both you and Ethan to join him in the hysterics.

It wasn’t long before people started trickling over to the bar and then to the dance floor. “C’mon. Let’s get a drink and dance!”, you urged Harry, as if it would take any convincing to get him to dance with you. You took his hand as he led you to the bar, paying for your drinks as you stayed safely nestled against his side, under his arm.

“Here you are, beautiful”, Harry smiled, handing you the cocktail glass. You thanked him with a kiss to the scruff on the underside of his jaw, followed by a soft nuzzle to the same spot with you nose. “What?”, he chuckled, nervousness clear in his voice as he reached up to scratch that one spot on his chest.

“Nothing”, you sighed happily, “I just like this stubbly stuff you’ve grown, it’s a good look on you”, you hummed into the skin of his jawbone. You felt Harry’s arm pull you even closer and his hand slip just a little lower, fingers brushing where your dress had slightly ruched over your bum. “Come dance with me”, you begged, hand wrapping around two of his fingers to tug, almost like an incessant child.

Harry downed the rest of his drink, which shouldn't have been half as attractive as it was, before following your lead to the dance floor. Before you’d even found a spot, you’d seen more than half of your friends dancing amongst the crowd, either with each other or a stranger they’d found on the dance floor. You heard Harry shout something over to Ethan who, once you’d glanced over to see, was all over a beautiful girl in a skin tight dress.

You felt the music just as much as you heard it, heavy bass resonating through your chest as Harry wrapped his arms around your waist and let his forehead drop forward to your shoulder, pressing a kiss there for good measure. With the drinks from Talia’s and the few from the bar working their way through your veins, you couldn't help but relish in every part of Harry that made contact with you. Tight hands on your hips, occasionally roaming up to your waist, head on your shoulder, chest pressed completely to your back... It was heaven.

You turned in his arms, grinning at him as his hands rested on your bum cheeks, squeezing tightly, even if just for a moment. Your arms came up and over his shoulders, one hand tangling into the messy pile of dirty blond hair that was just so Harry it almost hurt, the other holding onto his jaw as you reached up to kiss him properly for the first time that night.

His hand on your lower back pulled you impossibly closer, like he was scared you’d slip away as soon as his lips left yours. “I’ve missed you”, he whispered hotly into your mouth. You knew he was only being this confident because of the alcohol, you could taste it in his words and his kisses. He kissed you again, one hand moving up from your waist to hold your face, fingers slipping past your ear and into your hair to anchor you to him.

“Excuse me, we are in public!”, you heard Freya laugh near you. Harry groaned into your mouth, dropping his head between the two of you briefly before looking up to Freya and Josh. “Honestly, Y/N, if you aren’t running off with traffic equipment, you’re sucking face with baby Boggo on the dance floor!”, she chastised you with a grin.

“Excuse me, Miss Nightingale! I’m younger than Harry!”, you laughed, letting your head drop forward onto the front of Harry’s shoulder. “Do you want another drink?”, you asked him, already taking his hand to guide him back to the bar and the booth.

Maybe 2 hours and several drinks later, everyone was talking about moving onto somewhere else, as the crowd had significantly died down and last orders were about to be called. “Do you wanna?”, you asked Harry quietly.

“Not really, just wanna cuddle you”, he pouted, holding you tightly around the middle. “Me and Y/N are gonna take off if you guys are heading out”, Harry said over the group, earning a few funny looks from his friends. The both of you shrugged it off with a laugh as you got to saying your goodbye’s to everyone, dropping kisses onto the girls’ cheeks.

Harry led the two of you out of the club, arm wrapped protectively around you as lads with the same idea as the rest of your friends eyed you up. Once you were outside, he pulled out his phone. “Don’t bother, we’re like 5 minutes from yours, we’ll just walk”, you told him, wandering over to a wall to take your shoes off.

“Are you sure?”, Harry asked, clearly sobering up just a little in the fresh air.

“Positive”, you smiled brightly at him, holding your shoes in one hand and reaching out for his hand with the other.

You and Harry walked back to his apartment building with your hands swinging between the two of you. He told you about how the move into the new apartment had gone, and how he was missing Lux, and what he’d packed on FIFA the night before. You told him about your stream, and the new video you were working on to upload to your main channel, and the stupid content you’d found on your Reddit for a second channel video.

Harry opened the door to the apartment and you walked through to his room, dropping your shoes and already making to take your make up off. “Are you gonna join me for a shower?”, you asked him as you un-styled your hair. He nodded, toeing his shoes off and coming over to help you unzip your dress.

He washed your hair for you, careful not to make too many knots and he scrubbed the shampoo into your scalp. As you let the conditioner sit, you swapped positions and washed his hair, giggling as he moaned at your fingers running through his hair. He rinsed your hair, almost causing the both of you to fall as he leaned over to press a kiss to your lips, leaving you both a giggling mess in his shower. Harry picked up a cloth, holding one side of your head to keep his hand steady, and removed the tracks of make up that you’d missed and had melted off in the heat of the shower.

“Thank you”, you murmured, blushing when he replied with a kiss to the tip of your nose.

Harry bundled you up in a towel and attempted to wrap your hair into ‘the magic hair towel-ly thingy’, as he called it. You were still laughing at him as you made your way into the bedroom once you’d righted the towel on your head. “You sort yourself out and I’ll go order pizza? The normal, right?”, Harry suggested, already pulling some shorts on. You nodded, kissing him as you walked past to what had been your side of the bed for as long as you could remember.

As Harry ordered food, you towel dried your hair and tied it up, pulled on some underwear and slipped one of Harry’s shirts over your head. You couldn't help but smile as you got a whiff of freshly showered Harry from his top, clearly having only worn it this morning before getting ready to go out. That, mixed with the detergent that Harry religiously bought and the soft smell of what could only be described as ‘sleepy Harry’, made you feel right at home in a matter of seconds.

You could hear Harry talking to Cal as you walked out into the living room. “Hey, Cal”, you smiled, walking over to kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea. “Anyone want tea?”, you asked happily, turning around with your mug in your hand. “Harry? You okay?”.

Harry seemed frozen in place, eyes locked onto you. Worry filled you instantly. Had you done something wrong? “You just look really beautiful”, Harry smiled from the sofa, blushing when Cal scoffed and gagged, leaving the living room.

After pizza and a few episodes of Blue Planet in bed, you and Harry called it a night, knowing fine well that your friends probably weren’t even home yet. “I’m glad we left early”, you whispered into the small space between yours and Harry’s faces.

“Me too”, he sighed, and even though you couldn't see his smile in the dark of his room, you could hear it dancing over each of his words. “It was nice to just spend some time with you, I’ve missed you the last few days”, he murmured.

“I’ve missed you, too”, you said into the darkness, the two of you shuffling around so you could lay against his chest. “This is better than stealing a traffic cone, though”, you smiled against his bare skin.

And if you awoke the next day to the group chat filled with pictures of traffic cones that you and Harry could’ve run off with and Ethan complaining that the two of you were so chaotically unchaotic that it hurt his head more than his hangover did, well...

[sillyguyhotline]

17. “How is any of this ok?” with Joe and Sara maybe?

dude im gonna be completely honest i havent written anything in like a month so i think the quality isnt gonna be great but here goes nothing

God, Sara missed the feeling of home.

Every semblance of familiarity and comfort she’d once found in the town she’d grown up in, the house she’d spent her childhood running through, now felt chillingly foreign.

Perhaps it was the heavy burden of knowledge weighing fresh upon her shoulders: ASUNARO’s corruption seemed now to peer slyly around every corner, no matter where she went. She still didn’t know how much of the town had rotted away under its grasp, how much of the town its poison had pervaded… but she was probably better off not knowing.

Whatever was left of Midori, that miserable mix of pulsing blood and electronic emotion, had been ground to bits inside that coffin… but Sara couldn’t ignore the creeping fear that his burning, ever-present gaze would appear out of nowhere and terrorize her again.

But he wouldn’t. The death game was over, and they’d promised they would never hurt her or any of her loved ones again.

Most of the loved ones she still encountered day-to-day, gruesomely blood splattered and sitting like corpses propped up hastily in a corner, would be safe no matter if ASUNARO was fresh on her tail or a thousand miles away. What a cruel price to pay for safety, to never be hurt again.

They still lived on if Sara closed her eyes tight enough, if she listened to the twisting words of the hallucinations and let them convince her she was monstrous. But the second she dared to open her eyes, she knew they’d be dead again. Life worked in terrible ways, and that was all there was to it.

Joe’s house had always been a second home to her, ever since the two of them became friends. Joe was the farthest cry from Sara in terms of social interactions- it had taken at least 3 months for Sara to trust Joe enough to invite him over, but Joe had insisted she hang out at his house the very same day they became friendly enough to exchange more than a sentence with each other.

There was a certain sort of comfort to the warmth of his house, the constant scent of cooking food pervading the air and the little trinkets scattered in every corner. No surface of his house went without decoration, in its silly little way. It was full of pictures, too, some carefully framed and some dangling from the wall by pushpins, but Sara got the sense that none of the photos went unloved. Most of them were occupied by an orange-haired man, often carrying a younger Joe (back when he was still sporting that atrocious crew cut). Sara always assumed it was his dad, but thought it would be impolite to ask… particularly when the weeks stretched on and Sara had yet to meet that mysterious orange-haired man.

Eventually, pictures of Sara began to join the collage on the wall- pictures taken as she butchered yet another pop song during karaoke, or when they went out to get food, or when she mistakenly sat down on a traffic cone during gym (after many protests from Sara, he took that one down). As silly as the pictures were, and as obvious as it was that Joe had waited for the most embarrassing moments to take them, it was sort of sweet in a way.

Joe’s mother was always kind to her, though there was a constant weariness in her eyes that Sara always felt a bit uneasy about questioning. Sometimes she’d let the two of them cook things in the kitchen, but more often than not they’d go up to Joe’s room and screw around in there, with video games or music or the 50 times Joe tried to persuade Sara to climb out the window and sit on the roof with him before she finally agreed.

As rare as it was for Sara to agree to sit on the roof, it was even rarer for Joe to agree to study with her, much to Sara’s chagrin. Joe had always walked a fine line between passing and failing, but Sara had to admit he walked it well. When she did manage to convince him to study, though (usually the day before final exams), they’d sit on the cushy couch in his living room and somehow manage to bother each other as much as possible while feigning concentration.

The couch hadn’t changed after several years- Sara could tell that much the minute she sat down on it and avoided the urge to break eye contact with Joe’s mother. It was still well-worn, a couch that likely should have been replaced at least a decade ago but had never really been disposed of. Loose threads were protruding from the cover, drawn out from years of visitors fidgeting with them.

Sara shifted uncomfortably in her seat, the slight motion making her sink deeper into the couch’s soft cushioning. She’d only spent one minute in the house and was already sweating, whether from the heat of the home or the thousand-yard stare of the woman sitting across from her.

Ryoko was there, too, sitting to Sara’s left and gazing listlessly at the well-trodden carpet beneath her feet. …Ryoko.

Sara cast a hesitant glance around the room, duly noting the photos covering the walls. Not a single one of hers had been taken down, but several more photos had appeared with Joe’s beaming face featuring prominently in them. Joe’s presence was always enough to fill a room even when he wasn’t speaking; it took a lot to fill in the gaps left by his absence.

God, she missed him.

