#you can't dry shit when its raining

[fishmech]

so many times as a kid having to suddenly drop everything and race outside to yank shit off the clothesline as the rain suddenly starts and its a race to see what stuff can be pulled inside dry enough and what stuff will get so soaked it needs to be put in the dryer asap

Ok, so something I've noticed that is utterly baffling to me is that all the Americans I know primarily dry their clothes using a machine called a dryer. I don't even own a dryer. So, I need to know:

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (2 - Liar! Liar!)

Chapter Summary: You wake up one morning compelled to say the truth and nothing but the truth. Wanda seizes this opportunity to ensure everything remains under her control. Meanwhile, Jimmy and Darcy finally discover what happened to Agent Monica Rambeau. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3k+ | Chapter Tags: Manipulation

A/N: Billy is my favorite twin, if that isn't obvious already :P // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It doesn’t require a calendar to track the days here in Westview.

It's the kind of repetition that settles over suburban life, where dates fade into insignificance and days blur into a seamless loop, distinguishable only by the changing seasons. But even the current season—fall—is as predictable in its passage as ever, like storybook weather in its perfection. The birds are always chirping, the sun rises promptly at 6:40 every morning—never a minute early or a second late—and it never rains. Just endless clear skies, day after day, until the sun sets at five.

You've been chewing on this odd feeling ever since you and Wanda arrived in this part of New Jersey, but today, there's something extra. You can't pin it down, just that it's…there. Today feels different—more than usual—and you didn’t really get it until breakfast, when your mouth slipped past your usual tact with the kids.

“Mommy, do you like it?” Tommy asks, his eyes big and hopeful as he holds up a crayon drawing of what looks like the family standing outside a perfect little house. 

Perfect. Honestly, you’re getting pretty tired of everything being so perfect around here.

“It's...very colorful,” you start, the usual praise ready on your tongue, but what comes out instead is, “Though it's kind of all over the place, isn’t it? Maybe you could try to stay inside the lines a bit more.”

Speaking aloud is like sending an email: once it's out there, it's out there for good. Even so, an email would have been the better option. At least then, you could just hack into Tommy’s account—if he ever figures out how to set one up—and erase your blunder for good.

Could having a magical wife somehow save you from this mess?

It’s too late though. Tommy's face crumples, and Wanda doesn't seem keen on throwing you a lifeline, just a dirty look from across the table as you sip your morning coffee.

“But if you’re going for an abstract—” you start, but your son is already sulking off to his room. 

Billy digs into his cereal, blissfully unaware. Wanda, on the other hand, looks as if she's ready to rip open a portal to another realm and hurl you out of this one.

That can’t be good.

“You really upset him,” she says, arms crossing over her chest. “He was so proud of that drawing.”

“I know, I feel awful about it,” you groan, burying your face in your hands.  Seeing your genuine remorse, Wanda eases up, giving you a moment to stew in your guilt before she comes back to the table with a stack of pancakes.

“Here, eat up,” she says, setting them down in front of you.

You pick up your fork, cutting into the stack. They look perfect—golden brown, with the butter melting just right. You take a bite, and before you can stop yourself, the words are out.

“They're a bit dry,” you blurt out, instantly regretting your words. But once you start, you can't seem to stop. “And this maple syrup... it tastes kind of artificial.” 

Wanda gasps. “Excuse me?”

“Shit—”

“Language, Y/N!” she snaps, but it's too late, the curse is already out there, floating in the air like a bad smell. 

In the next moment, something strange happens—your lips tingle, and suddenly you can't feel your mouth. Alarmed, you touch your face, finding smooth skin where your lips should be. You try to protest, but only muffled noises emerge. Fear surges as you point frantically at your face. You attempt to scream, but no sound comes out.

Seeing your flustered pantomime, Wanda’s face goes from angry to horrified. With a wave of her hand, your mouth is back in its place, and you’re gasping, both of you staring at each other, not believing what just happened. Meanwhile, Billy is giggling, clapping his tiny hands together, and gleefully repeating the S-word you accidentally let slip earlier. 

You and Wanda just continue to stare at each other in shock, but then you glance at Billy, his innocent delight completely oblivious to the fact he’s saying something he shouldn’t, and you see the corners of Wanda’s mouth start to twitch. A moment later, she’s laughing unabashedly, and before you know it, you’re doing the same. 

Despite the peculiarities of your life here in Westview, you don't think you've ever been this content. Before Wanda, the idea of having your own family—your own kids, two no less—seemed unthinkable. You never imagined you'd have a wife, a house in a quiet suburb, or hear one of your sons swear for the first time. Westview is far from normal, but then again, so is your family. As you watch Wanda's laughter taper into soft giggles, you think it's impossible to love her any more than you already do.

Wanda made this all conceivable for you.

“Sorry, honey,” you say, though still a bit shaken by the ordeal. “I didn't mean to be so rude.”

Wanda looks even more remorseful than you feel—which makes sense, considering she did erase your mouth, however briefly.

“And I probably shouldn't have... you know, removed your mouth,” she murmurs, guiltily picking at her cuticles.

Admittedly, it was terrifying—one of the scariest experiences you've ever had. You certainly don't want a repeat. It makes you slightly wary of your wife, but your love for Wanda outweighs your fear. Standing beside one of the most powerful beings in the universe takes courage, and you've built up plenty over the years together. You're made for this—for her, for this kind of love.

“Apology accepted,” you say, mustering a weak smile.

Wanda's face floods with relief, then quickly contorts into worry. “What’s with you today?”

“I can't seem to lie,” you confess, realizing there's no easy way to skirt the truth. “I don't know what's happening, but I just can't stop saying exactly what's on my mind.”

She stares at you, confused and a little hurt. “What do you mean you can’t lie today? So, you’re usually lying?”

Before you can smooth that over, Billy looks up from his cereal, fixing you with that stern look that’s pure Wanda. “Mommy, lying is bad.”

Wanda’s gaze softens as she looks at Billy, then back at you, the seriousness returning. “Billy, why don’t you go brush your teeth and check on your brother? Your mommy and I need to talk for a little bit.”

“Okay, mama.”

Billy scampers off, and you feel your stature shrink under your wife's gaze, suddenly feeling every bit the child.

“What’s this about not being able to lie?” Wanda asks once it’s just the two of you.

You shake your head. “Look, it’s not that I usually lie, but today, I can’t even if I wanted to. It’s like a—a truth filter permanently switched off.”

Wanda takes a few moments to mull over your words. “Oh…” she starts, sounding half-convinced. “Maybe it’s stress,” she throws out after a beat. “You’ve been working really hard lately, haven’t you? Perhaps your mind is just overwhelmed and you need a mental day off.”

You had thought of that, but the whole situation seemed too weird for such a simple explanation. Then again, maybe seeing shadows where there aren't any is just another stress symptom. So you let it slide.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right. I’ll see if I can call in sick next week,” you mumble, trying to sound cheerful about the prospect of a break.

Wanda comes around the table and cups your face in her hands. You let her pinch your cheeks together, feeling both stubborn and a bit sorry for yourself. It's silly, but all you want is for Wanda to coddle you and make you feel better, not to dish out logical reasons for why you’re not yourself today. 

“Well, if you're stuck with the truth, let's have some fun with it,” Wanda says.

You swallow hard, aware that any question she might ask now would either please or upset her—and there seems to be no middle ground.

“Uhm, honey, I don’t think—”

“Do you love me?”

You smirk at her; that’s an easy one. “More than anything else.”

“Only me?”

You laugh at her silly follow-up. This reminds you of the early days of your courtship when Wanda was a bottomless well of need. You didn't mind at all, knowing she needed to hear it as often as you made her feel it. Initially, you were a bit bothered, wondering if your actions weren't speaking loudly enough for her to trust you. Eventually, it became less frequent, until the question turned into a statement—You love me—to which you responded with your own: You love me too. Since then, it quickly became how you say ‘I love you’ to each other.

“Only you. I'd sooner die than love someone else,” you confidently tell her.

Her smile in return is a beautiful riddle—a riddle you can’t figure out. 

“Wanda, I—”

“Do you like living here?”

“Sometimes.” The words slip out before you can think, and you're relieved to realize that your feelings about Westview are honestly not all negative. “It’s a nice town. Quiet and cheap.”

Wanda's face does something subtle. You can't quite read her reaction, but it's clear she has more questions when she doesn't park on your answer, instead moving on to something else. 

“Do you... do you remember how we got here?"

You blink at her. Initially, the question seems a bit absurd. But as you try to formulate a response, “Of course. We got married at…” you stall, your brain blanking on the when and where of your own wedding. “...then we moved into this house last…”

You try to pin down the date, but it slips through your mind like sand.

“Wanda?” A laugh escapes you, but there's a nervous edge to it. “Why can’t I remember any of the details?”

The last thing she says before flicking her wrist is, “Because you’re not supposed to.” But even that slips away, scrubbed clean from your memory by Wanda’s sweeping hand.

–

“Jimmy?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I found her.”

Jimmy hurried over to the tight corner of their camp where Darcy had practically set up shop for the past few days. Since the signals were first picked up, she's taken charge of monitoring the transmissions, her main focus being to locate Agent Monica Rambeau. They've already confirmed that many of Wanda's bizarre, sitcom-style characters are, in fact, real residents of Westview, somehow trapped inside whatever anomaly Wanda seems to be in the center of.

“That’s Monica, right?” Darcy points at the grainy image on the retro television set they've been using to watch the town's activities. The broadcasts come through at odd hours, which makes every second of surveillance crucial. 

Jimmy leans in closer, squinting at the screen where a woman bearing a striking resemblance to Monica appears. “It sure looks like her,” he confirms.

The woman onscreen is dressed in distinctly 70s fashion—a bold, patterned blouse with wide lapels tucked into high-waisted bell-bottoms. Her hair is styled in voluminous, bouncy curls that softly frame her face, completing the look that is so far removed from the S.W.O.R.D. uniform Jimmy last saw her in.

“I wonder what character she’s playing in the show…” Darcy muses.

A handful of nearby crew quietly look on as Monica steps out of a Hornet, a stack of papers clutched in her hand, and strides confidently toward one of those cookie-cutter houses lining the street—yours and Wanda's.

“Stay frosty, Monica,” Darcy mutters under her breath, staring unblinkingly at the screen as they watch her knock gently on the door.

It’s Wanda who greets her with a guarded smile. “Hello, can I help you?” she asks, sizing up the stranger on her doorstep.

“Hi, there. I’m Geraldine. You must be Wanda,” Monica says. Jimmy and Darcy exchange a look, both arriving at the same conclusion: whatever spell has ensnared the other residents, Monica appears to be under it too.

“Do I know you?” Wanda asks, her teeth gritted in what she hopes passes for a smile. But Wanda, she’s got a tell. It’s never hard to see when she’s faking it. The sitcom laugh track of this Westview tries to spin it as humor, but it’s clear to anyone—she’s not thrilled about Geraldine’s arrival at all.

“Oh, I’m sorry, has Y/N not mentioned who I am?” Geraldine asks mildly,  like she’s bringing up some small, casual detail—which, for Wanda, it isn’t.

“Honey, who's at the door?” Your voice drifts from the living room just before you step into view, crunching on an apple. When you spot the visitor, your face lights up with recognition, puzzling Wanda even more.

“Evening, ma'am,” Geraldine nods at you with a polite smile.

Wanda keeps darting glances between you and Geraldine, trying to piece together what's going on. And what’s frustrating her is you don’t seem privy at all to her disconcertment.

“I told you to just call me Y/N,” you admonish with a light grin. “What brings you here?”

“W-Who is she?” Wanda jumps in, keeping up her charade of a pleasant surprise.

“It’s Geraldine,” you tell Wanda, expecting her to recognize the name. Her blank, slightly annoyed expression forces you to jog your memory and that’s when it hits you that your wife has no idea what you’re talking about. “She’s my new assistant. Didn’t I tell you?” you say sheepishly.

“No, honey, you certainly did not,” Wanda replies, her smile stretched a bit too tight. She turns to Geraldine. “Aren’t offices usually closed by five?”

“They sure are, Wanda,” Geraldine replies cheerfully. It bothers Wanda how Geraldine uses ‘ma’am’ for you but casually drops her first name like they're old friends.

“So, why are you here?” Wanda asks, no longer bothering to hide her irritation.

“Oh, just dropping off some reports that Y/N needed to review tonight. Urgent stuff, you know?” Geraldine holds up the stack of papers in her hand as proof.

“Yikes,” Darcy winces at the tension practically leaking through the screen, feeling that deep cringe of secondhand embarrassment for Monica's obliviousness to Wanda's ire.

Fortunately for your assistant, you position yourself between her and Wanda, intercepting just as your wife’s temper begins to flare. You remember Wanda’s warm, almost syrupy kindness with Agnes when she first appeared, which only makes her sudden cold front toward Geraldine unreasonable.

“I completely forgot about those reports. Thanks for bringing them over, Geraldine,” you say, nudging her toward the exit. “See you Monday!”

Then, you close the door before she can add anything else, sparing both women from each other.

“So, why haven't you mentioned Geraldine before?” Wanda asks, not sparing another second to grill you about your new assistant.

You frown, thinking back. “I thought I did.”

Wanda looks at you for a long moment, her expression inscrutable. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you’re not telling me?” she demands, her eyes searching yours.

“Uh-oh, trouble in paradise,” Darcy sing-songs, stuffing a handful of popcorn into her mouth. Jimmy reaches over, trying to sneak a handful, but she swats him away.

You give her a lopsided smile, doing your best to charm your way out of the situation. The compulsive honesty from earlier isn't nagging at you anymore, but really, there's no need to sugarcoat anything in this case.

“Sounds like someone's a little jealous,” you tease lightly. And there it is again—that distant chorus of an audience, laughing on cue. You really need to talk to Wanda about this; it could be linked to all the experiments she's been doing with her powers.

Wanda barks out a forced laugh right into your smirking face. “Jealous? Me? There's no way I'm jealous of anyone, especially not Geraldine.”

“Then why did you look like you wanted to throw her out yourself when she showed up?”

