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#but i vaguely looked into other places but there's just nothing affordable around here

yaksha-lover · 10 months

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Track #1: Shrike - Hozier Drabble Masterlist

(Unrequited) Sebek Zigvolt x Reader, Background Malleus Draconia x Reader

Summary: Sebek watches Malleus fall in love with you, and then he does too.

i. remember me, love

The first time Sebek takes notice of you, he fears it’s already too late. He’s seen you around before, but he’s never bothered to do more than let his eyes gloss over you. His focus remains on Lord Malleus most of the time, so he can’t afford to pay too much attention to other details of the world, let alone a random human.

Malleus is, in fact, the reason he first pays attention to you. Despite Lilia’s admonishment to ‘leave Malleus to his whims,’ Sebek has gone chasing after his young master with Silver being dragged along. The two of them search campus until they eventually come along Ramshackle dorm.

Sebek quickly dismisses the dorm; the pile of rubble that hardly qualifies as a building would not be a place Lord Malleus would frequent. It’s dark out, so the two of them can’t see very far ahead, but Silver insists on continuing forward, pointing out the gargoyles on the side of Ramshackle that the half-fae failed to take notice of. Silver is then forced to try and calm Sebek’s momentary freak-out about not noticing one of his housewarden’s favourite things.

The two of them quiet down when they hear laughter coming from closer to the building. Sebek almost doesn’t recognize it at first; it’s been a while since he’s actually heard Malleus laugh.

Silver promptly slaps a hand over Sebek’s mouth when he tries to shout for him: “Please, Sebek. Leave him be. Malleus has finally made a friend.”

Silver and Sebek watch from the shadows as the two of you walk under a street light, your forms finally visible. The half-fae breathes a sigh of relief when realizing you two stand a couple meters away from each other; nothing else would be appropriate for the future king of Briar Valley.

While they’re forced to wait out the end of your conversation with Malleus, Sebek is able to get a good look at you. He vaguely recognizes you from your friendship with his fellow first years but other than that, he doesn’t know much about you or what you might want with his lord.

Although, he considers, you must be…something at least to have captured the interest of Malleus. Nothing extraordinary, you are just a human after all, but perhaps something worth looking at for a small time. Sebek dismisses the thought - you will be gone soon enough, he has nothing to worry about regarding Malleus.

Silver covers his mouth again as they watch you ask for Malleus’s hand before bringing it up to your lips for a quick kiss.

ii. when i’m reborn

Sebek walks side by side with you down the streets of a small market near the castle. You’d wanted to go out but Malleus was busy, so he sent Sebek to guard you. He catches many stares as the two of you look at the street stalls, whispers about the human who captured their king’s heart. Some more kind than others.

“They’re just a human- far below someone like our Lord Malleus. Are we sure they haven’t placed a love spell on him?” Someone whispers from the crowds.

Sebek almost turns around to yell at the voice, but you grab his arm to pull him along with you, leaving the situation behind.

“What are you doing? You won’t defend your own honour?” He protests.

“What I’m doing is staying out of trouble and not caring what these strangers think of me,” you say flatly. “Why do you care anyway? Don’t you agree with them?”

“I,” Sebek pauses, “I only wish to defend my lord’s name. He would never be able to be subdued by a mere love potion, let alone one given by a human.” And you wouldn’t need a love potion to capture someone’s heart, he doesn’t say.

“Whatever.”

The two of you decide to head back to the castle, walking until your path is intercepted.

“What are you doing in this part of the trail? Don’t you know humans aren’t safe here?” The fae taunts.

“Just leave us alone and we’ll be gone,” you reply. “I don’t think anyone here wants more trouble than they can deal with.”

“Oh? You think you can do anything against me? You’re just an insect on my shoe!” The stranger laughs.

“DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU’RE TALKING TO? THE FUTURE QUEEN OF BRIAR VALLEY AND ONE OF MALLEUS’ KNIGHTS. KNEEL AND APOLOGIZE BEFORE I’M FORCED TO TAKE ACTION.” For once, you’re thankful for Sebek’s booming voice. The unknown man winces slightly at the sudden noise before recognition dawns on his face.

“You’re the little half-fae he took in, huh? He must have taken pity on you, a disgusting half-blood abomination. Well your king isn’t here, is he?”

“Sebek?” The glare he has locked on the man is intense, but he manages to turn his attention to you. “Beat his ass.”

And so, he does. With years of training under Lilia in magic and combat, the fae is, of course, no match for Sebek. You add in a little kick to his side at the end.

“Couldn’t take on a half-fae and a mere human?” you taunt the fallen man.

In the high of your victory, Sebek forgets he’s supposed to hate you, and the two of you share a high-five.

iii. as the shrike to your sharp

“You can’t marry him.”

“What? Sebek- Why would you say that?” you turn around at the half-fae’s words.

“Because-YOU KNOW WHY! YOU ARE HUMAN. DISGUSTINGLY INFERIOR AND UNWORTHY OF MARRYING A FAE LIKE MALLEUS.”

“Sebek! I’ve told you, I’m sick and tired of you saying things like that!” You yell back, approaching him. “Malleus loves me even though I’m human,” you lower your voice, “Why can’t you accept that a fae could love a human?”

Sebek remains uncharacteristically silent in response to your question, no longer meeting your eyes in righteous anger.

“I just don’t understand. I know I’m unworthy of Malleus, but it’s not because he’s a fae, it’s because everything else about him - his kindness, his loving nature. And your own parents are human and fae, how could you not-”

You’ve stopped right in front of him, close in a way that burns because he knows it means that despite everything he’s done, you still consider him a friend. And you are close, so close that Sebek leans down and lets his lips brush over your own, leaving the two of you in silence when you quickly pull away.

“There you are, my love,” Malleus says, coming through the doorway. “And hello, Sebek. Ah, don’t look so dismayed, I know it is bad luck in your human customs for the couple to see each other before the wedding ceremony, but I couldn’t be apart from you that long.”

Malleus seems not to notice the tension in the air, and Sebek feels himself disappear into the wallpaper when you snap out of your startled haze. He watches the two of you share a kiss like he’s not in the room, and Sebek feels the wetness gather in his eyes, threatening to drench his cheeks any second. The two of you are so occupied by each other, neither of you react to him leaving.

iv. and glorious thorn

While everyone else gathers at the centre of the floor, dancing together in celebration, Sebek sits in the corner of the wedding venue. His eyes try and lose you, but every time they inevitably find their way back to your form, held in Malleus’ arms as the two of you sway together. He spots Lilia break off from the group, approaching his table.

“This would be a good chance for you to socialize, Sebek. You know most of Briar Valley is here, you could meet a nice fae like you’ve always wanted.”

“I’m not interested in such things,” Sebek dismisses.

“I see. Has someone else perhaps caught your eye?” Lilia follows Sebek’s line of sight, sighing when it lands on you. “Has something upset you?”

“I made them sad. I don’t know why but seeing them sad, I can’t help but feel…no. No, why should I feel upset? My lord has married the most beautiful person in the world. Nothing could make me happier,” Sebek murmurs.

“Sebek…”

“Lilia, why does my chest hurt? Why does it almost feel like…I didn’t want them to go.”

“That’s just love,” Lilia says, taking a seat beside him and placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to be okay. Maybe you need to take some time away. I could see if Silver would accompany you-”

“I need to be here. To protect both of them. My feelings…they are irrelevant. My life is sworn to Malleus. I will be okay if I know they are happy.”

Sebek’s gaze lingers. He can’t help but feel that his eyes will give out before they ever stray from you.

#sebek zigvolt x reader #twst x reader #sebek zigvolt #twst #twisted wonderland #twst drabble #twst angst #lilia vanrouge #malleus draconia #malleus x reader #(background)

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sinner-sunflower · 1 month

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A HH Lucifer-centric AU 16/?

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14, PART 15, PART 17, PART 18, PART 19, PART 20, PART 21, PART 22

Hotel reaction 2 electric boogaloo

still deciding whether i'll post tomorrow

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

4 hours later, despite the arrival of Lucifer and the mystery woman, there is barely no progress. Charlie and the others were so hopeful the first few times because it did look like the extra power was doing something. But every time they make a dent, it bites back even worse.

They flinch as another Goetia fell, prompting the Prince of Lust to call for a retreat from her dad.

Lucifer: No! We can't afford to lose a Ring.

Cherri: They are clearly exhausted.

Angel: Yeah. One day won't be tha bad, right toots?

Charlie: Umm, I don't think so. Hell's rings are a complicated. They aren't just places, it's a system. Losing one will inevitably cause the others to fall apart.

Husk: I guess his majesty doesn't want us backed to a corner. If they let Sloth be consumed then who knows how bigger the problem would get.

Vaggie: He's right. The best solution is dealing with it at the literal root. They can theoretically recoup but by the looks of things, Sloth has little to no time left.

Husk: Mhhm. The constant ritual might be the only thing keeping it alive. The ring is basically on life support.

Lucifer: Goodie! Goodie: I cannot give more of something I do not have, angel. I warned you that my support alone will most likely not stop this. Lucifer: We should at least be denting it!

They quickly covered their ears as the TV let out a sound so ear-piercing that it feels like their head is splitting in half.

Angel: What the fuck???

Looking up despite the pain, they see that giant roots sprout from the ground. It went up and up until it reached Lucifer's pentagram in the sky.

Husk: Is that a fuckin' tree?

Charlie is transfixed on the image. She has lived in Hell all her life but this is the first time she had felt dread from something that came from her home.

'This is not of Hell.' She thought. It makes her sick. But her stupor was cut short as a new voice cuts through the footage.

Leviathan: Luci! Your marks!

Charlie looks in equal horror as her Uncle Leviathan when she saw the state her dad was in. The marks on his body have now almost consumed his whole face. She lets out a sob as Lucifer held up the mirror Alastor provided to inspect his condition.

No one spoke as he does this. Then after a moment, Charlie saw something in her dad's eyes.

Lucifer: Goodie. What do I need to do?

Charlie was about to say her confusion out loud when the lady, Goodie, blew a piece of paper onto the King's skin.

Goodie: This might be the only way to stop my sister. That is an ancient seal from before the Nothing- strong enough to render God and beings like Roo weak. Satan: Huh?! Then why didn't you just let us use that from the start??

Cherri: Yeah! The shit??

Husk: I don't like this.

Charlie shares the same sentiment. Whatever is happening, she has a bad feeling.

Goodie: Because there is a condition. Lucifer: And what's that? Goodie: It must be performed from the inside. It needs to be as close as possible to the one you are sealing. The hold will be stronger with proximity. And with you being the highest power here... Belphegor: Then that means-!

Nononononono, please don't. Please don't let it be what I think it is. Please don't do it. Please dad. I love you. I miss you. Please don't leave me PLEASE-

Lucifer: I need to be the one to go in there.

Protests from the hotel residents and demons on the broadcast overlap with each other. Charlie's ears are ringing. Her chest is tight and it's getting harder and harder to breathe. She can feel someone's hand around her, probably attempting to ground her. Yup, definitely a coming panic attack.

Lucifer: Are you sure this will stop her?

She can vaguely hear someone, probably Vaggie, say something to her but it's all muffled. Charlie could only focus her hearing on the scene in the TV.

Dark spots are filling her vision and her breaths are erratic as her beating heart.

PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEDADPLEASENOTYOUDONTLEAVEMETOODADPLEASE

Goodie: You are the key, angel. It must be you.

Charlie's world turns to black as she collapses in the arms of her lover. And if her dad looked directly at the camera in hopes of meeting her gaze, well, she'll never know.

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icallhimjoey · 4 months

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i neeeed soft!joey x reader sleeping with their head in the others lap. dont mind which way it is but still 🥹 too soft i cannot

okay so, i know that this request asks for me to write something new but, i've got things planned and i didnt want this to drown and disappear into my inbox to maybe be found months later, so, TO MEET YOUR NEEDS, here's an excerpt from all goes south that i wrote early feb 2023. hope it suffices!! Wordcount: 0.9K

---

Taken From: All Goes South

excerpt taken from part four You thought everything was going to change when Joe texted you, “Are you busy tonight?” and you looked around your small, dingy flat before answering,

“Other than falling asleep to bad TV and sleeping off this splitting headache, not really”

You’d just finished doing dishes and were quite literally excited to lay down on your sofa and not move for the rest of the evening.

“Sounds lush, come do that here”

Joe hadn’t yet been over to your place, and you’d been weird about it that first night, so Joe had never asked to come over again. You were glad; your place was a filthy shoebox compared to Joe’s home. A real grimy one, all sorts of drab, with a messy flatmate, because who the fuck could afford their own flat in central London as an undergrad?

You sent Joe a pic from your position on the sofa, your legs spread out with your ankles crossed on the coffee table.

“Don’t wanna move”

“Text your address again?”

Joe made that sound all kinds of casual. You’d never texted Joe your address before, and him coming over to your place was definitely not what you had planned for.

You probably would’ve hoovered had you known earlier in the day.

Now? Not a chance.

Joe’d dropped you off after a photoshoot once, so he vaguely knew whereabouts your lived, but he’d never been over.

You knew you’d hate yourself for it later. Joe had no business being in your dirty little flat. But you didn’t reply with a joke, or a sly comment, or even something flirty. You just texted your address, because, actually, you really fucking wanted to snuggle up to Joe, even if that meant Joe was going to see your unhoovered flat, and maybe meet your flatmate.

When Joe entered, it was obvious to him why you needed a proper job. He didn’t comment, but you could see him look, which was fine - you’d looked around his place the first time you’d seen it too.

Different reasons, of course, but, whatever.

He joined you on the sofa, and tried to make polite conversation. Said he brought gin, because he knew it was your favourite, but you hardly reacted. You weren’t joking before when you said you had a headache. And so Joe dropped it. Just sat next to you and was happy he got to be close.

That was all he wanted anyway.

To be close.

It didn’t take long before you found yourself nodding off, head bobbing, jerking itself back up every time it fell forward. You were fighting off yawns and kept rubbing your face in a weak attempt to stay awake. It was hard work, and your headache started getting worse, but you had a guest over, and it was rude to just fall asleep next to them, so you fought against all instincts until you heard a soft chuckle from Joe.

“You’re allowed to sleep, you know? Come, lay down,”

And then he offered you his lap.

So much for taking things slow.

Sure, you weren’t about to deep throat him exactly, but that was some close penis-to-face interaction you were about to get involved in.

But you were so tired.

And you really liked Joe.

So you moved, and scooted, and your head found Joe’s lap. Four arms worked together to cover you with the throw blanket, and before you knew it, Joe’s hand was patting your hair, and then a kiss got pressed into it before he sat back up.

His hand remained, and fingers raked, brushed and softly played and all of it made you fully relax.

Turned you into putty.

Made you melt into Joe’s touch.

Nothing was going to beat this.

Ever.

It only took you a few seconds to drift away. To float. To hover in flight, the wind keeping you stationary.

Somehow you felt yourself slipping away from Joe whilst simultaneously moving towards him more.

Joe made small comments about whatever you were watching, but his voice was a faraway, deep thing that melted over you a little.

You drifted and floated and hovered until you found yourself in this bubble where it was just warmth, comfortability and tingles from scalp scratches.

Your thoughts went fuzzy, and you didn’t think about how you always seemed to self-sabotage everything in your life. How you always pushed away whoever was trying to get close. In your bubble it was safe, and Joe was allowed inside, and nothing could hurt you in there, in Joe’s hands.

Teetering on the edge of falling asleep, of fully slipping under, Joe noticed your breathing had become steady and slow, so he pulled his hand away, afraid that his touch would wake you back up.

But the second his fingers stopped playing, you stirred, hummed, and then blindly reached behind your head to find his hand and placed it back. It made Joe’s chest swell. Made him think things, like he wanted this forever, like he wanted to kiss you silly. Wanted to cuddle you close until your individual smell became his and his became yours. Wanted to inhale you, fill his lungs up the to brim with you.

Be close.

Forever be close.

Joe was in trouble.

Trouble had found him in the form of a pretty girl and Joe was absolutely fucking gone for you.

You thought everything was going to change then, but it hadn’t. Not at all, actually.

---

read All Goes South here

(skipping the taglist on this one because posting this feels like cheating since it's not new writing)

#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #icallhimjoey #all goes south

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eddies-ashtray · 1 year

Text

When The Rain Starts To Pour ⌂ Chapter 1: The One Where Eddie Hates Paul

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

Pairing: Eddie x Fem!Reader

Chapter Preview:

“You smoke?” You ask, pointing at the cigarette held delicately between his index and middle fingers. You’re feeling a little awkward for some reason. Maybe because you’re not used to Eddie being silent.

Eddie sniffs, says, “Yeah. Trying to quit.” Then snuffs out the half-smoked stick by crushing it against the concrete. He knows the habit might bother you. It bothers the others as well; Nancy has called it a ‘cancer stick’, Steve has often taken to flushing his cigs in protest, and Robin simply informs him that it stinks. He also knows that you have your date with Paul tonight, and as much as he dislikes the guy, he doesn’t want you smelling of smoke for your date.

“Hm,” You hum, coming up beside him and leaning over the wall, a blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders. You shiver and he has the urge to remove his leather jacket and wrap it around you.

There’s a lull then, in which Eddie wonders why you might have come out here. From the sounds of your prior conversation with Robin, you need to start getting ready for your date soon. Why come out here just to stand around with him in the cold?

CW: Brief discussion of financial struggles, vague talk of poor parental relationship (not necessarily abusive though), jealousy, loneliness, reader talks of being unhappy in her previous life circumstances, probably lots of bad jokes, poorly concealed Friends references, age gap (between reader and Paul), lots of tropes, non-canon compliant (duh—but also the upside-down does not exist), kinda pervy/douchey behaviour from Paul (nothing crazy though, just generally douchey).

WC: 17.4k

A/N: Ah! It’s finally here! I am so so so excited to share this first chapter with you after so long. I really hope it lives up to expectations. I just wanna note that while writing, I imagined the coffee shop and the apartments from Friends, so the decor and layout of each of those places are pretty much the exact same in my descriptions of them. Here’s a link to the apartments and coffee shop layouts if you’re interested. Also, I am going to do the best I can to make this era- and setting-appropriate, but keep in mind that I was not born in the 90s, nor am I from New York City (or the US in general), so there may be some inaccuracies. Anyway, enough of my rambling, happy reading!!

Series Masterlist

Read it on ao3

Next Chapter [coming soon]

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

“I’m so broke it’s not even funny! Like, seriously, look,” Robin exclaims before placing her mug of tea on the coffee table and proceeding to lean back awkwardly on the couch so she can turn her pockets out. They are indeed empty–a metaphorical sign of her poverty.

Nancy clicks her tongue from her spot on a sage green chair next to the couch, reaching over to place a coaster under Robin’s steaming mug.

It’s a relatively quiet Saturday afternoon at The Ugly Mug, only a couple other patrons milling about and occupying the various other seats around the small establishment. There’s a short woman with long, thin braids seated by the large front window and a stout man in a purple beanie sitting on one of the stools near the coffee bar. There’s also been the occasional patron coming in to pick up a to-go order–bringing in with them a rush of chilly November air–before rushing back out the dark wooden doors.

“I’m fucking screwed. I can’t afford that big, stupid place alone,” Robin complains, retrieving her tea from the table after she’s tucked her pockets back into her jeans.

“You could always get a second job,” Eddie offers from the opposite end of the couch, an oversized red mug half-full of very sugary coffee in hand. “Ya know, moonlight as a rockstar like some of the rest of us?”

Robin rolls her eyes at his over-exaggeration and looks over at him as she replies, “Don’t you guys get, like, one gig per month?”

“No…We get two gigs per month,” Eddie corrects like the disparity between her answer and his had been larger than it was.

When he realizes that his correction wasn’t much of a correction, he adds, slightly more helpful this time, “But it’s better than just working in the restaurant. At least I get a little extra every month.”

Robin sighs. “I guess…But it’d suck to double my exhaustion just to take another job I hate. At least your second job is something you love...I wish I could get, like, a raise or something,” She complains, head falling back against the couch in frustration.

From beside her, Steve’s hand lands on her shoulder, placing his own mug of coffee on the table before doing so. “Why don’t you-”

“No,” She replies before he can finish.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!” Steve defends and Robin lolls her head to the side to shoot him a deadpan stare.

“I am not putting an ad in the newspaper,” She states plainly.

“It’s a strategy! How else would you find a roommate?”

“I agree with Robin,” Nancy pipes up from Robin’s other side. “It’s not safe, Steve. There’s so many freaks out there; you don’t know who you’re inviting into your home.”

“I live with a freak and I’m fine,” Steve jokes.

“Hey!” Eddie exclaims, mildly offended, and slaps Steve on the arm halfheartedly. “It’s been six years, Harrington, when are you gonna stop calling me that?”

“How about never!” Steve bites back childishly. All too quickly their civilized conversation about Robin’s living situation devolves into an immature argument between two grown men. It’s almost surprising how they manage to live together and not tear each other’s heads off. Despite their silly arguments though, they surprisingly get along quite well–most of the time.

“Hey! Can we get back on topic, please?” Nancy interrupts, mildly anxious about the eyes of the other patrons on them. Normally, she wouldn’t let others’ judgment get to her; she’s aware that she hangs around a pretty rowdy group of adults, but it’s so quiet in here today and she’d like to keep it that way.

“Actually, I’m perfectly content right in the middle of this. I could use a distraction,” Robin says, settling into the couch beside the two bickering men.

Sighing contentedly, Robin gets comfortable and shuts her eyes, the soft light of the café causing the back of her eyelids to glow a soft orange. The boys’ bickering continues to her right as Nancy reaches over from her left to squeeze her hand in reassurance. Robin opens her eyes again to turn to her and gives her a tight-lipped smile.

“I need a roommate,” she concludes, tone solemn. Nancy’s lips part, about to impart some advice when-

The small golden bell above the door tinkles its charming chime as it opens, and in rushes the late November bite, and a frazzled-looking young woman. As she enters the space, she makes such a commotion that Robin startles and turns to take a look at who’s causing the ruckus. The others turn to the door as well (including Steve and Eddie whose bickering has now ceased altogether due to the interruption).

In her tow is one large suitcase, in her hand is a large black trash bag (the plastic material stretching into a grey colour in some areas), and on her back is a large backpack (stuffed so full that the biggest pocket isn’t even zipped all the way).

It must have begun to rain at some point during their hours’ long stay at the coffee shop because the woman appears to be quite damp without an umbrella or hood on her jacket.

Finally, Robin's eyes land on the woman’s face. In a shock, she realizes that she recognizes her. However, seeing as none of her friends are acquainted with the woman, they’re rather occupied by the seemingly magical appearance of this person who looks to be in need of a place to stay at the exact moment that Robin expressed her need for a roommate. The four of them gawk at the woman with the luggage for a moment until someone can’t help himself and must break the silence to acknowledge the absurdity of the situation.

“And I want to be rich and famous!” Eddie exclaims, gesturing widely to the door. Unfortunately, his wish does not manifest as Robin’s had.

Robin passes her tea to Steve, who takes it without question as she stands from her spot on the couch, passing Nancy as she rounds it. The woman is at the counter now, though as Robin nears her, the woman is not ordering a coffee or any other warm beverage.

“Excuse me? Do you know-” You begin, but before you can finish asking the café employee about your friend's whereabouts, you feel a soft tap on your shoulder.

“Y/N?”

Immediately, you recognize her voice and turn around. Many summers and phone calls throughout your childhood and teen years had familiarized you with it.

Once you’re face-to-face, relief releases the tension you’d been holding in your shoulders. After over 12 hours of driving across the country (maybe more, you stopped keeping track at some point), countless times getting lost (your sense of direction completely failing you, even with the aid of a map and any living soul you came across), many pit stops at dank, shady rest stops, and a lot of fast food later, you’re just happy to see a familiar face.