The wind whistled against the window-screen; Sara had memorized the familiar creak of the wooden window frame being lifted up to welcome in the mild autumn air. Sara had always thought of autumn as a beginning- she loved summer as much as any other kid, but as the haze of the weather began to wind down she was quick to grow impatient and look forward to the school year, to being productive again. Joe had always disagreed with her.

“Fall is the literal death of fun,” he’d complained once, walking home with Sara after finishing the first week of school. “Couldn’t they have pushed back the first day of school by, like, another week? You think if we got enough people to sign a petition, they’d give us an extra week of summer?”

“Oh, come on, we both know even if you had an extra week of summer you’d just be complaining a week later,” Sara had teased back.

The death of fun. It certainly felt like that, Sara decided. She’d never feared the looming darkness of fall and winter quite so much before. But now, she supposed, there was no sunshine who’d weather it with her.

“Well… Sara?” Joe’s mother spoke up, voice hoarse with the sound of repressed tears in her throat. Sara recognized the sound all too well.

There was no resentment in the woman’s eyes when Sara made eye contact with her. No anger, no frustration, nor had there been any in her measured motions when she welcomed Sara into the home. It didn’t take any words for Sara to tell that there was no blame to be foisted upon her.

She was still Joe’s best friend.

“I’m sorry to have dragged you out here on such short notice.” The woman’s voice was weak. “I don’t know all the details of what happened, of course. Haven’t heard anything, aside from the little tidbits the police told me when I dropped by the station.”

Sara’s shoulders stiffened at the mention of the police, at the idea of them pleasantly answering her questions as though they weren’t just as complicit in that tragedy as ASUNARO had been.

“And…” the woman glanced down at her hands, toughened from a lifetime of working. “I know something terrible happened to you. The circles under your eyes are darker than midnight, I know it’s so selfish of me to be dragging you out here, but… I haven’t slept a wink for weeks. Been so worried about Joe, and about you too.”

She nodded in the direction of the black-haired girl who hadn’t spoken a word the entire time. “Ryoko’s been worried about the both of you, too. Your parents weren’t answering the door, so she went to me. I hope you’ll forgive the two of us for disturbing you, Sara, but… you have the answers the police won’t give us, don’t you?”

God, her gaze was piercing.

“...Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

It was taking everything in Sara’s power not to look at the vacant seat to her right. If Joe was there, he would have been laughing and lightening the mood, completing the circle that had been left so jarringly empty.

But they wouldn’t have been having this conversation if Joe was there.

Ms. Tazuna nodded slowly. “This means the world to me, Sara. Don’t forget that.”

Sara did her best to muster a smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

The woman gave another nod, eyes defocusing as though even now, she wasn’t quite sure why she was there. “Alright. Alright. Well, then…” She cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Guess I should get right to the point, yeah? Is he… is… how is he…?”

So she still hadn’t quite let go of that little thread of hope, even after seeing Sara return home safe and alive with no best friend in tow. Who was Sara to judge? When hope was the only thing to cling to, it only made sense to cling to it like a lifeline.

Sara twisted her hands, the same old nervous habit she’d had for years, and wondered briefly if she’d picked it up from Ms. Tazuna. How terrible it was, to carry the news that nobody, much less any mother, ever wanted to hear.

“I… I’m sorry, Ms. Tazuna. He didn’t make it out alive.”

Sara hadn’t expected the hush that immediately fell over the room. She’d expected immediate tears, the grieving cry of a mother in pain. Instead, the room became muffled, still as a painting captured in time.

Slowly, Ryoko looked up from her bitten-down fingers, eyes rimmed red already. Ryoko had always been an emotional person, the only person Sara knew who could fluctuate from full-on sobs to cheerful giggles in less than a minute. Sara was so unused to the look that was now filling her eyes- cold, solid misery. As though there were no tears in her eyes left to cry, no more tragedies to bemoan. Just a deep and horrified comprehension of just how many things in her life had gone wrong.

And, slowly, Ms. Tazuna began to cry.

Tears had become so uncomfortable for Sara to bear witness to. Was it selfish of her to look away? It couldn’t be, not when every raw sob reminded her of the art student seeing her first (and certainly not last) death, of the broken sibling openly weeping over apologies gone unspoken, of the unknowing siblings screaming their throats out with pleas for death so the other could survive.

Especially not now. Not when every tear rang in her mind as a reminder of cold tubes piercing her best friend’s chest, of his corpse slumping and falling in a pool of blood, because oh god he wasn’t supposed to have lost so much blood, how was he supposed to live without it, of the clickclickclickclickclicking rising in volume while her attempts to save him grew feebler and feebler.

Her hands were bloodstained, no matter how many times she tried to scrub them clean. Those dreadful hands of hers had failed her, failed Joe, failed the women sobbing openly in front of her.

She swallowed back the apologies that always rose in her throat as Ms. Tazuna rushed to sniffle back her tears.

“I… god, I… he’s really gone?”

Sara couldn’t bear to look her in the eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Please… please tell me it was a peaceful death. He didn’t… suffer too much, did he?”

The resounding wave of clicks flooded her mind. “It was as peaceful as I could make it. I… he smiled at me, right before he died. I’d… very much like to think that means he was happy when he died.”

“What happened?” Ryoko’s voice came out rough, the first of it Sara had heard in weeks. “Joe told me, after our date, that he was going to walk you home, and then neither of you showed up at school the next day. And now… it’s been three weeks? And Joe… Joe’s dead? What the hell happened, Sara?”

“God,” Sara mumbled, mesmerizing herself with the twisting motions of her own hands. “I’m not sure if you’d even believe me if I told you. I don’t even know if I believe what happened myself.”

“I’d believe anything.” The sentence was firm. “I just want to know what happened.”

Sara nodded wearily. The familiar weight of her bright orange ponytail was notably missing- the day after she’d escaped, she’d demanded the hairdresser cut her hair short and crisp. She shuddered every time she thought about the ponytail brushing against her neck as she spent each argument screaming and protesting for her life. Even worse was the memory of how carefully Joe had styled her hair, forsaking his usual clumsiness to braid every strand with a remarkable tenderness. She didn’t want to remember any of it- even though, as the locks went cascading to the floor, she was reminded starkly of Keiji’s bleach-stained trauma response.

“For some reason, something to do with the mafia, we were kidnapped. And pulled into a death game. There were twenty of us, including me and Joe. I- I’m not going to get into all the specifics. It’s going to make me sick to my stomach if I do. But… they made us play this sadistic fucking game to narrow down the competition. Based on cards. Joe drew a bad card, and… they executed him.” Something in Sara’s throat tightened as she finished speaking, and she fell silent.

“Just like that?” His mother’s voice came out as a hoarse whisper. “How… how’d they kill him?”

“I’d rather not say.” There came the gushing sound of blood pulsing through the tubes. “He didn’t suffer too long” - she hoped - “but it was a gruesome way to die. I don’t want to think about it, please understand.”

It took a moment for his mother to register the words and nod, face still painted with horror.

“Why… how did the two of you even end up there in the first place?” Ryoko spoke up again. “You said something about the mafia? How the hell are you two connected with the mafia?”

“I don’t know how I am,” Sara responded immediately. “It must be something with my family. I couldn’t control any of this, I swear, but… Joe wasn’t meant to end up there at all.”

Ryoko paused. “He… he wasn’t meant to end up there?”

Sara swallowed back the lump in her throat. “The game… it was something that was being prepared for ages. There weren’t just a few ragtag kidnappers behind it, there was an entire organization. Even the police were involved. They ran AI tests, hundreds if not thousands of them, trying to calculate who’d be the most likely to win. And… when all the numbers came back, the person most likely to win… was me.”

She spread her arms wide, baring her sins and her cruelties to the world, and in that moment felt distinctly like the angel of death Keiji had branded her to be.

“They needed something to drag me down, I guess. Make the odds more balanced. So they dragged Joe into this fucking mess. I guess they thought that him being there would keep me steady enough to make everything fair.” A cold hand, dripping with tendrils of phantom blood, caressed her chin with a lethal grip. “...They were right.”

Ryoko’s gaze had gone cold again. “So Joe died just because you cared about him? What the fuck kind of death sentence is that?”

Sara shook her head numbly.

“Why did it have to be him?” The heartbreak in Ryoko’s voice was clearer than day. “So many people love you, Sara, why did it have to be him? Hell, I’m your best friend too, aren’t I? Why couldn’t it have been me? I’m a much worse person than Joe ever was, I deserved to be in his place way more. Couldn’t they have killed me instead?”

Sara winced at the growing desperation in her best friend’s voice, the raw crack she knew all too well. It should have been me, it should have been me, it should have been me. Sara could have almost fooled herself into seeing a crisp aquamarine when Ryoko’s hair flashed into the light.

“Ryoko… it could have been.”

The girl fell silent.

“They had files on you too. They knew how close we were, they knew how much you meant to me… but Joe was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And they fucking killed him for it.”

Oh, how she wished she could go back to that balmy early-autumn night, see the smile on Joe’s face and listen to his lighthearted laughter again. The desire to keep one’s friend safe had become a crime deserving of a death sentence.

Ryoko’s eyes remained locked to Sara’s, devoid of any dullness. In the look they exchanged was a deep, sinking understanding, one that had nauseated Sara to the core the first time the realization struck her.

It was by no crafty strategy that Joe had died instead of Ryoko, no favoritism biased against the kindest person either of them would ever know. It was a simple, terrible twist of fate. Ryoko could have taken his place had she done something as inconsequential as offering to walk Sara home instead.

But she hadn’t.

It took everything in Sara’s power to avoid wondering what would’ve changed if she had.

“How is any of this okay?” Ryoko broke the silence weakly. “They killed him- they could have killed me, too. He was seventeen. Seventeen. How did anybody let this happen? How did this happen, Sara?”

“I- I don’t know.” Ryoko’s wrath was simmering; even though Sara knew truly that she wasn’t the subject of the anger, she still felt scalded. “I miss him so much, Ryoko. I watched him die, and nothing in my power let me save him. I miss him, Ryoko, I miss him every waking minute of every day. We were supposed to escape together and get out safe and pretend this never happened, but…” the tears were beginning to well up again. She couldn’t bear the thought of breaking down in front of anyone, especially not over him.

“I’m going to go make some coffee,” his mother interrupted suddenly. She’d been noticeably quiet, but the still-fresh streaks of tears painted down her cheeks told the story she didn’t need to vocalize. “Some coffee, and some snacks. And we’ll keep talking from there, alright? Do you guys have your phones?”

The two girls nodded uneasily.

“Please… find any pictures you have of him. I want to make this wall as bright as possible.”

Without any other words, she hurried out of the room, and it fell to silence once more. Outside the window, the cool autumn breeze began to stir the leaves in the air, gusting forward to brush against Sara’s cheek just as the hallucination had done mere minutes ago.

And the Tazuna household began to feel more like home again.

[aitarose]

YELLOW DAISIES (A. MIYA) pairing: miya atsumu x fem!reader

synopsis: atsumu miya, japan’s most entitled player, the person that strangers resented for unprecedented boasting and confidence—a facade as there was only one person who knew the real him.

word count: 1.6k

genre: established relationship, fluff, time skip

warnings: slight angst, asshole!atsumu?, hospital, mentions of death

notes: i’m only on episode two of season four so i’ve literally never heard this man speak a word, but i wrote this for some reason asjdfkl

↳ DIRECTORY

He was revolutionary—that was what flashed in bright lights in the media, magazines, and news when the name Miya Atsumu came into the picture. It was an honorable title, one that he’d earned from his years of experience, years of effort to become the best player he could possibly be. 

