#Why the FUCK would any other human on this stupid fucking mud ball be any different???

[mako-island-moon-pool]

Ignored again today, going to start maiming the hostages until behavior improves

#Look at my bids for human connection LOOK AT THEM #''why don't you ever talk about yourself unprompted'' when I speak no one listens to me #I don't even have the energy to ask why they're ignoring me anymore #Tf am I going to get in response? 'o sorry lol my brain sux'? And then it'll just keep happening? Yeah I'm good #Stupid fucking moron can't discern fantasy from reality- actually believes friendship is a real thing that can happen IRL. More at 11. #Idiot #Should've learned from the last 15 people who ditched you as soon as they realized you were too fucking weird for them to handle #Why the FUCK would any other human on this stupid fucking mud ball be any different??? #You've done it man. You've seen all there is to see. Let it fucking go already. Friendship is a lie sold by big cartoons to make you believe #In something more so you have enough hope to keep on living day to day so that you can be exploited for money #Give it a rest!!! There is no friendship and there is no fridge! They LIED! #For real though #I'm so fucking tired of being ignored all the time. I don't know why it always happens or what I'm doing wrong but I can't stand it anymore #And every time I bring it up I get hollow empty apologies or excuses and no matter what it will continue to happen #I really don't know what else to do. I've spoken to people. I've not spoken to people. I've reached out. I've stayed silent. Everything. #I can't fucking do this anymore I don't know what's wrong with me that makes people think it's fine to do this #People just get angry at me for things they don't tell me or assume I'm angry at them when I'm not and then the whole friendship falls apart #And I can't keep doing this #I don't know what it is about me that makes this so fucking difficult but I can't stand it anymore #My very fucking existence must be branded with something that makes people go 'this one isn't too important we can just ignore it to #Conserve energy' because it happens with *everyone* #Ffs my dad can't even be bothered to remember how old I am #There is something seriously wrong with me #There has to be #I don't think I'm going to be able to escape it

[souichioneshots]

Untitled Binzo x Reader Fic

SO uhhhh.... Binzo thinks about the reasons why he hates Y/N so much? IDK you guys are kinda like frenemies ???

This is the stupidest thing ive ever written...

Might make an NSFW continuation of this if anyone shows any interest tho lollll

Enjoy?????

Binzo could remember the day you two first met like it was yesterday.

He had been awoken by the sound of his father and uncle arguing in a nearby room. Although he could barely make out what they were saying, he could tell by the way he was screaming, his father had done something unbelievably stupid again.

As the door to his room slid open, Binzo quickly moved to ‘greet’ the sudden visitor, his chains holding him back just before he was able to reach the door. A smile spread across Binzo's face as he saw his father react in a panicked motion, jumping back to avoid his son's vicious attacks. However, Binzo's laughter was put to a stop when he saw a small figure move behind the older man.

Moving a bit to the side, Souichi revealed a girl, a little under Binzo’s age, who had been hiding behind him the entire time. She gripped onto the back of the false-gentleman’s suit jacket, obviously hesitant to enter the room.

Binzo's eyes widened in surprise as his father insisted, almost pushing her into the room forcefully. His eyes looked the girl up and down, trying to figure out why his father had brought her here, let alone why he decided it would be a good idea to bring her into the same room as him.

Her clothes were almost as tattered as his own. She had no shoes on her feet, but the socks that she wore were stained black with dirt and mud. From what he could see with the little lighting in his room, the exposed skin of her arms and legs were covered in scratches and bite marks. Her cold eyes stared at the pale boy as she walked in cautiously, immediately following the older man to the other side of the room. Binzo could remember how she ran her fingers through his father's greased-up hair as he placed the chains around her ankles. They exchanged a look that his mind could not understand at the time.

Getting up from the dirty floor, Souichi stated that the girl’s name was Y/N. A name so foreign to Binzo that he was sure it was made up.

As soon as his father finally left, Binzo tried to attack you. But, that was when he found out the truth. You were a monster just like him. An abomination that someone must have tried to get rid of, only for his own idiotic father to pick up and bring home like a kitten off the street. You bared your fangs at him as you backed away into the corner, trying to avoid his sudden yet expected attack. Binzo watched as you stayed low on the floor, staring at him with angered eyes.

He should have been happy to finally meet someone like him, but he wasn’t.

Binzo hated you.

You were an idiot. You could barely keep a hold on your victims, and on nights when you couldn’t secure a meal like him, you resorted to trying to catch and eat the bugs that crawled around the room. You were also idiotic enough to try to steal from him. Whenever he would get ahold of someone, you would try to get close and steal a small piece for yourself. Sometimes Binzo would be too busy to realize, but when he did, he would reach out as far as he could and use his long-sharp nails to scratch you away, leaving you to become a crying-hungry mess.

You also had a habit of not responding whenever he spoke to you. However, this was completely his fault. After you finally became comfortable enough to talk to him, he started to tease you, claiming that your voice was annoying and, using a piece of broken glass, threatening to cut out your pretty pink tongue to eat as a snack. From that day on, you didn’t utter a single word to him.

However, as time went by, Binzo started to find your presence to be slightly humorous. Specifically, whenever you tried to feed.

Binzo would always laugh whenever you dug your fangs too deep into someone’s neck and ended up getting completely doused in their blood when you pulled away. He thought it was a waste of a good drink, but worth it to see you freak out as you tried to stop the fast-paced bleeding.

Your hair also grew at an unnaturally fast rate as well. It was disgusting, but fun to pull on whenever he wanted to get your attention. It was also especially fun to watch your victims pull on your hair, stunning you for a moment, and getting a couple slaps and punches in as they tried to get away. But, Binzo wouldn’t allow that, stopping them at the last minute and dragging them back in your direction. However, you would always be too embarrassed and cry, refusing the meal he was kind enough to go after for you.

You were ungrateful. Idiotic. An amateur. Everything he hated bundled up into a small ball that dwelled in the corner of his room.

But on top of all that, the thing he hated the most was how you weren’t here now.

“Where’s Y/N!! Where is she!!” Binzo exclaimed to his physically and mentally exhausted aunt. She just stayed quiet, ignoring the child’s vicious words and actions. If she knew, she would have told him by now, but she didn’t.

Binzo looked around his dark messy room as he tried to think of what might have happened to you. It had been 2 nights since he last saw you.

If you had been moved to another room, he would be able to smell it. But you weren’t. You weren’t anywhere in the house in fact.

Could his father have decided that it was too much for him to support 2 cannibalistic children, and off’d you in the woods while he was sleeping? No way. He was the one who brought you here in the first place, he should have known what he was getting himself into.

Maybe you ran away, not wanting to be held captive and enslaved to work at a lunatic’s haunted house. That would explain why his father was also not around either. Maybe he had gone out in search of his most popular attraction.

No matter the reason, you weren’t here now, and Binzo hated you for that.

As the raven-haired boy finally started to calm down, he laid down in his cage, his eyes fluttered shut, unable to keep their focus on the door of his room anymore.

However, he was suddenly awoken by a loud scream.

It was his aunt. She had left the room, leaving him alone while he was asleep. Her voice was loud, but not angry. It sounded almost cheerful. An emotion he hadn’t heard from her in the longest time.

Binzo jumped to his feet as the door to his room slid open. There stood his father, alone from what he could see, cigar burning away in his mouth as he smiled. Binzo tightly gripped the bars of his cage, a feeling of rage boiled inside him like nothing he had ever felt before.

However, that emotion quickly washed away when he saw a familiar face appear from behind his father.

There you stood. Alive and in one piece.

Just like the first time you two had met, Souichi forced you into the room. Binzo’s eyes looked you up and down as you cautiously walked in. Gripping the hem of the older man's suit jacket, you stared back at the pale boy.

Your hair had been cut, shorter than before. You were also wearing a kimono similar to his aunt. You looked almost like a doll. It was weird how he couldn’t keep his eyes off you.

Binzo watched as his father put the chains around your ankles again, your hand running through his greasy hair. You two exchanged that look he couldn’t understand again.

Binzo barely listened as his father warned him not to fuck up your clothes. As Souichi finally left the room, Binzo put his hands on the lock of his cage and, using his nails, undid it.

Crawling out of the cage, he stood onto his feet and he looked at you. Although he was still only in his early teens, he was starting to grow extremely tall, a gene he inherited from his mother no doubt.

Binzo felt his heart start to race as you looked up at him, your eyes sparkled as they reflected the small amount of light that leaked in the room. It was almost like you were giving him the same look you and his father would often exchange.

Without a word, he forcefully shoved you to the ground. “Stop looking at me!” He exclaimed.

You probably thought he was jealous that his father actually let you go out, got you nice clothes, and even treated you like you were an actual human being. But that was far from the truth. He didn't really mean to push you so hard, but his emotions had gotten the better of him.

Binzo yelled out in pain as you kicked him for pushing you so hard. Just before you could kick him again, he moved to straddle you.

Putting his weight onto your stomach, he held your wrists on both sides of your head. You growled as he brought his face close to your neck and took a deep breath. It had been so long since he smelled your scent. However, this time it was different.

“You smell delicious.” He said in a hungry voice, drool dripping from his lips as he showed you his fanged teeth. You squirmed under him, knowing that he didn’t mean that as a compliment. “I thought my dad killed you. But now I see that he just dolled you up so I can do it myself. Kishishishi!” Twisting your head to the side, you dug your fangs into his arm.

“OW! You bitch!” Binzo screamed as he pulled his arm away from you. His long fingernails left a scratch across your face as he slapped you hard.  

Baring your fangs once more, you pushed him off of you and rushed to get away. However, your chains didn't let you get far.

Binzo grabbed your legs just before you could go any further. His nails dug into the thick fabric that made up your kimono, tearing it a bit as he pulled you closer to him. Flipping you onto your back, he put himself on top of you.

You squirmed in a panic as the boy wrapped his arms and legs around you, restraining you from getting away. Not having eaten anything in a while, you soon became unable to continue fighting with the monstrous boy.

Binzo’s heartbeat slowed down as you started to relax, his body unconsciously trying to mimic the pace at which you breathed. You whined as he tightened his grip on you a bit more, making sure that you wouldn’t try to slip away from him again.

Pressing his head into your hair, he breathed in the new scents that covered your body. The smell of the brand new kimono you wore mixed with the fruity shampoo you had used made him doubt that you were really the same creature he had shared a room with 2 nights ago.

“Where did you go…?” He asked, his words slightly muffled by your hair.

Your body tensed as he dug his nails deeper into the fabric of your clothes, trying to force a reply out of you, but ultimately receiving nothing back.

He hated that you wouldn’t talk to him…

#binzo #binzo tsujii #binzo x reader #souichi x reader #souichi tsujii x reader #tw//violence? #like binzo is a mean bitch #ahaha #idk what im doing with my life anymore #just take this shit and block me please

[bokunosimpfiction]

Kidnapped Yandere!Heisenberg x Reader Pt.5

Summary: You feel emotions other than rage and sarcasm oh my god 

A/N: The reason I took a break from this series was because I had no idea where to take it from that cliff hanger, and I felt that character development needed to be done before we dive head first into the plot. This is part of that, but keep in mind it’s not filler like Chapter 2 became. I think it’s funny that this was SUPPOSED TO BE A FUCKING ONE SHOT BUT APPARENTLY FUCKING NOT. I’ll be posting another chapter for this series soon. Also feel free to send me asks about this series. I’ve been getting comments on my ao3 that are a) genius b)hilarious and c)heartwarming. Talk to me. Please! Ask and anon should be open right now let me know if they aren’t!

Masterlist link for previous parts:

Link to this chapter on AO3:

Taglist: @localdepressedvampire​ and one person recieving updates via email

The fresh cold late-autumn air made your lungs sting. And the layers of clothes didn’t help fight the chill you didn’t know you were facing. Has it been that long since you’ve been outside, to see the sun? You stick your arms in your armpits under your outercoat. Well, Heisenberg’s spare trench coat. It was much too big, the cuffs of the sleeves going well past your fingertips and the bottom half an inch from the ground.

You were so used to the fluorescent lighting and the warm dry air of the factory, that your body went into some type of culture shock. It felt like an allergic reaction to the outside world itself. Adjusting to it once you escaped would be hard.

“You’ve clearly become less fit since you started living with me,” Karl says in a matter-of-fact tone. You’d be insulted if you didn’t hear him say weird stuff about the other lords or the occasional brain-washed villager who brought up offerings. One had sewed you a wool and fox-fur dress and brought it up in September, in preparation for the winter. He’d thought it dumb at the time, but it protected you from the November chill better than anything you’ve ever worn.

Did they think you were a woman? Whether they were right or wrong, it didn’t change the fact that it was comfortable, warm, and made you feel better than the clothes you’d been wearing before in the factory or even before. You felt safe.

“Of course, I have, I’ve been sitting on my ass,” you retort.

“Still see that sass is intact.”

“It’s something that’ll never leave me.”

“You’d make a terrible house-spouse.”

“That’s the point,” you sigh hard, and you can see the cold air in front of your face, “I had a whole ass college degree before I came here and got my ass kidnapped.”

Karl whips around and looks at you, tilting his head down to peer at you from above his glasses. “You have a college degree?”

“Why are you surprised? Did you think I was that stupid?” Even if the question is sarcastic and witty, you felt a pang of hurt reverberate in your heart. Did he really think you were that stupid? Apparently so.

“I have two masters. One in aerospace engineering and one in mechanical engineering. Double majored in those fields for my bachelors at Oxford on a full-ride scholarship of robotic engineering.”

His mouth drops open. “And I didn’t know about this because?”

“It never came up.”

He pinches his nose, “you could have been helping me this whole time in the shop, and I let you sit on your ass and play care-taker.”

“More like forced me.” At this point, you’ve stopped walking, and you’d be able to see the manor of Benviento if it weren’t for the fog.

“Besides the point.” He looks stressed. His eyebrows are furrowed, a deep frown is on his face and his whole disposition makes him look genuinely conflicted and upset. “Let’s just go.” He gestures for you to follow him and stomps up the path.

You follow him, trying not to slip in the mud. Converse doesn’t have great traction, you realized. Maybe you should have worn hiking boots. “Listen, dirty Dr. Doofenschmirtz-“

“I don’t want to listen to your dumb nick-names right now.”

You stop again, and your fists ball up at your side around the fabric of the sleeves of his coat. Your coat. The coat you’re wearing.

“Why the hell are you so mad at me!” It’s not a question. It’s an exclamation of emotion. For some reason, it hurts. Even if you despised him, hated him with all your being, having someone love you unconditionally felt nice. He was toxic at best, sociopathic at worst, and yet he loved you so strongly it tore the both of you so part. To feel that admiration has gone missing, even if for a second, sent you reeling. You can’t explain why you softened towards him.

“I’m not.” He keeps walking before he realized you stopped. He turned around to look at you. “I’m not mad at you. I’m just…” He looks for the words. He’d never been good at expressing himself, you realized. Better through actions than words. But you didn’t want him to act on whatever he was feeling.

You wait in silence, eye-watering, trying not to cry.

He sees and rushes over to you. His left arm wraps around you and his right hand gently grabs your chin, his index finger underneath to lift your chin up to look at him. “Don’t cry, you know I hate it when you cry.”

You struggle to take a deep breath, choke on it, and the world feels so much more dangerous. A million malicious eyes gazing into your soul, whispers of panic fill your brain, and flashing thoughts of running right now, of hurting him or you flash through like lightning in a foggy storm. Every damn thing feels hazy and thick and you’re choking on the lump in your throat. “I don’t want to. I don’t want you to be mad at me, I don’t want-“

“Take a deep goddamn breath.” You feel his tobacco-scented breath on your face. You can see panic flash through his eyes for a moment. You hate the smell, and it suffocates you even more. “You need to breath.”

You swallow around the lump in your throat, and your breath shakes like a wasp nest about to fall from the highest branch. “Why are you mad at me?” This time you genuinely ask. You don’t want a reason, but rather a reassurance that he isn’t at all.

His lips form into a snarl that doesn’t come out before he presses them in a tight line. As he thinks. It makes you even more nervous. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at the fact that I had an opportunity that went to waste.”

You look up at him. “Okay.”

He wraps his other arm around you and places his chin on your forehead. “Let me know when you’ve calmed down.”

You rest your forehead on his shoulder and breathe.

In. Out.

In.          Out.

In. OUT.

In… out

In.

Out.

 In.

 … out.

“Do you feel any better?”

You wait a moment. “Yeah, I think so.” You ponder for a moment. “I think I had a lot of pent-up anxiety from everything.”

He stays quiet. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

He places a kiss on the crown of your head, his beard ruffling your hair. “Are you not going to forgive me?”

You take a deep breath. “I don’t know yet. It’s…” How do I phrase this? “I worked hard for this anger. This anger to love me, to know I didn’t deserve this, to be kidnapped, to have my head ready to be mounted on a stick.” You continue, “if I stop feeling angry, if I forgive you, I’m afraid I’m losing that. That’s why I tried to escape because I loved myself, I wanted better for myself.”

“Was I… Was I not providing enough for you?” His question strikes you like an arrow.

“I-“ You stumble on you’re thoughts for a moment. “It’s less of you not doing enough, but more of the rough foot we started on.” You sniffle. “When I gave up, I felt like I lost a part of myself, all that I worked for. That degree included. I felt all my efforts, all my struggles that I faced outside this goddamn village had gone to waste. That it wasn’t worth it. That I wasn’t worth it.”

You had promised yourself to keep him at arm’s length, to not give him clues to manipulate you. But you poured your heart out into his. You felt him shake and squeeze you tighter.

“Never. Ever. Feel like you aren’t worth it.” You feel something wet on your scalp. “You deserved better than each challenge that you faced, and each bit of hurt you felt along the way.” It’s his turn to choke on his words. He takes a shaky breath above you, and you can feel his heart pound faster. “You, darling, are worth everything.”

Something small inside you breaks. He’s just as human as you are, you realize. In this desperate attempt to escape, to fuel this hatred that’s worn you down, you’ve villainized a man that’s felt even more pain than you. A broken man, who thinks you’re the glue to put him back together. You shouldn’t feel any obligation to, but you do, because you’ve felt a fraction of the pain he’s felt, that he’s currently feeling, and it’s made your mind and bones ache far after the situation ended.

“And so are you, Karl.”

He unwraps his arms from around you. “Come one butter-cup, let’s go. Ugly-ass-psycho-doll is waiting for you. Says she wants you for a fitting and some tea party with her demented child, Angie.”

“Angie? Who’s she.”

“Well, you’re about to find out.”

#Heisenberg #Karl Heisenberg #Yandere Heisenberg #Yandere #Yandere x Reader #Heisenberg x Reader #Yandere Heisenberg x Reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil 8 x reader #resident evil village x reader #resident evil #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #re8

[the-chicken-or-the-banana]

Hi! There's a headcannon that has been circulating that I never saw fully written, and I love how you characterize the foxes! Basically, Andrew living the setbacks of being short (either privately or publicly), getting frustrated, and Neil comforting him

THIS IS SO FUNNY SKDJFHK also i have always wanted to write a 5+1 so tyvm for this (again, this ended up so goddamn long but. what else is new.)

read "shortcomings (honestly, fuck you tilda)" on ao3 hereeeee

———

1.

Andrew gripped the edges of the counter. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Eye on the prize.

He squinted at the offensively orange mixing bowl that Kevin had placed far too high on the shelf earlier that day. He had planned on baking cookies (for no reason other than that he was bored), and that bowl was his lucky one: every baked good he made using it always rose perfectly.

Andrew had tried everything — stretching as far as he could, trying to move things with his mind, even going as far as going on his toes (after a cursory glance that no one was around).

He eyed the step-stool on the other side of the kitchen. He could always use that and put it back and no one would be the wiser. But no. Andrew was a fully capable adult with a reputation to uphold and he would get that bowl down by himself, dammit.

Andrew had been through hell and back, and then some. He would not be bested by cabinetry.

He rubbed his hands against his shirt before placing them back on the counter and took a running crouch. Andrew bounced lightly on his toes, mentally counted to three, and leapt up, hand reaching forward to grip at the bowl.

For one glorious moment, it really seemed like it would work.

Then the counter whacked Andrew in the gut, he smacked his head against the cabinet, and he slowly slid down to the floor, no bowl in hand.

Hmm. That wasn't supposed to happen.

He jerked his head up to glare at the stupid bowl and promptly felt extremely dizzy, slipping even further until he was collapsed entirely on the floor, limbs splayed.

That wasn't supposed to happen either.

Oh well. If he couldn't ruin his health with cookies, he might as well do it by laying on the most unhygienic piece of property he had ever seen. He supposed this was an acceptable way to go.

Andrew lay there on the dorm floor for a solid 15 minutes, willing the bowl to come down, until he heard the dorm room unlock and the sound of Neil's quiet humming filled the room. He didn't have the energy to get up though, so he flopped his legs around as Neil passed the kitchen to catch his attention.

"Oh, hey Drew," Neil shuffled further into the dorm after giving Andrew a quick glance and smile. A few seconds later, the humming stopped and Andrew saw the outline of Neil's body slowly move back into the kitchen doorway. "Um. Can I ask why you're starfished on the floor?"

Andrew sluggishly pointed upwards. "Bowl. High. Jumped. Fell."

Neil nodded knowingly. Andrew stared at him purposefully. Neil blinked.

Idiot.

"Get it for me," Andrew scowled with a well-aimed kick at Neil's ankles. Neil's eyes widened before filling with mirth. He walked forward and sat down next to Andrew's side, running a hand through his blond hair. Andrew hated himself for leaning into the touch.

"Aww, what's wrong?" Neil cooed. "Can't reach it?"

What a fucking asshole.

Andrew shot Neil a glare — he could admit that it probably wasn't super effective considering that he was on the floor with his not-boyfriend carding his fingers through his hair, but it was the thought that counted, okay! — and Neil gave him an amused look before pushing himself off the ground.

He shuffled around Andrew's limp body before giving an exasperated sigh.

"Andrew."

"Junkie."

"There is a stepstool right here."

"Yes."

"You didn't use it."

"No."

"... Why?"

Andrew shrugged in response.

He heard Neil grumbling under his breath and, a few seconds later, was rewarded with Neil's gross socks in front of his face as he went on the tips of his toes to grab at the bowl. Andrew glanced up and noticed that Neil's shorts were delightfully loose around his thighs.

Nice.

He indulged himself in the view until Neil dropped back down on the balls of his feet, holding the bowl proudly.

"Got it!" he grinned down at Andrew and flopped back down on the floor, pulling Andrew into a sitting position. Neil pressed up against him after a quick 'yes or no?' and handed over the bowl so Andrew.

"That was not fair," Andrew grumbled after a few minutes of calm silence. "You did that so easily. You're barely taller than me."

Neil nudged his shoulder and planted a kiss to the side of his head. "It's okay," he gave an annoyingly soft look. "I'll always be there to help you, whenever you need it."

Andrew huffed. "I did not ask for sentimentality, Josten. Just a bowl."

Irritatingly, this caused Neil to laugh a bit. "Okay, okay, I'll leave you with your precious bowl." He moved to get up and pressed a chaste kiss to Andrew's lips. "But for what it's worth, I think your size is perfect."

He left Andrew missing the warmth of Neil's body beside him before his brain caught up to what Neil just said.

"Josten. Josten! Was that a fucking dick joke?"

2.

There were moments where Andrew desperately wanted to burn Neil's clothing. He understood that they were remnants of past habits that were hard to break, but surely having this many gray and brown shirts had to be criminal.

Andrew refused to be seen kissing such a heathen in public but he really only knew how to put Neil in hot club clothes rather than hot casual clothes. And so, for the sake of humanity (and his dignity), he swallowed his pride and met up with Allison Fucking Reynolds.

Their plan to snatch up Neil from the Exy court to take him shopping at the mall appeared to be going well. So far, they'd bought him some shirts, artfully ripped jeans, denim jackets, and an actually functional pair of shoes. Neil, for all his stamina, looked like he was about to collapse from the weight of the bags, so Allison and Andrew took pity on him and decided to take a lunch break.

The three of them reached the food court and made their way to a noodle shop (after Andrew extracted a promise that he could get some ice cream afterwards). He and Allison sat Neil down on a bench to guard their massive pile of bags before going up to order.

By the time they were at the front of the line, Andrew was fully prepared to stab Reynolds in the middle of the mall. In a span of five minutes, she had managed to ask him about his and Neil's sex life, when they got together, what Neil's exact sexuality was, and had Andrew ever painted his nails?

He resolutely refused to answer any of those questions, on the principle that she didn't need more money from bets than she already had.

They ordered quickly, Andrew eager to get away from Reynolds, when the cashier said something that made him stop in his tracks.

"We actually have a discount right now for kids under 12!" she said smiling. "Is that something you'd be interested in?"

Andrew squinted. Why the hell would they—

Oh. Oh no, no, no.

Allison seemed to come to the same realization that he did, because she smiled wide and tapped her nails against the counter.

"Oh, that's just perfect!" she exclaimed. "Aaron here just turned 11 a few months ago. We'll take the discount."

Aaron?!

Andrew was going to kill her.

He was still planning bloody murder as Reynolds brought their tray of food to the table. He sat down with a scowl, and though Neil shot him a curious glance, he didn't push it.

Stupid considerate junkie.

Andrew muttered a percentage under his breath and proceeded to poke Neil in the cheek with his chopsticks. After a few moments of this, Neil turned to him with a scowl.

"Andrew," he grumbled. "What are you doing?"

Andrew glared at Reynolds.

Neil gave a resigned sigh and turned to her. "Allison. What happened?"

Reynolds smirked. "Oh, nothing much. Just that the cashier thought that your boy was a literal child and gave us a discount for kids 12 and under. I told her that it was great because Aaron over there," she jabbed a finger towards Andrew. "just turned 11."

Neil looked like he was biting back a laugh but then frowned. "Okay, but arms."

"True," Reynolds conceded. "However, consider this: tiny."

The two idiots nodded like they'd figured out some indispensable secret of the universe.

Frustrated, Andrew went back to poking Neil's face; when he finally glanced back, Andrew nudged his arms and shuffled a bit closer. Thankfully, Neil actually got the hint for once and scraped featherlight fingers into Andrew's hair.

"It's okay," Neil tried. "I mean, at the end of the day, all of us are just broke college kids—"

"I'm not," Allison interrupted.

Neil rolled his stupid, pretty eyes. "Okay, most of us are broke college kids—"

"Don't you have a bunch of mafia blood money and stuff?" Reynolds asked.

"Beside the point," Neil huffed. "Fine, Andrew, you are a broke college kid—" "Gee, thanks." "— and so you should be grateful that your height is saving you some money."

"That is dumb."

"You're dumb."

"How creative."

Neil scowled and tugged on Andrew's hair. "Shut up. Drama queen."

Andrew stabbed a piece of stir fry into Neil's mouth to close that damn mouth and resolutely ignored the click of Allison's phone camera.

3.

This was proving to be a problem.

Andrew stared at his $150 jeans, the bottom of the legs frayed and pale. He had just bought these two weeks ago. What a waste of money.

There really was only one thing left to do.

Minutes later, Andrew slammed open the door to his brother's dorm and dragged him out with Aaron demanding to know where they were going. By the time he had wrestled his idiot doppelganger to the car, Andrew was reaching. his. fucking. limit.

"Andrew, if you don't tell me where we're going, I swear I'll bite you. I'll push Neil off a treadmill and dump a bucket of mud on him. I'll throw all your ice cream in the trash. I'll—"

That last one was simply too far. He'd have to give Aaron some ground.

"Get in, loser," Andrew glared. "We're going shopping."

Thankfully, he managed to keep Aaron quiet until they reached the mall by letting him pick the music (it was country! Southern heathen). What a child.

Rich coming from you, a voice told him snidely. You can't even buy clothes for yourself properly.

Shut up, he scolded himself.

"Andrew," Aaron sighed exasperatedly when they reached the parking lot. "Can you finally tell me what we're shopping for?"

They got out of the car and Andrew raised an eyebrow as he faced Aaron. "Sex toys."