Wanda's smile fades a tad, then she just shrugs. “Because she was interrupting our family dinner time. That's all.”

Normally, you'd draw this out until she admits she's jealous, but that could take all night. Right now, all you want is to kiss your beautiful wife, the only one you see. It's getting late, and not being able to touch her all day is driving you a little mad with want.

“Fine, you're not jealous,” you whisper, moving in, wrapping your arms around her waist. “Why would you be? You’re the prettiest, smartest, most amazing woman anyone could ask for.”

Wanda melts into you almost instantly. “You love me.”

“You love me too,” you say before leaning in to peck her lips. She hums happily against your lips, but just then, you hear the boys complaining about being hungry. Sharing a smile, you both head back to sort out dinner.

The episode ends, credits roll, and Darcy groans, tossing her head back. “No way. I need more of this,” she huffs, stabbing her finger at the screen. “They're perfect together. Shame Y/N’s supposedly dead. I hate spoilers.”

“She doesn’t look dead to me from here,” Jimmy says.

“My theory? That’s not actually her. I bet Wanda or someone did something to make a rando look like Y/N.”

“You think?”

Darcy nods. “With all the surreal stuff happening here? Yeah, I'd put money on it, dude.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Jimmy concedes. “Anyway, it’s a relief to see Agent Rambeau’s alive and kicking.”

“As Geraldine,” Darcy reminds him. “I wonder who chooses their names for them. Back to Y/N, what did that Howard guy have to say about Y/N being dead but so alive in Westview?”

“It’s Hayward,” Jimmy corrects her with a sigh. “He doesn’t seem interested in her or anyone else trapped inside. He’s more interested in the energy field surrounding the town.”

“And their boys?” Darcy adds, not listening to Jimmy’s rant. “We don’t have any public record of their true identities in Westview, right?”

Jimmy gives her a sidelong glance. “No records, no data. As far as Westview’s concerned, they just… appeared.”

“Typical,” she mutters, jotting down notes without looking away from the TV's static, hoping there’s a bonus episode or something.

But the screen stays blank, nothing but static for hours on end.

–

After hours of making love, Wanda lies next to you, watching you sleep. She’s used her powers on you before, but never here, never without your consent since you became a couple. Casting the hex was the easy part, the lying to you—not so much. Acting like she didn't know what was troubling you had hurt her more than she let on. 

She wanted to check if you were still happy here, still content, or if doubts were starting to creep in. And knowing you—the real you—you'd probably lie to Wanda just to keep her happy, just to ensure she has everything she wants. You've always prioritized her needs over your own, always stepping aside to let her shine. She wants the same for you, but you always manage to outdo her in every act of self-sacrifice.

When you started asking her about the exact dates of the wedding you thought you two actually had, it confirmed you still had no idea why you’re here, or what she’s done. She was relieved, honestly, because it meant she could stop forcing you to tell the truth, a spell she’d put on you out of desperation more than distrust.

She isn't sure how long this will last, just that it might be the most happiness she'll ever know, even if it's a delicate, fleeting kind. How did she even do this? Wanda doesn’t even know. It just happened—like a rose that has sprouted off a barren land. And now, despite having everything she's ever wanted, there’s always this nagging fear that it could all fall apart.

Quietly, she makes a promise to herself to fix things. She promises to you and her boys, she’ll find a way to make this life real, something that won’t just vanish like everything else she’s ever loved.

[heathermason6060]

Daryl Dixon x f!Reader: Together Apart Ch.5

Warnings/Mentions: History of abuse, neglect, strong language, mentions of character death, alcohol and drug abuse, ptsd, shared trauma, reader is cold, angst, fluff, eventual smut, slowburn, angst

Summary: You and Daryl grow closer due to feeling out of place in Alexandria. Just when you think you have the old Daryl back, he leaves.

Notes: I think the chapter after this one will be the last chapter, and finally have some cheesy old fashion love making :D Sorry Daryl vanishes at the end tho ):

It never seemed to end for him. In front of everyone else he was silent, emotionless, an empty body on autopilot. But when you'd walk off into the trees to search for water, it always hit him, no matter how many times he'd thought he'd cried out all out and was done with it. 

He clung to you after her death like never before, constantly walking in your shadow and wordlessly begging for some sort of comfort, reassurance, anything. You did the best you could, which ended up being more than either of you expected. You seamlessly morphed into the familiar elder sister role, mirroring the ways you would comfort your bruised baby brother. 

He put a cigarette out on his hand the one time he went off by himself, and not following him was something you came to regret. 

“Daryl,” the whisper of your voice had him cringing, the sound too empathetic and full of concern, he had to fight to keep himself from cracking when your comfort washed over him. 

“I know… I'm not good with words, or shit like this.” You sighed, maintaining a quiet tone, low enough for the sound of rain and the crackle of fire to cover. 

Daryl remained silent as you spoke. He picked at the skin around his fingers, looking down at his hands in his lap, and the sight of your smaller hand lightly touching his wrist makes him jerk. 

“I can't take away your pain, God knows I'd kill every goddamn piece of shit alive to make you feel better.” Your voice turned shaky, and the urge to cry was becoming overwhelming for the both of you. “But... I can promise you, you'll never have to worry about losing me. I just want you to know, I'm that one thing you don't need to worry about. I always will be.” 

Daryl slowly inhaled through his stuffy nose and nodded, the noise dry and shaky, his eyes burning and unblinking from their gaze on your hand. 

“I know.” He finally spoke and nodded again, as if that would magically set it in stone. “Me too.”

Slipping back into your place in the group dynamic was unpleasant after being alone with Gabriel for that long. It wasn't just one person you had to make an effort for anymore, and deep down you despised it. It was almost comparable to going back to school after summer break. You had to play by the rules again, fit into their perfect perception or risk repercussions. 

The discovery of Eugenes lies was all but a surprise to you. You didn't have some wild sense of intuition, you were just a pessimistic person. Although you kept your opinions to yourself, you didn't predict the extent of how deep his lies had been. The cure was a given, obviously, but the fact he lied about being a scientist as well? Lied about the safe place in Washington too? It took everything you had in you not to cave his face in when you saw the look of disappointment on Daryl's face. That's another reason why you hated being in a group. People didn't deserve to be able to let you down, and sure as hell not the one person you gave a shit about. 

People love to parrot that same ‘it has to get worse before it can get better’ bullshit you'd been told by concerned and empathetic authority figures all throughout your childhood. Safe to say it had lost its meaning to you, even when Daryl tried to lift your spirits. 

Well, it sure got better for everyone else. 

You weren't alone in your suspicions about Aaron. For once Rick and you agreed on something, it was a bad idea to go to Alexandria. But the group convinced him to take a chance, that the rewards greatly outweigh the risks, and you watched with a disapproving glare as Aaron led you all past the gates. 

“I'm just going to ask you a few simple questions, get to know you. You don't mind if I record this, do you?” 

You had a feeling your answer wouldn't make any difference, no matter what you said. You shook your head as you watched Deanna turn her video camera on, the big black lens feeling like an intimidating pit waiting to swallow you up if you gave an answer she didn't like. She rounded the couch and sat down, a tight and professional smile on her lips. 

“Let's start with your name.”

You told her your name, trying to behave despite your stomach growling and the sudden awareness that you smelled and looked awful. 

“Where are you from,” She repeated your name. 

“Georgia. Up North.” 

“Did you work?”

“No.”

“What were you before the outbreak?” When you didn't answer, she elaborated. “Were you a student in school, staying at home, traveling…?”

“After high school I stayed home for a couple years. Took care of my mom.” 

“I understand you're close with Daryl, is that right?” 

You must've visibly reacted to that question, because even after you answered, she pressed for more information.

“Did you grow up together?”

“Kind of, we weren't really friends or anything. He lived nearby and I'd see him around.”

Deanna nodded as if she was your therapist listening to some deep-seated trauma. 

“Did you ask anyone else these questions?” You scratched the back of your arm, beginning to feel uncomfortable. 

“I ask everyone all kinds of questions. I want to get to know you all, it's not an interrogation. You don't need to answer any that you don't want to.”

She finally changed the subject to your relationship with Rick's group. Not that you were eager to talk about it, but at least she wasn't grilling you on Daryl anymore. 

“I've been here since before Rick came and took over. Back in Atlanta. Daryl and his brother Merle came to get me when it happened. I thought maybe they were having some bad trip or somethin'. Ran into my house yelling about dead folks coming back to life and eating people. If it wasn't for them, I'd probably be dead too, but, I think they mainly came to get me because they knew my mom had a stash of cigarettes and drugs.” You were chuckling as you spoke, not realizing you had given up so much information without her even asking. You instantly shut up, the amused smile leaving your face. 

“How do you get along with other members of your group?”

You cringed at the phrasing. They weren't your group, they were Daryl's people, you were just a temporary guest without a set time to leave. 

“Fine. Haven't heard any complaints. Have you?”

“No. But I have heard you don't work well with others.” 

You shrugged. 

“Do you want to be here?” The way she would use your name at the end of every few sentences was starting to get under your skin. 

“I'm kinda stuck with wherever Daryl wants to be.” 

Deanna ended the interview after a handful of other unimportant questions and you were allowed to leave, led to your new house by one of her son's. 

You took the longest and hottest shower of your life, only getting out when Abraham started pounding on the door. It brought back that same feeling of anxiety you'd get when your mother would bang on your locked door in a fit of anger. You nearly ran him over when you burst out of the bathroom, making him drop his change of clothes and call out a disgruntled complaint. 

“Who the hell is this?” 

Daryl looked up from his bag to see you looking down at him, a teasing grin on your fresh face. The image of you being all cleaned up had him momentarily stunned. It had been a while since either of you had seen each other clean like that. 

“Daryl? No way, where's your grease?” You toyed with his damp hair before sitting next to him on the floor near the fireplace, where he'd decided to sleep for the night. 

“Nah, I don't know you. Ya don't smell like bloody rabbits.” He retorted, leaning in to dramatically sniff at you. “The hell is that? Shampoo?”

“Uh, it's shampoo, conditioner, body wash, lotion, and toothpaste.” You replied, giving an exaggerated smile to show your clean teeth. 

You shared a few chuckles and jokes as the rest of the group cleaned up and prepared for bed. Even though you couldn't stand the place or the new people in it, the prospect of having your own room with an actual bed had you buzzing with excitement. 

Sleeping next to Daryl wasn't anything out of the ordinary for you. It was an arrangement that happened more nights than not. But sleeping next to Daryl in a safe house, wrapped in clean clothes, soft blankets, and not even the slightest whiff of the outdoors? It was overwhelming. 

You turned on your side to face him, watching as he stared up at the ceiling, the dark room filled with the familiar ambiance of gentle snoring and breathing. Daryl always slept after everyone else, and that night was no exception. 

Despite your instincts telling you not to, you wiggled on the blanket to move closer to him, nuzzling your face in his nearly dry hair, closing your eyes as you inhaled his clean scent. 

He stiffened at first, an automatic reaction which soon faded and he relaxed, tilting his head until his cheek rested against your forehead. He could barely feel the warm tickle of your breath under his jaw, the feeling soliciting a subliminal relaxation. His eyes closed then, and he listened to the barely audible whistle of your nose. He listened as the whistle got softer, slower, and nearly disappeared altogether as you fell asleep. 

Daryl made sure to untangle himself from you the next morning, before anyone else had the chance to wake up and witness your private bond. No one deserved to see that part of him or you, it was intended for the two of you alone, something deeper and more personal than anyone would understand. 

Adjusting to being around people was a challenge that went all the way back to school. Even in Atlanta you struggled with it, going from being a hermit with your sick mother to an adult in a large group of people, it felt like your first day of school all over again. 

That was all nothing compared to being in Alexandria. Not only were you surrounded by people that annoyed you, but another larger group of people you knew absolutely nothing about. 

They bestowed heavy responsibilities on you as well. It wasn't just scraping by washing clothes and hunting, it was work. Hard work. Wall building, gardening, work inside Alexandria, work outside their walls, near constant supply runs, and cooking. 

Parties. Pasta for dinner. A seemingly limitless flow of sparkling amber champagne. Some kid was walking their fucking pet dog on the sidewalk. 

It felt insulting. Their first impression on you firmly implemented your personal views towards them. Spoiled, weak, wearing faces of false persona, wives chittering like hens with warm knowing smirks. Husbands and men who always smiled like the sun, going out of their way to do things they considered nice for you, then putting on a somber and humble face if anyone had praised their hard work, dedication, and sacrifices. Sacrifices that basically ensued going to the grocery store. 

You hated it. You hated them, you hated their kids, you hated their houses that looked like mansions to you, and you hated the way Rick's group treated it like they'd walked through the bright pearly gates and not the glorified pretentious prison that it was. 

To your relief Daryl didn't quite like it either. 

“They invited us to what?” You didn't believe him when he said it to you as he stared around your new room. 

“Said it was a welcoming party.” He grunted, fingers picking at the edges of a tacky poster of a puppy on the wall. 

“A party? What do you mean a party?” 

“Dunno.” He sighed, throwing his hands up in muted exasperation. “S’jus what she said.” She being Deanna, the same woman who took away your guns, which yours had grown to be quite the impressive collection. But you being your hardened and sneaky self, you'd managed to smuggle two of your handguns into your room. Daryl got to keep his crossbow, of course, and you your own recurve bow, it was the bare minimum aside from your knives, which the others were allowed to keep as well. Sadly, you'd end up breaking that bow a few days later by slinging it at Pete's head.

“And everyone's going?” You pressed on from your seat on the bedroom dresser. 

“Dunno. Goddamn, told you what she told me, you know s’much as I do.” 

You went to the party. Of fucking course you would, they had full on meals with all the food groups, they had alcohol, they had little appetizers and finger foods you'd only ever seen on tv and in magazines, you'd be an idiot not to. The only con was the house was stuffed with people. You could barely make it two steps without bumping into a new face. 

You didn't stay long at all, leaving the second your stomach felt full, and you had a decent buzz going on. You snuck out the back door and snagged the half empty bottle of champagne on your way out. 

“Ya went?” Daryl was surprised to see you walking down the sidewalk in new clothes. The black button up hung a little loose on you, the sleeves bunched up around your elbows, the hem falling all the way past your ass. 