Fans of the game couldn’t help but admire his ambition, his confidence when it came to setting—when it came to being on the court. There was nowhere else he seemed to fit, no where else that deemed worthy of a man like him.

He was simply made to play volleyball, he was put on the planet to coordinate the team and help lead them to their respective victories. The drive he had was envious, admirable even to professionals that were years ahead of him in experience. 

But there was a catch, just as there always seemed to be a catch when things appear too perfect or other-worldly, as Miya Atsumu was considered the most egocentric man in all of Japan. 

Yes, his talent was astonishing and his looks trumped some of the most handsome men in the world, but he was a complete and utter narcissist to the public eye. A complete asshole in all senses of empathy. 

He was perhaps an enigma. A man that no one person could quite figure out. A total mystery to everyone but those close to him—to everyone but his twin-brother and the few teammates that he considered friends.

And it wasn’t that the public wanted to hate him, they wanted nothing more than to find a redeeming quality, something that would save his reputation—the ignorant reputation that he’d somehow managed to build himself over the course of his professional career.

Tabloids constantly had new headlines to publish, weekly reports on whatever star-born attitude Atsumu had acted on in public, during games, or even in the safety of the team’s after parties—parties that he’d rarely be found at.

The most common hate train would be the look he’d give the camera every time he so much as scored a point mid-match. The cocky, full of himself gaze to the viewers watching at home, as if to say that he was the real King of the Court. 

Holding up his hands in the shape of a heart, Atsumu would smile with a smug grin, teeth flashing white and sticking his tongue out dramatically. He’d hold the position for a few seconds, making sure that the camera got a good take of his face, before returning to the adrenaline rush of the game.

It was as if he became an even better player after his boastful routine, focusing on the game as if it was life or death, as if he would be ruined if they were to lose a single point—frightening the other team with one glance, one look forcing them to crumble underneath their own dead weight.

With his rare intimidating attitude, the Black Jackals had little to nothing to worry about when it came to their setter. He was reliable, always there to pick up the slack when all odds seemed to be against them—when the books refused to read in their favor.

And his teammates absolutely loved him, they knew him better than nearly anyone other than Osamu. When microphones and interviewers shoved misguided questions in their faces, they’d always defend him, as they were more than just players on the same side of the court—they were practically brothers.

So, when it’d be time to stay after the game to greet the fans, give them kisses on the cheek while the camera cemented their meeting in history, his friends paid no mind to how quickly Atsumu would rush out of the building. They’d pay no attention to how he’d refuse to entertain his fans, only stopping for one girl—one girl who’d offered him a bouquet of bright yellow daisies. 

“Thank you.” He’d mutter, nodding his head at the young girl before stalking off, ignoring how she fawned over the beauty of his facial features, obsessing over the way he’d just so much as acknowledged her existence. 

Pulling out of the stadium’s parking lot was always a big hassle, with the media and paparazzi awaiting his exit, video cameras taping his every move and step he took. There was zero privacy for him, every one of his secrets always seeming to be on film.

But Atsumu didn’t care, he didn’t mind running over a few parking cones, forcing the photographers to jump out of his car’s way, back onto the sidewalk where they belonged. He had absolutely no disregard for their safety according to the new’s titles.

As well as no respect to traffic laws. Speeding limits was a thing of the past in his mind, always going about twenty miles over, whether that was on a highway or neighborhood street. His life ran on double time, needing to be in a rush, a rush away from his duties.

His sports car headed north on the daily, never straying from its path, in pursuit of the same destination every day—every time he had the chance to escape the responsibilities of being a world-known athlete.

And though the world liked to act as if they knew everything about him, as if he was an open book whose chapters were updated every week, no one knew why Atsumu would spend so much time at the international hospital. Why he’d enter the building in the evenings and leave at dawn.

Even today, after the loss of a championship match, he wore the brightest smile on his face while holding a massive bouquet of yellow daisies—the flower that’d always accompany him through the blank grey walls of the healing center.

The grin would stay plastered, the expression reading ingenuity as he’d walk through the automatic doors, taking a final glance back to make sure that no one had followed him, before letting the facade crumble—before he let it dissolve into a somber frown. 

“Looking beautiful as always.” Atsumu laughed, waltzing up to the front desk, greeting his favorite worker as she rolled her eyes, passing him the check in sheet with a pointed look. “How’s my girl doing?”

The woman behind the counter took a deep breath, inspecting his signature to ensure that he hadn’t signed in the wrong place, before looking up to respond to his question—the same question that he asked her every day.

“Waiting for you.” She said, gesturing that everything was alright and he could proceed to the dual elevators that carried him to the top floor, the floor in which permanent residents stayed. “She’s up there waiting, just like she always is.”

Blowing the clerk a joking kiss, Atsumu carried on, holding the bouquet with a death grip, picking at the flowers to make sure that they looked their absolute best—that they deserved to be held in his favorite girl’s hands. 

Standing in the elevator, his heart dropped at each ding. It was a sound that he had never gotten used to, one that haunted him as he slept, taunting him as if to say that the minutes were counting down—the minutes losing their value, the minutes he had left with her decreasing. 

Despite how much he loathed the noise, how he wished he could shut it all off, make time stop just so he could have an infinite amount of moments by her side—he knew that life would come to the point in which he’d hear that sound one last time. A point in which he’d leave the building and never have a reason to return. 

As he approached the room he knew all too well, Atsumu brought his hand up to a light knock on the door, giving her a little heads up that he was there, that he didn’t forget about her even though he’d maintained his constant routine for months now. 

“Is that the famous Miya Atsumu I hear?” Y/N’s melodious voice called out, knowing all too well that her beloved boyfriend had arrived to harass her. Her already enlarged heart grew bigger at the sight of his brown eyes and golden hair that she’d always try to spot on the court.

While the world admired him for his physical beauty, she knew him for the beauty inside. The beauty that she was so blessed to see, the real personality that was reserved for her and her alone—not even Osamu had seen him so gentle, so caring. 

“Yer favorites,” he held out the bouquet to her in a regal manner, presenting it as if she were a queen and it was her crown. His dramatics sent her into a fit of giggles, accepting the flowers with a scoff as he rose up to press a soft kiss on her awaiting lips. 

“I saw you.” She whispered, pulling him down to meet her smile once more, relishing in the feeling of their love connecting. It was a feeling that she was addicted to, one that she longed for whenever he was away. “I saw you and the stupid little heart that you flash me on television.”

Atsumu helped her move over on the hospital bed, making enough room for him to lay down beside her as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, his head resting on top of hers. “Stupid? You sound like the rest of ‘em.”

“No one would be calling it stupid if they knew what it meant.” He pinched her cheeks, puckering her lips to a pout and kissing her over and over again. “If they knew I only do it because I want my girl to be proud of me.”

He sighed, holding her as if she would disappear if he let go, his fear of losing her of greater importance than any public opinion or false story. His fears being valid and reasonable as neither of them knew how much time they had left—how much time they had left to be totally and completely in love. 

© aitarose.tumblr 2021. do not copy or claim my writing, works, themes, copy and paste my words, or headers as your own

[goji-pilled]

MK-S: Found and saved Sif during my lunch break. I kept thinking there may have been some invisible path, but I knew from videos that a corridor was involved, so I just kept smacking at walls and finally struck I place I hadn’t struck yesterday. Kinda wish the Cat ghost would have pawed at that spot on the wall or something, a more clear but subtle clue. I though she was trying to indicate a survivable drop…doesn’t help that my prism stones (I really want to call them “waystones” for some reason, not sure why. Eh, may end up using the term in a Candeloro journal, as it does sound cool) managed to catch the edge of a wall at the drop, so I jumped right on in…I am so glad I activated the bridge back up first. Found the father of the abyss, and a managed to get in two hits before dying…yeah, he’s strong.

————————————

Side Rant:

What I find interesting at the initial impression is its use of a cane to walk. Basic tool use is a sign of intelligence, one I don’t typically see in the dragons (I’ve yet to face Seth, so I guess I’m more thinking drakes and gaping dragon, things that are more or less just powerful beasts.) And of course knowledge is power. That saying may be cliché, but’s stood the test of time because it’s true. That makes it conceptually more terrifying: it can think and it’s powerful. And what’s to say it truly is the Father of the Abyss? Sure that’s the boss title, but (and bear with me as this is no research, first time, fun thought experimenting) who bestowed that title to it? Is it how it presented itself, or is that a title bestowed upon it by humanity, Gwyn, etc? The reason I ask this is to provoke some fringe horror; In the latter case: if this isn’t the father of the abyss, what’s to say whatever lies in the dark is so strong, it makes this thing appear like a cockroach…and that’s assuming the entity is unique and not part of its own species: imagine any hard dark souls monster and being told you were facing the runt of the litter. And of course, I just realized the inverse of all this is equally if not more terrifying: the true father of the abyss has singled out YOU; an Eldritch Abomination knows you exist, knows who you are, and wants you dead (or worse).

———————————

Back to Dark Souls:

Sorry about that, I went off on a bit of a tangent there.

Tried to kill bridge dragon, was a waste of arrows and time. Fought Manus again, he flattened me again with what I think was actually a hand? Found that spot you could shoot arrows at him…he can’t be poisoned and I have neither the arrow amount or the souls for all the arrows it would take. Glad to know that’s him though, I thought there was a secret area under the bridge.

Praise the sun guy is moping in front of the Chaos Servant rank two door, and I’m like, “dude, I’ve cleared the path back, (forgot I bonfired, but that’s besides the point) go up take the lift, be polite to the spider lady and egg butler, take the stairs, go straight and you’ll be back in BlightTown. Can’t believe I’m recommending that as a better destination.”

Found the respawning titanitite demon, but I didn’t want him in the middle of my darn shortcut into this weird hell place. Homeward’d away last time because I know something is coming up where onion bro can potentially die an honorable death and-WHAT THE HECK IS THAT THING?!?

Turned around and went up stairs and killed some pyromancy lady with three Cursed Grea-I’m shortening that to the CGA, quick search to see if that’s an acronym for anything…nothing that means anything bad, so CGA it is. Killed her with the CGA in three hits before she had a chance to attack. She died slowly and dropped a catalyst, so I kind feel bad her life ended because to her a random person walked her way after noping from her minion.

Killed the upside down traffic cone thing covered in googly eyes and rigid pipes for arms; Eldritch arts and crafts project right ther-….while I was typing this one of those stone gargoyle ball things rolled right past me, backwards, went around a corner and started attacking a tree branch. Weird (Bug).

Onion bro died. I thought I’d let him get a hit or two in on the creatures (already killed two) for his pride and he was basically one shot…I know his story from YouTube lore vids, I know this is his preferred fate, to die in battle repaying a debt to a fellow undead who has aided him time and time again…I did not do it for any reward or service dear onion knight…I only wanted a friendly voice to listen to by the bonfire. (Role play voice off)

Also this possibility mimic chest. Clever devs.

…Was this a dead end room? Did he DIE so I could grab some minor loot?! Oh my gosh it may have been.

Found the Bed of Chaos, and Homeward-Ed out of there; she seemed chill, but I’m carrying enough souls for another upgrade, so I’m going to pass on her until I spend all my money.

…just blew all my money and soul items on onion and Artorias armor. That I won’t end up using…glad I restrict impulse buying to in video games only/primarily.