"WHAT THE FU— "

Andrew watched his brother's face turn red as he sputtered, before noticing the amusement in his face.

Aaron deflated. "Asshole," he grumped.

"Yeah, that is generally where the dildo goes."

"Shut up. I'm begging you."

Andrew decided to take pity on him and stabbed a finger towards Aaron's legs. "When did you buy those."

Aaron squinted. "My jeans?" At Andrew's nod, he looked confused. "Uh, like three or four months ago maybe. Why?"

Three or four months?! That was simply unacceptable.

"They are still in good quality," Andrew said slowly.

"...Yes?" Aaron looked lost for a few moments before his face brightened with pure, evil glee. Andrew hated the world more in that moment than he ever had before. "Oh my God. Oh my God. Are your jeans too long for you?"

"Be quiet," he snapped. "You just need to show me where you buy yours and never mention this to anyone or I'll stab you."

Aaron didn't seem as concerned as he should have been. "I don't need to do anything, dumbass. Why don't you just cuff them like me?"

"I refuse to look like a bisexual disaster."

"Hey," Aaron looked mildly offended. "That's not a bisexual thing. Right?" At Andrew's blank look, his eyes widened. "No. Oh shit. Is that why guys keep hitting on me at Eden's?"

Andrew actually blinked at that. He had not realized that his brother was really that stupid. "Aaron. Eden's is a gay bar. Obviously men will hit on you."

"Wait, it's a what— "

"Be quiet. You are coming with me now." He dragged his brother to the mall entrance as Aaron bumbled along behind him, swearing incoherently.

They weaved their way through what seemed like a million stores until Andrew walked out hours later, finally satisfied with his new haul of jeans that Aaron had oh-so-considerately helped to pick out, a few hundred dollars poorer, and two churros and an iced coffee fuller.

Andrew trudged up the stairs to his floor (perhaps this was a workout he should regularly implement in his exercise regime) while Aaron split off to find some study group or other.

By the time he reached his dorm, Andrew felt far more exhausted than the situation warranted and he blindly chucked the bags on the sofa, belatedly realizing that Neil was already sitting where the bags would land. Oops.

He sat down by Neil like the throw was entirely intentional as Neil sputtered when the plastic smacked him in the face.

"What's all this?" the junkie questioned. For fuck's sake, why did his eyes have to be so blue?

Andrew just gestured for him to take the clothes out and saw as Neil's face grew confused when he saw what he was holding.

"Jeans? Didn't you literally buy some like a week ago?"

"Two," Andrew corrected, because he was a petty bitch if nothing else. Neil rolled his stupid eyes at that but waited for Andrew to provide an explanation. Andrew heaved a regretful sigh. "The bottom of them are all frayed now"

"Frayed?" the striker's brows furrowed before his face cleared and a shit-eating smirk crossed his face. "Wait, wait, wait. Are you saying you were too short for your jeans?"

Andrew nearly stabbed him right then and there.

"Shut. Up."

"Oh my gosh. Andrew. Andrew."

When Andrew got up (not grumpily. never grumpily. (okay, maybe a little grumpily)), Neil tugged on his shirt sleeve with an apologetic grin. "Sorry, sorry, I'll stop making fun," but his eyes were squinted as he tried not to laugh and his face was flushed and his lips were red as he bit on them, and honestly, how was Andrew expected to stay annoyed after seeing that?

"I mean," Neil continued. "You're paying with whatever you have left of Tilda's life insurance, right? And it's technically her fault you're so, uh... vertically challenged because of the drugs and shit. So you buying all these jeans are like a big "fuck you" to her!"

Andrew blinked slowly at his not-boyfriend's not-cute not-endearing hand-waving and decided he could take a hit to his reputation if it kept Neil glowing like this. "Josten. Are you saying that being short is literally in my jeans?"

"Holy shit, yes."

4.

To be fair, he had been warned. This was probably his own fault. Which he would never admit, but whatever.

It had started fine enough.

Andrew had been smoking by the windowsill as he waited for Neil to come back from his class. It was raining heavily and he felt a comfortable laze settle in his bones, so he didn't bother to open the window, despite Kevin's complaints.

"Andrew, stop smoking in here. If you want to destroy your lungs, at least do it away from me."

"Shut up and watch your damn Exy, Day."

He shut up and watched his damn Exy.

Andrew let the sounds of the game wash over him as he let his eyes droop (when did Exy become... relaxing to him? That was moderately concerning), so by the time he realized that there was an incessant beeping sound in the background, everything was too far gone to not have gone to shit.

His body finally jolted into action when he finally registered that the smoke alarm was blaring in their dorm and he heard yells coming from outside in the hallway, which probably meant an RA or some other Foxes were about to burst in and see him smoking where he wasn't supposed to. For the third time this month.

Crap.

"Day. Day! Get off your fucking computer and turn off the alarm," he hissed as he (gracefully) scrambled to the kitchen to find a towel.

"Hmm?" Kevin hummed blearily. "Oh. That. Well, I told you so."

Andrew simply could not believe it. (Well, maybe he could a bit. Kevin was just that kind of asshole frie— person.)

By the time he dampened a towel (wow, they really needed to do the dishes sometime soon), the shouts were right outside the door and he heard keys jingling in the lock. Quickly he scrambled up the table, but in his haste, kicked over a glass of water (vodka? Sprite? whatever).

He tripped over slightly and his foot splashed into the puddle on the table, causing him to cringe internally. His sock felt horribly wet and tingly, and it was nearly enough to distract him from the creaking of the door opening. Quickly, he reached up, flapping the towel near the smoke alarm to turn it off.

It wasn't enough. He couldn't reach the alarm.

In a split-second, he decided to just fuck it and leapt up to see if that would work. However, the uncomfortable feeling in his feet and the stupid smoke alarm and the fucking banging of the door made him severely misjudge his strength.

Andrew jumped a lot further forward than he expected. He flew through the air, one foot catching on the top of a chair, the other stabbed by the edge of the table. In a futile attempt to gain his balance, Andrew flailed his arms around, but that just caused the towel to smack him in the face.

Eventually, gravity took hold of him and he (and the chair) crashed into the floor, the towel mockingly flopping on his hair. Blearily, he raised his head up and saw Neil and their RA staring at him concernedly from the doorway.

Well, this was awkward. At least the beeping had stopped.

Their RA, an unfortunately attractive tennis player named Richard Addams (Nicky found it hilarious that their RA's initials were R.A.. Andrew called him 'Certified Dick™'), stepped in cautiously. "Andrew, everything okay?"

"Just peachy," he grumbled.

Neil ran to Andrew's side at the sound of his voice and pushed his blond hair out of his face. "Why peaches? They're honestly not even that good; I can only stand the really big and thick and juicy ones."

Andrew froze and even Kevin closed his laptop that. "Neil," Certified Dick™ said slowly. "Do you know what peaches are?"

"Duh," he rolled his eyes. "Fruit. That's why Nicky has a peach next to my name in his contacts. Because I like fruits."

Idiot.

"It means 'ass,' " Andrew informed him. Neil gaped.

"It means wha— "

"Okay," Certified Dick™ exclaimed cheerfully. "I'm gonna leave y'all here. Andrew, I'll assume you weren't doing anything against the rules because you are a kind person who always listens to what I say."

"Of course," Andrew said blandly. "I am a wonderful student." He fingered the edges of his armbands.

Certified Dick™ slowly backed out of the room.

Neil let out a breath and blew his hair out of his eyes. "Okay," he started. "We'll talk about the ass thing later. But first, what the hell just happened?"

Andrew pointed up at the smoke alarm.

"Well, yes, I got that, but why were you jumping around like an absolute idiot?"

"Kevin is useless," Andrew announced.

"Not true!" Kevin protested immediately. "You just never listen to me. It's not my fault that I'm always right."

Andrew glared at him and turned back to Neil. "I couldn't reach the stupid smoke alarm," he finally gritted out, bracing for someone to mock him.

It never came.

Instead, Neil gave him a cheeky grin and a wink (at least, Andrew assumed it was a wink) and turned to Kevin with a faux-annoyed stare. "Seriously, Kev? You didn't help him?"

"He got himself into his own mess," Kevin shrugged.

"Okay, and what if someone had caught him? They might have not allowed him to play Exy for a bit! Or maybe while he was trying to shut off the alarm, he could have really hurt himself!" Neil was really laying it heavy on the dramatics, brandishing his arms wildly.

Kevin's eyes widened in horror at his words. "Shit."

"Yeah," Neil nodded graveley. "Us Exy players have got to look out for each other. How else will we live to our potentials?"

Kevin looked like he was going to be sick. Quickly, he whipped open his laptop and began muttering questions on how to secretly disable smoke alarms.

"Junkie," Andrew muttered to Neil. Neil just hummed and pressed a kiss to the crook of his neck.

"Yeah," he whispered a few moments later. "Only for you."

5.

Hmm. This was nice.

Andrew never could have imagined he would be the kind of guy to stumble over furniture while kissing his way through a room, and yet, here he was, crashing into tables and upturning chairs and tripping over bags.

He had Neil's fingers intertwined with his and was dragging him through the dorm, the kisses constantly pausing because Neil kept breaking off into small smiles and laughing into his neck. Every few steps, Andrew would take a look at his flushed junkie and absolutely forget about his plan to reach the bedroom, choosing instead to kiss him ferociously right there.

They were lucky that no one else was in the dorm.

When Andrew realized that it had taken them a solid seven minutes to walk about 15 feet past the door, he realized they would probably never reach an actual bed at the rate they were going. He told Neil as much and was rewarded with a shrug.

"I literally don't care where we end up," Neil said breathlessly before pulling him into another heated kiss. "I just wanna kiss you."

Andrew nearly snorted at that. How predictable. "I got that" he muttered. "But what do you want?"

Neil raised an eyebrow and deepened his voice mockingly. "I want nothing."

"You are actually so insufferable."

"Yeah, yeah," Neil waved him off and latched his mouth on Andrew's neck. Fuck. "Hmm," he said a few moments later. "Carry me?"

Andrew resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Ever since the junkie had seen how much he lifted at the gym a few weeks ago, this had become one of his favorite requests (and really, who was Andrew to deny him?).

Nevertheless, he leaned down and grabbed both of Neil's thighs, pushing him up until his legs were secured around Andrew's waist and Andrew could comfortably hold him up, his body flush against Andrew's.

Yeah, he got why Neil liked this so much.

He wasn't sure how long he'd be able to hold Neil up for though, considering that they actually had a game tomorrow and he didn't want to put up with Kevin's annoying complaints if he didn't try at least a bit. Andrew glanced around for a second before his eyes caught on the perfect place.

He adjusted his grip on Neil, causing him to let out an oof in surprise and carefully made his way to the kitchen (with only a slight amount of kissing in the middle). Andrew messily deposited Neil on the island counter and was promptly faced with another problem.

Neil was up there. Andrew was down here. How the hell were they supposed to make out now?

Andrew frowned slightly and tugged at Neil's collar. "Lean down," he commanded.

Neil complied and pressed a searing kiss to his lips, tugging at Andrew's hair, but too soon he pulled back.

At Andrew's 'yes or no?' Neil smiled down sheepishly. "It's a yes, but this angle's going to end up destroying my back."

That made no sense — whenever Andrew sat on the counter, he never had to lean down that much. He reasoned that the weight of being an Exy junkie was finally catching up to Neil's spine, though.

"Well," Andrew huffed. "I'm not going up on my toes."

"Why would you need to go on your toes?" Neil looked genuinely confused as Andrew frustratedly gestured at the air between them. "Wait, wait. Can you not reach me if I'm sitting up here?"

Andrew's thoughts came to a halt.

He pulled back (well, as much as he could while still staying in Neil's arms) and squinted suspiciously at his not-boyfriend. "Can you normally reach me when I sit up?"

"Well, yeah," Neil blinked. "I mean, I have to stretch a little bit but it's usually fine."

What.

Unceremoniously, Andrew yanked Neil off the counter and sat himself up (he pretended not to notice the stare that Neil gave when he flexed his arms). He hooked his ankles around Neil and dragged him closer, coming nearly forehead-to-forehead.

Forehead-to-forehead. Neil could reach him.

Andrew let out an uncharacteristic groan and dropped his head on Neil's surprisingly comfy shoulder. Neil snorted quietly and patted his head.

"It's okay, Drew," he said, his voice muffled but teasing as he pressed a kiss to the top of Andrew's head. "Maybe next time we can get you a stool or something. That'll be real attractive."

Andrew scowled and kicked him in the leg.

Neil's voice softened as he lowered his arms to rub soft circles on his back. "But I'm serious Andrew, it's okay." He pressed a soft kiss to Andrew's collarbone, the underside of his jaw, the corner of his lips. "Does this feel good?"

Andrew swallowed. Hiding from Neil was a fight he knew he'd lose, and there was no point prolonging the inevitable. "Yes."

"Then that's all I need. Making you feel good makes me feel good," he whispered. "I really like this, what we do right now. And if you want, we can still find more positions that feel really good. Don't stress, we have time."

"Hmm," Andrew said a few moments later. "That is all fine and well, but actually, we now only have about 20 minutes until Kevin comes back from class, and I would highly appreciate it if you could get me off sometime soon."

"Asshole. We were totally having a moment."

"Next to a bowl of apples."

"Rude. I bet those apples appreciated the conversation."

Andrew rolled his eyes at Neil's idiocy, but kissed him hard to convey everything he felt: you care, you listen, you are okay with me, you are safe for me. Neil seemed to get the message, because his body softened under Andrew's grip as he kissed him back eagerly.

When they finally pulled apart, Andrew felt heavy and sated and secure in the way he only associated with Neil. He looked into Neil's blown-out pupils, the blue peeking brightly at the edges of his eyes as he slowly brought Neil's hand to the waistband of his jeans.

"Right," Andrew tried for a nonchalant tone. The slight voice-crack may have betrayed him, but whatever. "Take off my pants now?"

+1

South Carolina winters were shit.

Growing up in Oakland meant that he was pretty used to cold winters and hot summers, but usually things only got unbearably chilly at night, when he could pile tons of blankets on himself. Unfortunately, winters in the South brought biting wind and snow. All day long.

Andrew hated the cold (sure, he could walk around with a blanket draped over him like a cape in his dorm (he did. occasionally), but alas, he actually had a reputation to uphold)

And yet, when Nicky and Dan enthusiastically told Neil about their stupid plan and Neil had sent a stupid questioning gaze to Andrew's stupid face, he sure as fuck couldn't use "the cold" as an excuse to deny those eyes.

So he bundled up into a turtleneck, a sweater, a thin jacket and a snow one, a beanie, a pair of gloves, leggings and then sweatpants, and his warmest socks (Andrew decidedly ignored Neil's snickers, who was annoying dressed in just a long-sleeved shirt and jeans. how rude.)

The so-called Monsters trampled down to the parking lot outside the Tower, boots sinking deep into the snow. Andrew shivered at the sudden wind and if he walked a little closer to Neil's hot warm body — well, no one needed to know.

Within seconds of their arrival, Andrew was regretting coming out.

A massive snowball soared through the air and slammed into Aaron's face, who promptly fell on his ass from the force of it.

"What the fuck?" he sputtered, wiping snow out of his eyes.

"HA!" Reynolds hollered. "Take that!"

"Oh dear," Neil muttered. "I didn't expect this much violence from the start."

"We are Foxes," Andrew scoffed. "Violence is the whole point."

"Actually, there's this one piece of shit in my Stats class and he tried to tell me I was wrong — I wasn't, by the way — and instead of punching him, I just very mathematically proved how incompetent he was and I told him that his parents' miscalculation when it came to conceiving him evidently got passed on to him in the form of his nonexistent math skills. So. No violence."

Andrew wasn't sure if he should kiss Neil or smack him. "Right. Because verbal annihilation is a very tame response."

"Since when have you been such a peacemaker?"

"Renee."

"You two literally beat the shit out of each other every week."

Andrew shrugged. "Semantics."

"I really don't think— "

Their conversation was rudely interrupted by Matt throwing a snowball mere inches away from Andrew's face. At his glare, Matt promptly ran behind a car.

"Neil," Andrew sighed. "I hate you."

"I didn't force you to be here," Neil pointed out. "Could've said no. What did Nicky call you? 'Whipped.' So ha." With that profound statement, Neil ducked and dumped a handful of snow down the back of Andrew's shirt.

"Ha," Andrew said back smugly. "Layers." Neil looked betrayed.

"Layers. I forgot."

"I didn't."

"Asshole."

"Yup."

Neil scowled and kicked at Andrew's highly sturdy snow boots petulantly. Andrew refrained from rolling his eyes turned towards him. "Yes or no?"

"Oh," Neil perked up. Junkie. "Yes, yes."

Andrew jabbed him in the stomach and when Neil keeled over groaning, he pressed a kiss to his lips and shoved his head under Neil's chin.

"Personal heater," Andrew explained. Then he grabbed Neil's arms and tucked them around his waist. This was good.

"Right," Neil snorted. "Naturally. I can't wait until someone throws a snowball at your face and you get all cold and wet."

Andrew scowled. How rude.

"Oi, Minyard!" Dan called and Andrew sighed before wiggling around until he was facing her, back flush against Neil's front. "This is for drawing mustaches all over the pictures in the Court!"

Andrew raised an eyebrow. "You have no proof— "

His protests were cut off with the sight of a snowball hurtling full speed at him. He made to jump out of the way (maybe Exy was good for something after all), but Neil's arms around him proved to be a real hindrance.

As it was, he got jerked back into place, the snowball inches in front of him. Andrew shut his eyes, hoping he could use this as an excuse to drag Neil into the dorm to warm up, when he heard an "oof" from behind him.

Andrew twisted around to find Neil's face covered in an explosion of snow, water dripping down his shocked expression.

His eyelashes were nice. Hmm.

"Wh- What?" he shivered. "How is there snow on my face? Wasn't it supposed to land on you?"

Oh.

Andrew brushed off some snow that had settled on his cheekbones before stepping back a bit (still in Neil's arms. that was necessary). And Neil was right, it was odd, the snowball was supposed to hit him and instead, it had smashed itself on Neil.

"I believe," Andrew said slowly. "My height has proved to be advantageous."

"Advan— you mean you were so short the snowball literally missed you and hit me?!"

"Yup," Andrew felt extremely self-satisfied. "See, had you been shorter, this wouldn't have happened. Alas, there's just more of you to hit when you're tall."

"That— I— Andrew!"

"That's my name."

"Ugh. I am cold and wet and very much not liking this," Neil grumbled.

"Bet you wish you had as many jackets as me, huh?" Andrew crowed.

"You could always give one of them to me," Neil said as he yanked Andrew back against him.

"I could. Not feeling it, though."

"Bastard."

"Just a little," Andrew agreed. He tilted his head up to look at Neil and oh, that angle was good, his lips were right there, how did Andrew never notice that Neil's eyelashes framed his eyes so nicely?

Hmm. If this was the view, maybe his height had some... unforeseen perks that extended beyond snowball fighting.

"I win," Andrew told Neil seriously. At his confused expression, Andrew was forced to sigh out an explanation. "You are very pretty from down here."

"Oh?"

"Shut up."

"I think you're pretty too."

"198%."

"Kiss me?"

"Ugh, if you insist."

Andrew leaned up to press his lips to Neil, dutifully ignoring the cheers from behind him, as Neil placed a hand under his chin to tilt him up further, which felt very nice.

Yeah, Andrew was living the good life. He had a maybe-boyfriend who was the perfect height and a brother and cousin who might actually stay, and he was content and safe and— really fucking cold because there was a ball of snow sliding down his neck what the fuck what the fuck what the fu— .

"NICKY."

"Shit. Sorry!"

#ok no excuses idek how late this is 😂 #but this was so fun to write #like no ideas #and then BAM #i wrote like 90% of it in one sitting #this had no right being so long #but they're so cute #sue me #(pls don't i have no money) #ANYWAYS #andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten #aftg #all for the game #tfc #the foxhole court #allison reynolds #kevin day #aaron minyard #renee walker #nicky hemmick #dan wilds #the foxes #andreil fanfic #andreil fic #aftg fanfic

[smaidjor]

and i pay for my place by the ring (Chapter 2)

This chapter took me so fucking long but after much struggle I have completed it!

It was supposed to be 3-4k words. It was exactly 6069 pre-editing according to google docs.

You're welcome.

Chapter Title: with your blessing i will go

Chapter Wordcount: 6073

Content warnings: suicidal thoughts, self-esteem issues, discussion of death, non-graphic injury.

AO3

Chapter 1

i know they're losing (companion fic)

Actual fic under the cut:

The next few weeks are miserable, and if Scott tried to claim anything else, he would absolutely be lying to himself. Not that he doesn’t already do that, but he’s not too proud to admit that not seeing Jimmy is torturous. He knows he can’t, he’s firmly placed Jimmy on the off-limits list, but that doesn’t make the self-imposed rule any easier to follow. There’s still a part of him that wants to go running back to Jimmy’s arms, to beg for forgiveness and pray that Jimmy’s warmth is enough to curb the chill in his bones.

Scott shoves that part of him down firmly. He has no time to hesitate or regret, and he will not spend his days pining and sighing over a human. (Or so he tells himself.) He will be the perfect model of an elven king if that’s what it takes to gain his people’s respect, and he will make his parents proud, not that they’re around to see it. He will . Because Scott may not care about what the Council of Elders thinks of him- he hasn’t for twenty years now- but he does care that the people of Rivendell get a leader who cares for their wellbeing. It’s the least he can do, really.

So he takes on the meetings and the paperwork and the aching, gaping hole in his chest with grim determination, ignoring the way his hands always seem to shake a little and he can never quite get warm. It’s fine. Scott is fine. He’s not going to think about golden smiles or warm brown eyes or the look on Jimmy’s face when Scott told him it was over. He’s fine .

Flipping through the stack of official mail he’s received, Scott’s startled when his hand falls on an elegant cream envelope stamped with the crest of the Ocean Empire. How long has this been here? He hurries to get it open, nearly slicing himself on the letter opener in the process.

Out slides an official invitation in neat cursive.

To High King Scott Dangthatsalongname Smajor, Lord King of the Rivendell Empire,

You are cordially invited to a royal ball to be held at the palace of Ocean Queen Lizzie Ldshadowlady, Queen of the Northern Waves and Reefs, at 8 pm on the fifth of August.

Formal attire is required.

RSVP as soon as possible.

At the bottom of it, there’s a note in slightly more rushed handwriting.

Smajor- elvenking or not, I will not appreciate it if you mess with Jimmy in any way, shape or form. This ball is to be a peaceful affair, and I will not hesitate to intervene should anything occur.

Lizzie

Scott winces. He...can’t say he doesn’t deserve the warning, any more than he can say that it doesn’t hurt to be warned away from his own husband. Ex-husband, he quickly reminds himself, reaching for stationary to pen a response.

Dear Ocean Queen Lizzie Ldshadowlady, Queen of the Northern Waves and Reefs,

He stops, giving it a bit of thought. Would avoiding Jimmy be worth the political consequences of refusing an invitation like this? No, he concedes reluctantly, it wouldn’t. He can always just avoid Jimmy at the ball- Lizzie would probably be happy for it, honestly. She’s been protective over him from the start. Scott puts the pen back to paper.

Luckily, I will be able to attend the ball. It sounds like a wonderful event and I eagerly anticipate it. As for your note, I will avoid antagonizing Jimmy as much as possible. I would hate to sacrifice diplomatic relations between our kingdoms for a petty squabble. Will that be satisfactory?

Sincerely,

High King Scott Dangthatsalongname Smajor

What’s going on between him and Jimmy is far more than a petty squabble, but Lizzie doesn’t need to know that. It’s fine. It’s not like he’s going to run into Jimmy anyways, right?

The day of the ball arrives, and Scott spends far too long choosing an outfit. He’s not vain, not usually, but...Jimmy will be there. You’re not supposed to want to impress him , Scott scolds himself, but that doesn’t stop him from wearing his nicest golden jewelry. The rest of his outfit is far more strategically planned- long skirts to hide how terrible his balance is when he’s near-constantly struggling to get a full breath into his lungs, gloves to keep his dance partners from questioning his cold hands.

The ball is already in full swing by the time he arrives, the trip from Rivendell taking longer than he thought it would. He’s still greeted by the Ocean Queen herself, though, gliding over in her stunning ballgown of blue and green.

“Welcome!” Her smile is bright, warm in a way he almost envies.

Scott dips his head just enough to be respectful but not so much as to truly defer to her. He thinks that’s right, anyways; he hasn’t had to think about that particular part of etiquette lessons in some twenty years. “Thank you, Queen Lizzie. I apologize for my lateness, the trip was a bit harrowing.”

“No problem at all, I just hope you enjoy the ball!” Lizzie’s smile gains a sharper edge. “I appreciated your letter, by the way. Thank you for your promise to keep it civil, King Smajor. Now we just all have to follow through on our words!” She accompanies that bit with a little laugh, but Scott’s not a fool enough to take it as anything but a warning. She doesn’t want trouble at her ball, and who would, really?

“Hopefully we can manage at least that,” he offers wryly, earning another laugh and a bright “Hopefully!”

Scott doesn’t mean to cause trouble at the ball, he really doesn’t. But before he has a chance to even get a look around, Jimmy’s standing in front of him. And oh, this really isn’t how he hoped it’d go.

“Lord Codfather,” Scott greets, swallowing the lump in his throat. Jimmy cleans up nicely- really nicely- but Scott’s eyes keep going to the scar on his throat, the permanent reminder of how fragile and mortal Jimmy really is.

“Elvenking,” Jimmy says. The formality sounds awkward in his bright voice, and Scott wants to kiss the uncertainty right off his face. “Care for a dance?”

He can’t- he should, Scott knows. There would be value to an alliance with Jimmy, and he has no good reason to turn him down. That’s not why he says yes, though. It’s that look in Jimmy’s eyes, the hope poorly disguised by indifference. He’s so optimistic. Scott shouldn't encourage it, but he can’t find it in himself to break that fragile hope just yet.

“I suppose I wouldn’t mind,” Scott says finally. He takes Jimmy’s outstretched hand in his own gloved one; Vilya rests on Jimmy’s finger, still, and it’s a battle to keep the memories of giving Jimmy that ring at bay. He wins that battle, though, letting Jimmy put a hand on his waist as they start into a simple waltz.

Jimmy is a terrible dancer, and Scott knows it. He steps on Scott’s feet, he gets off-rhythm- he’s frankly not made for dancing, much as the way he hums along to the tune is adorable. His hair, which was probably once nicely styled, has already fallen out of place, and his tunic is a little wrinkled. His hands are rough, tough from all the work he does with them, and his face has a tiny bit of mud on it that he must have missed when getting ready. He looks very much like a sweet little swamp boy, out of place in the midst of all the more elegant and powerful rulers.

He’s the most beautiful thing Scott’s ever seen.

Unlike the last time they danced, back in 3rd life where Jimmy leaned on Scott for balance as he tried to learn the complicated steps, this time it’s Scott clinging to Jimmy for stability. He feels bad about how harsh his grip gets, but he can’t afford to show weakness. He has to stay on his feet.

Scott’s silently thankful when the dance ends and he can lead them off the dance floor. He’s exhausted and shaky, and he’s not sure how much longer he can be around Jimmy without breaking down or doing something very stupid.

“Thank you for the dance, Codfather,” Scott says. He takes a step back, banishing the lingering emotion of their dance.

A beat of silence, and then.

“Can we please stop acting like we don’t know each other?” Jimmy demands, earning a ripple of gasps from nearby guests.

“What else do you want from me?” Scott snaps back, anger rising to fill the gap in his chest.

“I- something! Anything! Just acknowledge that I exist, won’t you?”

Scott swallows down the lump in his throat. “Acknowledging you exist doesn’t mean I can still be in love with you, you know.”

“I know,” Jimmy says. He sounds so bitter, so tired. “I know , trust me. I just want you to stop- to stop hurting yourself to try and avoid pain!”