“I may not like those people, but they make some damn good casserole.” You snickered, popping out the metal reusable cork and taking a deep drink. 

Daryl grabbed the bottle from your outstretched hand and downed nearly the whole damn thing in three gulps. 

“Yeah yeah. Go on, help yourself.” 

He gave a weak grin at your playful scoff before handing the bottle back to you. 

“You remember what I said back in Atlanta.”

You looked to your side at Daryl as the two of you walked down the dimly lit path back to your new residence. “Gotta be more specific.” 

“Bout takin’ their shit an’ hauling ass outta there.” 

“Yeah. One of my biggest regrets is talking you out of it.” You sighed, your tone no longer playful and lighthearted. “We could be all the way across the country by now. Would still have Merle bitching out ears off and ranting about some racist conspiracy theory.” 

Daryl suddenly chuckled. “You ‘member that time he was tryin’ to come up with slurs for walkers?” His amused grin spread further when you erupted into laughter at the memory. “What was it he called ‘em? Rotters? Pus-suckers?”

“Yeah, those were some of the tamer ones.” At the time you'd been annoyed by Merle's constant need to remind you that the three of you were better and more superior than anything and anyone around you, but all this time without him and his humorous outlook on life, you missed it. You even missed when he'd belittle you, at the end of the day he still was sexist, despite the obvious care he held for you. 

“Why'd you ask though?” 

“Dunno.”

“Daryl.”

“Everyone's safe now, ain't gotta worry about ‘em anymore.” 

You kept quiet as he fought for the words to convey his thoughts. It was obvious he felt like the odd man out again, it was impossible not to, in a place as nice as Alexandria. The rest of the group had effortlessly slipped into their places in the new environment, if you were an onlooker, it would look as if time had frozen in place for the small neighborhood and its citizens. 

But Daryl, and you, it wasn't easy like that. You never had a normal life like this, so you had no default state to regress to. Daryl had only changed a little since the start, and you hadn't changed much at all. Your skin felt like it was burning with electricity at the insinuation in his words. 

“I'll go wherever you go, you know that.” You nodded firmly. “Just say the word.”

He ended up going to Carol with his vague plan, and then Rick. You don't know what they said to him, but the next morning he told you he wanted to give it a few days before he made his decision.

You should've just made the decision for him. You should have grabbed your stuff, packed your bags, and stole one of their cars and left. Because a few days turned into a hell of a lot longer. 

It wasn't all bad, the two of you grew even closer due to his feelings of being an outcast once again surfacing. It was the same for you, which caused you to cling onto him tighter than before. You slept on the same ratty mattress in your room, sometimes cuddling, but most of the time on separate ends.

You watched more people die around you, which was something you'd become bitterly accustomed to. Aiden, one of Deanna’s sons, and Noah, who you'd never spoken to before. Rick made some trouble for himself getting wrapped up in the wife of the town surgeon, and all hell broke loose after that. Pete lost his shit and accidentally killed Deanna's husband, and Rick killed Pete. As if there hadn't been enough blood shed, a hoard of walkers became an issue just as things started to calm down. 

You didn't like the role that'd been assigned to you. You were being seen and tasked as a protector, sent out by Rick with Abraham and a handful of others to build strategic walls for his master plan of relocating the hoard. 

Another thing you didn't like was the way people's views towards you changed. People who once never even spared you a second thought were speaking to you, making an effort to get to know you, and it was just as unsettling as that time Rick invited you over for dinner. 

“Too pretty to be so sad all the time.” Abraham had said once as you dug a hole for the wooden pillar. 

“I'm not sad.” You muttered, stepping back as three men lifted the wood into the hole. You poured in the instant concrete and took your gloves off to get a drink of water.

“So you just always have that sour look on your face then, huh?” 

“Only when I'm around people I don't know.” Or like, you thought to yourself. 

“I've known you for how long now? Course you know me. And Sasha, and Rosita, and-”

“You're people I'm stuck with. Doesn't mean I know you.” 

“Tsh.” He snorted, folding his massive arms across his equally massive chest. “So you're just a bitch then?” 

“Yeah.” 

One would think that conversation would've been enough to get the point across. No, sadly, it only made things worse. Rick ended up giving you jobs with more people, and you quickly caught onto the convenient way Daryl was almost never in those assigned groups. 

Rick was in charge, that was undebatable, but he wasn't in charge of your free will. You did your work as he asked, most of the time faster than expected, and spent every second of your free time with Daryl, even if it meant pulling four different jobs a day. 

It worked like that for a while, and eventually you did begin to change. Not you exactly, moreso your attitude had changed. You became less closed off, no longer baring teeth and claws as a constant warning. You actually enjoyed spending time with Abraham, as he was one of the only people that called you out for being shitty, he wasn't scared of your mean mug or the harsh bite of your words. It wasn't just Abraham you started to like. Maggie, Carol, Rosita, Michonne, and sometimes Tara, the small group shifted from strangers to acquaintances, some would call you their friend. They'd eventually worn down your hard exterior and you experimented a little with conversation and generosity. Carol was the exception, it was you who had to pursue her. Trying to become genuine friends with her was hard, it made you realize how hard everyone else had been trying with you. 

You even started decorating your room a bit. Nothing fancy, just a few homemade shelves and displays for your numerous weapons. You made a special one above your futon, the only object it held was the small gold tinted shell of a used bullet. 

All good things must come to an end. 

You sat alone in your shared room for the third night in a row, silent on your lumpy mattress, your eyes burning in effort to hold back tears. 

He hadn't even told you he was leaving. 

@ophelialaufey @carlgrimesgfofficial @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfish-daydreams @my1fx @jinx-nanami

[freemilkshakesposts]

Bathing In The Rain

⚠️Warning ⚠️: Sexual content (18+) MDNI

Levi x Reader (Smut)

Summary: A Marley soldier and the captain of the Survey Corps, a love deemed forbidden, a passion that you once believed to be genuine—a lie, a fabrication, an illusion. How could you not have seen it for what it was? Yet, perhaps, when you encounter Levi beneath the rain's relentless downpour, the true essence of your relationship will be unveiled. In other words...outdoor smut in the rain.

The night unfurled in a wild dance of grey and silver, the heavens erupting in a primal deluge to drench the world below. Rain descended in relentless sheets, soaking everything in its path, an unstoppable force of nature. Thunder roared in the distance, a feral, beastly echo shattering the fragile stillness. But in this world, peace is an illusion. There is no such thing. There must always be chaos to balance the order, a perpetual disruption to maintain the façade of equilibrium.

Levi stood outside bathed in the raw splendour of the nocturnal storm, surrendering himself entirely to it.

The rain was merciless, each drop a sharp lance of cold against his skin, like arrows piercing St. Sebastian. But while Sebastian’s torment was divine, Levi's was an earthly baptism by storm.

The stinging rain was his punishment, embedding into his flesh, each droplet tracing his face with a crystalline touch. It slipped down his form like ghostly caresses, drenching his uniform, transforming the fabric into a darker, richer shade, while his dark hair clung to his forehead.

Yet, amidst the sting and the chill, there was a purity to the moment—a delicate, immaculate tableau. He stood in solitary watch, consumed by the storm’s relentless embrace.

"Levi," a voice called out, shattering the serenity of the moment, its barely audible murmur struggling against the storm's fury. "We need to talk."

He pivoted towards the voice, the rain continuing its onslaught, each drop slicing into his skin with the precision of tiny, cold blades. His gaze shifted, a nearly imperceptible softening in his eyes as he took in your disheveled state.

Your hair, plastered against your face in limp, damp strands, resembled wet seaweed. The drenched fabric of your shirt adhered to your form like a second skin, highlighting the curves of your breasts. Harsh creases marred your long, black coat, revealing the frailty of your soaked clothing underneath. You were utterly drenched, the rain's relentless, unyielding assault rendering you a sodden, vulnerable figure in the storm.

As you approached him, heavy droplets cascaded down your cheeks, blending seamlessly with the tears you fought to mask.

"Why did you come out here? Shit, look at you, completely soaked." His voice was low, edged with a chilling steel. "You might as well come inside to dry off; can't have you catching a cold." His grip tightened on your wet, cold shoulder, steering you towards the entrance with an unsettling calm.

You shoved him back instantly, your hand pressing firmly against his chest, eliciting a shuddered gasp from his throat.

“N-no,” you stammer, the quiver in your voice betraying the fortress of your resolve. You gasped internally, catching a glimpse of his eyes—eyes ablaze with a malevolent inferno, scorching your skin with their crimson heat. The raw power of his gaze almost consumes you, drawing you into submission. But then the cold rain, relentless and unforgiving, lashes at your face, a brutal reminder of the grim necessity of this act. Fuck it. You've bled and suffered, lost everything on this deranged quest for him, for this twisted mirage.

Drawing a deep breath, you force the truth up from the depths of your being. "Our whole relationship was nothing but a lie."

Levi's eyes narrowed, the rain beating down on his furrowed brow. "What are you talking about?"

It all became clear. The pieces had fallen into place: his sudden interest, the probing questions—questions you’d never answer to anyone else—and the frequent absences. Your heart tightened with the realisation that the man you had come to love had seen you as nothing more than a tool.

"You know exactly what I mean," you hiss, taking a deliberate step closer. "All this time, you've been using me, haven't you? Gathering intel, manipulating events—whatever fits your agenda. I'm nothing but a pawn for the Corps, a worthless rag for you just to squeeze dry for information on Marley."

The rain fell harder, each droplet crashing against the ground with such force it felt as though the world itself was convulsing, on the verge of disintegration, crumbling into a void.

Levi's gaze wavered, a flicker of something-guilt, regret?-crossing his features.

"I did what I had to do," he replied, his voice betraying a slight tremor as he struggled to maintain a veneer of control. "For the sake of humanity. For the mission."

You shook your head, the rain blending with your tears, searing your eyes with an almost exquisite agony. "Was any of it real then?" You asked, your voice trembling. "The nights we spent talking, the moments we shared...did your ever care for me, or was it all just a part of your elaborate scheme?"

The silence that followed was a deafening void, punctuated only by the storm's unyielding wrath. Rain hit against the trees with relentless brutality, flooding their limbs in a cascade of ruin, submerging the leaves in an unforgiving torrent. The once-refined petals of fragile blooms wept in mournful surrender, their fragile beauty annihilated, petal by petal.

Levi stepped forward, his hand extending to brush against your faintly reddened cheek. The chill of the air clung to his touch, an icy whisper that sent a shudder rippling through you, urging you to instinctively draw back.

"I never meant to hurt you," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the storm, tenderly tracing the contours of your face. "But this world... it doesn't allow for love. Not for people like us."

His words sliced through your chest like a precision-honed blade, extracting the vibrant, pulsing crimson of your heart until only void remains.

He's correct.

In this world, all that is beautiful is inevitably marred, unable to endure the unforgiving verities of our existence. This brutal equilibrium.

But inside, a primal urge festers—to be selfish, one last time. Selfish enough to annihilate that equilibrium. That's what you crave, what you deem necessary: obliterate the balance, reclaim and preserve that elusive beauty once more.

Without hesitation, you surged forward, seizing his cold, wind-battered face, pressing your lips to his in a desperate, punishing kiss.

He matched your intensity, his arms ensnaring you, yanking you closer.

The rain, now a relentless deluge, crashed over you, submerging your entwined forms on the sodden earth, both of you consumed by the downpour.

Your lips clashed, battled, and devoured each other with a ferocity so violent it was as if you were each other's last meal, a sacrificial communion.

You broke the kiss, gasping for breath, your eyes searching his. "Tell me this is real," you pleaded. "Tell me it wasn't all a lie."

Levi’s eyes softened, and for the first time you saw the man behind the soldier, the vulnerable soul beneath the hardened exterior. "This," he said, his voice quivering ever so slightly as his icy hands gripped yours, "this is real."

From those words something fractured deep within you, the final vestige of restraint, utterly incinerated.

Your shaky fingers wrestled with the buttons of his shirt, the rain turning the simple act into a battle against the elements. Frustration built within you, but Levi was there, his hands guiding yours with unspoken urgency, and soon his shirt lay discarded on the slick ground. In a swift motion, Levi began to yank the long coat from your shoulders. His hands slid beneath your own shirt, tearing at the buttons and pushing the fabric away, leaving you exposed to the relentless storm. As the cold air hit your skin, he shoved you against the wall, the icy stone biting into your back—a brutal contrast to the searing heat of his form.

His fingers began to glide along the curve of your spine with a soft touch, each touch a stroke of reverent artistry, like a painter spellbound by the sublime beauty of their subject, consumed by an all-encompassing need to possess it. As your body arched into his touch, the warmth of his mouth followed, tracing a burning path down your neck towards your chest. His lips found your left nipple, sucking gently, drawing soft gasps from you as his hand moved to massage your other breast, kneading it tenderly with each rhythmic pulse of his thumb.

It was clear that all semblance of propriety was swept away in the torrent.

He tore his mouth from your left nipple, lips now seeking yours again with an almost predatory hunger. The kiss that followed was desperate, devouring-his lips demanding, yours eager. It was a collision of mouths, breath mingling in a frantic exchange.

Your hands wandered without grace, pulling him closer, as if to meld into one being. A low groan escaped you, lost in the wet heat of the kiss, as his tongue probed beneath your teeth, slipping past your lips with audacious confidence. Fingers gripped your hips, digging in with a fierce possessiveness, as if this moment were the last chance to claim you. But then, he withdrew from the kiss, leaving only a thin, glistening strand of saliva bridging the distance between you both.

“Tell me you want this. Tell me,” he implored, his voice now laden with a desperate yearning that mirrored his pleading gaze.

This time you reassured him: an immediate breathless "Yes" slipping from your lips.

Levi suddenly swept you off the wall, causing you to gasp as he effortlessly spun you around, laying you gently on the damp grass. The cold ground stole the searing heat from your body, turning it into mist as you gazed up at the dark sky, breathless and captivated.