Oh, respawning one dropped a titanite catch pole. Neat. Anyway, off to try the witch again…actually, first I’ll find a bonfire in city…

Turns out there no decently close bonfire. Found the correct way in though. Ugh, let’s just give this fight a shot already.

…forgot to re-equip the lava ring too after falling to my death.

Looked up the closer bonfire. And killed some of the fire dinosaurs so I could just run past them. They don’t respawn, shame since I can one shot them with the shotgun dark bead and they drop 2000 souls apiece. Now little tree witch, let’s try this again.

Okay, only one chain now still, doesn’t reset, and she two shot me in full Havel’s armor. Screw it, let me try a run with no armor and stealth rings…I forgot to equip the lava ring again.

Also, dang, I move really fast in nothing. Second hand down, staring to see the puzzle.

Had to look up a walkthrough and stopped the moment I saw I could dodge roll her palm swipes. Floor for base collapsed, died to another palm swipe, run after that I got lucky; fireballs the moment I landed in the arena so I just ran and jumped onto the bridge. Bed of Chaos is dead after probably 15 or more attempts. Didn’t actually keep track. Was wearing the silver serpent ring so 60000 souls became 72000. Time for some last pyromancy upgrades and not more armor I don’t have the endurance to walk in.

And ending the night with a maxed out pyromancy hand. One lord soul down, three to go.

Have a good day!

Ngl I forgot about this again (my bad), but always love to see that nice progress

[hawksugarbaby]

Tokoyami x reader- Big city, small pond

Fluff + Nature took back the earth AU combined with fantasy AU

You didn't take a breath before sinking back down from the side of the moss overrun pavement into the flooded road, deepened after many years of abrasion and sinkholes popping open intermittently. Deep enough for anything to swim in at least, though clementine traffic cone's still floated and drain covers for manholes had rusted and chipped away at the side. Litter still filled the bottom of the sinkhole but had all seemed to collect in the deep abysses. Metal benches were still bolted to the floor but had new river weeds and algae wrapped around each section of the skeleton but it was a wonderful place for anything to sit.

Your gills split open on your neck and you walked the depths of the "river" the reflection of miraculously working street signs for takeaways that greedy humans reopened over and over no matter how many times mother nature reclaimed the earth. Your finger's brushed the scales of an orange carp darting past you and you kicked your leg's out, turning them to an iridescent (f/c) fishtail, ending and transforming to human at the hips, your skirt clung to the tail under the water and your flowy t-shirt billowed out when you moved sharply, turning a corner or halting quickly to watch something.

Your tail kicked up rocks and dust which swirled in the water and settled at the bottom again as sediment. You scoffed at a human dropping a paper wrapper into the water that turned too much and landed on the floor, a few balls of red and white paper landing on your arm then tumbling off.

You popped your head up feeling a lily pad drooping down over your hair and covering your right eye. "Hey!" you shouted but the human was on his knees looking into the water in annoyance "Excuse me! I don't appreciate your wrapper dissolving in my river!" you shouted and he lifted his head, ruby eyes fluttered to you pulling the lily pad off your head, flopping it back onto the water where it drifted further away.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to drop it, I was trying to find it now" he sighed in annoyance at the knowledge it was gone. He sat cross legged at the side and tilted his head looking at you. "Mermaid?" it was definitely supposed to be a question but it sounded more like a surprise than curiosity. You rolled your eyes and repeated his word in a mocking tone "oh mermaid? No. I'm not a mermaid, I'm a nymph obviously. How would you like it if i just assumed you were a crow!" you crossed your arms, your tail fins swishing back and forth impatiently. "I suppose I'd be most irritated" he scratched the back of his neck and hung his head.

You sighed swimming closer to the edge and rested your forearms on the kerb next to him. "It's whatever. Not like you city folk would know a difference anyway. Mother nature did all she could to reclaim the earth as hers and you still poison us with your plastic and oil and deforestation" you listed the minimum amount of things humans had done yet it was still enough for him to feel a guilty punch to the gut. "I'm sorry for what my species did to the earth" he spoke on behalf of a race that didn't care. The human race. But it was nice to hear an apology for once instead of someone claiming it wasn't their fault.

"My name is tokoyami fumikage" he held out his hand and you took it, the web's between your fingers stretching out slightly and you analyse him curiously "(y/n) macdonald." he nodded and smiled at you politely "You have a very nice tail" he said unsure how to continue your conversation, it wasn't like he could just ask you to get up and join him for a dinner and get to know you, though honestly he wasn't sure how nymphs worked, for all he know maybe you could? "Thank you. It's my favourite colour!" you grinned swishing it behind you and hopping on the edge on the path with all your strength.

You kicked your tail out and they transformed into legs dipping into the water and creating ripples around your calves and he stared amazed at your split appendages, skirt still hugging your thighs nicely and your t-shirt stuck to you like a puppy with abandonment issues.

"The difference by the way. This is the difference between mermaids and nymphs. Mermaids are usually really rude too" you explained, picking a string of riverweed from your leg and flinging it into the water to drift along the shore or sink to the bottom. He hummed in response since he couldn't agree or disagree, for now he would stay a neutral party unwilling to get on your bad side again. "I see. How did you end up here anyway aren't nymphs supposed to be out in like... rivers and lakes?" he queried and you sighed looking at the murky water sadly, missing the feel of your own river. "Uh, when mother nature decided to shift stuff around and the big tsunami flood thingy came it flooded my river and we all ended up somewhere different. Maybe it was on purpose but I ended up here" you swung your legs in the water tapping the stone ground with your fingers.

You missed the smell of earth surrounding your crystalline lake running off into smaller streams and your favourite river for finding pebbles in. you missed the fluffy flax seed that stuck to you when you were drying off in the long grass by the bank and that floated on top of the water for fish to pop up and suction down into their stomach. You missed your friends mostly, almost sisterly bonds between all of you now severed and spread across all of japan.

"I miss home really. For all I know my friends could be home waiting for me" you exhaled deeply and tokoyami sadly glanced at you wondering how far your legs could take you. "What if I helped you get home?" he asked and you jumped excitedly. "You would really help me! Don't you have school or friends or anything? Are you sure you can help?!" you blabbered for a minute or so about how inconvenient it would be and how you didn't know how far you would have to go until he stopped you. "My school is on break right now so I have about 2 months off before I need to go back. Most of my friends are going to look for a cause of the reclamation too since half our school is unusable since it started so I have no qualms helping you"

You jumped up and down giddy and dove back in the water splashing him with water that rolled off his feathers, soaking the choker on his neck and you apologised. "I'm just so excited to go home! Thank you so much!"

And so began your long journey to your home. You passed hundreds of abandoned buildings crumbling to nothing with vines twisted up the sides and supersized branches through the shattered windows, ivy had crawled up the walls of every structure you passed and you talked aimlessly along the way. "So mother nature is-" "a goddess inside the earth" tokoyami nodded at your explanation and looked around in understanding. One of her creations had destroyed the other, the necessary one, and she was proving that humans were expendable. "I'd be pissed too if my home was being filled with gross plastic." you giggled and smiled thankful that someone finally took you as sane, you were tired of truth seekers who didn't like the truth they gave them. They had too much blame on them so they went to find something else.

A month flew by quickly, you spent as much time swimming along streams that you could but of course not every path was filled with water, so it was a long journey for someone who wasn't used to walking barefoot on the actual ground for huge periods of time.

"What are your friends like?" Tokoyami asked, pushing a bish out the way for you to crouch through and you hummed, "caring. They care about a lot of things like climate change, obviously, but also silly stuff like um the best wood to carve you and your significant other's name in, or which leaves are the shiniest at golden hour. We have to make up fun little games or we'd just get bored" you smiled and he chuckled. They sounded similar to you, pointing out tiny details on your quest like spiderwebs covered in dew hidden in the grass, or perfectly round stone's that were shiny in the sun, it made sense you wanted to get back to them so badly.

The trees opened up to an empty circle of grass and a circle not much smaller of water, flowing over the sides of the bowl into the grass and streams wound along into their own segments of the forest. "Home... i'm home! I'm home i'm home i'm home!" you cried jumping up and down and sprinting into the gorgeous blue water and immediately your legs changed to your (f/c) tail, glowing in the sun as you floated on your back and soaked up the water. "Come in come in!!" you shouted while waving at tokoyami.

You had taken rest stops at old hotels and decrepit houses to check for water and of course food and sleep but there was enough civilization along the way to keep you going. But tokoyami hadn't had a bath, a real bath, one he didn't have to fill with a showerhead, in a month and god he wanted to relax desperately.

He peeled off his sticky t-shirt and hung it over a tree branch dipping into the water and relaxing immediately. "This is surprisingly warm" he muttered watching you splash around joyfully and sunk under the water. It was so clean he could keep his eyes open and watch you dip in and out of the water bouncing like a dolphin.

You swam over to him and he sat back up shaking the water out of his feathers and you smiled hugging him tightly "thank you for taking me here. I wish I could help you get back home but I don't think i'd make it back here myself. You sighed and he shook his head. "It's okay, I have other ways of getting home. I don't have to leave right now. I'll stay for another fortnight but then I probably have to go" he looked at his phone glad he had data and could contact hawks at the click of a button.

In 14 days that went by like rapids over rocks tokoyami had to say goodbye and hawks picked him up from your spot on the way back from a mission. 2 of your friends had also found their way home so you weren't lonely and tokoyami had promised to visit. "Okay and be safe home okay! I hope I see you soon!" you shouted as hawks lifted him into the air and he nodded in a silent agreement and waved.

"See you soon (y/n)!" he shouted back and you jumped in a wave as they disappeared into the bright blue sky reflected in your lake.

"Sooo..." one of your sisters sidled up next to you and you blushed "don't even! I know what you're going to say" you shoved her away and she laughed at you teasintly.

"Soo..." hawks started and tokoyami rolled his eye's "no hawks"

[indianamoonshine]

Chapter 7 | Superman (Ice Cream)

Summary: Every summer you work on your father’s strawberry farm with your three sisters. It’s a way to take a break from the big city but summers in the midwest are hot and they linger. This year, your father’s old and mysterious friend shows up to stay on your land for a reason yet to be determined. Din Djarin seems dangerous, but kind enough, and the two of you quickly become…well, let’s fact it…smitten.

Rating: (+18) for future and explict sexual content.

A/N: Hi friends! This chapter isn't as long as the others, but I've already got a head start on the next one!

Warnings: I can't find anything in this short chapter that would trigger anybody, so yay!

One can tell a lot about a person by their choice of ice cream.

For instance: Rhea likes honey flavored. It’s a rarity, but Scoops specializes in it. It meant she was sweet, though refined, and organic in these regards. Charlotte prefers amaretto fudge which implies she is a hopeless romantic and the kind of woman who loves vintage films (that alone says quite a bit). You prefer Superman. Maybe that meant the obvious; you’re the youngest and a little bit of a fledgling with a silly sense of humor. You like to be doused in color and leave a sweet taste on people’s lips (some say you’d do anything to please and they could be right).

And Din, well, you were surprised to find that Din ordered sherbert; raspberry and just one scoop. When you questioned his choice (not to say sherbert wasn’t tasty, but at an ice cream parlor it just felt wrong) he justified it by saying he didn’t like the texture of ice cream. Ice cream reminds me of snot, he says to you. You still haven’t gotten that out of your head (and was a bit turned off when you received your cone because of it).