“That’s not what I’m do-”

Jimmy cuts him off, a rare occurrence. “Then what are you doing? Enlighten me, o wise elf! You told me it would destroy you to lose me, but you’re losing me now by pushing me away!”

His chest tightens, and he can barely force the words out. “I’m trying to do what’s best for the both of us, Jimmy.”

“No you’re-”

It’s Scott’s turn to cut him off. “I am an elf, and I cannot love a mortal. Humans are quick flames, burning and changing quickly. You’ll fall in love again, and you’ll forget me.” It hurts, but it’s true. There will be a mortal who loves you- I’m sure there are many already.” Jimmy’s so wonderful, there are bound to be others who see it.

“But I don’t want a mortal,” Jimmy says. It’s almost childish, but his next words still break Scott’s heart. “I want you. ”

“You can’t have me.” Scott is vividly aware of the fact that there are eyes on him, that their little spat has attracted the attention of the rest of the ballroom.

“But why? Why, Scott?” Jimmy’s voice breaks, and the crack in it is damn near enough to make Scott lose his tiny bit of remaining self-control. “You said you loved me, you promised me all the time we’d be able to- to carve out, to steal from the universe.” It sounds like an accusation, and maybe it is. Scott did promise him that, after all, and then he went back on it.

It wasn’t for no reason, though. He needs Jimmy to understand that it was for a reason. “I can’t give you that!” He snaps back, and his hands tremble when they try to form fists by his side. “You’ll live sixty more years, maybe, a fraction of my life, a blink of an eye to an elf, and I can’t even give you that long! Not when I have to be the elvenking before anything else. Nothing I can do will ever be enough for you.” It’s bitter, but it’s true. Scott can’t be enough for anyone, in the end.

“Enough for me? For ME?”Jimmy’s voice rises in outrage. “All I want is for you not to die to your own dumb plan and acknowledge my existence once in a while!”

Scott’s voice rises in response. “And all I want is for you to realize I can’t love you again!”

“Why can’t you care about me?”

“Why can’t you move on?”

“You’re not moving on, you’re just trying to forget!” Jimmy shouts.

Scott falls silent, breathing hard as the ballroom goes quiet around them. He spots Lizzie sweeping through the crowd, coming to a stop next to Jimmy.

“Is everything alright, boys?” She’s smiling, but it’s strained, and her eyes promise death if this quarrel was Scott’s fault.

“My apologies, Ocean Queen,” he says, and he tries to gather his composure as he dips his head to her. “Everything is alright, but I am afraid I will have to leave early.” He doesn’t look at Jimmy.

She smiles again, dangerous this time. “No need to worry, Lord Smajor. Do try to avoid picking fights with my allies, next time, though.”

“It won’t happen again,” he promises, and he only nearly stumbles when he turns to leave.

Distantly, he can hear Jimmy shout after him. “Coward!” The word is harsh, but there’s hurt beneath it. “You’re a coward, Scott!”

Scott stumbles away all the quicker.

He keeps composed all the way out the doors and most of the way down the stairs until he’s sure no one can see him from the ballroom. It’s only then that he breaks into a run, lifting up his stupid skirts so he doesn’t fall. One shoe falls off, a twisted parody of a children’s fairy tale, and he doesn’t bother to retrieve it. The prismarine stabs at his exposed foot, but Scott doesn’t have the energy to care. Instead, he beats his wings, trying to get enough momentum for a good takeoff.

For a few precious moments, he gets off the ground, and then he remembers Jimmy’s face as he left, wingbeats stuttering with the sudden emotion, and tumbles back to the rough prismarine path. It hurts , it does, but it’s nothing on the pain in his chest. Nothing on the words still echoing in his head. Coward! You’re a coward, Scott!

Scott lays there for a moment, half-wondering if anyone’s coming after him. It’s unlikely, he knows, given how badly he messed things up. He tells himself that that’s a good thing, that he doesn’t want anyone to come looking. He doesn’t need them. He should be strong.

Before anyone has time to notice or be concerned, he’s forced himself back to his feet, starting the takeoff sequence all over again.

This time, he gets in the air with little difficulty, though he lists to the side as he favors his right wing, which took the brunt of the fall. It’s fine. He’s fine, he doesn’t need help.

If Scott believed in the elven gods anymore, he would thank them for the fact that he gets back to Rivendell at all. There are tears blurring his vision, and every part of his body aches, his chest most of all. His flight is shaky at best, outright dangerous at worst, crashing into trees and rocks and the ground multiple times. Each time, he barely picks himself back up before mobs arrive. Sometimes, he questions if he should at all. He’s as good as dead anyways. And yet, the tiny stubborn part of him that got him through 3rd life won’t let him just lay down and die. For some reason, even though he’s slept enough recently (he thinks, anyways), there are phantoms on him. They sense when their prey is sleep-deprived, Scott knows, and wonders if he’s just weak enough to seem that way to them.

By the time he crash-lands on the mountainside, it’s pushing two in the morning, and Scott is more dead than alive. Not that he hasn’t been for a while now, he thinks, and laughs aloud to himself, bitter.

The night watch give him strange looks, but both elves on guard duty obligingly dip their heads when he stumbles by. He barely musters the energy to nod back.

Finally he makes it back to his house, slamming his door behind him and burying his face in his hands. This is the right thing to do, why does it hurt so much? He already lost Jimmy once, why does it feel like he’s losing him all over again when he never really got him back in the first place?

Someone coughs lightly, breaking through his thoughts. The voice is familiar when they speak- one of his advisors. “Lord Smajor? Any major events we should know of at the ball?”

Cold. Calm. Scott knows this is the way of the elves- their royalty cannot dare be human. “The Codfather’s our enemy and the Ocean Queen probably hates us too.” He doesn’t bother trying to make himself sound calm and collected, pushing off the wall and stalking towards the stairs.

“What?” The advisor’s voice pitches up in shock. “What did you do?”

“None of your business.”

“You cannot have embarrassed the elven realm at the largest event of the year-”

“It wasn’t like I was fucking trying to,” He snaps.

A gasp. “Language.”

“Fuck off.”

They hurry after him, making to follow him up the stairs. “Lord Smajor-”

Scott turns to face them, taking in the shock and rage painted across their ancient face. “Leave me be.”

“Do not disrespect your elders,” the advisor scolds. “I remember when you were a child, you always were reckless, but this is a new level of disrespect! Why, Xornoth would never-”

“ Enough ,” he hisses. “Do not talk about my sibling.”

They freeze, a bit of genuine fear creeping onto their face. “My lord-”

“Get out of my house,” Scott snarls.

They wisely obey. Scott slumps against the banister as the surge of adrenaline abates, suddenly exhausted. He’s freezing, he realizes, a bone-deep chill that he doesn’t bother to pretend is from his trip home. Scott’s done lying to himself- he’s in pain, and he’s in love, but then again, those equate to roughly the same thing when all’s said and done. You can’t have heartbreak without love or love without heartbreak. (But oh how he wishes he could.)

Scott doesn’t get out of bed the next day, and no one dares try to force him. Varying members of Rivendell’s Council of Elders make a decent shot at trying to convince him, but all it takes is him fixing them with his dead-eyed stare to make them leave. The people of Rivendell are used to their ruler’s odd sleep schedule by now, brushing it off easily, and the empire itself is mostly functional without him. So instead of getting up and dealing with the corruption or making sure Rivendell’s stores are prepared for winter or any of the things he should be doing, Scott lays there in his own misery and thinks about Jimmy screaming that he’s a coward.

He’s right, that’s the worst part. Scott is a coward. He’s scared of Xornoth and the corruption and never, ever being enough, he’s scared of responsibility and his own mind, he’s scared of fading and dying alone, and- most of all- he’s absolutely terrified of how much he loves Jimmy.

His father warned him about fading, once, back before Scott was expected to carry a crown on his brow and the weight of a nation on his shoulders. He bounced Scott on his knee and told him that elven hearts are fragile, too fragile for how strongly they love. “Don’t fall too deep in love, son,” he said, and the words carried the weight of years of grief. “Don’t care too much about any one person, not if you want to live to be a legend of the ages. Doesn’t matter what kind of love it is, love can be lethal.”

Scott didn’t listen, of course- reckless, rebellious Scott, who never once listened to his elders, went and did the most dangerous thing an elf could do. He fell in love with a human.

And now he’s dying. Surely that gives him a pass to wallow in his own misery for a day or two. He’s been brave for so long, can’t he just rest a few moments? Just...just a few. He’ll just lay here a bit longer.

At that moment, the front door creaks open somewhere below him.

“My lord? Can I come up?” Someone calls from below. Their voice is also familiar- Gilnar. Gilnar’s a good captain of the guard. Dutiful, clever, and far more willing to respect him than most of Rivendell’s high ranking elves.

“If you’ve come to convince me to get up, it won’t work,” Scott calls back.

Gilnar’s head peeks over the railing a moment later. “Nope, not here for that. Just thought I’d check in, y’know?” The Sindarin words sound almost musical in their accent, rolling up and down with a unique sort of rhythm.

“Alright.”

“Are you okay, my lord?”

“No.” He’s done lying. “Leave me be.”

Gilnar shakes their head. “Sorry, my lord, can’t do that.”

“If you’re going to tell me my people need me, don’t waste your breath. I know .” Scott’s voice cracks on the last word, just a little.

“Not that either. But with all due respect, seems a little like you’re givin’ up on yourself just a bit, my lord.” They lean against the railing.

“What do you mean by that?”

They cough, a little awkwardly. “The soul-sickness. The fading.”

Scott’s mouth opens and closes, and he sputters. “How-”

“Trainin’ with the royal guard a few weeks back, your hands were freezin’ and your balance was off. You haven’t gotten up at a reasonable hour in weeks, and, well, with all due respect- I know what heartbreak looks like.”

He’s silent for a moment, utterly floored. “What do you mean by giving up?”

“Well, Lauriel and I were talkin’, and….your love’s still alive, isn’t he? The Codfather?”

“How did you-”

Gilnar flashes him a tiny grin. “He’s not subtle, and neither are you. Plus, he has Vilya.”

Deciding to shove that to the back of his mind for now, Scott sighs. “He’s a mortal, Gilnar. I’m not giving up anything that I won’t already lose in sixty years or so.”

“Luthien loved Beren, didn’t she?”

“I am not Luthien. I cannot sing so well that the gods grant me pardon.”

“And Idril loved Tuor.”

“I am not Idril. I cannot bring Jimmy to the Undying Lands.”

“Arwen still loved Aragorn.”

“I am not Arwen. I do not have the choice to give up my immortal life.”

Gilnar’s smile turns sad. “Caranthir still loved Haleth. And Celebrimbor loved Narvi just the same, didn’t he? The doomed love all the more fiercely, my lord.”

“The rest of the elves won’t be happy with me,” Scott points out.

“You think Thingol and Turgon and Elrond were happy when their daughters loved mortals? You think Luthien’s people didn’t scorn Beren at first?”

Scott doesn’t have any retort to that, and Gilnar hops up from their seat on the banister. “Well, I need to get back to my duties, my lord. Good luck with your swamp boy!”

They’re gone as soon as they arrive, and Scott stares up at the ceiling, his thoughts dragging him along a spiral of emotion.

“Coward! You’re a coward, Scott!”

Scott is a coward. He’s a liar and a coward. Nothing he does will ever be right.

“Don’t fall too deep in love, son.”

Scott did, though. Like the idiot he is, he fell in love with someone the universe didn’t want him to have.

“Caranthir still loved Haleth.”

He did. And he paid for it. Does it matter? Scott thinks that losing Jimmy might be a price worth paying for the joy of loving him.

“You cannot have embarrassed the elven realm at the largest event of the year-”

Scott didn’t mean to, but he still messed up and shouted at Jimmy. He’s a failure. Jimmy could do better. He deserves better.

“I don’t want a mortal. I want you .”

Jimmy’s so stupid. Stupid Codfather with his stupid bright eyes and stupid, stupid insistence on not giving up on someone he should never have loved to begin with. Scott loves him so much more than he could ever put into words.

“With all due respect, seems a little like you’re givin’ up on yourself just a bit, my lord.”

Jimmy deserves an apology. Scott won’t give up.

(Not on Jimmy, anyways.)

It takes him nearly a month of furious work to make the precious mithril bracelet, refining it over and over again. He picks the flowers and their meanings carefully- love, hope, protection- and the crystals too. Amethysts for protection, carefully traded for filled with any bit of magic he can spare for them. The lettering carved into the underside is yet another layer of blessings and meaning; he does it in Quenya, the Tengwar script, which Scott knows Jimmy can’t read. He has to look up how to write in it after so many years of never so much as looking at elven script, pouring over old books by candlelight. By day, he rules an empire, relying on the rush of adrenaline and motivation to carry him through even on the days when he’s swaying on his feet by the end. By night, he works on a courtship project like none he’s made before until at last, at nearly three in the morning one night, it’s finished.

It’s not the most beautiful it could have been. Scott isn’t one of the great Noldor smiths of old, he’s just an elf in love. His hands are perpetually shaky nowadays, and he has limited time to work on it between every other responsibility in his life. But every centimeter of it is handmade with all the care he could muster, and that has to count for something.

Scott hardly wants to wait to give it to Jimmy, but he forces himself to try and wait for morning. His anxiety doesn’t let him sleep much, exhausted as he is, but he curls up under the covers and stares at the bracelet on his nightstand. He doesn’t want to take his eyes off it, half-convinced it will vanish if he does. Eventually, his eyes slide shut of their own will, carrying him into an uneasy sleep.

He wakes up long after the sun's risen, staggering out of bed and throwing on a cloak for the journey to Jimmy’s. The cold that he’s been banishing with the warmth of a forge has returned tenfold, and he’s shivering despite elves normally being resistant to chills. When he takes a glance at himself in the mirror, he finds that his hair is out of place, there’s a streak of ink across his cheek, and the dark circles under his eyes look like bruises. He looks a mess, and he doesn’t care. Jimmy is all that matters now.

The journey’s both long and rough, and his landing in the swamp is more like a frantic swan dive out of the sky. Luckily, though, the ground is soft here, and Scott’s able to pick himself up and hurry for Jimmy’s house, ignoring the stares of a few Codland citizens. He knocks, heart in his throat as he waits for the door to open.

The hinges squeak, and suddenly Jimmy’s standing there, a mix of emotions that Scott doesn’t even want to try and comprehend scattered across his face. He looks a little sleepy despite the fact that it must be near noon, and so very sweet with his hair falling in his face. The sight of him knocks the air right out of Scott’s lungs, and he has to struggle to remember why he’s here again for a long moment as they stare at each other.

“Hi,” Scott says weakly.

“Scott? What- why are you here?” Jimmy sounds outraged, and Scott can’t blame him.

Scott swallows hard. “I came to apologize.” His tired brain scrambles for words, something, anything to convey how truly sorry he is. “I was scared- I am scared. I’m terrified to lose you again. But I shouldn’t have pushed you away and hurt you.”

“No, you shouldn’t have!” Jimmy snaps.

“I know.” God, he didn’t expect it to hurt this much to hear the rage in Jimmy’s voice. “I- uh- fuck.” Scott fumbles to get the box he put the bracelet in, holding it out. “I brought a gift as an apology.”

Jimmy’s silent for a long moment, examining the bracelet. Scott barely dares breathe as he turns it over and over in his hands, tracing the flower designs with his fingertips. “Did you make this yourself?”

“Mhm. I did my best, but it’s not as nice as I’d like.” And, well, isn’t that just the story of his life?

“It’s pretty,” Jimmy says. He sounds genuine.

Scott lets out a breath, letting some of the tension go. “It’s spelled, too. Protection, good fortune, that sort of thing.”

“Do the flowers mean something?”

“They do.”

Jimmy doesn’t press for details.

“I-” Scott starts, and then pauses. What does he say? An apology would be a start, maybe. “I’m sorry, Jimmy, I really am. I won’t ask you to forgive me, but I needed to apologize before my time ran out.” It’s the truth, as wholly as he can bear to give it.

“Is it that- that dire?” Jimmy’s voice shakes a little, and Scott gives a tiny nod.

“This is what I chose to do with it. Making that, coming here. You deserved an apology.”

Jimmy goes quiet again. His eyes are still on the bracelet, and Scott can hardly breathe again.

Finally, he can’t take the tension. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to ask you to love me. I can’t promise you eternity. I can’t promise you happiness. I can’t promise you that I won’t have to be the elvenking first and a husband second. But I am still yours-” he’s always been, really- “if you’ll have me.”

The silence that falls after that is even more stifling than the previous two. Scott doesn’t expect Jimmy to want him back- far from it. He’s putting his heart in Jimmy’s hands, but he doesn’t expect anything other than it shattering on the floor. Maybe Jimmy will be kind enough to let him down gently, but Scott’s fragile enough that it would only take a tiny nudge to break him. And yet he can’t stop the tiny bit of hope that blooms, though it dwindles minute by minute as Jimmy stares and stares. Finally, he opens his mouth to make his apologies again and leave to his frozen, icy empire-

And then there are hands in his hair and lips on his, warm and sudden and bold. Scott gives a little startled gasp, which is swallowed up by Jimmy’s kiss. Their noses knock together and Jimmy’s teeth click against his just a little in their haste, but Scott’s far too overwhelmed by the sudden rush of warmth to care.

When Jimmy finally pulls away, Scott’s left breathless, cheeks warm in a way no part of him has been since Jimmy died in 3rd life.

He barely pulls himself together enough to manage a wry little “So, I’ll take that as you want to stay married?”

“Of course I do! You absolute idiot!”

Jimmy sounds so startled and offended at the idea that he wouldn’t , Scott’s not sure whether to laugh or cry. “Just checking.”

Jimmy kisses him again in response, and who’s Scott to protest? No, he’s more than happy to let Jimmy pull him close and kiss away the lingering sorrow. When Jimmy pulls away this time, he’s left dizzy, half caught up in the euphoria of being loved, half terrified that this is only a cruel dream.

By the time Scott collects himself again, Jimmy’s holding out the bracelet to him. “Can you help me put this on?”

Scott can only nod, fumbling with the clasp a little. It’s not complicated, but his hands aren’t steady, and it takes him a moment to get it. Jimmy grabs his hands when he lets go, and he’s so warm that Scott can’t muster the energy to even question why.

“Come in and catch up with me?” Jimmy offers.

Scott nods again, and he can’t bear to let go of Jimmy’s hand when Jimmy turns to go inside.

They talk a lot, Jimmy more than Scott. Scott learns that Jimmy’s been picked on by other rulers (no surprise, but his blood still boils at the thought), and he shares minimal details about what he’s been up to. Jimmy doesn’t need to hear about Scott’s issues, he’s already dealing with enough.

Eventually, though, the sun is starting to set.

“I need to get home,” Scott says, though he has to force himself to. “You need sleep, not to stay up all night talking.” He goes to get up, and Jimmy immediately lunges, catching his sleeve.

“Don’t go! Please.” Jimmy sounds almost afraid, which instantly sets off alarm bells.

“Jimmy, darling, we both need to sleep,” Scott tells him, very patiently.

“We can sleep! I just….nevermind.”

Now the alarm bells are really going off in Scott’s head. He knows when his husband is hiding something serious, and Jimmy’s frantic tone isn’t helping his worry. “No, no. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jimmy claims.

Scott frowns at him lightly. “ Jimmy .”

That’s all it takes. “I don’t want to be alone!” Jimmy blurts. He’s blushing a little. “It’s just, I’ve been alone for a long time, and there’s this demon thing that keeps showing up, and I’ve only just got you back, I’m not ready to let you go, and-”

Oh, Jimmy . Scott holds up a hand in a ‘stop’ gesture. “Hold on. What was that about a demon?”

“There’s this demon creature that I keep seeing, and it’s really messing with me. It sounds like you, sometimes, but all distorted, and I can’t handle it! You know me, I’m not brave or smart or anything, I’m just Jimmy!” Jimmy’s voice pitches up with distress, and Scott’s heart aches for him.

“Alright,” he says, as gently as he can manage. “How about you come to Rivendell for the night, then? I can protect us both easier there.” More like, Aeor can protect them. Scott’s useless, even with Vilya.

Jimmy nods and takes Scott’s hand with a tiny little “Thank you.”

“Always,” Scott murmurs. It comes out softer than he means it to, though it’s the truth. He’ll always do whatever he can to protect Jimmy, which is why he asks “Do you still have the ring I gave you?”

“I do, I just… give me a moment to remember where I put it.”

“Good. It’s important.” Vilya is one of the most important parts of his heritage, actually, and his advisors would pitch a fit if they knew he had given it to a mortal. For once, he can’t bring himself to care what his advisors would think, though. Jimmy is important, more important than any piece of jewelry.

Jimmy follows Scott to Rivendell, and Scott can’t resist a proud smile when Jimmy praises the buildings. He takes Jimmy inside, lets him curl up under the warm covers, his head tucked against Scott’s chest, and it’s only once Jimmy’s asleep that Scott lets himself break. He’s so tired , so utterly exhausted from being brave for so long. Even now that his husband is curled up next to him, warm and solid and real, he can hardly believe that Jimmy actually wanted him back- wanted him at all, really. Scott doesn’t want to move for fear of waking up Jimmy, but luckily for him, he’s good at crying silently. That’s what he does, tears slipping down his face to wet the pillow below. Only the faintest whimper escapes his lips, a tiny broken noise that he’s embarrassed of even in this emotional state. And when another slips out, he buries his face in Jimmy’s hair and forces himself back into silence. He’s not going to cry over the best thing that’s ever happened to him, he isn’t , but he’s just so tired of being alone that being with someone else is almost painful in contrast; he’s so cold that the slightest touch of warmth feels burning.

Jimmy shifts in his sleep, mumbling something that sounds vaguely affectionate and pulling Scott closer, and Scott nearly chokes from the effort of restraining a sob. Gods, Jimmy . He could die like this, tucked in his husband’s arms, and he doesn’t think he’d regret it.

“I love you,” he whispers into the night. It comes out choked. “I love you so much. I’m so sorry, Jimmy, I’m so sorry.”

Jimmy mumbles something that sounds a lot like “I love you too”, and that’s what really breaks Scott. It’s a miracle Jimmy doesn’t wake up, really, with Scott’s quiet sobs shaking the mattress. He cries until he’s all out of tears, as silently as he can manage, and only then does he slip into a sound sleep.

#scott smajor #jimmy solidarity #flower husbands #empires smp #my writing

[qqueenofhades]

For the spooky prompts, "Violent Thunderstorms" for Fivan perhaps? 😳

Anonymous asked: Heyyy 2 Vampire for fivan (how to ask for the chapter 2 witout asking for chap 2)

Anonymous asked: Fivan and #2 🧛‍♂️🧛‍♂️

Very well, I see what the people want, and that is a sequel to this one-shot. I have thus combined these prompts for reasons.

Fedyor spends the next fortnight attempting – with notably indifferent success – not to think about Ivan Sakharov. The Conclave was less than pleased to hear that Fedyor came back empty-handed, having not even secured a promise for Ivan and the rest of the Black Hand to leave off their mischief-making, and in fact has empowered them in their belief that there is nothing the law can do to them. Considering the earful that Fedyor got on that accord, he saw nothing to be gained from mentioning that not only did Ivan blow him off completely, he did it after he had fed on him. It’s entirely possible that Ivan accessed sensitive thoughts, memories, or plans, any scrap of useful intelligence that Fedyor did not carefully hide away in his mind before that too-distracting bite. In short, he has comprehensively botched the entire situation, the Conclave is well within their rights to be very angry with him, and to demonstrate the extent of their displeasure, they have temporarily revoked Fedyor’s right to enter their territory and feed on their drones – willing humans kept for the purpose, who are hoping to be selected for the transformation in exchange for their service. That means if Fedyor wants to eat, he has to go out and hunt an animal, or bamboozle and beguile an unwitting passerby to let him chomp on their neck. Truly, being a vampire can be such a terrible drag.

Fedyor figures that if he keeps his head down, meekly accepts his punishment, and doesn’t make any trouble, the Conclave will get over their anger and reinstate him sooner rather than later. It’s not like he has many other options. If he wants to stay in Belgrade, he will remain in their good graces, and he has no desire to get mixed up with the Black Hand. The rumor is that they were founded by the Black Heretic himself, who has remained out of sight for many decades but is now said to be active again, and the Black Heretic is the scion of the Conclave’s greatest enemy, the vampire that all other vampires fear. Absolutely no good can come of throwing one’s lot in with that crowd, and Fedyor wonders if he is going to have to find a new home. If a stupid supernatural war blows up this city, he’s out.

Most of the fortnight passes without incident, but the flaw in the plan is the unfortunate fact that Fedyor is very hungry. He’s still a young enough vampire that he can’t go two weeks without feeding, and he really hates the messy business of corralling an unwitting human. Besides, the Conclave’s headquarters and chief place of business are on Knez Mihailova Ulica, the most fashionable downtown district right in the middle of Belgrade, and what with Fedyor’s current banishment from the premises, he can’t go there anyway. Hunting it has to be.

Fedyor waits until it is dark, a soft summer rain pattering on the steep-roofed eaves and glowing streetlamps, and then, having changed into clothing more suitable for getting a lot of bloodstains, he slips out. He moves silently in the shadows, past the well-dressed gentlemen and evening-gowned ladies out at the ball or the opera or the latest society supper-party, and escapes the precincts of Belgrade proper for the low green hills that surround it. This is on the Sava side of the river confluence, to the west, and once Fedyor is out of the city, the trees close in thickly. They are only broken by the occasional tiny village: small churches with square steeples and double-branched Orthodox crosses, red-tiled cottages crowded together along narrow dirt lanes, a lantern burning here and there to keep the monsters away. Fedyor can hear human voices, sense the shadows of people moving around behind the shutters, and it gives him a pang. No wonder he is clinging so closely to the prospect of timely reinstatement to the Conclave. Without them, he would truly be entirely alone.

The rain starts to come down harder as Fedyor climbs through the thick green underbrush, and by the time he reaches the top of the hill, it is slicing into his face with a vehemence that even a vampire finds intensely disagreeable. Squinting and swearing under his breath, Fedyor shields his eyes and takes a deep whiff, searching for the scent of a prey animal. He could always hop a fence and grab a cow, but cows can kick surprisingly hard, a poor farmer doesn’t need the hassle of his one beast of burden keeling over, and maybe it is just the city-boy aesthete in Fedyor, but crouching in a muddy farmyard, doing your damndest not to get murdered by a large and angry bovine while you valiantly attempt to suck its blood, is just fucking terrible. There’s nothing to recommend it. Now that he’s out of the fledgling bloodlust, Fedyor has no intention of ever going back.

Thunder booms overhead, making him jump, and a jagged spear of lightning sears the horizon from sky to ground. A tree not that far away lights up in blinding white, and a scorched scent of ozone drifts through the pounding rain. Fedyor flinches, as he has no desire to be set on fire, and decides that either he raids a farm or he heads back home and waits for better weather. But he can catch another scent just ahead, and he’s hungry enough to risk it. He breaks into a run, almost loses his footing, dodges around an enormous dripping tree, and spots a thin crescent of lights high on the bluff ahead. Wait, is that a house? Some Serbian royal bureaucrat’s elegant country retreat, or – something else? Fedyor doesn’t recall that he has seen it before, although he has not spent much time out here alone. That, or –

He has only a split second of warning, his supernatural senses screaming at him to get the fuck out of here right now, before he realizes two things at once: first, that the scent is very definitely hostile, and second, that something is dive-bombing directly toward him, on the strength of a ferocious leap that is remarkable even for a vampire. The next second, it – he – hits Fedyor like a ton of bricks, and they go crashing down the slope, kicking and thrashing and biting at each other in a flurry of blows too fast for a human eye to see. Another enormous clap of thunder rattles Fedyor’s fangs in his head, he slams down on his back hard enough to break his bones if he was human, and then, in the flash of the succeeding lightning bolt, his eyes confirm what his nose has already told him. Of all the stupid, stupid things, he appears to have unwittingly trespassed onto Black Hand territory and tried to hunt their game, and the angry supernatural soldier determined to beat the unholy tarnation out of him is therefore none other than the one and only –

“Stop!” Fedyor wheezes, although he has no idea why he expects it to make any difference. “It’s me! Fedyor Kaminsky! From Terazije!”