He moved to hover above you, his presence a cocoon of warmth that drew you inescapably into his orbit. Levi's eyes were dark and enigmatic, locking onto yours with a fierce intensity, a hunger that shattered any illusion of restraint. It was almost frightening, yet you couldn't deny that he was the very essence of seduction incarnate.

Rain clung to his lashes, falling onto your face like tiny, cool kisses. You were utterly enveloped by him, the sensation of wet mud against your skin fading into insignificance. In that moment, nothing existed but Levi.

His lips resumed their journey across your skin, each kiss upon your collarbone a jolt that stirred a ravenous need within. The cool droplets of water clinging to your flesh starkly contrasted with the searing heat of Levi's kisses, eliciting a sharp gasp from you. As his mouth wandered downward across your chest, his hands gripped your hips, steadying you. He knelt before you, his lips charting a slow, torturous path to the edge of your abdomen, lingering tantalizingly close to that aching desire that you yearned for him to sate.

"You look beautiful like this," he murmured, his voice low and husky.

His hands found the waistband of your trousers, seizing them and stripping them away with deliberate slowness, savouring the anticipation in the air. With the same fervent urgency, he tore away your black knickers, now damp with a delicate sheen, casting them aside to join the scattered remnants of your clothing.

He seized your thighs with a firm grasp, prying them apart.

"Already so wet for me," he murmured, the words seeming to reverberate off the tender skin of your inner thighs, as his thumb traced a lazy circle around your clit, the wetness amplifying in your ears.

His lips trailed a path down to your exposed core, each touch worshipful.

As his mouth closed around your swollen clit, a delicate gasp escaped your lips, the sensation verging on the unbearable. His tongue teased and flicked, coaxing moans from deep within, as his hands pressed your thighs back, exposing you completely to him.

You didn't care if anyone caught you; the thought of exposure was as thrilling as it was irrelevant. Your own comrades witnessing you submit to Captain Levi? It didn’t matter. This felt right—inevitably, perfectly right.

Within mere seconds, another moan tore from your lips, your hips arching instinctively toward his face as he administered a pleasure so exquisite it bordered on torment. His touch was a maddening interplay of fierce and gentle, each caress sending electric jolts through your every nerve. Your hands, almost of their own volition, ensnared his dark hair, fingers tracing the starkness of his undercut.

The swiftness of your approaching climax was both disconcerting and shameful like a delicate thread stretched to its breaking point, teetering on the edge of an inevitable rupture.

Then, the sudden warmth of his mouth vanished entirely, leaving behind an emptiness, a fullness that dissolved into nothingness.

An immediate chill settled over you, the void left by his absence creating a gaping abyss. It seemed to siphon away the invisible warmth that had enveloped and protected you from the rain, intensifying the bite of the night air against your exposed skin. Cold raindrops began to pelt your body with an unforgiving rhythm.

"Levi..." you murmured, a plaintive note edging your voice.

He drew his face from your thighs, returning it to yours, and gently placed a single finger upon your lips. His expression had taken on a wholly illicit quality. His lips were smeared with the glistening evidence of your desire, the damp sheen of your arousal staining them.

"I don't want you to cum like this. I want us to be selfish together. One more time. Will you allow me that?"

To be selfish. One more time. The notion, steeped in cruelty, dances on the edge of immorality—a siren call to greed. To be so selfish as to betray Marley, to find pleasure even with the enemy. Yet, how could one deny him now? His eyes, frantic with desperation, and the rain draping his skin in a luminous veil. He appeared insatiable. And, of course, you craved your own release... that sharp, intoxicating crescendo of pleasure only he could provide, a singular, forbidden ecstasy no one else could replicate.

You quickly nodded, finding yourself unable to form words, as your body instinctively leaned towards him again. Your legs parted with a kind of silent urgency, beckoning him closer.

Levi's lips curled into a knowing smirk as he observed your needy demeanour. He began unzipping his trousers, revealing his ardent desire, pulsing with the anticipation of being freed from its confines by the allure of your blossoming beauty.

"So tight..." He grunted, his determination palpable as he fought to penetrate the walls of your defenses, striving to reach that sacred, long-abandoned sanctuary within you-a place where he once found peace but had neglected in the name of duty and humanity, as he had so conveniently excused himself.

How much he lamented his neglect; in this moment, all he wanted was to shower you with the love you deserved, a desperate attempt to redeem himself and reclaim what was lost.

When he finally entered you, it was not mere pleasure that consumed him; it was something far more profound. His eyes dilated, and the veins in his neck pulsed beneath the pale strech of skin. This act was not a simple indulgence in physical desire; it was a dark, sacramental rite, a pursuit of redemption. To the unknowing observer, it might have seemed a mere spectacle, a cunning performance crafted to ensnare your affection and pry information from your lips. But you knew Levi too well.

The pounding rain formed a cacophony in your ears, drowning out everything but the sensation of Levi-his touch, his breath, each gasp and moan. Every thrust was a fervent prayer, a plea for more,as he surged into you with an exquisite ferocity. His movements were deliberate, forceful, each one reaching deep, pressing against the tender boundary of your cervix. His hands traced a delicate path across your skin- stomach, chest, face-a whisper of tenderness against the merciless rhythm of his thrusts. It was an intoxicating equilibrium, and you relished every moment of it.

"I'm sorry..." Levi purred into your ear, a groan lacing with his words.

Those words pushed you over the edge, sending you to your peak. The rain seemed to intensify, as if it were a baptism, washing away every ounce of the past, pain and betrayal. Your cry pierced the air, your nails digging ruthlessly into the wet earth, your body responding, convulsing around him. Levi was right there with you, his grip on your hips tightening, his breath a scorching whisper against your ear. In that moment, all restraints disintegrated, and his seed flooded into you, filling your garden. The long-barren soil of your existence was finally rejuvenated, and the once-withered flowers of your soul exploded into vivid, riotous bloom.

You both collapsed onto the grass, utterly spent, each breath ragged. Levi's head rested against your chest, his breaths shallow and feverish, their warmth searing your skin.

Glancing up at the dark sky, where menacing clouds hang like an impending judgment, fear is absent. Instead, a surge of life more vibrant than ever before courses through your veins.

Levi's restless shift upon your chest caught your attention, his head lifting languidly from its repose. Then, as if the storm itself were holding its breath, the silence was ruptured by his murmur: "I'm sorry," he whispered again, his voice scarcely rising above the tempest's roar. "For everything." In response, you extended your index finger tracing the contours of his face with deliberate tenderness, guiding from the curve of his cheek to the rigid edge of his sharp jawline. You lingered there, gently massaging the tip of his chin with your thumb.

"I don't know if I can forgive you," you whispered, your gaze heavy with somber intensity. "In this world, beauty and duty must always be in balance. What we share is beauty—rare and fragile. But duty remains, unyielding. I am a Marleyan soldier, and you are the captain of the Survey Corps. To disrupt this equilibrium continually carries profound consequences."

You sighed deeply, the weight of your decision pressing heavily on the air. "Yet we are all permitted one indulgence to disrupt this fragile equilibrium, one fleeting moment of self-gratification. I have elected to be selfish with you now, to forsake duty for this transient beauty. I chose you. But forgiveness, that would mean succumbing to the chaos that inevitably follows. I want you safe... for if we transgress, we unravel the equilibrium."

Levi remained silent, his eyes steadfastly locked onto yours, yet you could discern the unspoken acceptance of these truths within his mind. He nestled his face against your chest once more sighing into it, his arms encircling your form, drawing his body ever closer, as if seeking to fuse his very body with yours.

Both of you knew this brief peace was destined to shatter, as inevitable as a raindrop meeting the earth. Yet, for now, you chose to remain entwined, savouring the warmth of your bodies pressed together. Even the rain, once a curse, now felt like a gentle caress.

As your fingers traced the sharp lines of Levi’s undercut while he slept against your chest, you understood this was the moment—the singular truth you craved, the only reality you sought to possess.

[marsbutterfly]

The Boy Who Cried Your Name

a/n: HI!!!! I'M BACK AFTER SUCH A LONG HIATUS!!!! I MISSED YOU GUYS! This story was based on this postI hope you all enjoy!

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: none, just fluff <3

2:07am > manjiro: ok this movie genuinely seems really stupid 2:08am > manjiro: i think i'll watch it and tell you all about it during our date tomorrow. 2:11am > manjiro: oh shit, i've seen this actor somewhere 2:13am > manjiro: i know you're asleep but like 2:13am > manjiro: when you wake up can you help me find out this dude's name? 2:13am > manjiro: *image*

It's a Tuesday night, or at least it was when you first went to sleep. The nonstop vibration of your phone combined with the light that comes from it is enough to disturb your deep slumber.

You grunt, eyes squinting as you try to adjust to the brightness. Your warm hand comes out from its place underneath your pillow, only to be received by a rush of cold air that comes from the AC. Your fingers tremble gently while trying your best to type in your passcode, though your brain isn't fully awake.

Ultimately you decide to simply shine the phone on your face in the hopes that it will recognize your features even in the dark of your room.

Before it can even unlock, another notification.

2:16am > manjiro: i am learning so much from this movie already 2:17am > manjiro: did you fucking know that you can make your own butter if you shake milk for long enough?

You can't help but giggle at the sight, 17+ messages from Mikey. Before the two of you became a real couple, he would hardly ever text first, maybe because he could never remember where he put his phone in the first place or maybe it was because he was actually afraid of getting his feelings hurt, after all, a girl like you was hard to come by.

When the two of you decided to become official, his texts became more and more frequent. Most nights, you were forced to put your phone on Do Not Disturb because you desperately needed a good night's rest and lord knows you wouldn't be able to achieve that goal as long as Mikey was awake.

Your thumbs aren't moving at the speed you would like them to, your vision is still partially blurry and your throat is so dry that it feels like you are swallowing nails. Nevertheless, you open the messages to encounter a great variety of content.

Tired eyes skim through the various paragraphs, some quite lengthy as he declares his endless love for you and everything you have done / do for him on a daily basis, describing how you are the most beautiful person you have ever met and how the light that radiates from you reminds him of a sunset lit inside of your chest. How the color of your hair is his favorite because, whenever he sees it anywhere else, he feels like the universe is sending him a small reminder of how lucky he is. You smile at the sight of his gentle words.

However, you can no longer ignore the rain of incoming texts now that he has noticed the "seen at 2:14am" at the bottom of the page. He feels awful for waking you up but he cannot help himself. Every new thing he learns, every new detail of the movie he thinks you will enjoy knowing, he must share with you.

2:15am > manjiro: THIS DUDE JUST ATE HIS MOTHER-IN-LAW WHOLE? 2:16am > manjiro: IS THAT A FUCKING THING THAT SNAKES DO? EAT PEOPLE WHOLE? 2:16am > manjiro: I HAVE TO GOOGLE THIS HOLD ON 2:17am > manjiro: I have learned that, in fact, they can. I'm actually going to jump, I cannot do this 2:18am > manjiro: oh shit, i didn't mean to wake you up, but now that you are here! 2:19am > manjiro: did you know that drinking too much water can kill you? I read it somewhere, let me find the link. 2:19am > manjiro: Oh and also that when the dinosaurs walked the Earth, days were 23 hours long instead of 24?

You take a deep breath, knowing that he is coming from a place of love and care but you can't help but be a bit annoyed. Not wanting to snap at him, you use your full mental capacity at the moment to type a response to one of his many, many texts.

2:19am > manjiro: typing... 2:19am > you: Mikey, I love you, so so much and I wish for nothing more than for you to be here cuddling with me, than to feel the warmth of your body against mine, but you know I have an exam early in the morning. 2:20am > you: but baby, I am begging you, STOP THIS MADNESS.

His texting ceases and it feels like an eternity, certainly long enough for you to regret the way you spoke to him, even if it wasn't malicious or even purposefully mean. You understand that, other than Draken, Mikey doesn't usually confide in anyone else, especially not in a way that makes him seem weak or "stupid."

A sigh escapes your lips and you blink intensely for a few seconds in the hopes of stopping your eyeballs from burning. Time seems to slip by you and the next time your eyes open, twenty minutes have passed.

You bolt awake for a few seconds, heart beating faster than a race car, an irrational fear that you might have missed a message from him taking over you so the natural course of action is to check your texts. It would be a lie to say you weren't a little disappointed that there were no new messages from Mikey in that short period of time and your heart sinks just slightly.

2:41am > you: Mikey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you, I'm just nervous about my exam and super tired. I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I hope you can forgive me.

Not even thirty seconds go by before the three dots inside of the blue bubble appear at the edge of the page. The full sensation of relief doesn't wash over you until you hear back from him, a simple message, spelled completely wrong because you knew he was keeping an eye out on whatever he was watching on the television.

2:42am > mikey: all gpod bsby, u luv u. (all good baby, i love you)

With a smile on your face, you finally allow yourself to relax and place the phone down underneath your pillow, giving Mikey time for himself as he enjoys his tv time. Now, you are finally going to be able to have a good night's rest before your big exam tomorrow. Eyelids become heavy and your breathing finds its own perfect pattern, your pillow is cold and underneath your covers is warm, everything is simply falling into place.

When you are within seconds of falling asleep, your phone buzzes from beneath your head. You refuse to open your eyes and simply roll over, pushing your body away from the device.

Some time passes and you find yourself in the same peaceful vibe as before, a gentle smile on your face as you fully allow yourself to be submerged in the cold feeling of the ac against your face while the rest of your body is nicely tucked away. The feeling doesn't last long for Mikey, once again, decides to start texting you every few minutes, if not seconds.

You grunt loudly, reaching for the edge of your pillow to pull it over your ear. In moments like these, you truly had to remind yourself of how much you loved him and why because he does, in fact, test what little sanity you have left in you. But you didn't know that all he was doing in that moment was being his usual self: the guy who is deeply and madly in love with you.

3:14am > manjiro: oh yeah 3:14am > manjiro: i forgot to tell you 3:15am > manjiro: good luck on your exam tomorrow, you got this! 3:15am > manjiro: i love you so much <3 3:15am > manjiro: have a great night <3

[xmorguekittyx]

Ever Locked

Part 4: Good Night, Bunny

Part 3: With Your Ghost

pairing: Older!Leon Kennedy × Ex!Coroner's Assistant Reader

warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, talks of enjoying inflicting emotional and physical pain on another, just Leon’s pov on things right now.