Scoops is in the next town over. It’s a tourist town full of counter-culture fanatics and overlooks the stunning landscape of Lake Michigan. The beach is always packed with families toting cheap red coolers or wild young adults slathered in sunscreen. The air is light and clean with no trace of salt, but it’s a glorious kind of smell you’ve never been able to describe. Lake Michigan is something of mystery – after all, it’s one of the biggest freshwater lakes in the world -- but its appeal might be because it’s watched you grow throughout the years. The great body of water is something of a deity, all-powerful and all-encompassing in its compassion and protectiveness.

The weather is still scorching, but while the ice cream helps, it melts quickly. Along the boardwalk where Scoops is located are dozens of shops all lined up in a neat row and bustling with smiling people, laughing with one another, and arms weighed down with chic looking boutique bags. Most of the population is wealthy because of its tourism and the ridiculous economic situation, so this comes as no surprise. Charlotte and Rhea fawn over the window displays, pointing out which expensive items of clothing they wish they could afford.

Charlotte squeals upon seeing a sundress with a silhouette that she couldn’t possibly deny; Rhea agrees enthusiastically. While they gaggle, you keep your eyes on some birds that dive for pieces of corn dogs fallen upon the walkway. There was a lot going on so it was only natural that your brain retreat to idle, given that you had little to no spending money in general.

“We have to go in,” Charlotte sings to Rhea. “We have to. I need it.”

Rhea admits that she couldn’t pass up the chance either but promises she wouldn’t buy the same dress. The two of them invite both you and Din inside, but you shake your heads, eager of the idea to be alone with one another. It was a risky thing, especially considering how your feelings for Din exposed themselves upon your face like traffic signs. While your sisters certainly knew of your schoolgirl crush on Din, they’ve made no indication they suspect Din of reciprocating those feelings. How embarrassing for you.

When the girls are out of view, door closing behind them with a ring of a silver bell, Din immediately turns to you with a grin. It’s a slight grin – the kind you wouldn’t have been able to notice had it not been for your keen observation of him. His thoughts, actions, and feelings show upon his face like a stroke patient’s might – a little lopsided and faint, but still genuine. You can’t help but wonder why he’s so hesitant to show any exuberant display around anyone else. Did that have anything to do with his family? Any past relationships? Even his career? The career you had no inkling of? It wasn’t like pulling teeth; getting him to chuckle seems easy enough, but his friendliness couldn’t be mistaken for jolliness in any sense of the word.

Either way, Din is smiling – albeit, faintly – as he appears next to you.

“Were you planning that?” he teases, spooning his sherbert.

You shrug, licking the sides of your waffle cone. “I was counting on it.”

The two of you smile at one another and continue your walk with pleasant conversation. You people-watch and he casually jokes around by creating exaggerated scenarios for each of them as they pass. (“That guy in the red swim trunks and sports shades definitely cheats on his girlfriend.”) You can’t help but wonder if you sound ridiculous by the way you snort with laughter each time he says something clever, but he grins pleasantly anyway. It’s difficult to not get a big head each time you manage to get him to do anything other than monitor his surroundings – you notice he has a habit of it, despite how hard he tries to pretend he doesn’t.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna try it?” you offer, ice cream cone melting a bit down the sides.

Din wrinkles his nose but sighs after a moment, maybe weakened by your puppy dog eyes. Wishful thinking. “Alright. Just for you.”

You smile widely with satisfaction, bringing the cone up to his lips. And just when he’s about to bend down to lick the sugary treat, you push the cone onto his face. Din blinks, expression blank, and you’re afraid you might’ve crossed a line. The colorful ice cream stains his chin, dripping down onto his neck, and then soils the collar of his t-shirt. You prepare for the blow, cringing a bit under his gaping. But just when you’re about to stutter an apology and run away, Din presses his lips in a thin line to stop himself from letting out a full-bodied laugh.

“Oh, you think that’s funny don’t you?” he raises his brows in jest.

You sigh out in relief. He’s clearly amused. “Yes actually,” you quip, donning a pair of innocent and fluttering eyes.

He nods a few times, lips pursed, and humming with consideration. “I see,” he muses, hands placing themselves on your hips and squeezing.

You shriek in a fit of giggles as he pushes you gently against the brick of a nearby building. It’s cold against your skin, but nowhere near as chilly as Din’s milky lips peppering chaste kisses against your cheeks. His lashes bat against you, tickling your cheeks, and you become sticky with fruity condensed milk as the gleeful bombardment continues. His name escapes your mouth between your humored twittering. He has you pinned between himself and a wall - you are quite literally trapped - and in front of the public no less.

He wasn’t ashamed of you.

It’s almost a reaction what happens next.

Your hands lock themselves around his neck, mouth pressing against his full lips for the very first time. The people surrounding you disappear, the noise of the busy street vanishing completely. You’d expected your first kiss with him to be serious, maybe even a little awkward with graceless fumbling. But the two of you are snickering against one another, the embrace as natural as breathing. He’s cupping your cheek with the caution he’d shown this morning; he must’ve been terrified you’d crumble beneath him.

You felt like you could.

He’s holding back, and you know this because his lips are soft and slow as a wounded butterfly with clipped wing. The hand that isn’t holding your cheek has pulled you in by the hips. It’s getting harder to breathe, even if it’s closed mouthed. He spoke and the world spun - but his lips make the world sing.

You’re the first to pull away, eyes fluttering open with an uncontrollable eagerness to perceive his countenance. What you expected, you can’t remember, because when you find his eyes still closed, relishing in the kiss with a full-bodied smile, you feel nauseous with excitement. It was almost too much.

Yet not enough at all.

The napkin around your ice cream cone is soaked, but you crumble it in a ball and bring it to Din’s face anyway. You pat against his cheek, wiping away as much of the ice cream as you could while he recovers. Some of it has collected on his dense mustache and you resist the urge to laugh at that.

He nods to himself like he’s trying to get a grasp on what just happened, eyes opening with caution to gaze into yours. He looks tired, but the kind that was delicious; the kind that you look forward to remedying. You must’ve taken an energy from him.

You hope you did.

Because he took it all from you.

He lets out a breathy laugh and you place a thumb against his jaw to wipe some stray remnants from him. “I think I like ice cream now,” he jokes.

•••

The two of you manage to escape.

This is after Rhea and Charlotte come bouncing out of the store, bags in hand, and giddy smiles upon their faces. You laugh with them as they show you their purchases while Din looks on from the sidelines, knee bouncing with alacrity.

You’re weak by the kiss, the blush from your cheeks still prominent. You were positive your sisters would notice, that tonight they’d drill you with questions they already knew the answer to. Women have a way of knowing when another woman has been kissed as zealously as you just had. It wasn’t just the pink in your face that would give you away; it was the dreamy glint in your eyes, the bit of Superman that you’d missed upon Din’s cheek, and the trembling of each item they forced in your hands.

You say your goodbyes to your sisters, promising you’d be home in time for movie night, and skip alongside Din while walking to Bessie. When he’s sure the two of you are in the clear, he takes your hand and massages the space between your thumb and forefinger. Tension subsides in your shoulders.

This was new to you. You’d kissed guys as a teenager; even had a few boyfriends here or there. But that’d been years ago and none of them alighted a fire in your belly like Din has. His company was ethereal - he was made of stardust; you were sure of it. And it seemed silly - even a little frightening - that your feelings have evolved so quickly. For hells sake, you’d just met him a few days ago. Could you really be just, well, stupid? And maybe he was feeding off that stupidity for his own personal gain?

This thought alone makes you feel guilty. You try to ignore the anxiety and focus on the feel of his hand, tanned and masculine, and breathe. The smell of fried dough wafts from down the boardwalk, the tune of an old carnival song muffled in the distance by the chaos of summer. The sun was still high in the sky; it was only five in the afternoon but your body felt as though it’d been up for an entire day, weak with the intensity from such a rush of adrenaline.

Upon arriving to the car, Din opens the door for you and a bit of paint from devoted Bessie showers upon the pavement. You can’t help but wonder if he knew you’d leave early with him and the idea of bringing two separate vehicles was clouded with hidden agenda. This, of course, starts up the cycle of mental dramatization again.

Gods, why can’t you just leave it alone? Why can’t you feel something for once in your life? You’ve spent so many years hiding in the corner in fear of getting hurt – of opening yourself to be exposed to new and terminal wounds even if the process was liberating. And Din was liberating in more ways than one; in ways that have surprised you, despite how little you’ve known him.

As soon as he climbs in, you scooch as close as possible to his side. Your bravery surprises yourself, but you wouldn’t overthink it, especially when he smiles cheekily your way. You’ve leaned your head against his shoulder just before reaching for his free hand again and placing it in your lap with a tight grip.

You may get hurt later. But for now, that pain was worth experiencing. Din Djarin already seems to be worthy of experiencing.

Bessie rumbles to life but he starts for the crown of your head first, lips brushing against you, and light as a feather.

•••

If Din hadn’t been such an experienced driver, he was sure he would’ve crashed by now.

No. He was positive he would’ve crashed. It was nearly impossible to concentrate on the plainness of the road when a goddess was sitting in the seat beside him, holding his hand, and gazing out into the fields you rush past. You exuberantly point out each time there was a farm where cattle and horses grazed, their tails flicking to shoo away flies. He realizes that you love cows (“especially the brown ones,” you had smiled) and makes a mental note of it.

The house is in view now, the strawberries blooming the land with color beneath their plants’ emerald leaves. Your sisters hadn’t beat you there and your father’s truck wasn’t parked in front like it normally was. Not that it would’ve mattered that his friend was home, but Din preferred your father find out…later; when Din felt confident in your feelings for him and you felt confident in his. You were too important to risk losing so soon or even at all.

And that terrifies him.

And just when Din’s about to turn onto the road that leads directly to the house, you gasp beside him.

It frightens him. He isn’t well acquainted with your exclamations yet, so it was hard to distinguish whether your outburst is harmless or exclaimed in the face of danger. He pauses, foot stepping on the brake pedal, and lunges Bessie forward with too much exertion. Upon instinct, he reaches out an arm to prevent you from slamming yourself against the dashboard by the sudden halt.

He immediately looks to you, brows furrowed in concern, and chest heaving with epinephrine. “What is it?!” he jolts out.

You’re staring into the nearby woods with narrowed eyes, silent as a bug. The thicket and vines wrap themselves around one another, graceful in their disorganized summer. Din couldn’t find any movement interrupting the overgrowth, but he had a suspicion you’ve seen an animal of some kind. What else could have caused you to gasp so randomly?

Something pretty incredible, apparently. Because just as Din’s about to repeat himself, far more concerned with your silence than anything, you swing open the rusted door and sprint into the woods.

{ Tag List: @steeevienicks, @hallway5, @t3a-bag, @dodgerandevans, @lumimon47, @dancingwiththeplanets }

[goldenlaquer]

Hi ! Can I request you a rival to lovers short story/ One shot with Sougo please 🥺 ?

In which boys tease the girls they like by setting them on fire. 

AHHH SORRY FOR THE WAIT.

Who Runs the World? Sadists. (Okita Sougo One-shot): 

He is handsome, that much you can admit.

But you also think appreciating aesthetic beauty can be compartmentalized. It is something you can notice, and store in a box to shove in the darkest recesses of your mind, and then think nothing further about the person other than how much you’d like to run over him with an eighteen-wheeler.

So, here is how it is:

Out of context, he is handsome.