“Robin! Thank God! I went to your apartment-” you begin, eager to recount the story of your travels.

“My apartment?” Robin asks, confused that you’d known her address.

“-but you weren’t there! And I almost left to look for you myself, but then your neighbour saw me knocking and told me I could probably find you here-”

“My neighbour?”

“-and I thought, ‘It’s worth a shot,’, so I dragged all my shit back down the stairs and through the stupid rain and you’re here! But, come to think of it, I don’t even know why I brought all this stuff up with me instead of just leaving it in the car. Like, that was sort of presumptuous of me to show up at your door with a bunch of luggage, but I guess it probably wouldn’t have been a great idea to leave it in that parking garage anyway,” You finish your rambling, out of breath now and slightly lightheaded.

That was likely an inappropriate way to greet her after all this time, but you find that you’re exhausted from your travels and electrified with adrenaline from your impulsive decision to come to New York.

At first, it was nice to get out and stretch your legs after spending half a day in your car, and walk around this new city in search of Robin’s apartment, but now you could just collapse right here on this scuffed hardwood floor.

Robin’s brows furrow as she tries to process your word vomit, but still cannot find an answer for her biggest question. Though she’s concerned that one of her neighbour’s so easily gave away her location to a stranger who was banging on her door and curious to know how you’d found her apartment, she’s more interested in your story for now. In learning what got you here after all this time.

“Why are you here? I mean-it-it’s great to see you, but, um-why don’t you sit down and tell me what happened?” Robin suggests, leading you gently towards the couch.

“Okay. Yeah, that sounds great,” You agree, navigating carefully around velvet-upholstered stools with your bags in hand.

A man with long hair and tattoos stands from the couch to take a seat on a chair to his right in order to accommodate you as Robin helps you place your bags on the floor next to the woman with the curly hair and high cheekbones.

Finally, you sit down on the plush orange couch next to a happy looking guy with gorgeous, voluminous hair. He smiles at you kindly once you’re settled in and you breathe out, willing yourself to relax so you can attempt to coherently explain your situation to your friend and, apparently, these strangers.

Their eyes on you make you nervous, but once Robin takes her seat next to you, you feel more at ease.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Robin reassures as she tucks her legs underneath herself on the couch. You nod, taking one more deep breath and collecting your thoughts before beginning.

“So-I know this is, like, totally crazy that I just kinda showed up here out of the blue after, what? 5, 6 years?” You begin nervously, looking to Robin for confirmation on how long it’s been since you last saw each other. She nods after turning her body to face you.

“But I just–I don’t know if you’ve ever felt like this but–I felt like I was on autopilot or something, just kind of drifting through my days: going to work at a boring job with boring people, coming home to my shitty apartment, going to sleep, and doing it all over again and again and again.”

In your periphery, you notice a few of them nodding in agreement and feel relieved at their earnest validation. It gives you the strength to continue your story.

“And one day I guess I woke up? I realized that I hated where I was, who I was with, what I was doing, what I wasn’t doing. I just sort of…panicked. I knew I couldn’t stay there–in that life and that apartment cause it was, like, a total shithole-”

“Why was it a shithole?” A voice interrupts from your right; The One With The Tattoos. You’d been so into your story for those 30-some-odd seconds that you nearly forgot that it was more than just Robin you were venting to. He seems genuinely curious and well-meaning, so you’re not perturbed by his interruption, only surprised, which is what causes you to pause before answering his question.

In the moment you take before you respond, you clock the bat tattoo on his forearm (though you’d recognized his inked skin earlier, you hadn’t examined the art close enough to discern what the tattoos were of), among a smattering of many other patchwork tattoos, and hope you remember to ask him about it later (if there is a later with these people–there’s all the chance that Robin could send you packing).

Finally, you shake off your surprise and respond, “Well, aside from the fact that my apartment was definitely mold-infested and my building had a serious rat problem, my landlord was a total creep.”

“Yeah, that’ll do it,” He agrees, brows furrowing.

“Yeah. So, I just couldn’t live there anymore, or go back to work, and I definitely was not about to go back home to live with my mother–phone calls once a week are already more than I can handle, I don’t think I could take her constant scrutiny for more than 30 minute increments,” You explain, scoffing lightly. “But, um-” You stutter, looking down at your lap and pulling at the skin of your hand absentmindedly.

“Anyway…I panicked and I decided that I needed to get out of there as soon as possible, so two weeks ago, I put in my two weeks at work and pretty much packed up my whole life into my car and started driving without a destination…And then I remembered hearing that you’d moved to New York a few years back,” You recall, gesturing to Robin, who smiles warmly back at you.

“So I looked you up in the phone book and when I found your name I just felt like it was the right thing? Which I know sounds kinda kooky, but it was the first good feeling I’d had about something in a long time, so I just decided that I needed to trust it,” You conclude, squeezing your hands in your lap. “And I know it’s a lot to ask of you, especially since it’s been so long, but…is there any chance at all that you might need a roommate?”

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

When you step inside the apartment, you immediately love the place. For one, it’s bigger than your old apartment and even has a pretty sizable balcony (that can only be accessed through a window). To your left is the kitchen with exposed brick, a simple small table with four mismatched chairs surrounding it in the middle.

Just past the modest kitchen is the living area, which is just as eclectically decorated as the kitchen with a sofa, a fluffy looking armchair and an armless chair adjacent to each other, a coffee table, and a television set sitting atop a sideboard. Two doors are on either side of the living room. To the left of the living room is a large window (complete with a cozy looking window seat) which looks out onto the balcony.

You marvel at the place as Robin leads through the apartment, the rest of the crew following in behind you two before the door slams shut and you enter what appears to be a bedroom slash storage space. Despite the bed in the middle, there are things strewn about on the floor, seemingly haphazardly tossed in here and forgotten about.

After introductions to the group (you now know their names and the fact that Eddie and Steve live across the hall, while Nancy lives a few blocks away), Robin had informed you the available room at her place might be a bit of a mess since she’s been using it as storage space for a while. The only guests she has live close by enough that sleepovers were a rarity.

“So, this’ll be your room,” Robin explains, rolling your bursting suitcase inside it. Steve enters last, dropping your trash bag full of clothes to the yellow-ish hardwood floor and you do the same with your backpack.

It’s a fairly nice room; a simple square spacious enough to fit the queen size bed and a side table, while also allowing extra room still for a chest of drawers and vanity (which you will eventually add to the room).

Though anything without rats, mold, and a creepy landlord would be an improvement, this place is a definite upgrade from your last and you find yourself containing a joyous squeal as you take it all in. You’ve never been a fan of change–enjoying the comfort of familiarity instead–and have always agonized over every decision you’ve made, but for once, you have no doubts about your decision to come here. This actually feels like the first real decision you have ever made.

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

When Steve opens the building's front door, the smell of fresh rain and pavement hangs in the air, an oddly nostalgic scent. It reminds you of childhood, of early mornings at summer camp with Robin.

The sun hangs low and bright orange in the sky–it’s getting late so you’ll probably only be able to make one trip to your car and back before the sun goes down, and then have to collect the rest of your things tomorrow.

Though you grabbed as much as you could carry from your car (which remains parked in a garage about three blocks away) before going in search of Robin’s apartment, you obviously couldn’t take everything with you, so the bags you just dropped off at your new place were only a fraction of the things packed away in your vehicle.

Robin’s friends kindly offered to help you drag the rest of your belongings back to her apartment. Since none of them have a car, and it is apparently nearly impossible to find parking in this city, you have no choice but to carry everything back by hand.

You lead the way to the parking garage, Robin at your side and the rest of the gang following behind you.

As you walk through the city, past storefronts, HELP WANTED signs in windows, and people with briefcases in long coats and giant scarves walking briskly like they have someplace important to be, you’re reminded of an imperative piece of information.

“Robin?” You say as you cross the street.

“Hm?”

“I don’t have a job here.”

The whole reason Robin was looking for a new roommate in the first place was because she can no longer afford her place on her own. And you, as her new roommate, have been recruited to help solve that problem for her. But without a job, and a bank account that is less than impressive, you’re on the clock to find a new job–and fast.

“You can work at Hannigan’s with Eddie and I!” She offers excitedly, her hand smacking your arm in her enthusiasm. Sorry! She apologizes quickly before continuing: “We’ve been working there forever, I can put in a good word for you with the owner.”

“That sounds great…But what’s ‘Hannigan’s’?” You ask, because in her haste to offer a solution to your little problem, she had left out vital information. Eddie pipes up from the rear and steps forward so he can walk in step with you and Robin as he answers your question.

The way the sun hits him from behind outlines his body in a soft orange halo, causing his long hair to shine in the early evening light. This lighting softens his features, making him look angelic and pretty as his pale skin glows. You find yourself content watching him as he speaks.

“It’s one of those fancy upscale restaurants. The tips are usually pretty good, but sometimes you gotta endure some light harassment to get them,” Eddie explains, and when he sees the apprehensive look on your face, he jumps to reassure you: “Sometimes we get to take home leftovers though.”

“By ‘get to take’, he means steal,” Steve corrects and you look to Robin for confirmation.

She just shrugs. “They’d go to waste anyway.”

“I guess I’ll just have to invest in some armour, then,” You say, implying that physical armour could somehow protect you from rude customers. Eddie smiles at that, a dimple carving into his cheek. Briefly, you note how charming his smile is, but before you can stare too long, Robin grabs your attention by lightly elbowing you.

“Don’t worry, snooty rich people can’t be as bad as Harrington's snotty children,” She says.

“Oh! You have kids?” You wonder, turning to Steve as he strides along casually a few steps behind you, hands stuffed in his jeans pockets.

“No, not yet. I work at one of the preschools in the area,” Steve supplies.

“Oh, nice. You like working with kids?” You wonder.

His answer is apparent on his face which lights up instantly at the question. “Love it. The kids are really great, and so much more capable than people give them credit for! People are quick to dismiss kids, especially four and five year olds, but they understand more than you think.” Steve rambles, his passion clear.

“Hey, is this the garage?” Robin asks, bringing your attention back to the task at hand.

It is. The place you left your car a mere two hours ago, nervous and unsure of what came next. But now you have a new place, something akin to a job offer, and three kind strangers and one old friend by your side.

Once you reach your car–which is parked all the way on the top floor–you unlock the back seat doors.

“Okay, so, let’s try to grab all the stuff from the front and maybe a few things from the back?” You suggest, then move to unlock the trunk of your car where the boys stand.

“Jesus. How did you pack all this shit in here?” Eddie asks, marvelling at the trunk of your car which is stuffed full of most of your belongings.

“Are we about to find your kitchen sink packed away in here, or what?” Steve adds.

“Uh, I don’t know, really,” You say, answering Eddie’s question. “I packed it all up so quickly I didn’t really notice how much stuff it actually was, but it’s like my entire apartment is stuffed into this trunk.” You say, and it kind of is. You’re surprised your trunk could even shut with how crowded it is.

Robin and Nancy grab the remaining bags from the back seat, while you and the guys grab a couple boxes from the trunk. Then you lock up and start back to your new apartment.

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

Your first thought when you gain consciousness in your bed is a thought that no one would ever want to have—especially not before eight in the morning. Someone has broken into my apartment.

Your eyes shoot open, staring up at the ceiling–your new ceiling! In your new apartment! That you’ve lived in now for a solid 48 hours. But your time here may be cut short if the intruder has plans that involve you and a knife.

You know for a fact that it is not Robin because you share a wall with her and can hear her shuffling around her room getting ready for the day, and the person out in your living room right now definitely opened your front door and is now shuffling around out there.

Thud.

What the fuck was that?

Most people in your situation might freeze in fear and simply lie in wait for the intruder to come to them, accepting their fate. Others might run and hide. But you, on this random Tuesday in November at 7:43AM were apparently a force to be reckoned with. The Old You might have chosen one of the two above options, but New York You–the new, and hopefully improved, you–has a job interview today and are not going to let some intruder stop you from making it.

You are not about to have your fresh start end so soon. So, you carefully pull the covers off of your body and as quietly as possible get out of bed.

Inching slowly towards the door, you decide you first need a weapon to defend yourself. There’s no use going out there and meeting the intruder if you can’t protect yourself against them. However, since you’re not in the kitchen, you don’t have access to a knife or any other kitchen utensil that could be wielded as a weapon. And since many of your belongings are still packed away in bags and boxes scattered around the room, you don’t exactly have many options.

Quickly, you grab the first object you see that could potentially be used to incapacitate the intruder. Then, you very slowly reach for the handle of your door.

Twisting the handle as gently as you can manage so as not to draw attention to yourself, you begin to open the door, revealing an inch of the kitchen, then another couple inches which reveals a sliver of the living room. Heart racing wildly in your chest, you decide it’s now or never.

Bursting from your room while brandishing your weapon of choice, you let out what some may describe as a battle cry, startling the intruder in the living room. Startling them so much that they bang their head on the coffee table when they try to get up from where they’re laying on their stomach on the floor between the couch and table.

You don’t have a great view of the intruder from where you stand right outside your door, so you slowly step toward them where they lie.

The intruder groans in pain, forehead falling to rest on the rug below them as they bring a hand to the back of their head. A head with long, messy curls that you vaguely recognize.

Oh. Oh, God.

“Eddie?” You question meekly, lowering your weapon as waves of guilt crash over you.

“Uh-huh,” He replies weakly, voice muffled by the rug he’s practically eating.

“Oh, God,” You moan before placing your weapon on the table and rushing to his side. He lifts his head then, and you help him up onto the couch. He groans again as he sits back into the plush cushions and all you can do is apologize.

Taking a seat on the coffee table, you grimace at his grimace. “I am so sorry, I thought you were an intruder,” You explain, squeezing your fingers in your hand. Your heart still races in your chest.

“It’s-It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Kinda did it to myself,” Eddie jokes, still rubbing the back of his head. You nod once, biting your lip, still feeling guilty because, yeah, he technically did do it himself, but he wouldn’t have if you hadn’t stormed out of your room like a crazy person and screamed bloody murder.

As your heart slows to its normal pace, you begin to wonder what he was doing here in the first place—laying on the living room rug for that matter.

“Um, I don’t mean to be rude, but what exactly were you doing on the floor?” You ask, finally taking in his dress now that the situation has deescalated some. He wears red and black plaid pyjama bottoms and a white tank top so see-through that you catch a glimpse of dark ink beneath the material. The sight steals your breath for a moment.

“I was, uh, looking for my rings. Thought they might have fallen under the table,” Eddie supplies, drawing your eyes back up to his face. His eyes are warm and soft. God, you don’t think you’ve ever seen eyes so large and round. He looks like a baby deer or something. A cute, injured baby deer.

“Oh. Did Robin let you in?” You ask, because it doesn’t matter that he looks like a baby deer, what matters is that it is very possible that he simply let himself into your apartment and you’re not sure you’re comfortable with that just yet. I mean, you’ve only just met him and the others two days ago, and have only seen them one other time since then when they had come by to help clear out your new room.

Eddie looks like the guilty one now as he replies, “Uh, no…?”

“Sorry,” He apologizes quickly. “Let me just…try this again.”

You’re not sure exactly what he means until he stands and begins walking backwards in the direction of the front door, all the while making strange noises with his mouth that somewhat resemble the sound of rewinding a tape. He’s literally starting over, resetting, going back in time to try this again because he saw you weren’t comfortable with his uninvited presence in your apartment.

All you can do is sit and simply stare at the strange, yet comical display as Eddie awkwardly reaches behind him, opens the door, reverses out into the hallway, and shuts the door with a slam.

Too stunned to laugh for a moment, you sit in silence for approximately five seconds, thinking that might be the end of it, before a knock sounds at the front door.

You hesitate, staring at the door strangely. But you’re intrigued now by his strange display, wanting to know how it ends. So you stand and stroll over to the door, opening it to, of course, reveal Eddie, who smiles brightly at you.

“Good morning,” He greets politely. “You mind if I come in?”

Stifling a giggle, you nod. “Of course.” And open the door wider, stepping to the side to allow him space to enter. He enters swiftly and you shut the door.

Eddie saunters over to the living room once again, about to resume the search for his rings when he spots your weapon of choice sitting innocently on the coffee table where you left it. He pauses and stares at it for a moment, tilting his head, and you stare at his back as you remain in the kitchen, watching as his dark curls shift and fall to one side, cascading over his shoulders.

The presence of the weapon is new to him since it obviously was not there when he entered the apartment the first time. He also hadn’t seen it even when he’d gotten up from the floor because you’d sat on the coffee table, and therefore blocked his view of the object.

Now, Eddie wanders over to the coffee table, gingerly picking the weapon up like it’s some sort of precious antique, then spins around smoothly to face you. Holding it loosely at one end, he lets it dangle just above the hardwood floor.

Eddie raises his eyebrows at you. You stare back at him, unsure of what’s happening.

“What?” You wonder.

“What were you gonna use this for?” Eddie asks, tone humorous, and dark eyes sparkling with mirth.

“To-to defend myself against the intruder,” You answer, suddenly feeling strangely self-conscious about your choice of weapon.

“With a bathrobe tie?” Eddie exclaims, shaking the flimsy terry cloth material around so the long fabric wiggles in the air.

“Y-yes!” You defend weakly.

“What were you gonna do? Spa-day me to death?”

“No! I-I thought it could be used to, like—choke someone?” You say, cringing as the words come out of your mouth.

Eddie barks a laugh. But you can tell he's not laughing at you. He simply finds the situation and your choice amusing. In the little time you’ve spent around Eddie, you don’t get the impression that he’s mean-spirited or judgmental. The exact opposite actually–to you, he’s only been accepting and kind.

“It’s creative, I’ll give you that. But not very practical,” Eddie critiques.

“My robe was hanging on my door, okay? It’s not like I had a knife in there or something,” You attempt to defend, playing along.

“Still!” He laughs incredulously.

“Let me get this straight: first, you break into my apartment, and then I very kindly invite you back in, and you insult my choice of weapon?”

Eddie seems to mull this over, recalling the events in his mind to confirm that, yes, that is indeed what has happened.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so…Ya know, you should really talk to Harrington. He’s the king of wielding random objects as weapons. When we first moved here, he thought we were getting broken into all the time, and this one time he grabbed our floor lamp and-”

Before he can finish his story though, Robin comes out from her bedroom, dressed in some jeans and a striped long-sleeve. She makes it a few steps before she notices Eddie and you standing almost ten feet apart in the living room together, both of you still dressed in your pyjamas, and one of you grasping a purple bathrobe tie. Robin stares for a moment like she’s suspicious of something, shifting her eyes from you to Eddie and back again. They land on Eddie when she slowly asks, “What’s going on?”

“I was looking for my rings. You seen ‘em?” He explains, effectively diverting her attention from the strangeness of the situation.

“Yeah,” She nods, walking towards the kitchen again. “In the dish by the door.”

“Cool. Thanks,” Eddie says, walking towards you now. Before he walks past you to retrieve his rings though, he takes hold of the other end of the bathrobe tie, pulling it taught, and presenting it to you with a slight bow. “Your sword, m’lady.”

Grabbing the tie from him, you thank him, and he continues toward the dish by the door. Eddie’s theatrical and kind of strange, but instead of weirding you out, you find that those traits endear you to him. You’re sick of boring people and to finally be around someone who is so unapologetically themselves is refreshing. Especially someone as interesting as Eddie.

Turning around to the kitchen where Eddie is carefully rooting through the dish for his rings and Robin is grabbing a juice from the fridge, you realize something strange about what just happened. Though surprisingly, none of it has to do with Eddie.

“Um-if you were in your room getting ready, how did you not hear my scream?” You ask, because you doubt that she just didn’t hear it. You were pretty loud.

After taking a sip from the small plastic bottle, Robin explains, “Huh. I guess I’ve learned to sort of tune out the noise. Living across the hall from two idiots who barge into my apartment without warning has kind of become my new normal. Loud, sudden noises aren’t really surprising anymore.”

“It’s worrying how desensitized you are,” You reply, mostly joking.

Robin takes another sip of her juice and shrugs. “Don’t worry, you’ll get there someday.”

“Ya know, I really hope I don’t.”

Robins snorts, approaching the counter where Eddie is still picking his rings from the mess of keys and other small trinkets in the dish, and crouches down to retrieve her tote bag from the shelf below the counter. You ball up and toss your robe tie in the general direction of your room before Robin pops back up and turns to grab her juice from the table behind her.

“Okay, so I gotta go run some errands, but I should be back just after your interview,” She informs and you nod. Eddie goes to leave as well, opening the front door as Robin tells you, “Good luck, you’ll be great!” Then heads for the door as well.

Gratitude swells in your chest. Robin has been more than kind to you these past two days. Before Saturday, it had been years since you last spoke.

You and Robin were best friends at the summer camp you attended as children and remained close as you entered your teen years and later became camp counsellors at the same camp. You were the first person she ever came out to and it often felt like you shared a brain; for many years she was your sister.

Despite your living hours and hours away, you and Robin maintained your friendship during the non-summer months; talking on the phone often and mailing letters back and forth.

Eventually, though, your individual lives got busy and neither of you had the time to maintain the long-distance friendship or attend summer camp as counsellors anymore. Phone calls decreased and letters stopped being written and mailed, until eventually, your friendship fizzled out. There was no major falling out of any sort; the end of your friendship was simply the result of poor management on both ends.

You often thought about calling her up to see how she was, but it wasn’t until last week that you made the impulsive decision to contact her again. And you’re glad you did. She’s given you a new home and she even helped you set up your job interview at Hannigan’s. You’re grateful that she’s given you the opportunity to start fresh in this new city with new, interesting people, but much of your gratitude comes from the chance you now both have to breathe life back into your cherished friendship.

“Hey,” You call, causing Robin to pause and turn to you before she exits the apartment, brows expectantly raised. “I know I’ve already said it so many times, but I just want to say thank you one more time for everything you’ve done for me these past two days. And I know it’s been a long time since we’ve been friends…but you’re a really good friend.”

Robin smiles softly at you. “You’re a really good friend too. You always have been.”

It’s then you rush to her at the door where you embrace her in the biggest hug and hope the action translates the magnitude of your thankfulness and love for her.

“I’ll see you later,” She says after you part, walking out into the hallway.

You sigh.

It has been one hectic morning, and your interview starts at 10:30, so you should probably start getting ready now. But Eddie lingers in the hallway, just outside his front door.

Before you can even say anything, he preemptively apologizes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to, like, eavesdrop, but you have your interview at Hannigan’s today?”

You’re not mad though. Nothing you said was a secret. And so far, you trust Eddie. He cares about the way people around him are feeling and takes action to remedy situations where people aren’t happy or comfortable. That much is clear from this morning. It’s why you don’t dismiss him and leave to get ready. He’s a good person.

“Yeah, I do. Why?”

Eddie takes a couple steps forward so he’s standing just inside your apartment once again.

“Would it help if I gave you some tips? I’ve been working there for a while and I kinda know what they’re looking for, so-”

“That would be great!” You exclaim, because you really need this job if you want to continue living here.

Eddie just smiles brightly at your reaction as you say, “Just let me get dressed and then I’ll knock on your door when I’m ready?”

“Sure,” Eddie nods, grabbing the edge of the door on his way out to close it.

“Oh! And Eddie?” You call out just before the door shuts.

“Yeah?” He responds, popping his head back in the apartment.

“I really am so sorry about this morning.”

“It’s alright. I’m sorry for breaking in…Although you seemed pretty unprepared, so, yaknow, this was probably a good learning experience for you,” He teases, that same sparkle in his eyes that had appeared when he was questioning your weapon returning.

You bite your lip over a smile as Eddie winks at you and disappears behind the door, the heavy wood slamming softly shut.

