#can’t decide if it’d be gruesome and their bodies are still there or if it’s just a burnt mess on the inside

[samstree]

For the reverse trope ask: the soft character comforting the tough character after a trauma

Piece Him Back Together

Part of the reverse trope series.

When Geralt gets kidnapped, it's up to Jaskier to rescue him. Some truths about a witcher's worst weakness come to light.

(geraskier, 2.1k, hurt/comfort, geralt whump, mutual pining, competent jaskier, love confession, mild blood)

read on AO3

"Shit, shit, shit..."

Jaskier lets out a string of curses all the while balancing the weight of two fully grown men with stumbling footwork. He desperately tries to keep Geralt up with a hand on the small of his back but fails to stop the injured witcher from drooping with each step, until, at last, both of them wind up in a heap of limbs by the road.

Geralt lets out a pained grunt and Jaskier scrambles with apologies.

“Fuck, sorry.” The bard shifts Geralt’s bulk with all he can muster and finally settles him on a patch of soft moss under the tree. The witcher hisses as his back hits the bark rather heavily. “Shit, I’m so sorr—”

“You already said,” Geralt interrupts him but there’s no anger in his tone.

“Still. I am.”

Jaskier retrieves a handkerchief from his pocket and begins to dab at the mess of blood at Geralt’s temple, wincing when he finally sees how bad the blow is. Blood oozes from the gash, slower than a moment before. The fabric is soaked through and the skin there is still tender.

It’s all witchers’ weakness.

The temple. A blow to the head.

It messes up all their senses and coordination, leaving them in the most vulnerable state. If Jaskier had reached him any later, this might have done Geralt in.

Jaskier lets out a distressed sound at the thought.

“Stop fussing. We need to go.” The witcher, against all odds, remains level-headed.

“No, it’s all right. I knocked out all the guards and servants, along with the duke and his mage.” Jaskier tilts Geralt’s head for a better angle to press the handkerchief down on the wound. “I may have given the two of them a little more than the recommended dose. The lady at the apothecary warned me about the risk of choking with much sleeping potion, urgh, like I give an ounce of fuck if they die a gruesome death or not. It’d be a favor to the town.”

The venom surprises even Jaskier himself, and Geralt lets out a meaningful hum.

“Rest assured, my dear. No one will be looking for us today.”

Up close, Jaskier can feel Geralt scrutinize him intently as if to burn a hole into his face. He meets the amber gaze, the dark pupils still a little blown wide from the shock, but there’s also something akin to relief flowing in those beautiful eyes.

He revels in the silence, observing Geralt in return for further signs of hurt, but finds none.

The witcher relents first, the tiniest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “So you drugged an entire castle?”

“Didn’t think I had it in me, huh?” Jaskier teases. “The White Wolf, saved by a humble bard and forever impressed by his wit.”

“Hmm.”

“Well, don’t beat yourself up, oh mighty witcher. I’m sure you only needed the rescue because those villains took advantage of your only weakness.” The bard adds his usual dramatic flair into the last two words.

Geralt blinks. Something shifts in his expression, his breathing picking up and his eyes darting everywhere. If the bard didn’t know better, he’d say the witcher is flustered, which makes it all the more confusing.

“Mocking me, are you?” Geralt drops his gaze and tries to shy away, but the bard holds him in place with the other hand. Under Jaskier’s palm, the frame of the witcher’s ear is heating up.

“How am I mocking you? Geralt, even you must admit witchers aren’t all-powerful beings.” Jaskier frowns. “They messed up your head. I know all your senses get muddled when you’re like this. Seriously, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“What are you talking about?” the witcher snaps his gaze back to Jaskier, a puzzled crease deep between his brows, which only makes the bard scoff with amusement.

“The head wound, of course. How did they get you? An ambush and a blow to the head, I’m assuming.” Jaskier explains. “How else did you get yourself into a dungeon and dimeritium cuffs? What, are you telling me you walk into their trap voluntarily?”

He rolls his eyes at the offhanded joke but the silence from the witcher leaves the mood heavier. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like a denial of what he just said. Geralt is staring at him with an inexplicable look on his face, and these looks are hard to come by these days. Jaskier prides himself in being the best on the continent at reading his witcher, and he has no inclination to break the streak.

“What happened then? Talk to me, Geralt.”

Jaskier removes the handkerchief a little. The gash has stopped bleeding, so he ties it around Geralt’s head carefully to keep the wound shielded, at least until they can wash it properly. His hands stay with Geralt afterwards, waiting for him to open up.

“I—” Geralt purses his lips before continuing, golden eyes meeting the bard in earnest. “They didn’t ambush me, Jask. I walked into that castle unarmed by choice.”

“What?” Jaskier’s jaw drops.

“It’s because—” the witcher scowls. “Because I thought…that they had you.”

It’s like a lightning strike, where their skin connects tingling all the way from the tips of Jaskier’s fingers to a warm pool of fuzziness in his stomach. The air is suddenly too hot so Jaskier decides to put more space between them.

“Oh.”

Geralt chases him ever so slightly before settling back with resignation, his eyes still bare and vulnerable, as if he just revealed the darkest secret when it is only the sweetest thing in a horrible, horrible way.

“A whisper of you being held hostage and suddenly I couldn’t think. Couldn’t remember to check the truth. Couldn’t waste another second.” Geralt hovers a hand near the bard’s face before retreating to his side. “You were right that they got me because of my one weakness, Jaskier. Just not the one you assumed.”

The pounding in Jaskier’s chest is jumping out of his throat. He’s sure he will die within the next minute if he doesn’t speak to ease this ache in his heart.

“Oh.”

He ends up saying dumbly.

“It was too late when I noticed the absence of you. Your voice, your heartbeat, your scent. Nothing. You weren’t in that castle or the cells. All I could hear was silence and all I could smell was blood.” Geralt draws a shuddering breath. “I hoped, when they kept me in the dark, that they were lying about ever having you. That you were nowhere near that damn place instead of—”

The witcher swallows, unable to finish the sentence.

“Instead of,” Jaskier adds for him, “they’d already killed me.”

The tension hangs between them. The bard sits back on the heels of his feet and finds himself at a loss for words for the very first time in his life.

Geralt might be the only person who can force Jaskier through so many firsts in his life. His first time writing a hit song, first time smashing into someone’s face with a lute, first time saving a witcher’s life, and perhaps, first time murdering two evil overlords obsessed with collecting witchers for experiments.

Hmm, it’s not like Jaskier regrets any of these.

Geralt reaches out again, tentative and patient like he’s approaching a spooked horse. This time, Jaskier takes pity and meets him halfway, his thumb rubbing small circles at the sword callouses that he adores so much.

“Say something,” Geralt pleads.

Jaskier swallows a lump in his throat and sniffles to ease the congestion in his nose, his vision blurring in desperation.

“It’s the most words you’ve said in one sitting, Geralt. You’ll have to allow me a moment to figure out what you are saying and, most importantly, not saying.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “It’s you, you know? There’s always something you are holding back and that is often the crux of it. I thought I got good at reading between the lines, but this is…overwhelming.”

With the enhanced healing kicking in, Geralt is looking much better by the minute. The blood dries and crusts over and his eyes almost shining in the daylight, or is it just the emotions within them? Jaskier can’t tell.

“Maybe I can help you. With the hidden words.” Geralt squeezes Jaskier’s fingers reassuringly. He tilts his head in the most endearing way. It happens to be that particular head tilt that Jaskier treasures with his life, the one that manages to always take his breath away.

“I love you, Jask.”

The warm pool of fuzziness in Jaskier’s stomach turns into a bottomless pit, and he’s falling.

And soaring.

“I love you.” Geralt smiles sadly. “In the dark of that cell, it became…ever so clear and so loud that I couldn’t deny it anymore. I love you, in spite of myself. Gods, I’ve loved you for so long.”

Geralt picks up Jaskier’s hand and places the barest touch of a kiss there, his lips chapped but oh so gentle. Jaskier lets out a soft gasp and the tears roll down uncontrollably. The next thing he knows, he’s buried deep in Geralt’s embrace. The sobs choke in his lungs like a dam has been broken.

“I—” Jaskier is amazed to find that their roles have reversed. The witcher has expressed everything but the bard becomes mute. So he takes up Geralt’s role gladly and replies with actions.

Jaskier’s lips are pressed everywhere he can reach: the soft, warm skin of Geralt’s neck, the sharp of his jaw, his cheek, the tip of his nose. He disregards the grime and dirt and kisses Geralt’s uninjured temple, the single most fragile part of a witcher’s body—barring their heart, so it seems. He tucks away a strand of white hair and kisses Geralt’s temple one more time, tasting the salty tang of tears.

When he pulls back, Geralt’s smile is blinding.

He hears Jaskier, even though—

“I still don’t know what to say,” Jaskier croaks, sniffling hard.

The bard rests his hands at the nape of Geralt’s neck and loses himself in the sunlit golden honey, his favorite color in the world and the most beautiful dream that’s ever come true.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Geralt wipes away the wetness on Jaskier’s face with the pad of his thumb. “Master Jaskier, poet, minstrel, professor… Stumped for words and forever impressed by a witcher’s love confession.”

He mimics Jaskier’s phrasing and the bard can’t help but chuckle despite the tears and snout, his hand swatting at Geralt’s shoulder. Jaskier knows he must look so absurd, laughing and crying all at once, but it’s the last thing in the world that matters.

Geralt loves him, and—

“You got hurt because of me.”

The remorse licks up, along with the urge to protect and to care. The sight of Geralt limp and bloody, bound by the wrists in a dark cell is something Jaskier never wants to relive again.

“I don’t care, Jask.”

“I care.”

“Then make it better.”

So he does. Geralt never wavers as Jaskier captures his lips and pours everything he cannot voice into the kiss, drawing a contented moan out of the witcher.

“Does it still hurt?” the bard whispers between one breath and the next.

“A little.”

Jaskier resumes his work and cards deft fingers through silver hair, careful not to nudge the handkerchief. His nails ghost over Geralt’s scalp and scratches gently until a purring sound rumbles deep in the witcher’s chest. The bard giggles proudly.

“Now?”

“Keep going.”

Geralt traps Jaskier between his strong arms devours him with passion, the heat of his body solid and calming.

Jaskier has never thought of himself as a protector, except at this moment with his witcher arching into his every touch and producing those heavenly sounds. The world is too bent on hurting Geralt, too eager to take and take and take from him.

A bard is not a fighter. Jaskier cannot stop monsters from tearing through armors or crossbows fired with ill intent.

But a bard is a lover. What Jaskier can do is heal, is piece Geralt back together with gentle words in the dark and soft lips on the thin skin at his temple.

“How about now?”

They are panting in tandem, the gold of Geralt’s eyes dreamy and out of this world.

“Still dizzy.”

“That’s from all the kissing, you oaf.”

But Geralt begs wordlessly with those wide, puppy-like eyes so openly, and Jaskier’s already non-existent resolve breaks into a million pieces. He kisses Geralt until the witcher melts into a puddle of purring mess, sun-warmed and pliant.

And he kisses Geralt more.

Again and again.

---

Thanks for the prompt. I kind of just rolled with the concept. The twist looks a bit obvious from the beginning, but feel free to tell me what you think. <3

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @dapandapod @artisanbaguette @birdsflyhome

Please tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #reverse trope #trope subversion #soft geraskier #geralt x jaskier #cw: blood #soft jaskier #hurt geralt #geralt whump #mutual pining #love confession #first kiss #italicized oh #hurt/comfort

[kae-karo]

Luckae, something along the lines of, it’s rotten work / not to me, not if it’s you.

HELLO HI DEAR tysm for ur patience while i worked on this!!! and THANK YOU THANK YOU for the prompt!! gods they're really just so perfectly set up for this dynamic aren't they??

not if it's you - T - 2.3k

tags: kaeluckae, reconciliation sorta, canon divergence, blood mention/injury mention

--

Diluc returns from a particularly rough fight during his moonlighting as the Darknight Hero to find Kaeya once again waiting for him at the winery, as he always seems to be. For some reason.

[read on ao3]

--

“My my, another rough evening, Master Diluc?”

Kaeya’s voice sounds tinny and off-key, but Diluc knows it well enough to understand when he’s being taunted. His hand remains pressed flat to his abdomen, grateful for the black of his jacket to hide what must be a particularly gruesome bloodstain.

“Why are you here,” he grits out as he slumps against the door, hopes that he can hold onto his composure for just long enough to convince Kaeya to leave. Adelinde can tend his wound, and Diluc does not have to face the mortification of admitting weakness in front of Kaeya.

“Why, for the wine, of course!” Kaeya says, as he always does. As he does every time Diluc returns to find him here, lounging in a chair in the winery’s entrance, at least one empty bottle on the table in front of him. Now, he hoists his glass in a false toast, offers Diluc a smirk. The dim candlelight makes it look sinister.

Until he tips his head back just a fraction, hardly any movement at all, but Diluc sees Kaeya from before, the Kaeya that would stay up all night with him, share stories of their dreams for the future under dim candlelight or bright moonlight, when the weather allowed it.

“Have I bored you so easily, Master Diluc?” Kaeya tuts, takes a sip of his wine, and Diluc grits his teeth. Partly in response to Kaeya, partly in an effort to keep himself aware. Partly to block out the pain - not the worst he’s endured, but most certainly high on the scale.

Kaeya shifts, though, and a clink makes it to Diluc’s ears. His eyes remain partly unfocused, so he blinks a few times, finds snapshot moments of Kaeya’s feet dropping from the table to the ground, Kaeya standing, Kaeya moving closer.

He hears his name, too - just Diluc this time, no tongue-in-cheek title to go along with it, and Diluc’s hand falls from his stomach. He didn’t ask it to, but gods did it require such effort to hold it there. He thinks there was a reason for it being there, but this is easier, isn’t it? To just let it fall, to let his body relax. To rest - gods, when was the last time he rested?

Warmth envelops him quite suddenly, then, and he doesn’t mind it. He’d been quite cold before, actually, and this is nice. Comfortable. He’s not sure what it is, though - his eyes won’t open, and-

Oh. Is this death? Kaeya’s kept him standing here for too long, or maybe he’s grown too- what’s the word? The opposite of humble, perhaps he’s gotten too...arrogant, that’s it. Like Kaeya. Like Kaeya. Like…

He blinks, surprised to find light pouring in now. Surprised to find...Kaeya. Hovering over him, brows furrowed and lips twisted, and a sudden-

“Ah-” Diluc coughs out as pain lances through him, sharp and sudden, and Kaeya’s gaze flicks over to meet Diluc’s. His tight expression evens out so quickly, then, that Diluc wonders if he’d imagined it.

Wonders, then, where exactly-

“Hold- Diluc,” Kaeya snaps, and Diluc pauses his attempts at looking around in favor of turning his gaze to Kaeya. Kaeya, who - upon closer inspection, and a clearer mind - appears...worried? “Hold still.” He enunciates the words with icy clarity.

Diluc does as he’s told, if only because he has not seen Kaeya like this...perhaps ever. At the very least, not since they were kids. He watches with furrowed brows as Kaeya’s hand returns to his stomach - exposed, now, and he sees the- ah. Right.

“You have no sense of self preservation,” Kaeya grumbles, almost petulant, and Diluc...he does not entirely know what to make of that. A decade ago, he might’ve thought it endearing, that Kaeya would worry for him, would make a fuss over an injury, but now…

“I don’t see why that concerns you,” he says, and finds his voice dry and hoarse. Kaeya shoots a glare in his direction, but does not respond. A rare occurrence, when he’s usually the one to prefer to fill the silence with idle chatter.

Diluc’s gaze flicks down again to where an ugly line cuts its way across his abdomen, and he watches as Kaeya sticks a needle unkindly through the edges of the wound. The pain itself comes almost as an aftershock, nearly hidden behind the wave of realization that hits him in that moment.

In all the nights that Diluc has returned from his masked forays into the city and its outskirts - all the nights that Kaeya, coincidentally, decides to make his way to the winery - Kaeya has never stayed.

And he has most certainly never tended to Diluc’s injuries, though Diluc supposes that this is the first one he’s been unable to hide from Kaeya.

The next prick of pain is not so bad, now that he’s prepared for it, and he watches Kaeya’s fingers dexterously weave shut the wound. He does not speak as he works, does not cast more than a cursory glance in Diluc’s direction, and Diluc does not know what to say.

Doesn't know how to act, when Kaeya steps out of his role as the flippant, duplicitous charmer. When he is sincere, when he’s-

“Archons,” Diluc grits out as Kaeya splashes something- ah, alcohol. Very distilled, apparently. His whole body tenses around the epicenter of the pain, the white-hot sting in his abdomen that refuses to subside even as Kaeya steps back, one arm crossed over his chest as he takes a generous sip from the very same bottle.

He sets it down on the nearby table with a hard thunk, his sour mood quite obvious, but does not turn to face Diluc. Just stares, hand gripped tight still to the neck of the bottle, and Diluc thinks that he has never seen Kaeya angry like this.

Tired, hurt, broken and hopeless, Diluc has seen all of these things, but never...never this. Never the tight expression, barely visible for the way his hair falls in his face. Never the white-knuckled grip that he must be controlling still, or it’d break the neck of the bottle. Never the quiet tension in his shoulders, hunched where they’re usually set back in a peacock-proud display.

Diluc does not know how to handle an angry Kaeya.

He sits up a fraction more, as though it might help clear his confused, clouded thoughts, but it only serves to make him wince and suck in an involuntary breath at the sting of his wound.

Kaeya’s head whips around, focuses sharply on Diluc, and Diluc holds immeasurably still. For a moment, he wishes that Adelinde had been the one to find him - her caretaking is far less...tense.

“I will freeze you to the table if you can’t manage to lay still,” Kaeya says, voice empty and nearly as cold as his ice. It crawls to his fingers, spreads from them to the bottle in a spiderweb of frost.

Diluc shakes his head, regrets the wave of dizziness that follows but does his best to keep his expression even.

“Why?” he manages after a moment, and Kaeya coughs out a laugh.

“You get yourself gutted, then ask why you need to rest?” A bitter scoff, and Kaeya releases his grip on the bottle to stand upright, to cross his arms over his chest and glare down at Diluc. “Fine,” he waves a hand. “Treat your life like it means nothing, then.”

Diluc’s brows furrow at Kaeya’s hard stare.

“Go on,” he urges, waves a hand now at the door. “Don’t you have important hero business to attend? Surely you won’t bleed out along the way!” Kaeya bares his teeth, an angry approximation of a grin, and the words hit Diluc like a- well, like a sword through his gut.

His chest falls with a heavy breath, and he wonders - perhaps naively, perhaps masochistically - if this is how it might’ve felt to be on the other end of his own blade that night all those years ago. If it was instead he who stood opposite Kaeya’s anger, knew his own faults and laid them bare for Kaeya to slash apart with his sword.

There’s a clink, then, and Diluc refocuses to find Kaeya lifting the alcohol from its perch, and he drops heavily into a chair and lifts the bottle to his lips. Drinks long and deep, then levels an unreadable stare on Diluc.

“If you intend to get yourself killed,” he says, quieter now, and his gaze flicks away. “At least have the common decency not to make me bear witness to it.” He takes another sip, and Diluc watches as something in his chest burns. Aches.

It’s a childish thing, he thinks, and he doesn’t entirely know where it comes from, but it blazes through him like wildfire, hot and painful, and he exhales a shuddered breath. This draws Kaeya’s stare, sharp with concern, and Diluc does not know how to wave it off.

“I did not mean to cause you any distress,” he says quickly, and Kaeya averts his stare the moment Diluc speaks. Leans back into the chair, evidently satisfied that Diluc’s death is not imminent.

“And yet, you run rampant through the streets with no care for your own wellbeing,” he says, voice like ice again. “Funny how that works.” Another sip from the bottle, and he rests it on his thigh. Keeps his gaze directed toward the door, though it remains unfocused.