In context, he is the most trying, insensitive, sadistic, arrogant, lying dickwad to haunt the face of the Earth and your general vicinity.

You say the second part of this to him whilst kicking the back of his knees (something he very much deserved after slicing the top of your ice cream right off the cone), and he effortlessly dodges and grabs your hair to plant your face against the nearest streetlamp.

When you peel your face off with blood and vengeance dripping off your face, there is a smug smile on his face.

And you are further angered by how, even against the orange-yellow lights of the streetlamp and the darkness of the fading sky, that ugly, infuriating smile does not diminish the prettiness of his face.

And then you are even angrier for even noticing this.

Aesthetic beauty can be compartmentalized. You just aren’t very good at it.

—

You tell him that you wish that he’d fuck off. But only after reimbursing your ice cream.

He tells you to stop thinking about fucking him. And also that you should be thanking him for saving you the trouble of having to buy another gym subscription that you’ll never use again after the first visit.

Again, he dodges the kick, this time aimed at his balls.

—

You sometimes forget that he is in the police force. A fact that makes you shudder for society.

After long moments of name-calling and low blows to genital areas, he tucks his hands into the pockets of his uniform and strides away, no doubt bored of making fun of your existence.

Stop being a nuisance and get off the streets at night, he calls over his shoulder in monotone. He’d have nothing to do if you scared off all the thieves and rapists with your nasty breath smogging up the air.

You are left behind with a soggy waffle cone in your grip. If you didn’t know better, it sounded as if he cared.

—

The universe is playing a cruel and extremely hilarious joke on you.

Because everywhere you go, he is there.

You take a discreet whiff of yourself. Is there something in your perfume that attracts cockroaches?

He is there at the grocery store. Reaching for the last carton of milk at the same time as you do. He refuses to let go, silently staring at you with his red eyes to give up. You sure as hell won’t. You hold on tight and tug. He tugs back. You use two hands and heave. He lets go of the carton and you fly.

At the library. Perusing a manga when you stumble across him. And you would have turned right back around, but the seat across from him just so happens to be the only open one in the entire building. So you mentally curse the other people for educating themselves and suck it up, gingerly placing your tush on the edge of the chair, afraid of the very possible reality of him placing something there that could send you to the hospital. For the most part, the interaction is harmless, the both of you ignore each other until he yawns, loudly, and you glare at him for the rudeness, and he smirks (a warning sign) and proceeds to full-on whine your name out in a high-pitched voice, in the middle of studying students. You and him are kicked out by a buff onee-san with a month-long ban for public indecency despite your many attempts to tell her that you did not touch him, especially like that. Hot blood pools in your cheeks. For two reasons.

Even at the little goldmine of a ramen eatery you have miraculously discovered by sheer luck. Its location is isolated from the usual Edo traffic, hidden in a tiny dingy alley, but their bowls are little pieces of heaven: charred chashu slices that melt across the tongue in smokey savoriness, thin hand-made noodles that have just the right give and firmness, a golden broth that does not taste greasy or heavy and sucker-punches you across the face with umami. This eatery you have found is a safe haven, or so you think until you walk in and see Okita Sougo, schlurping up the last of his noodles and holding up his bowl to ask for seconds.

How is it that you can barely step out the front door of your home without seeing him? Doesn't he have a job? How can one person have so much free time?

(Somewhere, Hijikata is howling his first name.)

—

Once again, the universe makes sure that the only available seat is next to him.

You sit. He comments about how he’s flattered but he’s going to get a restraining order if this continues. You say bullshit, bullcrap, bulldiarrhea— if anyone’s stalking anyone it would be him, creep. He says that he’s not stalking you, he’s making sure that you don’t commit any crimes, and you say, quietly:

So you are following me?

He replaces his reply with an obnoxious noodle slurp. It is all the answer you need.

—

He is not there for two weeks. Two weeks. Two weeks of no sadists. Two weeks of no arguments and fighting. Two weeks of jumping for joy. Two weeks of jumping at shadows. Two weeks of silence. Two weeks of looking at ramen and thinking ‘ah, he’s not here’. Two whole weeks of no Okita Sougo.

You feel… awkward.

Except, awkward is not the word. Ridiculous. Absolutely preposterous. The word is alleviated, instead.

You are alleviated.

You think about the reason for this sudden change. You wonder if he is avoiding you. If so, It must have been back at the ramen place where you last saw him. Something he had said and something you had said.

Something revelatory.

Or he had become truly bored with you and moved on to another toy to play with.

You’re not sure which one leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

—

You see him again in the middle of the third week.

You are walking late at night, when you hear,

What did I tell you? Stop walking so late at night. You’re infecting everyone with your dumb braincells, moron.

You like to think that the only emotion on your face when you slowly turn to him is cool indifference, and you tell him that you don’t speak to stalkers.

Without missing a beat, he says, who would want to stalk such an ugly woman like you?

He pushes off the streetlamp he is leaning against and stalks towards you, long legs carrying him swiftly to stand in front of you. The orange- yellow lights reflect off brown, and long lashes lowers down on red as he looks at you with an expression that kinda makes you lose your breath.

You skin itches and something bubbles up inside you that wants to break free from your mouth.

Shut up. You tell yourself. Don’t say anything.

Where were you for the last two weeks?

Damn it.

Long lashes blink and pink lips slowly curve. Miss me?

No. Not. At. All. You were doing fantastic without him there to ruin everything. You just wanted to know so that you could send condolence flowers to the person he’s bothering now.

Well, you’re out of luck, he says, there was never anyone else.

Your toes curl.

So that means, he continues, I’ll be making your life miserable for a while longer.

You disguise your smile with a glare. Stalker.

Like I said, who would stalk such an ugly woman?

You start walking in the direction of your home. He follows next to you, shoulder and forearms of his jacket brushing against yours. You, idiot.

You’re the idiot.

No, you.

If I’m an idiot, then you are super idiot.

You’re mega idiot.

You’re infinite idiot.

That doesn’t make sense, idiot.

Only because you’re an idiot, idiot. 

----

Little note: Sougo was gone for two weeks, because surprise surprise, he was on a mission for Shinsengumi and I just couldn’t really slide this tidbit in. Not that it’s really important in the grand scheme of things.

[ninjakitty15]

Steering Clear (Loki Oneshot)

Loki couldn’t understand why he was pressured into this trivial, useless and utter waste of time lesson. It was all beneath him, these midgardian contraptions, when he could just as easily get the same results his own magical, mischievous way without needing to lift a finger or get a license for it. Really the only reason why he eventually agreed to the very idea of it was because he wasn’t the only one that was reluctant to go along, the one giving the lesson definitely didn’t sign up for this either and was even less pleased by this whole situation than Loki was. Loki of course found that more than amusing and therefore worth the small amount of time he would actually waste doing this. There was an ongoing joke among his assigned teacher’s friends that said teacher already had a resting murder face but seeing that there was even a darker than murderous look on his face in agreeing to this lesson put a smile on Loki’s instantly. 

“What’s got your feathers ruffled now, Barton?” Loki asked none too innocently.

Clint jerked his head sharply in Loki’s direction then with an expression that promised a lifetime of slow, painful deaths. “Shut up and get in the fucking car. You’re lucky we’re stationed in America or this would suck so much harder for both of us.”

Loki arched an eyebrow at the second part as he had come to understand America wasn’t as a great a country as it probably could be, it wasn’t even the second greatest country on this planet, probably not the third either. Nonetheless he graciously did as he was told and slid into the car smoothly, opposite side as Clint. “How do I adjust my seat exactly?” he begrudgingly asked.

“There should be a lever next to your seat to adjust the back, another one to move it forward or backward for leg room.”

Loki reached below his left side seeing as there was absolutely no way to reach down the right and found both levers, fixing his spot accordingly till he was completely comfortable. He glanced at all things needed to control the contraption, how much different could this be than the ships in Asgard? Besides the fact these ones weren’t made to be airborne, a shame that was as he actually enjoyed flying when it wasn’t by his oaf of a brother’s doing. He glanced over at Clint expectantly then and held out a hand. “I believe you have something I need.”

“What’s the magic word?” sneered Clint right back.

“You really don’t want me to say any magic words in your presence as a great many of them wouldn’t give you any peace of mind, something I’m sure you’ve already experienced,” growled Loki right back.

Clint considered chucking the keys he was harboring out the window but as this wasn’t even his car and he was the assigned supervisor for it, he would be the one in trouble for losing them in the end. He also considered a few scenarios where he would get out of the car right before a freak accident occurred with Loki still inside but he reminded himself as the car was still his responsibility in the end and Loki was after all superhuman, he would still be the only one hurting from it. Not worth the pain on his end. What would Natasha do? Probably blind him in one eye that would hinder his ability to drive without depth perception and make it look entirely like he did it on purpose.

“What exactly do you need from me? Ask me nicely,” Clint retorted before realizing how sexual that sounded and inwardly cringed, it sounded a lot better in his head.

“If you would give me the keys to this death trap, Barton, that would be ever so kind of you,” Loki in turn purred, not at all bothered.

Clint reluctantly handed it over, already done with the verbal sparring and just wanting this whole thing to be over already. He suddenly had a desperate need to take a long shower and scrub himself raw. 

Loki took no time at all figuring out which key actually worked for the car and turned it till the engine came to life for him.

“Check your mirrors first,” grumbled Clint, earning him an eyeroll from his student driver. “How can someone so much older act so childish?”

“You’d be better asking that question to my older brother who has yet to reach maturity himself despite being the crown prince.”

“I would but I’m stuck here with you instead. Gently press your right foot on the brake pedal on the left then firmly pull the stick shift from P to D.” Clint decided to blame Tony for his mind instantly thinking that too sounded dirty, he couldn’t have been any more uncomfortable doing this if he was wearing a thong and Natasha’s super suit.

Loki did as he was told and was tempted to read Clint’s mind seeing how even giving the god instructions seemed to grind his gears the wrong way but decided against it as he too wanted this over with. 

“Take your foot off the brake pedal and gently press it on the accelerator pedal on the right, slowly please. Keep both hands on the wheel as often as possible on either side of the top center or ten and two if this was a clock.”

Loki threw a glance around him before he got bored of simply following instructions to the T and pretended to slowly drive forward before applying more pressure on the pedal and bolting forward, peeling out into the driving course parking lot and weaving his way through the orange traffic cones, tires screeching the entire way with every sharp unorthodox turn. He stole a glance at Clint whilst driving like a Fire Giant out of Muspelheim who was sheet white and pressed back against the passenger seat, knuckles just as white while one hand gripped the seat and the other hand grasped the latch over the window. He then stopped short in front of a stop sign temporarily stationed ahead before lurching forward and quickly figuring out how much to turn the wheel and brake at just the right time and pressure to miraculously park between two other SUV’s to check off parallel parking on the list of driving achievements. He put the car back in park and turned off the car before turning to Clint fully for his reaction.

“How’d I do?” Loki asked once again not too innocently or as innocently as the god of mischief could sound.

“What the actual fuck was that? No, don’t answer that! I’m gonna need a moment to hold down my lunch and a clean pair of pants after that stunt.” He looked over the list he was given to decide if Loki passed the test or not and was dismayed to find there was no spot for comments or complaints. He was even more dismayed to find that Loki despite his antics and speeding had somehow managed to check everything off the list, well almost everything, he didn’t use his signal lights though to be fair, that seemed to be a dying art among drivers depending on where you were driving. “How the hell did you pass, this is some bullshit.”