Getting ready in record time, you end up knocking on Eddie’s door across the hall approximately one hour later, leaving more than enough time for Eddie to give you interview tips and for you to walk over to Hannigan’s to arrive early.

As you stand in the hall awaiting his answer, you feel oddly giddy, a swarm of nervous butterflies fluttering rapidly in your belly. Briefly, you think your butterflies can be explained on account of Eddie making you nervous. But you bat that thought away as you hear footsteps approaching and remind yourself that it’s more likely that your upcoming job interview has caused the butterflies.

When Eddie answers his door, you find he’s also gotten dressed in the hour since you’ve seen each other. He wears a simple black t-shirt with a band name and logo you don’t recognize on the front with a long-sleeve underneath, and some light-wash jeans. His hair is noticeably more tame, his curls flowing neatly over his shoulders. Eddie also wears the silver rings he was searching for this morning; three on one hand, and one on the other. The fluttering in your belly intensifies for a moment, but again, you bat them away.

“You wanna come in or are we gonna do this out in the hall?” Eddie jokes when you make no move to enter his apartment, unaware of this strange battle you’re having within yourself at his doorstep.

Shaking yourself free of your thoughts, you mutter a quick apology and take his joke as an invitation to enter. As you do, you realize this is the first time you’ve been inside his apartment. Which isn’t a surprising fact. You’ve only been here for two full days, and haven’t really left your apartment much since then.

His apartment is smaller and you might describe it as drab, but their decor choices are vibrant in their own way.

The kitchen is immediately to your right as you enter, a table to your left, and as you wander further into the room, a counter separates the entrance slash kitchen area from the living room. In the living room sits two black recliners and a large wood entertainment centre with a television set. On either side of this are two closed doors.

The far right side of the apartment has two windows and a red sofa sitting beneath it. Beside that is another door, this one open (revealing tiled floor and a closed shower curtain).

There isn’t much in the way of wall decoration (aside from a lone dart board hanging on the wall and a few posters), but on some of the shelves of the entertainment centre are framed photographs. Some of the photos feature what appears to be two younger versions of Steve and Eddie, presumably taken in high school. In one photo, Eddie has his arm around Steve’s shoulder and they both hold beer cans in their hands. Eddie smiles cheekily for the camera, while Steve puts on a faux grimace at his friends close proximity.

Other photos feature boys who appear to be much younger than Steve and Eddie (possibly siblings?) and there are also photos that include Robin and Nancy, some recent and others clearly taken years ago. Another includes Steve and Eddie carrying a boy with curly hair–who wears a graduation cap and gown–on their shoulders, all of them smiling widely. You can tell it's candid as they all appear to be laughing and unaware of the camera photographing them.

“Who’s this?” You ask curiously, pointing at the photo as you turn around, finding that Eddie hasn’t moved from his spot at the door and has likely been watching you inspect his living area this whole time. Suddenly you feel like you’re intruding. “Sorry, I-”

“No worries. You can look. That’s what they’re there for,” He shrugs, finally joining you in the living room.

At your side now, Eddie inspects the photo you pointed to and a fond smile crosses his face. His side profile is soft, and you spy just a hint of shaven stubble on his cheeks. It distracts you for a moment.

“Dustin,” Eddie says after a beat.

“What?” You ask dumbly, now preoccupied with the freckles you’ve spotted that dot his pale skin lightly.

You’ve never been this close to him before. All you’d have to do to get right into his personal space is take one short step forward. But of course you won’t do that. Why would you?

Eddie looks from the photograph to you. “In the picture,” He explains, nodding to the framed image. “That’s Dustin. It was taken at his high school graduation, like, two years ago? He’s a good kid…Well, he’s not really a kid anymore, but I guess it still feels like that sometimes.”

“How do you know him?” You hear yourself say. The kid looks like he’s about five years younger than Eddie and Steve, so naturally you’re curious about how they know him.

You’re supposed to be here getting pointers for your job interview, but instead, you find that you’re more interested in the details of Eddie’s life.

“Uh, we were in high school together and I had this club that he was a part of,” Eddie explains, hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck awkwardly.

“What kind of club?” You wonder, electing to ignore the fact that he somehow attended high school with this kid.

He seems reluctant to provide you with an answer to your question. Up until now, he’s been a pretty open book; someone who doesn’t care what anyone thinks of him. But now all of the sudden, he’s guarded?

“I won’t judge, yaknow,” You reassure, because you won’t, but also because his reluctance to reveal what sort of club he ran makes you all the more curious to find out.

Eddie side eyes you, squinting. He must determine that your remark is genuine because he straightens up from where he’d bent slightly to view the photo and provides you with an answer.

“Ever heard of DnD? Dungeons and Dragons?”

You furrow your brows for a moment, vaguely recognizing the name, but not remembering why.

“Oh!” You exclaim after a beat. “Yes! Was that the one that people were freaking out about years ago cause they thought it caused Satanism?”

Eddie snaps his fingers as he responds, “That’s the one.”

Then, he glances back at the photograph, and you think you can almost make out memories behind his eyes. Fond ones. You lean forward slightly, trying to catch his eyes again.

“You still play?”

Your question shakes him out of his momentary reverie, and he looks to you once again. “Not as much as I used to…But Dustin and the other guys and I try to organize a couple meetings throughout the year. It’s hard though because everyone’s kinda spread out now. And busy.”

His tone is wistful as he continues to glance around at the photos sitting on the shelf. Had you just upset him? First, you assist him in banging his head against your coffee table and now you’re potentially causing him some emotional pain too! Good going.

You’re about to apologize or change the subject, but Eddie speaks before you can. “Anyway! We should probably talk about your interview now. How long do we have?”

Looking around the room to find a clock, you spot one by the door. The little hand points toward the nine and the large hand points toward the six.

“About a half hour before I should get going,” You respond, turning back to Eddie as he takes a seat on one of the recliners behind you. You sit down as well.

“Great. So…do you have any questions first?” Eddie asks, unsure where to start.

“Uh,” You say, trying to remember any questions you had, but you can’t seem to recall any as you roll up the sleeves of your thick sweater, the ink on your wrist and forearms revealed as the fabric is pulled back.

Immediately, Eddie’s eyes shoot down to the action and for the first time, he catches sight of the ink.

“I didn’t know you had tattoos,” He remarks, like it’s something he should have known. As if it’s been more than 48 hours since you met and it’s ridiculous that he didn’t know.

“Oh. Yeah,” You say absentmindedly, glancing down at your arms.

“Tip number one: your tattoos are sick, but at Hannigan’s, they aren’t exactly appreciated, so you should make sure you cover them up.”

“Gotcha,” You say, rolling your sleeves back down the length of your arms.

Suddenly you’re reminded of your first day when you spotted his inked arms. The seven bats decorating his forearm. “Um…Yours are really cool by the way,” You compliment.

Then, “When did you get your first one?” You ask, veering further off topic. You can’t seem to stop yourself and you don’t know why.

“Uh…heh,” Eddie huffs a short laugh, almost as if he’d forgotten until this very second when you’d asked him. “I think I was, like, 16, 17? I did a really shitty stick-and-poke on my leg–the initials of my band name: Corroded Coffin.”

Every new thing you learn about Eddie intrigues you. Of course this long-haired, tattoo-having, ring-wearing, Dungeons and Dragons-playing 20-something would also have been in a band. Your surprise is likely evident on your face.

“You’ll have to come to one of our gigs sometime,” Eddie invites casually, as if it’s not the most cool thing to say in the world. Eddie didn’t used to be in a band, Eddie is in a band!

“You’re still in the band?”

“Yeah, the other guys live out here too, and we do regular gigs a few times a week…but, um, what about you? When did you get your first tattoo?”

Still gaping at him, you must pick your jaw up off the ground before you can respond. Cool and humble. How is he real?

“Oh, um, I was 18…I actually got it cause I knew my mom would hate it and it would probably piss her off,” You say, a little embarrassed by that fact. You don’t know why you reveal the information to him in the first place. Maybe because for some odd reason you know he won’t tell anyone. Even still—his story was way cooler. Especially since it preceded the reveal that he’s in a band. But maybe that’s also part of the reason you share it. You want him to think you’re just as interesting as he is—though you’re not sure who would be impressed by the information you just shared.

“Did it work?” Eddie asks. To your surprise, he seems invested in your answer, leaning over the edge of the recliner's armrest. As if what you’ve said was equally as interesting as his response.

“Did what work?”

“Was she pissed?”

“Oh!” You say, like a total ditz. “Um, yeah. Big time. She hates tattoos.”

“Is that why you have all of them?”

“No, I only got the first one to make her mad. And then when I realized I really loved it, I just kept getting them,” You respond, pushing your sleeve back slightly to brush the one on your wrist with your thumb.

When you look back up at him he’s smiling softly at you, but he quickly averts his gaze and his eyes find the clock on the wall. “Shit,” He says, a little panicked. “We only have 20 minutes.”

Whipping your head around to glance at the clock, the hands confirm that it’s 20 to 10 and you’ve barely discussed what you came here to discuss.

“I guess we’ll just have to lightning round this shit,” Eddie says, determination set in his tone.

And you do lightning round this shit. In just over 20 minutes, Eddie tells you as much as he can about the owner of the restaurant—Cordelia—who is going to be interviewing you. He tells you how to sit, what to say, how to say it, anything and everything he can think of to help you secure a job at this place.

As you two stand and Eddie walks you to the door, he shoots you a few final pointers.

“Obviously it helps that you have experience working at an upscale restaurant, so, um, she’ll probably ask you about that too,” Eddie says, and you nod.

When you reach the door, you turn to him.

“Thank you so much for your help,” You say sincerely. “You really didn’t have to do this, so it means a lot that you did.”

“Of course I did,” Eddie replies, like it's just that simple. Your brows furrow. “You’re a member of this party now, and as a fellow party member, it’s my duty to help other party members out when they’re in need.”

“A ‘party member’?”

You’re sure you catch the faintest blush across his cheeks from your question.

“Sorry, uh, I guess it just means you’re one of us now…A friend,” Eddie explains.

“A friend,” You repeat. And you find the word involuntarily pulls your lips into a soft smile.

“Anyway, you should probably get going,” Eddie reminds with another glance at the clock.

“Yeah, okay,” You agree, turning to open the door. “Oh, um, where did you say the restaurant was again?” You ask when you’re out in the hallway.

“It’s um…You know what? Why don’t I just walk you there?” Eddie offers.

“Really? You don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” Eddie says with a charming smile.

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

Cordelia was an intense woman. Eddie had warned you of this, though you had wildly underestimated the level of intensity the woman embodied. She was tall, and wore her long, black hair up in a sleek ponytail, not a flyaway in sight. Her office was large and so neat that you thought it looked like some sort of staged set for a decor magazine.

During your interview, you learned exactly one thing about Cordelia: Cordelia does not fuck around. She did not have time for exchanging pleasantries, and a simple handshake and a “take a seat” was the only introduction she provided you with before she began the interview, which mostly felt more like a police interrogation than a job interview.

By the end, you thought you felt good about how it went, but Cordelia was hard to read. You never once saw her smile or provide you with any kind of verbal or non-verbal communication that would indicate that she was impressed with your resume or any of your answers to her questions.

It was likely one of the most strange job interviews you had ever had. It didn’t necessarily leave you full of hope as you got up from the leather upholstered chair and Cordelia informed you that you would receive a call if she decided to hire you.

Walking through the restaurant–which was void of patrons, but had some staff preparing and setting up for opening in a few hours–, you finally come to the large glass entrance doors, and push one open. The late November chill blasts you in the face immediately and the switch from the warmth of the restaurant to this shiver-worthy weather is jarring. Had it somehow dropped five degrees from when you’d walked here?

Turning right and beginning your trek back home, you hear a voice call out your name from behind you.

You ignore it at first, thinking that the person can’t be calling out to you since you know a grand total of four people so far (five if you count Cordelia—but you don’t) and surely there are other people in this massively diverse city that also have your name.

“Hey!” The voice calls again once you’ve made it no more than fifteen feet from the restaurant.

Finally, you stop walking and spin around to locate the source, and what you find surprises you.

Eddie is currently jogging toward you.

He’d waited this whole time? Out in the freezing cold? With that effortlessly cool leather jacket that is an extremely pathetic excuse for a winter coat and is definitely doing nothing to keep the warmth in?

“Hey,” He says again once he reaches you.

“Hey,” You say. “You didn’t have to wait for me, Eddie.” Because he really didn’t and you don’t want to be a burden or make him think you’re taking advantage of his kindness.

“Seeing as you’re going in the wrong direction, it’s probably a good thing I did,” Eddie tells you, nodding back in the other direction with a gentle, c’mon. You feel your face warm even as the wind whips you.

“Thanks,” You say sheepishly, walking in step with Eddie—in the correct direction now.

“So, how’d it go? Did you crush it?” He asks hopefully, head turned to look at you, and his shoulders pushed up by his red-tipped ears as though he’s trying to conserve heat.

The furrow in your brow and your soft stuttering must be enough for Eddie to understand exactly how it went, as he speaks before you can provide him with your best approximation of how the interview might have gone.

“Yeah, that’s normal with Cordelia. That woman is impossible to read,” He says, shaking his head as you both stop at a crosswalk.

“Right? Oh my God. I’m glad it wasn’t just me,” You say, relieved because that means that the interview wasn’t a total disaster. Is that what that means?

“Yeah, we call her Medusa,” Eddie remarks with a sidelong glance at you.

You snort unattractively at the nickname and just as quickly bring your hand to your face, covering your mouth as if the action could force the sound back in.

“Fitting,” You say, coughing as a cover for the noise when Eddie looks at you, brows raised, supposedly amused by your amusement.

Eddie smirks to himself, barely noticeable, before asking, “Did she say she’d call?” As you look both ways before crossing the street with many other bundled-up New Yorkers.

“Uh, yeah, why?”

“That’s a good sign,” He answers, his shoulders shaking with a sudden shiver. That simple statement allows just a little drop of hope to blossom in your chest.

“Are you cold?” You ask because he can’t not be freezing. He’s not exactly convincing you otherwise.

“Yeah. I can’t feel my fingers,” Eddie states plainly.

“Wanna jog the rest of the way?” You offer, mostly joking.

“Please,” He replies anyway.

Though you don’t exactly jog the last few blocks home, you do pick up the pace, and when you get back you make him some tea to warm him up (and hopefully bring back feeling in his fingers).

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

Since your interview every time the phone rings you basically leap over any obstacles in your way to get to the phone, hoping it will be Cordelia calling about your waitressing position as Hannigan’s. But each time the phone rings and it’s a telemarketer, or the bank, or anyone other than Medusa herself, you lose just a little more of that small inkling of hope you allowed yourself to have.

At present, you sit on the couch in the living room beside Robin while you eat noodles; the rest of the Chinese spread sitting on the coffee table in front of you or in the laps of Steve, Eddie, and Robin.

On the plush chair to your left sits Steve who is currently chowing down on some dumplings while staring with rapt attention at the television, and Eddie–who announced his newfound aversion to normative seating options upon his arrival in your home–sits on the floor by your socked feet.

Though the TV is on, you aren’t really paying attention. It’s been just over a week now since you moved in and one week to the day since your interview, and by now you’ve lost all hope.

Privately, you decided that you would call time of death on this potential job by the end of today and start searching for a new one tomorrow. You know there’s plenty of other jobs out there, but the prospect of working with Robin and Eddie had excited you and made you a whole lot less anxious about working in this new city.

Ring! Ring! Ring!

Hope surges inside of you despite your intentions of abandoning it. Suddenly, you feel three sets of eyes on you. Even Steve—who had been incredibly invested in the lifeguards running in slow motion on the television screen—looks at you now.

They all knew you’d been waiting for the call. They also knew that you hadn’t received one. Not the one, at least. You wish you had time to get up and answer the phone that sits on the side table in your bedroom because you’d really rather not admit to them that it’s simply another telemarketer.

Since you don’t have the time to reach the phone in your bedroom though, you pull in a deep breath, reach over the sofa arm, and pick up the landline that sits on the glass end table.

“Hello?”

“Hello, this is Cordelia Hannigan from Hannigan’s-”

And after that you think you black out. Because you don’t hear anything after that. Because this is the happiest you’ve ever been about getting a call about a job. Which sounds ridiculous since it’s just a waitressing job. But it represents so much more. It’s the seal that cements your place in this city with these people. It represents your new beginning.

With that realization you decide that you should probably listen to your new beginning. Trying your best to tune into Cordelia’s words, you hear her throwing words and phrases around like strict dress code and uniform and training and first shift. When she’s done, you tell her thank you, and return the phone to the base, hanging it up with a resolute click.

Three sets of eyes remain on you and your frozen body. When you don’t say anything after one second of hanging up, they get restless.

“So?” Steve prompts, leaning forward in his chair in anticipation.

“Was it Medusa?” Robin asks from your side.

You nod slowly, not believing it yourself. “Uh-huh…I got the job.”

“You got the job!” They all shout in freaky unison. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. You think you hear Steve mutter déjà-vu to himself as Robin and Eddie continue their cheering and congratulating.

“I-I start training this week and my first shift next week,” You inform.

And then Eddie’s shouting, “Speech, speech, speech!” with his hands cupped over his mouth as if you’re much further away from him.

“Alright, alright!” You acquiesce as the others join his chant, putting your noodles down on the coffee table and getting up to stand in front of the television.

“Um, I guess I just want to thank all of you,” You begin, feeling suddenly sincere, but still maintaining a note of jest. “I couldn’t have done it without all of you. Steve, you helped me transport and unpack most of my shit. And I have a lot of shit.”

He nods in agreement. “And I couldn’t have focused on prepping for the interview if I was worried about my stuff sitting in my car in that garage, so thank you…Robin, you helped me set up the interview with Cordelia-”

“Medusa,” Robin and Eddie correct simultaneously.

“Medusa,” You correct yourself. “And you also recommended me for the position. So, thank you…And last, but certainly not least, Eddie,” You say, smiling softly when you catch his eye. He smiles right back at you, that charming dimple appearing on his face as he does.

“Without your pointers I probably would not have made it through the interview without being turned to stone.”–Eddie snorts–“And I also probably would have gotten completely lost and wandered into the East River if you hadn’t been there when I left. So, thank you…” You tell him sincerely, the partially joking tone you had maintained throughout your cheesy speech erased completely now since your gaze had fallen on him.

“Good night, New York!” You finish, trying to play up the cheesiness now to divert from the seriousness that had snuck into your tone, and you bow dramatically as Robin and Eddie clap and woop. But Steve, you notice, is glancing oddly as Eddie.

You laugh as you take your seat, plucking your cardboard box of noodles off the table as you go.

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

“Robin!” You hear Steve call from out in the living room, his voice muffled slightly through your closed bedroom door. “The door!”

Robin’s door creaks open before you hear her exit her bedroom.

“You couldn’t have gotten it?” She complains as she walks through the apartment to answer the door.

“No. Baywatch is on,” Steve replies like his answer needs no further explanation. You snicker to yourself as you button up your pressed, white uniform shirt. You swear you can hear Robin’s eyes rolling.

Baywatch was Steve’s favourite TV show; he never missed an episode—except for last week when a meeting at his school ran longer than expected and he’d called Robin to get her to tape it for him. He decided that now–while you were both getting ready to leave for work–was the perfect time to come over and watch it (instead of taking the tape back to his place since your TV is better anyway).

The apartment's front door–which remains perpetually unlocked when you and Robin are home–opens and you listen closely to hear who it might be while you work on tucking your shirt into your formal black dress pants.

“Oh. Hey, Eddie,” You hear Robin greet, though it sounds more like a question with the confusion lacing her tone.

“Hey,” Eddie says, his footsteps tapping against the faux hardwood as Robin shuts the door with a loud slam.

With a quick glance over at your alarm clock, you find that it’s almost time to leave. The realization sends nervous butterflies to flight in your belly. Tonight is your very first shift at Hannigan’s.

Last week you had your training, which was nerve-wracking, but tonight was the real thing. Tonight you would be earning your first dollar, receiving your first tip, suggesting wine pairings, and probably dealing with rude customers. And all of it makes you nervous.

It’s scary for so many reasons, for more reasons than just the fact that new jobs (no matter what they are) are always scary. It’s scary because it’s the next step in the process of making a new–hopefully better–life for yourself here. For that reason, you want it to go well. But you aren’t sure what ‘well’ really means in this situation.

“Y/N!” Robin calls, shaking you from your thoughts. “Cab’s here!”

Blowing out a quick breath, and trying your best to shake out your nerves, you grab your jacket and bag and exit your bedroom, still feeling those butterflies, but determined not to let them shake you. At least not too much.

Leaning against the now open apartment door is Eddie who’s dressed in the same black dress pants and white button-up as you and Robin. He shoots you an easy smile as you emerge from your room, and you smile back.

His long hair, which he usually lets flow over his shoulders in soft waves, is now tied in a low bun. He’s missing his usual chunky silver rings and all his tattoos are hidden beneath his sleeves and a highly buttoned collar.

Though it’s strange to see him stripped of his unique accessories, you find yourself scrolling your eyes over his body. With his hair away from his face, his features are highlighted, revealing the strong line of his jaw and making his eyes appear somehow larger.

As your eyes move down his body, you note the way his arms look in the button up, how his thighs fill out the dress pants. You find yourself missing his rings though. Something twists in your belly, though this time it’s not nerves.

“Ready?” Robin’s voice asks, once again shaking you from your thoughts. She must notice that you weren’t entirely there, that you were lost in your thoughts because she stops shoving things into her bag to ask: “You okay?”

Ripping your gaze away from Eddie and turning to Robin, you reply, “Yeah!” in a voice much higher than your own. You cough quickly as a cover and repeat your words, sounding much less caught out the second time.

“Okay,” Robin drawls suspiciously. “Well, we should really get down to the cab now cause we probably have about 60 seconds before they decide to leave and force us to brave the windchill ourselves,” She informs, pulling her jacket on and shoving her tote bag over her shoulder. “Alright, you’ll lock up and we’ll see you at the coffee house afterwards?” Robin asks Steve.

“Yeah, sure,” He replies absentmindedly from where he’s glued to the sofa.

“Shit, I should probably get my keys then,” You mutter. If they’re going to the coffee house after your shift, then you can’t rely on Robin unlocking the door for you if you’re not together when you get home.

Before you can walk back to your room to retrieve your keys though, Steve pipes up. You’re pretty sure it’s the first time he’s taken his eyes off the television since he got here.

“Wait, you’re not coming?” He asks, his body twisted to look at you with his arm draped over the back of the couch.

“Oh,” You reply dumbly because ‘we’ apparently included you. You were a part of the ‘we’ Robin meant. ‘We’, as in Robin, Eddie, Steve, and you.

It’s not like they haven’t been welcoming since you got here, but it’s only been a few weeks and they’ve been friends and neighbours for years; you thought it might take them longer to accept you into the group since they’re so solid. A part of you felt like they might still see you as an outsider; someone who doesn’t get invited to their after-work coffee shop hangouts just yet. But they’d expected you to come. Sometime within the last couple weeks you became a part of their definition of ‘we’.

“No, I’ll come,” You confirm with a nod in an attempt to appear casual about the invite.

“Awesome,” Steve says, turning back to the television.

“Guys!” Robin shouts and you realize then that she’s no longer in the apartment. Eddie pokes his head out into the hall as Robin says, “Come on, the cab is waiting!”

“Yep, coming,” Eddie says and you follow right behind him, feeling so many things all at once. Nervous about your shift, excited about being invited to the coffee house, and another thing for Eddie that you can’t quite name just yet.

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

The fast-paced environment of Hannigan’s is overwhelming, and while normally it might frazzle you, you find that you don’t mind it nearly as much as you thought you might. It’s definitely a different environment than your last job–a desk job that only promoted boredom within you–, but the new challenge of this place is stimulating.