Fucking rain. Every single day, nothing like the thick air, the feeling of Raccoon City before its inevitable bombing. Boots clap against the rain puddles, slick as the show slides on the step, nearly knocking me off balance and into the small bushes by the hotel door way. "Shit-", the word spat as my hand clutches at the automatic door, stilling it. "Fucking rain, can't wait to get back to my place.", all the more reason to get into her mind, to open Pandora's Box into the mind of the woman of the hour.

   My phone dings as I adjust the whiskey bottles in the bag, shifting from my right to left hand, reaching for the Motorola Razr, the fucking brick costing much more than i wanted to pay. Chris Redfield sent a message. A grumble left my lips as i entered the doors, heading to the shiny elevator. Tapping his stupid little contact photo opened the message; "so, when were you gonna tell everyone you were over 3000 miles away? You know we listed you as MIA and had a chopper checking around your house, right? Never understood why you needed to live in the middle of butt fuck nowhere, had us worried you went off the deep end or something." I could nearly hear Rebecca hitting him in the shoulder for the last part.

  My choices in house placement was quite simple; remote enough to not have any issues with neighbors- like a certain old hag who should've minded her own business- then, were close enough to a small town with a grocery store and a post office. It's perfect. Small, far away from everyone else and it can be a small safe space for the family i'm going to build. I have lived my life giving and giving and giving, giving up my life to the government, letting all my wants go to work on missions, letting vacations slip past me just so i can work my ass off one more time and get denied the next vacation. I never have a moment to myself until i'm MIA.

  I'll be selfish, this time around, i'll be selfish. I want one thing to myself, my home to myself. I want her, bunny, to myself. The future is so uncertain, but in certainty, i know i will have her and she will be away from everything and everyone. She'll be something just for me, for my pleasure. It's selfish, god, it's wrong to be so self centered to throw off someone's life so horribly, but i can't find it in myself to regret the choice i've made to come and find her.

  The elevator dings, bringing my attention to the wobbly reflection. My hair is dark with grease, my skin dry and flakey in parts, my hand comes up just as the doors open. Fingers rubbing at the rough scruff that coats my jaw. I looked like shit, honestly, i would've cried had i seen myself too. As the door threaten to close once more, i step out. The hallway is lit with a warm lamp, it was short and the rain taps against the windows with a rhythmic patter. I wonder what she's doing, is she worrying? Is she scared that i'm back, or is that perfect new boyfriend currently too busy keeping her wrapped around him? The latter causes my brows to drop.

  The keycard taps the lock, hearing a beep and a green light before my, still wobby, legs threaten to let me fall. The handle is clicked quickly, falling under the weight of my hand. The room is... clean, at the most, plain. Very minimalistic. The bed is neat, the coffee cups wrapped, definitely won't be touching those, unless they have the creamer i like. Coffee left a bad taste, trying to down that god awful black coffee to impress the older officers still made me want to throw up. The bitterness, i wasn't someone into the bitter things, despite how bland my life had become. Time didn't stop for me to indulge in anything sweet or extra. That's why i won't answer that message, once i acknowledge it all, then come questions, why's, when's, where's. I don't have the time, I needed to set my plan in place. I needed to know that things were gonna work out this time, this opportunity.

  The desk is clear of anything, which is good, my bags lay underneath from my earlier visit before the White Wolf. Duffel bags of clothes, files and photos. It was time... but a drink first wouldn't hurt. A soft sigh leaves my lips as i lay the whiskey bottles down, hearing them clink together. Jack Daniel's, wasn't the top shelf shit- but it was cheap and whiskey tastes like whiskey once you've downed enough- they all taste the same.

  The bag rustles as i fish out the first bottle, nearly half empty from the gas station down the road. My boots slide off with ease as i step towards the coffee maker, pulling one of the little paper cups from the stack. "As good as any.", my shoulders weigh with a shrug before the cap is off and the cup is half full of warm whiskey. The amber liquor burns, the flavor vanilla-ish. Something i should've looked at before throwing the cash on the counter. Alcohol is alcohol, at the end of the day.

   My back hits the bedding, cup laid aside on the side table. The thoughts of the past few years flooding my mind, the latest tragedy being my team being ratted out and only myself coming out as a survivor. It never seems to fail, anyone close to me... their life is cut short by some tragedy or they're in danger at my hands. It was a cycle, one i wouldn't let touch the innocence of my bunny. The pillow engulfs my cheek as i lay my head upon it, the inside rough but manageable as i reach out for the cup, my fingers pushing it further away before catching the rim and pulling it closer.

  My head aches with the next round of thunder, the lightening cracking over the dim room. Engulfing everything in a light for a few seconds, the painting across from the bed getting my attention. It looked... angry, and yet it was just swipes of black and red paint over a white background. What? You gonna say it's some internal struggle i'm having or something. is it like those tests the therapist hands you to get a read on you? The liquid in the cup splashes as i swirl it, my mind bouncing from left to right. It feels surreal, im sure it does for her, too. The moment i've been anticipating since i saw the name under a few address, the moment she's been dreading since that faithful day. It's crazy how much fate can dictate.

  The Chinese have a legend, about a red string of fate tied between two lovers. It's a beautiful story-pictures of fingers intertwined with the others, red string wrapped delicately around pinkies and swirling around the hands that finally met their match. It's beautiful until the string is tied around your throat by the one tethered to the other side, that string of fate is telling. What was meant to show you endless care and tenderness now tightly stealing away the very air that kept you alive, that tore at the delicate flesh, its motives unknown and terrifying.

  Another rumble of thunder and that thought too is ripped from my consciousness. I see the fault in my plans, don't get me wrong. I'm not insane. I simply don't care, i want this and for once in my miserable life, im going to get something i want. She's just the poor soul who has to be the one i set my sights on. She loved me once too, you know? She said it- herself- she loved me. She let me see her vulnerable and bare. I want to see it again, that bitch at the bar declined giving me Bunny's new number. What a stuck up bitch. A laugh ripped past my lips, the liquor splashing out of the cup lip and landing on my cheek as i wipe it away quickly. Hand once more in my scruffy, growing in beard. I wonder if i should keep it, at least while i'm here? Nah. I never could grow a nice full beard, mine always patchy and uneven. It is what it is, but i'm not shaving it right now. My eyes are stinging, head falling back on the pillow as the cup slides back onto the night stand.

  The clothes call to me from their bag, begging for me to change into the soft grey sweatpants that have been my favorite for years now. I feel a twitch in my leg, a pushing force that is quickly pushed away. That can wait for tomorrow, as can planning. The bed is too magnetic to my body. The sheets already bunched under my weight, fingers digging around to grip the sheet and pull it up, promptly causing my muscles to ache, realizing i have, indeed, made no progress, my legs stand for a millisecond, before i'm back into the bed, quicker than the bag can see. Nothing outweighed the amount of exhaustion that built up in my brain.

  The aircon kicks on, the room settling at a nice sixteen nine degrees. Cold and enough the blanket keeps me warm. The buzz of the alcohol and the warm and cool feeling just about as perfect as it can get. Something feels as if it's missing, like there's something that should be here and isn't, but i think i know what it is. I think it's always been missing and the sleepless nights had me begging any god that i'd have that back. Sleep doesn't come easily for me anymore, but knowing her presence isn't as far as i anticipated, has me feeling slightly more relaxed. Maybe enough to settle into bed all night, or enough to keep staying asleep the entirety. Either way, as long as i sleep. I can't keep pushing missions with no rest, last mission i was nearly left back there. Sleep is a necessity that hasn't been fulfilled since her disappearance. I know it wasn't her choice or fault either too.

  That's why I'd wanted to speak with her at her work, to see if all these years anything had changed. I know it probably has, but does she still bring that peace and calmness to me, can she still cause me to snap instantly with her little smart ass behavior? I have to know. Either way, she's mine. She's always been mine.

  The sheets cocoon me, cradling my body as I slept in my daily clothes. It didn't matter, i'd slept in abandoned ships, cots that were as hard as a plank of wood, in 3 day old clothes, bed for other men who hadn't showered in weeks. This bed, felt amazing, compared. The curtains letting the lightening crack over my face but the stinging stalled as the darkness encroached my eyes. The fluttering causing a tear slipped pasty cheek. warm as i nearly got to that state of peace. Work can be done tomorrow, plans, actions and strong up my temporary home, it'll all work out. Good night, Bunny...

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

BakuDeku | A Rainy Day Together ☔️💚💥

I wrote one of these for DabiHawks last night, and felt inspired to give BakuDeku a little rainy day love as well :) Enjoy! - RRUH

------

Katsuki groans when he sees the weather report for the day: cloudy and overcast, with an 80% chance of rain. He had been looking forward to a day at the park with friends - plans for a game of basketball and a shared bento box on the dewy grass had been swirling around his mind all week. All those plans were quickly going up in smoke as the first thick rain drops pelted down on his kitchen window.

"Shiiiiiit." He sighs, texting his group chat to postpone their plans for a sunnier day. The rain is picking up - battering the tiny apartment and sinking Katsuki into one of his gloomier moods. He slumps over to his couch and buries himself in his favorite weighted blanked. His boyfriend Izuku had gifted it to him earlier in the month - a housewarming gift when he had signed the lease to his very first apartment. He wraps himself up and lets weight of the material sink onto his chest. He's longing for the sun, willing the clouds to part and -

There's a knock on the door. Katsuki looks up in surprise - the rain is pelting the door with a steady rhythm. Whoever is knocking on his door must be absolutely soaked. With an effort, he wrangles the heavy blanket off of him and trips his way to the door. He throws open the bright white storm door to see his favorite person in the world - Izuku. His freckled boyfriend is beaming up at him from the stoop, soaked to the skin and trying his best to shield bags of groceries from the torrential downpour.

"Kacchan!" Izuku glows like the sun, letting Katsuki pull him into the threshold. He drops the grocery bags to the ground with a splash.

"It took you so long to answer - I thought maybe you had forgotten to put on your hearing aids again." Izuku reaches into Katsuki's fluffy hair and runs a finger along his right ear, checking that the hearing device is in its rightful place.

"Nah - I was just zoning out. Really bummed it's raining. I was looking forward to catching up with the guys from 1A over a game of basketball. It's all gone to shit now." He gestures out at the downpour, locking the door behind Izuku.

Izuku looks at him knowingly. "I figured you might be - that's why I brought snacks! Why not invite the gang over for a movie marathon?"

Katsuki laughs, digging into the grocery bag nearest him. "Oh my God - all you bought is junk! Cookies, potato chips, mint chip ice cream...Deku, we're heroes - we can't be eating this shit!"

"It's a Saturday! It's fineeee." Izuku practically sings, moving to unload all the groceries on the kitchen island.

"You're dripping puddles all over the carpet!" Katsuki grumbles, pointing at the pools of water Izuku is splattering across the clean kitchen tiles. Izuku laughs and continues to dance out of his reach. Katsuki gives up trying to chase him and instead fires off a quick text to their friends: "Movie marathon in an hour. My new place." He's immediately met with a thousand thumbs up and smiley emojis from Mina and Kirishima. They've all been begging to see his place for weeks.

"Oh - I'm gonna invite Todoroki, Shinsou and Ururaka too if that's alright!" Izuku calls over his shoulder as he forces two pints of ice cream into the already full freezer. "Oh - and Ida is back in town after that hero conference! I'll text him, too."

"Whatever, nerd." Katsuki rolls his eyes and busies himself with drying off the floor by the door. He's grown fond of all of their classmates and secretly revels in spending time with the group, despite his grumbling.

Once he's satisfactorily dried the kitchen floor, he grabs Izuku from behind and puts him in a friendly headlock. The green haired hero yelps in surprise, then relaxes when he feels Katsuki plant a kiss at the base of his neck.

"Listen, Deku. If we're going to host a party today you need to make yourself look presentable. You're soaked." He releases his boyfriend and helps him to strip off his wet hoodie and t-shirt. Katsuki pauses for a moment to admire the glistening, hard earned muscles that make up Izuku's chest and stomach. "Go hit the showers, babe."

Izuku laughs and doesn't need telling twice. He dashes to Katsuki's immaculately clean bathroom and chooses the fluffiest towel before hopping into the luxurious shower. Izuku loves that Katsuki stocks all the best soaps and shampoos and bubble baths in his bathroom. The explosion hero is an absolute slut for self-care.

Izuku takes his time, letting the hot water run across his stiff muscles as it banishes the chill from his bones. He grabs a sweet smelling shampoo and lathers it into his curly green hair, enjoying the way the liquid bubbles up in his hands. He can hear Katsuki working his magic in the kitchen - shifting through cupboards to find the fancy popcorn. After ten minutes of enjoying the steam, Izuku turns off the faucet and grabs the oversized bath sheet Katsuki keeps folded just for him.

"Hey, Kacchan - do you have an extra change of clothes I can borrow?" But Katsuki's already thought of that - and Izuku shouts out a quick "never mind!" when he notices the clean pile of folded clothes on the bathroom countertop. After a few minutes fighting with Katsuki's hair dryer, Izuku emerges back into the kitchen - fluffy and clean. A pair of Katsuki's grey joggers are slung low over his hips, and he's sporting a black tshirt with the word "Dynamite!" scrawled across it in a graffiti-style font.

"You look good." Katsuki says appreciatively, holding up two large bowls of freshly made popcorn. He's in full homemaker mode, decked out in his favorite apron and cooking up a storm. "Think this will be enough?" He sets up the popcorn popper with a third bowl.

"Do I smell cookies?! Are you making cookies, too?" Izuku ignores Katsuki's question, bouncing towards the oven to get a good look at the batch of chocolate chip cookies rising on a bright blue pan.

Katsuki puts down the popcorn and pulls Izuku into his arms, resting his hands on his boyfriend's slim hips. He leans in and their lips melt together as naturally as breathing air. "Of course I'm making cookies, loser. They're your favorite."