The rain stings his eyes hard enough to make him grimace, just as a third incandescent bolt of lightning rattles across the sky. From what Fedyor can see, which is not very much, Ivan looks almost as startled as he feels. They remain staring at each other, their faces barely an inch apart, Ivan’s fangs bared in a way that it is really not the time to find disturbingly attractive. Then Ivan springs off and barks, “What the fuck are you doing out here, Conclave whore?”

“Sorry.” Fedyor sits up. His dark hair is plastered to his head and getting in his eyes, there is mud all over his clothes, and even for an immortal who technically does not need to breathe, he is winded. Ivan, to nobody’s surprise, really packs a punch. “I was just… hungry.”

“You have your own arrangements.” Ivan eyes him suspiciously, arms folded, rainwater running down that magnificently disdainful Slavic nose as if from a statue in the public square. “If anyone besides me had caught you out here, you would be dead.”

Well, that is (not) encouraging. It does, however, point out the fact that Ivan has already had the chance to murder him and held back, and Fedyor is not about to speculate on why exactly that might be. It’s not a good idea, but he’s wet, hungry, has just had to unexpectedly fight like the dickens, and irritated at Ivan for being the one who got him into this mess in the first place. “The Conclave demanded that I return their visiting card,” he says shortly. “I’m not allowed to feed on their drones for some unspecified length of time – which is, I might add, entirely thanks to you.”

“What? Why is that my fault?”

“In case you’ve forgotten our last meeting,” Fedyor snaps, “it was at the Golden Cross, on the Lumière brothers’ film night. I relayed the Conclave’s warning to stop your illegal behavior and associations, and you completely ignored it. As a result – ”

“What, they cut off your feeding access?” Ivan interrupts. He looks utterly incredulous. “That’s charitable of them. A good way to build loyalty among your people. Besides, what the fuck did they expect? That you would walk up and ask me nicely, and that would solve it?”

He does, Fedyor has to loathingly admit, have a point. The best he can muster is, “The Conclave is accustomed to being obeyed.”

Ivan eyes him up, with an expression on his face as if that riposte is so pathetic, he isn’t going to dignify it with the effort of a reply. He is poised on edge, as if he doesn’t consider this matter to be entirely settled by the previous bout of violence, and Fedyor is equally tense. He very much does not want to scuffle with a Black Hand hardman who looks like that and fights like that, especially in the throes of encroaching frenzy, and the attendant loss of control. His fangs dig into his lower lip, seeking out the nearest blood – his own – and Fedyor clenches his fists. “Do you have an animal I can borrow?” he asks, as politely as he can. “I’ll – pay for it.”

Ivan surveys him up and down, dripping like an undead drowned rat and otherwise looking as miserable as Fedyor generally tries not to look (after all, presentation is everything). Then he jerks up an impatient fist. “Follow me.”

Fedyor is unsure what this might entail, but shamefully – whether it is due to his increasingly desperate hunger, or something else – he is not altogether opposed to it. He trails after Ivan, trying not to slip in the wet grass or fixate on Ivan’s scent; he will just get another smackdown for his trouble, like a horse flicking aside a fly, and he is not in the mood for it. After a climb of a few minutes, they reach the top of the hill and cross a deserted lawn to a manor house, scattered lights flickering in steep gables and pointed turrets. It is otherwise entirely dark, even to Fedyor’s vampire senses, as Ivan unlatches the heavy front door and drags it open with a screech. “In.”

Well aware that this is an even stupider idea than the polite request to knock it off – he is putting himself voluntarily in the power of a Black Hand operative, on enemy territory, where nobody knows where he is or what Ivan intends to do with him. If Fedyor’s drained corpse turns up floating in the Danube tomorrow, a warning to the Conclave never to interfere in their business again, he can’t say that he didn’t expect it. He hesitates at the threshold a moment longer, and then, given permission – it’s not essential, but it does help – steps inside.

The hall looks almost exactly as you would expect a secret vampire mansion to look: dusty suits of armor, glowering paintings, a sweeping grand staircase with a gothic balcony, and a chandelier which struggles to illuminate the cracked black-and-white chessboard flagstones. Still dripping, the thunder dulling to a muted rumble, Fedyor looks warily from side to side. There doesn’t seem to be anyone here except the two of them – or at least, he certainly hopes that there are no unwitting humans asleep upstairs. In the state that he’s in right now, he isn’t sure that he could control himself. Unless Ivan is trying to make some tiresome point about the inherent monstrosity of vampires, the sort that certain factions like to use in order to argue against the Conclave’s attempts to civilize them and make them follow human-like rules and laws. Fedyor hopes not, because that would be deeply irritating, but he’s so hungry that he’s about to bite his own wrist, and it would not be his finest hour.

However, Ivan does not lead them upstairs, but through a dim warren of corridors to a small, curtained study in the back of the house. Sullen embers glimmer in the hearth; vampires don’t need fires for heat, or to see by, but the human habit is hard to break, even if it’s one of the few things that can hurt them. Then Ivan shuts the door behind them and says crisply, “I’ll make you a deal. Give me useful information on the Conclave, and I will let you feed.”

“What?” Fedyor gapes at him. That was clearly a starvation-induced hallucination. “On – on you?”

“No,” Ivan snaps. “On the davenport, you idiot. Yes, obviously on me. Or I can throw you out and send you to try your luck in the nearest village. Yes or no?”

Fedyor continues to gape at him. Obviously he does not want to go and rip some screaming innocent villager out of their bed, like the very worst of the strigoi horror stories, but he is not in a hurry to jeopardize his ticket back to the Conclave’s good graces by informing on them to Ivan bloody Sakharov. (Indeed, literally.) Did Ivan make that offer because he knows that Fedyor wants it, and remembers how much of a reaction Fedyor had to Ivan feeding on him back at the Golden Cross? It was impossible to hide it entirely, blast him, and Ivan is too canny not to take advantage of an adversary’s weakness. He’s caught Fedyor dead to rights, trespassing on Black Hand territory, and as he himself said, Fedyor is lucky to escape with his skin. It’s Ivan’s right to exploit that fact, nothing more. If Fedyor refuses, what in the hell is he going to do?

“I don’t know,” he stalls. “I’m not sure that I can – ”

Ivan shrugs, then lifts his own wrist to his mouth and bites the back of it. Slow, rich, dark blood beads up, and he wafts it temptingly in Fedyor’s direction. “So, you don’t want this, then?”

Yes, Fedyor wants it. Fedyor, in fact, wants a few other things while he’s at it, and there is no way that Ivan, with hearing and senses and smell as acute as his own, doesn’t know it. He takes a step forward, but Ivan dances aside. “Information first,” he orders. “Then you may have your reward. Come now, Conclave whore. Why is it any different from last time?”

“Don’t call me that.” Fedyor is seeing red – which, at this point, could be due to just about anything. “I have a name, remember? Fedyor – Mikhailovich – Kaminsky.”

He stumbles a little over the patronymic, as it is an ongoing debate whether proper etiquette for Slavic vampires entails the use of the birth father’s name, or that of the vampire sire. Opinion generally comes down on the side of the latter, since it represents proper respect for one’s new immortal status and supernatural bloodline; you’re supposed to let go of your human family, since pining to go back complicates the already-difficult adjustment period and is impossible anyway. But since Fedyor isn’t entirely reconciled to it, and tries to hold onto his humanity, he tends to introduce himself as Fedyor Mikhailovich, not Fedyor Dmitrievich, and the flicker in Ivan’s eyes means that he has taken note of that struggle. Then he shrugs, crooking a taunting finger at him. “Fine then, Fedyor Mikhailovich. It is your choice.”

“What do you – ” Fedyor is having trouble seeing straight. “Want to know?”

“Anything that might be useful.” If he is worried about being shut in a small room with another vampire on the verge of total frenzy, Ivan doesn’t show it. Indeed, in this paramount confidence and command, Fedyor realizes that Ivan is much older than he initially thought. He took him for one of Catherine the Great’s courtiers, from the late eighteenth century or so, but the well-worn shadow of violence that sits on Ivan’s shoulders is of considerably longer use than that. It’s something else to puzzle out when Fedyor regains the use of his higher critical faculties, which is definitely not the case at the moment. “That is, if you can bring yourself to actually – ”

At that moment, he is cut off as Fedyor, deciding that two can play this game and he is tired of being jerked around by this arrogant bastard, lunges at him. Ivan jumps six feet straight up, hissing, and they end up somewhere in the vicinity of the ceiling, only to crash back down to the floor. Even vampires are not immune to the laws of gravity, and they roll around in a second deeply undignified flurry of kicking and biting, as Fedyor finally gets hold of Ivan’s wrists and tries to get his mouth as close as possible to that maddeningly enticing trickle. Then, for a crucial instant, he hesitates. He is very far gone, but there’s enough of his brain left to remember that feeding without permission is regarded quite dimly, and he is trying to prove that he is not a total savage. He gulps and gasps, fangs cutting into his lip, struggling and thrashing, not even able to properly articulate his request, as Ivan still looks – bafflingly – as if he is rather enjoying this. Then he smirks and says, “Very well, Fedyor Mikhailovich. Take it if you can.”

Now that is a challenge, and while it would be very enjoyable to throw it back in Ivan’s face in another fashion, Fedyor has only one concern at the moment. He presses his mouth to Ivan’s wrist, sinks his fangs, and sucks and licks like a man dying of thirst in the desert. Ivan utters a contented purring sound, his head falling back on the carpet, and certainly does not bother to keep struggling while Fedyor is otherwise occupied. Silence falls across the drawing room, except for the soft sounds of Fedyor feeding. He is half on top of Ivan, between his legs, and Ivan does not appear to be objecting in the least. Well. That was… unexpected.

When Fedyor has drunk enough to feel sane again, he pulls back with a jerk, remembers where he is, and fights the wash of embarrassment that floods through him. He wipes his mouth with the cuff of his shirt, then bends down and licks the bite wound closed, which is common vampire practice even if Ivan failed to do it with him. (After all, some supernaturals have manners.) Then they look at each other, and Fedyor doesn’t think it’s his imagination that Ivan’s breath is coming short, a flush visible in his pale cheeks, an enjoyment bearing a remarkable resemblance to Fedyor’s own. The silence persists a moment longer. Then Ivan groans, his legs sprawl further apart, and he orders, doing his utmost to sound gruff and commanding, “You will give me information on the Conclave now, yes?”

It is extremely tempting to tell him to take a long walk off a short pier, to pay him back for that underhanded trick at the Golden Cross, but that requires more command of his verbal processes than Fedyor currently possesses – or indeed, expects to possess in the near-to-medium future. He leans down instead, his nose brushing the hollow of Ivan’s cheek and his mouth ghosting against Ivan’s neck, his fangs tracing the line of the vein as if he might bite there too. Ivan’s hips buck, and his big hands settle heavily on the small of Fedyor’s back. “You know,” he murmurs, his voice a low, rough rasp in his throat. “You are wasted on those idiots.”

“Mmm.” Fedyor nips Ivan’s lower lip, with just a hint of fang. Then – although it’s the most difficult thing he has had to do in his life or his afterlife – he rolls off and gets to his feet, leaving the fearsome Black Hand anarchist vampire flat on his back on the drawing room floor. “It has,” he says, “been a lovely evening. But I will be taking my leave now. Good night.”

And with that, in the somewhat shameful epitome of quitting while he is ahead, but wanting to make absolutely sure that the point has been felt, Fedyor turns around and books it. He doesn’t dare to look back as he bursts out of the dark house, pelts across the lawn, and skids down the hill, in the thick and slippery knots of mud and moss. He doesn’t slow down until he spies the lights of Belgrade, and in a few minutes more, he’s thundering into his flat, clothes disheveled and hair a mess and mouth and head and heart still full of the taste and smell and feel of Ivan Sakharov. It’s intoxicating. It’s unbearable. But it can only be once. It will be only once.

The Conclave, Fedyor reminds himself. You’re doing this to get back to them, and you managed to get out of there without saying anything. They’ll appreciate it. They will. And it’s what you want. Keep your head down and don’t do anything else stupid, and it will work.

It’s what he wants.

It’s what he wants.

It’s what he –

Ah, fuck.

#fic prompts #spooky prompts #heartrender husbands #fivan #fivan ff #paging bite anon lmao #vampire au #the book of the raven #starlesscne #anonymous #ask

[13uswntimagines]

Put a Little Love on Me (Emily Sonnett x Reader)

Request: Emily x Reader Based on Put a Little Love on Me by Nial Horan

Author’s Note: So Im gonna be honest here, I actually had an entirely different, much angstier plan for this, but i just couldn’t seem to get this image out of my head. I hope you enjoy and that I hit the request enough! Hit me up with questions or comments, it gives me life to know what y’all think. 

The word you would use for you and Emily was inevitable. Like two magnets always being drawn to each other for better or for worse. Your careers weren’t really conducive. You were always on the road with your music and she was always on the road with her soccer, and where those roads crossed was few and far between. 

Distance was hard, and the main cause of issues in your relationship. That and the media was hell-bent on having you date every human being you interacted with. The fight had been stupid, she knew that. It was a bad mixture of Jealousy, exhaustion, and longing that had led to the two of you being at the same award show and not speaking to each other. 

Emily sighed wiggling in her uncomfortable seat, waiting impatiently for the stupid commercial break to be over. The quicker they got through this, the quicker she could talk this out with you. You were only sitting 3 rows ahead of the team, but so far you hadn’t spared a glance in their directions, not even when you had left to go get ready for your performance. She fucked up, she knew that, but it still hurt to have you blatantly ignore them. 

“What happened between you and hot stuff?” Lindsey asked, bumping Emily’s shoulder. You were avoiding her as much as you were avoiding Sonnett, and she needed to know why. She was your best friend too. 

Emily looked down, picking at a loose thread on her red dress. 

****

“It’s not like I have a choice Emily,” You growled back, your hand ripping frustratedly through your hair as you paced the living room. 

You were only in town for the next 36 hours and you wanted to celebrate with your girlfriend, but she was too hung up on a stupid music video. A stupid music video that was currently number 1 in the world. 

“But you do. You didn’t have to do a sexy dance with your duet partner,” She growled back from her place on the couch. You were the big name in the diet with Camila. You were the one with all the control. Maybe Camila wasn’t your type, but that hadn’t made watching her dance all over you any easier. 

“Emily…” You huffed, slumming back onto the couch and scrubbing your eyes. It was complicated. Yes, you had some control, but the pressure had been insane. Camila was in a committed relationship with her bandmate, and you were in love. You had given in because you didn’t want another fight with your managers. And you didn’t want them to take away the already limited time you had with your girl. 

“Don’t Emily me! The entire world thinks you’re fucking her and you decided to let her grope you in your fucking music video,” She growled back dangerously, allowing her frustration with the media and her jealousy take complete control. Hiding how much it hurt to watch you do some of those moves with Camila. To watch her whisper senorita in your ear. Emily knew she didn’t call you that, so who was?

“I’m not cheating on you Emily, I fucking love you, and I just wanna enjoy the time I have with you,” You sighed, just so tired of all of this fighting. Was one quiet night with your girl too much to ask for? 

“What, just so you can go running back to her?” Emily spat, and you winced. 

“We’re on tour babe, she’s my opening act, nothing more, and you okayed it, so I don’t know what your problem is. I love you,” You explained slowly, emphasizing the word you. You only wanted her, why wouldn’t she believe you? 

There was a pregnant pause between the two of you. Your face stayed buried in your hands, and Emily’s chest heaved. If you couldn’t understand why she was upset that another woman was all over you, then maybe you didn’t care about her as much as she cared about you. 

“Well, if you can’t grasp it, then why don’t you just go?” She said, her voice barely above a whisper, and your wide eyes snapped to her. It felt like your whole world was caving in on you, if you lost Emily, you didn’t know what you’d do. 

You opened and closed your mouth several times, finally only a feeble “What, Em-,” squeaked past your lips. Her face remained impassive, as though shattering you was easy. 

“Get. Out.” She gritted out, pointing towards the door. 

You stood, pausing only to stare at her for a few more seconds. The silence between you was heavy, like mud seeping into your bones. 

“I love you, Emily, only you,” You sighed, hanging your head in defeat, and walking out the door. You spared her a glance, wondering how this night had turned out like this. You had been high on the excitement of finally getting to see her, and now you were crashing back to reality. You waited for her to respond, shaking your head when she wouldn’t even look in your direction. 

****

“We had a fight,” Emily huffed, pulling around the loose strand. The fight was stupid, but she never thought you’d actually leave. That you’d walk away instead of staying and fighting for her. She had sulked all through the first days of camp until the first letter appeared. 

“Hmm, is that why you’ve been getting so many letters?” Lindsey smirked, and Emily rolled her eyes. 

“No, that was because I wouldn’t pick up my phone,” She snorted, remembering the words that had accompanied the first page. You had said that maybe you could be like Noah from the notebook. That if she wouldn’t answer your calls, then you’d write her a letter every day. And then maybe she’d be like Allie and come back to you. 

You had kept your word. Every day between then and now you had written her a letter, and sometimes she wrote you back. You made up and “talked” out your issues, and now it was time for the reunion. At least she hoped that's what you were thinking. 

“Gotta admit, she’s got game,” Kelley snorted from beside Lindsey. You were a true romantic at heart and that never ceased to amaze them. You were essentially apologizing with Emily’s favorite movie.  

“And she’s totally in love with you Emily,” Alex added over her girlfriend's shoulder. No one sent almost 100 letters unless they were super in love. 

Emily nodded, she knew you loved her and only her. It also helped that Camila was cuddled up with her own girlfriend 2 rows in front of them. It was hard to be jealous when you saw the person of your ire being utterly lovestruck with someone else (and she was pretty sure that the only person Camila wanted to call her Senorita was Lauren). 

****

“You ready kid?” Your manager asked, straightening the collar of your suit. 

You nodded hesitantly “I just hope she dances with me,” you mumbled. If she stayed in her seat, you didn’t know what you were going to do. You had planned this, and the only person who didn’t know was the main component. 

You sighed. You wondered about her every day, where she was, how she was doing. You knew you loved her, and you were about to show her. 

“She’d be an idiot not to,” You manager smiled, patting your back, and you gulped. You hoped so. You were pretty sure she would, she had forgiven you. She had even replied with I love yours, so hopefully, this all worked out. You had so much love for her that you could only pray it would be enough. 

*****

You looked breathtaking on stage, standing in that navel blue suite. The performance was simple, just you and a mic in the spotlight, a piano playing in the background. It was odd for you not playing your accompaniment, but you did everything for a reason. Emily bit her lip, unable to take her eyes off of you. The spotlight mixed with that color made you look… so suave. Almost like the female James Bond. 

“She looks sad,” Lindsey mumbled, patting Emily’s leg lightly. And Emily leaned forward, looking closer. She took in the furrow of your eyebrows, how you bright Y/E/C orbs were slightly dulled. 

“The song is sad,” She huffed. She knew how much this song meant to you. She had asked about it frequently in your letters, and you had been honest about how much pain you were in. 

“Not the ending,” Lindsey smirked, and Emily nodded. The two of you had made up and the end of that song reflected that.

“I wonder what her plan is, she never does anything this simple,” Emily murmured, smoothing out a crinkle in her red dress. If you weren’t playing the piano, then you had to have something big up your sleeve. 

You Unhooked the mic and began wandering down the steps. 

“She’s coming this way,” Lindsey said shocked, and suddenly, Emily’s hand was balling the material of her dress in her fist, and your eyes met for the first time that night. All of your attention was on her. 

You walk slowly down the aisle, the bridge ringing through the room. The audience stared at you in awe, but you only had eyes for one woman. A woman who you had pulled several strings to have sitting on the end of the row. 

You stopped in front of her, just as you got to the acoustic section right before the final chorus. Reaching out a hand and sending her a pleading look when she didn’t immediately take it, praying to God that this wouldn’t backfire on you. She stared at you wide-eyed, frozen at the suggestion. 

You bit your lip as the tension in the room seemed to grow. The eyes on you waiting with bated breath to see what Emily would do. Lindsey nudged her, snapping Emily out of her daze. 

You smiled encouraging down at her, and just as the final chorus began, she delicately placed her hand in yours. You pulled her up into you, her arms wrapping around your neck as yours landed on her waists, and the two of you began to sway in a slow dance. 

“When the lights come up we’re the only ones dancing, I look around and you’re standing there asking, you’re the only one I need,” You sing quietly conscious of your proximity, staring into Emily’s bright blue with so much love as the lights flash on, and you’re the only two dancing. 

She leans in close to you, just as you get the final line, her breath fanning across your lips, your foreheads touching. 

Her lips press against your own, stealing the final note. The crowd erupted in thunderous applause and wolf whistles, but you don’t hear any of it. All of your attention focused solely on the woman in your arms. The woman that you loved so dearly and were so terrified of losing. 

“I love you, only you Emily,” You breathed out, squeezing her side lightly. 

“I know. I love you too,” She smiled, pecking your lips again. It felt so nice to hold her close, to have her right here in front of you. You reluctantly pulled away as the announcers called your name. You shot over your shoulder, before reconnecting your forehead with Emily’s. You just wanted to live in this moment forever. 

“go, I’ll see you later,” Emily whispered, nudging your nose with her own and pushing you lightly in the direction of your impatiently waiting team. 

You laughed, grabbing her hand and pulling her with you. “You’re coming with me babe, you’re the only one I need,” You shoot her a goofy thing, kissing her knuckles. 

“Put a little love on me,” She hummed back, wrapping her arms around you and kissing just behind your ear. 

You loved her and she loved you and that was all that mattered. You were magnets, always trying to find each other, always pushing and pulling, always connected. You would talk about the details later, for now, you would just bask in being together again. 

#uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #emily sonnett x reader #emily sonnett imagine

[falcon-eye]

Another ficlet featuring Cat OCs which will eventually become a part of a bigger story from @inexplicifics Accidental Warlord AU! This one kinda got away from me, Idk. I wanted to include a little more info on my Cats but after a while I felt like I was rambling. I also feel like the tone is kinda all over the place. I like what I wrote, but Idk about how I wrote it, if that makes any sense. And I’m not satisfied with the ending. I also hope the “deal” makes sense too. Idk. I’m just generally sorry for how weird this one turned out. Any questions, even if they’re just about the characters, please shoot them my way! Hope you enjoy!

-

The Law of Surprise had never steered Veko wrong. Well, ok, that wasn’t exactly true. It had never fucked him over, anyway. Well...

Ok, see, many, many years before the White Wolf began his reign, Veko and his twin brother Hamra had been traveling with the Cat School’s caravan. They always had, ever since becoming Witchers, although they sometimes broke off for hunts either alone or with each other. Siblings were rare among Witchers, twins especially, and identical twins even more so. Plus, Hamra was... gentle—for a Witcher anyway. He hardly made eye contact and often didn’t talk until absolutely necessary for days at a time, often using signs when he didn’t want to (or couldn’t) speak. Veko was used to it, often either being able to decipher his brother’s signs and gestures, or filing in the blanks himself. This also meant he was frequently his brother’s “translator” of sorts. Despite mostly taking hunts together though, Veko, like everyone else in the caravan, needed a break from time to time. Especially from his brother’s guilty looks.

It’s common knowledge that Cats are the more... emotional of all Witchers, prone to mood swings, rages, and the occasional bloodlust. It’s just how the mutagens made them, as much a fact as the sky was blue. Didn’t make it any easier on any of them, though. Veko knew this all too well.

Although Hamra was quiet, generally incredibly awkward and painfully shy, he too could and had been taken over by his emotions. And unfortunately, Veko was always in the line of fire—literally. The fight had been... stupid. Probably. Now, years later, neither twin can remember what the it was even about, and none of the other Cats were paying enough attention to care. Hamra was too enraged to remember what happened and Veko. Well, Veko, whether he was trying to calm Hamra down or was truly fighting with him, took an Igni to the face at basically point blank range. Sure, the smell of cooking monster was one Witchers eventually got used to, but as it turns out, the smell of your own brother’s flesh burning from his face and neck snaps you out of a rage pretty well.

Veko was out of commission for quite a while, by Witcher standards. The left side of his face, from under his eye down his neck, and disappearing beneath his armor, was a permanent web of tight, puckered scarring. It wasn’t bad enough to lose his ear or anything, thankfully, and no actual holes in his skin, but it was big and grotesque enough that there was no possible way to hide it unless he covered his entire face. So Hamra had to look at his greatest mistake every time he looked at his brother, and Veko had to deal with the sour smell of guilt pouring off of his brother almost every waking moment.

So, yeah, he needed a break and a solo hunt every once in a while.

This one was about as basic as they get; bunch of drowners terrorizing a local village, no problem. Veko took them out with ease. Or so he thought. Going back to the village to claim his pay, he heard an old man crying for help and realized one of the drowners had broken off from the others. Just great.

The old man and the drowner both were stuck in thick mud, a pathetic sight as the man frantically tried to free himself as the drowner clawed at him. Veko literally walked up next to the creature and decapitating it, yanking the old man out of the mud while still in mid swing.

“Witcher!” the old man cried, his knees nearly buckling once he was on solid ground. “Oh thank you Witcher! How could I ever repay you?!”

Sheathing his swords, Veko chuckled. “I mean, coin never hurts.”

As Veko wiped the mud from his face, revealing his burns, the man paled. “I-I don’t... I-I don’t have any money on me,” he said. “Please, sir, there must be something else I can give you!“

Veko sighed. “Not a problem,” he said. “How about this—first thing you see when you get home, I’ll take that. I’ve got to get my pay from your village anyway. Why don’t I stop by your house in the morning?”

The old man nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes sir Witcher!” he exclaimed. “I live on the edge of town, just a little farm, the one with the blue roof.”

“Blue roof,” Veko said, squinting at the old man. “Yeah, it’s suits you.”

The old man looked confused, but Veko waved him off and walked back to the village with him. Luckily, the alderman didn’t scrimp him over on pay, but it still wasn’t a great amount. However, despite actually being paid the amount he was promised, the local inn just so happened to be completely full. Whatever, you win some, you lose some. Pocketing his coin, Veko led his horse a little ways out of town and reluctantly set up camp.

Veko’s horse was a dun gelding, one of the several Law of Surprise claims and other non-coin payments Veko had made over the years. Once, he’d gotten a literal chicken dinner from a family (which he shared with them, godsdamned his bleeding heart). Another time, an old woman he’d saved from a werewolf offered him and Hamra her home for the night, and taught Veko how to knit when he couldn’t sleep. The horse was relatively new, having picked him up from a farmer with a bad wolf problem, and didn’t give two shits about the Witcher. Which was fine by Veko. He wasn’t close with his horses like some Witchers were. This was his eighth horse, appropriately named Eight.

Eight was a bastard of an animal, constantly biting at Veko’s fingers, clothes, weapons—really anything he could reach. He’d also literally kicked Veko in the ass a few times, and once right in the balls, to the entire caravan’s delight. Eight was also a particular fan of loudly chewing the bark off of whatever tree he was tethered to, which made trying to get peace and quiet a bitch. Not-so-secretly, Veko was hoping whatever the old man saw when he got back to his house was a different horse. It was too expensive to buy another one, and despite the fact that he and Eight hated each other, he’d never wish harm upon the animal. He just wanted to be rid of him, that’s all.

But when he arrived at the old man’s home the next day, horse, chicken dinner, knitting lessons—none of it came even close to what was waiting for him.

A petite woman in a pale blue dress covered in splatters of paint slammed the front door open as he approached. Her hair, brunette, was up in an approximation of a bun, but it was hard to tell as it was so messily put together and curled wildly where it escaped.

Veko saw the exact moment she saw his burn scars, but to his surprise, only faltered for a moment. “Witcher!” she shouted, marching right up to Veko and poking a paint-stained finger to his chest. “You can turn around and leave right now!”

Veko blinked down at her. “Uh, excuse me,” he scoffed, “I came here to get my payment. Who the hell are you?”