“Is that why you wait here?” Diluc asks, then, as the realization dawns on him. Is that why I find you here every night I’ve gone out? Is that why you show up at the winery, seemingly at random, and only leave once I’ve returned?

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, Master Diluc.” A hint of humor, but the bitterest kind. Kaeya glances from the corner of his eye, and Diluc sees it - hears it, almost, in a voice that is Kaeya’s but isn’t. A voice from a time when Kaeya spoke earnestly, when he did not cloak every truth in a veil of lies and almost-honesty.

If I admit that I care about you, then things change. We change.

He wonders, then, if Kaeya doesn’t want to - if he doesn’t want to care for Diluc. If he’d rather hate Diluc outright. It’s the same feeling that Diluc had felt about Kaeya all those years ago. It would be easier, certainly. Hard to feel pain when you allow nothing close to your heart - Diluc knows that truth well enough.

And yet, Kaeya’s all but admitted that he cares regardless.

“You don’t have to,” he says - an out, though it’s not quite a response to what Kaeya’s said. More to the words that he hasn’t spoken. “To be here,” he adds. “I can take care of myself. I know it’s-”

Painful to keep caring, when Diluc can never quite rid himself of his need for martyrdom. Impossible to justify it, when loss hovers so closely around Diluc that it might as well be a second skin. When he seeks it out most nights, tempts fate and knows that it will catch up with him some day.

“It’s rotten work,” he says quietly, and his gaze drifts to the wound that Kaeya’s so carefully tended. How many more will Diluc endure? How many would Kaeya stand by and watch before he can’t stand it? There is a reason that Diluc has never pursued lovers or a family or the like.

“Not to me.”

Diluc glances up, finds Kaeya still staring off into the distance. His gaze drifts over then, though, and holds Diluc’s. Something small, almost a smile, flickers at the corner of his lip.

“Not if it’s you,” he adds, even as his jaw tenses with something that Diluc has not seen since the night he raised a sword at Kaeya. Kaeya shakes his head, huffs out a breath. “You never quite figured it out, did you?”

He takes another sip of the alcohol, and Diluc’s brows furrow just slightly.

“Figured what out?” The ‘it’ tugs at his thoughts, though, somewhere just beyond his comprehension. He knows it, he thinks, whatever Kaeya intends to say, but Kaeya’s gaze flicks over, and he exhales a short breath.

“Never mind.” A smile curls the corner of his lip, gentler than his usual sharp smirk. “You need to rest. I’ll be here.”

He turns away again, then, and props a foot up on the table beside him. Takes another short sip from the bottle, and Diluc stares.

Sees it with crystal clarity, then, when Kaeya’s eye flicks over, just for the briefest moment, and it burns through Diluc’s chest - painful, warm, hot and bright and terrifying all at once. A thing he has buried for a very long time, because caring hurts.

“Kaeya.” Kaeya glances over properly now, and Diluc holds his stare. “Thank you.”

A small smile touches his lips, gentle and careful and Kaeya-from-their-childhood, and Diluc is fifteen again, and reckless and brave and head-over-heels, and just once, he allows that feeling to wash over him. When his lips curl up in a soft smile, Kaeya’s own grin widens, though he hides it with the bottle as he takes a sip.

“Get some rest, Master Diluc,” Kaeya chides, so warmly that it sounds fond, and Diluc’s heart feels so free and light it might fly right out of his chest.

That could also be blood loss, he supposes as a wave of dizziness turns the edges of his vision black, and he leans carefully back onto the table. Is grateful that Kaeya had thought to bring him a pillow, or he might be in for an uncomfortable night of sleep.

“Good night, Kaeya,” he offers quietly, and Kaeya huffs out a gentle, amused breath. Tips his head in Diluc’s direction, and Diluc’s eyes drift shut with the image of his smile branded in his mind - sincere, genuine in a way that Diluc hasn’t seen in years.

“Good night, Luc.”

#genshin #genshin impact #kaeluc #luckae #kaeya #diluc #genshin fic #prompts

[babbushka]

Hide Your Smile

Flip Zimmerman x Reader 

11.5k ; Warnings for: Dark!fic (graphic depictions of violence [drunken violent outbursts, domestic violence, domestic abuse {physical and verbal}], blood and gore, graphic brutal murder, mild stalking, possessive behavior), & NSFW content (Car sex/fingering)

Also available on AO3!

(this fic was written in collaboration with my amazing friends and followers here. Thank you all so much for voting in the polls to determine this oneshot, I hope you enjoy it!)

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

You don't own me I'm not just one of your many toys You don't own me Don't say I can't go with other boys

And don't tell me what to do Don't tell me what to say And please, when I go out with you Don't put me on display 'cause

You don't own me...

Darkness, all around.

Nothing but hot wet earth, mud sinking under your feet, swallowing you whole.

Rain, thudding against the ground, against your back as you are chased by a monster in the night, bitter breath haunting the back of your neck, the hair rising on your arms only to be drenched down by the torrential downpour flooding your lungs.  

The world blurs around you, and you can’t tell, can’t tell which way is up, which way is forward. Things feel slow, thick, you blink but the spots only multiply. There’s a rush in your ears, a gruesome thud thud thudding – is that your pulse? You don’t know.

Blood stings your eyes, dirt caked into the backs of your molars. You can’t see, you can’t hear, you don’t know what’s going on, you see lights in the distance but when you run towards them they seem farther and farther away. Claws and teeth nip at your heels, you can’t stop running, can’t stop no matter how badly your legs ache, because if you stop even for just a moment, he’ll get you, and who knows what will become of you then.

Somewhere far away, a million miles away, Leslie Gore sings and your friends dance in a cookie cutter house in a cookie cutter town. But there in the woods, as something closes around your arm and drags you down to the ground,

you scream.

The party had been going well enough, hadn’t it? Josh hadn’t taken his hand off of you all evening, and wasn’t that something just dandy. Things had been getting tense between the two of you lately, you try not to think about all those heated arguments and cold shoulders that your boyfriend had dropped atop your head. You could ignore all of that now, he didn’t mean it, you knew that.

Maybe he did mean it, but he wasn’t meaning it now, as he dances with you in the dimly lit living room. You weren’t so sure what time it even was, gosh the rain was coming down so hard and making the skies nearly pitch black; why, it coulda been two in the morning for all you knew!

You give a strained smile to Josh for a brief moment, before laying your head back down on his chest. You think he looks relatively dashing tonight, dressed up for the party. New Year’s Eve 1962, could you believe it? Or well, it’d be 1962 in a couple minutes, but still.

You wore a mini-dress with the grooviest pattern you could find, some bright purple tights and white block heels, and you’d done your hair up so high you were sure you could feel it swaying on top of your head. It was very on trend these days, this sort of hairstyle. From what you could tell, anyway. You knew that this party was important for Josh, was important that he show up and make a good appearance with his football buddies, there were guys here that knew NFL draft scouts and he needed to impress them so he could get on their good side.

You wanted to look nice. He looked nice too, in his letterman jacket and jeans. Maybe he could have dressed up a little more, put a little more effort in. It was alright, it was fine. He gelled his hair down, that was more than you were expecting.

Thunder cracks across the sky and you involuntarily press yourself closer to him – he’ll hold you, won’t he? You wait for his arms to tighten around you, but they never do. Disappointed, but not surprised, you think.

“What’s your problem babe?” He asks, his voice slurred. You realize you’ve stopped dancing, stopped the short back and forth of your feet and he’d picked up on that.

“Nothing Josh. Just you know, the thunder and all.” You shrug, but he only scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“It’s not even real, it can’t hurt you, get a grip.” Josh steps away from you, away from the dance floor.

There are prying eyes there in the dark, and you’re embarrassed by the volume in his voice. He doesn’t realize how loud he can be sometimes, you know that, especially when he’s a little more buzzed than normal. He’s been getting more and more buzzed these days, you didn’t think it was good, was healthy. Just because he was of legal drinking age didn’t mean that you should dump alcohol into your body, not the way he did anyway.

“Right, of course Josh, sorry.” You grit your teeth, clench your jaw.

“Why don’t you go get me another beer, make yourself useful.” He dismisses you, turning towards his group of friends on the football team, towards bigger and stronger boys than he is, an attempt to weasel his way inside their group.

You’ve had quite enough of being dismissed, pushed aside. You’ve had enough. You’d been thinking of leaving him for a while, thinking about telling him what for, for once and for all. It never felt like the right time, something about him always made you feel like something bad would happen if you tried. But you’re at a point where you’re not being given any other choice.

You watch him laugh with his friends, with these college seniors, big boys on campus, and your heart races in your chest. A very small part of your brain fantasizes late at night about killing him, pushing him off some cliff or into traffic, an accident. Always an accident.

You’d never do it of course – of course not. Good girls didn’t kill their star athlete boyfriends.

But.

But maybe…maybe if something were to happen to him, you wouldn’t be so upset, would you?

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink?” The words tumble past your lips without much thought, and you don’t really even register it until the whole group of jocks go silent and Josh turns around slowly, menacingly, to stare you down.

“…What the fuck did you just say?” His voice is low, angry.  

“You’re supposed to drive me back home after this, I just want to make sure you’ll be alright to drive.” You’re unrelenting, shoulders square and jaw tight. If he thought he was going to be a jackass to win brownie points, then he had another thing coming.

The jocks only sip their beers, carefully watching. You wonder if any of them would come to your defense, but their silence is telling. You decide you hate them.

“I didn’t ask for your fucking opinion, I asked you to get me a fucking beer.” Josh shoves his red cup into your hand and you decide you hate him too.

Without another word, you accept the cup and with a forced smile, make your way to the kitchen where people are crowded by kegs and bottles.

You give a small sigh while you pour a cup of whatever shitty draft they’d gotten for the party. Part of you wishes you hadn’t come at all, you knew it could have only ended like this, being ignored and belittled all evening.

You wish that Flip were there, and you sigh again.

Philip ‘Flip’ Zimmerman, your best friend. The handsome basketball player, the guy who’s got his life together. A good job at the lumbermill, probably going to be a manager or something, the CEO one day. Smart, so smart! You can’t help but think of how many nights he tutored you for math with gentle eyes. And funny, and kind, and nice to you. He’s a couple years older than you and probably doesn’t think of you as anything other than a friend, but…but for a moment, you imagine what it might be like to call Flip your man.

You wonder if Flip would hold you tight when the thunder cracks across the sky, and a small smile threatens to creep up on your face. He definitely would, he’s done it before, hasn’t he? Given you his jacket to keep you dry from the rain, strong arms around your shoulders. Your cheeks begin to warm at the thought, at the way you can practically smell the cologne he wears whenever you’d rest your head on his shoulder.

You wish Flip were here. Or maybe no, maybe you just wish you were with him alone, were with him anywhere that wasn’t here. You wish you were cozied up on the couch in his Ma’s house, watching some scary movie and tucking yourself under his chin while you share a bowl of stove-top popcorn.

Lightning splinters across the clouds through the window in the kitchen, and you sigh again.

You had asked him to come, you really did try. But he said he was busy with work stuff, and he couldn’t. You admired that about him, his work ethic. He was so dedicated to everything he did, and even though you wanted to be selfish and whine and complain about needing his attention, you respected when he put his foot down.

Watching the froth begin to fade from the top of the beer cup, you think to yourself that tonight’s it, the last night you’d deal with Josh. You decide that you’ll go over, give him his beer, and then as soon as he drops you home whenever this party is supposed to end, you’ll tell him not to bother calling you ever again.

Something inside of you lightens up at the thought, like a weight slowly slipping off your shoulders. You can’t help but smile a little bit, at the thought of no longer being with him. Maybe…maybe if Flip saw you were single, he’d make a move of his own. Your head is in the clouds thinking about Flip, when you accidentally bump into someone on your way back to the living room.

A little bit of beer sloshes onto a boy’s shirt, and you recognize him as one of Josh’s new pals.

Before you can even open your mouth to apologize for the mess, he grabs you by the arm. His grip is harsh, and he yanks you around for a second, the beer spilling everywhere, all over the floor, onto your new white shoes.

“Hey J, are you gonna control your woman or what?” The guy – was his name Tommy? – sneers down at you. He’s tall, and he’s strong, you can start to feel a dull ping of pain on your arm where his fingers are digging in deep.

“I’m not his to control.” You wrench yourself out of the guy’s hold, stumbling backwards a few feet from the force of it.

Josh is up off the couch in an instant, infuriated with you.

He’s drunk, eyes glassed over like some shark, dark and empty. He backhands you across the jaw, sends you falling to the floor despite your best efforts, the crack of your skull against the wooden panels calling spots to your vision.

“Don’t ever speak back to someone like that, are you out of your fucking mind?” He wrangles you back up off the floor, grabs you by the front of your dress and hauls you up roughly, unkindly.

“Don’t touch me!” You shout, your nails scratching at his face, teeth bared in a rage of your own, pent-up anger that you’ve been swallowing for six months as you smack him across the face back in retaliation, angry and spitting, “Get off of me!”

Josh doesn’t let up, in fact he doubles down, kicks at your ankles so your knees cave in to try and support yourself as his hand shoots up from the collar of your blouse to wrapping around your throat. He drags you like that through the party, and you can’t help but wonder why no one is saying anything, doing anything? Do they not hear you? Do they not care?

“I’ll make you regret that – I’ll make you regret everything.” Josh hisses lowly in your ear as he forces you through the house by the scruff of your neck, sour breath of a drunken stupor stinging like a brand across your cheek.

“I already do.” You choke, struggling against his hold, against his hands.

You manage to elbow him in the stomach, hard, hard enough that he doubles over from the wind knocked out of his lungs, and you run.

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

Don't try to change me in any way You don't own me Don't tie me down 'cause I'd never stay

I don't tell you what to say I don't tell you what to do So just let me be myself That's all I ask of you

Shoving through the crowd of people, a hundred faces you don’t recognize, smiles fading into confused glares, you run. 

Thunder, rain, lightning, music deafens in your ears as you look for the door. Why is it so dark at this party? Where in the house are you? Hallways lead to doors that lead to nowhere, and you can hear his footsteps, can hear him running running running after you.

Didn’t you pass through this room before? Where was a telephone, surely whoever’s house this was, surely they had a telephone. But who would you call? You couldn’t call your parents, couldn’t let them know you snuck out of the house. You could call Flip, yes, that was it! You’d call Flip, if only you could find a phone.

They laugh at you, the people at the party. Laugh with their drug addled eyes, high off mushrooms and LSD, acid trips going wrong wrong wrong. They dance and laugh and laugh and dance, chugging spiked drinks with wild abandon, lights flashing red yellow purple green blue, a cacophony of psychedelics.

He’s there, somewhere among them, he’s there, you know he is. The smack of your footsteps sound like gunshots against the wood, your head throbs. You want to sob and scream and shout and cry cry cry but you can’t do that until you are safe, and if you stay in this house, there’s no telling where you’ll find safety again.

Or at all.

You try every door, locked ones, unlocked ones, looking for a way out. Eventually you lock yourself in a bathroom, lucky that there’s a window. It’s a single story house, the jump isn’t far.

You abandon your shoes, they don’t stay on your feet that well anyway, and you don’t have the time to groan about the frigid mud that squeaks between your toes as you splash down onto the ground from the window.

“Help!” You cup your mouth and shout, hearing something, a twig snapping not too far away. You see him, he’s coming after you through a side-door, and you have to run, you have to go. “Oh fuck – ”

You bolt, freezing rain soaking your clothes.

You don’t know where you are, don’t recognize this part of town.

Josh knew the area, not you, not you. These were his friends, not yours, not yours.

You just run, hoping your legs carry you to safety, carry you away. There’s woods, in the distance. You whip your head around, try looking for a road, any road. Where’s the driveway? It must be on the other side of the house, it must be –

Josh is gaining on you, athletic legs more powerful than your own.

“You can’t outrun me, don’t even try, don’t bother, get the fuck over here!” He hollers at you, voice guttural and deep, primal in a way that strikes fear into your heart.

You wish you had something, a weapon of some kind, any kind, to fight him with, but you don’t.

So you run.

“Shitshitshitshitshit – someone help!” You toss your voice to the wind, the howling wind which carries sheets of rain, pounds it down sideways against your back, your face, hair sopping wet and sticking to your eyes, nose, getting in your mouth as you pant pant pant, sobs of terror spiking through your chest, salty tears whisked away by the rain.

You don’t know how far you’ve gotten, you don’t know if anyone can hear you, don’t know if anyone would even come if they did. You need to form a plan, need to put enough distance between you and this monster of a man, need to catch your breath.

Your adrenaline pounds in your ear as the earth slips and slides underneath your feet, your nylon stockings not doing anything to help gain traction. You skid your knees on rocks and trip over gnarled roots, but every time you get up, each and every time you have to get up, otherwise he’ll get you.

You can feel how close he is, his hands reaching out to tear away at your clothes, can feel the ghost of his fingers trying to hook around your dress, and you can’t help but let out a high-pitched scream, something that pierces into the blackness of night, something that sends the birds from their branches.

“How dare you! How dare you embarrass me like that!” Josh manages to snatch you, the both of you tumbling down to the ground from the momentum, rolling in the mud. It’s in your eyes, mouth, a sharp hot pain at your temple makes you think you’ve hit your head, maybe on a rock? You don’t know, you taste copper in your mouth. You feel hands, no, fists, hard against your jaw. “I’ll kill you, you whore, I’ll fucking kill you for embarrassing me.”

“Don’t touch me – !” You scream, searching the ground for something, for anything, relief flooding through your body when your hand closes around a rock large enough to do some damage.

“Quiet, just be quiet!” He’s annoyed with you, annoyed with how loud you’re being, as if you’re inconveniencing him by not taking a beating politely. You take in a deep breath and muster all the strength you possibly can, to slam the rock against his face, making him knock backwards with a loud, “Fuck!”

“Someone – please!” You cough and sputter as blood streams down your face, washed away by the heavy rain which does not relent.

In an instant, the hands are yanked away from you, and you scramble to get away as fast as you can to catch your breath. You cough and hack up blood, dirt, mud which grinds between your teeth, the pounding against your temple making you dizzy, making you sick. You feel like you’re going to be sick, the adrenaline rising up up up your throat.

“Who the fuck are you – ” You hear Josh start, before the sound of punches and grunts cuts through the air again, and you squint in the dark to see who came to your rescue, who heard your calls.

“Flip?” You nearly can’t believe it, can’t believe your widened eyes, but there he is – you’d recognize those broad shoulders and the pattern of his breathing anywhere. Despite all better judgement, you rush back to his side, slipping and sliding on mud as rain beats down with such fury as your best friend’s fists, “Flip!”

“You don’t get to touch her, ever again.” Flip does not yell, he does not scream.

He does not raise his voice, he is calm, eerily calm, unnervingly calm.

You almost don’t hear him speaking at all, from how softly his voice comes out as he kicks the shit out of Josh, as he holds his head in place and knees him so hard in the face once, twice, three times, hard enough that the sick crunch of bone and cartilage echoes the thunder all around you, and he goes limp.

But Flip doesn’t stop, he doesn’t stop beating Josh’s face in with his fist until the man is a mess of blood, teeth coming loose, broken nose and busted lip bubbling hot, steaming in the freezing cold air. He doesn’t stop still, and you watch in awe, in twisted admiration as Flip hauls the ragdoll of your former boyfriend up enough to get him in a chokehold and snap his neck.

Only then, does Flip drop him, face down into the mud.

You look at the lifeless body, and then up at Flip, who you find is already looking back at you. His chest is heaving, he’s panting, out of breath and exhausted. The rain has soaked him through too, but he’s not shivering, not the way you are. He must have ran too, had to have ran to catch up with you. You don’t know how deep in the woods you are, how deep he had to go to find you.