Izuku grins and opens his mouth to say something cheeky when a barrage of knocks hit the door. He scampers away from Katsuki and towards the entry way to let in their waiting crowd of rain-soaked friends. At the last minute, he turns back to look at Katsuki. He has one hand on the door knob, and a huge smile stuck on his face.

"Kacchan - I love you."

Katsuki's heart squeezes in his chest, and he barely has time to register Izuku's words before the door flies open and Kaminari, Kirishima, Mina and Sero come tumbling across the threshold.

Within minutes, the little apartment is filled with friends, laughter, and tiny puddles of rain. Katsuki doesn't even bother to wipe up all of the rainwater this time - instead, he basks in the glow of Izuku, their friends, and the little life they've built out for themselves in the wake of a rainstorm.

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

Thanks so much for reading!! I love building a cozy lil scene for my fave characters to just vibe in 💚

Similar MHA fics I've written:

BakuDeku Smut: Hooking Up At A Pro Hero Gala

Pining Katsuki | BKDK Headcannon 💚💥

DabiHawks Rainy Day Together ☔️

My Full Master List

[lisafrnkenstein]

steve's not a religious man, for all the years he spent being dragged to mass by his parents. but if he was, he'd want to ask god why he let someone like eddie die for this piece of shit town that didn't deserve him.

steve had watched from across the room as dustin handed over eddie's necklace, in tears. as wayne clutched it in his hand and brought it to his lips, like a rosary, eyes closed in prayer; and steve had broken a little.

growing up the way he had, he was no stranger to guilt. guilt was a steady undercurrent, a familiar beast he long learned how to wrangle, to compartmentalize.

but not this.

this guilt is a serpent, rearing its ugly head in his chest and constricting around his lungs until he can't breathe. it makes him uneasy, agitated. like he's filled with an energy he needs to expell.

the same kind that made him pick a fight with jonathan byers.

the same kind that made him crash his car into billy hargrove.

he knows there's something wrong with him, but he's never learned how to handle his emotions; he just does his best for having been a kid who was handed a bat studded full of rusty nails to solve his problems.

but guilt is not a thing you can beat down like some bloodthirsty monster from another dimension, no matter how it eats him.

so steve does what he does, and he swings his fists at the next best thing.

it's some buzzcut, blonde asshole from the local church, the older brother of one of carver's guys. a few years older than steve, even. he's mouthing off, worked up and angry. if steve was more rational, more gracious, he'd give leeway for the man's own grief, his own emotional response to loss and terror. steve's been through enough to know what it's like, to crave control.

but he's feeling neither of those things, and the man is sending specks of spit out of his mouth as he yells about searching the rubble of the town for eddie munson, the murderer, the satanist.

steve's jaw tenses. his hands clench tight, and before he knows what he's doing, he's rounded on him and socked him square on the jaw.

there's a beat where he processes, where he makes the conscious choice whether to step back and assess his actions, or to follow through.

the man snarls at him, and the moment passes. steve takes two fistfuls of his shirt and slams him to the ground, shouting as he goes.

"don't you dare open your mouth about him again, you ungrateful -" he cuts off with a growl, slamming the man forcefully against the earth again. "you'll never know, you'll never fucking know what he did for you! nobody will fucking know, they won't ever know now, they won't-!"

steve stops when he feels warm, wet trails run down his cheeks, tastes the salt on his tongue.

he stumbles back off the man, hands touching his face.

he hasn't been able to cry yet. it hasn't come, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how many times steve played that last look eddie gave him, over and over in his head, thinking about the fact that the next time he saw those eyes, they would be vacant and lifeless.

he could never cry, because he blamed himself, and what right did he have to cry over what was his own fault?

he'd had crying beat out of him at eight years old, when his father was on edge from his mother's nagging, and steve had been upset about something or other.

he'd smacked him, pinched the bridge of his nose, and shaken steve's head until he'd stopped, wide eyed and scared.

"men don't cry," his father had sneered, dragging rough thumbs across steve's eyelids, drying them of the evidence.

steve turns his head up, up, up, now, bare and facing the heavens, where god looks disinterestedly on from, and he screams. he runs his voice hoarse, the sobs tearing violently from him, wracking his body with sorrowful tremors.

his face is wet, and it's too salty to be rain.

he doesn't feel like a man.

not when he'd left eddie behind and run off to play hero, only to watch helplessly as the people he loved were choked by vines.

not when eddie had been left to make the hard choice, the sacrificial play, just to get them the win; and they hadn't even defeated vecna, only bought them all some more time.

he's not a man, but a failure.

somehow, in the midst of this, steve drags himself back home. manages to climb into his bed, and pull out what he'd stuffed underneath.

he sits there, numb fingers clutching a swathe of bloody denim, and he cries.

he cries until there's nothing left, until he feels like his whole body is dried and and empty, a husk curling in on itself.

he fades into sleep, too quickly to catch the reflective, red glint that enters his bedroom as the the sun sets, or to catch the way a figure moves through the shadows, perching at the end of his bed.

he doesn't hear the low rumble of a voice, raspy and trying to whisper.

"I thought I was the animal now," eddie says, sharp teeth flashing. "but you're a regular guard dog, aren't you, harrington?"

his eyes glow in the moonlight as he watches the sleeping figure below him with intensity.

"will you fight everyone that badmouths me, I wonder?" eddie laughs mirthlessly. "your work will be cut out for you."

his eyes travel over steve's full form, pausing with surprise when he catches the vest he's clinging to like a security blanket.

steve doesn't wake to see the winged body take off out of his upper story window.

he does wake, however, and find that the item of clothing he fell asleep with is conspicuously missing; and, even more alarming, what's been left in it's place: his yellow sweater, the one abandoned to the upside down, swallowed up when lover's lake split apart.

the one he never expected to see again, because things don't just come back when they've been lost like that.

except, maybe, he thinks, running over the golden fabric with disbelieving fingertips...maybe, there is a chance that they sometimes do.

[twistedastrology]

- Cancers at their worst -

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

i just saw an ig post (no shade to the original poster) that said a cancer's dark side was everything they are stereotyped to be (extremely emotional/sensitive, are way too kind and always think people are judging them) and as a cancer that may be about to go neurotic again rn im gonna tell you from my personal experience what a cancer's dark side is actually like.

like i said though im going off of mostly just my experience so if this doesn't resonate, my bad- i did my best 🙏😔

to understand the nature of a cancer at their worst, you have to actually understand water and its potential volatility.

remember when i talked abt cancers and rage and how i said cancers are fire-coded (cardinal) water? keep that in mind for just abt this entire post.

fire is pure energy, and so is water, water just has more space to hold said energy- where fire burns out quickly, water doesn't dry out that fast at all especially if you have an ocean specifically.

people who say cancers (or really any water sign honestly-) are crybabies and switch moods every 5 seconds do not understand what water really is and this topic makes me a little livid sometimes because those are the same people that made me not like my rising sign for a long time.

to understand a cancers rock bottom, think about what water can do.

tsunamis can kill hundreds of thousands of people if they're big enough.

hurricanes, and sometimes tornadoes, form over water when the temperature is right.

the pressure at the bottom of the ocean can crush almost anything in an instant except for what has specifically evolved to live down there.

rain can lead to insane flooding (fellow floridians remember hurricane ian 2yrs ago 😕)

we have explored less of our ocean than the space around us, can you imagine what oceans on other planets would be like? especially the planets or moons that are almost Entirely water?

water represents emotion, yes, but when we boil that down to water signs being overly emotional, it doesn't make any sense and it makes some people, at least the ones that are like me, ashamed of their water placements because our society loves to say "emotion = bad." when obviously that is not true.

But if we wanna talk about the actual dark shit, aka my jupiter in scorpio's favorite shit, u gotta strap in.

Cancers feel more rage than anything.

i talked abt this specifically in my cancers and rage post, but it's true for this as well.

to use myself as the example, whenever i feel depressed or upset for some reason (like today), it's never just that sad feeling, it is always accompanied by a distinct anger because i get pissed that i feel like shit.

but if that rage doesn't get its way, or worse, gets too much of its way, i can succumb to a state of misery or, at my worst, neurosis, where multiple god awful things happen.

im not one to stay down for long, the last and first time i went neurotic, it only lasted for a week until i snapped out of it, but it was still very damaging.

cancers at their worst will feel an urge to self-destruct that may or may not be uncontrollable depending on other placements in the chart and of course how shitty they feel.

they will find something detrimental to do and if they genuinely can't, they will instead just mentally rip themselves open and daydream about what it would be like to just completely lose control and fall into a self-destructive spiral.

that's what happened to me when i went neurotic. one wrong decision and, having no access to anything that would take a toll on my physical body, i ripped myself to pieces in my head and almost fell in love with the act.

like gerard way said, there's something very romantic about it.

cancers can get moody, yes, but at this point they'll go mostly numb and tearing at their soul is the only thing they enjoy.

and then the pain will catch up to them.

once that pain catches up to them, two things will happen.

they will begin to realize what they've been doing and how pointless it is, and they will activate a duality within themselves of the desire to hurt and the need for pain relief.

they will tear at themselves even more, knowing they shouldn't be doing what they are, but it's a vicious cycle.

this will happen, and then the potential for redemption begins to boil over.

after being in the dark, blissfully hidden depths of their own mental ocean, they will realize they can't breathe anymore, and they will either suffocate themselves or snap their eyes open and swim up until they see the light they deprived themselves of for however long.

once they've made it to the surface, they gasp to catch their breath, their tears being of the need for pain relief winning against their desire to hurt.

now the water is not a personal vice, but a cleansing presence that makes them feel understood. the water gets it. the water would never judge them for what they did.

after being in the dark embrace of the depths of the ocean for so long, the light finally hitting your eyes makes color seem so much more vibrant.

- 🌙 -

all this to say that, at their worst, cancers can succumb to self destruction like no other, but they have the drive to keep them going to even them out.

they don't just cry all day or switch moods 24/7, they fall into a vat of water that, the deeper they go, reveals more and more of their very soul.

it's the deepest level of shadow work, it's the pain no one wants to go through because it's the pain of losing your personal momentum and then having to find it again in an instant before it's gone forever.

OR i could be totally wrong idk But this is my experience!!!! ✨💞💞✨💞✨💞✨💞✨ God belsls!!!!!!!!

my bad that was real dark and poetic writing now i gotta balance it out Uhhhmmmmm Legalize nuclear bombs. 💥

[mandareeboo]

Ramshackle drabble prompt: Scrap cuddle pile?

The embers of the trash fire were slowly starting to fizzle out as they settled in for the night, Stone and Vinnie idly passing a smoke between each other while Skipp serenaded them with his mandolin.

"We should totally try for two cans of beans tomorrow," Vinnie urged, holding her hands out as if to picture it. "That's double the beans!"

"Gettin' greedy, are we?" Stone huffed out with a dry laugh.

"Hey, it could happen. We have good luck sometimes."

"Hear me out," Skipp says. "What if we got. Three cans of beans? That'd be one for each of us!"

Vinnie waved it off. "Nah. Good luck only comes in even numbers. Everyone knows that."

"Aw."

"Do you even know what even numbers are? It's not like you read."

"Shuddup." The last bit of light left the alley as the flames died out. Vinnie hopped to her feet and stretched. "Whelp, time for bed."

"Sleepover!" Skipp cried, as he was wont to do every night, grabbing and holding open the curtain that blocked their sleeping spot from the rest of the world. Built of tin, barbed wire, and some spit, it mostly kept out the rain and even the wind on occasion.

Stone groaned deep in his throat as Vinnie pulled out their one blanket. It was thin, full of patchwork and holes, an obnoxious brown color that no one could tell if it was dyed or dirt. "Can't we just-"

"Nope," she said, popping the p, as she began to bundle Stone up like a worm. "You need your blankie or you get hypothermia," Vinnie cooed with a shit-eating grin.

"I fuggin' hate you," Stone said blankly.

"Mattresses don't talk," Vinnie reminded him, laying against his bundled side. Skipp eagerly crowded in beside her so they were face to face. "Night, Skipp. Night, mattress."

"G'night," Skipp chirped.

Stone grunted.

They laid quietly in their makeshift pile for a bit, adjusting to the darkness. Ramshackle was never truly pitch black; streetlamps and the glow of all-night shops kept the world lit even as its homeless inhabitants tried to sleep.

"Guys," Skipp whispered. "I just had an idea."

"Go to sleep, Skipp," Stone grumbled.

"Mattresses don't talk," Vinnie repeated, elbowing him for good measure. "What's your idea, Skipp?"

"What if we found.... four cans of beans?"

Vinnie's eyes grew wide. "Oh shit! That'd be an even number!" She rubbed her chin. "What would we even do with four cans of beans?"

"Eat them," Skipp supplied.

"Well, yeah, but that's more beans than we've ever had before! Can we even eat that many?"

"We'd save it," Stone decided. "Have the rest fer breakfast."

"Oh, man, breakfast," Vinnie drew the word out with delight, too enamored to remind him not to speak. "When's the last time we had two meals in a row?"

They went back and forth like that for some time before finally they all began to nod off.

[lostbetweenvampiresandmusic]

10. With Paul

Thank you so much for requesting! I hope you like this!💜

My requests are still open, and if you want, you can use this promptlist!

10. "You can't order just tea when you're here. You can get a little fancy!"

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

Strong winds blew over the almost abandoned boardwalk. Heavy, ice-cold drops of rain fell down to the ground, causing a low rumbling sound to echo through the wooden boards. Most people had opted to stay inside tonight or go somewhere indoors. Those people had been smart. The other people that still wandered around the boardwalk - just for the sake of wandering, since every ride was closed due to the weather - were dressed for the weather. Umbrellas, raincoats.

I shivered as I pulled my summer coat closer, silently cursing myself. I had seen the weather reports, I had known it would storm, and yet here I was wearing a thin jacket simply because it looked better. And all that because of a boy. Well, not just any boy, he was my boy. Big difference.

"Shit, babe!" Paul ran towards me. He was almost as drenched as me. His hair hung in ringlets, and his coat was soaked. "You could have waited inside, where its dry?"

I shook my head, shivering. "I wanted to wait for you. It's fine."

Paul looked at me, shaking his head, as he pulled me close. "Let's go in, alright? You need to warm up, or you'll get sick."