“Your bloody payment,” the girl hissed, throwing her arms out. “Surprise!”

“Eloise!” the old man Veko had saved came rushing out of his house, taking the woman’s hands in his. “Please, Eloise—“

“What in the hell is going on here?!” Veko exclaimed, making the old man flinch but the woman—Eloise—stood her ground.

“You asked my father to give you the first thing he saw when he came home, right?” she snapped. “Well I answered the bloody door, Witcher.”

Veko took a step back and raised his hands in surrender. “Ok, ok, so this is just all a misunderstanding, I get it. I’ll just—“

“No, no!” the old man exclaimed as Veko turned back to his horse. “Please, Witcher, it’s the Law of Surprise, it’s destiny!”

“Fuck destiny,” Eloise spat. Veko had to agree. But the old man was frantic now.

“To-to go against destiny—“ he continued, before breaking off into a hacking coughing fit that actually had Veko concerned the man would drop right there.

Eloise calmed her father down and held him until his coughing subsided. “Please, papa, you’re going to overwhelm yourself.”

“Eloise, my darling,” the man choked out, “this is all my fault, but please, you cannot go against the Law of Surprise!”

Veko watched the two for a moment before clearing his throat. “Maybe—maybe we can work something out,” he said. Obviously the man was only getting more and more worked up as the conversation went on.

Eloise glared at Veko for a moment before crossing her arms. “It’s ok, papa,” she said, still glaring, “I’ll talk with the Witcher and sort this whole thing out.”

“Y-yeah,” Veko said. “Um. Do you wanna...?”

Eloise grabbed him—actually grabbed him, the balls on this woman!—by the arm and dragged him behind the house, towards a small stable and paddock where a few goats were housed.

“Alright, Witcher, listen,” Eloise snapped. “I don’t believe in all this ‘destiny’ bollocks. The Law of Surprise is bullshit.”

“Hey, I’m with you there,” Veko said. “I normally get like livestock or food or stuff like that.”

Eloise sighed and bit at her nail, staring out across the paddock. “My father believes in all of it,” she said. “My mother died when I was young. Destiny, papa always said. It’s garbage. But my father... he’s very old. I need to take care of him. Whether I believed in all that shit or not, Witcher, I cannot come with you.”

“And I don’t want you to!” Veko exclaimed. “I can barely take care of my horse properly, let alone a human. You’d get killed or something. Why would I want you to come with me?”

Eloise scoffed. “I can think of one reason,” she said bitterly. Veko rolled his eyes.

“Oh please, I’ve got two hands and enough coin set aside for that.”

Eloise actually cracked a tiny grin. “Regardless,” she said, “my father isn’t going to let this go. And I don’t want this to work him up anymore than it already has. I’m afraid for his health.”

“What do you suggest?” Veko asked.

Eloise thought for a moment. Veko’s scar started to itch. It always did at awkward moments, or at least it seemed to anyway, and this was about the most awkward situation Veko had ever been in. This woman was actually... strangely intimidating! Veko turned away to scratch at his face, which seemed to break Eloise out of her thoughts.

“Do you... want something for that?” she asked. “We have some salves in the house just... in case we...”

“No, no, that’s fine,” Veko said as she trailed off in thought. After another moment, Eloise suddenly clapped her hands together.

“I’ve got it!” she exclaimed. “I know how we can appease my father and still make this work.”

Veko nodded awkwardly. “That’s... good, yeah. Um—“

“This will be your home,” Eloise interrupted.

“I don’t follow.”

“Simple,” Eloise stuck a finger in the air. “You’re a Witcher—you travel. So you must spend a lot of the money you earn at inns and on food and things.”

“Or I just sleep outside,” Veko cut in. Eloise waved him off.

“We could tell my father that the Surprise you’ve claimed is the right to come here and stay whenever you’re in the area. Or rather, the right to my home as your home.”

“How does that factor you into it, though?” Veko asked.

“Technically my father saw the house before he saw me,” Eloise replied. “Plus, we could say that I’m a part of the house, that I keep it for you. Or that the house and I are a package deal.”

Veko crossed his arms. “Do you think he’d buy that?”

Eloise crossed her arms back. “He will if you say it.”

Veko ran a hand through his hair and blew out a puff of air. “This is crazy,” he said.

“You claimed the Law of Surprise, Witcher,” Eloise snapped, “not me.”

Veko started scratching his scar in earnest now. “Ok, but what about the village? What are they going to say about you being ‘claimed’ by a Witcher?”

“Frankly I don’t give a damn what they think.”

“What if you want to get married someday?”

Eloise guffawed. “See, that’s the other thing,” she said. “I don’t want to get married. Ever. Having a Witcher ‘claim’ me as his would get every man in town to leave me well alone. This helps all of us.”

As Veko thought on it, Eloise slapped his hand away from scratching his face again. At his shocked face, she merely glared back.

“You’re something else, you know that?” he said. Eloise grinned.

“Why, because I’m not afraid of you?” She laughed. “You bleed just like the rest of us, Witcher. So what do you say?”

Eloise held out her hand and for a moment, Veko actually hesitated. Not because of the deal itself, but because this woman was truly unafraid of him, of seemingly anything, and it made him feel... vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to. After a moment, Veko gently took her hand—and wow, she had a hell of a grip for a human woman, too! “Deal,” Veko said.

“Now to tell my father,” Eloise said, already starting to drag the Witcher back around the house.

As it turned out, Eloise’s father was thrilled with the idea. Eloise could stay with her father, destiny would be satisfied or whatever, and Veko would get free food and lodging whenever he was around (which probably wouldn’t be for a very long time anyway). The only problem was that Eloise’s father seemed to take Veko “claiming” his daughter and home as... well... essentially Eloise settling down with the Witcher “to start a family”. Veko was mortified but Eloise just smiled and nodded, going along with what her father said until he looked away and giving Veko a look that meant under no uncertain terms would that ever be happening.

A few details still had to be hashed out, but Veko wanted nothing more than to get as far away from this town as possible. How the hell had a drowner contract produced this much trouble?

Later, Veko reunited with the Cat caravan and Hamra. His brother chuckled softly at whatever look was on Veko’s face, and when Hamra signed asking how his hunt was, Veko groaned.

“Took out some drowners,” he said. “And... and Ham, I think... I think I got fucking married.”

Hamra actually burst out laughing, the first time the smell of surprise and amusement replaced the sour guilt that hung to his brother like a cloud, and Veko couldn’t help but join him.

Fuck the Law of Surprise, Veko thought. Never using that again.

#the witcher #inexplicifics #accidental warlord au #falcon writes #witcher oc

[dumbfuck-mojave]

FNV Companions React to Someone Being Aggressive Towards Rex.

@spidester basically came up with this idea.

TW: Mentions of violence against humans and animals. Some sexual flirtation. Swearing is the norm at this point

Fucking IDEK if these are out of character anymore we just roll with it. Also, shitty and inconsistent writing and react length ahoy. Also yes I lied and said this was going to be out last night but I got sick please understand-

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Arcade: Six had dragged him into Ultra-Luxe because once again, they were being stupid and trying to beat some sort of goal they had set for themselves earlier that day at the gambling tables. Rex had also come in with them, but had wandered off with his snout up in the air towards the kitchens. While Six was focusing on the Blackjack table Arcade heard a sudden yip and bark behind him and turned to see two people laughing and kicking the poor dog. They weren’t dressed like the people that would usually gamble here and they certainly weren’t a White Glove, so Arcade just assumed they were some travelers that didn’t know Six’s reputation and love for their canine companion. Also angry at the situation unfolding, Arcade briskly made his way over to them.

“Excuse me-”

“Fuck off.” 

Now, that made Arcade very unhappy. Honestly, he expected them to be rude, but was still a little surprised at how quickly they shot him down, not even trying to start an argument or anything. Yet.

“Listen, gentlemen.” Arcade said sharply, “I suggest you leave now because you’d much rather deal with me telling you how vile of people you are than for my friend over at the Blackjack table getting word of what you’ve been doing to their dog.”

“Oh, tough guy, eh? Well guess what, we don’t give a shit about what you or your idiot friend have to say!” The taller of the men sneard, getting right up in Arcade’s face. “Fucking forget it, the dumb dog isn’t worth our time. They ran out of booze a while ago anyway.”

Arcade gave them a look of disinterest as the semi-stumbled out the door. He made….. eye contact?..... with one of the masked servers when he looked away from them, who also seemed relieved that the two men were gone, probably because they had trached dust and mud throughout the entire main room.  Making his way back to Six, Arcade was going over scenarios in his head about what Six would do once he told them. Turns out one of his guessed scenarios was true. He did know Six very well after all. Unfortunately for the men, they had decided to sleep naked that night and Six had found out where they were staying through a few connections. A few hours later the men’s clothes were strung up on and lit on fire in the middle of Freeside, with the neat edition of shoving several hungry geckos into the men’s hotel room. The men ran out into the Mojave, naked and with a few flesh chunks missing from their body, while Rex gnawed happily on his Brahmin Steak in the Lucky 38. 

Boone: A Legion party had ambushed them just outside of Red Rock Canyon as they were making their way towards Vegas from Goodsprings. The system they had was working well enough, Boone had managed to climb his way up on the hill to the right of the road and was sniping them from afar while Six was up close with their ripper. It was hard to get solid damaging headshots on them since they were those dumb helmets, but if he got lucky Six would get close enough to rip one of their helmets off so he could get a clear shot through their skull. Usually, there were 4 Legionaries in a party but Caesar must have really wanted Six dead at this point, so they were currently being surrounded by at least 12, possibly even more. As Six drop-kicked two legionaries into each other, Boone noticed one of the other Legionaries targeting Rex and backing him up against the Canyon wall. Luckily for Boone and unfortunately for the Legionnaire, there was no helmet in sight. Boone lined up the shot and it entered the target’s head with a whiz and a squish. As the now-corpse fell to the ground, the group of three reorganized amongst the carnage. Rex sat down at Boone’s feet and looked up at him, mouth open and panting. 

“Don’t look at him like that.” Boone said in a monotone voice, making the Courier laugh beside him.

“Boone, you’re talking to a dog.” The Courier started on their way once again to Vegas, looking down at the dog now trotting beside them.

“You want to go see the King Rex?”

*Bark*

“Look who’s talking to the dog now.” 

Veronica and Cassidy: The girls had decided to hang out together today, without the Courier. They also had Rex in tow and were currently sitting at the Atomic Wrangler’s counter. Both of these women were at least three bottles in each already and their laughter poured through the casino as Veronica slouched over and snorted at one of Cass’ merchant stories.

“There is *snort* there is no way he did that.” Veronica wheezed out, falling into another fit of laughter.

“He did! He just grabbed that fucker by his-”

Their conversation was cut off when a man walked over to them. Much too confidently, I might add. They both looked up at him in disgust and annoyance. 

“So, what are two beautiful ladies doing out here all alone. You know, why don’t we all go upstairs and have a little *fun* together. ” The man leaned in so far he almost touched noses with Veronica. Rex had been sitting idly with his head in his paws on the floor until this moment. When the man leaned in, Rex growled and stood up, brisling at the man. 

“Dumb dog.” The man grumbled, swinging out his hand and hitting Rex in the head. Now no one knew if the man had meant to hit Rex so hard that he slammed his glass dome into the counter, but it didn’t matter now. Veronica pushed up off the counter and shoved the man back.

“Who do you think you are?! First, you come up to two ladies who are CLEARLY disinterested in you, interrupt their good time, then you have the audacity to hit our dog?!” Veronica practically yelled, drawing attention from several others in the room. Two people in particular had the look in their eyes that was almost begging to see a fight.

“Listen, girlie, I do what I want, ok?” The man growled, cut off by Veronica shoving his back against the counter, “Oh, girlie, you want to start right now?” 

“She doesn’t want to do anything with you. Nobody would.” Cass said as she finally stood up, looking over Veronica’s shoulder.

“Now come on ladies, no need to fight over me.” The man slurred, the beginnings of a wolfish grin on his face. 

Now, Ronnie may be small but she has a power fist and can fuck some people up. In a flash, the man was on his knees with both arms straining behind him, courtesy of Cass. Veronica unveiled her power fist and a spark of fear appeared in the man’s eyes as she swung it dainlity near his temple.

“I could swing my fist sideways right now.” She started swinging faster and more aggressively, “And give you a good lesson about how to treat others around you with an indent on your head to remind you.” 

“N-No!”

“Oh, come on. I’m sure it would be no trouble for my friend here.” Cass sneered, tightening her grip on the man’s arms, making him squeal out in man. 

“Please, please! No!” 

As the once confident man was damn near sobbing just at the prospect of getting hit, Veronica and Cass looked up at each other and grinned. Dragging the man outside, Veronica used her unarmored fist to hit him into a puddle of… something. The man stumbled to his feet and looked back in fear at the doorway. Then sprinted off. 

“DAMN! NEXT TIME YOU START A FIGHT YOU BETTER BE ABLE TO FINISH IT!” Cass yelled after him before they retreated into the casino once more.

. On their way back in, two figures walked out the door, following the now out of sight man. Sometimes, if you want to see a fight, you just have to start one yourself. 

Ed-E: *Pulls out laser canon* “Beep beepbeep bop'' Translation: “You bitch ass motherfucker”. Even if Rex sometimes drools on Ed-E or accidentally whips a ball at it’s shell, Ed-E will still protecc and attacc. 

Lily: Ok no but honestly and sorry to disappoint but any scenario involving her reacting to this is just them fighting, her calling the Courier Jimmy, then absolutely rocking the perpetrators shit. Like, tear that person in half grandma. I wanted to write a longer thing out….unless

Raul: He and Six had decided to stop at 188 Trading Post for the night instead of attempting to walk all the way back to Vegas. They were low on supplies, tired and hungry, and Raul’s back was acting up again. Samuel was nice enough to let Raul lie down for a bit on one of the mattresses behind the bar while Six was focusing on cleaning their weapons and bartering. Just as he was about to drift off, he heard Six’s voice speak up above the radio.

“Don’t touch my goddamn dog like that!” 

“You don’t get to tell me what to do you fucking piece of shit! Oh fuck-” 

Raul stood up and peered around the corner to see a rather interesting sight. Six was straddling some random man and aggressively slapping his hands away when he tried to reach for them, all while screaming every obscene thing they’ve ever been taught, even some things in Spanish thanks to Raul. Samuel was looking very concerned at the bar, not wanting to get directly involved in this mess while Rex was barking his head off in the man's face. After Raul managed to drag Six off the man, he found out the man was an associate of Alexander and was talking about making a deal with him when Rex came up to him to sniff his hand. Agitated, the man reached down and put his fist around Rex’s muzzle, yanking him up on his back to legs. Nothing escalated past that point as Six had entered the picture by then. They eventually decided to just walk back to Vegas that night and extend their break home, but damn if Raul wasn’t impressed and kind of flattered at the way they gracefully told a man how they were going to cut out this tongue and feed it to rats. Raul is dad.

(The insult thing was definitely a nod to one of @nuclear-reactions posts)

Thank you for reading! Requests are open!

#original writing #fallout writing #my writing #fallout companions #fallout companions react #companions react #companions react to #tw: animal abuse #animal abuse mention #cw animal abuse #characters react #craig boone #raul tejada #veronica santangelo #rose of sharon cassidy #lily bowen #ed-e #arcade gannon #rex

[theartoftiinyideas]

sorry, gotta dash, my goldfish is drowning

[ushijima wakatoshi x fem! reader]

a/n: this idea was super spontaneous but too gold not to write and i also get to give love to shiratorizawa’s tol best boy so it’s a win win

word count: 1.9k and once again my potty mouth

summary: you’ve done it. you’ve officially had your most embarrassing moment ever in life. the cause? a stupid nickname just a tad bit related to japan’s superstar highschool ace. and your thirsty friend who wanted to look at fine volleyball boy thighs. seriously, screw her.

———————

“Oh my god. I can’t believe you. You totally dragged me here to spy on boys, didn’t you?” Hoshimi—your dear horny friend—merely shrugged at your accusation. “You’re not even denying it.”

“Why should I?” Hoshimi asked, quickly snapping a photo of the enormous gymnasium’s map displayed beside the entrance. “It’s true. You figured it out all out, Sherlock. I applaud your detective work.”

Like it was really that hard. When Hoshimi unceremoniously paraded through your front door during a particularly interesting episode of a tv show you finally had free time to catch up on, and told you she bought tickets to a sports event, you naively assumed it would be some kind of basketball match. After all, Hoshimi was a player herself—not a bad one, either—and was passionate enough about it to follow certain teams and hosted events.

You, on the other hand, were a complete and utter klutz when it came to literally anything related to sports. No coordination and grace whatsoever. That’s how you and Hoshimi actually met. Somehow, you were the only poor sod to be failing P.E. of all classes, so she decided to step in and try to teach you a few very basic moves that would help you pass the ridiculously easy physical exam at the end of the school year. Without Hoshimi, you’d have been a goner.

In the end, you managed it with possibly the lowest scores in existence, but you were more overjoyed about the fact you didn’t have to repeat a school year then give a damn about your flimsy grade. You passed, and the two of you’ve been friends ever since.

So, yeah; while you held great adoration and love for the goddess that is Hoshimi, you flat our refused to spend your weekend watching sports. But then the begging and the whining started, Hoshimi promising you’d enjoy it while casually dropping a bait so obvious to your one true weakness you were still kicking yourself for biting on it: she’d buy you food after the match. It was almost laughable how quickly you agreed to join her after that. One girls’ basketball game couldn’t hurt, right?

Except the game wasn’t basketball, but volleyball, and the players weren’t even girls, but boys. Although you hadn’t a single complaint for the fine piece of eye candies sauntering by.

“You have a boyfriend, Hoshimi,” you tried to protest one last time, but the effort was halfhearted at best, the two of you already heading inside the spectators’ entrance to get your tickets checked.

“I promised to be faithful, not blind,” Hoshimi winked, and you couldn’t help the strangled laugh-snort that escaped you. After your tickets were replaced with purple wristbands, you linked your arms with Hoshimi, both of you failing to contain your giggles as you waded through the sea of people to search for a programme.

“Alright, you thirsty bitch,” you joked. “Let our hoe adventures begin.”

“Now that’s the spirit.” A sly smile crossed Hoshimi’s face, then she seemed to pause, contemplating to continue or not. Deciding it was worth it, she tilted her to head to show you the nastiest smirk ever. “Ain’t that right, future Mrs. Ushijima?”

You almost jumped out of your skin.

“Sshh! Jesus, not so loud,” you shrieked, paranoia filling your veins as you frantically glanced around to see if anyone might’ve—even accidentally—heard Hoshimi. The crowd around you couldn’t have looked more unbothered by the two of you, and thankfully no towering volleyball players seemed to be roaming the halls from your school. You let out a sigh of relief, delivering a not-so-playful punch to Hoshimi’s arm.

“Ow! What the hell was that for?”

You pressed a finger to your traitor-of-a-friend’s chest. “Don’t you ‘ow’ me! Goddamnit, you haven’t used it in so long I thought you forgot it all together.”

“How could I forget such a fitting nickname?” Hoshimi mused, hands on her hips. She took teasing to another level.

“It is not fitting.” Your hands were going wild, slicing through air, pointing and gesturing left and right to prove your point. “You realize where we are, right? He could be here. Worse, he could’ve overheard you. I don’t even wanna go there; I would’ve died.”

You buried your face in your palms, finishing your rant with a long groan to get rid of some of your frustration. It all started as a stupid joke. Yeah, you sucked at sports, but there was probably no other human being alive besides Hinata who had recieved as many volleyballs with their face as you. During gym class, no less, where it wasn’t even remotely dangerous or serious.

Always willing to poke fun at you, Hoshimi once said you’ll probably end up beating Shiratorizawa’s star ace if your skills were to improve at this rate. You, being a complete moron, raised the stakes higher and proudly claimed—still as a joke—that bitch, you were gonna drag his name through the mud, overpower him and be the next Mrs. Ushijima.

Hence, future Mrs. Ushijima was born. And it wasn’t beyond either of you to to shout it out loud when you horribly messed up an attempt to hit the ball in gym class, calling it one of the hundred powermoves of the future Mrs. Ushijima. You easily went along with Hoshimi’s stupidity, enjoying being a sarcastic little shit and fooling around.

This continued for the majority of your 3rd year in Shiratorizawa, until almost all your fellow gossipy girl gym classmates thought you had a giant, fat crush on Ushijima Wakatoshi. Which was not the case.

Did you think he was breathtakingly beautiful? Hell yeah you did. But so did everyone with half a braincell and a single semi-working eyeball. The guy was a 6ft tall mountain built like a greek half-god with an ever stoic, mysterious expression, but volleyball was something he took so seriously he lived it, breathed it, and sprinkled it on his breakfast for good measure.

No wonder half the confessions he got resulted in the other party crying. Blunt but dense wasn’t a great combo for girls with fragile, lovely-dovely feelings, which is precisely why you wanted to avoid any kind of exchange with him about your nonexistent crush. If he didn’t even get the concept of romantic feelings, making him understand the ironic use of future Mrs. Ushijima due to the massive gap between the two of you on the ‘how athletic am I?’ scale would be near fucking impossible.

Perhaps that was the overthinking talking, but now that your brain analyzed the wort case scenario this far, you didn’t wanna risk it happening. You banned Hoshimi from ever muttering that nickname again, fearing it’d cause a huge and uncomfortable misunderstanding if word got out.

So much for that. She lasted two months, and the time she thought appropriate to bring it out once more was smack dab in the middle of colossal volleyball tournament filled with various teams. You needed a change in friends.

“Stop being a baby.” Hoshimi smacked you lightly, interrupting your trip down memory lane. “Do you see any teams here?”

Your peeked out from your hands, eyes roaming the crowds the best you could. You hated to admit it, but she raised a good point. The mass of people consisted of spectators only. Maybe, just maybe, the teams were inside on the court, actually playing.

You dropped your hands, lips quirking up sheepishly. “No?”

“Exactly. So chill out and focus on the real deal here.” Hoshimi pulled you into her side, urging you to start walking with her. “We’re about to feast our eyes upon some deliciously toned arms. Or even better, thighs.”

That earned another laugh-snort from you, your previous worries chucked out the window as you suggested getting some snacks before finding a good spying spot on the bleachers. Hoshimi couldn’t agree fast enough, steering you both towards the food bar, but as your eyes took in the snaking queue, your excitement dwindled considerably. Ugh, whoever said anything about waiting in line?

Hoshimi must’ve noticed your sour expression as she turned to face you. “Okay, here’s my offer. I’ll stand in line, get us some food.”

You raised a brow in question. “I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming. That’s just too nice of you.”

“Oh, there is a ‘but’ coming. A big one.” Hoshimi wiggled her eyebrows. “I’m allowed to call you future Mrs. Ushijima one last time, whenever I please.”

That whole sentence just screamed trouble, you’ll-so-regret-it-later and everything else in between, but you really, truly hated queues. “Fine. You win.”

As Hoshimi was sucked into the mile long line, you decided to make yourself useful and search for a gameplay schedule nearby. Your attempts proved to be fruitless, but you did manage to get your hands on some kind of volleyball magazine. Leaning against a pillar for support, you opened it at a random page and almost groaned at your unbelievable luck.

Ushijima Wakatoshi picked as Japan’s under-19 representative to the world team, the title read, featuring a page long photograph of the star player. You had to admit that kind of achievement was pretty impressive. Turning a page, you came face to face with an interview. You glanced up cautiously, but the purple colors of Shiratorizawa were nowhere to be seen. One itty-bitty interview couldn’t hurt, right? Besides, he was in the same year as you, it was never a bad thing to learn more about your schoolmates.

Finally convincing yourself, you dug into the interview with rising interest, unaware of several minutes passing. You were almost finished when Hoshimi’s voice rang out from the crowd, loud and clear.

“Oh, future Mrs. Ushijimaaaa!”

You rolled your eyes all the way back to tomorrow. At least you didn’t have to fret over when she’s going to pop it out into the open like that again.

“What?” You asked at the same time a deep, husky voice from behind you went “Yes?”

The blood rushing through you seemed to turn to ice. Oh god. Your wide eyes snapped to Hoshimi, but she wasn’t much better, jaw dropped and gaze fixed on something—someone behind you, the large popcorn and two pretzels in her hand forgotten. You gulped.

No no no no for the love of god and all that is holy please please spare me let that not be who I think it is I’ll never wish for anything else just please—

Inching around painstakingly slowly—like that would actually save you from this clusterfuck of a mess—you almost fainted after forcing yourself to look up at the owner of the voice. Before you stood Ushijima Wakatoshi in all his 6ft towering glory, his expression unnervingly aloof while his eyes bored into you mercilessly. The magazine dropped from your hands. Fucking hell, even that was plastered with his face.

“Is there a reason as to why you regard yourself my soonly to be wife?” His tone sounded gruff, but held zero emotional value, so you had no idea if he felt horrified enough to dig his own grave and crawl into it or ready to cry a river to drown himself. Maybe it was the self-indulgence talking, but you were highly considering executing both options simultaneously.

Ushijima didn’t urge you to answer, just.. casually waited as he kept staring at you, the only indication he wasn’t a statue the occasional blinking.

“I, um—” How the hell were you supposed to explain yourself? You had a list of two thousand reasons to go down on, but the once witty words that came to you like second nature seemed to pack themselves in a suitcase, hop on a train out of your brain and take a vacation only to leave you be a blabbering, gaping idiot.

“You see that’s uh, quite a funny tale. Because it’s a joke! Haha, uhh—” Your mind was switching between internally reeling and blanking out until you felt the need to physically remove yourself from this embarrassing situation because you couldn’t function. And those damned olive eyes piercing into your soul did not help to mend anything at all.

“I’m so sorry honestly I’ll explain but I don’t have a crush on you or anything but like I don’t mean that in a bad way you’re pretty hot or shit no forget I said that uhh you kNOW WHAT I just remembered that I really have to rush home because my goldfish might be drowning see ya!”

You heaved in a massive gulp of air, utterly mortified with yourself, then swiftly turned on your heel and practically fled the scene, Hoshimi following after you the best she could.

Ushijima’s eyebrows lifted slightly—the only sign he was perplexed by your words. “Fish live in water, so how could your pet be drown—” His words were lost on deaf ears as the crowd swallowed your retreating figure.

Ushijima blinked, heading back to his team, left wondering for a second what that whole encounter was about before thoughts of the upcoming game took over.

“Wakatosh! There you are, miracle boy,” Tendou sing-songed, squinting at his friend. “Just where have you been? We were all waiting for you, you know!”

“Sorry,” Ushijima rasped. “I ran into an admirer of mine.”

Tendou gasped, hands squishing his cheeks as stars danced in his eyes. “Whoaaa, Wakatoshi-kun, lucky! Were they cute? What did they say? What did you say? Was it really an admirer?”

Ushijima paused. Tendou could read uncertainty in his eyes. “I think.”

—————

Outside the stadium, you repeatedly banged your forehead against the wall, muttering moron moron moron after each one. God, you could just slap yourself. You rested your head long enough to let a long groan slip from your throat.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Hoshimi tried, patting your back comfortingly. You lifted your head to throw a sideway glance at her.

“I told Ushijima Wakatoshi—number one rising star of the fucking century—who I, by the way, go to school with, that I didn’t have time for him because my goldfish was drowning.”

You didn’t need to see Hoshimi’s face to know she was cringing. “Honey, why?”

“I don’t know! I panicked, okay?”

“You don’t even have a goldfish!”

“You’re not helping!”

Hoshimi squeezed your shoulder. “Well.. at least now you know you have no chance of ever becoming future Mrs. Ushijima in any way possible.”

“Oh, don’t you even start—”

idk how to feel about this one so thoughts??