But he did, he did.

You’re numb, standing there. Numb from the cold, from the shock, you don’t know. You want to comfort Flip – and isn’t that fucked up? You wanting to comfort someone else right now? But you do.

Everything feels like it’s going to be okay now, now that Flip’s here.

“Oh my god.” You say, because you don’t really know what else to say, don’t really know what else to do other than stand there. You’re frightened, you can feel the fear bubbling up in your stomach, but there’s calm now too, a calm that’s got you more afraid than anything. You look at Josh, then back to Flip once again. “Do you think…”

“Are you okay?” Flip pushes the hair out of his face with a bloody hand and takes a cautious step towards you.

“Me? Yeah – yes I’m…Do you think you killed him?” You ask, holding a hand out to Flip.

You know he’s worried about scaring you, and warmth cuts through some of the chill in your bones at the thought. You extend a hand and encourage him to take it, smearing blood between your palms which the rain washes away, carries down into the wood in thick muddy rivers.

You’re not afraid of Flip, could never be afraid of Flip.

“Look at me,” He’s hung up on it, presses his forehead against yours and goes nearly cross-eyed in the dark to peer into your eyes, your soul, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” You finally answer truthfully, taking another step closer to him, trying to get as close to him as possible. You feel safe, your brain screams safety with this man, with your friend, your Flip. “But I’m better now that you’re here. What are you doing here? I thought you had work.”

Confusion dawns on you, and you frown a little bit, just because it doesn’t make sense for him to be here right now, it doesn’t make sense for him to be here at all. Flip’s eyes widen a little, and even in the scant moonlight you can tell he’s blushing. He tries pulling away, but you don’t release your grip on his hand, warm and solid and real against your own.

“I just – I’m sorry I – well I got off early and I wanted to make sure that you would be okay so I came over and just kind of watched from the car in case you needed me for anything.” He rushes out in one big breath, winces, waits for you to berate him.

“Do you do that? Watch me from a distance.” You ask him, the both of you standing there in the rain.

You know it’s absurd, somewhere in the back of your head a small voice tells you it’s absurd to have a conversation like this while standing over a body in the middle of the woods, but you push it away, push it away and step closer to Flip. You’re not accusatory when you ask, you’re not condemning him – you’re just curious.

“No – I – well yes, sometimes, but only when you’re out with him.” He admits, nudging Josh’s back with the toe of his boot. His voice is dark, low, gritty in the back of his throat but he doesn’t yell, you sigh against him, your heart breaks for the anger in his voice, the sadness. You wish you never started dating this schmuck, wish you never said yes to him, wished that it had been Flip who asked instead. “I don’t trust him, (Y/N), I don’t like how he treats you. I worry, and I know that it’s creepy I know, I’m sorry, I’m not a creep I swear, I just. I care about you.”

You’re quiet for a little while, and then you move away from him only far enough to plant your stocking-clad foot onto the back of Josh’s head, push him deeper into the earth, the mud. The body gives no resistance, and a sick satisfaction makes your vision go blurry.

“Have…have you done this before?” You ask, that numbness starting to fade, the tremble of shock at what you witnessed, experienced setting in.

Flip looks like he would fall to his knees before you in that moment, as he blinks water out of his eyes, as he trembles too.

“No, I swear. I don’t even know what came over me, but I heard you screaming and begging and I couldn’t stop, I had to help you somehow.” His voice breaks, and all you want is to be close to him, so you go, go rushing into his arms, and he holds you tight.

He holds you and you hold him back, two people under the moonlight as lightning illuminates the body with picture-perfect clarity for a split second. He’s face down in the earth but you can tell, you can just tell he’s brutally mangled by the damage Flip did to him, and as you shove your face into Flip’s chest, for the briefest of moments, you smile.

“We have to get rid of him.” You say softly, trying to think of a plan, trying to think of what to do.

Flip gently pushes on your shoulders to separate the two of you, and shakes his head with a frown.

“We? No (Y/N), you can’t be involved at all, you can’t, just please go to the car and get dry and warm, I can handle this.” He’s sweet, so sweet with the way there’s sincerity in his eyes, but you’re not having any of it.

“I’m already involved, Flip, I’m not going to let you do this alone. Whatever it is, we’re in this together now. We can’t go to the police, they wouldn’t understand, they wouldn’t believe us. I’m with you.” You squeeze his hand lovingly in your own, and you can’t help but think how good it feels, how right it feels, to hold his hand.

“I think I have an idea, but first, we need to get him to the car.” Flip chews the inside of his cheek, a nervous tick of his that you always scold him for.

You don’t scold him now, there’s no time, that’s not what’s important now.

What’s important is hauling dead weight down the woods without a trace, without any evidence other than what will be washed away.

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

I'm young and I love to be young I'm free and I love to be free To live my life the way I want To say and do whatever I please

And don't tell me what to do Oh, don't tell me what to say And please, when I go out with you Don't put me on display

The body rolls around slightly, in the trunk. You’re in Flip’s dad’s '58 oldsmobile, the heat is blasting, and you hug your knees in the passenger seat, as Flip maneuvers through the winding Colorado roads. It had taken quite some time to get back through the car, out of the woods.

He had been parked out front, only a few feet from the driveway the whole time. All evening, sitting, watching, waiting. Hoping you wouldn’t need him, but prepared to do anything for you if you did. He’s silent on the drive to wherever it is you’re going, the radio is playing softly. The music helps calm your nerves, and you’re thankful for it, you try not to freak out.

The little clock on the dashboard says it’s only about midnight, but you feel like it’s way later than that. The rain fucks everything up, you think, the rain’s been pouring for hours and hours now, but it feels like days.

Every time the car makes a sharp turn, or goes up and down a hill, the body thuds against the walls of the trunk, and you just hug your knees tighter.

“Where are we going?” You ask eventually, voice soft. You’re afraid if you raise it, you’ll scream. Your throat hurts, you’ve done enough screaming already.

“Hospital.” Flip replies easily, not taking his eyes off the road, his hands at perfect ten-and-two. You wonder if he’s afraid of screaming too.

The thought of the hospital sends a spike of fear through your blood, makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“What? Why?” You demand immediately, confused, scared.

“You still haven’t stopped bleeding and I need to make sure you’re okay.” Flip says evenly. You can tell he wants a cigarette, you can tell. But this is his dad’s car, and he can’t smoke in it. You wonder what his dad would say to knowing that there’s a dead body in it, wonder if smoke would be more of an issue.

“No!” You shake your head, turning yourself towards him fully, a hand on his arm. “No, Flip please, they’ll call my parents and they don’t know I’m out this late, please just – let’s just get rid of him, and then take me home, Flip I’m begging.”

“But what if you’re seriously hurt? What if he did something severe?” Flip’s grip on the steering wheel is white-knuckled, and your stomach flutters as the windshield wipers beat back and forth, whisking the rain away.

“I’m okay, I promise I’m okay, I’ll be fine.” You don’t know if that’s the truth, but you have to believe that it is, you have to. “Philip, please.”

The use of his full first name convinces him, you don’t think you’ve ever said it before, not out loud anyway, not like this. He chews on his lip and sighs, nods his head to your supreme relief.

“Thank you.” You want to kiss him, want to embrace him desperately, but now isn’t the time. He’s driving, there are more important things right now, more important things to deal with. “What are we going to do with him? We can’t bury him in the woods, the rain’s logged all the dirt.”

“Logged – we can go to the mill.” Flip snaps his fingers, and it’s like a light bulb has gone off inside his head.

You just sit back and press a bundled up wad of wet napkins against the wound on your temple, hugging your knees, knowing that you’ll be okay, as long as you’re with Flip.

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

The lumbermill is a family-owned and operated affair. Flip’s grandfather had founded it sixty-two years ago way back during the turn of the century in 1900, and it had remained in the Zimmerman hands ever since. Once a small business, now stood a proud industrial center for logging and clearing away trees to produce more logs and square away neat pockets of land. Where there used to be only hand-held tools and traditions, now there were the highest-end types of machinery.

You thought Flip was brilliant, absolutely brilliant – you knew exactly what he was thinking.

Just last month, Flip’s dad had been bragging about the new woodchipper that had finally been ordered. You remember sitting at Flip’s Ma’s shabbat table and listening to him go on and on about the new sharp blades, how much more efficient it would make everything, not to mention how little waste they would have, considering the wood chips could be sold for all kinds of uses.

At the time, you had thought it was a little annoying how he wouldn’t let anyone else at the table get in a word, but now you’re thanking your lucky stars that you had been paying attention.

It’s strange, being here this late, being here at all. You’ve visited before of course, Flip has always been eager to show you around. It never felt like you were sneaking about or anything, not considering his family owned it, considering he’d own it one day too.

But it’s strange, with the flood lights filling the night sky with a brilliant white, the usually bustling lumbermill quiet, nothing but the sound of harsh rain clanging on machinery and metal roofs. Flip parks the car in the lot, reaches into the glove compartment and pulls out a key-ring. There must be a dozen keys on the little circle, but Flip seems to know exactly which ones are for what.

“Emergency backups of all the gates,” he explains, jingling it on his index finger for a second, “No one will suspect anything.”

You nod, chew on your cheeks. The thought of going back out into the rain is unpleasant, but you suck it up and open the car door, bracing yourself for a minute before the icy water plunges down the back of your dress once again, body already shivering.

He meets you at the trunk, pops it open. With the flood lights, you can see the extent of the damage to Josh’s face – if you could even call it a face anymore. It was nearly caved in completely, soaked with blood and mud, all the planes of a face that should push out were indented inwards. You manage a glance at Flip’s knuckles, and you see they’re busted wide open, and you suck in a sharp breath.

“Follow me.” Flip says, hoisting the body over his shoulder like a fireman would rescue someone from a burning building, and his boots splash in the mud towards where he knows the woodchipper is set up.

You regret not going back for your shoes now, as more freezing mud stains your tights. You regret dressing up at all, dressing for fashion instead of comfort. Flip is in a flannel and jeans, and normally you tease him for being like a cartoon character always wearing the same thing, you wish that you weren’t in a fucking miniskirt and tights in the dead of winter.

Lightning backs the machine dramatically, after a few minutes of trudging. The ground here is much more substantial than the woods, and you push your legs across a developed terrain instead of through the wilderness of the mountains. It stands tall, proud, the woodchipper, and you swallow a lump around your throat.

“Is that it?” You ask, close enough to Flip that you only have to raise your voice a little bit to compete with the sound of the rain.

Flip dumps the body onto the ground, goes over to the woodchipper and turns it on. You can tell that using it in the rain is a poor decision, but it’s the only option you have. Flip adjusts some settings, and the thing roars to life, metal blades whirring whirring whirring.

“Yeah but it – he’s too fucking big he can’t go in all in one piece, it’ll get jammed.” Flip runs a hand through his hair as he comes half-jogging back over to you, and you just blink for a moment.

“Okay then we cut him up.” You say matter of factly, your heart pounding in your chest, aware that time is not on your side, that you have to get this done and get out, have to get this done and go as quickly as possible, in case someone comes, in case someone sees.

“(Y/N), are you sure you want to do this?” Flip asks you seriously, puts his hands gently on your shoulders and looks into your eyes.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.” You whisper, eyes wide, feeling more liberated and free, feeling so light, determined. Maybe it’s the shock, maybe you’ve lost your fucking mind, you don’t know. But you can’t stop now, you’ve done this much, you can’t stop now. “It can’t be too hard, like breaking down a chicken, right? Split at the joints.”

The analogy is lost on Flip, because as much as you love your friend, he cannot cook to save his life. Flip isn’t one to smile, and he doesn’t smile then, but you know he’s agreed with you because he looks around, tries to find something.

“Hold on.” He runs across the yard, finds one of the sheds that’s tucked against the back wall of one of the main buildings.

You stand there and wait, arms crossed, staring down at Josh. While Flip searches for whatever it is he’s looking for, you just grow more and more angry, watching rain flood the spaces in the dips of his shoulders.

“Fuck you.” You say to his lifeless body, “You say I embarrassed you? You tormented me. I wish I could have killed you myself. You’re lucky Flip did it, I wouldn’t have been so merciful.”

You don’t know what’s come over you, but the words sound like the most truthful ones you’ve ever told this boy, this husk of a monster, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. You can’t help yourself, spitting onto the ground in his direction, sneering through the rain, blinking it and the shocked fury out of your eyes.

Flip returns with an axe, brand new from the looks of it. The blade glints in the floodlight, freshly polished metal dripping with silver rivers of water as Flip swings it lightly in his hand.

“This should work, fuck, okay. Okay. Okay alright okay, you come over here, stand over here I don’t want you getting hurt accidentally.” He’s steeling himself, psyching himself up for this, and you put a hand on his back to calm him.

“Want me to do it?” You offer, not knowing the first fucking things about even how to hold an axe, let alone swing one.

“No, no let me.” Flip huffs out a laugh, shakes his head. You can’t help but feel silly for asking, you know there’s no way you’d have the upper body strength to cut through a person. You’d never even chopped wood before, and well, Flip was an actual lumberjack.

“Okay, I can count to three?” You acquiesce with a tremor in your voice.

“Please.” Flip whispers, getting the body into position.

You stand where Flip tells you, a little ways away, as he raises the axe high above his head.

“One…”

There’s a ringing in your ears, a pounding in your chest. You’re doing this, you’re really doing this, you can’t help but think. Flip plants his feet firmly on the ground, takes in a deep breath. You can see his hands flex and grip the handle, as he liens himself up.

“Two…”

Your face shakes, teeth rattling in your skull from where your jaw chatters, shivers in the cold. It’s so bright, so bright with all the floodlights, you feel like you’re being watched, you feel like you can hear the whispers, the murmurs of ghosts all around you, the ghost of this monster you’ve killed.

“Three!”

Hot blood sprays from Josh’s shoulder as the axe swings down, cleaves into his shoulder. The blade is bran new, terribly sharp, and it nearly goes all the way through. The bone splinters, you can hear it, can hear it slicing into pieces. Flip pries the blade out and lines himself up again, does not wait this time for your count before taking aim and slamming it into the body again.

Blood hot and thick bubbles up, gurgles around the wound, and when Flip tosses a severed arm away from the rest of the body, despite yourself, you turn around, brace your hands on your knees and throw up. Everything you ate and drank at the party comes back up in an acrid stinging cough that has you nearly choking, but you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and get yourself together.

You don’t know how Flip has the stomach for this, for it, but he has a steady hand as he works on the other arm, separating it from the body.

The machine is still on, the machine is hungry.

You want to give it what it wants, you want to see the spray out the other end. Without waiting for his instruction, you pick up the arm, grab it by the wrist. You make sure there’s no jewelry, no watches or anything that could get jammed, and you rush it over to the woodchipper, drop it into the basin.

The sound it makes is horrific, the sick squelch and crunch of bone, the shredding shredding shredding of the blades. Mincemeat blasts out the other end, and even as some of it sprays back against the wind, even as some of it lands on your face, speckles of blood and guts and shards of crushed bone, you find that you’re grinning, because it worked.  

“Another one, give me another one.” You say eagerly, holding a hand out to Flip.

He smiles too, eyes too bright, as he gives you Josh’s other arm, hacked away in nice clean segments. He watches as you dump the second arm into the machine, gets to see as it eats up the flesh, grinds and slashes it into nothingness, watches as the bits of this man land in wet smacks on the dirt.

Piece by piece, you obliterate the monster that had tormented you for months.

Piece by piece, you free yourself of the hurt and pain, the lies and manipulation he shackled you with.

Piece by piece, you destroy the evidence, watch as it washes away, watch as the rain carries it down the drain, into the sewers where he’ll rot among the rats like he deserves.

The rain absolves you and Flip of the muck and grime of the deed, and now that it’s over, now that he’s gone, you close your eyes and tilt your head up towards the sky, letting the rain patter down onto your cheeks, your forehead. You feel clean, though you are cold, so so so cold, the only thing you can focus on is the cleanliness, the relief.

“You never should have fucked with her.” You hear Flip say, and that makes you open your eyes, makes your turn towards him.

Flip looks down to the drain, and you smile, because he looks lighter too.

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

You’re leaving the lumbermill, when it hits.

You’d been so caught up in the euphoria of getting rid of him, of this man who had made your life a living nightmare for far too long – that you hadn’t stopped once to think of the consequences of these actions.

“I – holy shit I can’t believe we did that.” It slams into your chest, the realization that you’re a murderer, you’re both murderers, you’re going to go to prison for this, they’ll send you to the chair for this, they’ll kill you for this the same way you killed Josh. Your heart races, pounds pounds pounds as dread and terror and fear all come rushing back, all come slamming down inside your brain. “What the fuck did we just do? Flip what did we do?”

Flip must have willpower of steel, because he doesn’t even blink when you whip around to face him, when you immediately freak the fuck out, when you start to hyperventilate, holding the sides of your head.

“It’s okay, it’s fine. Things like this happen. It was an accident that spiraled out of control, it wasn’t your fault, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Flip is calm, so calm, and that almost freaks you out more, maybe you were going to scream, maybe you were already screaming, you don’t know, you don’t know anything except you just murdered a man.

“Oh my god what are they going to say when he doesn’t come back to the party? Or go home?” You panic, shifting around too much in your seat, legs bouncing, back aching from the way you keep twisting and turning, “What’ll they do if they find the pieces of him?”

“You have to breathe it’s going to be okay, we’ll be okay – fuck, what was that?” Flip is cut off by a loud thud, the car coming to a complete stop.

Your eyes begin to well up with tears as you hiccup out terror, hands shaking. You want to slam your fists against the window, want to throw yourself onto the street and beg for forgiveness, you want to be sick, you want to tell Flip to drive and never look back.

“Oh no, oh no no no this is it, this is the karma catching up to us already.” You can feel the tethers of reality start to slip, black splotches dancing in front of your vision – will you pass out? Are you at your limit? You don’t know, you don’t know but the car isn’t moving, it’s not going anywhere no matter how hard Flip pushes on the gas pedal.

“Stay here.” He says, and you’re in no mood, no state to defy the instructions now.

Flip puts the car in park, gets out and shuts the door so water doesn’t come pouring in. You watch him through the warped view of rain on the windows as he walks around the car, his hands on his hips, trying to figure out what the fuck happened.

It doesn’t take him too long to find the problem, and he comes back into the car with a sigh, soaking wet and unsure of what to do.

“We’re stuck.” He tells you, and that’s the last thing you want to hear. A flat tire you knew he could change, even in the rain like this, but being stuck left nothing to do except wait for someone to come un-stick you.

“So we’re stranded out here?” Your voice creeps up higher and higher in octave as the consequences of that stab you through the chest.

You never should have snuck out of home, you lament, hot tears finally stinging the rims of your eyes. You never should have left home through your window, never should have agreed to the party. You never should have agreed to date this fucking guy, you think, because if you hadn’t maybe you’d be safe and warm somewhere, maybe you’d be asleep soundly in your bed and not stranded in the pouring rain, in the middle of you don’t even know where.  

“Yes but – but this is good. This is good, this is our alibi. We don’t know anything, because we were stranded in the middle of fucking nowhere in a ditch.” Flip knows you’re freaking out, he knows, he can feel it, can see it, it’s happening right in front of him.

“Wh—what will we say that we were even doing out here? What if someone asks why we’re here in the first place?” Your whole body wracks through with terrified sobs. “They’re going to kill us for this, Flip if they catch us they’re going to kill us – I don’t want to die, I don’t --”

He collects you in his arms and holds you tightly against his chest, rocks you to soothe you, calms you. The rain is unrelenting, and you wonder how much water the sky can hold, how many clouds are up there to maintain such a downpour. Flip’s arms are so warm around your shoulders, and his neck is blazing hot where you tuck your face against it.