As the night goes on, the din of the restaurant only intensifies; nearly every table and booth is filled with patrons talking and enjoying their 5-star meals, the sounds of cutlery clashing against fine china, hosts and hostesses greeting people at the entrance and making reservations for customers over the phone for months from now, the sizzling, clinking sounds roaring from the kitchen when the swinging traffic doors open, then shushing when the doors close again.

With just over an hour left of your shift and the clearing of what feels like the thousandth table you’ve waited on tonight, you watch as yet another diner is seated in your section. He’s a tall man, his dark hair styled precisely atop his head, and has a short goatee beard, trimmed to perfection. It reminds you of Kurt Cobain’s facial hair, though nothing else about him resembles the rock icon. The man looks rich–though you suppose most people who dine here are. From what you can tell with the distance between you, he might be about ten years your senior.

Not wanting to keep him waiting, you begin to stride over to his table, though you are just as soon intercepted, a large hand gently engulfing your wrist. You turn and find that the hand is attached to Eddie, his deep brown eyes staring back at you, and suddenly the contact brings heat to your face and a zip of something unnamable down your arm. Both of you retract your hands swiftly before Eddie explains his interception: “Why don’t you let me take this table, yeah?”

Confusion muddles your features for a moment. Why on earth would Eddie want to take on another table? It’s busy enough in here as it is. Plus, taking a table that is not in your section is strictly against the rules and as it’s your very first shift here, you’re not quite comfortable enough just yet to bend any rules. Especially not when they were fiercely outlined to you by Cordelia, who you were sure that if she possessed the powers of Medusa like Eddie and Robin say, she would surely turn you to stone if she caught you breaking any of them.

Since you’re not willing to risk getting yourself or Eddie into any sort of trouble, you tell him: “You have your own section to worry about, Eddie. Don’t worry about mine, I got this.” With an easy smile in hopes of further reassuring him, though you’re not sure of what.

You barely make it a few steps in the direction of your table before he’s stopping you again, this time with a gentle hand at your elbow.

“It’s just that…I’ve had that guy in my section before and he’s…difficult,” Eddie explains, struggling to come up with a word to describe him and seemingly being displeased with the one he chose as his brows furrowed together.

Oh.

His explanation causes heat to rise to your face, warming your entire chest with a strange fuzzy feeling. Was Eddie trying to protect you? If he was, that was very sweet of him, but still, you can’t allow him to take this table for you–even though you feel like you could melt to mush in his grasp right now.

“I’ve dealt with difficult people all evening,” You say. “I’ve got this.”

Before he can protest anymore or continue to convince you not to take the table, you’re walking away from him, your soft skin slipping from his gentle grip.

Eddie watches you walk away, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as you greet Paul and hand him the menu. The second Eddie sees that trademark salacious smirk creep across Paul’s face, Eddie’s jaw clenches involuntarily, but it’s not like he can do anything about it now.

Had he had any right to try to do anything about it before? To try to take your table? He hasn’t known you very long, so who is he to step in and attempt to protect you from that creep? He shouldn’t even feel this protective of you, this jealous. What the fuck is going on with him lately?

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

Collapsing onto the big fluffy couch at The Ugly Mug, you feel yourself instantly sink into the soft cushions. Have they always felt like literal clouds molding perfectly to your body or does it just seem that way after being on your feet for hours?

Now that your first shift is over you can appreciate how truly tiring it was. Adrenaline must have helped you stay on your feet all night, helped you acclimate to the job, but now that you’re seated in the calm, quiet atmosphere of the coffee shop, all that energy has left you entirely.

“Ugh, is it always this exhausting?” You sigh, slumped between Robin and Eddie. Steve sits on a plush chair next to the couch.

“I-” Robin begins, but Eddie interrupts before she can finish.

“Don’t lie to her, Rob,” Eddie says, sensing that Robin was likely about to lie in order to comfort you.

“Fine,” She replies, sighing, exhaustion weighing heavy in her bones as well. “It is. It’s always this exhausting…”

“But,” Robin drawls teasingly, pushing herself up so she’s no longer slumped down on the couch. “It’s not every shift you get hit on,” She says, wiggling her brows suggestively at you.

“What? Who got hit on?” Steve pipes up curiously, placing his pastry down on the round table beside him.

“Y/N,” Robin confirms teasingly, and you cover your face with your hands.

Eddie huffs from beside you as Steve says, “What? No way! By who?”

“One of the rich guys. I think he’s a new regular–Paul,” Robin answers, a childish tone to her voice when she says his name that makes you think she might start singing Sitting In A Tree with yours and Paul’s names any second now.

Steve’s eyes widen comically and Eddie grumbles something incoherent from your side, but you don’t get the chance to ask him what he said before Steve is hurriedly asking: “So? What happened?”

“Well, he asked me out,” You reply, a little embarrassed from their excitement as you adjust so your legs are crossed under you. Paul was charming from the moment you handed him his menu, all smiles and classic handsomeness.

“And you said?”

“I said yes,” You reply quietly at the same time as Robin exclaims, She said yes! She’d cackled when you’d told her about it at your lockers after your shift ended, joking that you could quit Hannigan’s and Paul could become your sugar daddy instead.

Normally, you might have declined such an offer from someone you’d just met–especially if that someone was 10 years older than you–, but the whole point of this move was change. Change required doing things you might not normally do, it required some spontaneity and courage. Both of which were not necessarily your strong suits, but you were trying. The first step was simply saying yes to things.

Steve smiles, impressed. “Alright, Y/L/N!”

And then, realization dawns over his features and he quickly turns his attention to Robin.

“Speaking of dates…” Steve begins, using the same salacious tone Robin had used earlier. “Robin, how are things going with Alicia?”

Looking at Robin, her eyes widen as she replies, “Oh my God, I totally spaced and forgot to tell you!”

Leaning in closer to Eddie on your other side, you whisper, “Who’s Alicia?”

“This girl Robin’s been seeing for a bit,” He answers easily.

You tune back into the conversation just in time to hear Robin inform, “I asked her to be my girlfriend.” Even if you weren’t looking at her right now you’d be able to hear the smile in her voice.

“That’s great, what’d she say?” Steve asks, jumping in even as Robin opens her mouth to continue, clearly not finished speaking.

“She said yes!” Robin exclaims, not even pausing to tease him about his over-eagerness to hear the rest of the story or give him a playful roll of her eyes like she usually might. This Alicia woman must mean a lot to Robin if she’s obliged to censor her usual sarcastic quips.

“Fuck yeah!” Says Steve as he high fives Robin and you chuckle at their odd celebration.

“Robin, that’s great. I’m so happy for you,” You congratulate, hand on her shoulder, remembering when you were teens and she never thought she’d get to have a girlfriend. Robin smiles sheepishly now.

What a satisfying end to the day. You’re exhausted, but at the same time exhilarated. It feels like things are finally falling into place, like you’d been putting together a puzzle and some of the pieces had gone missing. But you’ve found some of them, and now you’re sliding them into their places. And they fit. For the first time, you feel like you fit, and that makes you believe that everything is going to be okay–that you’re going to be okay.

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

“So,” Robin drawls as she places two juices on the kitchen table in front of you, one for her and one for you. “Where’s he taking you?”

“I don’t know yet, actually. All I know is that it’s ‘somewhere nice’ and he’s going to be picking me up at 7:30-ish,” You reply as you twist the cap off your drink.

“Mysterious,” Robin comments after taking a sip of her juice.

“Your date’s tonight?” Steve asks as he wanders into the kitchen and sticks his head into the fridge, likely scouring the shelves for a snack.

“Yeah, why?”

Steve stands from his bent position inside the fridge and turns to you and Robin, a slice of cold pizza in hand. “Mine too! Gonna bring her her favourite flowers, take her to her favourite restaurant, go see the tree at Rockefeller–the whole shebang.”

Steve takes a giant bite out of his pizza slice, then slides over to the table and steals Robin’s drink. She makes a disgusted face at him in protest and pushes the drink away from her when he places it back on the table after taking a healthy swig.

“That’s really sweet, Steve. I’m sure she’ll have a great time,” You tell him genuinely.

“Ugh!” Robin groans, drawing your attention away from Steve as her head falls back on her shoulders dramatically. “Stop talking about dates! I haven’t seen Alicia in three days and I have a shift tonight,” She complains, pouting.

“You’re the one who brought it up,” Steve mutters, taking his slice with him into the living room where he joins Eddie and Nancy–who sit on the armchair and couch, reading and writing, respectively.

“Whatever,” Robin replies, slumping down in her chair with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Aren’t you seeing her tomorrow?” You ask though you know the answer because it’s all that she’s talked about since she last saw Alicia. You’re sure you could pick the girl out of a crowd without ever having seen her just from everything Robin has spewed to you about her. It’s nice to see her happy.

“Yeah,” Robin says, tone solemn.

“Why do you sound disappointed?” You wonder with a chuckle.

“Because tomorrow is not right now,” Robin explains and you snort at her impatience to see her girlfriend again.

God, you don’t remember the last time you felt that way about someone; wanting to be around them all the time, missing them the second they left your side. Maybe it was college the last time you’d felt that way? You haven’t really dated since then. That one disastrous blind date your previous co-workers set you up on does not count. You’d actually prefer to block it out of your memory.

Robin sighs. “Anyway, I should hop in the shower before my shift,” She says as she stands and heads to the bathroom. She’s genuinely bummed that she won’t get to see Alicia until tomorrow

“Have fun,” You joke, head falling back on your shoulders as you watch her walk into the bathroom upside-down. You think you hear a sarcastic ha-ha from her before the door shuts.

Also upside-down from your current perspective is Eddie who you see sliding the window to the balcony open before ducking under it and going out onto the balcony.

He’s been off all night. While usually he would be cracking jokes and being his usual over-dramatic, loud self, tonight he was uncharacteristically quiet, keeping to himself. You’ve spent enough time around him by now to tell when something might be up with him.

Standing and grabbing the large throw blanket tossed over one end of the couch, you wrap it around yourself before going to the window, sliding it open again and carefully ducking under it as you step out into the chilly night.

The remnants of winter's early sunset remains on the horizon, lining the city in a dark blue hue while the sky above and beyond that is blanketed by blackness and a dull smattering of stars. That’s the one thing you miss about living in a small town; the lack of light pollution allowed for the stars in the sky to burn bright. Here, it’s impossible to make out a constellation from the street. You suppose the city lights are as close to stars as you’ll get out here.

Eddie leans against the brick and concrete balcony wall, his forearms perched on the cold surface, watching the city as plumes of cigarette smoke swirl around his head. He turns to look at you when he hears you approaching, tucking his chin to his shoulder.

“Hm,” You hum, coming up beside him and leaning over the wall, a blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders. You shiver and he has the urge to remove his leather jacket and wrap it around you.

“Um,” Eddie begins, unsure of how to phrase this so it doesn’t sound like he’s shooing you off. Just because he doesn’t understand why you’re out here with him doesn’t mean he wants you to leave. He enjoys your company, wants to be around you more. As much as possible, actually. “Did-did you need something?”

You hesitate for a moment, before saying, “No. No, I just wanted to come check on you.” Though it sounds more like a question. Like you’re prompting him gently.

“Oh. Okay,” Eddie replies, surprised and not sure what else to say to that. You’re so thoughtful and observant it makes his chest hurt.

Eddie can feel you examining his face closely and he lets you, continuing to stare out at the city below.

“I can leave if you-”

“No,” Eddie replies suddenly before you can even finish your sentence, his eyes finding yours as he says it. Your eyes are wide, expectant. “I mean-no. You’re good.”

“Okay,” You say, settling in beside him.

The conversation tapers off again and you’re left with the sounds of honking cars, the muffled racket of people talking in the street below, the robust sound of a public bus stopping down at the corner. A harsh wind kisses your cheeks, likely staining Eddie’s pink.

He feels awkward. He’s never felt awkward around you before. Not even when you almost strangled him that one morning and he smashed his head against the coffee table. Maybe it’s because of everything going on in his head right now.

An odd tension sizzles between you. He can feel its strength, more fierce than the wind. But it’s elusive, an enigma he can’t quite grasp. He wants not to think about it and tries not to since he can’t do anything about it anyway.

“How are you adjusting?”

“Are you okay?”

You both break the silence at the same time. A smile breaks across your face and Eddie blows a harsh breath out through his nose.

“Sorry, you go first,” Eddie offers.

“I just-are you alright?” You rush out after a brief pause, seemingly self-conscious of the question, though Eddie could never imagine why. “I just thought you maybe seemed a bit off in there…And, like, usually when people separate from the pack, it might mean something’s up,” You explain slowly, that almost inquisitive tone appearing in your voice again.

Eddie side eyes you, your perceptiveness surprising.

You must take the glance to mean that he’s annoyed because you say, wanting to lighten the mood, “...Or they just want to be left the hell alone.”

Eddie snorts, turning his body to face yours now, his right hip pressed into the cold concrete wall with his elbow resting atop it. You mirror his stance, adjusting the fluffy blanket around you as you go.

“But I find it usually means the first thing….And-and a lot of the time I don’t think that people really want to be left alone, even if they say they do.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie teases lightly, wanting to shift the focus away from himself. He can’t tell you what’s wrong.

“Mhm,” You nod, playing along with his teasing by holding your head high as if you have all the wisdom in the world to offer. But then your expression changes. Just slightly, but Eddie sees it. What you say next isn’t teasing, what you say next is from your soul.

“I think what they really want—more than anything—is to not have to be alone ever again,” You say, and it’s like a shadow passes over your face. He notes the change in your eyes; like you’re living a past feeling.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees after a beat, tone the furthest from teasing it’s ever been. Both because he knows the feeling, but also because he doesn’t want you to feel alone in it. Because he can tell you’ve been really lonely before. And he hates that his evasion of your question made you recall that loneliness.

That look in your eyes disappears, and you seem to shake out of it easily as you look him in the face and ask, “What are you thinking?”

It’s a pretty innocuous question. But right now, at this moment, it holds more weight.

“I’m thinking that…you’re right. I guess I’ve just been in my head.”

He wasn’t planning on revealing that. He doesn’t even know why he said anything. It’s like you pulled it out of him. It’s like he can’t resist.

“Yeah? About what?” You ask, eyes searching his.

He can’t tell you. He wishes he could, but he can’t. It would be such a jerk move to tell you before your date. And it’s not like he could have told you earlier either. Not after the promise he’d made. He already feels like he’s said too much.

“We don’t have to talk about it. I get it,” You say after he doesn’t reply.

But you don’t sound hurt. Instead, you sound sincere in your acceptance of the fact that he doesn’t want to say anything. It makes him want to tell you even more. Your sincere kindness, your thoughtfulness, it makes him ache. How can he not be honest with you? Especially when you’ve been so honest with him.

In order to honour his previous promise, Eddie layers the truth in a sheer veil of lies, concealing parts of the truth, while revealing others.

“There’s-there’s this girl,” Eddie begins, working out how he’s going to weave lies in with the truth. “But one of the guys from my band–Jeff–asked her out recently…And I-”

“You like her too?” You guess. You’d known from the secret smile that crept onto his face; fond but sad.

Eddie nods slowly, relieved that he didn’t have to say the words aloud himself. Like saying them would make it more real, would confirm what he already knows.

“But Jeff asked her out first. So I don’t have a right to…to feel the way I do about it,” Eddie explains, navigating his way around the truth. He’s lying to you almost as much as he’s lying to himself. “And it would be wrong to tell her now. I’d be betraying Jeff’s trust.” It’s not Jeff’s trust he’d be betraying.

You sigh, stumped. “I’m sorry, that’s hard…tell me about her?” You ask, though your voice sounds strained.

God, you’re so nice. It’s killing him. He feels so guilty. How can he lie to you about you? He can’t. Not when you’re looking at him like you are. Like every word out of his mouth is the most important thing that has ever been said.

“Um…Well. She’s-she’s open-minded and accepting, a little weird,” Eddie describes with a chuckle, remembering the morning you greeted him with your bathrobe tie.

When your eyes connect, he can’t help but soften, impassioned as he looks into them. Wanting so badly to let you know he’s talking about you, he toes the line.

“She’s genuine. Honest. What you see is what you get with her,” Eddie says. The city noise fades away and your breaths become the wind, your eyes the city lights.

“She cares about her friends. It feels like she always knows the right thing to say, even if she feels like she doesn’t…And she’s the kindest person I’ve ever met.”

Something changes in your expression. Your eyes burn, searching his intently, looking back and forth between the left and the right. His eyes can’t lie, he can’t force them to. They reveal everything. They can’t conceal or contain his feelings.

Eddie yearns to hold your face gently in his hands, to feel your lips against his, to feel your smile as he kisses you.

Your chest rises and falls with heavy breaths as if sudden emotion overwhelms you, your eyes aflame. You wait in anticipation for his next words as wind whistles around you, ruffling your blanket.

“Anyway,” Eddie coughs, dispelling the tension, and glances down at his wristwatch. “It’s getting late, you should probably start getting ready for your date.”

Recognition flashes in your eyes, like you’d forgotten entirely about your upcoming commitment.

The spell is broken. He hadn’t even realized there’d been a spell until it was broken.

You take a step back and it’s then Eddie realizes you were so close your toes were nearly touching. Shit. Why had he done that? That was almost worse than telling you everything he’d said was actually about you.

“Yeah. Right,” You agree, walking back towards the window.

Eddie turns and leans against the balcony wall, looks back over the city. The wind is the wind, and the lights are just lights.

“Oh, and Eddie?” You call. Eddie swivels his head to look back at you, one foot inside the apartment and one out on the balcony with him, straddling the window sill. “I hope it works out with her.”

Eddie gives you a good-natured smile. “Yeah. Me too,” He replies as you duck under the window and return to the apartment. You close it shut softly, leaving him with the wind and the lights.

Eventually, Eddie goes back inside too, locking every intense emotion that had built up inside of him out in the cold.

As he wanders back into the apartment, he finds your bedroom door is now closed and Nancy’s spot on the couch is vacant. Robin is rushing out of her room in her work uniform while she roots through her bag, mumbling about her keys. And Steve, who’s snacking on some grapes from the fruit bowl on the counter, has Robin’s keys casually swinging from his index finger. Though Robin doesn’t notice until Steve ahem’s, and she snatches them from his hand before reaching the door.

“Oh!” She says as her hand twists the handle, and spins around on her heel to face Eddie and Steve. “If either one of you is still here before Y/N leaves, tell her to have a good night with Paul. She deserves it.”

And the door slams shut behind her as Eddie takes his seat on the couch.

He has every intention of picking his book back up where he left off. Though it remains open in his hands as he stares at your door. He can’t stop staring at your door. Which should be infinitely less captivating than the words between the pages in his hands. And yet it is not. It is far more captivating than any book he has ever or will ever read. The thought strikes him like a bolt of lightning zapping a tree and setting it on fire.

“Hey, man, are you okay?” Steve asks, noticing Eddie’s prolonged staring at your door.

Pulling his eyes very slowly away from your door, Eddie replies, “Yeah, I…Yeah.”

When his gaze finds Steve’s, he’s looking at Eddie like he’s trying to do long division in his head.

“...Okay,” Steve drawls, retrieving his jacket from the counter in the kitchen. “We’re definitely gonna talk about that later. But for now, I gotta pick up Joselyn. Later, man!” He calls as he exits the apartment, leaving just Eddie and your door, alone.

He’s not necessarily looking forward to whatever conversation Steve wants to have with him later, but he’s hoping this Joselyn woman will keep Steve busy long enough for Eddie to avoid the conversation entirely–at least for the night.

It’s been 23 minutes and your bedroom door still has not opened. Eddie knows the exact amount of time it remains closed because although he had tried to focus on the words in his book after Steve left, he simply could not stop looking at your door. And wondering when it would open. Hoping it would open. Estimating when it would open by calculating how long it might take you to get ready. For a solid three seconds, Eddie debates knocking on it, before deciding that’s crazy because-

The door opens.

“How do I-”

Eddie stares. Suddenly your door becomes the least captivating thing in the room–in the entire universe–and he can’t believe he ever thought it was captivating to begin with.

Your black dress—which reaches your ankles—is simple, though it hugs your body wonderfully. The straps are thin and the neck is square-shaped.

Eddie could equate your beauty to a thousand other beautiful things. He could equate it to paintings and sunsets and flowers. He could equate it to the most beautiful poetry and the most profound stories. But the truth is that none of his comparisons would ever be enough. None of them could express how he feels when he looks at you; like his heart stops and speeds up in his chest at the same time. Like he’s never seen anything beautiful in his life until this moment or even knew what the word beauty meant until he saw you.

“Oh-Everyone left already?” You question when you realize Eddie is alone. You and Eddie are alone.

“Y-yeah,” Eddie stutters, mouth suddenly dry.

“Oh…alright.”

Eddie swallows hard, trying his very best not to watch you like he’d watched your door. But that task proves impossible. And now it’s quiet. And it’s been quiet for far too long as you stand there fidgeting with your shawl looking like that with no one to tell you that you look like that. No one except Eddie.

“Um,” Eddie begins. Great start. He can’t say what he wants to, so instead he explains his presence: “I didn’t wanna leave without letting you know, since everyone else left...But, uh, what-what were you gonna say…before?” God, he was the worst! If he can’t say the word to himself, how is he supposed to repeat it out loud to you?

“Oh,” You say, looking down at yourself bashfully. “I was just gonna ask how I looked,” You explain, waving your hand in dismissal.

Eddie wants to not be the worst. Eddie wants you to think that he’s not the worst. Eddie wants you to know that you look like that.

“You look great,” He says, slightly breathless. ‘Great’ is a safe word, it’s a friendly word. It’s not the word he wanted to use.

You smile softly, averting your eyes from him and to the floor as you say a meek, but sincere, “Thank you.”

Eddie really shouldn’t say anymore. But he loves the way it feels when you get all shy from his compliments. He loves the way you thank him. Like you know his compliment is true, but to hear him say it means something different, something special.

So he can’t keep it in. But he wills himself to reign in his emotions; to freeze the butterflies in his belly before they take flight.

“You-” look really pretty. “Your dress is really pretty.”

“Thank you, Eddie,” You say, swaying nervously on the spot.

Fuck. Shit. Jesus Christ! There wasn’t a net big enough in the world to contain the swarm of butterflies fluttering in his belly right now. It’s downright embarrassing.

You seek out his eyes. And Eddie knows. And you part your lips, about to speak.

“I-”

Knock, knock, knock.

All too soon, your gaze shifts to the front door. But Eddie’s eyes remain on you.

“Oh, that’s Paul,” You inform, pulling your shawl more tightly around your body before you begin walking towards the door. You make it about three paces before you realize, “Shoot, I forgot my purse in my room, would you mind getting the door?”

“Sure,” Eddie says, minding a whole awful lot. But he stands from the couch anyway and makes his way to the door as you head back into your bedroom.

The door swings open, revealing a sharply dressed Paul leaning against the doorframe. His suit is pressed to perfection, not a wrinkle in sight. It’s too pristine, like he’s not moved in it, not sat down.

When Paul lifts his head from where it’s bent on his neck, his salacious smirk disappears the moment he sees Eddie. He’s far less handsome with that ugly frown on his face. He looks like a petulant child.

“What are you doing here?”

Eddie bites his tongue. Then forces a fake smile as he greets politely, “Good to see you too, Paul.”

He expected nothing less from the guy, but that didn’t make it any easier to hold back. Sure, he wasn’t serving him in the restaurant–so there weren’t any clearly defined rules here–but you were about to go out on a date with the guy. So he held back.

“Y/N will be right out, she’s-”

The click of your heels against the wood floors sound behind him. Paul’s smirk spreads across his face like molasses as he eyes you. Though Eddie’s sure they don’t roam further than your chest.