I hadn't really paid attention as to where I had waited on him, but now, as we walked in, I realised it was a lovely cafe. A soft pink brightened the walls, and along the walls were posters and paintings of flowers and forests. There were tables spread around the room, with comfortable looking chairs around them, and in the back, there were a couple of booths. The barista smiled at us as we entered, cleaning the counter. Underneath a glass dome were some freshly baked pies, some muffins, and some cakes. There were tiny treats, like macarons. You could order slices of cheesecake or red velvet. It looked wonderful. Behind the counter hung a chalkboard, with a very long list of all possible drink orders on it.

I loved the atmosphere, the brightness of it all. But, I had to admit, Paul looked totally out of place here. Luckily, he didn't seem to mind, and he walked straight up to the counter, dragging me along.

"What do you want?" He asked, looking at the list.

"Eh - I don't know? Just tea, I guess?"

The girl behind the counter smiled tightly as she looked at me. "Are you sure?"

I was about to ask her what she meant - I loved tea, so surely that was an okay order, right?"

"You can't order just tea when you're here. You can get a little fancy," Paul grinned, causing me to smile. He was uo to something, surely.

"If I do that, we'll be broke by the end of the night."

"Bullshit! But if you don't want to get a fancy order, I will!" I chuckled at his enthusiasm, and laughed even more when I heard his order.

"So, can I get a strawberry mach-ia - how do you pronounce that? - to thingy with caramel, chocolate, whipped cream, and some vanilla on top?"

The girl behind the counter nodded. "Sure thing! Are you sure you just want tea, hon?"

I thought about it and nodded. "Yeah. But I would like some cheesecake, though. Two slices."

Our order was made, and it didn't take long before we found a place next to the radiator. I laid my coat on it, hoping it would dry a bit, and quickly began to warm up. I sipped my tea and handed one of the cheesecake slices to Paul.

"How's your drink?"

Paul took a sip, pulled a face, and shoved the large cup away. I smiled as he continued to reach for my hand.

"Why did you order that? I thought you didn't drink coffee?"

"Oh, I didn't really know what I was ordering, I just wanted to shut that barista up."

"Awh, you'd do that for me?"

"For you, I would drink this whole cup of disgustingness."

"Is it really that bad?" I took the cup and took a sip, only to spit it out immediately. "How? The combination sounds pretty okay, and this is just - ugh!"

"The cake is good, though," Paul shrugged, and I nodded. I moved, from sitting across from him to sitting next to him. I leaned against him, sighing contendly.

"So, now that going on rides is out of the question, what shall we do tonight?" I asked.

"How about tormenting that barista?"

I giggled but still shook my head. "Nah, she's probably just tired after a long day."

"We can wait the storm out in here, I suppose."

"Or?"

"Go to the cinema?"

"You just want to not get caught making out with me this time."

Paul grinned. "Well, what do you suggest then?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'm pretty comfy here," I smiled, kissing his cheek softly.

[gag-me-munson]

Shelter Me

Pt. One, (||)

Pairing: Eddie x Fem!Reader, Wayne is also heavily involved in this one.

Warning: Mentions of abuse (father is abusive to reader), drugs are mentioned, alcohol use, mentions of self harm. Buckle up, babes, it's a bit bumpy here.

"Just give me the goddamn drugs, Eddie. I swear, I'm fine."

Eddie is watching your shivering, wet body on the couch as he bites his lip and shakes his head. This would be the third time in a month you've come to his trailer while Wayne was away, the third time with fresh purple bruising on your face and neck. He was scared to ask where else they may be, but tonight he was refusing until you talked to him.

You were still new to the park but everyone could hear the yelling and crashing of items at the trashy trailer. They could see you scrambling out of the bedroom window late into the night, only to return when the sun began to rise.

"I'm not giving you a damn thing until you tell me what the hell is going on." He swears your name and slams a hand on the table with frustration, causing you to jump up with alarm. Your sleeve rides up your arm during that time and Eddie can see fresh cuts and a fresh ring of a bruise as well.

He sighs deeply and stands up, walking to the window and looks outside to see the heavy rain pouring down like wicked cats and dogs. Lightening flashes and a loud crack of thunder follows. You, in the meantime, bite down onto your black painted nails, chewing and gnawing without care.

"I'm not stupid, ya know. None of us are, here. Now either you tell me what's happening... or You not only don't get the drugs, but I'll also call someone."

"Don't do that!" You shout and scoff, narrowing your eyes and frowning, "call who? The police? You think I'd be like this if they did a lick of good, Eddie?" Standing up, you walk to the fridge, open it up and grab one of Wayne's beers, taking a generous gulp.

Eddie watches your erratic movements with wide, sad eyes. With a final, slow exhale, he goes to the lunchbox and produces the drug you wanted.

"You know this won't make it go away..." He states with melancholy, "If only you'd talk to me. Shit!" There's a closing of a door outside and as Eddie hurriedly puts the box, and your precious drug, away, He's only back in the room again right before Wayne enters.

"What in the hell is going on here? Why is she drinking? What is she doing here?"

You look at Wayne with wide, fearful eyes before another door is slammed and you jump, knowing damn well its your father.

"Please..." you begin through tears, voice shaking with mercy, "Don't tell him I'm here."

You can hear your name being yelled by the large, fat, hairy man before there's a pounding on the Munson trailer door. Wayne is watching you and Eddie is taking your hand to quickly lead you to his bedroom before Wayne answers, lighting a cigarette.

"Yeah?"

The man, your father that is, his voice is slurred in speech as he talks to Wayne, never meeting his eyes as he searches the trailer from outside. "I'm looking for my daughter. Folks say she came 'round this way. You ain't seen her, have ya?" He gives a rather vague description of your general appearance.

Wayne takes a deep drag from his smoke before he shakes his head, "I can't say I've seen her here, no." He blows the deep grey smoke right into your father's face and the man coughs.

"Right... Well, if you do see her, tell her that her pa is lookin' for her. That I'm worried 'bout her."

Wayne mumbles his answer and watches your father stumble back to the rusty pickup truck, slamming the door with might before peeling away.

Eddie is watching you as you sit on his bed, legs up to your chest and your arms wrapped around your knees. He's playing with a lock of his hair out of nervousness and licks his drying lips. "What are you gonna do now?"

But you don't respond. You don't even really register what Eddie is saying, only listening to the sounds of the world outside, waiting for the monster you call "dad" to come back.

"Now, you all want to tell me just what in the hell is going on here?" Wayne isn't shouting but his voice is filled with concern as he enters Eddie's room, stopping short at the site of this young woman on his nephew's bed. He takes in your fear, the shaky, quivering breathing and he sighs deeply, kneeling in front of you.

"Sweetheart... I can't help you unless you help me." His voice is low and soft as he speaks to you, looking at Eddie who only shrugs.

After a final moment, you stand and get up off the bed, walking directly under the light that's in the middle of the room. You look up and breathe out, the fresh bruise on your eye now in full blossom. There's a bruise around your neck, older than the one on your eye. As tears fall from your eyes, you finally, with much hesitation, raise your sleeves. Deep red cuts in sporadic patterns are crossed along your arms.

Eddie groans and has to leave for a moment to collect his thoughts, another beer and a cigarette for you. Wayne watches the interaction between you both as you sit on the floor now, crying around the bottle of beer.

Eddie sits behind you and looks desperately at his uncle.

"It's not your fault... I want you to know that right now." Wayne says slowly as he sits on Eddie's bed, lightning another cigarette for himself. He watches as you take a slow drag, the smoke filling your lungs deeply. He wants to lecture you about the dangers of smoking young, of drinking away your pain, but that could wait.

Eddie, meanwhile, starts the task of slowly tracing his fingers on your back, swallowing hard and blinking back his emotions. "It's not... it's not your fault." He whispers and wipes his eyes.

Wayne ashes his smoke and looks at both of you before speaking again. "How long has this been happening?"

"As long as I can remember... I started to hurt myself so I could have control of what causes me pain. I'm sorry for you to have found me here, please don't blame Eddie, I was only-"

Wayne holds up a hand, "I don't blame anyone." He exhales heavily as he stands up and points to his nephew, "take care of this." Then he leaves the room.

Eddie leans forward and rests his chin on your shoulder, long arms wrapping around you in a tight hug as you stub the cigarette out on the tray Wayne had left.

"He'll be back, Eddie. I can't hide forever."

"Yes," Eddie whispers and rocks his head to the side to nuzzle your head with his nose, "He will. He will be back but not if we get him first."

"Let me stay here tonight... please."

"I thought that was a given already." He chuckles and stands up to go towards a shabby dresser, producing a worn Dio shirt. "Wear this tonight and tomorrow we'll go over a plan," as he goes to leave you to change for the evening, Eddie stops and taps the doorway, "I won't let him hurt you again. I promise, okay? I promise."

With no care in the world now, you simply undress your torso in front of Eddie, nodding after the simple band tee is placed over, "Thank you."

"And uh... Uncle Wayne won't let you drinking slide," Eddie chuckles and scratches his nose, "he likes scrambled eggs if you want to make it up."

With a final tap on the door frame, Eddie closes the door and leaves you to your thoughts and dreams, hoping that tonight, at least, is a good sleep for you.

[canmom]

the especially crazy-making thing about this 'witnessing a genocide' situation is like...

ok, so there's lots of catastrophes that are genuinely kinda intractable. economics shit, climate change. the problems may be evident but there's lots of room for reasonable disagreement about how to solve them and it's easy to get stuck in a bad equilibrium where the only way out is coordinating an enormous collective action problem and nobody is making any headway. that's one kind of bleak, but at least it's a comprehensibly difficult form of bleak.

i know full well that 'genocide' is a geopolitical football where everyone wants to position what the other guy is doing is a genocide but what you're doing is merely anti-terrorism, assimilation, whatever. this is because the post-wwii consensus is pretty clear cut that genocide is one of the worst things imaginable and one of the only things that really merit going to war.

thus WWII, the official Good War, is retroactively cast as a war to end the Holocaust, even if in practice the Allies were pretty indifferent to what was happening and would turn away refugees, and their solution to the problem of millions of displaced people was to jump on board an ethnonationalist colonialist project that would send them all off to a newly defined 'Jewish state' in a spare country the British happened to have lying around in the Middle East... and well, we're seeing how well that's working out for everyone. subsequent stories of genocide, such as Rwanda, Cambodia, or Bosnia, tend to end with 'and then xyz country invaded and put an end to things and the genocidaires went to court and we put up museums at the mass graves and shot documentary films'. even though the nigh-universal hypocrisy about the subject is rancid, you can at least kind of imagine that there is some pretense that the objective of this whole affair is to stop these kind of mass deaths from happening.

at this point there is no ambiguity that what the Israeli army is doing in Gaza is genocide. they've cut off two million people without food, water, and electricity, shut off their communications, and rained the most sophisticated modern weapons on them indiscriminately for going on three weeks. they've blown up most of their completely overwhelmed medical infrastructure and done everything possible to disrupt it. this war is so one-sided it's not funny, it's just a massacre. Hamas can annoy Israel with rockets but can't do a damn thing to protect the population they're ruling. and there is nowhere for people in Gaza to run to. the border with Egypt is closed. an insultingly tiny trickle of aid has made it in, which will instantly disappear to the orders of magnitude more hungry people.

in short there is no option left besides wait to die.

but, ok. in contrast to all those intractable problems... this one is very simple to solve. Israel could stop dropping bombs whenever they feel like it, and negotiate for whatever they fucking want, e.g. prisoner exchanges. they could let the Palestinians out of the ghetto and dissolve the situation that creates Hamas. they could easily continue to maintain Palestinians as second-class citizens. (look at how lopsided South Africa remains.)

and if they won't, because the country is ruled by fascist maniacs with broad support across the settler population, the US - which has all the leverage in the world - could threaten to hang them out to dry until they call a ceasefire. Israel has so thoroughly made enemies of all its neighbours that they would not last long without that US backing. it needn't even get to that point, if the US said 'stop' and made it clear there was any sort of line... Israel might feel it has to do a little damage control and try to look good on camera. maybe hold off on the white phosphorous. leave a few houses standing.

but none of that is happening. none of it.

it seems like the ground invasion will be starting. it might be well underway when i wake up.

despite the 'simplicity', it's still not at all clear what one little human can do about it. if i go to a protest tomorrow, for the symbolic gesture of "having done something" if nothing else, maybe it will make me feel better, but the most likely immediate outcome is that the government (currently going through a rape scandal, i love the uk) is going to step up its internal repression of Muslims. somehow, the idea that the people are displeased with their democratically elected agents won't factor into it. the protestors become 'other' by virtue of protesting, another problem to control.

it's common to ask 'what would you have done if you lived in Germany (or Poland) during the Holocaust?' a lot of people imagine they'd be heroes, hiding Jewish people in their attic or becoming partisans in the woods or whatever. in practice, history suggests that most people would have gone along with it without much complaint, or even taken the opportunity to steal from the victims, moving into vacant houses, taking over companies, even helping the Nazis round people up.

i must not become an inner emigré. doing nothing when i could have done something is unacceptable. but what i feel, faced with this situation, is pathetically impotent.

i feel so sick.

[tinyhuman826]

A Downpour in Po Town - Guzma Fluff Imagine (Part 1/?)

I'll probably make a part 2 to this at some point if you guys like it

It wasn't the good side of town. Run down buildings, graffiti everywhere, overrun by a group of troublemakers... Oh, and it's storming. You trudge along the worn sidewalk, weeds growing from the cracks in its foundation. You don't know how you got here in the first place. You were supposed to be home by now.

As the rain soaks your hair and clothes, you grow more fatigued with every step. You look around with a squint, the downpour of rain making it difficult to see even 10 feet ahead of you. Most of the houses had large holes in their roofs, so you couldn't find any decent shelter from the storm. The pouring rain continued to pelt you, leaving chills in its wake as you shudder and hug your arms over your chest. You have to keep going. After a while of looking around, you settle for a small patio, sitting down to rest your exhausted muscles, hugging your knees to your chest and closing your eyes...