“You called me to pick you up from the party, I came, we got lost, wound up here. It’s dark and raining, that’s all the truth.” Flip whispers, “We don’t know anything, we’ve been here, waiting for someone to pass by.”

You nod, because it’s all you can do right now. You had almost forgotten how cold you were, the stark comparison of your own body temperature compared to Flip’s making you feel even colder.

“I’m f-f-freezing.” You say, because you don’t have anything else to say, and Flip hums in the back of his throat.

“I don’t have any spare clothes, I’m sorry.” He frowns, but then you pull away for a moment, begin stripping off your dress. You peel away the layers until you’re in your bra and underwear, just wanting the wet cold fabric off of your skin. Flip’s hands drop from your body, and he nervously looks away with a very gentlemanly, “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry – I just – I figured maybe if we use body heat – ” You explained, suddenly feeling stupid, feeling unwanted, feeling --

“Don’t stop, I’ll do it too, if you want. I’ll keep you warm.” Flip nods, understands what you’re doing now, what you mean. He looks at you cautiously, not ever wanting to be imposing, not wanting to make you comfortable. “Only if you want.”

You lick your lips and nod, and in mere moments, he’s shedding his clothes too, until he’s just in his underwear.

Flip climbs over the bench seat and lands in the back, laying down on his back and spreading out. There’s significantly more room in the back seat, and without another thought, you unclip the straps of your bra, letting your breasts breathe, before arranging all the clothes in the direct line of the heater so they might have a chance to dry, before climbing over too.

Flip welcomes you with open arms, and as you settle against him, body flush with his, your heart pounds. He rubs your back, warms you with his palms, palms which feel like the most comforting iron brand, heating you through.

“You know…” You whisper, listening to the sound of his breathing and the rain that pitter-patters onto the roof of the car, “I’ve been thinking about doing something like that to him for a long time.”

“Yeah?” Flip asks, voice thick.

You’re nuzzled against his chest, feeling the most safe that you ever have. The panic has subsided for now, for now at the very least.

“Yeah. It was never a real idea that I had, at least not in the beginning. But more and more lately, I’ve been thinking about how good it would feel if he were gone forever. I don’t know what I ever saw in him. I guess I just…I liked that someone liked me, wanted me. It felt good to be wanted, for a minute there.” You’re honest with Flip. Sometimes it feels like Flip is the only person you can ever be honest with.

“Just a minute?” He asks softly, teasing and playful in a way that makes you want to cry.

“Yeah, just a minute.” You whisper back, propping your head up onto your hands, looking at him.

“There are…other people, you know. Who are out there, who like you. Want you.” He looks back at you, eyes filled with apprehension, but hope.

“People like you?” You ask, hope in your own lungs, in your heart.

“Yeah, people like me.” Flip nods, caresses the back of your head with his strong, capable hand.

“You know, the entire time I’ve been with him, I wished I were with you.” You confess, because now feels like as good a time to confess something as any, doesn’t it? What’s this admittance, compared to the thing you have just done together?

“This isn’t the shock talking, is it?” Flip’s hand smooths around to hold your cheek, pinch at the apple of your smile, because you are smiling now, smiling how he hasn’t rejected you, how he never would have, now you know.

“No, no I promise. This is me talking.” You turn your face into his palm and press a light kiss to the creases in his hand, those hands, the hands which have only ever protected you, defended you, loved you.

“Why are you crying?” Flip frowns, confused, worried, but you shake your head, unable to stop, unable to quit the smile, the tears.

“Because I’ve dreamt about being in your arms like this for what feels like forever, and I – I kept thinking that there’s no way you could ever want me, I thought I was just delusional for thinking maybe we could be something. And here you are, coming to my rescue, the way you always do, and we’ve just killed a man but all I want to do is kiss you.” You huff out a laugh, a laugh that’s tinged with regret for the past, all the time that could have been.  

“Can I?” Flip asks suddenly then, innocent and gentle, “Can I kiss you?”

“Oh Flip, yes, please.” You nod, pushing yourself up a few more inches so that your lips can meet.

They press together in the softest, sweetest of kisses, and all at once it feels like the gates of your heart have been unlocked, and all the love you feel flows out with wild abandon.

Flip deepens the kiss when your mouth opens in a small gasp, and you let yourself be rolled underneath him. The car rocks a little from the effort, but you don’t care. A kiss or two becomes making out, and you feel your head fill with the thick perfume of lust, your whole body warm now, on fire almost. His mouth is hot, tongue thick and heavy against yours, but he tastes delicious, tastes like home.

He kisses you until your breathing begins to quicken, until the smallest noises start to moan and hum in the back of your throat. Your nipples are stiff, so hard from where they’re brushing against his chest, your arms looping around his shoulders, legs parting so he can settle between them.

“Did…did you two ever…?” He pulls away, lips kiss-slick and flushed, and you blink, forgetting all about your boyfriend, or one you used to have.

“No, no I didn’t want to, it didn’t feel right. Not with him.” You tell him honestly, suddenly feeling inexperienced, feeling self-conscious, “Have you?”

“No, I’ve been waiting for the right person.” Flip shocks you by blushing out his own truth. Your eyebrows shoot up, you really would have pegged him for a womanizer type, he was certainly handsome enough for it. But thinking back, you realize in all the time you’ve known him, he’s never once mentioned a girlfriend or even a fling, nothing. It’s always just been you, and him. Flip blushes deeper when you don’t say anything right away, stammers out, “I know it’s cheesy.”

“It’s not cheesy.” You shake your head quickly, dismissing the idea that you’d make fun of him for something like that. You’re relived, it means you can be together for the first time truly together.

You kiss him, invigorated, no longer feeling shy or inadequate. He kisses you back, and when your eyes close there’s nothing but the welcoming embrace of his warmth and affection to pull you in. Your mouths and tongues slide against one another, and your hips raise up, your underwear rubbing against his, wishing there were no barrier between you.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to, I don’t ever want to pressure you or – ” Flip shakes his head, so caring, worried, nipping at the corners of your mouth.

“Maybe, maybe you could just touch me? Just for now, touch me and then, then we can see where we go.” You’re desperate for him though, desperate for him in every way.

He smiles against your mouth, and you smile too, his hands sliding down your body. He shuffles back a little, straddling your hips, knees digging into the upholstery as his hands roam your body, touch where he didn’t have permission to touch before.

He’s drawn to your breasts immediately, kneads them. He licks his lips and rolls your nipples between his fingers, and your back only arches for him, pushes your chest up into his hands further. His breathing is heavy, and you decide that you’re tired of holding yourself back from the things that you want – after this, after tonight, you won’t deny yourself anything ever again, you’ve spent so much time bending to the will of other people, from now on you are going to ask for what you want.

You cup the back of Flip’s head and push him down, gently nudge him. He takes the hint, immediately nuzzles his face into your cleavage, rubs against your breasts. His mouth latches around one of your nipples and he kisses and licks and sucks, and you moan, the pleasure going straight to your pussy.

So does his hand, tentatively skimming over your panties until your legs spread enough to give him permission. He tugs the cotton aside and you hiccup out a little cry of pleasure when he reverently pushes his fingers through your folds, pushes his way through into the tight wet heat of your cunt.

“Oh, oh, that feels good.” Your eyes fly open, hand tangling in his hair where he makes out with your breasts, grunting and groaning with need that the praise spurs in him. His fingers are more insistent, more purposeful, and his thumb swirls over your clit making your hips lift up up up against his hand. “Yes, yes! Flip – do that again, please do that again.”

“Good?” Flip lifts his head from where he’s been smothering himself in your tits, eyes so big and brown, eager to please.

“So good! Phil, it’s so good, I’ve wanted this for so – ah!—long.” Your head tips back against the seat as your toes curl, his fingers moving faster, your stomach expanding with each deep breath you take, trying to suck down the air, trying to lose yourself in the bright white hot light of pleasure.

“This doesn’t count as our first time, okay?” Flip bites a mark around the bottom of your ribs.

“Okay.” You grin, elated that this means maybe maybe maybe he’ll want to have sex with you again, maybe he’ll fuck you with his cock. Maybe he’ll want you forever, maybe he’ll ask you out and take you on dates and do all the things that you’ve always hoped but never dared to dream for.

“I want our first time to be sweet and good and gentle, and not in the back-seat of this car.” He fingers you faster and faster, and you struggle to pay attention to his words because his fingers are so thick and so full and they know just where to touch you to get your feet searching for purchase as you moan and whine and gasp. “I’m going to take you out to dinner and then a movie, and then I’m going to make love to you on a big bed with rose petals like you deserve.”

“Oh fuck – I’m – I’m gonna – ” You gasp out, hips rolling, undulating against his palm, grinding your pussy against the warmth of his hand to chase your orgasm, your body thick with pleasure, sweet and sticky like molasses in your veins.

“Come on my fingers, it’s okay, you’re okay.” Flip encourages you, presses a little harder, moves a little faster, the car shaking shaking shaking from the way your body trembles, rain thudding against the roof as your orgasm crashes through you, a wave of nothing but good, nothing but love.

“Fl-Flip!” You shout, eyes shut tight, the first couple hints of tears clinging to your lashes.

“You’re so beautiful, holy shit.” Flip strokes your pussy through it, coaxes out come that shines on his palm, shimmers on your inner thighs. He kisses your neck, your chest, bites and sucks and marks you so thoroughly, marks you as his, you’re his you’re his and he’s yours and, “(Y/N) you’re – you’re so beautiful.”

“Can I, I want you to come too, I want you to feel good too.” You try, you offer, but he’s still sliding his fingers through your pussy, two – no, three? -- stretching you wide, stretching you for him, for his cock. You want it, you want it so badly, want to be filled, but an aftershock of pleasure builds builds builds and you’re not sure it’s just an aftershock anymore, as your toes curl again, knees shaking, bones aching to come again, “Flip I’m, I think I’m – oh!”

“No, it’s okay, you don’t have to do anything for me, this is more than enough, you’re more than enough, thankyouthankyouthankyou.” He smudges the words into your chest, your throat, litters you with sweet nothings and gratitude, and you want to ask for his dick right then and there –

But there’s a sound, coming from the window.

A knock on the window.

Someone is there, knocking.

“Wait – what was that?” You freeze, the rose-tinted glasses ripped off.

Flip carefully pulls his hand away from your pulsing cunt, sucks your come off of his fingers until they’re clean. He reaches for something, anything, to cover you with, to cover himself with.  

“Cop.” Flip says quietly, and you want to panic but he shakes his head, “Don’t, it’s okay, follow my lead.”

You are suddenly very very aware, of what you both look like. Flip with his torn up fists, you with the split lip and wound on your temple. You’ve both finally stopped bleeding, but you know – you just know – that this officer is going to question you on it, normal people don’t go driving around in the rain with head wounds and split knuckles.

Fuck, you think, you haven’t even cleaned the car yet, there’s bound to be blood in the trunk from where the body had been stashed, what if the officer decided to search the car? There were no weapons in the car, but there didn’t need to be. Your stomach does little flutters of panic as the impending anxiety drips cold down your spine, and just hide yourself behind Flip’s denim jacket, cover up as much as you can, cover your face.

Flip rolls down the window, and a flashlight peers inside the car for a few moments, before you hear a resigned sigh.

“Alright you kids, come on, break it up.” The cop says, tapping his flashlight on the roof of the car. “The middle of the road isn’t the place for this kind of shit, let’s go.”

“Our car is stuck, we’ve been waiting for someone to drive past to ask for help. Could you help give us a push?” Flip asks, and the officer looks at him like he’s crazy.

“No.” The man scoffs, before sighing again, realizing that he can’t just leave the two of you out here. “But I’ll call someone. Then off you go, okay? It’s late.”

“Thank you.” Flip says, and then, like some miracle, the cop goes back to his car, radios for a tow, and leaves.

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

You both are dressed by the time the tow arrives and pulls you out of the mud. Leaving the clothes in front of the heater did wonders, and though your dress is still fucking filthy and caked in mud, it’s not freezing, or soaked. You feel awful, Flip’s dad is going to be pissed when he sees the car like this, but Flip assures you that he’ll have Jimmy help deep clean the whole thing before his parents come home after the weekend.

The tow truck driver doesn’t ask any questions, doesn’t really talk to you at all. By the time he arrives, the rain has stopped, slowed enough as the storms moved across the mountains. You don’t say anything, just sit there and wait for the wheels to come free, holding your breath until the tow driver leaves too.

The radio is soft and gentle, the time on the little clock reads just past three. Flip drove all the way to your house with a hand on your knee, reassuring, comforting. You can’t help but think it feels so different from Josh’s hand, how gentle Flip’s hold is on you. You wonder if he’s trying to ground himself, or keep you calm. Maybe it’s both.

He shuts the lights off and the radio when he rounds the corner. Puts the car in park, and the two of you walk the last few yards to your house. It’s not raining anymore, not at all. That feels like a good sign, somehow.

“Will you come in?” You ask him softly, standing under the streetlamps, careful not to step on cracks in the sidewalk.

“If you want me.” Flip nods, and you smile, and he smiles, because you both know that you always will.

The climb up through the window is a little difficult because of how wet everything is from the rain, but you both manage easily. Your bedroom is warm, and you both shed your clothes in the tub of your private bathroom, knowing your parents wouldn’t ever look in there. You want to shower desperately, but doing so this late would raise suspicion, so you don’t, you’ll have to wait until morning.

But that’s alright, because for now it’s enough to be in clean clothes. Sheepishly, you offer Flip some of his own clothes, clothes that you’ve accumulated over all the time you’ve known him; jackets accidentally forgotten on your couch, sleep shirts and pajama pants he let you borrow that you never returned.

Flip doesn’t tease you for them, he only accepts them gratefully, and the two of you lay down on your bed in the dark. You face one another, so close that your noses almost touch. He’s so handsome, you think. You’ve always thought it, but up close, this close, it’s like the thought consumes your whole mind.

“We can’t ever tell anyone about this, ever. Not even when we’re old. This is something we take to the grave.” You whisper, rubbing the tip of your nose against his.

“Agreed.” He breathes, tucking some of your hair behind your ear. You lean into the touch, lean into him.

“I don’t want to think what would have happened if you didn’t show up.” You confess, and in the silence of the room, the thought of what might have been is more terrifying than anything you two had done together. Flip is quiet, but his jaw clenches as he gently touches the closed wound on your temple. You don’t know what prompts it, but suddenly you’re asking, “Do you believe in alternate universes?”

“Hm?” Flip frowns, and you shrug in the dark.

“You know, like, a different version of our world, existing in some other dimension out in space.” You explain, shuffling close to him, tucking yourself under his chin.

“I never thought about it.” He admits with a shrug of his own and you close your eyes against his throat, warming yourself with his heat as his arms wrap around you.

“Maybe there’s a world where this never happened.” You whisper, “Maybe there’s a version of us out there that never had to do this. Maybe there’s a universe where we’ve always been together.”

“We can be together now, here in this one. If you want.” Flip whispers back, and you can feel the rabbit of his pulse jump jump jumping in his chest, and you smile.

“Phil?” You ask, not opening your eyes, not moving, barely breathing, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He responds right away, with enough feeling behind the words to make you think that maybe he’s loved you just as long as you have loved him, maybe even longer.

A grin spreads across your face as you snuggle up closer to him, impossibly close, suppressing a thrilled little bubble of laughter as he cards his fingers through your hair.

“You’re stuck with me now, you know that? Forever.” You tease with a smile in your voice – but you both know there’s some truth to it. No matter what happens, you’re bonded by this, this nightmare of an evening.

“Happy New Year, (Y/N).” Flip teases right back, kissing the top of your head, before you reach up to kiss him properly.

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

When the sun rises the next morning and you find him gone from your bedroom, tub empty of soiled clothing and the car driven away to the cleaners, you aren’t afraid, because there’s a note on your nightstand written in the most incomprehensible handwriting that could only be Flip’s, asking you on a date, and a brand new pair of heels to wear for it.

And when they ask about Josh you’ll say you don’t know, and when they launch the investigation you’ll testify lies, and when you attend his funeral you might shed a tear, but only only only if Flip’s there by your side, so you can stand behind him, and hide your smile.

You don't own me

I'm not just one of your many toys

You don't own me

Don't say I can't go with other boys

You don't own me

You don’t own me

You don’t own me.

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

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[sjjdkdkwo]

For the prompt list! Ironstrange and 24, where Sephen's physical appearance alters (up to you in what way and how though I was thinking something monstery). He's kinda insecure about it, trying to figure out how he's going to reveal his appearance to Tony.

One of his tentacles twitched in indignation and Stephen fought to urge to shudder as it moved of its own accord. Of all the current changes, he supposed the new germination of tentaculum had been the least offensive amongst them. But something about the way they slithered and squelched loudly against each other like a pile of larvae nearly always made Stephen gag in repugnance. One of the mouths on his stomach heaved anyway. Stephen prayed that it couldn’t be heard in the suffocating silence, but if the look of disconcertment on the other mans face was anything go by, it had. He’d never thanked the Vishanti as strongly as then for having taken the time to learn glamour spells.

 Tony-no, not Tony, Stark. He was Stark again; because this was the future where Stark abhorred him after all was said and done. The one where he hadn’t forgiven Stephen for being left in a storm of ash and bereavement back on Titan. But it was the one where he was still alive, and to Stephen that was enough. And now Stark stood in front of him and Stephen was grateful that his mind didn’t process him as the mess of seared flesh and open wounds and rot, it often did when his memories blurred together in a mosaic of failed alternate futures. Small blessings. Still, it wasn’t enough to settle the accumulation of uncertainty and dejection at the sight of him.

 Finally Stark spoke.

 “Strange.” He said, bobbing his head a little in greeting as he shifted his feet. A paper bag appeared from somewhere behind his back and he presented it in front Stephen like a prize. “Brought you a cheeseburger. Wasn’t sure if you ate this kind of stuff or not but hey, I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

 What?

 “What?” Stephen said, all three hundred and five eyes blinking simultaneously. (He’d counted.)

 Stark flung the bag at him without warning and Stephen caught it with one of his tentacles. Under the guise of the spell though he caught it with one shaky hand.

 “Anyways, I was in the neighborhood and I thought I’d stop by and say hi. Maybe go over some stuff from the last mission.” Somewhere between the words Stark had wandered off and now stood in front of the relics, face scrunched up in thought. “Brought over some of the paper work you forgot to fill out from last time-“

 “I didn’t forget.” Stephen cut him off, agitation bleeding through his tone. “I’m not avenger remember?”

 Stark said nothing at that, instead turning to study Stephen with a face of impassiveness. But Stephen new better, could see the thoughts of perturbation, circumspect and general unease that were always swarming from behind his eyes and burrowing deep into the crevices of his mind. Stephen hated that he’d only added to them during their short time knowing each other.

 “No, your not.” Tony said. More serious now. “But you were there, that means you can’t just leave whenever you want.”

 The last words were sharp and dangerous, and they threatened to strike at any moment should Stephen misstep. Stark wasn’t referring to avengers business then and Stephen didn’t need a time stone to draw that conclusion. He remembered the aftermath well enough. All of Starks friends and allies had been crowding him then, checking to see if he was all right, and enveloping him in reassurances and gratitude. Stephen had never felt so foreign before then, so out of place, and unwarranted and wrong. Like an ugly smudge over the beautiful picture of love and relief and warmth that they’d all made. So he had left, Wong following close behind once he’d dismissed the other sorcerers. He told himself he’d misheard the shout of his name just before he portalled away and tried to ignore the thought that it had sounded suspiciously like Stark, it didn’t matter anymore. They’d won; so all Stephen could do was return to his duties, living off borrowed time and the deep unwavering sense of bliss that the universe was safe for one more day.

 “I wasn’t aware I had to seek out permission before going about my own life, Stark.” He said, trying to shadow his adoration for the other man under false aversion.