A surge of unrightful possessiveness swells within him at Paul’s obvious ogling.

“Hey!” You greet him cheerily and Eddie steps aside, fading into the background.

“Hey, babe,” Paul says as you reach him and Eddie cringes at the territorial nickname. It takes everything in him not to shudder like he’s just seen a child pick their nose and wipe it on a pole in the subway.

You hug and Eddie watches as one of Paul's long arms stretches around your waist, though his hand hovers dangerously low before you pull away and Paul remarks, “Ready to go?”

“Yup,” You confirm, with a sweet smile. With that, Paul guides you out of the apartment with a hand on your middle back and just before you exit the apartment, you request: “Lock up on your way out?”

It shouldn’t feel this good to have your attention on him again. Shouldn’t make his heart skip in his chest.

Eddie just nods, sure that if he tried to speak, he would emit some embarrassing sound instead of a casual sure thing.

You smile at him widely, “Bye, Eddie.” Has his name always sounded that lovely?

“Bye, Y/N.” Has your name ever felt that lovely rolling off his tongue?

The door slams shut behind you.

“Shit.”

Eddie’s belly bubbles with a feeling. Jealousy burns in his gut. He has no right to feel this way. The moment he names it, he wants to un-name it. The moment he names it, he wants to ban the word from his mind, shove it inside one of those dark spots up there, and hope it never sees the light of day again.

He made a promise to Robin. He doesn’t get to feel this way.

So he tries his best not to call it what it is and tells himself that it has to be a simple combination of his hatred for Paul and his knowledge that you are a ridiculously wonderful person who deserves so much better than Paul Becker. But this is all he can allow himself to acknowledge.

What he will not acknowledge is the third part to this equation that adds up to this feeling. What he will not acknowledge is the way he feels when you look at him, when you say his name, when you stand in front of him in a black dress and he can’t tell you how pretty you look.

So he focuses on the one thing that is the most natural to him: the fact that Eddie hates Paul.

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

Next Chapter [coming soon]

A/N: And that is chapter one, folks! I've been working on this for months now, so I really, really hope you enjoyed it. Please consider reblogging and leaving a nice comment or sending me an ask telling me what you thought!

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starlightkun · 5 months

Text

much mistletoeing about nothing ❧ teaser [kun]

❧ teaser word count: 732 | full fic: 7.6k ❧ warnings: none for the teaser! ❧ genre: exes to lovers, angst with a happy ending (look at what blog ur on rn), christmas-themed (if the title wasn’t apparent enough), getting snowed in trope, cuddling to share warmth trope, just a fun, cheesy, time ❧ extra info: i wrote this in a 24-ish hour fever. it’s moderately proof-read. beware. ❧ estimated release: wednesday, december 20, 2023 7:00 p.m. eastern time

There was light pouring out from Dr. Oh’s office at the end of the hall, the only one on. You poked your head in through the open door, greeted by the sight of a seemingly empty office. Must have stepped out.

Just as you had dropped the papers into his inbox on his desk, you heard footsteps at the doorway and whipped around to greet the older man, breathless smile already on your face.

Except it wasn’t Dr. Oh standing there. Your greeting died in your throat as you stared at the newcomer with blatant shock.

“Oh, Y/N,” Qian Kun rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. His hair was a bit longer than before, a shaggy length that covered most of his ears and neck, and he’d forgone his contacts in favor of a pair of silver wire-rimmed glasses, but there was nothing that time could do to conceal his identity from you. The way your heart dropped to your stomach as soon as he said your name was undeniable. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” You sputtered back harshly. His PhD program was at a completely different university in the area and should have ended in the spring. What business did he have here of all places?

“I started assisting Dr. Oh last month. Uhm, sorry, I sort of thought you graduated already, or I wouldn’t have interviewed for the job.”

“I did graduate.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “Two years ago. I’m a research fellow now.”

“Of course. Well, congrats.”

You let out a small noise of acknowledgement that could’ve also been interpreted as a cynical chuckle.

“So, did you need to see Dr. Oh? He’s left the office for the year, I’m just finishing up a couple things here.”

“Oh, no,” you shook your head, vaguely gesturing to the inbox over your shoulder. “My research head asked me to drop something off.”

Kun nodded. “Right. I’ll make sure he looks it over first thing when he gets back.”

“Thank you.” There was a pause of tense silence, and you looked around the office uncomfortably. “So, can I go, or…?”

“Yeah, of course, sorry.” He moved out of the doorway, stepping aside to clear the exit for you. “It uhm, it was nice to see you, Y/N.”

“Yeah, sure.”

You’d just brushed past him when he called your name out again. Against your better judgment, you stopped just short of leaving the office and turned to look at him.

“What, Kun?”

“What uh, what are you doing for the holidays? Are you going back home? Or, celebrating here with… someone?”

You weren’t sure what compelled you to answer other than basic social niceties. “No. Airline tickets were crazy, couldn’t find anything that would get me back in the lab in time that wasn’t ridiculously expensive. All my friends are traveling, so I’ll be eating ramen by myself on the couch, presumably.”

You had answered his half-asked question. No, you didn’t have a significant other to spend the holiday with. Just your family back home that you couldn’t afford to go see, and friends who had all left town.

“Oh…” He looked down at his feet.

“What about you?” You asked pettily, fully expecting him to be visiting a significant other’s family in town, flying home to see his family, something much merrier than the picture you had just painted.

“Same for me,” he admitted quietly. “Plane tickets back home were so expensive… and I just left my old job and haven’t really made new friends here yet. At least not ones that are on the level of them inviting me to their family Christmas.”

While you wanted to be bitterly vindicated by Kun making himself as alone on Christmas as he had made you, it somehow just weighed twice as heavy on your heart. All that came out of this was two lonely people, far away from home.

“Do you… maybe want to come over? For Christmas?” Kun’s hesitant proposition knocked the wind out of you.

“Why?”

“Well, neither of us have any other plans. And, I don’t know, I thought it might be nice… to be with someone you know. Better than being alone on Christmas eating instant ramen, maybe?”

You took a couple deep breaths, gnawing on your bottom lip as you thought over his offer. “Fine. Christmas dinner. No presents.”

⤷ blog masterlist

#kun #qian kun #wayv #kun x reader #nct #kun imagine #wayv imagine #qian kun x reader #wayv x reader #nct imagine #nct x reader #kunkun #i: kun #f: much mistletoeing about nothing #bias tag #writing #text #mine

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ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes · 9 months

Text

The Phoenix and the Crow

part sixteen

pairing: kaz brekker x fem!reader

genre: netural

el's thoughts: the next part!! yayyy please let me know your favorite parts or what you are hoping to see next!!

The sick feeling in Y/N’s stomach had nothing to do with the rocking of the rowboat. She tried to breathe deeply, to focus on the lights of the Ketterdam harbor disappearing behind them and the steady splash of the oars in the water. Beside her, Kaz adjusted his mask and cloak, while Muzzen, one of the Dregs, rowed with a relentless and aggressive speed. Hellgate rested on one of Kerch’s tiny outlying islands, Terrenjel.

Fog lay low over the water, damp, and curling. It carried the smell of tar and machinery from the shipyards on Imperjum, and something else – the sweet stink of burning bodies from the Reaper’s Barge. The place where Ketterdam disposed of the dead who couldn’t afford to be buried in the cemeteries outside the city. ‘Disgusting.’ Y/N thought, drawing her cloak tighter around her. How could these people live with themselves? Not giving the dead the respect they deserved. Then again, it was Ketterdam… How many of these people truly deserved an honoring of their name?

Y/N shuffled away from the edge of the rowboat, accidentally brushing her arm against Kaz’s side. If her being this close to him bothered him, he didn’t show it. Instead, he spoke in a quiet whisper, “We’re almost there.”

The tightness in her chest dwindled at his words. She nodded just enough for him to notice her thanks.

When the boat’s hull scraped sand, two men rushed forward to haul them farther onto land. The other boats she’d seen were making ground in the same cove, being pulled ashore by more grunting men. Their features were vague through the gauze of her veil, but Y/N caught a glimpse of the tattoos that inked their forearms. A feral cat curled into a crown– the symbol of the Dime Lions.

“Money?” One of them had asked as the crows clambered out of the boat.

Kaz handed over a stack of kruge and once it was counted, the Dime Lion waved them on.

They all followed a row of torches up an uneven path to the leeward side of the prison. Y/N had seen the prison from afar before but looking up at it now… She understood why the mention of the jail instilled such a strong fear in people. She tilted her head back to gaze at the high black towers of the fortress named Hellgate.

A door had been propped open, and another member of the opposing gang led Y/N and the others inside. They entered a dark, surprisingly clean kitchen, its walls lined with huge vats that looked better suited to laundry than cooking. A strong aroma of vinegar and sage filled her nose. ‘Like a mercher’s kitchen.’ She’d thought to herself. The Kerch believed that work was akin to prayer. Maybe the merchant wives came here to scrub the floors, walls, and windows to honor Ghezen, the god of industry and commerce. Y/N resisted the urge to gag. They could scrub all they liked. Beneath the wholesome scent was the indelible stench of mildew, urine, and unwashed bodies. It might take a miracle from the Saints to dislodge it.

They all continued down a dark hallway, and she thought they would head up into the cells, but instead, they passed through another door and onto a high stone walkway that connected the main prison to what looked like another tower.

“Where are we going?” Y/N whispered. Kaz didn’t answer. The wind picked up and lifted her veil and lashed at her cheeks with salt spray.

Nina let out a breathless gasp as she looked around the familiar surroundings. “I thought we were breaking him out. Brekker, you lying bastard.”

Kaz didn’t turn around to look at her, “We are breaking him out. But he was already scheduled. He survives tonight then he gets out.”

Y/N looked between the two, confused as to what was happening.

Nina gritted her teeth, “Hellshow.”

The slow cranking of metal against metal echoed in the arena over all the shouts and loud conversations from the crowds. The two grisha women walked closer to the metal cage, Nina grasped the thick bars between her hands tightly, as if willing the metal to bend at her will. They both watched as a tall man walked out from under the gate.

“Matthias.” Nina’s voice was barely heard over the cheering around them.

The two men in the ring stood there for a moment before the one with ‘cannibal’ written on his back lunged first. A strong punch to the Fjerdan’s jaw caused his head to snap to the side, and with no time to recover another blow was aimed at his stomach.

After taking a few more hits, resulting in the Heartrender flinching at every grunt, the Fjerdan finally snapped. He threw a jaw-snapping punch at the smaller man, spun around, and threw his elbow back landing on the man’s collarbone. The latter fell to the floor giving Matthias an opening to continue his attack. He picked up a leg and dragged the man on his back before crushing his leg in his grasp.

Y/N’s eyes widened at the memory and felt a sickening feeling creep up on her. Such a dishonorable way to keep your life. But then again, what choice did these people have?

The Dime Lion led them around the tunnel to the third archway, where a prison guard dressed in a blue-gray uniform was posted with a rifle slung across his back. “Four more for you.” The Dime Lion shouted over the roar of the crowd. Then he turned to Kaz. “If you need to leave, the guard will call for an escort. No one goes wandering off without a guide, understood?”

“Of course, of course. Wouldn’t dream of it.” Kaz said from behind his ridiculous mask.

“Enjoy.” The Dime Lion said with an ugly grin. The prison guard waved them through.

Y/N stepped under the arch and felt as if she’d fallen into another nightmare. They were on a jutting stone ledge, looking down into a shallow, crudely made amphitheater. The tower had been gutted to create an arena. Only the black walls of the old prison remained the roof long since fallen in or destroyed so that the night sky was visible high above, with dense clouds and free of stars.

It was a different view from when she came with Nina before. Now higher in the stands, the crowd’s shouting echoed and made her ears ring. Around her, masked and veiled men and women crowded onto the terraced ledges, stamping their feet as the action proceeded below. The blazing light from the torches on the walls was hardly bright enough to make out anyone’s face even with a strained effort, but it was bright enough below them to see the red and damp sand of the floor.

Y/N swayed on her feet when she saw a man standing in the caged arena while a desert lizard crawled out from under the heavy metal trap door. Her sight blurred the moment she noticed the man pick up his knife and quicker than she could whisper a prayer the crowd’s volume got louder only this time they were booing. Y/N turned to the man standing next to her. “Why are they complaining? Isn’t this what they came here for?”

“They wanted a fight,” said Kaz. “They were expecting him to last longer.”

“This is disgusting.”

Kaz shrugged, “The only disgusting thing about it is that I didn’t think of it first.”

“These men aren’t slaves, Kaz!” Y/N spoke harshly but kept her volume down. “They’re prisoners.”

“They’re murderers and rapists.”

“And thieves and con artists. Your people.” Nina spoke up from Kaz’s other side.

“Nina, sweet, they aren’t forced to fight. They line up for the chance. They earn better food, private cells, liquor, jurda, conjugals with girls from the West Stave.”

Muzzen, the man who accompanied the crows on the heist, cracked his knuckles. “Sounds better than we got at the Slat.”

The two grisha looked around the stands at all the men and women who came here to support such a violent show, all of them exchanging bets while walking up and down the aisles. The prisoners of Hellgate might line up to fight, but Pekka Rollins made the real money. At least he used to. News got out shortly after Pekka was thrown into the high-security prison where he was brutally beaten to death by a few of the other prisoners.

“Helvar doesn’t…” Y/N couldn’t get her eyes to focus on anything as she spoke and pulled herself out of her own thoughts. “Helvar doesn’t fight in the arena, does he? You bought his name off the list, didn’t you?”

A grim look passed over Kaz’s eyes as he looked down at the inferni. “We aren’t here for the ambience.”

“Are you aware that I could waggle my fingers and make you wet your trousers?” Nina was beyond furious at this point. Her hands clenched at her sides.

“Easy, heartrender. I like these trousers. And if you start messing with my vital organs, Matthias Helvar will never see sunshine again.”

Once the stomach-churning sound of the heavy metal gate being cranked open was heard the crowds went wild. Y/N looked over to see Nina staring down into the arena with a pale face. She had turned to look down and felt her heart drop to her stomach at the sight before her.

Matthias emerged from the mouth of the cave while the unmistakable growls of wolves could be heard from the other side.

The Fjerdan had to fight his most sacred animal.

#kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker #six of crows #six of crows x reader #six of crows imagines #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker x you #ellora.writes

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eskawrites · 3 months

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the other day i caved and made a document folder that just says 'lowkey an untitled fantasy trilogy' and iykyk so uh have some third movie tenlark if the third movie took place in winter instead of spring/summer like it actually does in the fic

The fire was getting low, but there was just enough snow on the ground to make the quickly falling night a little lighter. Light enough to see a small figure out in the shadows, huddled in on herself as she stared through the trees.

Lark sighed and pushed to her feet. Moss tilted her head up to follow the movement, watching her silently. Lark nodded toward Arren, still fast asleep beneath the blankets.

“Keep an eye on things, yeah?”

Moss nodded. Simple as that, because of course it was. Lark didn’t even have to ask, really. She walked out of the tent, past the fire and out of its weakening light, into the silvery shadows of the increasingly snowy forest.

“Hey,” she said, quietly, not wanting to spook Tenar with her approach. But Tenar didn’t flinch, or look her way, or even tilt her head to show that she had heard her at all. Lark bit her lip, then stepped closer. “It’s, uh, it’s getting colder. You should come back. I’m about to throw another log on, cook us some dinner.”

Tenar said nothing. The snow lingered in her hair, down and messy across her shoulders in a way Lark had never seen before. The chill left bumps on her skin, her arms bare in her ruined dress. Lark sighed.

“Look, Arren isn’t awake to be anxious about your well-being, so I feel it’s my duty to be a bother in his stead. Come back to the fire. Drink some of the tea Ged made. You don’t even have to talk to us, just come get warm.”

“No.” Tenar’s voice was cold. Not harsh, just cold. Like the dark, dead silhouettes of the trees around them. Like the hard, frozen stones half-buried beneath the fallen snow. She tilted her head toward Lark, finally, barely, and there was a stoic, practiced politeness, and no warmth at all, as she added, “Thank you.”

“Your Highness—”

Tenar shook her head, sharp and sudden, harsh and angry and distraught—more reaction than she’s let herself show since Lark brought her back to camp. Lark swallowed hard.

“Tenar,” she tried again, timid, and this time she saw the rigid line of Tenar’s shoulders start to break, to crumple in on itself. “I don’t know what happens next, for any of us. But I know it doesn’t involve you freezing to death out here. Come on. Come eat something, drink something. We can get you out of that dirty old dress—”

“No.” Tenar turned back to her, and Lark realized—her heart jumping up to her throat—that the anger was not gone yet. “And don’t touch me.”

Another realization: her hand was hovering between them, reaching subconsciously toward Tenar. She drew it back hastily.

“I-I’m sorry, Your Highness, I—”

“No,” Tenar said yet again, softer now. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—I’m sorry, Lark. That was completely uncalled for. I should never have lost my temper. I apologize.”

She meant it, as stiff as the words sounded to Lark. It gave her the courage to step forward again. When Tenar didn’t object, she closed the space between them and crouched beside her—still more than an arm’s length away, but close enough that when she looked over, Tenar was really all that she saw.

“I think it’s understandable, losing your temper after all you’ve been through. And you can afford to, with me. Lose your temper, I mean.”

“That doesn’t mean you deserve it,” Tenar said, looking out into the trees again.

“Yes, well, none of us have gotten what we deserve, lately.” Lark followed her gaze, but she found she couldn’t stare out into the forest for long. She turned back to Tenar.

They were quiet for a while. Lark felt vaguely as if she was waiting for something. The cold was starting to get to her, just a little, but she ignored it. She wasn’t particularly packed for winter—the storm had been too sudden, and besides, they were all supposed to be back at the castle by now. But she was better off than Tenar in her ceremonial dresses, now torn to shreds and soaked with snow and mud. And blood, if Lark looked closely enough.

She didn’t mind waiting for Tenar, she realized. In fact, she found it much preferable to the suddenly harrowing idea of leaving her out here.

“It was my mother’s.” Tenar’s voice was smaller now, almost like she didn’t want to be heard.

Lark looked at her, but Tenar, too, seemed to shrink under her gaze—a sight so out of character that Lark felt panic tighten her chest. She kept herself from reaching out, though, and turned her gaze back to the trees. She heard Tenar’s exhale beside her and closed her eyes in relief along with it.

“The dress, I mean,” continued Tenar. “One of the first she'd had made for her after she was made queen. She said she was always fond of it, even after it went out of style. She said it made her feel confident as she sat in the council rooms, even on the days she had no idea what she was doing.”

Lark couldn’t look away anymore. She faced Tenar, but Tenar’s gaze was far away. She was shivering in her tattered, precious dress. Shivering within the memory.

“She gave it to me that morning. She—she told me I didn’t need it, really. That I didn’t need anything to help me in the council meetings, because I—I was already so much better than she could have hoped to be at my age.”

“Tenar,” Lark whispered.

“She told me she was proud—”

Her voice broke, then, and Lark saw the tears as they started to fall down her pale, frozen cheeks. She couldn’t help but reach for her now. Tenar did the same, her hand darting out to grasp at Lark’s as soon as it became available. Her fingers were icy, her grip shaking from the cold and the grief and the desperate strength with which she clung to Lark.

“The dress stays,” Tenar whispered.

Lark nodded quickly. “Of course. If I had known, I never would’ve suggested—”

“I know.”

#and then scrub this from your memory just in case i ever do make this an actual story #idk man it's been a weird day and a weird week have some tenlark #it ends suddenly bc that's where my notes devolve into me talking to myself in grammarless italics #anyway #tenlark #erathia #celebrity fake dating au

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chaseadrian · 2 years

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the metric for freaks in college

chapter summary: the last thing you want is to be getting coffee with Eddie, but you concede for the sake of your friends. This is the first of many concessions, and you aren’t any closer to calling him a friend, no matter the benefits. LIVE WIRE — chapter two

pairing. eddie munson x f!reader tags. 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, original side characters, best friends to enemies, references to canon events, injury, mentions of blood, trauma, unedited, vague feelings, fingering, handjobs, incomplete orgasm word count. 6.5k+ an. took me a lot longer than i thought to write this, but i hope you enjoy! feedback appreciated as always

The classroom is small, not cramped, your desk next to Selma clean of the ragged notebooks and worn down pencils everyone else scrawled with through the lecture.

“Alright,” The professor says, sitting on the edge of a scaled down stage, “Reminder, no class on Thursday, and you all have a great Thanksgiving break. Try to pay some fealty to the real history, yeah? And please—”

She gestures to you, and you sit up in your seat, looking around at the students who are barely a year or two your junior. You feel nothing like an authority, but she doesn’t speak with any hint of irony when she says, “Thank our guest on your way out.” She pats her hands together in a mimic of applause, nodding her head to you. There’s a seriousness about her that wouldn’t allow for a smile, but her thanks is earnest and you feel like you’ve done something real today, even if you think you’ve no right doing it.

The professor hops off the stage and strolls over to her desk, shuffling papers together, hunched over as students start clambering out of the classroom. They offer quick waves, quiet thank you’s, a handshake or two.

You try to slip out of your desk before the rest of the students pass you, but Selma places a hand on your shoulder, “Hey, no, enjoy the praise.” She watches with a fixed smile as everyone passes until you two are the only ones left, at which point she turns to you and cocks her head, satisfied, “Coffee?”

“Sure,” You laugh, and she links arms with you on the way out, waving a goodbye and a thank you to her professor. She receives a wave in return, and no afforded eye contact.

Walking out of the classroom, Selma pulls you across the hall and upstairs, away from the nearest doors. You follow without question, unwilling to even attempt to make your way through the campus on your own. She pokes her head into a near empty classroom before strolling in, her arm slipping out of yours, but she turns and nods for you to come in as well.

“Hey,” She makes her way to the back corner, where Eddie and Jeff are standing with a middle aged man.

“Oh, hey!” Jeff half turns to her, a smile on his face, “Eddie and I were just talking to Warren about you and everyone else at The Kindling, actually.”

You stand an awkward distance away, but wave when their eyes land on you. Eddie braves a glance, offers a wave, but turns away just after.

The night you were reacquainted was the first of many trysts in the near two months that followed. The affair cooled from vitriol and hate, settling into some unspoken agreement, self-satisfaction and belligerent gratification at the forefront of bodies and hands and mouths all over.

It wasn’t like you were on each other night after night, and it wasn’t like you wouldn’t, instead, take someone else home even when you had the opportunity to have Eddie. You’d see him entertaining the crowd after shows, letting men and women swarm him, new strangers on his arm as he left for the night. You were equal in your extracurricular endeavors, and no closer to calling each other friends than you had been in September.

“You’ve got a real talent, here.” Warren says, tugging you from your wandering.

“Tell that to my boss, she’ll go nuts.” Selma squeezes Jeff’s shoulder, but keeps her eyes on Warren, “Have you seen them live, yet?”

He shakes his head, “No, no, haven’t got the chance. Eddie brought me a demo a few weeks back.”

She tilts her head up, nodding slowly, “Ah, well. You’re welcome anytime. I’ll put your name on the list.”

You watch Eddie as they speak, a little taken aback by his silence. He was the charge of conversation, not a bystander. More often than not you were the one observing over entering.

Jeff exhales a laugh, “She’s kidding, we’re not exclusive enough to have a list.”

Everyone joins in with gentle laughter, and Selma steps back to stand by you, “We’re going to get coffee, I came just to invite Jeff and Eddie, but you can join us if you’re interested.”

Eddie looks over at you, his brow furrowing for a fleeting moment before he re-situates himself into neutrality.