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu drabble #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu scenario #imagine haikyuu #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu reader insert #haikyuu!! #shiratorizawa #shiratorizawa x reader #haikyuu ushijima #ushijima x reader #ushijima imagine #ushijima scenario #ushijima oneshot #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima wakatoshi imagine #ushijima wakatoshi drabble #ushujima wakatoshi oneshot #ushijima drabble #ushiwaka #ushiwaka x reader #ushijima headcanons #ushijima reader insert

[okaybutlikeimagine]

Harringrove for Australia: Ihni♥

hi there!! the gorgeous and fabulous and fantastic @ihni asked me to write this for #HarringroveforAustralia! and here it is!! ♥

prompt: someone wants to get back at Billy so they do something Very Stupid that leads to Billy getting hurt; guilt and hurt/comfort ensues!

tags: mentions of abuse, bruising, implied (light) blood, past child abuse, hurt/comfort, angst, hopeful ending (♥!)

You can catch it on AO3 here if you so desire!

Word Count: 4,452 (i’m legit the worst i’m so sorry i went over my word limit!)

thank you babe and thanks again @tracy7307 for putting the whole thing together!

(kay time to finish and essay, bye, love you)

---

~On Your Best Behavior~

Steve may not be the smartest kid in school. He’s right at average in even his favorite classes, and, truth be told… there’s not a lot of those. He likes to think he has street smarts, but Tommy always has to show him up; has to remind him what position his “rich boy privilege” has left him in. It’s gotten to the point where he feels like there’s nothing special about his own knowledge. He doesn’t know about history, or grammar, or even music, or movies… some days it feels like he doesn’t know anything. Like everyone’s right when they say his head is just there to carry his hair around.

But if there's one thing he knows… one thing he’s absolutely sure of… it’s that Billy Hargrove is the biggest asshole in all of Indiana. And Steve has met Mayor Kline.

But Billy takes it all. He’s the culmination of every jackass in the state, all rolled up into this punk who can’t seem to keep his fucking shirt on. He saunters around like he owns the place, shoving into Steve in the hallways and wagging his tongue like it’s some kind of… threat or something, Steve isn’t sure.

He just blew into town like a wild thunderstorm a little over 2 months ago and already he’s given everyone grief- at least, everyone Steve knows. He cheats on every girl he’s out with (if the girls of Hawkins are to be believed), he’s in detention every day for mouthing off to teachers, he stole Steve’s friends which… yeah he’s having a hard time reconciling that one because if they left that quickly maybe they weren’t too good of friends but still.

And worst of all, what absolutely takes the cake in the Shit-Show that is Billy Hargrove and his bullying….

He picks on the kids.

He picks on Steve’s kids. He scares Max, he bullied Lucas, he nearly killed all of them with his little stunt with the car that first week he was here. He splashed them with rain water once as he drove past them, he kicked over Dustin’s bike when he was standing outside of the arcade, he dropped Max’s backpack in the mud the other day. Hell, one time they were all bouncing a basketball around and Mike missed it and it accidentally rolled over to Billy (who was leaning against a wall smoking a cigarette) who took out a pocket knife and stabbed it, letting all the air out before tossing it back and walking away.

He’s a jerk. An outright punk. And yeah, maybe the stuff he’s done isn’t criminal. Maybe most of it at this point is just kind of bratty and petty. Maybe Max explained away the Lucas thing pretty definitively (with a lot of “He didn’t mean it that way”s and “You don’t understand the whole situation”s and “He hates all boys who look at me”s and one quiet “It’s his dad who’s the strict one…”), but… but still. It doesn’t matter, he’s still an asshole and people shouldn’t just be able to get away with being an asshole like that.

Yeah, sure, Steve himself was kind of an asshole for a little bit. Yeah, sure, Steve got let off the hook a lot of times for doing some of the same things Billy has done. But Steve had reasons. Plus he was young when that stuff happened. He doesn’t do that anymore.

Either way, it shouldn’t really matter why Billy’s doing it or not. They’re horrible things to do and Billy needs to stop.

Which all leads up to right now, which finds Steve in a diner with Dustin, Lucas, and Mike (because Will and Max had a project they had to stay behind and work on). They’re on the heated topic of Billy because apparently the older boy popped the tires on Dustin’s bike.)

“He’s such an asshole.” Dustin lisps into his soda (that Steve was very reluctant to give the boy, but he pouted about his bike enough that Steve gave in.

Mike nods, mumbling angrily into his french fries while Lucas, across from Mike, rolls his eyes.

“We need to do something about him.” Dustin says again, before getting that sly little grin on his face that lets Steve know he’s hatching a plan.

And if Steve’s honest, it’s a very very childish plan. Mike is even adamant that it’s childish, claiming they could come up with something better before switching his tune with very little convincing, citing Billy as a child. So it really is childish. And Steve knows that because someone did this to him once back in the 5th grade. It pissed him off to no end which, honestly, is the only reason Steve begins to consider it. It’s not like any real harm can come of it, it’ll probably just be more annoying than anything which is honestly what Steve wants.

He mulls over it for a second before deciding: “Yeah. Sure. Fuck that guy… tomorrow. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

Dustin and Mike laugh triumphantly with each other.

Lucas has become stunningly quiet as he takes a big sip of his water.

----

When Steve rings the doorbell around 5:30 pm when he’s sure his intended target will be home, the sound comes out as a far more pleasant chime than he was expecting. He doesn’t come to this side of town very often, even though Tommy used to live on this street back when they were kids. It’s not bad, but Steve definitely notices the dying grass, the empty front yard, the worse-for-wear sidewalk…

He waits patiently, mentally preparing what he’s going to say, while hearing heavy footsteps approach the door in a way that Steve can only describe as menacing.

The door swings open, and there before him, in all his 6’ glory, is Billy’s dad. Mr. Hargrove.

He’s only an inch taller than Steve and yet he carries himself like he’s got a foot over him.

“Can I help you?”

Steve clears his throat. The house is deafeningly quiet, even from the fully opened doorway. It confuses Steve for a second, because any time he drops Max off home and Billy is there, the house is raging with music. And Steve knows Billy is here now, if the arrogant blue Camaro is anything to go by.

“Hello! Mr. Hargrove, right?” Steve offers his hand up, putting on his best ‘good rich boy’ voice that he saves specifically for meeting friends of his parents. “Steve Harrington.”

“Harrington.” Mr. Hargrove says with some kind of bitter admiration in his voice. “I’ve heard about your parents.”

Steve isn’t surprised. Neil takes his hand firmly. It feels like a power move, how hard the man grips, but Steve does his best to rival the strength. He needs to be as credible as possible here.

Steve just isn’t quite sure what to say about his parents. He opts for a charming smile that doesn’t quite disarm Mr. Hargrove like he was hoping.

“So,” Mr. Hargrove begins, letting go of Steve’s now sore hand. “What brings you here?”

“Oh, well Mr. Hargrove-”

“Go ahead and call me Neil, son.” The man says in a way that feels more intimidating than he thinks it should. Steve hears a door close rather harshly from inside the house. Mr. Hargro- Neil grimaces at it for a split second.

“Okay uh… Neil. I just wanted to talk to you about your son. Your son is Billy Hargrove, correct?”

“That’s correct.” Neil’s face stays as stoic as before.

“Well I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but I felt someone should bring it up with you. Your son has been a… a… menace. To a lot of people at school.”

Steve worked through so many words in his head and menace is what tumbles out of his dumb, nervous brain. It’s like he’s holding cotton in his mouth, he feels so stupid.

It does the job though. If human eyes could turn red, Neil’s eyes would be like a firetruck. Or maybe the fire itself.

“He has, huh?”

“Yes, sir.” Steve hates saying sir. Feels he needs to, here. “And outside of school as well. To a lot of little kids and… and even to your younger daughter.”

Steve knows Max isn’t his biological daughter. At least, he’s pretty sure. Pretty sure the dad is Billy’s and the mom is Max’s. But it slips out before he can stop it. More cotton balls falling from his mouth. Still, it’s working as he meant it to.

Right? This is what I’m trying to do?

Because suddenly, seeing the tension in this man’s jaw and the fire in his eyes, Steve’s not quite so sure he wants to be here anymore.

“Oh really? And have your parents witnessed this?”

Steve blinks. He doesn’t really understand the question.

“Uh… excuse me, sir, my parents?” Steve starts to pick at the side hem of his jeans.

“Yes.” Neil’s teeth are clenched. Steve fights not to take a step back. “Your parents. Do they notice too?”

Steve really has to wrap his mind around the question before he can come up with an appropriate answer. This man has heard of his parents, probably because people gossip. If people are gossiping, it’s probably about their money. It’s always about their money. Their influence even though, if anyone were to ask Steve, they don’t really have any. They’re never around to influence the town like everyone seems to swear they do. They just have money, and apparently money talks. As far as Steve is concerned, it’s more of a whisper, but he knows not everyone feels the same way. He knows someone who lives in a house like this, with untended gardens and unpaved walkways, probably doesn’t feel the same way.

He thinks he has an answer now.

“Yes, they have noticed. They think it’s a little… embarrassing.”

Neil looks like he’s going to growl. Steve takes that step back now, even though he doesn’t think about it.

“That’s very interesting.” Neil really might as well be snarling at this point. “Well, thank you for telling me, son. I’ll definitely have a chat with William.”

Steve nods his head and before he can think about it or even say a word, the door is in his face and the man is gone, the only thing left behind being the sound of heavy footsteps.

Steve feels like he’s in a bit of a daze as he walks back to his car, but not before tripping over the crack in the poorly paved walkway. And Steve may not be the smartest kid in school, may not be the smartest kid in Hawkins at this moment, but if there’s one thing he does know, it’s that Billy is getting grounded right now.

He’d call this a success.

---

Billy isn’t at school the next day.

Steve tries to pretend like he’s not nervous about it.

And really, he isn’t all that nervous. Sure, it’s in the back of his mind for most of the day, but he’s not exactly nervous. He's not even sure what he would be nervous about.

It’s not until he sees Max yelling at Dustin and smacking him upside the head that he gets a little nervous.

It’s not like it has to be a particularly special occasion for Max to do something like that to Dustin, but still. There’s something in Steve’s gut that tells him he’s involved in this. If Max’s angry eyes that turn on him are anything to go by, he’s right in his assumption.

“Did you come to my house last night?” She asks like she knows. It’s hardly a question.

“Yes.” Steve shoves his hands in his pockets to keep them from lifting in the air in submission.

“You idiots! What were you thinking?” Max yells, smacking Dustin then Mike then Lucas, who whines that he didn’t want it to happen. She then turns to Steve, punching his arm harshly.

“Woah woah woah, what did we do?” Steve asks like he doesn’t know.

“Like you don’t know, you moron! You- you! Did you talk to Neil?”

Steve is so taken aback that he just nods. Max growls.

“You moron! Never come to my house again!” Max’s face is red with anger, absolutely fuming as Dustin and Mike and Lucas sputter all at once in a vain attempt to make things right. But Max isn’t listening, she’s laying her board on the ground, about to skate away.

“Wha-? Max, what’s wrong? We were just-”

“I don’t care what you were trying to do!”

“Your brother is an asshole! You say so all the time!” Dustin yells in a desperate type of defense. Max’s eyes look far more hurt now than anything else, even as she’s still glaring daggers.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She says and there’s a lot less malice in her voice now. Her shoulders are slumped as she starts to skate away.

Steve can’t take it.

“Max.” It’s in vain. He tries harder. ”Max! Where’s your brother?”

“Stay away from him.” Max calls back, pushing off to skate faster.

The boys all look to Steve, who knows in an instant.

---

At least, he hopes he does. It’s not until he’s about a mile out from the quarry that he starts to have second thoughts about if his gut was right.

He’s driving slowly, mind reeling, heart pumping blood so loudly through his ears that he can’t hear his music, when he sees a figure he wasn’t expecting to see.

Hop?

It is. It’s Hop. Standing above a hunched over boy that Steve is praying is the boy he’s been looking for. He knows it is- no one else has that haircut in Hawkins.

Steve steps out of his car gingerly, does his best to avoid twigs and leaves on the ground as he walks up to the pair to listen in on what they’re saying.

Hop’s face is serious, with a tone to match.

“Look, like it or not you’re still a minor. If you keep not showing up for school your parents are gonna get in big trouble.”

“Promise?” Billy’s voice is weak.

“Har har. Get to class tomorrow.” Hop says, entirely unimpressed. A few seconds go by, the white noise of Indiana bugs fill in the silence between them in the strangest way Steve has ever experienced. Suddenly the air is different. It shifts in a very personal way. Steve immediately picks up on the fact that he shouldn’t be here, right before Hop begins again with:

“… You... know, right? If you need someone to drive you I can-”

It’s soft and sincere and Hop’s hand is reaching out towards Billy’s shoulder gingerly, like he’s going to pet a strange animal, when he catches something in the corner of his eye- and that something is Steve.

Hop clears his throat, and Billy looks over to Hop at the sound.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone.” Hop says, voice void of emotion. Billy turns his head just enough to see Steve out of the corner of his eye before he whips back around. “Stay outta trouble, kid.”

And with that, Hop gives what looks like a sad smile in Billy’s direction before leaving. He gives an odd nod of acknowledgement to Steve as he passes, his face looking rougher than usual. More tired.

Steve takes a couple of steps forward, suddenly finding himself in the position of approaching a strange animal. This “strange animal” that he’s seen almost every day for the past couple of months.

Billy’s still sat on the ground, his legs in a folded up form of criss cross that allow his elbows to hook around his knees. Steve thinks he looks rather small like this. He hasn’t moved to look up at Steve at all. Steve isn’t even sure if the boy looked at Hop when he was here.

“Hey…” He starts, hoping it’ll get the boy’s attention. It doesn’t. “Uh, Billy?”

He’s met with the white noise of the screeching bugs. They stand there until Steve can’t take it, which is only about 3 seconds tops.

“Billy?”

Again, nothing. Billy doesn’t even move-doesn’t even flinch.

“Hargrove.” Steve is stern with it this time.

Steve’s getting impatient, but Billy’s a rock. Steve shifts to sit in his hip.

“Hey, asshole!” He calls a little louder than he needs to when he’s a few feet away. The response is rather instant this time.

“You called?” Billy’s voice drawls and it gets under Steve’s skin like nothing else.

“God you’re annoying…“ Steve groans, exhaustion visible in his face and audible in his voice. He rubs a hand down his cheek as his heart races with the words building up in his mouth. The cotton balls are back. “Hey uh… Why weren’t you at school today?”

He doesn’t know what to expect, but the unattractive snort definitely isn’t surprising.

“Ha…” Billy’s laugh comes out more like a puff of air. “Got some new accessories that I don’t think fit the dress code.”

Billy’s looking at the ground when he says it and Steve almost doesn’t hear. Certainly doesn’t understand.

“What? What are you talking about?”

Billy’s shoulders shake and it takes a few seconds of debating if Billy needs a comforting hand or something to realize he’s chuckling and not crying. The boy shakes his head, curly mullet bouncing in a way that’s far too light for how Steve feels right now.

“Why do you care, huh Harrington? Miss me that much?” Billy looks to his feet now. Steve sees the hint of a smirk on his lips, past his curls. “Can’t handle a day without me?”

“Shut up, it’s not like that-”

“You came all the way out here to look for me.”

Steve pauses.

“I was heading here anyway.” He lies. Billy snorts like he knows it’s a lie. Because he does know.

“Right. It’s fine to miss me, babe.”

Steve’s face burns.

“Don’t call me that.” He hisses, blood boiling where it’s pumping fast through his body. Billy cackles for good measure.

Steve’s got half a mind to turn around. Damn this guy, whatever he got, he fucking deserved it. He’s an asshole. Whatever happened should have happened.

But…

But Max. The image of her red face and tired eyes flashes into Steve’s memory. She was livid. Screaming. Close to crying.

You don’t know what you’re talking about.

Steve didn’t like that. Because how is he supposed to know if no one says anything? How is he supposed to understand if no one tells him?

He sighs.

“Look Hargrove I… I’m sorry. Okay?”

He feels defensive. Billy almost looks at him, but looks at Steve’s shoes instead. Steve still can’t see his face from the shadows of the trees and curls.

“Sorry for what?”

“I… I-” Steve stammers because he didn’t expect a question.

“Use your words, princess.” Billy says on a snort and Steve breaks.

“I don’t know! Okay? I don’t know. It’s just… Max was upset this afternoon and said something about your… your dad, I guess and now I… she made me feel awful and I don’t even know why but I do know I’m sorry, alright? So can you just quit being an asshole and accept my apology and-”

Steve’s eyes wander back to the boy at his feet. Billy’s shoulders are tense. Up by his ears, muscles taut all down his back, absolutely strung out.

“What do you know about my dad?” His voice is dark now. Dangerous. There’s a growl in it. A familiar one.

Steve fights his step back.

“I just… Not a lot. I just met him-”

“Shit.” Billy whispers, loud enough for Steve to hear. His shoulders are shaking- like a leaf in the fall wind and suddenly Steve feels that concern again.

Billy throws his head back, eyes closed and grimace on his lips as he shakes his head in what looks like disbelief, hair falling down behind him as the sun catches him and makes his face light up in a way that's near blinding and Steve knows this is a serious situation and thus is definitely not thinking about how the late evening sun does Billy and his gorgeous skin every favor.

“Shoulda known. The rich and famous Harringtons.”

Steve rolls his eyes at the statement.

“We’re not famous. We’re not even that rich, I-”

And that’s when Billy finally turns his head to Steve. Finally lets Steve see what he’s been wanting to see- that stupidly smug face with that stupidly cocky grin, telling Steve everything is fine and-

And-

“Holy shit… Billy, what happened?”

Billy’s face is more purple than it is tan. The skin around both eyes is bruised, his left worse than his right. There’s a bit of red on his cheek and his lower lip is split. The side of his neck has a few bruises as well, and Steve knows just from looking at them that they weren’t done out of passion- not romantic passion at least. No, rather a far more malevolent passion.

And now Steve notices the way Billy is moving. Gingerly and slow, like everything aches. It probably does.

Good lord…

“Billy?”

Billy’s looking up at Steve with the saddest eyes and it hits Steve like a freight train. There’s no anger to be found in them. Any fire that was there is there for a split second before they just turn tired. Bloodshot and worn and tired. His lips curl up into a grin that carries poison in it.

“I ran into a wall. Fell down the stairs.” Billy says, in a voice that tries so hard to be innocent that it’s haunting. “I’m a real clumsy kid.”

Billy’s voice wavers at that last part and it strikes Steve like a knife to his chest. Because he doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t even want to think it… but he thinks he knows. This happened to him once. Those words sound familiar and they link back to when Steve was 13- the first and last time his father ever backhanded him- and Steve could see the fear in both of his parents faces as they implored him to tell everyone he just fell down the stairs.

Steve doesn’t know what to say. What to do with his hands. Just looks into Billy’s eyes until he can’t anymore. Until he’s fidgeting and his mind is racing and his heart is threatening to rip a hole in his chest and-

“Can you do me a favor?” Billy asks, voice quieter than Steve’s ever heard him.

“Uhm…” Steve has to bite his tongue before he starts babbling.

“Real simple favor.” Billy turns his eyes to his own shoes. “Never come by my house again. Alright?”

Steve’s heart drops. He sees Billy heave a heavy sigh after he says those words.

“Wha-?”

“God, Harrington.” Billy’s exasperated. Tilts his head back and this time the light catches all of that purple on his face. It’s a universe of the most confusing pain Steve’s ever felt and he feels stupid even thinking that. “Can you hear me or do you have too much dried hairspray caked in your ears? I need you to listen.”

“I’m listening.” Steve’s voice is near a whisper. He can’t take his eyes off the bruising.

“Good. Don’t come by my house. Ever again.”

Steve feels a lump in his throat. Billy turns blue, expectant eyes on Steve, who just nods in what feels like shame. The most hideous and painful shame.

“Yeah… yeah okay I uh… fuck Billy. Shit, I’m so sorry-”

“Save it.” Billy stretches his legs out in front of him, head tilting back, face catching the sun.

“I’m serious I-”

“I said save it.” Billy screws his eyes shut. “I don’t wanna hear about it, alright?”

Steve nods, heat prickling the back of his eyelids.

Billy sighs.

“I’ll be back in school by Monday. I’ll be sure to be a real asshole. Make up for lost time.”

Billy’s acting like this is normal. Like this isn’t major. Like Steve didn’t just discover something he’s sure in a million years he wasn’t supposed to see.

The curly haired boy looks up with tired blue eyes and Steve can’t do anything. All he can do is watch this boy ache when he moves and it makes Steve livid. Saddened. Frightened.

“Billy… I don’t know who’s doing this-” A lie. He’s pretty sure. He has a good inkling, at least. He saw that man. “But they shouldn’t be. You don’t deserve it.”

And now all Steve can think about is how he didn’t believe that statement not 20 minutes ago. Any action Billy made always left Steve begging for a comeuppance. The boy’s an asshole, sure, but… no one deserves this.

Steve is boiling over it. Boiling in a cold sweat because it took this- this horrific moment of realization to realize the boy’s just a kid. Like him and Tommy and Jonathan. Just a stupid 17 year old who does some bratty things.

Billy looks up at Steve and chuckles in tired disbelief.

“You don’t deserve it.” Steve implores, made desperate by the disbelief he sees in Billy.

Billy just looks up at him, looking utterly hopeless, utterly defeated.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Neither can take their eye off the other, and Steve’s sure it’s for different reasons, but his mind is racing, rushing, flooding with his own- with his own concern for the exhaustion that he sees, with his fear of how long this has gone on, with his (truthfully, surprising) anger towards the fact that this boy’s beauty has been bruised and bloodied and that’s a new revelation… beauty…

Billy looks away first. He tells Steve to go. Raises his voice a bit when Steve takes a step in the wrong direction and moves to sit with him. Insists he’ll see Steve at school and it’s all a blur as Steve’s voice doesn’t allow him to say anything.

And in a few minutes of his rushing blood deafening him, he’s back in his car and Everybody Wants to Rule the World comes to life through the speakers as he drives away from this boy that he didn’t know he cared this much about until… until maybe too late.

And Steve’s blood is rushing, boiling inside of him until... until a near calm smile rests on his lips. A small, hopeful smile.

Because Billy promised to talk to him Monday. To keep their dynamic going.

Maybe the ball is back in Steve’s court. And if it is, he’s definitely running with it.

#tw abuse #tw child abuse #tw bruising #billy hargrove #steve harrington #dustin henderson #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #max mayfield #jim hopper #fic #ihni #angst #hurt #comfort #it's sad boi hours! #woops! #let me know if i forgot to tag anything #btw i'm an idiot and POSTED THIS TO THE WRONG BLOG #when will i ever stop doing that??????????/ #the world may never know #kay love you all bye #harringrove for australia #that'd be a good thing to tag! #>M< #harringrove

[carlatsukinamistolemyhamsandwich]

These Fanfics of Shin and Carla of nice and all...but we want the story on how Carla Tsukinami stoke your ham sandwich! The greedy bast*rd he is...

Anon, this is one of my favourite asks ever and I love you. Thank you so much for giving me an opportunity to shamelessly insert myself into the world of DL I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it :)

I wrote myself as a nameless herione (because I don’t think most of you know my name) which also means you can treat it as a reader insert if you want to, but bare in mind this is based on how I would react in this situation and there are some details that are a bit specific to me.

“Hm, I wonder if I’m allowed up here?” The girl glanced back at the door to the rooftop of Ryoutei Academy, trying to spot any sort of kanji that could translate to “Keep Out” but found none. Shrugging to herself she concluded that if anyone caught her up here when she wasn’t supposed to be, then she would have to play the confused foreign student card and hope for the best.

A mild scolding seemed better than going back to the cafeteria anyway.

She looked down at the slightly sorry looking lunchbox in her hands and loosed a sigh. It was only her second day at her new school and already she felt herself desperately missing her friends and the familiarity of her old school. 

The other students had all been pleasant enough- aside from the boy with glasses in her class, who she’d caught eyeing the hemline of her skirt with obvious disapproval, as though it was somehow her fault that whoever made the school uniform had not done so with five foot nine female transfer students in mind- but the thought of trying to navigate getting food when almost all of the signs were in kanji she didn’t recognize made her gut roll with anxiety.

Besides at least the rooftop was pretty, with troughs of well kept roses lining the space and a perfect view of Kaminashi town, just beyond the iron railing, the lights from the small shopping district a warm glow against the midnight blue sky.

The girl walked over to the edge of the rooftop, intent on giving herself a moment to admire the townscape when a nearby rose caught her eye. It’s petals were such a dark red, they looked almost black in the modest illumination provided by the few lights lining the roof. She crouched down on the balls of her feet and set her lunchbox carefully to the side. Something about the scene, the dark flower with the night sky behind it, made her fingers itch with the urge to sketch it. 

“I don’t think I could do the dark colors justice with my watercolors and I can’t do realism with markers so maybe colored pencils would be best?” She muttered to herself she tried to find the perfect angle for some reference photos she could use later, while reaching into her pocket for her phone. “Acrylics could work I guess but I don’t have any canvas here and I-”

“What are you doing?” A low voice came from right beside her ear. The girl let out a high-pitched shriek and jolted in surprise, barely catching her balance in time.

She loosed a breath before turning her head in the direction of whoever had spoken, but before she could, they spoke again.

“Hahh, that’s no good… Hmph!” A rough shove sent her sprawling into the roses. Thorns scratched at her skin and she cursed as her hands plunged in the damp mulch, just barely stopping her from face-planting into the dirt. The rest of her however, was not so lucky, and she knew from the way her torso had landed in the soil that her skirt’s hemline had just become the least of her worries as far as her uniform was concerned.

A cruel laugh came from behind her and she turned to look up, filled with some mixture of anger and embarrassment. 

But whatever had been brewing petered out the moment she laid eyes on the culprit. He was quite possibly the most beautiful boy she’d ever seen; short choppy, strawberry blonde hair framed pale face with an eye the most incredible shade of gold. 

He was utterly stunning.

The effect was promptly ruined however, when he opened his mouth, face twisting into a sneer.

“Haha, how pathetic, crawling around in the dirt.” He continued to chuckle as she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, wincing slightly at the way they stung where they’d scraped against the ground. 

“Heehhh, aren’t you going to say something?” The boy asked, the humor in his expression dying down as he regarded her as one might a spot of mould on a piece of bread. “Or is it that you’re so stupid, you can’t understand what I’m saying?”

The girl froze slightly, unsure how to navigate whatever was going on. Was this guy a bully? Her strategy for dealing with bullies until now had generally been to avoid them or ignore them, neither of which seemed like a good idea here.

“Oiii Miss idiot, are you going to keep ignoring me until I do something like this?” Before she could react the boy placed a heavy black boot on her hand and started to put his weight onto it.

Shit.

“What do you want from me?” She blurted out, praying silently that she hadn’t messed up the Japanese grammar, which really shouldn’t have been a concern given this encounter could feasibly end with a broken hand.

The pressure stopped briefly and she took the chance to tug her hand out from her under his shoe and get to her feet. The girl was a little surprised to find that the boy was no taller than she was, although his general aura of menace certainly made him intimidating enough without needing any extra height. 

“Ah, so you can talk. As for what I want… why don’t we start with an apology for shrieking in my ear earlier? It hurt you know?” He made a show of obnoxiously cleaning out his ear with his finger and the girl found herself completely lost for words. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, there were a lot of words swirling in her brain, all of them English and not to be used amongst polite company.

Biting back the urge to tell him to fuck off, she reminded herself that she was currently alone with this guy on a rooftop and angering him further probably would not end well. “I apologize for shouting in your ear, you surprised me. I’ll be going now.” Lunch forgotten, she went to make a hasty retreat to the rooftop door but was stopped short when the male put himself directly into her path. 

“Not so fast, you haven’t answered my question yet. What were you doing up here, sticking your head into the roses like some kind of animal?” The girl tried to keep her breathing even, as she felt panic rise in her veins.

“I wanted to take pictures as drawing references, I didn’t realize that-” an arsehole like you would show up “-someone else was already here, forgive me, I’ll be on my way.” She went to take a step around him, when the boy took a step towards her, forcing her to take one back. Soon her back was pressed up against the railing and she internally cursed.