"...Hellooo? You hear me?" An unfamiliar voice gradually gets louder as you start to wake up. You slowly open your eyes, groan, and look up at the figure standing over you.

"Huh..?" You mumble, glancing around. The rain stopped, and it was lighter outside. How long were you asleep? You shiver as a breeze blows over your body, your soaked clothes ice cold, and your hair sticking to your skin.

"You deaf or sum'?" The man placed his hands on his hips, raising an eyebrow.

"Sorry...who are you..?" You slowly come to your senses. He seems oddly familiar. Maybe you've seen him before.

"Name's Guzma. Big bad boss of Team Skull." Great. Now you know why he was so familiar. He offered his hand and helped you up. "So, uh, what brings ya to Po Town? Not really the best place for a midnight stroll, ya know." To be honest, you can't remember. You took a wrong turn...or two...maybe three...shit, how far are you from home?!

"I don't know, guess I got lost.." you said quietly.

"Well you're damn lucky I found ya before ya froze to death out here. What were ya thinkin' stayin' outside during a storm?" He crossed his arms, taking off his jacket and throwing it over your shoulders. It was slightly oversized on him, and it practically went down to your knees, but it was warm and much better than the wind making you feel worse.

"Wasn't a lot I could do with all these broken roofs." You glanced around again, subconsciously pulling his jacket tighter around you. Guzma grabbed your wrist, pulling you along as he walked along the road.

"If ya walked for a few more minutes, ya would've noticed the house with a decent roof." Guzma motioned toward Team Skull's base. It was still run down, but in at least a little better condition than the rest of the town. He led you inside, ignoring the confused glances from the grunts.

"Hey Plumes, ya got any spare clothes?" He called as he led you down the hallway. You heard a response from behind a door.

"Yeah, why?"

"Some dork decided to sit out in the storm." He glanced to you, nudging you ever so slightly. A girl with pink and yellow pigtails came out of the room, holding some spare clothes. "Thanks, Plumes." He called as he took you to the end of the hallway, opening the door and handing you the clothes. "Just, uh... let me know when you're done -" He shut the door, leaving you to change. You slip into the dry clothes, feeling an immediate surge of warmth throughout your skin. You wring out your hair, trying to dry it at least a little, and place your wet clothes in the corner before opening the door.

"So I'm assuming ya don't got a place to stay the night." He was right. You didn't know how to get home from here and couldn't call anyone at such an unreasonable hour. You shook your head in response. "Well, uh... you can sleep in here... or if ya'd rather share with a girl, that's cool too.. I probably won't be in here for a while though, so just holla if ya need anythin'."

"I'm okay in here... thanks for..well, letting me stay. For tonight I mean." You shivered again, sniffling.

"Ya feelin' sick?"

"Just a little cold." He didn't seem satisfied with that answer, gently putting the back of his hand to your forehead.

"Damn, you're burnin' up. You should lay down before you faint." He gently nudged you toward the bed. You lay down on the bed, and he puts the blanket over you. "Sorry, don't got any more medicine. And none of the stores are open, so just... hang in there. I'll send someone in the morning." You nod sleepily as he leaves, hearing faint rap music in the background that slowly fades as you fall into a comfortable, warm, dry sleep.

[orangelemonsstuff]

Okay so-- few months ago me and my friend were talking about what if DOL has an ending, bad one, since me and my friend are bad ending enthusiasts, it gave me an idea i shared to them months ago.

its pretty shit but i enjoyed writing it lmao

Neutral Bad Ending

MC comes home wet by the rain outside, they will come asking around orphans about Bailey's whereabouts, a orphan would approach them and say Bailey is currently occupying the bathroom,

There are two scenarios that might happen with this ending:

1. If PC is in High Trauma or just achieved the Whitney and Robin Park cutscene/event (which i made up in my mind), PC would ask for the orphan's hair dryer saying "needing to dry their hair because of the rain" before heading to the bathroom where Bailey is in and plugging it on the extension cord, a moment later, Bailey would notice PC's presence and would ask "what the fuck do you want brat? can't you see im in here?" PC would just give him a stare and would ask for his birthday

Defiant: "When's your birthday Bailey?"

Neutral: "i just want to know when is your birthday Bailey?"

Submissive: "W-well, i want to ask... w-when is your birthday Bailey?

At this, Bailey would respond "Why the hell would you want to know? i don't want any of your crappy gifts", PC will insist that they should just say when it is and they'll leave, Bailey would give it up and say "June 12, now get the fuck out of here." PC would smile at them saying that they'll remember it before throwing the plugged hair dryer on a extension cord at the bathub with Bailey.

If PC with High Trauma or the Whitney and Robin event (again made up in my head which i didn't write yet) is not acquired but Robin is on the underground brothel or the Orphanage had gained Rebellious trait it would follow this scene:

2. PC would pull some furnishings from around the orphanage towards the bathroom door exclusively trapping Bailey in the bathroom, the orphans would look at them confusedly and they will just assure them that they will end all of this, the orphans will still not get it but they will help PC pushing the furnitures, it has three stages

"You cover the bathroom door with furnitures and large objects, Its barely covered. he/she could come out easy"

"You cover the bathroom door with furnitures and large objects, Most parts were covered. he/she would sturggle to come out"

"You covered the bathroom door with furnitures and large objects. the door is fully covered. he/she cannot come out."

if high skullduggery, Should PC and the orphans move the furnitures quitely through the bathroom door, if not a chair would make a screeching sound alerting Bailey making the Player choose if they should take the risk on continuing or not.

*not continuing would fail this ending even if the door is already covered fully

continuing, would have Bailey rattling the doorknob only to not being able to open it, Bailey would soon bang the door for all of them to remove the blockage at once or else they will taste their wrath, but with PC contiuing and successfully covering the door, they hurry and lead the other orphans outside as they pick up a canister of gasoline and surrounded the whole orphanage with it including the furnitures near the bathroom door, they will pick up a match on Bailey's office and lit the gasoline tracks on fire.

••

EH? EH? WHATCHA THINK??? tbh this is just a fun lil concept on an ending i made up in my mind since i played a lot of otome games and gained a lot of bad endings... which happened too much to be considered normal cuz normally i just fuck around with characters lmao, but i hope you enjoyed it.

[distant-velleity]

Inescapable Storm

Summary: A certain TA can't accept the fact that a certain card soldier cares about him far more than he'd like to admit. Word count: 1.5k+ A/N: Based on a prompt from this list. So. It was. Not supposed to be this angsty when I started it this morning but I guess the recent downpours in our area have really affected my ability to write mood...? Oh well, haha. I just... ahaha... wow these characters can't communicate. Regardless, please enjoy! (Or don't lol, but just don't kill me thanks <3)

~

The rain pours down hard, attacking the world in rapidly frigid sheets.

Yu knows he should head inside—it’s too cold out here, his jacket has been torn to shreds and the rest of his school uniform ruined by a mix of dirt and magic, and his friends will have questions about where he went. 

(He ignores the little voice in his head that asks if they really would care.)

But, even with all that glaringly obvious in his mind, he can’t bring himself to flee from the rain and find himself an overhang to dry himself off under. 

The best he can do right now is unsteadily rise to his feet and stagger over to the nearest wall, before practically collapsing onto it for support. His chest protests violently with a sudden sharp pain from his ribs, his bad ankle feels swollen beyond belief, and there’s something dripping down his cheek that feels too warm to be rain. Wiping at it with his sleeve leaves a distinctly bloody smudge—with ink-like blackness around the edges—on the already-sullied white fabric.

He can’t find it in himself to admit that he’s, for lack of a better term, sort of screwed up.

Somewhere by his feet, his phone vibrates with a notification. And then, after a minute, another. And then another, until Yu has no choice but to curse and grab it. The screen protector is cracked irreparably, but that’s fine.

ace of hearts where r u yu? whered u go dude

Yu mutters another ‘fuck’ under his breath, staring at the messages even as raindrops distort the screen. He debates, for a moment—if he should leave Ace on read, if he should tell him the truth, or maybe he could just lie about it entirely to buy himself more time—

…No, that’s not an option. 

In the end, he caves, fingers slipping on his phone’s keyboard while trying to send a quick response.

wild card (koi.yu) behjnd hte lecture hsll

His text is marked as Read right away, but with no other response. Yu sighs and closes his eyes, tipping his head back to rest on the cold stone of the wall. The rain doesn’t sting when it lands on his face; it smells fresh, much better than the dirt and blood he’d nearly inhaled earlier. 

He finds himself abandoning all other worries to just feel the wall behind his back and the rain all around him, ignoring the pain and exhaustion all over his body. It’s sort of a hopeless, ridiculous thought, but maybe the heavy downpour can wash away some of the evidence on his skin, can wash away everything about this situation that shouldn’t have happened—

“…there you are, Yu—Yu!”

Yu’s eyes snap open to see Ace right next to him, chest heaving with the exhaustion from running.

“I can’t believe you’re out here in this weather,” Ace complains, on the contrary taking off his jacket and draping it over Yu’s head and shoulders. “What are you, stupid?”

“No more than the idiot in front of me taking off his jacket,” Yu shoots back. He tries to take it off, but Ace just puts it right back over him. “I don’t need this, Ace.”

“Where’s yours, then?”

Yu pauses at that, then shamefully averts his eyes from the mess of black fabric on the ground a few feet away. “…Ruined,” he mutters.

“Of course. For the same reasons you look like shit, probably.” Where Ace would normally smirk after saying this, he just narrows his eyes and cups his hands around Yu’s face to get a better look. It feels so distinctly not Ace-like, how he caresses him, but typical in its mix of roughness and gentleness. “Seriously, what the hell even happened to you?”

“What are you doing? You’re so—” He hisses softly when Ace’s thumb accidentally presses too hard on the bruised side of his jaw, and a flash of regret ghosts the card soldier’s face. Yu purses his lips. “...C’mon, it was just a little fight. Some stupid guys from your dorm. I put them in their place, though.”

Ace’s eyes widen considerably. “You got in a fight on your own? Are you kidding me?”

Yu tries for a small smirk to add some levity, to make this conversation normal. “Yeah. Didn’t have to rely on you guys or anything.”

He doesn’t know what reaction he was expecting, but he definitely doesn’t get it—not with Ace suddenly stiffening and his hands shifting to clamp around Yu’s shoulders. Not with the hurricane of both frustration and concern brewing in those bright red eyes, worse than the rainstorm around them. None of it is what he predicted would happen.

“You’re such an idiot,” Ace says, a bit bitter and very angry, and loud enough to match both. “I can’t even take my eyes off you for a few minutes without you getting involved in shit like this.”

“Look who’s talking,” Yu retorts, even though Ace’s hands are the one thing stopping his body from trembling like a leaf in a storm. “I think this is tame compared to the incidents you’ve started in the past year. You know how many times we all could have died? A few bruises and scrapes is nothing when you look at that. I’m fine, Ace.”

“No way you think you can get away with lying to me.” Ace grits his teeth. “It’s not okay, you’re not fine. Have you seen yourself? You’re driving me batshit crazy here, Yu.”

Yu bristles. “Well, now you get to know how I feel on a regular basis. Seriously, why are you getting so upset over a fight? It’s not like these don’t happen to everyone on a regular basis—are you finally growing a conscience?”

“Excuse you? I think I’m allowed to be concerned about the person who still bleeds and cries blot,” snaps Ace. At Yu’s surprised look, he huffs with a dry kind of mirth. “You think I don’t know about that? You’ve done a pretty awful job of hiding it, and that fight was really just the cherry on top. Look.”

With his ungloved right hand, he reaches up to swipe the heel of his palm along Yu’s face, where a major cut stings from the sudden contact. The substance that comes off is a mixture of blood and muddy blot, proving his point. Ace displays his pale palm, now stained, with an unimpressed look.

“I was trying to—” Yu takes a sharp breath. “I was trying to keep it a secret because it’s not a big deal. It’s no one’s business but mine.” Through the raindrops still caught on his lashes, he glares at Ace. “If I’d known you’d be like this, I would have tried harder to hide it—”

Ace shakes him by the shoulders, too gently compared to his tone as he starts shouting. “What the fuck do you mean, it’s ‘no one’s business’ and you’d try harder to hide it?! Didn’t you learn anything from your Overblot? Hey, don’t I—don’t the people around you mean anything?”

“Of course you do!” That’s, to Yu’s own horror, the raw truth. “You guys mean so much to me it hurts.”

“Then why—”

“That’s exactly why I can’t tell you anything! Because you didn’t sign up to fight my demons for me, you don’t need to be my knight in shining armor!” 

“I don’t need to, but by the Seven, sometimes I sure wish I could!” Ace has never cried in front of Yu before, but it’s starting to look like that might change. “Fuck, I just wish you could tell me what you’re thinking sometimes, at the very least! I don’t care if you never return what I really feel for you—aren’t we friends? Didn’t you say it yourself, that a good relationship is based on care and trust?! We’ve got plenty of the ‘care’ part, but you still won’t trust me…!”

The rain seems to have thinned, still more than a sprinkle but no longer a torrent.

Out of breath from his half-declaration, half-confession, and all anger, Ace inhales shakily. His eyes are wide, either with broken rage or horror at the thoughts he just haphazardly converted into words. 

Like a gilled animal left beached after a storm, with the air stolen from his lungs, Yu opens his mouth to reply—

“You… you…”

—and closes it quickly, finding himself at a loss for words. He can’t tell if he wants to laugh or cry, either—this has to be some kind of cruel joke, right?

But it isn’t, Ace doesn’t play around with feelings in that specific way because he cares way more than he’d ever like to show normally, everyone knows this, and—God Yu has really fucked up hasn’t he—

“Look, just…” Ace lets go of Yu’s shoulders, gingerly tugging down his jacket so it better protects the TA from the rain. “...sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you for all that,” he mumbles, some of the fight in him evaporating. “Let’s go inside and dry off somewhere, and—and get your injuries treated, then…” As if hesitant to address the elephant in the room he shouldn’t have brought into the conversation to begin with, he trails off. “Okay?”

Yu nods without saying anything, arms crossing to hug himself. 

He lets Ace lead the way to a place out of the rain, and they don’t utter a single word to each other on the way there.