Warren leans against the edge of his desk, “Oh, thank you, but I’ve got some work to get done before cutting out for break. You guys enjoy your Thanksgiving,” He looks back and forth between Jeff and Eddie, “You two, prelim drafts for the final are due the day after we get back so don’t slack too much.” He flicks his finger between them, but keeps the smile on his face.

“Will do.” Eddie says, and you all wave as you leave the classroom.

His presence behind you is daunting, you feel watched as you make your way to the stairs, his voice just shy of startling, “I thought you graduated last year. From DePaul.”

You turn to look at him, and Selma speaks before you can, “She did a demonstration for my Stage Lighting class.”

“Is that what you went to school for?” Jeff sidles up next to Selma, and you hang back to let them navigate the group through campus.

“Mhm, Lighting Tech.”

He nods, and the four of you walk in silence across the quad to the campus coffee shop. You settle into a table with your drinks, Eddie and Selma reaching across the table to clink their mugs full of black coffee together before they take a sip. He’s diagonal to you, as far away as he possibly could be at this little table, but still it feels closer than you’d like.

One thing about this new time with Eddie is that the longer it proceeds, the less sure you feel about the anger you’re holding onto. It stays, because six years of bitterness doesn’t just dissipate in a matter of months, but that fury takes a deeper level of concentration, and you find yourself more intimidated by Eddie with every passing show. Each week in the balcony, your Friday nights dedicated to making him and the band look their best for the sake of The Kindling, it chips away at that insurmountable wall of hate you’d lived behind for so long.

You don’t want to know what life is like outside of it.

“So, what did you show the class?” Eddie asks from behind his mug. The way his drink is steaming up, there’s no way he didn’t burn his tongue on that first sip, and you watch for a moment as he blows on the surface.

Selma and Jeff both look at you, and you run your finger over the rim of your mug.

“Creating mood. The professor, um—”

“Tiffany Devlin,” Selma offers.

“Right, Professor Devlin, she did this whole long monologue and I lit her to show how lighting can impact tone and mood. We tried a few different things,” You take a sip of your drink, “Turning a dramatic monologue comedic was the hardest, I think.”

You laugh to yourself, and Selma joins in. Jeff and Eddie stare at you, waiting to be let in on the joke.

“Sorry,” You say, clearing your throat to speak, laughing through your words, “The students took turns trying it, and one guy’s solution to the drama turned comedy was to just move the spotlight, so the professor had to maintain this tragic, heartbroken tone while chasing a spotlight around on stage.”

Selma loses herself in laughter, covering her face, shaking her head to regain composure, but her fit only serves to send you all into your own bouts of laughter.

She has one of those infectious laughs, and though the imagery of this faceless professor probably isn’t as amusing for Jeff or Eddie, they both join in. Whether they’re laughing with or at you and Selma, there’s no telling, but everything feels normal and light for a moment. You look around at the other tables; nobody is watching you, nobody is staring or grimacing.

This foursome of obnoxious, aimless laughter is sweet and connects you all and for a fleeting second the smile on Eddie’s face entirely abolishes that wall you’re grappling so desperately onto. It’s his eyes on yours that put it back up, the vulnerability of your happiness, the burn of his eyes on you.

You take a couple swigs of your drink to kill off any giddiness that remains, still feeling his gaze as the laughter dies among the group. You’re all clearing your throats, taking sips, rectifying the awkward moment when losing the smile on your face feels unnatural after sitting with it for so long.

Jeff shakes his head, still smiling, “Sounds a lot more fun than any of my classes.”

Selma leans into you, “Jeff’s going for Music. Education, too, right?”

He nods, “If I can get into the classes I need next semester, yeah. If not, then fuck it.” He blows a raspberry, “I’m not spending a whole extra semester here just for a minor.”

“Yeah, sounds terrible.” Selma says with an eye roll as she polishes off her coffee. She sets her chin down in her hands, “Thanks for reminding me I’m stuck here for at least another year and a half.”

Jeff scrunches up his nose and takes a drink, and you nudge Selma when nobody else moves to speak, “Trust me, Sel, it goes by faster than you think. You’re gonna miss college, they kinda expect you to be weird here.” You tap your temple, “Think outside the box, all that. Then you’re out in the ‘real’ world and they want you to wear pencil skirts.”

“Oh, well, what a way to build her confidence.” Eddie says, spinning his mug slowly, his eyes following the rim.

Selma shrugs and hums, “Good thing we already know how bad it is out there. The Kindling is not for well-adjusted people.” She laughs, and you exhale with a smile, nodding in agreement.

“You should know, too, yeah?” She gestures to the boys, “You’re also from Hawkins.”

“Yeah,” Jeff says, and he seems to notice just as well as you do how instantly Eddie shrinks into himself. It’s not a big show of cowardice, but the flicker of his eyes down, a flinch in his shoulders, his tapping thumb freezing for a second.

“It’s not worth talking about,” Eddie interjects, leaning back in his chair, his back popping as he presses against the wooden slats, “We’re never going back there, and far as I’m concerned, the whole town can turn into a fucking sinkhole.”

“Nearly did.” Jeff says from behind his mug, sliding down in his seat when Eddie whips his head to look at him. There’s not anger in his face, but neutral warning, like Jeff is encroaching upon something that they’ve agreed to leave behind.

There’s a beat of silence before Selma sits up in her chair, “Yeah, anyway, uh…Eddie, got any new torture stories to tell us about?”

You look between them, forcing yourself to focus on this new topic of conversation, ignoring that brief pause from Eddie as it played in the back of your mind. You furrow your brows, letting curiosity take precedence over concern, “Torture stories?”

Eddie’s eyes meet yours with no hint of derision or contempt for the first time, a smile even pulls at the corner of his lips, “It’s not as interesting as you’re hoping. I’m taking a Medieval Death course.” He turns to Selma, “And I do have something new.”

She leans forward on her elbows, tapping her fingers together in front of her face as she waits. They both look over at Jeff, who finishes off his drink as he stands, a dribble of coffee escaping the corner of his mouth. He wipes it away, and sets his mug down, “I’m gonna grab something to eat while you three ruin your appetites.” He pats Eddie on the shoulder, and you watch him until he disappears into the cafe.

Returning your attention to Eddie, he scoots his chair closer to the center of his side of the table. If you didn’t know him as well as you did, you would think of this as a small consideration towards you, but Eddie is a performer, and this is as close as he can get to sitting at the head of the table. There’s a brief flash in your mind of him in his throne, letting your party sit in anticipation as he watches with a sly grin.

“The year is 1160,” He starts, “Henry le Dale was a clergy member with a penchant for sacrilege. In an attempt of reformation, the church sends him to a struggling community. The people are impoverished, they’re faithless, but old Henry is there to lift their spirits and bring them to the light!”

Eddie affects his voice as he speaks, his hands animated and setting a scene best he can. Selma is firm in her intrigue, and you’re finding yourself more amused than you expected. Right now it seems as though you’re just a member of the audience, a strange face in a thin crowd, watching the show unfold before you.

It feels nice to sit with him in neutrality.

“The community, under Henry’s strong tutelage, thrives and grows. What the church sees, they’re pleased with, and what they don’t…well, it can’t hurt them. These extracurricular activities have been lost to time, unfortunately for us. Perhaps gambling in the backroom of the local inn? Debauchery and intimacy throughout the town among clergy members? Their oaths broken by the sweet temptation of the local maidens?”

He flicks his eyes to you with that little smirk, and you snap your jaw shut, all at once aware of the way your body leans towards him in your seat.

“Henry found himself at the mercy of one of these ladies, away from the grand church in the city, away from prying eyes and round the clock prayer. He makes a home, builds a life. And then, bam!” Eddie claps his hands together, but neither you nor Selma flinch. There’s a flash of disappointment on his amused features, but he continues without losing that grin, “The monks call him back. They say to Henry, ‘Your time in this community has proven fruitful, come back to the mother-house and return to your monkly duties.’ But Henry doesn’t go. How can he? He’s built a whole life outside of monkshood, found true love!”

Selma scrunches her nose up and frowns, for a moment her lips part as though to speak, but she remains silent.

Eddie looks between you two, letting the silence swell.

As tight as you hold to the disdain and dislike, seeing Eddie tell this story brings you back to Hawkins. Back to the only place you’d call home in that stuffy, tired town. It takes everything in you to sit still, to keep your eyes from widening, to affect disinterest in his story.

Despite the effort, you’re almost certain he sees through you just as you can see through him. There’s an attempt to entertain, to impress. Just as he looked up at you from behind blinding stage lights as he sang, postured in confidence and that smug air of righteousness, so now does he sit with his attention on you.

“How do you leave the one you love behind? Henry couldn’t, but he’d made an oath, and even if he wasn’t hard enough in faith to fulfill it, the monks were. They came back to the community Henry had so dutifully served, and they ripped him from his life. From his fair maiden. Back to the world of clasped hands and silent nights.”

His tone falters now, and he takes a moment to recollect himself.

You look over at Selma, her arms folded atop the table, head set down in her hands. She’s not picking up the subtleties between you and Eddie, fully enthralled in the story, her eyes wide and waiting.

Eddie runs his finger around the rim of his mug, “Henry could not live with the life that was to be thrust once more upon him, and so, on the road back to the mother-house, he made a choice. In Catholic lore, those who take their own life are condemned to purgatory. Not heaven, not hell, but somewhere in between. And so Henry, drowning in loneliness and grieving the life he could have had, rectified this end. For what would heaven be without his wife? And what was hell if not the life he was to live? The monks found him in the bathtub of a local inn, blood red as sacramental wine, skin pale as the moon. And that is how Henry le Dale’s life in service ended.”

He sat back in his chair, leaning an elbow on Jeff’s unoccupied seat, spinning his mug around.

Selma offered him quiet applause, “Not the most brutal, but still, good storytelling as always.”

He tilted his head to her in silent thanks.

“So this is a thing with you two, recounting horrific medieval deaths?” You looked between them, trying to keep judgment out of your tone. You’re not sure that you did, but neither of them take offense to the question, they just nod.

“You should hear some of the things they did. Do you know what an actual Iron Maiden is?” Selma asks, a lilt of excitement in her voice.

“It’s that box with the spikes that stab you to death, right?”

Eddie taps his finger on the back of the chair, “Worse, they just poke you enough that you’re stuck in that tiny metal cage, slowly bleeding out. But they didn’t even use them in the medieval era, as fucked as they are.”

“No?” You ask, and he shakes his head, looking up at you from under his brows, “Okay, when were they used, then?”

“Take a guess.” His response is just as much a challenge as your initial question, and you two sit at a stalemate while you drum through random years in your head.

You shrug, “Late 1700s, I guess.”

He smiles, but it’s disingenuous in part, “1802. You get half a point.”

You shoot him an ‘O-K’ with your fingers, and before the moment can settle, Jeff comes striding up.

“Hey, man, I completely forgot, I have a tutoring session in literally ten minutes.”

“Shit, well that’s fine, I can hitch a ride with Selma. Yeah?” He looks over at her and she shakes her head.

“No can do, guy. I have a class in thirty. But,” She turns to you, and Jeff’s gaze follows, “You drove here, right? You can take Eddie.”

“I—” You freeze, seeing the worry on Jeff’s face, the frown on Selma’s. If she suspects anything between you, there’s no notion of it now. Staring at them, you decide to yourself it’s not a favor you’re doing Eddie, “Yeah, I guess.” You point at him, “But you better cough up some gas money. I’m not a chauffeur.”

Jeff pats his hands on the table, “Great, okay, thank you. See you guys later.” He slaps Eddie on the shoulder, “See you at home, man.” Before turning to hurry across the quad.

You look at Eddie with a blank face, pushing your mug away from you until it clinks against Jeff’s.

“I should go, too. Whoever decided that it was okay to have a test the day before break should be drawn and quartered.” Selma scoots her mug up against the others.

You all stand, and she grabs her bag, walking off backwards with a wave. She points at you, “Thursday, don’t forget the pie!” And strolls away behind a building.

Without looking back at Eddie, you throw your bag over your shoulder and start off towards the parking lot. You can hear his footsteps on the concrete behind you, his shadow just at the corner of your eye. Neither of you break the silence as he follows you across campus.

The near-winter wind seems to blow right through you, already brisk despite it being midday. The trees around you are flush with their last remaining leaves, red spotted with black and orange turned brown, fluttering in the air. They crumple underfoot with a satisfying crunch. It would be a beautiful walk with someone you loved, but your thoughts are singularly focused on retracing your steps back to the parking lot you’d entered from.

Eddie would know this campus better than you, and you wanted more than anything to avoid having him take the lead.

Past a wall of hedges, you see the distinct bulb of bright purple atop your car’s antenna, a sparkling Christmas ornament that came with the car. It felt too personal to get rid of, and now it’s a welcoming beacon for moments like this. Not that you have many moments like this, but the familiar comfort of your perseverant shitbox is still comforting. You quicken your pace, unlocking the car and sliding into the torn leather seat. Eddie yanks the handle before you’ve unlocked his side, and he leans down with a faint look of disdain through the cloudy window.

“Get your hands away from the door!” You say, waving him off. He raises his hands and shakes them at you with belligerence, as if to say ‘Alright, look, I did it. Happy now?’

You wished more than anything to stop understanding him so entirely.

The car rumbles to a start, and Eddie sets his hand on the dash, feeling it thrum under his palm. He turns to you to speak, but you rip out of your parking spot, forcing him against the seatback.

“Buckle up, c’mon, Ed.” You fix your hand on the gear shift, tapping a finger in expectancy.

He takes his sweet time. Poking at the ornaments in your rearview, making sure his bag is zipped, checking the backseat. You finally peel off before he’s clicked in, a hair away from the level of dangerous driving he’s used to.

At the first stoplight you look over at him, and he stares back, feigning innocence and incompetence. You’re not sure why he seems to have been taken over by a rowdy toddler today, but it makes you miss the seething derision he’d held for you that first night.

“You owe me double now.” You lean over him and grab the seatbelt, yanking it taut over his chest. His breath hits your cheek, and you can see a smile forming on his mouth. If you could, you’d smack it off.

“I’d pay you triple to do that again.” He says, leaning the chair back, an arm behind his head.

“Fuck off.” You continue straight, and Eddie hisses, “Yeesh, you were supposed to turn left.”

You turn into the nearest parking lot, slamming the car into park and turning to him, “What the fuck is your problem today?”

He shrugs, reaching his hand back to wrap his fingers around the metal spoke of the headrest.

“If you just get us to your place then we won’t have to deal with each other anymore today. I already dealt with you more than I wanted today.”

“Dealt with me? Ugh, I’m wounded.” He lets his head loll against the crook of his elbow, and he stares at you with blank eyes.

You close your eyes and orient yourself, taking a few seconds to gather your breath.

“Eddie, seriously. You and I both know we’re not friends. We’re barely acquaintances. The fooling around is—it’s, whatever, but I just want to go home. For the sake of Selma and Jeff, I was fine playing nice, but you’re making it very hard for me to not just kick you out on the side of the road.” Keeping your gaze on the crumbling pavement of the parking lot, you do your best to ignore his stares.

The tension in the car settles as you focus your breathing, and you watch Eddie’s hand creep over to the radio. He leaves it on a station playing Billy Joel, and points out the window, “It’s over on Spring, flip a U and head that way.”

Eddie’s quiet voice giving directions is the only communication between you the entire drive, a short commute stretched by midday traffic and the anxious knot in your stomach. You watch Eddie flip through the stations after just about every song, silently conceding the radio to him in order to keep the peace.

An entire lifetime might as well have passed by the time you pull up to Eddie and Jeff’s tiny apartment complex. A two-story complex of three buildings that looks more like a motel than any permanent residence.

“Alright. See you Friday.” You lurch forward into a parking space, leaning an elbow on the windowsill and gliding your hand over the curve of the steering wheel.

“Thursday.” Eddie says, and you turn to look at him with knitted brows.

“Thursday?”

“Yeah, Thursday. Iona invited us.”

“But you can’t cook. You’re just gonna freeload a Thanksgiving dinner from all of us?” You throw a hand up and let it fall over the steering wheel.

Eddie steps out of the car, “You need booze right? See you Thursday!” He slams the door, and you stare down at the floorboard where he left his bag.

If he doesn’t notice, you’re not doing him the favor of returning it.

Watching him walk off, you unzip the front pocket and rifle through, sifting through loose change and crumpled ones. There’s a twenty sitting pretty at the bottom of it all, and you pluck it out to stick in your pocket. A knock on the window almost startles you, but you keep cool and look up to see Eddie with his forehead against the glass.

“Thief.” He mutters.

“Not a chauffeur.” You point to yourself, shaking your head and rolling the window down.

He darts in through the window to yank his bag out, but pain flashes over the anger on his face, and he pulls back, “Ow, Jesus, fuck!”

“What now?” You roll your eyes, but irritance turns to concern when Eddie steps back from the car with a slice on his lower abdomen, “Shit, fuck. I forgot to warn you there’s a stupid little piece of metal sticking out from the window.”

Pressing his hand to the slice, he glares at you, “No kidding.”

You throw the car into park, roll up the window, and run around to meet him, bag in hand, “Alright, alright. You got first aid stuff inside?”

He nods, wincing as he looks at the tear in his shirt, fabric clinging to his torso with blood. Eddie had never been one to falter at the sight of blood, but his hand came to his hip, eyes following, and it took all your effort to keep him upright as he stumbled in the parking lot.

“Woah woah, okay, um. Keys,” You say to yourself, unclipping his key ring from the bag with your free hand.

“I’m fine, seriously, fine.” He screws his eyes shut, shaking his head, but his Adam’s apple presses hard under his throat, and you can feel his hand tremble around you.

The two of you stumble into the apartment, and you let Eddie slump down on the couch.

“Take off your shirt. Where’s the first aid stuff?” You start opening cabinets in the kitchen, drawers in the living room.

“Bathroom.” Eddie peels up his shirt, but you’re rushing down the hall into the bathroom before you can see the full breadth of the slice.

Scooping up whatever you can from their threadbare cabinets, you hurry back to the living room and dump it on the floor in front of Eddie, “Hey, I said shirt off.”

He shakes his head, and you can hear the lump in his throat, “N—no.” There’s a panic in his voice, through his body. He’s pressing the bridge of his nose tight, and you stare at him for a moment in shock before forcing your focus back to the slice.

“Okay, okay,” You set a hand over his knee, “Look at me. I need to see what I’m working with.”

When he opens his eyes and fixes them on you, it’s grounding for you both. There’s a vulnerability here that he’s living with, letting you take care of him, letting you see this shaken, scared version of him. And you owe yourself the acknowledgement that you could have listened when he said he was fine, could’ve dropped him on the couch with a bandaid and left.

It isn’t accurate to say you’re happy to be taking care of him, it’s more an inconvenience than anything. His panic may have caught you off guard, but there’s still a prick of irritation as you look at him. You aren’t even absolutely sure if it’s irritation for him or for yourself. For the pang of care that rumbles in your chest, knowing that he didn’t afford you the same consideration you’re extending now.

When it counted, he left you.

He sets his unbloodied hand over yours, closing his eyes and nodding before he sits back against the couch and pulls up his shirt.

The slice isn’t deep, hitting mostly artificial arteries. The blood makes it look worse than it is, and the scar tissue surrounding it likely adds a significant amount of pain.

You exhale, your cheeks puffing out as you stare at the creeping mangled skin. It’s a faded pale white, like webbing stretched over his already pallid body. This scar would be a smooth, sharp knick compared to what’s there now.

“It’s just surface, Eddie, just surface. Okay?” You pat his knee, and start rifling through the supplies you’d brought.

Eddie nods his head, eyes on the ceiling as you press several peroxide soaked cotton balls to the wound, wiping away blood until the cut starts bubbling. He hisses, wincing back into the couch.

“I know, sorry, sorry.” Your tone isn’t empathetic, but you’ve done away with any sense of disdain.

It’s all too clear that Eddie is a step away from the panic he’s managed to fight off so far, and so it’s your job to be strong. To keep your own feelings of agitation and hurt out of it. It wouldn’t be entirely selfish to leave him to fend for himself, but you don’t imagine you would feel good doing so.

You smooth your hand over his knee, swiping pain relief gel over the cut and fixing a bandaid on top.

“All good,” You roll back on your heels, gathering up supplies and setting them on the coffee table, “I’m gonna get going, but you should…you should change your shirt.”

Eddie grabs your hand as you try to stand, his eyes glistening with tears, lip trembling. He doesn’t have to say anything for you to sit back down in front of him, but still you refuse to soften yourself. If you’re going to stay here with him, it won’t be out of the kindness of your heart.

You twist your hand around in his grip, flexing your fingers around his hand, guiding it to the waistband of your jeans. Everything moves at a snail’s pace, accommodation for his pain, for his panic. His parted lips well the pit in your stomach as he undoes the column of buttons down your front, pink and shaking with his broken breath. He knows he can stop, knows you might stay even if he does, those cavernous brown eyes pleading for company. You’re sure it doesn’t even have to be you.

If Jeff were here, you’d be free to go. But he’s not, so here you sit, propped up on your knees, the tips of his fingers slipping down the skin of your pelvis.

Your breath hitches when his hand slides beneath your underwear to cup you, his middle finger sliding up your slit, lighting up the secondary nerves and stopping just shy of your clit. He watches you with excruciating attention, sliding backward against the couch, drawing you close with his touch until you’re in his lap. He hooks a finger in your belt loop, his pull more guidance than direct action.

“Fuck, back off.” He snaps, your body at first pressing into his fresh cut, and you jerk away. His hand at your back stops you from entirely sliding off, and he favors his hip for a moment, setting his hand on the nicked skin, taking a couple deep breaths.

Your apology is a hand on his belt, the other freeing the bulge underneath his old denim, lowering a bulb of spit over the tip until it coats the reddening skin. You stroke your hand down over the saliva, watching the skin constrict as he grows harder. You grind yourself against his hand, his rhythm broken by your fingers around him.

It’s uncomfortable and delicate, slow hands and swallowed moans, you both ignore how well your bodies work together, how much you like it. This is still begrudging, balanced on a thin rope between hatred and tolerance. You won’t look at him for more than a second, though his gaze stays fixed on yours, burns through you as it always does.

The panic you saw on his face flashes through your mind, and you stroke him faster, affording brief glances up to his face until his eyes are shut. You watch his eyebrows knit together, catch his tongue darting out between his lips before they part, the guttural prefix of his whimpers now louder in the open air. You stroke him until his fingers on you falter, until his touch only works with you grinding into him.

“Mm-mm,” You tut, grazing the column of your wrapped fingers up, loose around him. The loose touch turns tight as his fingers slide into you, pumping up with the slight wiggle room he has, your jeans near taut in this position. A smile pokes at you, but his gaze forces it away.

Neither of you want the other to know how captivating this is, how whole it makes you feel. It’s incomparable, if you ignore who you’re looking at, ignore the red welt cracking underneath your rib cage. If it wasn’t Eddie, you’d have so much more of yourself to give.

Slinking down onto his fingers, you rock against him, subtle and slow, in time with your hand. His thumb circles your clit, and you grab his bicep with your free hand, pressing against the soft blue vein under his skin. Your eyes coast over the tattoo on the side, edges fuzzy and black ink a darker grey.

His voice calls your attention back, and he twitches under your hand. You don’t distribute the precum that seeps out from his tip, letting it instead dribble out in little streaks, your hand stopping just under the lip of his head. His moans gargle in his throat, shy of a growl, closer to an annoyed whimper. He presses his thumb harder against your clit, and the tenuous agreement of given pleasure degrades until there’s no kindness to your touch, no gentleness to his.

You grind on his fingers, spit on your hand, work him faster and harsher. You match each other in desperation, his free hand grabbing at your jaw, your free hand yanking the roots of hair at the base of his skull.