“What is it you Midgardians would say? Ye of little faith?”

Clint snorted at Loki’s smug commentary. “This is why I’m atheist.” He snatched the keys from Loki once more and the two got out of the car, Clint glaring at Loki the entire time. “If there really were such things as gods then one of them would show some mercy and put me out of my misery by now.”

“Why Barton, all you had to do was ask and I’d be more than happy to oblige,” Loki cooed.

Before Clint could lunge at the cocky god like he so desperately wanted to do since shooting him wouldn’t do anything, Fury interrupted their verbal battle himself and directed his unforgiving gaze at Clint in warning. “How’d he do?”

“He fucking passed! I’m done with this fuckery! I’m going home and having a shower and a drink, maybe at the same time and I’m never doing any more favors for you ever! Peace!” He tossed the paper in the air dramatically and stormed off without another word or a glance back.

Fury caught the paper before Loki could and read down the list curiously before glancing up at Loki who was smirking proudly back at him. He then took out a cigarette and a lighter and promptly set the paper on fire. “You didn’t think I’d notice the format had been changed and the list shortened, did you?”

Loki scoffed. “Consider me surprised you notice anything with only one working eye.”

“Consider yourself a pedestrian until I decide otherwise and if there is an otherwise it will be either myself or Romanoff as your tester and you can bet we won’t take any of your bullshit tricks. Until then, you better start walking now if you want to get back to the compound by the evening.” Fury then unlocked the car behind the one Loki had parked and smoothly backed out and sped off.

Loki watched Fury drive off and rolled his eyes before disappearing in a flash of green then reappearing right where he last stood and looked around. He sighed, shook his head, and repeated disappearing and reappearing two more times. “What sorcery is this?”

“Mine actually,” another familiar voice spoke up before a sparkling gold ring appeared behind him and out stepped another sorcerer in a red cape and blue robes. “When you can drive, you can teleport again, no shortcuts or cheating.”

“I thought you didn’t want to deal with the Avengers.”

“Oh I don’t, but putting you in your place again made their lesser annoyance worth it. Start walking, no taxi, lyft or Uber will pick you up either, I made sure of it.” He stepped back through his gold ring before Loki hurled a dagger he had summoned at him and disappeared from the parking lot, leaving Loki alone and stranded.

Loki tried once more to teleport only to remain back where he stood before again and cursed in his native tongue before eying the remaining car left. He couldn’t teleport clearly but if he could summon daggers, his magic wasn’t completely cut off. He snapped his fingers and the car unlocked for him, the mortals were fools for teaching him how to drive. He slid into the car and started it up with magic, smirking in satisfaction as it came to life at his command. Rob Zombie’s Red, Red Kroovy came blasting on the stereo and his smirk widened. The sky might be Thor’s but the roads were now his. He glanced up at the rear view mirror before peeling out of the parking lot, the black SUV shimmering into a forest green sports car as it sped off into the city. As if he needed anything but himself to get what he wanted or where he wanted. 

[chicago-geniza]

well i intended to go for a nice evening walk, ended up having a panic attack, ordering a couple of cocktails at the bougie bar, joining a jam session with a bunch of old hippies on the logan green (one of them gave me a handpainted wooden medallion which seems to be carved out of tree bark, strung on a length of yarn???), met a crustpunk train-hopping dude in town for the month (& his dog, in a leather-studded harness) who's lived in 45/50 states & a 44 yr old guy everyone called "the wizard" wearing a tattered, patch-covered robe who shares most of my parents' conspiracy theories & considers himself a latter-day prophet, he bought us sorbet & ice cream, wound up hanging out with them & staying up all night at their indescribably eclectic, cluttered, blood-spattered (!!!) apartment, belonging to 44 yr old guy's art curator father & decorated accordingly, smoking m*th & listening to music & talking (or rather listening to them rant/rave/recount stories from their incredibly wild lives), i gave them advice on applying for unemployment & medicaid & how to appear compliant enough w/ carceral psychiatric intervention so they won't section you without actually submitting to forced medication or institutionalization, especially if they assign you a case worker & do regular "wellness checks." also how to pass off certain aspects of behavioral dysregulation as executive dysfunction, get them to pay for an adhd evaluation, get an adderall IR scrip, sell the 30 mg pills (cite body weight, high doses of other psych meds as reason for higher dose; look sincere; play to systemic biases toward cis white men, unfortunately), & use the cash to buy m*th, if they'd prefer to keep doing that. you can also pass positive psychotic symptoms--agitation etc.--off as severe anxiety, especially if you have a history of trauma, & they will give you benzodiazepines. it is in their best interest to keep you docile, i.e. tranquilized, particularly if your past convictions & involuntary institutionalizations revolve around a pattern of aggressive behavior, & that's On The Record/there's a paper trail. (e.g. one dude got arrested trying to keep cars away from an injured bird on the road, some genre of raptor i think (???) by threatening them with a shopping cart, not hitting them, but like, running at them as if to collide then feinting at the last minute so they'd swerve out of the way. not the safest or most effective maneuver, lotta reckless endangerment, but the motivation was admirable. probably put the fear of god into some drivers, though. he doesn't seem to have, like, impulse control.) it's a lot easier & you have fewer run-ins with the cops if you game the system & appear cooperative. they gave me this coat, which "just showed up in their apartment one day," like i did. 44 yr old guy walked me back to apartment, stole a street sign & tore down a real estate sign en route, lori lightfoot did indeed take down the pride flag in front of her house on july 1st & replace it with an appropriately patriotic american flag, i walked past the idling plainclothes cop car & another marked police vehicle with their Mayoral Guarding Detail inside at like 4.30 am smoking a menthol cigarette (not inhaling), high on m*th, draped in a neon anime jacket, in the company of a visibly insane, unshaven & unshorn middle-aged man in a technicolor patchwork trenchcoat, holding a lit cigarette in one hand & an upside-down traffic cone in the other, which he was using as an ad hoc amplifier for a noise track playing on my phone. he was also carrying the stolen real estate banner &, inexplicably, a stack of mail. i gave him my old backup phone (no SIM card & doesn't hold a charge long, ancient, but still works), since neither he nor the other dude have phones (cops took them), also one hybrid edible for each of them, as a thanks for the m*th & the kindness. their hearts are in the right place but they have some fucked-up beliefs about "reverse racism" being real, while also saying in the same breath that you can tell our country is irredeemable by the way it continues to

treat black people. we were discussing medical weed for seizures on medicaid & 44 yr old guy mentioned one of his close friends, a black epileptic woman, whose seizures were frequent & severe enough they prevented her from working. then he added, in apparent bemusement, they she hadn't spoken to him in some time, & he wondered why. a little while later he relayed their last conversation & i was like "my dude, i can say with 100% certainty she is not talking to you because you said some *appallingly*, jaw-droppingly racist shit & did not even realize it was racist." then i, comma, a white person, explained to this man that he literally thought of their exchange as, like, an abstract argument over insignificant ideas, a theoretical exercise, & therefore considered it simply a smug gotcha to "counter" hotep theories about egyptian origin by claiming that "if that's true, american slavery & the oppression of black people in america are divine retribution for the enslavement of the jews in ancient egypt, an eye for an eye & a deserved punishment." like, first of all, what the actual fuck, if i were that woman i would also never speak to you again, second of all there's the collapse of historical time & mythical time, history & exegesis, an assumption that rests on spurious claims of biblical literalism (zionist colonization logic, btw! him: what's exegesis? what's zionism? me: never mind, not the point. exegesis is the interpretation of religious texts in a religious CONtext, in this case what you would likely call the hebrew bible.)--but most importantly it is 100% irrelevant to this discussion whether or not black americans are Actually Factually descendended from ancient egypt! you just told this woman to her face that the ancestry she claims, of which she's proud, is the reason & justification for SLAVERY & BLACK SUFFERING--not only that, but that if it WERE true, than black people would DESRVE to suffer, by DIVINE DECREE. you are trying to force her to abdicate her claim on this heritage by putting her in a position where she'd be forced to concede complicity in her people's historical & present-day persecution, oppression, & essentially the existence of structural racism. & using The Figural Jew as a rhetorical cudgel to bludgeon her into this corner. what a despicable thing to say. like, he hadn't considered it from her perspective at all, & once he groked why the comment itself was, like, unforgivable (idk, maybe she's more forgiving; she has a virtue-name), i started socratic-method-ing him through why it was particularly unforgivable for *him* to say to *her*--the individual is not responsible for the systems from they benefit, but they are imbricated in them, they are implicated when they actively perpetuate & uphold them, even with speech acts. & finally gave the same "there is no such thing as reverse racism because racism is not an individual act, it is an institutional, systemic phenomenon, & it is an ideology, one which individual acts can bear out or be in accordance with, & to which individuals can subscribe (this bearing it out in their behavior, in their institutional roles, in their interpersonal interactions--here i gave & solicited examples of each) or be subject (also gave & solicited examples). m*th makes me very good at Explaining clearly & he was surprisingly receptive--like, it was astonishing that it had not occurred to him??? but it hadn't, the same way it hadn't occurred to my mother, & she interpreted it as "reverse racist" when their next-door neighbor called her the "white devil" for disputing their property line, & i had to be like "ok but if you called in a random third party to mediate in lily-white [city], oregon, where white supremacists openly drive down the street in pickup trucks with swastika armbands, whose side do you think they would take, statistically speaking, in your property dispute. that's why racism is systemic & institutional, & your rude neighbor calling you a name over a disagreement does not constitute 'reverse racism,' because 'reverse racism' by definition cannot

exist." now this dude wants to like, read books, so i gotta get him some entry-level Intro To Racism primers??? how did i end up here, but better me than his black epileptic (ex-)friend, i guess??? jesus christ. both of these guys have the most chaotic, reactionary politics in a potpourri with these deep commitments to abolition & mutual aid & a kind of proto-anarchist consciousness, none of which would be called by those names, but all of which is borne out in practice & in the politics of everyday life. they remind me a LOT of my parents. i'm loath to imagine how they'd internalize my stepdad's rambling, street-preacher-style libertarian lectures. probably go out & buy guns & invest in gold on the stock market & double down on the conviction that free speech is being curtailed & individual rights are in jeopardy because you can no longer unleash a barrage of harassment against some guy on the street because you think he looked at you funny. these claustrophobic convictions, like the space to express oneself is getting smaller & smaller every day, *other people* are taking it away from you, suffocating you on all sides with their offense demanding your silence, they are *making* the walls close in--when in fact it's more like a holodeck. you're a member of the Hegemonic Group, afforded the privilege of the default, so you don't question the vast verdant expanse that is your domain--ah, Free Speech, the sun never sets on the empire of ~uncensored expression, you can say whatever you want whenever you want without facing consequences because you control all the organs that mete out consequences & you have also determined that those groups who might be adversely affected by your words--emotionally OR materially--are not, well...of consequence. but of course the vast verdant domain is an illusion, photons & forcefields, held together by the all-encompassing TOTALITY of the dominant group's hegemony, power, etc. once that power begins to redistribute throughout the system--however unevenly, however incrementally, however slowly--as even the smallest pieces are appropriated by those deemed inconsequential, who have endured years of systemic, material, institutional violence that allowed the dominant group to become dominant & retain its dominant position--once those 'inconsequential' groups speak up & say "actually, these words bear an indelible imprint of the violence enacted upon us, these words are the legacy of that violence, these words are a tacit endorsement of the ideology behind that violence, which classifies us as subhuman, & even if *you* can't hear those echoes, the words broadcast on two historical frequencies, so now that we're able to broadcast on a frequency *you* can hear, we request you find other language, & consider the implications of the words you've been using for years." well--once The Subaltern Speaks, the dominant group loses its 'innocence,' & becomes aware the vast verdant expanse of language is an illusion of infinite space, aware of the four holodeck walls pressing in behind the simulacrum of the horizon, & suddenly "what one can say without negative consequences"--largely social, sometimes, rarely, if social media goes viral, professional--feels much more claustrophobic. so they get angry. & some of them are just bigots, obviously, but some of them--like my parents, &, even, this weirdly well-intentioned m*thhead who said one of the most shockingly racist things i've heard in my life & *honestly didn't understand why it was racist*, is really riled up about free speech & individual rights, hates the government, hates "FANG" (facebook amazon netflix google) & has a bunch of dystopian conspiracy theories about data harvesting & personal information that only miss the mark in that they get too nefariously biopolitical (billionaires want to put microchips in everybody for surveillance to monitor our movements & sell us more stuff; they don't need to, they already use our phone location & browsing habits to generate the algorithm & sell the information to ad companies lol, it's digital& cast a