 This wasn’t that kind of future.  

 “Yeah well, maybe not. But you could at least let someone know before you do.” Stark said, inching forward slowly, almost predatory like. “Instead of leaving the rest of us to wonder what the hell happened, why you just left without a goddamned word! Did you ever stop to think that someone was looking for you then!? We didn’t even know where you lived for fucks sake-we thought…I thought…”

 Stark was breathing heavily then, every gulp of air shuddering through him and causing his body to tremble uncontrollably. Stephen watched him gasp out before he swallowed and closed his eyes and counted under his breath. Stephen reached out for him before remembering that the spell could only affect the way people saw him, not felt him.

 “I looked for you.” Stark said, something fragile in his voice and Stephen’s chest ached then as guilt swirled deep within his stomach. “But you were gone. And no one could tell me where you were and I thought you were dead…”

 “Stark I’m-“

 “Tony. You called me Tony before.” He whispered.

 Stephen willed himself to swallow the accretion of emotions that had stemmed from fourteen million six hundred and five futures then. No matter how much he longed to reach out and touch, to breath in Tony until his lungs drowned in the essence of his very being. Because Stephen was a monster, and for a moment he didn’t know in what way he meant that.

 “Tony” Stephen sighed. “I’m sorry.”

 Tony barked out a harsh laugh then, cutting Stephen in places he hadn’t thought possible.

 “Fuck you, Stephen. Fuck I-“ Stephen watched him straighten back out, little tremors running along his edges like he was a an image glitching before his eyes and Stephen worried he’d been a hallucination after all. “Please. I just want to talk.”

 “Okay.”

 Tony nodded and moved forward to grab his shoulder before Stephen could stop him, and the act startled Stephen enough that his concentration on the spell faltered for a moment. Stephen let out a sharp breath when his form was revealed to Tony in the sickening image of a mass of limbs and eyes and mouths. Showed him the boils that had been growing along Stephen’s sides that popped out pointed sharp little legs when they burst, and the mass of sharp teeth that now overtook most of Stephen’s face. He watched Tony do the only logically thing anyone would do in that moment. Scream.

 “Holy fuck!” Before he knew it the familiar glow of a repulsor was shining over his face, and Stephen fought back the onslaught of memories that flittered through his mind of all the time’s Tony had blasted his head into a splatter of blood and brain matter. “Stephen what the fuck was that!?”

 Stephen held up his hands in surrender and breathed through the panic that had surfaced. His tendrils quivered in trepidation and his extra mouths moaned and groaned through his worriment. “Please, put that way.”

 “Yeah, fuck no.” Tony said, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Not until you explain what the hell that was, Shoggoth. I swear to God if you’re not Stephen Strange, if you so much as hurt one hair on his head, I’ll blast you to the next dimension over.”

 You already did once. Stephen can’t help but think.

 “I can assure you, I am myself and no one else.” Stephen scoffed, a little offended that Tony thought he’d let himself be overpowered in such a way. “This is merely the result of negligence on my part during a trip off world. Please. Don’t be afraid.”

 It had been. He shouldn’t have touched that dog really, but it was a dog and Stephen adored dogs. It definitely hadn’t been his fault no matter what anyone said. Wong could reprimand him all he wanted, he hadn’t seen how adorable it’d been. Tony only furrowed his brows further.

 “Little hard to do that when the crawling eye is staring back at me.” He said. “It’s really you?”

 “If it wasn’t I can assure you, Wong would’ve dealt with me by now.” Stephen rolled his eyes.

 Tony reluctantly lowered his hand, repulsor disappearing. The look of uncertainty had softened a bit but still sat firm on Tony’s face. He tilted his head a bit in question and finally Stephen gave up and decided to release the spell. He tried not to let the look of terror that flashed briefly over Tony get to him. But it still hurt when the other man subconsciously stepped back in fear. He stopped just a few steps behind, before he lets his eyes roam over Stephen’s gruesome form. Stephen saw him linger on his tentacles and tried not to feel self-conscious when Stark pursed his lips at the head growing from the side of his neck.

 “Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?” Stark asked after a moment, something soft and almost pitiful in his voice. “Shit. Stephen, how long have you been like this? Have you been hiding this since…?”

 “No, it happened after Titan.” Stephen clarified. “Quite recently actually.”

 “Right.” Tony said, and something odd settled on his face. “Does it…is it hurting you?”

 Stephen frowned. Of all the things he’d expected Stark to ask, this hadn’t been one of them. Still he couldn’t deny the small thrill that ran through him when Tony got closer, and he had to force the tendrils still so they didn’t reach for him.

 “Not anymore, no.” Tony frowned at that. “It’s fine. Wong is looking for solution as we speak. The issue will be resolved soon.”

 Hopefully.

 “So what? Your just suppose to answer the call of Cthulhu till then?” Tony asked.

 “Very clever.” Stephen rolled his eyes again. “There’s nothing else that can be done. Besides it’s not like it hinders my magic in any way so you don’t have to worry.”

 “Yeah that’s great and all but are you, you know?” Tony waved his hand. “Okay?”

 Suddenly it was too much. Stephen couldn’t stand to look at Tony anymore, not when he was regarding him with concern and some semblance of fondness. Like he cared for Stephen, like he mattered. So he pushed him back.

 “You don’t have to pretend you care about this you know?” Stephen said softly.

 “What?”

 “It’s fine. You came here to ask questions about Titan and the stone. I’ll answer them.” Stephen said, “I know you dislike me, you don’t have to care about me and my personal matters, really-”

 Stephen startled when a loud groan from Tony rang through the air and interrupted him.

 “For someone so smart you can really be stupid sometimes.”

 Stephen didn’t get the chance to retort because suddenly Tony’s hand had reached up to cup his face. The eyes on his cheeks snapped shut under Tony’s touch and Stephen could feel the other man’s fingers twitch in response before settling back down. And then Tony’s mouth was over his, firm and warm, edging on gentle possessives, like he was fearful Stephen would disappear otherwise. And Stephen couldn’t help the feeling of elation that ran through him, desire and excitement coursing through his veins, and love, so much love that he’d kept so carefully hidden that it threatened to burst through him and obliterate him under detonation of pleasure and jubilation. But then he couldn’t help the soft gasp that slipped through him when Tony’s tongue slipped out to prod his mouth open and before he knew it Tony had pulled back with a look of astonishment. He paused for a minute before speaking.

 “How many tongues do you have?” he asked, voice cracking a little in what could either be unresolved glee or horror.

 “Five.”

 “Jesus, that shouldn’t be as hot as it is.” Tony mumbled lowering his gaze and laughing softly to himself. “Fuck, Stephen what the hell are you doing to me.”

 “To be fair, I wasn’t aware I had done anything to begin with.” Stephen breathed out.

 Tony chuckled then, and one of Stephen’s tendrils reached up to stroke his face. Tony flinched before relaxing and let his gaze roam over the red appendage. Then to Stephen’s abject horror he ran his tongue over it before taking it into his mouth and sucking on it softly. Stephen shuddered, a breathy moan making its way out of him as something carnal stirred within him. He bit his lip, knowing well that his face was flushed and his eyes were blown wide with arousal and need. Finally Tony slipped out the tendril from his mouth to study Stephen pensively. Stephen whined under his fervent gaze and tried to look away but Tony’s hands were firm and unyielding, so he closed his eyes instead.

 “Stephen, look at me.” Tony commanded gently.

 Stephen opened his eyes, face scrunched up as he regarded Tony.

 “There you are.” Tony said before smiling and Stephen’s breath hitched as he took it in. For the first time since arriving Tony’s face was relaxed and comfortable and Stephen had no idea what to do now that the warmth of it was directed at him. “I found you, after all.”

 They would talk more after, about lot things. Would discuss Stephen’s current ghastly appearance further, and Tony would insist that it didn’t bother him (it really didn’t). And they’d talk about Stephen’s decisions on titan, about what he saw and why he had left. Maybe not all in one sitting, but they would. Because they had all the time in the world, Stephen had made sure of it. But for now, they would enjoy each other here, along with Stephen’s many faces and eyes and whatever. And Stephen would let himself enjoy it for just a second.

 Because Stephen wasn’t a monster after all.

 “Yes, you did.”

 And Tony knew that too.

#ironstrange #prompt #cw body horror #Stephen Strange #Doctor Strange #Tony Stark #Iron Man #this was very fun! #thank you!! #I still haven’t gotten the hang of their banter but #hopefully they turned out okay! #I had written something else that got way out hand #before I realized I had strayed to far from this prompt #😂😂😂

[fullsuuns]

true blue | n.jm

pairing: jaemin x fem. reader

genre: angst, fluff

wordcount: 6.4k

tags: camphalfblood!au, forbiddenlove!au, demigod!jaemin, mermaid!reader, jaemin is son of poseidon in this, it’s also told in jaemin’s pov

warnings: none

synopsis: in which na jaemin finds out he’s more gifted than he initially thought and also takes the risk of falling in love with a mermaid.

song rec♫: neptune - sleeping at last (highly rec this song as it alone inspired this entire fic)

na jaemin had always been a lover of water.

growing up in busan, he always felt inexplicably drawn to the ocean. be it the way the water always felt refreshing to the touch and would instantly clear his head, or how the tadpoles would dance around his toes when he dipped his feet in, he didn’t know. all he did know was that he adored it.

maybe it had been the initial reason he’d joined his highschool’s swim team during his senior year. something about diving straight into water and moving his body in a way that almost felt like second nature to him. getting praised for doing so was just another factor in what drove him to spend more time at the school’s pool than, quite literally, anywhere else. though in his last year, jaemin quickly became a commended athlete for his extraordinary talent.

what other people didn’t know, especially his classmates and his coach, is that na jaemin could do something with water — something that he was sure other people couldn’t. at first, jaemin told himself it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary; that making the water ripple beneath him without even pressing his palm to the surface wasn’t odd.

except it was — that was what he soon realized.

of course, making water move didn’t seem like a big deal; jaemin would reassure himself that it was most likely due to the pressure coming from the pool’s installed filtering jets. everything seemed fine as jaemin dove into the body of water. he hadn’t noticed the pretty bad scrape on his arm, either — and from what? he didn’t even know.

when jaemin had surfaced, his eyes caught the slight discoloration to his submerged skin almost immediately. he brought his arm up and out, water sloshing around him as his eyes inspected the scrape. the wound looked pretty gruesome under the white light, the harsh lighting of the natatorium almost making it appear worse than it probably was.

he was about to just let it be, swim a few more laps — at least that was the plan until he saw water creep its way up his arm. several streams ran over the wound, collectively healing and sealing the scrape up. now in its place was nothing but unblemished skin, as if nothing had ever happened.

jaemin was shocked. his mouth had hung wide open, eyes almost bulging out of his skull as they drank in his now seemingly perfect forearm. he was quick to dart his eyes for his surroundings, hoping no one had witnessed what exactly had just happened. there were various students, all a part of the water polo team, but they were all too busy with setting up equipment to notice jaemin’s situation. he was thankful.

he swam to the edge of the pool after that. he pushed himself up, gushes of water splashing around him as he exited. jaemin power-walked to the locker room, wishing that whatever he’d seen was just a figment of his imagination and that it never actually occurred. he didn’t spare his arm another glance for confirmation, choosing to ignore the incident for his own sanity.

nothing intense had happened since that day, and jaemin had graduated from highschool peacefully. of course, the swim team’s ace had been scouted by big universities, but jaemin had already been set on dropping swim after the pool incident, so he politely turned each one down. (each agent had looked at him incredulously, but jaemin just smiled humbly, thanking them before parting ways.)

the summer after his senior year of highschool had been pretty boring. several hours into the night for various nights in a row, jaemin played call of duty with his friends donghyuck and jongho. he was sure that he even developed eyebags, but ignored the mirror every time he stepped into the bathroom. cold showers always fueled to restore his energy almost completely, keeping him going despite donghyuck’s whines that they didn’t do anything. jaemin would tease that the brunet simply just wasn’t as cool as him.

one day, jaemin had decided to pick up the mail that arrived at his mother’s house just so that she didn’t have to. he was surprised to see a handwritten letter addressed to him, even going as far as having a wax seal on the back. jaemin had dropped the rest of the mail pile onto the kitchen table instead, focused on prying the single envelope with the hard-to-budge seal open.

the letter wasn’t anything fancy, really, but it hadn’t been written in korean. initially, it was written in a language jaemin couldn’t decipher — or at least that’s what he thought until the characters started to float and move around right before his eyes. out of shock, jaemin dropped the letter and envelope to the floor. he’d squeezed his eyes shut, spewing mantras of it’s just the redbull, it’s just the redbull.

jaemin eyed it for a while, the crinkled cream paper unmoving in all its glory. his mother still hadn’t gotten back from work, so it was just him in their house. still, jaemin refused to pick up the letter for five more minutes.

he should’ve known that that had been the start of it all; that it’d be the inevitable start of na jaemin finding out he had magical blood running through his veins.

he simply ridiculed the idea, ridiculed the letter in its entirety until his mother had gotten home that one fateful day only two weeks ago. she’d told him that it was all true — about how jaemin was a descendant of the all-mighty poseidon, god of the seas, and that he was a lot more gifted than he thought possible.

he wanted to cry, laugh, maybe even scream, because he desperately wanted to be told it was a joke. still, the memory of his mother only looking at him with serious, unplayful eyes bore itself into his mind. in that moment, fourteen days ago, jaemin knew that it was true — knew that that was the reasoning behind why he was always different.

na jaemin didn’t want to believe it. he still wanted to be in unnerving denial, even as his mother drove him to what she said was the boundary line that connected the human world to the gifted world. even when their car had stopped at a clearing and she had exited the vehicle, she still motioned jaemin’s figure out.

“i can’t go beyond here, jaemin. you have to go on your own.” she told him when he finally stepped up to her.

“but why?” he asked. jaemin didn’t want to admit it, but his heart was beating sporadically beneath his chest at the thought of having to do this alone.

“i’m not like you, jaemin. you must go on your own and figure out your destiny.”

she’d given him a hug, promising she’d call him. jaemin wanted so badly for her to tell him this wasn’t what was actually happening, that it was some planned-out prank that would land them both on television and get them thousands of dollars, but he knew it wasn’t in his mother’s nature to pull something like this.

as he stepped deeper into the forest with backpack on his shoulders, jaemin looked back to see his mother wave at him. he waved back, a wistful look crossing his features momentarily as he stared at her. with a newfound sense of bravery, and one last look at the woman who raised him for twenty years of his life, jaemin turned back around and ventured farther into the forest, leaves crunching beneath his boots as he searched for whatever it was exactly that awaited him.

jaemin was surprised, shocked, flabbergasted to see that whatever his mother had told him about actually turned out to be true. forty minutes into his walk, and with the sun threatening to set, jaemin reached a clearing.

it greets him in the form of tall, wooden trunks that are formed to create a singular entrance. above it, greek lettering rearranges itself into korean before jaemin’s eyes (just like they had on the letter), and soon, camp halfblood is sprawled over the wood.

he didn’t know exactly what to do from then on. jaemin heard a yell being shouted from inside the open territory, and someone was quick to jog up to him.

“new comer?” the person asked. he looked to be around his age: black hair, youthful brown eyes, and a similar build to jaemin.

he nodded, albeit a little cautiously.

“i’m jeno,” the raven said, grinning, “son of ares, god of war.”

“i’m jaemin.” he greeted. “son of poseidon, i think? at least that’s what i was told.”

jeno’s eyes widened, marveling at him. “no way, poseidon?”

jaemin only nodded again, more confident this time.

safe to say, it took jaemin a while to get used to his new life. word of the one and only poseidon’s son was quick to spread around the camp — or at least that’s what he assumed, because only two days had passed before he’d found out everyone knew of him.

with jeno teaching him battle techniques and all about camp life, jaemin grew grateful at the chance to be given a friend in his new life. of course, there were still times that he missed his old ones.

(he’d told donghyuck and his other closest friends that he’d be away on an internship in the united states for some time, and that his cellphone service wouldn’t allow for international calls or texts. it was a lie, but it seemed believable enough that they didn’t question him.)

jaemin was lucky to reach his mother on the phone the night he’d first arrived at the place two weeks ago. he informed her that he’d gotten to camp safely, that he’d even met a new friend, and she’d been relieved. his mother told him to stay safe and to call her more often, to which he agreed he would do.

more time passed, and jaemin had met more friends: renjun, son of athena, chenle, son of hermes, and jisung, son of demeter. they were all nice boys, despite their initial gawking at finding out that jaemin was a direct descendant from poseidon himself. although the shock was there at first, they were quick to dismiss it in favor of treating him normally — or as normally as demigods could treat eachother — and jaemin was grateful for it.

he’d even gotten his own cabin — a gift from his father — chiron, head of camp, told him. it was a grand cabin constructed close to the edge of camp, away from any and all others (jaemin was happy to learn that) as it overlooked the vast ocean it connected to. over time, jaemin grew to love visiting his dock in favor of clearing his head. the water around him felt like home, and it still served to calm him and keep him peaceful when he was conflicted.

jaemin would visit the dock several times a week just to get a sense of grounding. there were times he would play with the water beneath him, ghosting his palms over the surface to practice creating ripples. the fish that swam under the water were always spooked.

it’d been two months later that something truly happened, something that he never expected to see — or, well, hear.

jaemin thought it would be just another ordinary thursday, except that idea changed when he heard faint groans of pain from behind the giant boulder to his right.

he knew that the rock was beyond the boundary line that separated the camp from the outside world, but jaemin always pinged himself as the curious type. he was quick to round the rock, wanting to figure out what exactly had been making noise.

he didn’t know what he expected, but he certainly didn’t expect to see you laying a ways away from the ocean, tear streaks on your face as you distinctly cried out in pain.

jaemin was quick to rush over.

“oh my god, are you okay?” he asked, panic in his voice as he knelt down next to you.

your tail shimmered under the sunlight, and jaemin was sure he knew what you were. he’d read about creatures like you all his life. he thought mermaids would just be folklore, imaginary. he didn’t believe them to be real at first, but jaemin had also found out he was a demigod so he wasn’t exactly sure about what was real or not anymore.

you definitely seem to be real, at least that’s what jaemin thought to himself.

he was refocused by the time he heard a whimper escape your lips, fear evident in your eyes as you tried to shimmy away from him. with your attempts being fruitless, jaemin’s heart ached momentarily when you lifted your tail only to wail in agony.

“it’s okay,” he assured. jaemin brought his hands forward to show you that he hadn’t been holding a weapon. “i won’t hurt you. what’s wrong? i want to help you.”

you bite your lip. your voice is quiet, yet almost melodical to him when you speak. “my tail. it’s my tail. i can’t - i can’t move. it hurts too much.”

jaemin looked down to see what you were talking about. sure enough, he saw several gashes lining the ends of your tail, some chunks to your fin even ripped off.

his eyebrows knit in sorrow, worry. “who would do this to you?”

he didn’t expect a response, it’d been more of a rhetorical question that he’d wondered to himself. still, he heard your quiet answer. “fishers.”

jaemin looked back at you, smiling in hopes that it could be enough to soothe you down a bit. he didn’t miss the way your irises still held traces of caution and fear, but he was quick to reassure you.

“don’t worry, just let me do something real quick. i promise you’re safe, i won’t even touch you. just let me help. can i help you?”

he waited for you to nod, for you to give him permission to help you. hesitantly, you did so.

you were still a close enough distance to the ocean that the water came alive at jaemin’s command when he held his hand out. he looked to you for any sign of discomfort, letting his tensed shoulders go lax when he only found twinkles of surprise and curiosity in your eyes. jaemin didn’t let the water get swallowed by the sand as it trailed up to you. he directed his palm towards your tail, the water running over the broken fin of your tail.

what happened next made you gasp and jaemin grin. the water was slowly beginning to mend your tail, restoring the previously broken off ends with new, healthier ones out of thin air. by the time your tail was repaired, and you had flapped it experimentally, you cried out in happiness.