“You just wanted to draw some pictures of the flowers? Isn’t that a bit childish? Well, I guess you still wear kid’s underwear so I shouldn’t be surprised.” The girl spluttered and instinctively went to yank down her skirt, a slightly ridiculous action, considering he must have seen everything when he pushed her earlier. 

“That-that doesn’t have anything to do with it,” she said, eyes on the ground as her face burned with shame. “Please, just let me leave.”

“You know, you still sound pretty demanding for someone who’s shaking and is covered in mud. Also,” he paused, sniffing the air briefly before glancing down at her knees, “ah I wondered where that awful scent was coming from, geez human blood really isn’t appealing at all.” The girl looked at her legs and caught sight of red liquid staining her knees, but that wasn’t what made her pause.

“Human blood? What are you-” A cold dread spread through her as she looked back up at the boy and the inhuman color of his iris. This had to be some sort of awful prank right?

“Oh, maybe I spoke too much, but that reaction isn’t bad, haha. Hey, what do you think I am?” He asked her, opening his mouth just wide enough to reveal a pair of gleaming white fangs.

“That’s… There’s no way… You can’t…” The girl struggled to process the image in front of her, trying to find some sensible sounding explanation. He had to be a nutjob with fake fangs right? A nutjob who liked to terrorize girls on rooftops and happened to go to a night school.

“Ah how boring. Shouldn’t most girls be crying with fear by now? I don’t want to but, would you react a bit more if I pierced you with these fangs?” He lowered his face and panic surged through her. Lunatic or something else, she had no intention of being bitten by him. The girl went to shove him away from her, but before she could blink he had her arms pinned above her head.

“It seems you still haven’t learned that I’m not the sort of person you should fight back against. Hey, how much would it take to make you cry?” His grip on her wrists tightened and she winced at the strength in his grip. “Your wrists are pretty thin, I’d barely have to use any of my strength to snap your bones.”

“Please stop!” She begged, as she silently prayed for someone, anyone to intervene.

“Oi Shin, what are you doing?” An incredibly deep voice came from the entrance to the rooftop and the girl said a silent word of thanks.

“Huh,” Shin looked over his shoulder, allowing the girl a glance at her savior. He was tall, with long white hair, that appeared dyed pink at the tips. A dark scarf covered the lower half of his face, while above it were a pair of piercing golden eyes. 

A shudder ran down her spine as her gaze locked with his for a moment, suddenly feeling a lot less safe than she had just a moment ago.

“Ah brother, I was just having a bit of fun.” The girl wasn’t sure which part of this statement horrified her more. That her so called savoir was actually related to the demonic pile of steaming garbage in front of her or that this was Shin’s version of fun. 

“That’s enough, we have matters to discuss.” The man walked over from the door to the roof, his footsteps stopping just behind Shin.

“Tch,” Shin let go of her arms, only to grip hold of her chin, moving his face uncomfortably close to hers. “Hey, if you tell anyone about what happened here, I’ll rip your tongue out, got it?” His fangs caught the light as he spoke, and the girl felt very close to tears as she muttered a soft yes. 

Shin flashed her that nasty smile of his before letting go. “Well then, get out of here!” 

Needing no further prompting, she hastily got away from him, pausing only to grab her school bag. As she did so, she caught sight of her lunchbox in the older boys hands and faltered. 

“Go!” Shin yelled and the girl concluded that the ham sandwich and peanut butter flavored chocolate bar contained in the hundred yen tupperware were not worth her life as she borderline ran to the rooftop door, slamming it shut behind her. 

***

Carla watched the girl flee from the rooftop with a dispassionate expression. 

“What exactly did you do?” He asked, more concerned with trying to keep their low profile as they furthered their objective than anything else.

“Nothing much, I just toyed with her a bit. She’s only a human so it doesn’t really matter does it? More importantly, why did you keep hold of that?” Shin nodded towards the plastic container in Carla’s hands. 

Carla said nothing as he opened up the box and pulled out a modest sandwich wrapped neatly in clingfilm. Removing some of the wrap, he sniffed it briefly before muttering.

“I thought so.”

Shin took a deep breath through his nose. “Ah, I see, a dry cured ham sandwich huh?”

“Normally I would never eat something prepared by human hands but to take away the taste of that polluted blood, it can’t be helped.” Carla lowered his scarf and took a bite of the sandwich, chewing a few times as he deemed it to be palatable before swallowing. “Oi Shin, take this.” He threw a plastic wrapped bar at his brother and Shin caught it without effort.

He turned it over in his hands before spotting the reason why his brother had given it to him. “Peanut butter huh? Well at least it seems that girl’s good for something.”

#own post #my writing #self-insert #I realise that the heroine/me is a bit lackster but that's because while I get embarrassed chronically easily #I don't get angry very easily at all and my normal strategy when faced with anything unpleasant is to try and leave by all means necessary #Also I genuinely do stop to take photos of flowers because I want to draw them #I love that upon being given a chance to insert myself into DL I just used it to have Shin bully me #I could have gone on longer with this but i think 2000 words of me is enough for anoyone #This is based on the idea of me being 18 (which I was when I started this blog although I was in Uni already) #and spending my final year of highschool at Ryoutei Academy

[amatchforyourmadness]

as stars that wait to fall (in love)

Chapter: 2/40

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia × star!Jaskier | Dandelion

Words: 3265

[ AO3 link ]

Geralt could not for the life of him figure out if all stars were supposed to be this insufferable, mud-throwing, hissing dirty mouthed creatures that just so happened to look pretty only when hanging in the sky, when they were thousands of miles away, a safe distance from mud and from his face (and Roach) or if he had lucked out with his find. He doesn't have one word to give him that doesn't come heavy with cursing and insults after, he only glares or scoffs at him and whenever Geralt so much as steps near his personal space he bares his teeth as if to remind him how he almost lost a chunk of his sword arm. 

Yet, he finds that he's all soft spoken and reassuring words to the girl — Fiona, he called her — and smiles too, smiles that don't match at all with the 'I'll bite your balls out, try me' look he had received over breakfast when trying to hand him a loaf of old bread. He has the nerve to take the piece of bread from him, only to look at it confusedly, nip the old crust lightly, and twist his face in distaste and offer a hungry Cirilla the piece, which she takes eagerly.

He considers strangling the man then, but he has self control, Vesemir taught him self-control, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath from time to time and almost achieve inner peace while at it.

Birdsong fills the morning as the sun creeps higher in the sky and Geralt watches the horizon, a falcon floats above and he can hear the distinct sounds of fleeing wild creatures from the loud sounds from the star’s struggling along on a makeshift crutch, grumbling loudly and pointedly all the while. Geralt grants himself a bit of self care, ignoring him from up Roach’s back.

“How much longer are we supposed to follow you?” Comes yet another annoyed whine from behind him, along with a tugging of the enchanted chain to make sure he's paying attention. “Oy, I can’t walk far on this leg.”

“I’ve made you a splint and a crutch.”

That seemed do nothing to sway him.

“You wrapped an old shirt on my leg and gave me a stick.”

He sighed deeply, and hear the soft sound of giggles he's quickly chalking up to the one noise the star's child is willing to do when she is not arguing with him as if he's not twice her size and very much clearly capable of murder, if that wasn't plenty clear yet.

“We’ll get you to a proper doctor at the next town.”

“Next town?!” He squeaks out indignantly, and Geralt feels his arm be yanked again through the chain, this time with almost strength enough to strain his muscles, and he turns to glare at the star, whose chin is high and eyes are defiant. To be honest, he looks like he’s testing his good leg’s strength in case he wanted to try and aim to swing a good hit at his head. “At least let me ride the horse until then! this stick won’t carry me far!”

“Don’t touch Roach.”

“I will throw myself to the ground and you will have to drag me all the way then, and I’ll not make it easy and you will have to explain to your sorceress friend why I’m all tattered up and useless.”

“I’m sure a dead star is still a star.”

“You’re not killing him!” Fiona adds herself to the conversation and Geralt groans, closing his eyes miserably.

“Of course, he’s not! I would kill him first!”

“Would you, really?” Geralt asks, dryly but mildly amused nevertheless, as he fixes a stare down at him.

“Would you like to risk it?” The man says, leaning forward with a charming smile and batting his eyelashes.

He had not. Wanted to risk it. Not now that Geralt finally realised how deep his eyes were, like lakes untouched by men or the skies at dusk, when the stars start to show themselves to human eyes. If he looked long enough, he could see there was a thin outtrim of silverish grey around his pupil that seemed to spread through the blue like small rivers of silver, like the glow of a star breaking the sky. He blinks once more and Geralt finds himself growling softly when pale eyelids shield the sight from him, even if it’s for a second, only relaxing when eyelashes flutter up, and his eyes are back into view. It’s too mesmerizing and he wonders for a moment how magical can a star’s eyes be. Is that what yennefer is looking for? He doesn’t want her to have it. He wants to look at them forever.

He does not realise he’s leaning closer to the man until amusement flashes through the star’s eyes a beat before Geralt is slipping from roach’s back in attempts to follow his retreating figure, falling face-first onto the ground.

A booming, joyous laughter fills the air, and he glares up to the sky as he bends over his stick to delight himself at the outcome of his little trick. Against the sun’s light, his showy clothes glimmer slightly and he seems to reflect it with his joy as he turns to a snickering FIona, hands pressed against her lips as she looks up from the spot where Geralt has crashed against the ground to the delighted star, and lets her laughter run free. It seems to make the star thrice as happy, but it only makes Geralt twice as grumpy.

“Quiet.” He brings a hand up, still laid to the ground to command them into silence, the star opens his mouth, either to say something snarky or to rub his small victory on his face with the sort of pride only he could muster. “Listen.” Geralt presses once again, more strict than annoyed this time, which seems to get them to comply reluctantly.

The distant roaring of a lion-like beast shakes the earth, followed by the valiant whining of a horse.

“That’s coming from up ahead.” The star said, as Geralt jumps up to his feet and pulls Roach along with hurried steps. “Ow! Wait for me, the chain’s not that long.”

They move forward to a meadow between two banks of trees. A giant beast with the body of a lion, bat wings and a scorpion tails attacks a white horse viciously. It’s not hard to miss the horse sports a long, ivory horn jutting from the centre of its forehead. Geralt is not sure he’s cursing this profusely because this is a bloody unicorn or because that over there is a fucking manticore. Maybe it’s just because when he is almost done processing the whole stupid, gigantic, cosmic joke his life is right now, the other cosmic entity shakes him by the arm with enough energy to get Roach to try and kick him.

“Do something!” Demands the 5’9 little shit that he regrets so fucking much that he promised Yennefer he would find and bring back. “Aren’t you all muscle and no brain? Use them, for Melitele’s sake. The unicorn is hurt, that beast is going to kill him!”

“And let him kill me, too?” He grumbles, but he’s already reaching for

“Oh, I promise I’ll try to spare you a few tears.” He says, rolling his eyes dramatically before he shoves his shoulder in just the right way to get Geralt to stumble towards the confrontation. “You’re a witcher! I’m asking you to fight a monster, that’s the sort of thing you do!” With that, he throws the stick away from him, ignoring how Fiona squawked indignantly, diving behind it immediately before he pulled the silver sword he had fastened to Roach’s saddle from it’s spot and shove it to his hand. “So you go there and you do your witchering!”

There was a beat of hesitation, white eyebrows furrowing as he stared at the star as if he had grown a second head, only to wrap his fingers around the hilt of his own sword when thee smaller man shook it towards his hands a little more fervently.

“Stay here.”

The stars huffs and waits for Geralt to turn to fight the manticore before shuffling towards the unicorn on the other side.

┈━═☆

“My stomach hurts.” Cirilla groans miserably before tucking against him, much like they’ve done the past five days before the ever gracious witcher man decided to barge into their lives, chain him and drag him all the way to who knows where for a sorceress.

“What’s wrong with you?” He asks gently, running a hand over her knotted platinum hair soothingly, shifting slightly to better accommodate her head over his good leg while having his other leg wrapped around the wounded magical creature by it. “Are you sick?”

The manticore gives another thunderous roar and he, Ciri, Roach and the unicorn at his side glance towards where Geralt still fights the thing. He seems to have already crippled one of the wings, but the beast refuses to fall, stretching a fight he absorbs eagerly into his memories to sing his tales up to his siblings, if ever he decided (or survived) to return home.

“No, I’m just hungry.” She murmurs, watching in quiet fascination as Geralt flips his sword skillfully and thrusts it through the poisonous tip of the beast’s tail, much to it’s displeasure. Her brows furrowed for a moment before she looks up at him. “Aren’t you hungry?”

Jaskier smiles kindly down at her and shakes his head.

“We stars eat only darkness, and we drink only light, so I'm not hungry.”

Of course, there’s slightly more of a reason for this than what he was willing to share; he ought to keep any human food from his lips if he knew what was better for him.

“So why did you fall?” She asks what she had not built the courage to during all the while, “Did you trip over something?”

“Stars don’t just trip over the sky.”

The thing was: he did trip over.

Jaskier hadn’t meant to fall, he had just… Been looking too closely. Leaned over slightly.

Stars were so boring, they were all but eternal and usually unchanging. 

Cirilla of Cintra was born months after the disastrous engagement of her parents, and she had been so bright he could not help but to coo at her, along with his siblings, marvelled at the great destiny such a small being was burdened with. Julin, for he was Julian over the starred camps of the sky, had been so delighted by her first cry, by the first sight, that she had granted her his brightest glow, a vow of his protection and favour that would bode well over her fate. As she grew, the interest died down, and his siblings averted their eyes to more interesting events, to return upon her when the greatness caught up to her years, but Julian does not. He watches over her, and keeps the glow he granted upon her at birth during all the years the girl lives through.

The little princess had been dwelling on peace for a long time, when for both his horror and her own, she was been thrown into a stellar nebula of her own. He watched Nilfgaard march and his siblings inched closer. He saw her grandfather fall and the stars focused more on the scene. He saw Cintra fall, her people be slayed, Mousesack fall, her grandmother leap from the window, the soldier who guarded her be murdered, the scream that left her rip stones and ground. 

He needed to help. He couldn’t. his siblings were there, muttering in compassion, holding onto one another. It was dangerous for a star to fall, they all knew the stories.

Besides, that suffering, was what it would take a star, he knew, a great one. Maybe a sun. As the space dust, hydrogen, helium, and plasma swirls around inside the nebulae, they begin to stick together and form into large blobs. When those campacted masses got too big, she’d collapse and pull the dust close to her hot center, to the thing humans called a heart. It would happen over and over again, until her heart became a star and she would glow with the greatness she’d achieve then.

But she was alone. And she was suffering.

He couldn’t leave her alone.

“Then why did you?”

“I fell for someone who is important to me.”

So he had leaned closer to watch, closer and closer, bit by bit until all the others were paying no mind to what he was doing, too focused on Cirilla’s travels further and further from home, with no hope of safety. Closer to the edge. He could very well never come bak from this, Julian reminded himself, but he couldn’t leave his child alone, not after watching her grow, not now she needed him the most. He looked behind himself, over his shoulder, to the sky and the others stars, the millennial bore that was the everlasting glow. He had spent a century sheltered here, singing songs to the black nothingness in between his sisters and brothers where the planets roamed, but down there, there was a girl who had led a sheltered life and now had nothing at all, no one at all. So he slipped.

He had not expected that his siblings would try and reach for him, their united voices calling for his name.

He had not expect it to burn.

He hadn’t expect it to hurt.

He had screamed all his fall, as the glow of his being died down under his terror and pain, as his family grew more and more distant and the comforting vastness of the universe could no longer shelter him.

His siblings looked much prettier from afar, he had thought, before hitting the ground.

Jaskier is snapped from his thoughts by Roach’s whinny of recognition and he looks up to see the brute of a man that had left him chained to a mare walk closer, covered in black blood and looking like he had crawled from hell.

“He lives!” Jaskier calls, with a delighted laugh, deciding not to hold onto the chain matter for now, because he did save the unicorn he asked him to. ‘Fiona��� shifts, sitting up promptly as the witcher approaches them, only to glare at him as she walks around the bunch of them to pet his mare and reach for some other sort of disgusting vial. “Are you alright?” He calls, but he only give another ‘hmm’ that sounds like ‘shut the fuck up’, so he turns to the unicorn instead. “How about you, old fellow?”

The unicorn in question snorts before throwing his head to the side to whinnie in the dramatic manner Jaskier thinks only kindred souls like himself and this magnificent creature, apparently, can be. It makes him smile, and he runs his fingers over his white coat, pretending the shine of its body it’s also his, and daring to hope he can one day shine like a star should once again, when Cirilla is safe and this is all done with.

“Poor thing.” Cirilla says sympathetically from his other side, reaching to ru her hand down it’s neck and the unicorn lets her. Surely enough, a fire lights up her eyes, with the fierce protectiveness he has so often seen take hold of her these last few days and she turns to Geralt. “We can’t leave it.”

“His wounds aren’t too deep.” Is what he replies, and Jaskier’s brows almost touch his hairline when he decides to actually use words instead of just humming. “You could probably ride him. That would speed us up, and help the star’s leg heal more quickly.”

To that Jaskier cries out “The star has a name!” at the same times Cirilla yelps a childishly delighted “Ride an unicorn?” that has both witcher and star sigh in a knowing way.

“Only if he is alright with it.” Jaskier says, looking at the magical creature by his side as it stands up, throwing it’s pure white mane back harrumphing and stamping it’s hoof. “Well, I guess that’s a yes."

┈━═☆

“How did you know?”

“Uh?” The star asks, shaking his head half in a sleep daze, straightening his back from where he had been all but falling from the back of the unicorn and tightening his hold around his sleeping charge. “Sorry, what?”

“How did you know?” He repeats, already feeling the build of annoyance that interacting with him evokes on himself, but reigning Roach in, so both her and the unicorn are side by side as he turns to look at the star, frowning at him as if he can’t fathom what the hell he is talking about. “That I was a witcher?”

“Uh… Was I supposed not to?” He says, making a confused sound before gesturing at him as if Geralt was his own explanation, and Geralt finds himself looking at his black leathered armour for any showy signs that could denounce him as a witcher to a bloody star. “ You’re not really being subtle here, darling. I mean... White hair, big old-loner, two very, very scary-looking swords? Silver for monsters, iron for men, isn’t that what you lot say?”

“Two weeks on a crater teach you that much about witchers?”

“A hundred years on the sky did.” He said, perking up even letting out a voice almost laced with amusement, as he tilted his head up, towards the darkening sky. “We watch, you know?”

Geralt frowns minutely.

“What for?”

“For the tales, of course.” He said, proudly, breaking into melodic sound in words that didn’t belong to any language she knew of. “They make for great songs, good entertainment. Yours isn’t a merry one.”

“You know me?” He asks, arching a pale brow.

“By something that’s not your name, I’m afraid.” The star says and suddenly, the expanding personality shrinks into him, and he won’t meet his eyes. It’s only the heavy silence that wears down on him until he lets out a low grumble. “I would rather insult you with things that I know you are from experience than call you Butcher, if I’m not to be given your name.”

Oh. So that’s what he’s known for, even as far away as in the skies.

He snaps his eyes away from the star and stare the road ahead.

“It’s Geralt.”

Another beat of silence hangs above them.

“Where are you from, Geralt?”

“Rivia.”

“Huh. Geralt of Rivia. It sounds like a name that is destiny-bound.”

“It’s just a name.”

“It’s never just a name.”

“And what’s yours?”

“Well, it depends.”

“Hm?”

“To the ones that map the sky I’m Viscount, from the Pankratz Constellation. You see there? That’s the one. To my siblings, I’m Julian. But the people from Lettenhove have another name for me. I like it better than all others.”

The Viscount of Pankratz stars or whatever the fuck he liked to be called turned to him, and through the dark of the night he can see the man smile, so white and bright it could light the path around them and he makes a point to not look at his eyes, just in case he wanted to try that trick again.

“What’s it?”

“The Jaskier star.”

“So, you’re Jaskier?”

“It has a good ring to it, doesn’t it? Jaskier of Lettenhove?”

“I thought you were a Pankratz. And a Viscount.”

“Well, we’ll figure something out.”

#as stars that wait to fall (in love) #stardust #stardust au #geraskier au #geraskier #geralt z rivii #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #Jaskier #geralt x dandelion #star! jaskier #ao3 the witcher #the witcher

[i-heart-danchou]

Divine

So this is for the extremely lovely @lostcauses-noregrets, who asked for a fic that was post ACWNR/pre canon, and also one which focused on the Ackerbond.  I never really thought about what the Ackerbond would feel like before, but I put myself in Levi’s shoes and imagined Erwin.  I think the Ackerbond is a feeling in one’s chest when they’re with their bonded.  A feeling bordering on painful, like love and adoration and hope all blended together.  A feeling of completeness, protectiveness, an instinctive drive to make that person happy.  Not a compulsion, but a gentle, good feeling.  I hope it comes across in this fic! ____________________ In a moment of clarity like he had never experienced before, Levi knew with total certainty that he wanted to stand beside Erwin Smith for the rest of his life.  The sun sparkling behind Erwin’s stupid gorgeous hair, his eyes bright and full of purpose, his hand still bleeding as he reached out towards Levi… Fuck.  Something changed in him that day, and he wasn’t quite sure he knew how to explain it.  Erwin’s voice had cracked something open in his heart, and he felt different now than he ever had before.  Lighter, maybe.  More certain. Levi had known a lot of shitty men in his life, and he certainly didn’t trust easily.  It wasn’t that he trusted Erwin yet either, exactly… that would take time.  It was more that he got a good feeling from him, was intrigued and enthralled by him, and just… wanted to be with him.  He remained largely silent on the muddy ride back to civilization.  He kept his eyes on Erwin’s back, watching the wings of freedom billow out around his broad shoulders.  His gaze kept drifting to the man’s right hand, a twitch of remorse curling at his heart as he saw the steady trickle of blood that was still lazing down his wrist.  In the next few days and weeks he found himself following Erwin probably more than he intended to.  Shadis wasn’t impressed, and the vast majority of the SC still didn’t trust him one little bit. Levi didn’t blame them, but he found it interesting that Erwin didn’t seem to mind.  Hell, it was almost like he’d been expecting the murder attempt.  

**

It was a rainy night; the weather had been far too miserable to allow anything productive to happen outdoors, and Erwin was busy in his office compiling the data from the last few expeditions.   Levi was making himself busy cleaning Erwin’s windows, peering at the man from the corner of his eye and trying to figure him out.

Erwin wasn’t like other men.  Erwin didn’t try to control him, didn’t question or berate him, didn’t try to suck up to him even.  Erwin just was.  He carried himself with beautiful poise and posture which Levi found enticing— he was charismatic and intelligent, he was so stupid attractive that it made Levi want to throw up.  It had mystified Levi, actually, that Erwin hadn’t wanted to talk about what had transpired in the mud on their first mission.  Not wanted to parse Levi’s feelings at losing his friends, not wanted to talk about the attempt on his life.  

“Erwin.”  Levi eventually broke the silence, and it continued to please him that the squad leader never looked angry or annoyed when he spoke.  “You know none of the other SC members want me anywhere near you?  I tried to kill you, Erwin.  Who’s to say I won’t do it again?”

Erwin looked at Levi and a small smile played on his lips.  “I don’t think you will.”  He put his paper down and seemed to consider Levi for a moment.  The man looked positively enthralled, and it made Levi’s heart speed up.  Fuck, this was pathetic— he wasn’t a damn kid anymore, he wasn’t supposed to get fucking infatuated but…

“I’ve been thinking, Levi.”  Erwin said, standing up to make them both a bit of tea.  “I’ve had a few reports of you getting into disagreements with some of the other cadets.”

Levi bristled.  “They’re all fucking disgusting.”  They didn’t clean up after themselves, they didn’t treat him with any damn respect he—

“It’s alright.”  Erwin said pleasantly, maybe he could see the storm brewing in Levi’s eyes.  “I prefer to be alone as well.  You’re welcome to use my office if you wish.  The couch is comfortable, it has a private lavatory, I’m not here all the time.”  

Levi looked incredulous.  “Why?”

“Because I value you.  Because I believe that you offer something irreplaceable to humanity’s fight.  Because I’m intrigued by you, and because I want you to be comfortable and well rested.”

Levi narrowed his eyes.  “People will talk.”

Erwin chuckled.  “Let them talk.”  He made his way to his closet and pulled out a blanket and some pillows.  “They’re wrong about us, and they’re wrong about you.  You and I are going to alter the future of humanity, Levi.  Give it time, they’ll see.”  Erwin’s eyes were sparkling, and Levi’s heart was thumping away in his chest with an excitement that was bordering on unpleasant.  

Fuck, what a man.

**

It took another two expeditions before Erwin was proven right.  Levi was an exceptional soldier; his skills fighting titans were second to none, and the majority of the SC was delighted to have him at their side.  He was strong and capable, he got things done, he saved lives.   Levi was still abrasive, disobedient, and difficult, but he commanded respect wherever he went.  

Shadis however, still struggled to accept him.  At the best of times, Keith was an unsteady hand at the helm of the SC, and it didn’t help that even now Erwin was more popular and respected amongst his recruits.  Having fucking underground Levi come out of nowhere, not listen to anyone but fucking Smith— it was infuriating, and it showed.  

Levi didn’t obey Shadis, he didn’t respond well to shouting and commands.  He listened to Erwin of course, because Erwin was smart and thoughtful, because Erwin didn’t order him around, because Erwin respected him and treated him like an equal.  

Levi had never known a leader like Erwin before, and it further cemented his loyalty and admiration.  

Keith probably worried about how it would look to the other cadets if an underground upstart didn’t obey him, favoring (like most of the cadets did) Erwin Smith and his radical ideas.  So he drew up the plans for the next mission, and intentionally kept Levi and Erwin apart.  They brought out the best in each other, they trusted each other implicitly, which wasn’t really what Shadis wanted to deal with.  

The expedition was a disaster, and Levi couldn’t even look at Shadis as they slouched back to Wall Maria.  His eyes stayed with Erwin, who was pale and gritting his teeth.  There was dried blood caked around his eye, and he was keeping his left arm close to his chest.  

Something was up, Erwin was tense in his shoulders, he didn’t look right.  Levi followed Erwin up to his office and glared at him, silver eyes sparkling with anger.  “You’re hurt.”  He observed.  “How bad is it?”

Erwin gingerly removed his jacket, and Levi’s eyes widened at how swollen and painful his wrist looked as it poked out of his shirt.  

“Take it off.”  Levi ordered.  “Let me see.”  

Erwin smiled despite himself, stripping down to his undershirt for Levi without protest.  He’d sprained his wrist badly, but fortunately it didn’t appear broken.  He didn’t complain when Levi roughly grabbed his arm to examine it, nor when Levi started cleaning out his forehead wound with some extremely stingy and unpleasant liquid procured from a first aid kit.  

“How did this happen?”  Levi grumbled, focusing on the task of cleaning the wound.  He took the matter very seriously; in the underground people died from injuries like this.  

“Jacobs had been grabbed by a titan, I jumped in as soon as I could.  The thing was abnormal, just flicked its arm out at me and sent me to the ground.  I’m lucky it wasn’t worse, honestly.”

Levi narrowed his eyes.  “The whole thing was a shitshow.  This never would have happened if you’d been leading us.”  He looked at Erwin, and his heart did that weird little flippy thing that he hated.  His eyes were so fucking gorgeous, it was probably illegal.  “You should be commander.  Shadis doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

Erwin smiled then, and Levi wondered if they’d fuck.  He’d had guys staring at him like Erwin did his whole life, and usually it culminated in him getting pinned to a wall, him getting kissed, and him slamming his knee up into a set of balls until the hands let go.  But Erwin never touched Levi without his permission… it was baffling.  The man made no sense.  

“Keith tries his best.”  Erwin reasoned, and Levi let his eyes slide along the line of his perfect jaw.  “He’s assured me he’s put me forward as a candidate for future commander, if and when the time comes.  I’ll just have to be patient.”

**

The attack on Shingashina is unexpected and unprecedented.  The worst attack in human history, and the SC was nowhere to be found.  Shadis’ resignation was abrupt and unsurprising, and Erwin Smith was proudly named the thirteenth commander of the Survey Corps.