single illuminati figure in the role of comic book villain, controlling the operation behind the scenes like an evil puppetmaster (classic conspiracy fare; again, we gotta take that energy, that suspicion, the understanding that they are being taken advantage of & tricked, the idea that power & capital & resources are concentrated among a very small number of people, however it's not an individual wealthy villain with a desire for world domination who wants to turn Free Americans into microchipped drones, it's a *class* of people--or rather several classes, but *who those people are as individuals does not matter*. if you guillotined bill gates, another billionaire would take his place. bill gates qua bill gates is not the problem. it is classes of people who control the means of production & own property & profit enormously from exploiting the labor of a desperate, rapidly increasing underclass, i.e. from the system as it is. therefore it is in their interest to maintain the status quo, because it serves them. 'the rich get richer, the poor get poorer.' the middle class gradually ceases to exist. if you want to compound it by race, consider the GI bill as an example - you learn about it as the leg up that enabled thousands of WWII vets to buy houses, enabling them to enter the middle class. hundreds of thousands of third-gen middle class white americans still reap the structural, socioeconomic benefits of their grandparents' initial upward mobility, including,, very tangibly, those selfsame houses, which can be inherited & then rented out as a second property if the children or grandchildren accrue enough money to buy their own properties. but only about 100 black vets got approved for homeownership loans, despite the staggering numbers of black soldiers who enlisted & applied through the GI bill. anyway! the impulses are there, & they're only being funneled into conspiracy thinking because that makes intuitive sense on a narrative level. these guys have a high school education; so does my stepdad. their reading habits are...eclectic, sporadic, pretty much dictated by occasional recommendations & like, little free libraries around the neighborhood. it's both interesting & frustrating to see like - hey, here are these people, we agree on a lot of things, they're earnest & open & want to learn & would give their neighbor the shirt off their backs as a matter of principle. they'd give a *stranger* the shirt off their backs; they'd share whatever they had. even what chores there are in their collective--they live with two other guys--(dumpster diving, walking the dog, tidying up the apartment) are allocated by ability & inclination. they made advance plans to look after the dog & their roommate with War PTSD on the 4th of july if the fireworks upset them, jokingly called the dog an emotional support animal. you give them the tools, the reading, talk to them like normal people with a stake in society--like, imagine a society that would have a stake in people like you instead of criminalizing you & consigning you to the margins! that's already *political imagination* because anyone who occupies a marginalized position will have their existence politicized, whether they want this or not, so better to become a self-aware, self-reflexive political subject, no?--talk *with* them because tbh i am them, i'm just better at situational masking & also i am very very afraid of cops so i only damage property in groups during planned political actions (not spontaneously, because i feel a flash of rage at my neighborhood gentrifying, & simply do not have a superego, so i tear down the real estate sign for the fancy new apartment complex in a fit of pique, because in this house we believe that spontaneity can & should be developed into class consciousness, again, the seeds of which are there in the initial trigger for the spontaneous reaction, i.e. anger at gentrification. not opposed to a little direct action, but they're just gonna put up a new sign tomorrow, it doesn't advance your agenda or hinder the gentrifiers' progress. now, if

you sabotaged the construction site for the new apartment buildings & painted a few potent symbols + graffiti'd a pithy, written statement expressing your opposition to gentrification generally & these apartments specifically? in a prominent place, large font, eye level, visible & legible from oh, a block away? maybe as a member of a collective, your neighbors, perhaps? & you could sign it "[neighborhood] or [block] residents" to pack more of a punch, the power of a crowd speaking in unison to say "not OUR home, you predatory developers"? that's no longer spontaneous, impulsive, affective violence, & it's also no longer an individual--acting alone leaves you vulnerable. again--i didn't just *intuit* that he tore the sign down because he was mad about gentrification, i asked, in a genuinely curious tone, not at all accusatory, no hint of reprimand or censure, just...interested, "why did you do that?" & he was like "it made me fucking mad." & i was like "what about it made you mad? the apartments? how come?" & he thought about it for a minute & explained. i'm not sure *he* necessarily made the conscious connection until prompted. idk, i know people talk a lot about the fact that breitbart & drudge report are free while NYT & "all the news fit to print" is paywalled, & q-pilled covid hoax sites are free while "reputable" pandemic coverage & public health guidelines & explanations of mRNA vaccines for a lay audience are paywalled & that's true but also We Live In A Society & if you talk to the wingnuts who AREN'T that way because of any far-right ideology, a lot of them are just...autodidacts without much formal education but a lot of raw intelligence that leads to analyzing The Big Picture & trying to deduce a pattern, find a framework that explains why the world is the way it is, profoundly frustrated, deeply aware of American society's, universalized & figured as the world's, exceptional unfairness & cruelty, & *that can be redirected* with reading, discussion, prompting critical thought, introducing community connections, & perhaps most importantly for this genre of person, getting them to see patterns at work in terms of systems & structures rather than individuals, letting go of American individualism's explanatory power & belief in its liberatory potential (see: the sort of ad hoc libertarianism that goes hand-in-glove with much conspiracy thinking, both stemming from 1) mistrusting the government, & 2) ultimate freedom of the individual as the most sacred value, therefore it is what all enemies want to take away), outlining positive, actionable goals rather than just ambient suspicion & anger at authority, & figuring out how those goals can be accomplished more effectively by an organized collective (but this will ultimately benefit the individual). If the world isn't run by a shadowy cabal, if you begin to understand the structures responsible & how they manifest even on the scale of your block (e.g.!!! predatory developers buying up properties during a pandemic, tearing down affordable housing to build expensive condos on the lot, or giving old buildings a "spit and polish" so they can double the rent, pricing all the current residents out, not to mention all the little local businesses, almost all mexican & run by the mexican families who live here, that give our block its culture & will get pushed out by boutique coffee shops & the like, catering to a more affluent & almost certainly whiter clientele)--you can, in fact, change the world, something both of them repeatedly referred to as their purpose on earth. it may not be as a maverick figure, one against an army, but strength in numbers is an aphorism for a reason.

anyway! thse guys were also really weird about jews, in the philosemitic way conspiracy theorists of a certain stripe often are. the itinerant vagabond guy gave me one of his drawings; it's really lovely. i'm going to give them "are prisons obsolete?" & "the wretched of the earth" & some david graeber. 44 yr old guy has this idea that society is atomized & people aren't connected to each other & have lost the willingness or the ability to communicate with each other, also that the overreach of authority has driven some people to violence, & that makes the world feel unsafe to everyone else. he feels guilty because he is acutely aware that language, when wielded adroitly & intentionally, always has the capacity to manipulate; he is afraid of succumbing to the temptation, because he senses the coercive power of language within himself. the other guy was mostly quiet but said 44 yr old guy is one of the best friends he's ever had. he thinks animals are able to sense emotions and to heal, & he thinks they can mediate between people who have become too isolated, who have forgotten humans' innate ability to forge connections, approach others as social creatures seeking to bond instead of mistrustful, apprehensive, rejecting overtures of friendship because they expect subterfuge, or propriety has evolved to deem such overtures inappropriate outside of strictly delineated, artificially orchestrated contexts. deviation from the norm is not permitted. & back again to policing. they have an idea called "the omega family," omega for the end, a group of like-minded people who come together, who encounter each other serendipitously (predicted through auspicious auguries & recognized on sight through a constellation of signs & wonders, because of course we are all psychotic here, it was nice to just be psychotic & discuss these things like they were normal lol), & serve as catalysts to each other's "personal truth." anyway this is why i don't go out when i'm crazy, i always end up in situations like this, see also: the last time i did m*th, in a pizza hut bathroom in tallinn with an art student from glascow named muhammad ali (he went by ali), the son of white muslim converts--we thought it was c*ke but it got lost in translation & that's how i figured out i had adhd. later i got [redacted] by a filmmaker from kazan & he gave me his business card afterward for some reason, which was extremely funny. thankfully these dudes were better behaved. one of them even gave a speech about how men shouldn't rape people??? & also how our society shouldn't construct women as universal victims because in doing so it makes victimhood almost compulsory & shoehorns women into a victim role as part & parcel of womanhood? i was like yes my dude you are almost there, read the essay "abject feminism." (i did not tell them i was trans bc i wasn't sure how that would shake down, to be honest; couldn't get a read on it. did tell them i was gay & they respected it, though one did say he dated a lesbian once, & i explained that many men feel compelled to interject with an anecdote relating an exception to the rule or insist that they will he the exception to the rule, & it's really just bad manners, not even getting into the bad politics. he took it on the chin & talked about how the girl in question came home to find her partner dead of an overdose & his wife had just died of MS, so their relationship was more about grief & comfort than sexual attraction. i was like that's really, really sad, & it's wonderful that you were able to be there for each other at a time of such staggering loss, & i am a person who totally understands what you mean to communicate, but if a lesbian tells you they're a lesbian & you reply that you once dated a lesbian & they get offended & instead of responding with contrition or correction you elaborate on the tragic backstory of the relationship as though that explains the circumstances in which a self-proclaimed lesbian would date a cis man, other lesbians *will* deck you, or at the very least not take you, an unwashed white guy in

his 40s who isn't neurotypical & sits way too close for social convention in a way that could easily be construed as a come-on, in good faith.) tl;dr made some new friends, did some good drügs (i much prefer smoking m*th to snorting it, basically like purer, more potent adderall, & as such will not be doing it again for a LONG time, because i enjoy it FAR too much; slices through the brain fog & the chronic fatigue & the joint/bone pain, makes me able to pay attention, follow the thread of a conversation, actually be *interested* & want to ask *questions* & expand, build, encourage my interlocutor to elaborate, place more kal-toh pieces until the conversation shimmers into a three-dimensional shape, instead of being listless & exhausted & disengaged & *bored* all the time, so obviously i would get addicted immediately if given the opportunity, & i've known this forever lol)--now going to hydrate, refill pill case, write some emails, & meet C at the beach! not how i expected to reboot my brain, but it works! also putting them on limited facebook view because i try to keep some groups of people in my life quarantined from each other & that includes 1) my relatives & my academic ~colleagues (ne'er the twain shall meet), 2) my exes & my family, 3) my relatives, colleagues, & uh. a couple of lovely, but extremely psychotic dudes with very long criminal records i met while doing hard drugs