“no way! no way, my tail!” you give it another flick, just for good measure. “it’s back!”

jaemin saw the grin on your face, saw the way your eyes shone so brightly, and he had to admit that it served to bring a smile to his lips.

that had been jaemin’s first encounter with you.

two weeks had passed.

jaemin was sure he’d never see you again after that, telling himself you’d most likely never come back a second time. he didn’t tell anyone of his encounter with you; hadn’t mentioned anything about mermaids to anyone. still, two weeks passed and he couldn’t get you out of his head, because simply to him, you were the kind of ethereal beauty beyond those descended from the aphrodite herself.

he’d been seated at his cabin’s dock again. the water was calm, nothing but the faint chitter-chatter from camp the only sound that could be heard. in his silence, jaemin constantly found himself wondering if you would ever come back, if he’d ever cross paths with you again as he dug into his pocket for a stray coin. he threw it into the ocean, watching it leap for several seconds before sinking below the surface.

he let out a sigh.

“maybe something like that was too good to be true,” jaemin spoke to himself. “silly me.”

except, jaemin was quick to turn his head when he felt something hit his bicep. looking down, he saw that what he’d been hit with was a singular pebble — round and smooth and definitely hand-picked. he chose to ignore it, telling himself it could’ve just been a coincidence. then he felt another hard collision to his arm.

he turned faster this time, eyes fleeting as they scoured for location of the source. the top of a head behind a boulder caught his gaze. it disappeared almost instantly, but jaemin knew he saw it. a tiny spark of hopefulness was quick to rise within him when he realized that that had been the rock he’d previously seen you behind.

jaemin got up to his feet, grabbing the small yet striking pebble in his hand. he’d looked over his shoulder, made sure no one saw him crossing over the boundary before he made his way over to the boulder.

jaemin reached the top of the rock soon enough, sitting down as he waited for you to come out. he’d purposely tip-toed so as to not let alert you that he was approaching, and it’d worked as he heard a shriek from you once you made another appearance. the surprise of it had you falling back into the water, in turn making jaemin both laugh and clap his hands in amusement.

he grinned teasingly at you, holding up the pebble next to him. though he wasn’t happy about you throwing stones at him, he was ecstatic to learn that you came back. “is there a reason you’re throwing rocks at me?”

jaemin watched you emerge from the ocean in all of your radiance. he took note that from under the clear water, your tail was fine now, no longer needing care. he also took note that your hair was still pretty despite it being stuck to your wet body, and that you had a mesh bag tied to your wrist.

“yes, actually,” you answered, laughing. your eyelashes fluttered extra prettily against your cheeks when you brought the bag up to him, and jaemin was completely enraptured. “i want to thank you for helping me.”

“you don’t have to thank me,” jaemin said. “but i’d love to know your name.”

“y/n,” oh how beautiful your voice was to him. “and you, my savior?”

a smile prodded at jaemin’s lips. “y/n,” he echoed, testing your name on his tongue. he loved it. “i’m jaemin, na jaemin.”

“jaemin,” you had repeated with a giggle, swishing the bag around in your hands. it was so, so easy for him to be intrigued by you. “i’ve brought you seashells as a gift.”

his heart had fluttered when you placed the mesh bag of trinkets into his palms, various seashells moving around in his grip. the bag was wet. droplets poured down onto jaemin’s jeans, but he found that he didn’t mind. not when you gave him a bright, beautiful grin that had his breath hitching.

that was his second encounter with you.

it wasn’t long before jaemin really, truly started to fall for you. every friday, he’d meet you at the same rock just outside of the boundary line after duties at 3p.m — or, well, when the ocean’s current direction shifted for you (he came to figure out that mermaids simply didn’t calculate time). still, these were the days he awaited most.

he’d share stories upon stories with you about both his camp life and human life. he grew fond of how you attentively drank up every detail from every story he shared with wide, beautiful eyes. you, too, shared counts of your life at sea, though they were more dark if anything.

jaemin’s eyebrows furrowed when he heard of how your kind was hunted, sought after for your fins. you’d told him about how they were magical in the sense that they were able to heal the weak and restore them back to full health. jaemin now understood why you had been so scared the first time he saw you. though he smiled at you reassuringly, his heart broke beneath the surface.

jaemin had grabbed your hand, interlocking your fingers together with a whispered promise. “i’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”

no one knew of jaemin sneaking out beyond campgrounds to meet you. no one even knew that he was sneaking out in the first place until two months in.

jaemin was careful enough to not let anyone see you, always hiding you away from the direct line of sight from camp just had something go wrong.

nothing ever did, at least until that one friday.

he’d been perched at his usual spot on the boulder, sitting cross-legged with you in front of him, your top half emerged enough from the water so that he could place his lips on yours. there was nothing but the ocean and the forest around you, a calm serene setting for when he would kiss you under the shade of the giant camp tree.

jaemin held your hand out, your palm facing towards the sky. you’d giggled, asking him what he was doing, to which he only shushed you with another kiss to your lips. he had to pull away when you placed your free hand on his cheek, deepening it ever so slightly.

“sneaky sneaky.” jaemin tsk’d.

you hummed, tongue darting out across your lips. “nice chapstick. is that cherry?”

“yes it is,” he answered. “now hush, i’m trying to show you something.”

he returned to drawing a figure on your skin, connecting your palm to his right after. your eyes glimmered as you watched in awe, eyes trained on the watered silhouette of a seahorse that floated between both you and jaemin.

“wow, it’s - wow, jaemin. that’s amazing.”

jaemin’s heart thumped from beneath his chest, as it always did each and every time you smiled at him. you tapped an index finger at the floating water, yelping when some of it ran down your arm and back into the ocean. you were shocked at first, but quick to let out a sweet laugh right after. jaemin was happy to see you happy. jaemin was happy that he could make you happy.

maybe he’d been too caught up in you — too caught up in the melodical beauty of your laugh to notice anything unusual. his eyebrows furrowed when he saw your eyes settle on something behind him, the deep pools of your irises growing the same fearful look they had when he first met you, and a panic arose within him. you didn’t say anything as your eyes met his, but you were quick to duck back into the water. jaemin watched you swim away below the ocean with a weak and confused heart.

that’s when he heard it.

the faint, distant call of a camper.

jaemin visibly tensed, his jaw hardening and back straightening at the intrusion. the water that he’d controlled, now fallen, served to create a damp spot on the rock. his eyes scoured the ocean, but he saw no trace of you anywhere. he’d hoped that whoever was calling for him didn’t actually see you.

with a heavy sigh, he turned around to face the random camper — someone he’d never even seen before. still, jaemin tried to muster the best fakest smile that he could account for, even when his blood simmered. the intruder only looked at him warily before turning away, scurrying back to camp.

he was now left alone with nothing but the ocean around him. the sun had almost set, glow peaking just enough from behind the mountains, and that’s when jaemin realized just how fast time would pass when he was with you. sometimes, there were fridays where he would return to camp after darkness had grown, after spending hours talking to you about nothing and everything all at once, but he never once regretted one of those days.

a few days later, jaemin thinks word got out to chiron that he’d been sneaking past the boundary line, because soon he gets summoned into the centaur’s office for what he presumes is that very reason. the place smells of smoke upon his arrival, and the cabin has a surplus of antiques from olympus that decorate the interior. it’s nowhere near as elegantly built as his own cabin; jaemin thought this as he watched the crackling fire from the fireplace. he pushed that down when his wandering thoughts were interrupted by the rough clear of a throat.

chiron is stoic with his gaze, but jaemin is unphased. if he was really here for what he thought he was here for, he didn’t care.

“i hear you’ve been sneaking out of camp.” ah, so jaemin’s assumptions were proven correct. there was a disapproving lilt in the centaur’s tone that made jaemin almost flinch. “to converse with a mermaid?”

jaemin knew he couldn’t lie to weasel himself out of this situation — it simply wouldn’t do him any good when everyone already knew anyway. he’d had the feeling that the camper he’d seen would tell someone as soon as he returned back to camp, but jaemin didn’t care in that moment. he’d been too caught up in feeling distraught over your untimely goodbye to think about the probability of his secret getting out.

he just sighed. “yes, i have.”

except chiron already knew.

“do you know the danger that outside creatures could impose on our kind?” he berated. “that boundary is put in place to keep us safe, keep us away from the danger that the outside world brings. i will not have you stepping outside of that field again - for a pesky mermaid much less.”

jaemin felt his blood boil at the words, at the way the centaur spoke of you so unnervingly. his hackles raised in defense, eyes unsparing as he spoke with a tone full of venom. “do you know who i am?”

chiron must have been taken aback, because surely he hadn’t expected jaemin to challenge him so outwardly.

jaemin continued. “i’m son of poseidon, god of the seas, and unless you want this entire place flooded by the ocean’s water, you’re going to leave me alone, and you’re going to leave her alone. i can handle things on my own.”

he didn’t spare the centaur another word nor did he allow him to respond. instead, jaemin rose from the desk he’d been leaning on, storming out of the cabin and halfway across camp towards his own.

jaemin meant it when he said he wouldn’t let anyone hurt you again. he loved you too much to let anything bad happen to you.

the week that followed was too tense. jaemin hadn’t spoken to his friends in a while. he told jeno he needed alone time, needed to think — to which the raven assured him to take as much time as he needed. by then, everyone knew that na jaemin was seemingly in love with a mermaid, as gossip about those descended from the most powerful of gods always spread like wildfire. he didn’t mind it though, maybe that would get aphrodite’s daughters off his back for once.

the next friday was quick to come.

that entire morning, jaemin had buzzed to see you. he’d missed your eyes, your voice, your lips, and positively everything about you that he grew to adore in so little time. he wanted to speak to you again, to make you laugh again, and to get the chance to kiss you again.

he’d arrived at your spot that evening, your favorite flower freshly picked in his hand. he even went as far as to truly making sure no one had followed him this time by coming out earlier than he usually did.

jaemin waited, and waited, and waited. there was no sign of you anywhere; no breathtaking glimmer of your tail under the translucent water as you swam around him, no teasing splash as you coaxed him into getting in with you, and certainly no familiar ripple as you got ready to emerge from under the ocean.

he waited. but you never came.

jaemin realized he’d been sat there for hours when he saw the ever fading sun begin to hide itself behind the mountains. they’re the same hours he would spend with you, but the time that passed now left him sluggish without your vibrant presence.

still, he didn’t move. he refused to until the day turned into night.

hours later, the sun got replaced by the moon — the subsequent result of time that had passed.

jaemin soon gave up. he figured you’d come another day, and it was left at that.

except with every trudging step back to his cabin, his heart ultimately cracked. the now droopy flower in his hand mirrored the sorrow he felt when he placed it on the nightstand next to his bed, a lone petal falling. he’d been ready to see you again, been ready to give it to you (jaemin remembered that vague memory of you telling him of your favorite flower weeks ago, and he wanted to see that familiar sparkle of delight light up your eyes — simply because he adored it too much).

unable to sleep, jaemin laid awake for some time that night, staring up at the wooden ceiling of his cabin. when he did manage to feel sleepy, eyes fatigued, he closed them with one thought plaguing his mind: he didn’t know where you were, but he really, really hoped you were safe.

jaemin didn’t give up.

instead, he opted to visit your same meeting spot every day after he finished daily training, hoping you’d come back to him at some point. at times, he would bring his ipod and play your favorite song — a song you’d told him stuck with you from a passing cruise ship. you sang the lyrics so prettily, and though tranced, jaemin still managed to jot them down on a piece of paper so that he would have it by the next time you two met up.

he grew to miss you more and more with every passing hour he spent by the unmoving water. he found himself missing the way your eyes would crinkle when he cupped your face to press chaste kisses to your lips, and how you would laugh into his mouth each time. jaemin was sure he hadn’t felt this way about another being before, and he told himself he’d rather walk through the gates of hell than let you go like this.

so jaemin waited. patiently.

another two weeks passed, yet he still came back each day.

it’d been two fridays since jaemin had last seen you. time felt still when he sat on the rock, but he found entertainment in watching voyagers travel from a distance. he noted that the clouds were gloomier today, a sort of overcast that almost threatened to storm against his surroundings, but jaemin didn’t pay it much mind other than that. instead, he found serenity in closing his eyes, and favored listening to the sounds of nature around him.

jaemin first felt a splash hit his left hand, but excused it as just a random ocean wave that’d gotten a little too powerful (those weren’t all too uncommon, especially when a rainstorm was near). with his eyes still closed, jaemin breathed deeply, ears twitching only when he heard the faint chirp of birds behind him.

there was another splash a few seconds later, though this time it’d been undoubtedly bigger than the last. jaemin peered one eye open when he felt both of his arms get drenched, the water now drenching his lap.

safe to say, his mouth dropped open in surprise. a soft gasp followed when he saw you floating in front of him, in all of your divine radiance. your hair was soaked, sticking to your body. droplets of accumulated water had decorated your flushed cheeks, your eyelashes wet with saltwater. still, you looked as gorgeous as you always had to jaemin — maybe even more this time.

he didn’t know how to react — didn’t know if you were actually truly in front of him. he’d waited countless hours for you to return back to him, return to your spot, yet he never expected to see you so abruptly like this.

you opened your mouth to speak, but jaemin had beaten you to it.

“y/n?” he asked almost incredulously. “is it - is it really you? are you really here right now?”

you only nodded.

a grin was quick to plaster itself across jaemin’s face, soon falling when he noticed yours didn’t mirror the same excitement. instead, he took in your sad eyes, the familiar spark that would shine beneath your irises no longer visible. he was confused; sadness was something jaemin had never seen from you.

“what’s wrong?”

“jaemin, i -” your voice sounded distressed, breaking before you could even say anything else. jaemin tried to reach out for you, to comfort you, but you pulled away from him in time so that he couldn’t touch your face. hurt panged at his heart instantly, and he was sure the confusion was evident on his face.

you gulped. “we can’t be together, jaemin.”

it took a second for your words to register, but when they had, they felt like a painful punch to his throat, and jaemin’s heart metaphorically plummeted to his feet.

he recoiled, bringing his arms back to his body. many different emotions swim through him all at once, unsure of how to feel exactly. he looked at your face for any signs of bluff, but was only met with sad, unmoving eyes.

“what? y/n, what? why?” his voice cracked, words laced with distress.

he watched your eyes well up with tears, and his heart continued to break. above the both of you, the sky grew darker, a flurry of clouds passing over the sky rapidly quicker than they ever had before.

you cleared your throat. “we can’t be together, jaem. we’re from two different worlds, and i don’t want you to end up hurt because of me. i - i don’t want that. so you have to let me go. you have to. i just want you to know that i love you and i’m so thankful for you, and i’m so, so sorry that i had to do stumble into your life.”

jaemin wanted to reassure you that you were all he ever wanted — all he ever needed as he heard you babble. he opened his mouth to speak, wanting so badly to console you, but was quick to get interrupted by a loud roar of thunder.

water came shortly after. it poured heavily around the two of you as the atmosphere thickened. jaemin felt his hair get damp, his clothes growing heavy with rain, but he was completely unphased by it when he looked at you — looked at who he fell in love with.

he watched you look up to the sky, felt his eyes begin to water.

“i have to go now. zeus knows i’m here, and he’s not happy,” your voice was distraught as another heavy clap sounded through the sky. the sound made you jolt. “i won’t forget the time i spent with you, na jaemin. thank you for - for showing me your world. and telling me your stories. and loving me as i am. i love you, i’ll truly never forget you, but i have to go.”

jaemin wanted to cry in confusion. he didn’t want to say goodbye. he’d waited too long just to see you again.

tears poured down his face rapidly as he shook his head in denial, begging you to not leave. he reached out his hand to your submerging figure, crying out when you retreated back into the water and swam away with nothing but a final glance at him.

jaemin cried for who knows how long, uncaring of the rain as it pelted his body. the usually refreshing feeling of water no longer served the same purpose at calming him. instead, his body wracked with countless sobs — crying because he missed you, crying because he waited so long just to hear your voice, and crying because he wasn’t sure if he’d ever see you again.

all the other times that jaemin didn’t want to leave this spot felt incomparable to how rooted he felt to the rock in that moment. the sun was gone by then, and jaemin had cried his heart out so much in those hours that his eyes turned puffy and his mouth was parched from dehydration. he didn’t move, couldn’t move when he heard a voice call to him. he didn’t budge, even when he felt a firm hand drop to his shoulder.

jeno sat next to him, silently looking out at the ocean. he, too, ignored the pouring rain.

“i’m sorry, jaemin.” he consoled. jaemin was thankful there was some sort of apologetic tone to his words, it was nice to know someone felt sympathy for him. “maybe it was for the best.”

tears were fresh again as they brimmed behind his eyes. he let them fall.

“i loved her - god, i loved her so much.” the words were strained, tension raw in his throat, but he still managed to choke them out.

“i know she loved you too.”

weeks went by at a slow pace, and jaemin wasn’t any better. he’d still sneak out and visit the ocean sometimes, visit your rock, even when he knew you wouldn’t return a second time. he’d speak to the body of water as if you were there, as if you were in front of him once again. more often than not, jaemin would just cry.

camp isn’t any better from then on; he didn’t find joy in anything anymore. when he wasn’t at the ocean, he spent most of his time in his cabin, crying and reminiscing fond memories he experienced with you. his friends checked up on him every once in a while, but nothing seemed to mend the brokenness of his heart.

he’d heard talk around camp of ongoing sea complications in korea, especially back home in busan. everyone had been confused as to why it happened so suddenly, but jaemin knew. he knew that he was the one causing the sea levels to rise, and in turn, making water travel farther up the city beaches. jaemin couldn’t bring himself to care, though, because he had lost the one thing he cared about most.

jaemin couldn’t bring himself to care because he had lost you.

#jaemin angst #jaemin fluff #nct dream angst #nct dream fluff #jaemin x reader #nct dream x reader #nct dream au #nct dream fic #jaemin au #jaemin fic #jaemin scenarios #nct dream scenarios #nct fic #nct au #nct scenarios #nct angst #nct fluff #nct x reader #jaemin #nct #nct dream imagines #nct imagines #jaemin imagines

[write-orflight]

Songs to Play While Hunting a Killer: Chapter 2

*Gif not mine*

Prev -> Next

Pairings: HotchxReader, Enemies to lovers

Rating: M

Words: 1.8K I know :(

Warnings: None right now, eventually will be smut

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

Summary: Y/N is a Bounty Hunter who always runs. Aaron is the Agent that stays behind, it was no mystery why they didn’t get along. When the two are called to revisit an old case together it’s no wonder old feelings revisit too.

A.N: I know this chapter is short which is why I’ll be updating this again Thursday. It just felt like a good stopping point.

  Chapter 2: Hold the Line by Toto 

You and Hotch drove in silence again, Toto now playing softly in the stereo as you made your way to George Foyet’s. Your left leg propped up so your left arm could rest on it, your fingers drummed lightly on the steering wheel while you drove. You didn’t notice but Aaron was watching you. God, he hated how you were always like this, carefree and blatant disregard for the order of things. It reminded him of when he first saw you. 

Hotch watched the woman sat a ways in front of him, leg propped up and sunglasses on in class. She was obviously hungover and not paying attention, taking the time to balance a pencil on her nose. Hotch rolled his eyes as he saw you check your pager and phone, he couldn’t stand people who joined the academy only to not pay attention to lessons.

“Can anyone tell you the difference between a trigger and a stressor?” the instructor called out looking to the class. He levels his gaze on you on your pager. “Ms. L/N? Since you want to check your phone, perhaps you want to call your dad and ask him for the answer?” He laughs, snottily. 