Only now can you look him in the eyes, see charcoal burning in the darkness, intimidation set in a wide cage. You look down at him from your perch, channeling indications of pleasure into your hand with a faster stroke or a tighter pull, his hair knotting between your fingers. His Adam’s apple ruts against his throat, every moan swallowed, jaw clenching.

Still, he can feel you flutter around him, and you can feel the shudder of his hips, like a cold chill running through. He lets his head fall back into the touch of your fist, and his touch on you softens, he pulls his fingers from you, slipping them up between your lips, sticking and wet. Sliding them over your clit, he’s just as lost in your touch as he is touching you.

It won’t sway you.

Rocking into his hand, you take the work upon yourself. His fingers are a nice jumping off point, but you don’t want him entirely carrying the pride of getting you off. You’re sure he can sense this, his fingertips faster now, his hand on your jaw inching closer to your mouth, thumb settling at the corner. He takes the inch you don’t mean to give, slipping his thumb between your lips, pushing against your tongue. You concede for a moment, sucking skin as you pull your head back, forcing him out with a wet pop!

You can feel the hot welt in your chest sinking into your stomach, an expanding bulb of nerves twisting and turning you inside out. You aren’t resolved to work him any harder than you are now, your hand around him never stumbling until you’re on the edge of orgasm.

Eddie feels the change in your body, fixes his eyes back on you as yours slide shut, your hand coming to grab his shoulder, to steady yourself on him as you rock. He keeps pace, running his finger over your clit, circles interchanged with simple drags of his middle finger down your lips.

Rocking harder into him, you almost like the laugh he lets out when you finally lose yourself. Static sharp in your brain, your body fuzzes with climax, muscles spasming against his fingers. It’s the closest you think you’ve ever been at this juncture, so close you could kiss him if you wanted. You ponder his lips for a split second, and he parts them in return. The thought is gone as quick as it came, and you slide off his lap to fix up the buttons on your pants, still coming down from orgasm, quick, quiet throbbing between your legs.

Eddie’s on the verge of anger when he says, “Hello?” He leans forward and snaps for your attention, your eyes blank and entirely done with this moment. His erection sits there, softening against his stomach, a patch of precum on his black shirt.

In the aftermath of your orgasm, he still looks pretty, if a bit pathetic.

You turn your wrist over for a too-quick glance of your watch. You don’t know what time it is, but still you say, “Shit, I forgot, I have dinner with Robin. Gotta go.”

He tucks himself back into his boxers, the creep of blush on his cheeks, “Woah, hey, what? Robin? You guys don’t talk.”

“Mhm.” You nod, smoothing over your shirt, “But we will.” You smile at him with your eyes squinted, and his face distorts further into offense.

You lean over to grab the pack of bandaids off the coffee table, “Soap and water and a new bandage before you go to bed.” Throwing them at him, you walk off toward the door, offering a lazy wave without looking back. You can just hear his voice, flattened and dead, as you walk out.

“Fuck, sure, see you Thursday.”

#eddie munson/you #eddie munson/reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #my writing #mine #live wire

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dancingkirby · 6 months

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Subject One excerpt: In which Aki makes a stupid-ass decision and Jack can't ignore it

This is most of the opening scene from Chapter 7, which is a slightly different take on the opening scene of Episode 45. Might be one of the last ones I can post so I don't give away too many ending spoilers!

WARNINGS: The usual inherent/implied underage. Mention of baby-killing as a hypothetical (I will spoil that this does not actually end up happening.)

@akiizayoi4869

“HOW COULD YOU HAVE BEEN SO STUPID?!”

All of the grief and anger that Jack had kept bottled within himself these past weeks exploded into that single sentence. As dumb as telling those ridiculous stories that everyone seemed to love for some reason had been, every minute he’d been occupied with making them up had been a minute that he wasn’t remembering Carly. Or how he’d failed her. Or how he still didn’t know exactly what had happened to her…

Aki recoiled, holding her duffel bag (in which she’d smuggled her baby) to her chest. At any other time, he’d have felt at least a vague sense of shame about scaring her like that, but right now his rage at her encompassed all of his other thoughts.

He hadn’t realized he’d jumped to his feet until Mikage said, “Um, Atlas-sama, you’ll need to sit down. The conditions aren’t safe for standing.” She had said nothing up to this point, despite the fact that Jack had been shouting at Aki over the top of her head.

“Here. I’ll switch with you,” Yusei offered. Jack wordlessly accepted. He plopped down onto the other bench with a huff, while Yusei also negotiated a seat swap with Mikage so he could sit next to Aki. Jack noted that he didn’t get scolded for standing up.

This pause, short as it may have been, had at least made it so Jack could calm down enough to verbalize exactly why he thought Aki’s decision had been stupid.

“You have just put our entire rescue mission in danger,” he informed her, in a marginally quieter voice. “And you’ve put Adam in danger too. He was going to be safe with your parents. Satellite is not a good place to take a baby even under normal circumstances, and we don’t know the full extent of what will be waiting for us there. We will all have our hands full with the Dark Signers–you included–and we can’t afford to be distracted by babysitting. What makes you think that Misty Lola wouldn’t kill your baby with a smile on her face if she got her hands on him? Kiryu’s good with a knife; I’m sure he taught her plenty…”

“That is enough, Jack,” Yusei practically growled. He wrapped an arm around the silently weeping girl and her much louder offspring. “You’re scaring Aki, Adam, and the twins.”

Sure enough, when he turned to look at Rua and Ruka, he saw them both flattened against the far end of the bench, looking at him like he’d personally killed the baby instead of merely talking about the fact that it was a very real possibility.

“Sorry about that,” he said briefly.

“I’d be glad to look after him,” Seria volunteered. “I’m not a Signer, so they won’t care about me, plus I have some experience with taking care of him.”

Jack made a little hmph. “Fine. But that’s not even half the problem. What if he also comes looking for them? Seria’s not safe from that. What on Earth made you decide this was a good idea, Izayoi? If you stopped to think for one second…”

Aki finally gathered the courage to speak up. “I was scared, okay?! He needs me. I didn’t want to just leave him there alone…and I guess I’m so stupid that I didn’t think it through.” She wiped the tears out of her eyes with an impatient flick of her arm.

“Guys, would it help if I turned around?” Ushio said from the pilot’s seat. “I was considering doing a missed approach anyway. That doesn’t look good.” He gestured at the black clouds and lightning outside, which they were currently in the midst of.

Mikage snapped, “No. We can’t retreat now!” In spite of his growing homicidal urges, Jack was impressed. Finally she was showing some spine.

Yusei pointed out the window. “There. Land there. It’s a clear spot and where we needed to go anyway.”

Ushio did not look happy to be taking orders from his arch-nemesis, but he directed the helicopter downwards anyway.

“Yusei, what’s that?” Aki asked, indicating the house and wooded park below them.

“It’s where Martha lives,” Yusei told her. Then, referring to Adam, he said, “Here, give him to me, I’ll see if I can calm him down any.”

Aki took the baby out of the bag and handed him over. She replied, “Oh, yes, Crow mentioned that once! He said it was the only pretty place in Satellite and I can see why. Do you think he’s there too?”

Yusei looked at her solemnly. “I hope so.”

The aircraft hit a wind gust and made a sudden jerk downward, giving everyone a scare. Adam, who had finally started to quiet down, picked up where he’d left off. Yusei told him, “It’s just some turbulence. We’re going to reach the ground in a matter of seconds, and then we’ll all be fine. You may throw up on me if you need to.”

This, Jack thought, was like giving a smoking volcano permission to erupt, but then again he knew nothing about babies.

Everyone clung on to whatever they could reach as the helicopter made its final descent. When it finally touched ground, there was another tooth-rattling jolt.

“You all okay back there?” Ushio yelled over his shoulder.

They were, except that Rua, Seria, and Adam had all gotten airsick and Jack had a nasty bump on his head. (Although it wasn’t like he hadn’t been used to this happening basically any time he walked through a doorway and forgot to duck.)

As Ushio completed the landing checklist, his muttering was audible. “Director asks me, have you ever flown a helicopter before? I say, yes, but not since training. He says, do it anyway. Well, never again!” He turned back to them. “Okay, guys? I’m all set. We can leave.”

#yugioh 5d's #yugioh 5ds #fanfic #aki izayoi #jack atlas

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lansplaining · 1 year

Text

[one snippet of a chengqing holiday romcom for an uncertain but roughly wintry span of time] [previous part]

Jiang Cheng left Jin Guangyao’s apartment and, instead of getting back in his car, just started walking along the waterfront. He didn’t consciously direct his steps towards Lotus Pier, but he couldn’t say he was surprised when he arrived there.

He skirted around to the wing of the building that they hadn’t been able to afford to rebuild yet, a hollowed-out shell that he had to periodically rebuff local complaints about. He was working on it, he insisted, and so far the city had cut him some slack. With Jin Guangshan’s money, it wouldn’t be a problem anymore. They could move to a smaller, cheaper location. A place where Wei Wuxian had never somehow broken a window during science class. A place where Jiang Yanli had never won a local student photography contest, and then the state contest, and then ended up with her photograph hanging in the state capitol for six months, and then they’d hung it up in the front hall of the school and she’d blushed and looked away every time she had to walk past it.

Jiang Cheng sat down on a low wall and buried his face in his hands. The distraction of dealing with Jin Ling and Jin Guangyao had let the flush of fury at Wei Wuxian ebb, and now he just felt sad and vaguely sick.

He’d asked himself over and over-- every day, it sometimes seemed-- why Wei Wuxian had just left in the aftermath of a-jie’s death. Maybe he was afraid of the responsibility of helping raise Jin Ling, he’d sometimes thought-- but there he was, looking after another little kid the same age. But it turned out it was the only other reason Jiang Cheng could ever come up with, the one that crept into his mind late at night when he couldn’t sleep: Wei Wuxian had never cared about them at all. Wasn’t that basically what he’d told Wen Qing?

Fuck. Wen Qing. Well, it had been a nice fantasy while it lasted, right? But she’d known Wei Wuxian first, and longer, and whatever he’d said-- how was Jiang Cheng supposed to compete with that? He’d never been able to win against Wei Wuxian. He’d never been the one who was good enough to get the things he wanted.

He was starting to feel the cold. He stood up and shoved his hands into his pockets, but immediately met resistance in both. He blinked. One was his phone, the other was-- oh.

Jiang Yanli’s phone.

He pulled it out. The red missed calls number was still bright in the corner of the screen. He knew he hadn’t called her that many times, and he’d never left messages. They’d both been...

“Jiang Cheng?”

Jiang Cheng’s head snapped up. He didn’t recognize the voice at first, but the figure was one he absolutely couldn’t mistake. Tall, broad shoulders, pristine white coat.

“...Lan Wangji? What are you doing here?”

“I might ask the same,” Lan Wangji said, cautiously approaching. “You do not have a coat.”

“I... yeah, so?”

Lan Wangji said nothing, just gave him a long, silent look that seemed to wordlessly say, so isn’t your situation notably stranger than mine? Jiang Cheng scowled.

“Seriously, what are you doing here?” Jiang Cheng asked. He and Lan Wangji were probably about equally stubborn, but he was confident he could definitely be louder about it.

“Uncle, brother, and I were having dinner nearby,” Lan Wangji replied coolly.

“And you decided to revisit old haunts or something?”

Lan Wangji was silent, but his gaze flicked away and his ears seemed to redden slightly. They’d all gone to school together, the Jiangs and the Lans-- and Wei Wuxian. The Lans were maddening, the boys that everyone’s parents compared them to, and while Lan Wangji seemed to hate everyone, he’d hated Wei Wuxian in particular.

But he’d come to the funeral. And when he asked Jiang Cheng where Wei Wuxian was, and Jiang Cheng-- angry, and grieving, and sleep-deprived-- had told him he didn’t know and didn’t care, it was as close as he’d ever come to seeing Lan Wangji lose his temper. They’d argued, if you could call it arguing when one person was yelling and the other was preternaturally cold. Despite moving in overlapping social circles, they’d avoided each other ever since.

But that detail stuck in Jiang Cheng’s mind now. That all Lan Wangji had been doing was asking after Wei Wuxian.

“Wei Wuxian’s in Sacramento,” he said suddenly. He hardly knew why. Maybe it served Wei Wuxian right, if his old school nemesis hunted him down. Jiang Cheng was pretty limited in the forms of revenge he could take.

Lan Wangji’s already impassive expression somehow went even blanker. “What.”

“Yeah.” Jiang Cheng laughed. He was aware it sounded a little hysterical, but Lan Wangji didn’t seem to notice. Jiang Cheng unlocked Yanli’s phone and held it out. “There. There’s his number.”

Lan Wangji took the phone slowly, seeming to be in a bit of a daze. He pulled out his own phone and carefully transferred the number. Then he looked at Jiang Cheng with an expression-- well, the ghost of an expression, it was still Lan Wangji-- Jiang Cheng had never seen him wear before.

“Thank you,” he said. He handed the phone back. Jiang Cheng took it, and before he could say anything else, Lan Wangji turned on his heel and left, disappearing into the night like a strange, tall ghost. The whole encounter was so brief and bizarre, Jiang Cheng didn’t feel sure he wasn’t some kind of ghost.

#chengqing christmas #it's important you all know that wei wuxian's initial plan was to drive to weed CA #and then he was like ok did that joke i'd better uh find an actual city where i can find a job

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hobbit-in-kuroshitsuji · 1 year

Text

"No More, No Less" - William T Spears Pre-Death Headcanon

CW: angst, negative view on humanity, very vague implied suicide - DMs are always open if you need someone to talk to <3

Inspired by Alice in Borderlands season 2, episode 6 and impressions I get from what William T. Spears says in the Reaper OVA, the Story of Will the Reaper, and manga <3. you can find my other shinigami headcanons here

“Life is cheap.”

William’s boss was a man several years younger than him. He had been handed everything since birth; money, affection, warmth, food… and lately, his father’s business. Said business fronted as a banking firm, offering loans to people incapable of affording rent.

It always surprised William how the majority of people that required loans for their rent were the middle class citizens of London, attempting to aspire to standards that would make them look good to their neighours, and which would make them look like they were not middle class citizens. I.e. they decided to live in places they could not afford to pretend they could afford it, to pretend they could afford things upper class citizens could.

As if being middle class was such a horrible thing.

But this banking firm was just a front. The real money came from building housing, renting out flats, etc.

"Vows are made to be broken. Words are meaningless and forgettable. No one grants others the pleasure of trust. And people abuse those who do trust. Life is cheap."

Actually, that wasn’t true either.

The real income was creating housing that was unstable and unsuitable for living in, so that they could gain a profit from the high rents they asked.

As a lawyer, it was William’s duty to ensure that any unwanted attention was redirected, and that all that occurred seemed to occur in a legal manner.

“The ones with the power to help, will never help.”

“Sir, this is a serious accusation-“

William’s words were cut off. His boss stood in front of large windows in his mansion, staring out over the surrounding gardens he never once worked in, nor cared for. Sunlight shone down on them, yet his boss didn’t seem to be lit up. The sun seemed to avoid him, leaving him in shadows, like a dark figure for William to try and see.

“The gardener isn’t doing what I asked.” His boss turned – or, at least, William thought he did. It was hard to tell the way he remained a dark blob within the light. His butler approached quickly, the only telltale that his boss had turned around. Bowing, the white gloved man nodded along with the order blindly, not a care in the world for someone’s livelihood, for the man's family...: “Fire him immediately.”

“Yes, my lord.”

William remained quietly standing in the office, regarding his boss with dead eyes. For years, his degree had been used for nothing good. For years, William had turned a blind eye to the darkness that resided within the man for whom he worked.

For years, William loathed him. His boss was a child who never grew up, inheriting a once reputable firm from his father only to turn it sour all in the name of money.

Now the darkness residing within the man had consumed him until he became nothing more but a power hungry demon sat atop his throne looking down at all others. And to his right stood William, always defending, always helping...

“And the ones with the power to help, will consume your soul after.”

Demons… They came both in mortal and immortal varieties.

“What were you saying, Spears?” Fixing his suit, he watched, emotionless as his butler stormed outside to fire the gardener.

William could almost bet his life on that the gardener had done nothing wrong, maybe just cut a bush too short. That was the kind of man William worked for.

That was why William could do nothing else but follow orders and work without emotion, without delay.

Or he would get fired too, and never see the light of a job ever again with the foul rumours his current boss would spread.

That was the power his boss held over him. Did the man care? No. Because to him, life was cheap. All he wanted was money, and those who earned him money.

“People got sick, sir. Children died.”

“And they wish to sue us?”

“They have.”

“Fix it, Spears.”

Silence followed. Polished shoes turned to walk over to William. Once he was out of the light, his face showed. Free of wrinkles. Not a sign of sleepless nights in sight - unlike William.

How did he sleep knowing what he was doing, what he had done? Or did demons not sleep at all?

“Who is to say that the factory next door wasn’t the reason?” William’s hesitation seemed to have sparked a brainstorming session with his boss, though William actively wasn’t participating. He just stared, stomach dropping. “Why should we stop renting out if we have done no wrong? The people can seek medical aid.”

"Most cannot afford it..."

"Then alert them to our other services. We can offer them loans."

The factory he spoke of was several blocks away. No one could prove, of course, that the poisoning of water wasn’t the factory, but if his buildings were the only ones affected… surely it would be obvious.

But no, it woldn’t be. Unfortunately, William knew exactly what to do in order to make it seem like it wasn’t their fault. He could find some laws. He could find some reasons.

But it wasn’t ethical. And children would keep dying.

If this had happened to his sisters, William would have cursed anyone who had swept this under the rug. His boss might be the one that was evil, but William allowed it to happen. William enacted evil’s wants.

In his eyes, William was the sole reason for evil existing in London.

“Laws don’t exist to protect the weak from the powerful…”

“Don’t look at me like that, Spears.” William immediately lowered his gaze, but he couldn’t help the repulsed expression on his face. “Any fool can work to enact equality. But in order to help the world, you need the power to bend the economy to your will.”

“And you wish to do so?”

“I wish to not have to be a fool fighting for equality just because I do not have it.” William’s boss smirked. “And I am going to get there. With, or without you. I will live my life in peace.”

“Laws exist so the powerful can control the weak… and make it look justified.”

“Well? What is your decision? Will you do it, or not?”

“Only those who have known and measured the weight of a life are given true reaper glasses. Glasses of life.”

“I will do as you ask, sir.”

He had to remember… it was just a job. There was no place for emotion in a job. He had to do his duty as a lawyer. No more. No less. He had to follow the orders that came from up high without asking questions.

And even if that required him to kill all that made him human, to quell that which caused him to feel by hurting himself emotionally and physically… William T. Spears would do it. Successfully.

Without fail...

As the years passed him by, he lost the ability to smile. To feel. Or perhaps it was hidden so deep within him that he no longer did it - if he let himself feel, he would feel the effects of looking away from the evil happening in London.

But at least his sisters and their husbands were well cared for in houses he knew were safe, with monetary benefits he could provide each month. At least his nieces and nephews had good familial reputations, gained the education they so desired, and any toys and clothing they might wish for.

He himself never took a wife, nor fathered any children. He could not live with the knowledge of letting someone love only the part of him he showed them... he could not live knowing a wife dutifully tended to him as he enacted evil's will.

Uncle William T. Spears never once missed out on a birthday, a present, or any kind of monetary support.

He did miss out on little feet running up and down the hallways of his large house, the warm embrace of a lover.

Uncle William T. Spears also never took a break, never smiled nor laughed, rarely slept, and never lived. The only way he could keep going was if he was already dead inside. The only way he could do what was required of him was if he saw life as cheap, despite if his support to his own family showed the opposite resided within him.

When the lack of life, the lack of love and the lack of joy cut too deep, he could finally breathe out and sleep… but he would never rest.

And he would never lack in his work even in death.

Despite chanting that no emotion ought to be part of his work, the other Shinigami surely noticed the grip on his scythe was a little tighter if cinematic records revealed a life lived walking over others, thinking of life as cheap…

Just a little something that I've had on my mind for so long now, but never written down - after talking to some people I realised I should just... write it out. This is just one of many headcanons I have about William and why he is/seems so closed off <3 having watched Alice in Borderlands, I got tangible creative juices to work with so..... here we are! :3 let me know what you thought, my ask box is always open to talk about William or anything Kuro related ;)

(and yes, those first gifs is lawyer!will ;) )

I'll upload this fic to my Ao3 Archive soon too

#black butler #kuroshitsuji #william t spears #shinigami #reapers #headcanon #one shot #fanfic #fic #gif #william t spears gif #alice in borderlands gif #william fics #my headcanons

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slightlyunconventional · 2 years

Note

Thought: Steve sitting in on a D&D campaign at Eddie's trailer because he's the kids ride, something off about Steve but Eddie can quite figure out what it is. At some Steve point making some half-assed, lame excuse to leave the room but after a bit Eddie decides he's been gone too long for his comfort. So he suggests they take a break, so he can subtly go check on Steve.

Freaking out a little when he realizes Steve isn't in his trailer, because the only other place he can be is outside but it's pouring. Cue Eddie finding Steves dumb little ass in the rain sneezing his head off because he's sick and he didn't want tell anyone or risk staying in the trailer where someone might hear him.

this is AWESOME okay here's a fic of this (this is like. volume 2 divergent. none of that happens. post vecna, nobody died the end) [833 wds]

The small room is filled with loud voices and laughter. Since graduating (finally), Eddie started hosting the Hellfire campaign in his trailer.

Steve had begrudgingly agreed to come along and watch for this week's session, but firmly refused to play their quote "stupid fantasy game". He currently sits at the table near Eddie, overlooking the game.

Eddie's booming narration cuts through the commotion. "As you traverse the cave system, your party approaches a fork in the path. From deep within the left path, you can hear the guttural roars of a foul beast, and from the right, thick, purple smoke pours toward you," he says, "choose a path or die waiting." The last part is added with menace.

The group immediately begins discussing. Questions are thrown around the room like, "how many hit points do you have left?" or, "can we afford to heal if that smoke is poison?" Eddie simply watches in amusement. He glances at Steve, who appears to be zoned out, staring at a vague area of the opposite wall, and observes the slight pallor to his face and how the pink of his nose stands out against it. The guitarist opens his mouth to say something but Steve snaps out of it with a blink and a soft sniffle. Before Steve can question Eddie, Mike speaks up.

"We've come to our decision!" he says.

"Great. What's your choice, then? Enlighten me." Eddie tilts his head to one side, wearing a smirk and regarding the group.

"We're taking the left path," Mike says with confidence.

Eddie sucks a breath in through his teeth. "Final answer, Wheeler?"

"Uh. Yeah? Yes. We're going left."

"Alright, then," Eddie's smirk widens as he looks back below his screen. "You venture down the left path, and find yourselves before what looks like a-"

He's cut off by Steve gently tapping on his arm. Eddie turns to him.

"What's up?"

"I'm gonna, uh. I need to... use the bathroom?" tries Steve.

Eddie regards him for a moment before replying, "Yeah, sure. Through there and to the right." He gestures vaguely across the room.

"Thanks."

Steve pushes his chair back and stands up. He closes his eyes, sways slightly on the spot, then makes his way over to the door. Eddie has suspected something was up since the start of the evening, but couldn't quite put his finger on it. He lets it go for now.

Ten minutes pass. Steve still isn't back, and Eddie's starting to worry a little. Conjuring an excuse on the spot, he addresses the club.

"Hey, right, how about we take a break?"

Understandably, there's uproar.

"But we need to see what's behind that door!" Dustin shouts over the clamour.

"Yeah, yeah, we do, but I just figured we've been here a while... Why don't you kids go get some Coke from the fridge, or whatever. I'm gonna take five."

The group groans but complies. Eddie stands up immediately and makes a beeline for the bathroom. He listens outside the door for a few seconds, and upon hearing nothing, knocks on the door. Again, nothing.