There was hardly room for celebration… humanity had lost a third of its resources in one day, it was on the brink of starvation, drastic measures would need to be taken and it would all fall on Erwin’s shoulders.   Levi’s heart swelled with pride as Zachley placed the green bolo tie around Erwin’s neck, and nodded his approval as the newest commander marched proudly towards a new future.

He was beautiful, he was charismatic, he inspired confidence wherever he went.  This was a man who could lead humanity to victory, this was a man who could change the world.  Yet Levi could see the uncertainty in his eyes, the slight hesitation in his face.  He followed Erwin to his new office, ignoring the way people watched him linger in Erwin’s shadow.  

Levi wasn’t good at things like this.  He closed the door behind himself and admired the way Erwin stood so tall and so proud with the weight of humanity on his shoulders.  “Looks good.”  Levi said plainly, gesturing to the tie.  “I trust you.”  He added.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever said that to another human being, and he hoped the gravity of his statement wasn’t lost on the commander.

Erwin’s eyes were warm, his smile deep and genuine.  “Thank you, Levi.  That means a lot.”  

Oh, fuck it.  Levi took Erwin’s hand and brought it to his lips, delicately kissing the thick red scar which gnarled the middle of his palm.  He darted his eyes up, and Erwin looked genuinely astonished, but pleased.  

“Levi..”  Erwin started, but Levi wasn’t interested in talking.  He brought their lips together and silenced the commander.  

Levi had assumed their first fuck would be all teeth and tearing at clothes, frenzy and desperation and undignified grunting but… it wasn’t.  It was reverence, it was affection, it was bordering on the divine.   He took his time with Erwin, stripped him down and let his eyes wander.  His heart ached, and he reveled in the feeling.  

This was the man he would follow for the rest of his life.  The man he would kill and die for, the man who would save humanity and all that was good in the world.  He wanted to be at his side, he wanted to aid him, to enable him, to move mountains and see that gorgeous smile again.  

Erwin Smith was everything.  And this was only the beginning.  

#eruri #erwin smith #prompts #my stuff #pre canon #ackerbond #levi ackerman

[sk-aptason]

Prompt Fill #1

PROMPTS USED: walking through the woods, reflections, "you've changed" (warning: major character death - off screen but fairly graphically implied) __________________________________ It's getting dark. The sky is turning the colour of ink, blue in the west and deep deep black creeping in from the east. Adam’s pretty sure it's not that late, but winter’s got this country firmly within her claws and she's not letting go anytime soon. It's still cold—damn is it cold. He'd probably say it is colder now than it was back in November, when— Well, even back then they said it would have been impossible for a human to survive for long without shelter. 

It's Manitoba, after all, and there was snow already thick on the ground and a bite in the air that chilled you to the bone. Adam can't imagine what it would be like to spend the night out here, alone and unprotected, slowly freezing. He’s watched enough of Copper’s stupid survival shows to know that if you shut your eyes in those conditions you can so easily never wake up. At his side, his hands ball into fists, tight enough to break skin if he weren't wearing gloves. His legs work harder, angrily slamming into the ground in a way he knows isn't going to help him hear anything. The forest is silent anyway. Just like it has been every time. The snow muffles things on purpose, his gran used to say. Catches any sounds, absorbs them. It doesn't want anything to disturb the beautiful, picture perfect tableau. Looking out at the dark trunks of the trees in all their intimidating grandeur, standing a noiseless guard to the world beyond the path, Adam thinks he sort of understands that. He doesn't want to understand it. He's almost back at his car and now it's too dark to see, he just wants to go home and enjoy some dreamless sleep. That's getting harder and harder to come by these days. ~ Adam goes through the motions of getting ready to drive off on complete autopilot. He doesn't care to worry about the beard that's grown in all straggly, or the haunted look in his eyes as his reflection stares back at himself in the dark glass of the driver side window. It doesn't fucking matter how he looks, does it? He's finding it more difficult to devote his time to trivial things like that when— Fuck, he can't even let his thoughts form the words. He can't let himself. It feels too much like giving up. ~ It's nearly a two hour drive back home, back to the lights and the noise and the people of Winnipeg. All those people, he thinks, furrowing his eyes against the sting of frustrated tears, all those people and not the one he needs the most. He takes a breath, trying to fight down the despair that wants to rise up his throat and throttle him. That won't help him be useful. He's got to be useful, otherwise he's got nothing. When he lets himself into his apartment, the living room light is on. He's sure he didn't leave it like that when he left. Some instinct makes him grab the umbrella leaning by the door, and he advances down the hallway, not even stopping to remove his coat or shoes like he normally would. There's the sound of hushed conversation, drifting round the corner. He grips the umbrella tighter and steps around to confront whoever's there. His heart is pounding in his mouth as he tries to move fast enough to surprise them. He notices Wheels, first, standing in the middle of the room. Then he sees Scheif sat on the couch behind him, a sheepish expression on his face. Scheifs has a key, that must be how they got in. Adam faintly regrets giving him it. He just wants to sleep. Wheels won't let him, not by the determined look on his face. It reminds Adam of face-off practices and video sessions and—he doesn't want to be thinking about hockey. He doesn't want to be thinking about anything right about now. His captain stands, and raises his eyebrow as he conducts a short once-over. Adam knows he's noticed the gloves and the heavy winter coat and the mud that splattered up his jeans from when he must have gone uncaring through a couple puddles earlier. “Where have you been?” Wheels asks, in a tone that means he already knows. He just wants Adam to admit to spending yet another offday in the forest, because they all think he's crazy for doing it. For keeping faith. It's been hard to stop the resentment growing against them. They all gave up. Adam doesn't answer. He tries to glare, but he doesn't quite have the energy for it. “We're worried,” Scheif says diplomatically. Placating. “You need to start looking after yourself.” Wheels nods firmly. Almost like he's psyching himself up for an argument. “You never come out, you don't talk to us, you spend all your time—” “—not giving up?” Adam asks acidly, and he knows it hits home from the way they both flinch, knows it's cruel and maybe unfair but he's so tired of being the only one who cares anymore. “We didn’t give up, Adam.” Wheels takes a step forward, like he thinks Adam might need catching. Like he's got something to say that'll make him fall. “The police—” “I know what the goddamn police said!” Adam replies, and his voice sounds horribly rough and loud in the quiet of his apartment. “I know what the damn search and rescue people said, I know what fucking—everyone says!” “You've changed,” is all Wheels has in response. “You're struggling, and no ones blaming you for that. But you would never normally be so irrational—” Adam opens his mouth to protest, but Scheif stands up and steps in. “They found his car,” he says, looking like every word makes him feel sick. Adam gets that, but they don't understand. A car crash doesn't mean anything. They didn't find anyone in the wreckage, there was no evidence of shit. Scheif takes a breath. “You know it's impossible. People don't survive for three months in the wilderness of Manitoba, not over winter.” His voice cracks on the last word. Wheels reaches out a hand and grips his shoulder, steadying him. The SAR lady had said it might have only taken a few days in the snowy conditions. But he can't—that can't be true. “Chris asked me to…” Wheels starts, and takes a few more steps forwards Adam. His hands come up to hover just off of his shoulders, obviously hesitant to make contact without permission. “They're having the funeral in Toronto, Adam. Their mom wants us there. You especially.” Adam feels like he's been doused in the Assiniboine. “Me?” He feels his knees give in and he's half aware of sinking to the ground, with Wheels keeping him from dropping like a stone. "We know what you meant to each other." Scheif's voice is faint. Maybe that's just because of the blood rushing in Adam's ears. "He loved you, even if you didn't in the same way." He loved you. "No, I—" Adam can't tell confusion or pain or panic apart. He decides to attack the only part that he can think to. "Why are you saying that in the past tense?" "Adam…" Wheels says, and his voice is heavy and solemn and sad, so sad. "Brandon's dead. He's gone."

#prompt fills #writing #adam lowry #brandon tanev

[creativestalkerrs]

Sunflower University 🌻 Part One 🌻

A Moment of Grief

Summary; It’s always hard yo lose someone, some not so much. How is everyone holding up after the news of Cit’s death? Especially for Iren, Tom Holland and his brother Sam

Warning; mention of death, swearing, mention of mental illness, some blood, kinda sexual themes, angst, fluff

Word Count; 4.2k 

A/N; Some people said they could wait Monday some said Saturday, so I settled with posting on Sunday. Working on Part Two now and I’m unsure when I’ll have it done because sis needs it to be juicy for you guys xx. I’ll update you guys on posting dates. Give me some feedback on this chapter so I can make part two better. (Also I might do a tag list of anyone wants on it, I never did anything like it before, so it might take a second haha)

--

The campus was silent, grief swept over the majority of students. 26 students have questioned throwout the week. Some going throw therapy for the lost of Cit Clementine. The sunflower was dying. Everyone was scared that the killer was close and that was walking with everyone else. One by one, people were questioned. It started with Tom Holland and finally ended with Alex Grimes. Everyone was slow like something was stuck in the mud. Between the two houses, at least one of them felt like something was ripped away from them. Iren losing someone so close to her, a sister. Sam losing someone who would never love him back, but yet, he would never know the truth. People would know the name of Cit Clemintine would shake their head and morn the day, others simply shook it off as if it was a new day. Especially Sadie Nyland, who had no remorse towards the loss of a sister. When she was questioned, she wasn’t even sad. It was odd behaviors. Authorities recorded everything, believing she was involved with Cit’s death. Everyone that they spoke with stated that Cit was sweet and that that liked her. With Sadie, she didn’t deny the fact she was sweet, she didn’t care about her being sweet. She cared about that fucking image. Sadie was thinking of it all wrong. 

Braking the awful news to the parents for the Clementine family was the worst. Because they were states away, it was an unforced phone call. Iren told her parents that they won’t be going to Grease, telling them that Cit was murdered. Iren was free to fly to the Clementine home for that week to help with a funeral. Cit was cremated and sent back to Nevada. Iren brought some of Cit’s closest things with her to give to her mother and her father. Her framed college acceptance letter, her suffered elephant, Joy and her favorite teeshirt that she would never throw away. It would be an understatement to say that Iren’s tears soaked Joy, thinking of all the sleepovers she had with her and Cit. How Iren won Joy at the state fair for Cit because she wanted it so badly, so Iren rolled up her sleeves and spent her last 5 dollars just so her best friend could have a stupid stuffed elephant. That stupid stuffed elephant was everything to her. The blood of Iren was on her paw when she had a bloody nose at her house and Cit used her paw to soak up the blood before rushing to get a towel. Or all the tears that Iren whipped from Cit’s cheeks when her first boyfriend of 6 weeks broke up with her. Joy was their third best friend. Iren stood there, packing up Cit’s things, hugging Joy like she would with Cit.

A knock at the door was heard. It was faint yet noticeable. It was hard for Iren to hear things in this house, now that things have been so… quite. With Joy between her arms and against her chest with mascara running down her pale cheeks, she turns to see Tom fucking Holland in the doorway. She swallowed the melancholy and tried her best to make eye connection with the boy who saw the worst of it all. “She’s really gone,” Iren cried out, tears couldn’t stop streaming down her face. “How am I going to survive the funeral? How am I going to stan there with Holly and Joe and tell them everything will be fine. Their daughter is dead. My only sister is gone…” Iren sobbed as she sat on Cit’s perfectly made bed, making Joy damp with every tear. Tom flashed back to the memory of seeing Iren’s best friend dead, the memory getting more horrid. Tom walked closer to Iren, sitting next to her. Tom didn’t know Cit like Iren. Tom didn’t know Iren like Cit. He put a gentle hand on the middle of Iren’s back, feeling her gasp for air. Silence feel, Tom was too traumatized to say words, but he knew that everyone was feeling grief too, one way or another. Iren whipped away her mascara filled tears and looked at the curly-headed boy who sat next to her. “Are you okay?” Iren asked in-between her breath, looking at Tom who was uncountably looking at the rug. Tom gasped for air, hearing the question go off in his head once more.

“It was horrid… I saw so much blood… the blood. I. Who would do that? I wake up, wanting to tear off my skin so that I can forget it. The guts… I started to go to therapy. I’m showing signs of PTSD. I can’t walk to your house without thinking about it, so I go the long way… Iren, I’m sorry you lost Cit,” Tom spoke with trama and truth and love, but the memory still haunted him. “I came here to give you this,” Tom went throw his pocket to give an earring to Iren. It was Cit’s. “She dropped this at the party and I meant to give it to Cit when I came here but things turned out differently. Maybe you wanted it,” Tom smiled as Iren grabbed it and got up. Placing the purple butterfly earing with the red one, it was a perfect match. Iren sniffed and looked at it, a smile formed as she remembered the day both of them went to get their ears pierced, picking out matching earing and traded one with the other. She got the red ones as Cit got the purple.

“Thank you, Tom… I’m sorry for what you’re going throw. Cit always liked you… I mean she loved your work and loved Spider-Man. She always told me she was so lucky to know you, but always felt bad she couldn’t be with Sam,” Iren turned and faced Tom who’s hands were on his lap he looked at her with a confused glare.

“Why is that?” He asked.

“For reasons, I won’t say,” Iren promised to take her secret to her grave, and that she will. “Here… I think Sam may want this,” Iren went to Cit’s desk and pulled out a slip of paper that read To Sam Love Cit on it. Iren gave it to Tom. “She was meaning to give that to Sam a while ago, maybe it’s best he has it now,” Iren whipped off her clammy palms as Tom read the words that Cit neatly put down. Tom’s heart broke for both of them. The house was quiet, like anyone who spoke or moved would get eaten by the house. The houses were always so alive, but now it hit the houses like a wrecking ball of grief and mystery.

“I haven’t seen Sam so torn like this since his cat, Tigger died. If you can imagine it, Sam was a small innocent boy with a huge grin… now he’s grown up with anger issues and a will to love Cit Clemintine,” Tom let out a small chuckle, but his lips fell flat. Iren zipped up the bag of Cit’s things and sat back next to Tom. Her hand gently placed on Tom’s face, feeling the scruff of his face on her soft hands. Forgetting to shave for Tom was always everyone’s favorite look. Tom’s eyes meet Iren as she leaned in the crack of Tom’s neck, lightly kissing him. She could smell the whiskey and the cheap cologne on his neck.

“We’ll be fine Tom… Cit will be watching over us,” Iren placed her other hand on Tom’s shoulder as Tom brushes Iren’s hair, embracing her and her touch. Tom felt calm with Iren by his side, like he was craving for some human connection all these years and that Iren was the only one who could. Iren pulled away and got up, taking another look at the scruffy Tom. “I have to start packing up. My flight leaves in 2 hours,” Iren spoke, cheeking the room one last time. Iren grabbed the bag from the bed. Tom’s hand grabbed her to stop.

“Wait, Iren. Are we friends?” Tom asked like a scared child he was. Iren smiled at the question.

“Forever,” Iren told Tom, feeling less alone with her newfound friend. Iren left the room with her bags as she packed for her trip to Nevada. Iren left Tom on the bed of Cit Clemintine. He smiled at Iren’s forever witch is what Tom needed. He got up and looked around Cit’s room. Neat and perfect like Cit always was. Looking at the pictures of Iren, Cit and some other girls on a boat, a picture of Iren and Cit with two boys at prom and a picture of a dog and Cit. Tom couldn’t be in that room any longer. He took one last look and basically ran out of Cit’s room. He slammed the door and looked at the plain paint that read Cit’s Room on it. His chest grows bigger as he began to hyperventilate. He shoved the note in his pocket and looked down the stairs to see Venus, Billie, and Peaches sitting in the living room. As he made his way downstairs he gave small waves to the girls and went into the kitchen to see Sadie, hoping to find Z. He didn’t want to make a move as Sadie stared at him. He felt frozen. He needed to escape this whole house. “Why are you just standing there? Come here Tomas,” Sadie said with a wink as she bites her perfectly painted pink lips.

“I’m sorry… Were is Zendaya?” Tom asked as Sadie made her way closer to Tom. He closed his eyes, hoping the ball and chain that was on his feet would melt away.

“She’s out… say, why don’t you stay the night with me?” Sadie asked as she pushed Tom up against the wall.

“Sadie, I have to leave. I’m not in the right state of mind… Tell Z I was here then… bye,” Tom pushed Sadie off of him as he turned on his heel and basically ran out of the door. So much was racing throws his head. His chest was going in and out faster. He felt like he took a bottle of Adderall and hyped up on caffeine pills. As he slams the door, he sees students going in and out of dorms. He hasn’t been to class all week. Only therapy. Tom looked at the path he came from, looking at the path that he saw Cit. He booked it, running back to the house. He held the pocket that Sam’s note in so it wouldn’t fly out. He couldn’t understand it. He couldn’t understand who would do this. His was lost in thoughts as he tripped and fell on the uneven pavement, scraping his palms and his forehead.

“Oh my god! Are you okay?” Someone asked as Tom just laid there, feeling like an idiot. A girl with wavey hair and glasses came up to him, dropping her books and offering her hand to Tom. Tom took it as she pulled him up. “You’re bleeding!” She explained as his blood got on the sleeve of her university sweatshirt. “Are you okay?” She asked again. Tom looked around and looked at the girl. She was cute and he thought he saw her somewhere.

“Just a scratch. I’ll clean it up when I get home… Uh, thank you for the help,” Tom smiled.

“Anytime… Names Avalon,” She introduced herself, offering her blood-covered sleeve to Tom. He took it gently and shook her hand.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Tom,” He smiled back.

“Holland?” She asked.

“Huh?” He questioned.

“Tom Holland, is that you?” She asked once more, coving up the awkwardness. Tom finally got it.

“Oh yea sorry, must have really hit my head,” He laughed making the girl laugh as well. Both of them began to walk the direction to his house, seemingly that was were Avalon was heading too, converting a few building were that way.

“You found Cit Cleminine, right?” Avalon asked that dreaded question. He blanked. “Oh… I’m sorry…” She caught on. Tom turned to her.

“No.. you’re fine… Just thinking. Yea I found her. Awful scene,” Tom played with the zipper on his jacket as they walked awkwardly next to each other.

“We’re both apart of the case then,” Avalon commented as Tom looked at his, tilting his head.

“How are you apart of her case?” He questioned.

“She came into Crybaby Record Shop a lot, we bonded over music. Saw her a few days ago getting a record. She was always kind to me. Had a class with her. Always liked her. Police said I would know something. All I notice was her odd behavior that day. As if she was drugged. Brushed it off, because I had days like that where I’m off… Where are you off to Tom Holland?” Avalon asked trying to change the subject. Tom took in the information and noted it.

“Back home to give my brother a note from Cit,” Tom smiled as he saw the house just inches away. “What about you?” He asked back.

“That’s sweet. Off to class. I’ll see you around? Maybe stop by at Crybabies, we can talk more than,” Avalon smiled as she turned the other way. Tom was left in his tracks, looking at the way she moved. He smiled, knowing something else. He walked up to the stairs to the house and walked in seeing all the guys watching TV. He walked in and sat next to Shawn.

“How did it go?” Shawn asked.

“Odd… do you know a girl Avalon who works at Crybaby Record Shop?” Tom asked Shawn.

“Yea, I’m friends with her friend’s boyfriend. She’s nice,” Shawn smiled.

“She’s apart of the case,” Tom sighed.

“That whole friend group is apart of the case, they all saw her the last week she was alive,” Shawn explained.

“How do you know this?” Tom asked.

“I was giving Jackson guitar lesson’s and he told me,” Shawn smiled. “Sam is upstairs. He wanted to talk to you or something. He was making a whole fit about something,” Shawn warned. Tom nodded as he goes up and climbed the stairs of the frat house. The stairs creaked as Tom climbed up them one by one. He heard a crash coming from Sam’s room as he froze up. He slowly placed his hand on the door nob and pushed his way inside the room, seeing a small figurine, broken on the ground. 

“What's going on in here?” Tom asked as he saw Sam on the floor. 

“I can’t take this anymore!” Sam yelled as he was curled up in a ball. He rocked himself back and forth as Tom tiptoed around the broken ceramic that his dear brother broke. Tom sat on his bed, patting his back trying his best to calm him. He was the one to calm everyone when he needed to be calmed. “She died… i shouldn’t have yelled at her. Now we’re all going to suffer. Tom… She never understood that I really did love her. All I wanted to do was love her!” Sam protested as Tom sighed, taking out the note from Cit.

“She knew Sam. She loved you… here… Iren gave me this to give to you. Cit was going to give it to you weeks ago,” Tom slid down next to Sam as he gave him the paper. Sam relaxed his body and took the paper. Tom pulled his brother in to comfort him as Sam read the words that Cit wrote to him. Tom knew that it might hurt, but he might feel at ease.

Sam. I know I have been a bitch to you. I know you love me, and really, I do love you. I have skeletons in my closet and I don’t want to hurt you. Give me time and I think we could be together. I remember the first time we kissed, you played with my hair and I knew something was different about you. When we went to see that movie together, my heart broke knowing I can’t be with you at this moment. I’ll tell you everything, I swear. Just give me a little time if you forgive me. I love you Sam Holland, and I hate myself for everything I put you through. -Cit

Sam’s lips formed a smile with a sigh of sadness. He put the paper to his chest, knowing that she meant it when she said she loved him. A few tears fell down his cheeks. “Who killed her?” Sam asked. Same turned to Tom, struggling to answer him. “Tom, who killed Cit? Who? Who would do something to her? She was this sunflower that shined too bright and now she's dead. Is this my fault?” Sam raised his voice, clearly blaming himself.

“Sam… this wasn’t your fault. You know that. I don’t know what sick fuck would do that. The police are still looking into everything… I’ll pick the broken ceramic,” Tom got up as Sam nodded. He picked up the broken pieces and throw it in the trash by Sam’s desk. “Will you be okay?” Tom asked as he leaned on the doorway. 

“Maybe. Will you be okay?” Sam asked.

“That’s what therapy is for. I worry about you, Sam. I worry about both you and Harry,” Tom gave Sam a small smile.

“I worry about you too,” Sam smiled. Tom closed the door behind him, allowing Sam to have a moment to himself. Tom went back downstairs to see Zendaya at the door.

“Dean let me in… Sadie said you were looking for me. I thought I’d come to you.” Z smiled, holding her sweatshirt in her hand. Tom smiled, looking at his close friend. “Would you like to get coffee maybe?” Z asked.

“I would like that,” Tom smiled. Z was always a good friend to Tom. She knew the trauma he was going throw and he knew the hurt she was going throw too. Tom grabbed opened the door for Z as they began to walk the direction to Greedy Coffee Shop that was by the science building. Z noticed the blood on his face that he didn’t clean up.

“Your bleeding. What happened?” Z asked licking her thumb and whipping up the almost dried blood off of his face. He laughed at Z as she acted like a mother.

“I ran back from your house to mine and feel. Must have scraped my face too. Some girl helped me up. Got my blood on her sweatshirt. She’s apart of the case too,” Tom mentioned.

“Who?” Z asked as they walked slowly next to each other.

“She mentioned her name was Avalon. Shawn said she and her friend group are apart of the case too,” Z stopped by the water fountain and looked at Tom who stopped as well.

“Avalon Wilson. Cute girl at the record shop,” Z smiled.

“Do you like-like her?” Tom teased.

“What? No!” Z exclaimed. “I’m just pointing out she’s cute. Totally your type,” Z laughed with flushed cheeks.

“Are you hiding something, Zendaya?” Tom asked, switching from serious real fast. 

“You would know if I was hiding something because I would tell you, Tomas,” Z exclaimed sounding offended that Tom would say something like that. “What did you need to tell me?” Z asked, switching topics as she sat on the edge of the fountain, Tom standing next to her, not yet sitting.

“I just wanted to see how you’re holding up. Everyone is reacting weirdly.  I mean, I understand it. Campus feels… empty,” Tom pointed out as he sat next to Z and looked at the flowers ahead of him.

“Empty is what I feel. The Sunflower House feels dull. Iren, Cit and I would make dinner on Monday nights. We didn’t eat at all Monday. Iren was crying. The relation of Cit’s death didn’t hit tell last night. Was it murder? I still don’t understand if it was an accident or not,” Zendaya tried to understand it all, but she tried, it wouldn’t make sense and she would shut down. 

“It’ll take a while for all of us to heal,” Tom sighed as he plopped his head on Z’s shoulder. The sun shined on them as a nice breeze blew throw, causing Zendaya’s hair over her face.

“We should get going before the coffee shop gets busy,” Zendaya laughed as Tom’s arms wrapped around Zendaya. “Or we can just stay here for a minute,” Z laughed as she played with Tom’s hair.

“What are you going to do after college?” Tom asked, letting go of Zendaya but keeping his head on her shoulder. Z looked Tom and smiled, lucky to have such a good friend like him.

“Well, we have this acting thing… I mean we’re studying Theater and Cinema so…” Z laughed.

“I never expected to be a college student and then be apart of a murder case,” Tom stated. Z rubbed Tom’s back.

“Me neither Tom… But we’re here together,” Z smiled.

“Thanks, Z,” Tom smiled as he lifted his head up and got up. “Let’s get some coffee before all the white girls make it busy,” Tom laughed as he gave Z his hand and helped her up.

As the two walked to the cozy coffee shop, it seemed to be dead, only two students studying together. Z looked at the menu as Tom knew what he wanted. A girl walked from the back. Tom knew of the girl considering he’d been at Greedy’s almost every afternoon after class. “What can I get you two?” The girl smiled.

“Hey Maya,” Tom smiled.

“Hey Tom, Hey Zendaya,” She smiled.

“I’ll take an iced mocha with dark chocolate,” Tom smiled.

“I’ll have the same thing,” Z said, unsure.

“Sweet, I’ll get on that,” Maya smiled turning around. Tom and Z got a table and waited. It only took a few minutes before Maya called for Tom’s name. “Hey… so I heard about what happened,” Maya slowly said. “It’s awful what happened. They questioned me. Cit would always come in here and would help me with studying when it came to exam season,” Maya frowned.

“Sounds like Cit…” Zendaya smiled as she took a drink of her coffee.

“If you ever need anything, I work every Thursday,” Maya smiled.

“Thank you, Maya,” Tom smiled. “I’ll be around too,” Tom smiled back as they began to leave.

“Don’t trust the man, the man might backstab you and then your luck will end. Did Cit ever say anything like that to you?” Maya asked as Tom and Z turned around, looking at Maya who went around the counter. “She said that to me the last time I saw her. It rang in my head after the news of her death and I think she knew about her death. I-I don’t know if that’s true, but in the autopsy, she was literally stabbed in the back. Her Instagram bio reads your luck won’t end yet. Do you think that’s weird?” Maya cried out.

“This isn’t a conspiracy… but that is really worrying. I never even noticed how her bio could lead to something like that,” Z stated. “Now you mentioned it, she said she felt dizzy at the party…” Zendaya stated. “Has anything else came out of autopsy report?” Zendaya asked.

“You could cheek the police office. Anyone who was questioned can look at the report. I looked at it when they asked because of the statement she said,” Maya explained. “I can come with you to read it to see if anything looks weird. I get off in 30 minutes if you guys can hang tight,” Maya offered. Tom’s hand were shoved in his pocket.

“I don’t know…” Tom stated. “We’re still healing…” Tom said slowly rubbing the back of her neck.

“That’s okay. I’ll be here if you change your mind,” Maya said with a smile.

“I’ll go,” Z said. “Tom, you can go home and I’ll report back to you if I find anything. You take care of yourself, okay?” Z smiled, putting her hand on his chest. 

“Okay. Thank you for walking with me. I’ll see you later then,” Tom said turning on his foot. Tom waved at the girls as he made his way back to the house. Z was left with Maya.

“Something smells fishy. This might be something bigger,” Zendaya turned to Maya who nodded her head.

“Ah fuck it… I'll get Dolly to take the rest of my shift no one is in here anyway… Let’s go,” Maya took off her apron and put it on the counter before telling Dolly that she needed to leave. Dolly understood as Maya and Zendaya rushed out of Greedy’s.

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