Hotch watches you peel your sunglasses down to look at him. “Not necessary.” You turn to look at your peers. “A trigger is something that makes one think directly to abuse/trauma, they often lead to flashbacks or intrusive memories. While a stressor is an event or situation that creates a sense of threat or stress and causes someone to lash out or change behavior and sometimes even have a psychotic break.” You say with a bored expression. “Would you like an example of a stressor?” 

“Oh, do you have one?” The instructor asks. 

“Yea. An impending divorce is actually a great example of a stressor.” You say looking him in the eye. The instructor looks a bit shaken. “You’re wearing the same suit from yesterday but it’s pressed, which tells me you spent an unexpected night in a hotel and whenever your wife is mad at you, you take it out on your female students. Especially when she pages you during a lesson which is why you took your anger out on me, a woman checking her pager. I do suggest calling her back though, before she actually is an ex wife.” with that you pushed your sunglasses back up, returning to your pager to your pocket. 

That was the moment Hotch decided he didn’t like you very much. You were smart and skilled, sure, but you were also arrogant to a fault. 

Your phone ringing took Hotch out of the memory. He watched you pull it out of your jacket pocket, smiling at the name before answering. 

“Hey, Seanie.” You croon into the phone. “Yea, I was in Mass last week. Now I’m back, your brother asked me to work a case with him.” Aaron instantly sits up at the mention of his brother. “Yea, I know I said I was going to visit after my bounty, work never sleeps you know that.” You’re smiling at the phone for a second, listening to Sean talk. “Well I can make my way up to New York once we’re finished here if you’re buying drinks.” Hotch watches laugh again. “Alright talk later, kisses.” You say hanging up. You loved when you got the chance to talk to Sean, of the two he was definitely the more fun Hotchner. You looked over to see Aaron leveling you with a stern look. 

“What?” You say. 

“Are you going to be able to focus on this case?” He says. 

“Relax Hottie. I only answered the call because we hardly get to talk. I work too much.” You shrug. 

“And what exactly is your relationship with my brother?” Aaron asked, a little too sternly but he knew your reputation.  

“Your tone suggests you already have an idea of what our relationship is.” You roll your eyes. 

Aaron brings a hand up to his forehead. “Please tell me you’re not fucking my brother, Y/N.” 

You look at Aaron incredulously. “Jesus christ, no. Why would you say that?”

“I know how you were in academy--” 

“You mean when I was in my 20s? Some of us were actually having fun. Not everyone was trying to salvage an already failing relationship with an engagement ring!” You say, you knew it was a low blow but Aaron was basically trying to call you a whore. “And FYI, No, I’m not sleeping with your brother, and even if I was, it'd be none of your business since we’re both consenting adults. But no, He and Katie, the girl he’s been dating for the better part of a year now are just really good friends of mine. And you’d know all this if you ever called.”  You angrily threw the car in park. “We’re here.” You say, instantly jumping out the car, leaving Hotch behind. 

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

After leaving Foyet’s (Who thankfully provided you with his other known addresses and aliases) you and Hotch headed back to the FBI Boston office with the rest of the team working on the bare bones profile Hotch already made. There were still a couple things that gave you disconnect. Like why the 911 call was only made for one victim, and the change of M.O when the victims were young women. You didn’t say anything about your thoughts, you always were a speak when you can prove it kind of girl. You ignored Hotch the rest of the day after his comments in the car. You knew you and Hotch weren’t cut from the same cloth but at least you respected him. It was clear he did not do the same for you. 

After working for a while, Hotch sends you and the rest of the team back to the hotel. You sat in your bed still working before you realized Hotch would probably still be up too. You put on your slippers before walking the short hallway to his room. You knocked twice before Aaron answered the door. If there’s one thing you missed about academy days it was the way Aaron looked in regular clothes, not the Armani suits. You looked at the way his broad chest fit tightly against the white t-shirt he was wearing. He was still pretty fit, you focused a bit too long on his biceps before you noticed the eyebrow raised at you expectedly. 

“I was working on the case, figured you’d still be up doing the same.” You say, holding the file in your hand up. “Two heads might be better than one.” 

Aaron thinks for a moment, before sighing and moving aside to let you in the room. As much as he didn’t like you he couldn’t argue with your logic. 

The two of you look over the cases silently before Hotch speaks up. “What do you think?” He asks. 

“The change of M.O has been bothering me.” You say. 

“Change?” 

“Yea, he usually stabs female victims multiple times. But this one he shot in the head once, just like the males.” 

“Could’ve been a time thing.” Hotch says. “He was impersonating a cop, can’t do that for very long.” 

“Or… It’s an age thing.” You say. “All the girls he stabbed were young. I think he’s a Hebephile.” 

Hotch nods. “That’s…. actually a good observation.” 

You roll your eyes. “Thanks, I’m full of them.” 

Hotch opens his mouth to say something but the phone rings. You both look at each other in confusion. Who could be calling this late? He gets up to answer it. 

“Hotchner.” You watched Hotch's demeanor completely change. “Who is this?” You sit up at that, watching Hotch have a very angry and incredibly vague conversation. Not before long, Hotch is hanging up angrily. 

“What’s up?” You ask. 

“The Reaper just offered me the same deal as Shaunessy.” 

“And you didn’t take it?” 

“Of course not.” He scoffs. 

“So what does this mean?” You say, looking him in the eye. He looks back at you, solemnly. 

“I don’t know.” 

——————————————————

Later that night when you’re finally back sleeping in your hotel bed, you hear a loud rapping at your door. You answer it sleepily to see David Rossi standing at the other side. 

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s been another killing. Get dressed.” He says, turning to leave your doorway. You yell down the hallway at him. 

“Why are you getting me and not any of your actual team?” 

“Hotch told me to specifically get you.” He shrugs. 

Hotch asked for you? 

Weird. 

The scene is gruesome. You’re used to seeing dead bodies in crime scene photos because of Academy but never in person and certainly not this many people. 

The Reaper had killed a bus full of people. 6 people plus the driver made 7. 

To make matters worse, he scrawled a sequence of numbers on the windows in the blood of the victims and you still couldn’t figure out what they meant. You and Rossi were discussing theories when you saw Aaron turn angrily down an alley. You and Rossi watch him go for a second before you signal with your hand you’re going after him. Rossi nods, opting to talk to the lead detective. 

You jog down the alley to see Hotch, running a hand through his hair frustratedly. 

“Hottie, what’s wrong?” 

“This is my fault. I hung up on him and then he turns around and does this. It’s my fault—“ 

He has tears in his eyes. You haven’t seen Hotch cry since that night-

Don’t even start to think about that, Y/N. You think to yourself. 

“Hottie...” You say, he’s still looking down. “Aaron, look at me.” He looks up at that. That’s not surprising. You never call him Aaron, at least not since academy. It was always Hottie or Hotchner. “This isn’t you, okay? You didn’t decide to kill these people. A serial killer did. Because that’s what they fucking do! They keep killing people and that’s why there’s people like you to catch them.” Hotch is looking you so intensely in the eye that you can’t help the flutter you get in your stomach. You guys need to solve this case fast, before these old feelings try to come up from the woodwork.

“So do you want to catch a killer or not?” You ask, Hotch nods. You punch him lightly in the shoulder. 

“Thanks, Y/N.” He says, sincerely. 

You shrug. “I’m charging you for the next one. Only the first pep talk is free.” You smile. 

You can’t help the swoon of your heart at the small smirk Aaron gives you.

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#hotch x reader smut #bau x reader #hotchner x reader smut #aaron hotchner x reader smut #aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #hotchner x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds smut

[shadowsfascination]

Shadamy oneshot| Free me of myself

Trigger Warning: see end notes.

The warmth of heavy breaths against a thick, wide and curved, cold window briefly stuck on the glass. The repeating cycle of condense licking the glass like soot to the window pane of a wood stove to evaporate as quickly as it had appeared was mesmerizing in a strange way. Then again: this entire scenery was.

From the sharp contrast of the cool metal floors and walls with their blue and greenish tones to the warmth and fierce illumination from the sun onto the planets. From the horrifying atmosphere inside with haunting memories clinging to his throat to the breath-taking spectacle outside.

Both aspects took his breath away and both endeavoured swallowing him inside their mighty-strong vibes, consuming him and lift him out of his body. Although their tones couldn’t be further away from one another, either of them had a traction so strong it reminded him of an approaching tsunami. One that’s still building up its’ devastating fortitude before it’d curl over him and swill away everything on its’ path.

This place was one of the very few things capable of leaving him frozen. Every time he came here it happened. And yet he kept coming back. He had to. Felt obligated to. Wanted to. Yes, a part of him longed to be swallowed entirely by the darkness and relive the events that haunted him to this very day. The feeling grew on him particularly around this time of the year.

Overcome by a returning urge to pay off his debts and right his mistakes, being plagued by this gruesome guilt felt like it needed to be done. It was the only darn thing he could do; be here and endure all of it; the depression, agony, indignance, failure, grief and self-loath. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

If only it were useful. If only it could bring you back.

But it wasn’t and it would never change being like this, for she was gone- forever. It left Shadow to be standing lifeless on the ARK. His open palms pressed against the glass while all he could do was breathe in and out again, eyeing the condense on the window. The sensation of the cold glass against his hands was the only thing keeping him grounded by now.

Every year when he paid this cursed place a visit it he heard her voice just when he was on the edge of giving in to the menacing shadows that tainted his past. As bright, gentle and hopeful as no other, the sweetness of her voice invited him to step out of the shadows, into a shower of light. With a single effort she freed him of the relentlessness he felt towards himself, blaming himself for her death.

But not this year.

There only was the mundane silence that was usual for this place. An insecure frown curved his brow and he squinted his eyes when he shifted his glance towards the light of the sun. The view on the planet of fire, when seen from the colony, was accompanied by many halo’s, each of them reflecting the constantly changing spectrum of colours upon the rays of light. They seemed capable of catching you and dragging you into space if you stared into them for too long.

With a dull glance in his crimson orbs, Shadow gazed out the very window Maria and he frequently had watched the blue planet, always dreaming of the day they’d set foot on it together. A renewed sadness whirled inside him, churning his stomach to the point where it nauseated him and clenched his open palms into fists.

He hoped to feel her presence here. He desperately longed for it; the one that always changed the hurricane whirling inside him on the day of her death into a much gentler breeze. Every year since he had awakened he came here and every year he’d felt something of her, something that allowed him to carry on. On an unconscious note his friend, while having passed a long time ago, still had the capacities to change his mind. There were only few he could give credit to when it came to that.

Have you… forsaken me, Maria?

Shadow’s pulse accelerated to a crazy high pace, even for the ultimate lifeform and he sank down to his knees. While his heart thumped against the insides of his chest so fast it felt like it would burst through, he cried. The thought of his first friend rejecting him even after she passed literally just hurt so bad! The pain cramped his chest together and he struggled to breath.

Sudden acoustics, her voice without doubt, called out to him on the abandoned colony, a whisper with the impact of a scream.

‘Shadow, it’s time for you to let go of me.’

“You’re wrong! I will always keep remembering you! It’s the only thing I can do…”

He pictured her bright blue eyes and friendly smile in front of him. Tightening every muscle in his body he forcefully attempted to transfer image of her into a physical presence, into reality. The line between his messed up mind, memories, wishes, dreams and reality grew thinner by the minute. He was almost certain she was here, almost able to see her. Almost.  If only he tried a little harder.

‘It’s time you stop blaming yourself, Shadow. I don’t want to see you like this. Please, let go of the past for there’s others who need your help now. You will only imprison yourself if you keep looking for me and my sacrifice will be left in vain. Remember why you were created Shadow. It’s the key to your freedom.’

The voice slowly extinguished, dying out into the darkness to be replaced by a suppressed, wheezy howl. Shadows’ cries were abruptly disturbed by an extremely loud bang elsewhere on the colony, a crash that shook the ARK in a rough way. Normally the alarm would have sound, but Shadow had turned off the electricity. He did that sometimes when he felt gloomy, feeling it added to his mood.

After wiping his tearstained face he rose and turned towards the elevator, prepared for anything and nothing all at once. He was NOT in the mood to fight. Still, there were a lot of strong, negative emotions to fuel his strength. Even so, his mentally unstable state of mind switched between the urge to conquer any opponent and the thought of willingly getting killed. They battled for precedence inside him and he was unsure which one would win.

“Sweet Chaos! Shadow!?!”

The black and red striped hedgehog couldn’t decide which of their faces looked more awestruck when they regarded each other; Amy’s or his own. He flinched and stiffened up when she took a few steps towards him, the sound of the heals of her boots clanking on the metal floors. She noticed and didn’t pursue, trying to lock her eyes with him, but his gaze went right through her. Eventually he turned around walked up to the window again, wishing to escape both her presence around and gaze upon him. Amy followed his lead and joined his stargazing.

Ever since Shadow and she became more acquainted with one another, they discovered they were quite compatible as friends and hung out more often. The two hedgehogs appreciated the other’s pureness, call it a rawness if you will. He respected her and accepted her for who she was; the good, bad and the ugly. Amy’s assertiveness, strength and straight-forward attitude were highly valued by Shadow. Even though his confidence barely ever seemed to be shaken, it was clear that was the occasion tonight. Shadow heaved a sigh.

“Tell me how you got here.” He finally said.

“Hey, if Knuckles can fly a rocket here, I figured I could too. So, I broke into one of Eggman’s old bases and took the liberty of borrowing one.”

Shadow rolled his eyes on her.

“You’re crazy, you know that? You could’ve gotten hurt with no one around to save you.”

“I made it, all right?! I’m more concerned about you right now.”

His bloodshot, red eyes met her emerald ones for a moment and then the moment was gone.

“I’m fine. Just wished you hadn’t come up here.”

“Shadow, I’m worried about you! I know what today is…”

“I said I didn’t wanna hang out tonight. HECK, I EXPLICITLY told you I wanted to be alone tonight. And yet here you are, forcing yourself on me when I asked you not to. Ever heard of boundaries?”

“Fine, I’ll leave if you want me to.”

“No, you’re staying now. I can’t have peace of mind when I know your safety might be compromised when flying a rocket back to the planet on your own.”

“You’re saying you had peace of mind before I came here? I’m not stupid, okay?”

“I wasn’t. That’s why I wanted to be alone. This doesn’t concern you.”

“Well it does now, since you’re making me stay.”

He shrugged and shifted his gaze back to the countless stars in the never-ending shades of different blue’s that coloured the heavens. Shutting himself off from Amy and the ARK, his heart ached for a hint of Maria out there. Even if it were a last goodbye, but the closest thing he could find was the disapproval his childhood friend would’ve had regarding his rude attitude towards his friend now.

“Does her presence still linger around this place?” Amy dared ask after a long silence.

“It used to, at least on this day.”

“It doesn’t anymore?”

“She… told me to move on, let go of her. Or at least that’s what entered my mind when I sought her.”

 Normally Shadow would have hesitated to tell anyone about any of this, feeling it didn’t go with his down-to-earth attitude. Amy was the exception on this to him. She strongly believed in a connection between the visible and the invisible so he need not to fear being laughed at. He figured she’d be able to understand the visions he’d had of Maria and how he’d heard her voice.

“Anything else?” She asked like it was any other ordinary topic.

“That I should stop blaming myself. I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I want to. It’s the last thing I have of her.”

“What is?”

“The guilt I can cast upon myself.”

“Shadow…”

Amy’s eyed filled with a compassionate sadness. She reached out to him to rest a hand on his shoulder. When he did not protest, she stepped in and carefully enclosed him from behind in a warm embrace.

It puzzled her that Shadow usually wasn’t fond of physical contact and yet this was the second time she hugged him like this. The first time was on Prison Island, when silly 12-year old her had mistaken him for Sonic. He never showed a sign of discomfort or tried to shake her off. They stood there for a while, his arms hanging limp along his numb body.

“Maria’s right.” Amy said. “It’s long time for you to let go of that guilt. You’re not to blame for anything that happened here.”

“I’m the reason why they flew up here to shut down the facility. I’m the reason she’s dead.”

“No, G.U.N. is. They’re the ones who conducted these crimes. Their terrible policy and way of handling the situation is the reason she’s dead. There’s no excuse for the way they misinterpreted and poorly handled the situation. There’s no excuse, no explanation good enough for killing the people up here the way they did. And…”

Amy bit her lower lip and hesitated for a moment.

“I don’t know if you’ll agree with me, but Maria chose to free you. She might’ve been able to save both of you or herself instead.”

“Are you saying it’s her fault for getting shot?” Shadow sneered at her.

“I’m not. Just saying she did what she did and with that she left you no choice. You can’t be guilty for something you had no hold on. It was out of your control. She freed you because she knew the reason behind your creation. She knew your potential, Shadow. It was her choice, not yours. There’s no point in punishing yourself now.”

She hugged him tighter and rested her head on his shoulder. With Amy’s words still echoing on in his head, a vague, translucent image was drawn before his eyes. Maria. Shadow wondered if it was a figment of his imagination and whether Amy was able to see her too. The blonde girl smiled a serene smile of hope and reached out to him, covering his hands in hers. A pleasant tingling radiated from them, reassuring him that his pink friend was right.

Maria regarded Amy for a second and gave her a warm smile. Then the blue of her eyes and the dress she always wore faded into the darker blue of the starry skies, leaving them behind. It was just Shadow and Amy now. She still held him and he let her.

“Did you see…?”

“I did. I saw her too.”

Shadow now freed himself of her embrace to face her. The storm clouds that were reflected in his eyes before had vanished. With a new peace of mind, the kind he’d never experienced before, he cleared his throat.

“Bless you for being such a stubborn, persistent soul, Amy Rose.”

“No biggie, we’re friends. I got your back and I’m sure you’ve got mine.”

He gave her a single, yet assuring nod.

“Let’s leave this place. Whadd’ya say?”

“I wanna fly the rocket. I think I really got the hang of it!”

“You seriously expect me to believe that after the ever-so-graceful landing you performed here earlier?”

 “Hey- …I!- That was a rough patch, okay?!”

 “Understatement! You almost shook the ARK out of its’ orbit. I bet you wrecked the place.”

Shadow cocked a brow at her before giving her a playful push. She snorted when she eyed him. Amusement sparkled in his eyes at the thought what the heck of a ride it must have been on that rocket, giving her awful piloting skills. It was another ridiculous outcome of her impulsive nature. The two burst into laughter, their cackling echoing on throughout the colony.

With Amy already in his arms to warp them back home Chaos Control-style, he glanced back at the window. The translucent vision of his childhood friend respawned again. He felt this was their final parting and for the first time, he’d made his peace with that. She waved them goodbye before dissolving into the background, sending off millions of stars into a meteor shower. Her calm, gentle voice resounded throughout the universe for the last time:

 Sayonara, Shadow the Hedgehog.

_____________________________________

Trigger Warning [SPOILERS?!]: - suggestive suicidal thought (No actual suicide or attempt) - mental struggles (trauma, grief, losing touch of reality, feelings of desperation, depression, anxiety) - eventual happy ending > Please message me if you think I need to adjust something in the TW. First time using it. Better safe than sorry (:

If you’re struggling with mental health problems or suicidal thoughts or even plans: seek help! Even if it seems useless to you and I imagine it will. There’s lines you can call and people out there who will listen to you. Google them in the area where you live. I know it’s a good starting point to get help.  

______________________________________

Notes

I wanted to do a short story on Shadow’s and Amy’s friendship and how she’ll help him cope with the loss of Maria. I believe that Amy’s headstrong, yet endearing sweet personality allows her to change Shadow’s mind sometimes like we have seen in SA2 before.