"Steve? You in there?" he says to the door. No response. "Jesus Christ."

Eddie begins looking around, first his bedroom, then the kitchen... nothing. Maybe he wanted some air? he thinks, heading toward the back door of the trailer. He flings it open and is met with the sight of...

"Steve? The hell are you doing out here? It's bucketing down!"

Steve is standing outside in the pouring rain, one hand against the top of his car for support, the other arm, completely soaked through, being used to muffle sneeze after sneeze in desperate succession.

"Oh, God, uh, h-hi... huHh-hrRSCHH! Fuck... sorry. I-I - huh'gKTSHH! hH'DTSHUH!"

"Fuckin' hell, Stevie. Why didn't you tell me you were so goddamn sick?" Eddie says, approaching him. He places a gentle hand on the sick boy's forehead. "You're warm."

"I... didn't wanna haAhH- have t-to.. to..." Steve pauses, eyes half-closed as he evidently tries to fight the inevitable.

"Jesus, Steve, just sneeze. I don't care," Eddie says, breathing out a laugh.

"-huhh... huH'RRSCHHIUH!" The sneeze wrenches through Steve, causing him to almost double over with the force.

Eddie raises his eyebrows sympathetically before taking the taller boy in his arms. Steve practically melts into him.

"Sorry. I didn't... didn't want to have to make you cancel, or anything. I know how much this campaign means to you," says Steve against Eddie's chest. Eddie holds him tighter, closer.

"Don't apologise, oh my god. It's not your fault. You should have told me you weren't feeling well. I can't believe you." Eddie says reassuringly. "Let's get you inside, yeah? You can sleep on my bed tonight, I'm not letting you drive yourself home, not like this."

Steve protests. "But- what about the kids? I have to drive them home too..."

"Don't worry about that, princess, I'll get something sorted. For now, all you need to think about is a towel and some sleep, okay?"

#omg. this was so fun to write!!!#thank you for the prompt anon i had a blast!!#please request more st/eve guys i love him #snz #snzblr #snz kink #snz blog #snzario #stran/ger thi/ngs #snzfic #sneeze kink

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neon-green-reagent · 7 months

Text

You don't have to read this. I'm just having a rough time. A health and money rough time, which is such a double whammy, and I just had to get it out.

It feels like this was entirely out of nowhere, but I guess it wasn't. I've had hip pain for a while now. It's on and off. Like it would get aggravated, then heal, then aggravated again. I finally got an answer about that. I have old age problems. In my spine mostly. One of those things most Tumblr users truly won't understand and will go pale over as they sit comfortably in their 20s and 30s.

And like okay. Fine. My spine's melting slowly over time. That happens to lots of people. My age is usually when it starts. But also it suddenly hurts a lot. In the last two weeks, it got way worse all at once. I bent over, something wrenched, and since then I've been kinda fucked. The MRI showed that whole spine melting thing, which is supposed to be gradual, but also a bulging disc, and that's probably what I did right there. I slipped something out of place.

So the problem is... All this test taking happened because I had some blood tests that made it look like I had an autoimmune disease. So I went to the specialist you see for that: a rheumatologist. She ruled out basically everything, and when my MRI came back, she said welp! That's not my field! And waved goodbye and offered me nothing beyond that.

I went to a spine specialist, and they offered options. All of which were vaguely scary. Take a pill everyday. Get a shot in your back. Get physical therapy. So I said can I get some physical therapy? And they said yes. That's happening in about two and a half weeks. The problem is, since I made this decision, the back pain has flared to a new level.

Now when I get done with a day of work, no matter how low impact it was, I'm in pain. Two ibuprofen? What are you, NINE? No, we need at least four at a time. My already terrible GI tract is really hating this, by the way. Last night, for the first time, the pain woke me. I couldn't get comfortable. I couldn't lie in any position that didn't hurt. I was EXHAUSTED and couldn't sleep because the pain was too much.

So now I've stayed home from work, icing my back, taking four ibuprofen at a time, getting emails from my supervisor, still in pain, looking at a future with possible surgery in it and wondering you know... What happens if I can't walk? What happens if the pain won't stop and I can't sleep? How will I afford these procedures and specialists?

Because wanna know the other thing that happened? My car died. I had to replace it in a rather emergency fashion. So that was pretty much all the money I had saved up and a new car payment hanging over my head. My health insurance is... not the worst but far from the best. That MRI was covered by most of it, but I still have to pay a portion. So I may not be able to get the care I need at this point.

I'm feeling really overwhelmed and alone. Everyone in my immediate family has passed away. Everyone in my extended family is not interested in helping me out and are hyper religious to boot and do NOT know certain things about me. Keeping them at a distance is for the best. Everyone around me is getting their ass thoroughly kicked by inflation. There's not a lot of hope here. I'm trying very hard not to look at this pain as "this is my life now", where I can't sit for more than 15 minutes at a time and can barely sleep. But, hell, it might be.

The hopeful part... I'm trying to get my general doctor to fill out some paperwork that will make work easier on a lot of levels until I can figure out what I'm doing. So, you know, when I call in my supervisor can't email me and make me feel like shit, that sort of thing. And the physical therapy I'll be getting truly is the most highly recommended first course of action when dealing with something like this. But I sort of wish that specialist hadn't brushed me off after I just received a pretty scary test result. Because now I feel ignored and alone. And I really wish my car had made it a few more months, because now I'm broke, too.

TLDR: I'm broke, my back hurts, and it all sucks.

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axyer · 10 months

Text

Hello, Chonny's Charming Chaotic Cretins, here is a fic I wrote that you might've already read on AO3

It's called Tired Feathers, and essentially it's about Heart getting stuck mid-air because he doesn't know how to land (for reasons that you will all be enlightened by in the future 😉)

Some context to this AU: Heart and Mind are NOT the same person as Soul/Whole, but rather essentially parts of his brain that were awakened and took form, with the desire to merge with him once more; essentially anomalies with a bizarre purpose.

Also Mind really likes How It's Made. (Nerd)

Quiet thuds smacked the carpet floor, a dull smell of dim, nostalgic memories wafting from the ground.

Cool air flowed through the house; a beginning autumn season, pirouetting through the open door of March.

Even in spite of a simple world inside the head of a man lost to his senses, it appeared the chilled, bitter wind and temperature from the outside world reflected in the residence swathed by his memories.

Drops of cool water slumped from an invisible sky; spilling into the rising gradient of black, to grey, to white, collecting in wet mounds of slushy ground.

A lavender nose moved from centre to left, posed like a startled deer as unsight locked onto the noise of a telly.

From the perspective of the other, his eyes had been stuck to the series of morphing shapes of light, iron hands resting on his furled lap.

A muscular build; broad, hard shoulders; a firm sternum.

Vaguely oceanic-hued hair in untamed curls sauntered down his neck; a single pale eye, with almost silvery skin; half of his face almost reminiscent of a pit of torn charcoal.

An unearthly tall stature, easily exceeding two metres, donning an indigo, accented-black polo neck; black daks, with a distinct necklace encasing his throat.

A dark crown hovered above his head; his feet acting as shoes, shaped as such.

Knees bent and tucked to his chest, his vision wide as it sucked in every last detail on the screen.

The counterpart’s sightless gaze fixed on the other, palm placed onto the painted wall.

He had a blindfold wrapped around his “eyes” and buried under obsidian-hued hair; a heather hoodie hugging his torso.

Dark pyjamas encased his legs; nothing to cover his somewhat long, acicular hooves.

Orchid, pheasant-like wings rested on his back; black rings, composed of holograms, circled his wrists, ankles, and torso; a final, larger one settling above his head, studded with sharp lines, reminiscent of a halo.

An almost-silence took over.

Spared by the gentle discussion of factorial processes, as Mind consumed every detail of the information spewing from the blaring box.

Heart could nigh admire the peaceful scenario; Mind was much too focused on his odd show showcasing the creation of many common objects to descend into cacophonous argument.

It felt quiet.

It felt tranquil.

Sedate.

Calm.

Hard nails touched the between of each string on the floor, and Heart pulled himself to the kitchen with a short series of footsteps.

Mind’s focus reigned undeterred; ceaseless attention to each fascinating craft.

Each gadget that moved to perform its part; every robot succeeding in its life’s purpose, failure I present.

He’d wanted to be like those machines on the screen.

He’d wanted to do his purpose as well, just as effortlessly…

♡♡♡♡

After microwaving a sliver of butter atop a crumbly sheet of bread, Heart gripped the plate between his digits, confident legs forming an upbeat stride as he exits the room, reeking of a potent, foul aroma.

Hooves pushing him in the desired direction, cautious wings notifying him of any sneaky walls afront.

A cheerful hum danced from his nose.

Mind had still been exerting each array of perception onto the screen.

Heart, a moment before arriving at the comforts of the couch, made a final, triumphant look at Mind.

Mind hadn't afforded a single glance.

With a lift of the corner of his mouth, Heart deposited his body onto the seat, and started to close his teeth around the bread.

Another beautiful silence.

The shrill echo of morning avians swam from the outdoors; a memory of a polite awakening.

Rushes of black glided through the world beyond their secluded home; almost as if the ground had a heartbeat, pulsing and surging in a monochromatic style.

The floors and staircase creaked and croaked with age, rhythmic taps from the burgundy hue upstairs.

Dust spread limitlessly across each untouched slab of oak.

All was well. All was good.

Heart, after having consumed the bread, crunchy in incorrect places, lifted his skinny body and took to depart with his plate.

Clink!

The dish slept in a cluttered mass of other unhappy plates, bowls, and the such.

Now was time to wait for Mind to clean them all up, as he did, with his obsession with cleanliness.

A modicum of a smile pressed into each side of Heart’s lips, and he idled at the base of the stairs, a hand touched to the railing.

A single toe clunked against the step, and momentarily, he paused.

He then turned his personal attention to Mind, or at least the sound of him.

“(Hey, Mind?)” Heart cooed.

“[…]” A quiet moment broke between their words. “[…Yes?]”

“(I’m… Glad we’ve been getting along today.)” Heart spoke, a soft, wispy voice, narrow lines of fought anger draping across each side of his tone.

“[…]” A deadly silence. “[I… am glad as well. It's been uncommon we've had days where we… Get along.]”

“(…)” Thus formed an awkward, but pleasant, smile.

Heart continued his ascent, before, once again, ceasing movement.

“(…)” …

Heart reversed his direction, and quietly stepped down the stairs, then trailing towards the couch again, hastily.

He leapt onto the such, and created a small circle as he crawled atop the cushions.

He then tilted his attention to the corporately-forced words emanating from the screen.

“[What… Are you doing?]” Mind asked, face contorting in sync with his puzzled pronunciation.

“(I… I wanna watch, too. So that I understand what you enjoy so much about this show.)”

“[Heart, you really don't have to…]”

“(But I must!)” Heart beamed. “(How else will we cooperate if we don't understand one another?)”

“[Heart…]” He could hear the humour in him slightly dispense. “[What did you do to the real Heart?]”

It was certainly an attempt at a joke.

“(Maybe the real Heart feels bad about how he treated the real Mind. Maybe the real Heart wants to understand him better.)”

He could only assume Mind was smiling, based on his lack of a disapproving huff and the vague “mrneh-mrneh-mrneh-mrneh” sound, singing from his modulator.

The sound of their kind showing interest; an alien voice.

♡♡♡♡

Heart made his best attempt to understand what was happening on the telly with his ears.

Wings curled behind his back, neatly bent and thoroughly relaxed.

The occasional adjustment of his blindfold, maybe a dance across his body with his warm fingers.

Mind had seemed much more focused than he had been, no big deal. Mind was logical, he was made for this. He can get the hang of it too, no worries!

Heart’s fingers bundled around his leg, watching with every sense except his own sight.

It was almost like watching a tutorial to create origami on a radio.

“(So… When the car is finished being built, how do they move it?)”

“[Were you not paying attention?]” A stern tone emerged. “[They use conveyor belts!]”

“(Alright…)” Heart sighed.

I’m not half as blunt as this when talking about my interests…

So many confusing words, such disorienting language.

His mind felt like it had reached a roadblock, and he couldn't view any thoughts anymore.

“(I… Have another question?)”

“[…]”

“(Wh… What does a ‘pneumatic press’ do?)”

“[Seriously?!]” Mind snapped, audibly standing up. “[It was explained, like, six times! It uses pressurised gas to…!]”

His thoughts had scattered.

A fog rolled through his mind.

“[Are you even listening?!]” Mind shouted.

“(Well, I'm trying to!)” Heart’s form extended upwards. “(I can't understand all of these stupid fancy words that these shows keep saying!)”

“[Maybe if you weren't so dense–]”

“(Maybe if one of us wasn't born to be the logical part of the brain, while the other was born to be the useless emotional side–)”

“[And here you go, throwing yourself a pity party!]” Mind cried, his voice packed with infuriation.

“(It’s not my fault I was made this way! It’s no help hearing you and Soul point out how inadequate I am, constantly, nonstop, without any pause, I didn't ask to be born this way!)”

“[Heart, none of us asked to be born. And besides, we were created! Heaven knows why we exist, we only spawned just to merge with someone anyway! Our existence is devotion to a cause we were made in the name of!]”

“(You act like I don't know that?! So what if we’re just awakened clumps of brain cells, why is it my fault that I just so happened to be the weaker, meeker clump of brain cells?)”

“[You obsess over our host in the weirdest way possible, and yet you fear him in every way!]”

“(Well…)” Heart itched the side of his neck. “(At least I actually know how to stand up for myself! You just let Soul push you around all day, at least I can set and maintain my own boundaries!)”

“[Like that's even remotely true! You let him walk all over you! You have zero semblance of what real love looks like!]”

“(You have– You have–)”

Heart let out a shout of ire; an inhuman, train-like screech following with his snarl.

A strong foot collided with the ground, and he made a fervent leap, gravity forgetting the shape of his body as his wings heaved and sent him through the air.

“[Heart! Stop that this INSTANT!]”

“(LA LA LA LA LA LA LA! I CAN’T HEAR YOU!)” Heart mocked, his person shooting through the interior of the house as he settled a few metres in the air.

After marching over, Mind crossed his arms, a strict stare stabbing Heart’s awkward position, whom had also had folded arms.

“[Heart. This is ridiculous.]” He scowled.

“(Mm-mm!)” Heart sneered, his head forced away.

“[Heart. Heart. This is very immature of you, and you know how that–]”

“(You're not making me want to come down anymore by insulting me, you wet flag!)”

It appears this would be more difficult than suspected.

“[Heart, come on!]” Mind yelled, clearly growing more frustrated by the second. “[You’re not a year old anymore, this is ridiculous!]”

“(No! You’re not coming up here! Get away from me!)”

Mind offered a sigh, and a package of heat began to curl within the soles of his feet, as he then started to levitate in a similar fashion.

“(HEY! NO! GET AWAY!)” Heart snarled, pointed nails tearing through the air and slashing blindly in front of him.

“[HEY!]” Mind hissed, descending until he regained connection with the floor. “[Don’t claw me!]”

“(Oh, I will claw you.)” Heart said, his lip recoiling to expose his violet teeth.

“[Heart, do not make me get Soul.]”

“(Soul?!)” Heart gasped, and performed a series of odd, almost flail-like movements. “(No! Don't get Soul!)”

“[Oh, I will.]” Mind smirked. “[You don't want that, do you?]”

“(…)” Heart pointed his head off to the side.

“[…Can…]” Mind blinked.

The id tossed and turned in the air, his lip bundled timorously.

His hands had been tightly enveloping one another, and his wings were open, almost like a welcoming embrace.

“[…Can you not get down?]” Mind asked, now stating concern.

“(NO! …Yes? I, I…)” Heart shuddered. “(I can't… I-I don't know how to… …land.)”

“[…Huh.]” Mind snickered. “[So that's why you never fly.]”

“(It’s EMBARRASSING, okay?!)” Heart yowled, shifting in air to appear almost seated.

“[Hey hey, you remember the id-half-of-a-whole-sort-of-brothers rule.]” Mind said, a clear laugh hiding behind his syllables.

Sigh. “(That we get one free laugh, and then we help.)”

“[That’s right. Now…]” Mind then proceeded to erupt into cackling.

Heart produced a cross expression, but allowed him to proceed roaring with ecstasy.

This continued for a minute or two.

“(Okay, okay! Are you done yet?!)” Heart whined.

“[Okay, yes, yes I am…]” Mind spoke, a hint of residual giggles flicking his words.

Mind had once again assumed aerial suspension, then crawling through the open space to take Heart’s wrist into his own hand.

Mind carefully navigated him down to a standard position, fixing his posture to a proper pose to hold while grounded.

“[Why can't you land anyway?]” Mind questioned, setting the other’s hooves to meet the carpet.

“(…Remember what happened with Soul? A few years ago?)”

“[Which time?]”

“(…The time where I got brain damage.)”

“[RIGHT. I’m. I'm sorry for asking, I know you probably don't wish to be rem–]”

“(It’s fine, Mind… It was just a question.)” Heart said, awkwardly adjusting his legs, almost like a baby deer.

“[Okay… On the count of three, I want you to let go of your entire body.]”

“(…Ok.)”

“[One… two… three!]”

And just like that, Heart tumbled out of place, nearly plummeting before he was caught in Mind's embrace.

“(Thank you!)” Heart smiled.

“[You’re welcome,]” Mind internally returned the expression.

“(…Now what?)”

“[…Now.]” Mind thought. “[…Let’s… watch one of those awful nineties cowboy movies.]”

“(Now that’s something the three of us can all enjoy.)”

And so, the day was woven together happily.

#chonny jash #chonnys charming chaos compendium #heart chonny jash #mind chonny jash #chonny jash fic #fallen angel

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i-mybrunettelady · 2 years

Note

For the writing asks "are you comfy?" For any of your ships or free style!

(@uselessidiotsquad )

listen... it's nyra hours... i'm sorry i can't write much else... she demands ATTENTION. also credits to you for inspo for this one bc recovery? fucking hard to write. not my best but that's okay.

-- Divinity's Reach, 1328 AE

-- cw for implied suicidal ideation

"I'm sorry for bothering you, Lady Ainsaph, but I'd like to see your daughter, if she feels well enough for it." Renira's voice is calm and even, a trained one for dealing with the aristocracy. And Lady Antonia Ainsaph is, by all accounts, a noblewoman; Renira immediately notes the expensiveness of her dress and the straightness of her posture. She doesn't follow the city's trends in their entirety, her neckline being just that much rounder than what the current fashion dictates, and her hair's done up, and, most interestingly, hairs are out of place.

It makes sense though, if her daughter's recovering from, well, almost dying in a war. Renira notes with slight disdain how clinical it all sounds in her head, as if she's making a profile on a woman who's done nothing wrong by being a good mother.

Antonia sighs and looks away. There's something vaguely Nyra-like in the way she does it, in the curl of her nose and the arch of her brow, pale where Nyra's is brown. "She is.. She's been fine this morning," she states, as neutrally as she can. "As fine as she can be at the moment. You can enter, miss Sulver, if Alys will have you."

Alys? That's new. Renira notes that too. "I fought beside her in the war," she says. And then, a layer of honesty, "I just want to check on her."

"Friends are always welcome here," Antonia says, beckoning to enter. Renira does, inwardly marveling at the decorated floors and stately portraits that hang around the walls. Of course, Duke Barradin and his kingly brother take central place at the top of a grand staircase, a firm reminder whose blood flows down Ainsaphs' veins.

It's so easy to forget Alysannyra Ainsaph descends from Ascalon's ancient kings, if only for the fact she never brings that up herself. But it's a well known fact that she is one of King Doric's many living descendants, if you know where to look. Renira looks at her own dress, pricey and elegant, and remembers a truly unremarkable Vera who couldn't boast any lineage beyond that of two absolutely random humans whose names she didn't even know.

But she's not here for old dead people. She's here for recovering patients. "Please wait here for a moment," the lady says. "I'll have a someone guide you to the guest area and please, miss, don't hesitate to help yourself to coffee or tea. I'll be back shortly." Antonia gives her a nod and goes up the marble staircase; a pretty, brunette valet appears from the corner and signals for Ren to follow.

The corridors are long and clean and once more, Renira can't shake off the strained feeling of all this excess. Vera slept with several other children, then on the cold, hard streets, while these people can afford gilded leaves in the corners of their hallways. Multiple. And butlers to guide people through them. The guestroom houses several plush chairs, a dark wooden table and a big gilded fireplace and they're insultingly comfortable when she sits in one of the chairs.

She should be used to this by now. She even looks the part. She knows better than to not, as Antonia put it, "help herself" to something. Fucking hells, she even wants to. "A cup of coffee, please," Ren says. "Make it very sweet."

The valet nods and leaves and Ren taps her heel against the leg of the chair. By the time her coffee comes, Nyra still hasn't arrived and it's only by the time Ren's drank half of it that there are steps at the door.

"Forgive the wait--" Antonia starts, but Nyra cuts her mother off.

"If you must know, getting dressed pains me," Nyra says. "I'm sure Ren understands."

Renira turns around. "I understand, Lady Ainsaph," she offers with a smile.

"See, mom? You can now leave us." Nyra looks a lot worse for wear; she looks tired, pale, there are dark circles beneath her eyes and the frown she sports isn't helping matters whatsoever. She's dressed in a white shirt, a sensible pair of pants and little else; her hair's messy and she's hardly bothered to style it. "Mom. For Gods' sake, just listen to what I'm telling you. I'll be fine. I won't fucking collapse. That was a month ago. I can walk on my own."

Antonia opens her mouth to speak but decides against it. Nyra hits her strong usual stride, and thankfully, Antonia's out of earshot when she presses her hands on the table to not fall over and groans pitifully when the action pulls on her injured shoulder.

Ren knows the type of person Nyra is. Running on ego, a fragile little thing, and when ego gets involved, things get ugly. So Ren doesn't stand up to help, not willing to get under Nyra's verbal barrage, though she frowns with concern when Nyra drops heavily on the chair, breathless.

"Can't even walk right," she hisses, looking at her hands. "Can't even walk right. I was killing Mordrem a few months ago and now I can't even take a few steps without keeling over like a fucking branch."

"Not your fault necessarily Mordremoth tried to kill you," Ren teases, though her voice is kind. "Are you comfortable?"

Nyra looks at her. A tear gathers in the corners of her eye and Renira reaches a finger to wipe it off. "Are there any news with the Pact?" Nyra asks wearily. "Is that why you're here?"

"I'm here to check on you," Renira says. "You took a pretty big blow in Maguuma. And you are Tyria's hero. What happens when the third dragon comes? And the forth? Who do we call? As your colleague, it is a concern of mine to check on you."

"And so you can put in your report on me."

"And so I can tell my superiors our savior isn't--"

Nyra grimaces. She folds her hands in fists on the table, sighing deeply. "Don't... Don't mention that, of all things. I don't... I asked for help. I'm getting treatment. Ren, please."

Ren reaches out and places her hand on Nyra's. "That's between you and me," she says softly. Nyra nods, looking down. "I tell them many things, but that? Never."

"I appreciate that," Nyra whispers, unfolding a fist. Her fingers are calloused and shaking.

Renira moves a strand of hair behind her ear and leaves it there when Nyra lowers her head down. They don't speak, but they don't have to. No words are necessary. They are not the point.

What a far cry from their first meeting back in Ebonhawke a lifetime ago.

#gw2 #inspo birb has come to town #alysannyra #renira sulver #not too pleased w/ this one???#not sure why #but i'm posting it anyway bc i never really write about post-maguuma nyra #its very hard for me to do it #but enjoy ren and nyra being friends #cw suicidal ideation #fucking timeline inconsistencies #only visible to me bc i know my own lore #but if you look at nyra's description + the topic of convo you'll know when exactly this takes place

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