#shadamy #shadamy oneshot #shadow and amy #amadow #shadow the hedgehog #Amy Rose #Amy Rose the Hedgehog #friendship #space colony ark #ark #g.u.n. #maria robotnik #sonic fanfiction #shadamy fanfiction #shadamy fanfic #Shadowsfascination #my story #feels #coping #mental struggles #eventual happy ending #closure #loss #grief

[dindjarindiaries]

Dead to Me

summary: On the verge of death, Twila takes off Din’s helmet, later having to face his wrath and leave his ship—even though she’s pregnant with their unborn child. (requested by anon)

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x f!oc

warnings: blood, mentions of death/near-death, angst, fluff

rating: T

word count: 2.64k

main masterlist • din djarin masterlist

He’s dying. I’m gonna lose him. I can’t lose him.

These words play in the back of Twila’s mind like a sick song, tormenting her as she attempts to work quickly on the limp body in front of her. But it’s hard to fix a man who’s unconscious and unable to show his face—especially when it’s the man she loves.

Twila’s been a part of the Mandalorian’s crew for longer than she’s kept track of. It’s been hard to keep track when they’ve been running around the galaxy, anyway. She was meant to be a babysitter of sorts for the child, a caretaker for whenever the Mandalorian had to go on jobs. This quickly, however, turned into her being a caretaker for both of them. He had accepted this, and it made them grow even closer—so close that she was surprised she ever got so far. When she first met him, she never thought she’d be able to penetrate the beskar in any manner.

Now, she’s seen it all—everything except his face.

He even revealed his name. Din’s the name that rolls off her lips when Twila beckons him, when she tells him that she loves him, when she’s a victim of the pure pleasure in which they share. It’s beautiful to her: it’s become her personal chant of exquisite admiration, the word that encapsulates everything she cares for now. After living a lonely childhood spent in the Outer Rim with absent parents and many children in the village that she would care for, Twila’s finally found a family of her own that she can not only continue to care for but also receive the same attention in return. The child feels like one of her own, and Din feels like an extension of herself, a faithful companion.

He’s done a lot for her. He’s continued to risk his life on jobs to keep them supplied. He’s tried to teach her how to fight to help her fend for herself should she ever have to. He’s jumped in front of blaster shots for her.

And now, he may be dying for her.

Twila had been too careless during their venture into the marketplace. She hadn’t paid attention to their surroundings. When the hunter threw that detonator near her, she hadn’t even heard it. All she saw was Din shoving her aside before almost jumping on it himself to block her from the blow, resulting in him being tossed through the air and hard against the ground. He hasn’t moved on his own since.

Thankfully, Twila made sure he bought bacta spray the last time they supplied the med kit. She knows this would work on anything it needed to, but she’s come across a problem: she needs to spray it on his head. There’s blood trailed down the back of his neck, a sure sign of trauma done underneath the helmet. But she can’t; he’s told her this many times, and she’s understood. She’s never pressured him to break the Creed.

But what the hell kind of option does she have now?

He can’t die. Din doesn’t know it yet, but he has a future with her—one that’ll be undeniable. It started growing in her stomach not too long ago. After some strange bodily behaviors and curiosity, she’d found a way to test what was going on, and it came back just as she thought. She’s now expecting another child for them to look after on board. She’s been trying to figure out how to tell him. Now, she could be too late, and she can’t bear letting him die without even knowing the potential of what’s ahead of them.

Twila fights with herself repetitively, going back and forth on which choice to make. It’s a lose-lose situation: take off the helmet, forcing Din to break his Creed, or leave it on, which is letting him die. The worst part is she can’t even ask anyone for advice. She’s on her own.

With shaking hands, Twila makes her choice. She hopes it’s what he’d choose, too. Slowly, she reaches for the now-grimy helmet, her mind and heart moving at a mile a minute as she does so. They pause when they rest on the sides of the helmet, as if reconsidering everything once again.

He’ll hate you.

But he’ll die.

He wouldn’t want you to do this.

But you have to save him.

Twila suddenly hears the child coo beside her. Her head turns to look at him, and she sees him lay his tiny hand on her thigh in a comforting manner. His ears perk up at her as he tilts his head, as if trying to make her feel at ease. She nods, looking back at Din and finally beginning to pull the helmet up. Inch by inch, more of her love is revealed, and despite the gruesome circumstances of the situation, she finds her heart melting at the sight of everything she’s wanted to see—and the sheer beauty of it all.

Din’s skin is scratched and bloody, but behind it all, she can still see his handsome face. He’s not clean shaven, but also not terribly far from it, the small whiskers of hair sticking around chaotically from the blood. His lips are slightly parted, likely to allow his body some air in its unconscious state, and his delicate eyelids shield the color that lies behind them.

Twila releases a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, blinking a few times to clear her mind as she moves for the bacta spray. She sprays it generously on his bloody head, applying it until she’s sure she’s gotten every spot she needs to. Once she sets it aside, she begins to work on his cuts, gently cleaning the blood away and applying whatever creams and gels are necessary to get the healing process working quickly.

The bacta spray works fast, and just as she finishes clearing the blood, she sees Din’s eyes flutter open. His dark gaze observes Twila through hooded eyelids, as if they’re too heavy for him to open all the way just yet. Her heart races at the eye contact, as she’s never truly gotten to have it before—and it feels as if the rest of her soul is finally being entwined with his. She warmly welcomes the window into her heart, hoping she’ll be able to see his in return.

“Cyar’ika?” Din’s weak voice offers, as if he’s trying to confirm what he’s seeing.

Twila nods tearfully. “I’m here, Din.” She places both of her hands over one of his gloved ones.

Din almost begins to smile, causing her heart to leap, but it quickly fades. It’s replaced with an expression that makes her skin crawl at the pure horror he shows. He blinks a few times, his eyes finally widening to a normal size. “You—You’re so clear—.” Din cuts himself off, his free hand touching his head. When his gloved fingers brush against the bare skin on his temple instead of his helmet, his brow instantly furrows in a menacing manner. “Where’s the helmet?”

Twila widens her own eyes, seized by the terror of what he’ll do now. “It’s right here,” she assures him, gesturing to the helmet on the floor of the ship beside her. “I’m sorry, Din, I know I’m not supposed to, but I didn’t know how else—.”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Din’s voice is low and sounds practically like a growl. Twila jumps back a bit upon hearing it, releasing his hand as she does so. “You knew. I told you.”

Her eyes continue to tear up in her desperation, and she feels the child grip her leg tighter at her evident distress. “You were dying, Din.” Her voice is hauntingly quiet. “I couldn’t just let that happen to you. I—I had to at least try to save you.”

Din’s silent for a moment, his jaw clenched as his gaze pierces through her in a hostile manner. Twila feels herself beginning to shake again in fear. “No, you didn’t. You…” he pauses, looking up at the ceiling as if he can’t handle looking at her anymore, “… you should’ve let me die.”

A hot tear runs down her cheek as she grits her own teeth, trying to plead her case. “How? How could I have done that, Din? You know how much you mean to me, to the kid! You expected me to just sit here and let you die in front of both of us?”

“How many times have I told you, Twi, that this is what could happen? And how many times did you assure me that it’d be okay, that you understood?” Din looks back at Twila, his dark gaze losing all traces of light as it looks upon her almost menacingly. “Clearly, you didn’t.”

Twila shakes her head in an utter loss for words. When she thinks of some, they’re not useful, but it’s all she can manage. “I’m sorry, Din. I’m so sorr—.”

“Don’t call me that.” Din spits the words like venom. His hands, stronger now from the fast-working bacta spray, reach for his helmet and slip it back over his head. “It’s Mando.”

Another tear escapes her eye as Twila gives another shake of her head in desperation. “Please don’t do this. I just—I couldn’t live without you.” When Din says nothing in response, she continues to ramble. “I guess… I guess I’d rather have you alive and hating me than have you be dead.”

Din’s still quiet for a moment, but when he speaks, Twila’s sure she feels every single vein of her heart being ripped away piece by piece. “It’s a shame. Now you’re the one who’s dead to me.”

Twila lets a hand cover her mouth to keep the sobs tucked in. He can’t see her fall apart like this. She’s brought it upon herself. When she regains some of her composure, she swallows hard, looking around the ship. “I understand.”

Din tilts his helmet at her. “Then start packing.”

Twila looks back to Din with disbelief. “What?”

“If you understand, then you’ll get what this means. You betray my trust, then you can’t be a part of my crew.”

She stops trying to hold back the tears. They fall as steady as rainwater from the dark cloud that now surrounds her mind and heart. “Your crew? Is that all I am, now? What about all we had?”

Din’s stiff for a moment, and when he speaks, it’s cold. “You should’ve thought about that before you stripped my identity from me. Someone who truly loves me would never do that.”

Twila chokes on a sob, biting her lip to try to keep it hidden. She decides to say nothing, knowing her words of denial would only go in one of his ears and out the other. Twila’s never had many belongings, feeling that she didn’t need much other than her two companions, and everything suddenly feels so empty as she collects whatever she has into the pouch she’d purchased at a marketplace on one of the first planets she’d stopped at with Din. With a heavy sigh, she heads for the hatch, seeing Din now standing with the child in his arms. She gives them a weary smile.

“You should know that no matter what you might think because of this, Din, I love you.”

Twila sees Din clench one of his fists. “Leave.”

She refuses to budge, knowing this may be the last time she ever gets to talk to him. “I’ll always be in love with you, and I’ll always keep myself tied to you. You’re always—”

“I said, leave.”

“—going to be with me, no matter how far away you try to run. I’ll always have a piece of you with me, forever.”

“Leave!”

At the sound of his yelling, which she’s never heard directed towards her, something snaps within her, and she retaliates with the same amount of emotional hostility. “We’re going!” Her burning eyes finally turn away indignantly, and she reaches for the button on the hatch when Din’s voice makes her stop.

“’We?’”

Twila’s eyes widen upon realizing what she’s accidentally revealed. Her hand falls slowly back to her side, and she turns around to see that Din’s put the child back on the floor and is now facing her with a tilted helmet. She takes a heavy breath, her nerves spiking as she stares at his visor. “Yes. We.” Twila rests a hand on her stomach, which hasn’t started showing quite yet. “I saved you not only because I love you, but because I wanted you to be able to meet your future child. But don’t worry, we’re going.”

She turns back around and opens the hatch, feeling her heart race quickly as it lowers slowly onto the ground. Her gaze is burning again with tears, but she blinks them back. Twila understands why she has to leave, that she broke his trust—and for a man of his lifestyle, you can’t have someone around who does that—but it still pains her. However, before she’s even able to take a step down the ramp, a gloved hand stops her by wrapping around her arm. She looks over her shoulder, seeing Din standing just behind her. His hand falls from her arm, and instead he falls—his knee just barely catching him as he practically collapses to the ground. His shoulders heave as sounds like sobs come through his modulator, a sound Twila’s never heard from him before. It twists her heart in the worst way as she instantly kneels in front of him.

“Hey, hey,” Twila soothes gently, worried by his utterly weakened composure. She forgets the ferocity with which he’d treated her just moments before, only feeling the caretaker side as she places her hands on his shoulders. “Breathe, Din. Are you alright?”

His hands reach back towards his helmet, and Twila’s shocked to see him lifting it back up and over his head. Din throws it to the side, hearing it clang! against the metal floor as it hits it—hard. His dark eyes are glistening with tears as they look at her, his cheeks wet and his lips trembling as he stares at her for a few speechless moments. “I… can’t do this.” Din pauses, swallowing hard as he tries to find words. “If I have a child coming into this world, I can’t live like this anymore.” He takes her hands in his own, pulling them to his chest as he looks deep in her gaze. “Please stay.”

Twila nods right away, giving him a small smile. “We will, Din.” She bites back tears, looking at him with all the true emotion she can muster. “I’m so sorry. I—.”

“No need, cyar’ika.” Din comes closer to her, until—for the first time ever—his lips brush over hers, sending a feeling through her like nothing before. “I love you, no matter what.” Knowing how she feels, he doesn’t give her a chance to answer before he places his lips fully against hers, causing everything around her to melt away as she absorbs the sweet and relieving feeling she’s always craved. He only pulls away to lean his forehead against hers, finally showing her the smile she’s been picturing in her mind all this time. “Both of you.”

main masterlist • din djarin masterlist

#din djarin #din djarin x oc #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x oc #din djarin fic #the mandalorian fic #dindjarindiaries #requests

[albapuella]

Thinking and Feeling Altogether Too Much

AO3 Link

Fandom: Hiveswap, Homestuck Characters: Xefros Tritoh, Joey Claire Tags: Act 2 spoilers, introspection, some pale stuff if you squint Summary: Xefros has a lot to think about. Set near the end of Act 2. Spoilers. Note: I didn’t have the first paragraph posted here, so apologies for that!

Xefros doesn’t know how long he and Joey have been sitting against the outside wall of the Engine car. The metal is cold beneath them, the air rushing by is cool, and he’s realizing hours too late that he probably should have grabbed a sweatshirt for himself, too. It’s difficult to feel too cold, though, with Joey sitting beside him. In a literal way, she’s much warmer than he is, radiating heat. He noticed before, when they were riding Dammek’s Lusus, but he had other things to be worried about then. Though he has other things to think about now as well, he takes some comfort beyond the physical having her there by his side. The warmth reminds him she’s still here, still alive. This alien from a world that shares similarities with his, but not many. This alien who has become very important to him in very little time. And, as incredible as it still seems, he’s apparently very important to her, too. She seems so convinced of his value, fought so hard to keep him alive, and cared so much when he was hurt, that it’s hard not to believe her a little even when she says things Xefros knows are wrong.

He’s not cool. He’s not smart. He’s not brave. He’s not special. He’s not anything.

He is a killer, though. He’s killed someone tonight, and he still doesn’t know how he feels. It shouldn’t be that big a deal. He murdered a troll--so what? Trolls are killed all the time in all sorts of gruesome ways: by drones, by the various and highly dangerous plants and animals of Alternia, by the sun and rain, by zombies, by other trolls for all sorts of reasons ranging from self-defense to needing paint. Death is a fact of life. Murder is a fact of life. It’s not a big deal.

In fact, it’s kind of funny to be as old as he is, and this is the first time he’s killed someone. Kind of funny. The kind of funny that makes him feel like he could vomit if he’d actually eaten anything in the last how ever many hours it’s been at this point. But maybe this is normal to feel. After all, the first one is the hardest. That’s what Dammek said. This is his first one, so he’s having a hard time. That’s all.

Xefros remembers the look on Joey’s grub-like face. The terror and shock making way for horror and fear. While she was grateful in the end that he saved her life, he’s never going to be able to forget that, for just a moment, she was afraid of him because… because he killed another troll.

But he also feels… good about himself for protecting Joey? Defending someone weaker than himself is its own reward; he thinks he’s right about that much. He knows, if he had it over to do again, he would do the same thing. Joey’s life is worth more to him than the turmoil he feels right now. He wasn’t thinking about Fiamet’s claim that Alternia and Earth would be destroyed if Joey didn’t go back to Earth; he wasn’t thinking at all beyond the need to do whatever he needed to to save her.

And he did, and he can’t feel too badly about that… even if he still kind of does feel bad? That doesn’t even make sense, and he knows if he tried explaining any of it to another troll, they wouldn’t get it either. He feels stupid, but that’s at least something normal. Even though he knows Joey wouldn’t want him to think about himself like that, he clings to the thought. He’s stupid. He doesn’t understand any of this, and he doesn’t want to.

He wants to go home. He wants his Lusus. He wants to see Dammek, because he doesn’t know what to think about him anymore! Yeah, Joey decided before she ever left Dammek’s hive that she didn’t like him, but Xefros can’t even argue with what she says now. Not after what he’s heard and what he’s seen and what he can’t just talk himself out of noticing.  

’Tetrarch D doesn’t do quadrants.’

Well, maybe Xefros isn’t going to do quadrants either!

Except he still cares about Dammek. He’s cared too long to just… stop. So much of himself is wrapped up in Dammek and his schemes. If none of that was… if Dammek never really cared… then what was it all for? He doesn’t want to believe that Dammek was just using him, that Dammek saw him as… what? a cleaning drone he could get paps from? But what is he supposed to think? His best friend who did bad things behind his back and called him derogatory names and hung the threat of blackmail over his head and forced him to do rituals that hurt him…

Xefros doesn’t want to think about Dammek anymore.

A warm pressure against his side startles him from his thoughts. It’s Joey, leaning against him. Xefros smiles down at her even as her fake horn jabs him in the shoulder. Her dark eyes are closed, and he feels warm in the less literal sense, too. He doesn’t know much about humans, since Joey is the only one he’s ever met, but he wonders if all of them are as trusting as Joey is. Although it will be safer for her if this whole adventure has made her realize that she actually can’t trust every troll she sees, he thinks he’ll miss seeing her offer her kindness so freely.

It was… Xefros doesn’t have the words to describe it. Joey, going around, treating trolls like… like they were the same as her. Like they would just return her kindness and trust because she gave it to them first. Kind of incredible how often she was right. And then she was wrong. Very wrong.

He did warn her about clowns. Warned her that clowns only help until it becomes more funny to hurt you instead. Warned her that clowns liked to hurt and murder people, especially lowbloods like him. She said she’d keep her guard up, but he really should have known she wouldn’t. Joey is just too trusting and nice. Maybe clowns are different on Earth. A lot of things are different on Earth even when they’re similar: taxidemeritation, mushrooms, nuns. So, why not clowns, too? Maybe on Earth clowns are really nice or something. Maybe everyone on Earth is nice.

Though, maybe not. Joey sounds so angry when she talks about her home sometimes. Especially about her… FatherDad? Xefros hasn’t asked because he didn’t want to upset her where she would draw too much attention to herself, but there’s definitely something about that person which makes her upset. He’s not smart like Joey is, but he thinks it’d be nice if he could help her the way she’s been trying to help him. Even if it hurts his bloodpusher and his head to think about.

It’s been a long night, and he’s tired of thinking. He’s just going to sit here until Joey is ready to go back through the clown car and try not to worry about what’s going to happen when they do. Maybe the clowns will still be in a good enough mood to just let them pass? Xefros doubts he and Joey will be that lucky, but… but maybe they will be? Marvus did force that other clown with the axe to let him go in time to save Joey… and he’d accepted Joey’s really flimsy proof of her ‘kills’...

No, he’s not thinking about this. He’s not thinking about anything. Instead, he focuses on the warm and weight against his side and turns his head to stare up at the twin moons hanging high in the sky. He’s never been this far away from his hive. Like Joey, he’s a long away from home. Unlike Joey, at least he knows how the world works. Or he thought he did. If this trip has made him realize anything, it’s made him realize just how much he didn’t know. And not in a because he’s stupid way, though he still feels that, too. Things both were and weren’t like he expected out here, and it makes him feel small. Smaller than he’s used to feeling.

“Xefros?”

Xefros blinks. “Hey, Joey.”

She sits up but doesn’t move away. “Do you think… do you really think they’ll let us back through without… doing anything to us?”

He hates how uncertain she looks. He hasn’t known her long, but Joey is supposed to look confident and self-assured or embarrassed and confused. Occasionally angry and frustrated. Not uncertain and afraid. “Yeah,” he says as confidently as he can manage, which is not very. Highbloods are unpredictable except for the fact that they like to hurt and murder people. That much is very predictable.

“They… they already had their fun with us. I don’t think we should stop and talk to everyone,” he continues quickly, because he knows how much Joey likes to do that with every troll she meets (except for that bronze blood with the huge rack--it’s fairly confusing because, while delusional, he hadn’t seemed like a bad guy to Xefros), “but if we just go right through, we should be fine.”

Joey’s mouth forms an impressive snarl despite her lack of fangs. “Believe me, I have nothing to say to any of them.” She pushes herself up and holds out her hand to Xefros. “Let’s go then. I’m freezing.”

Xefros doesn’t think he’s held hands with anyone as often (or as long) as he has with Joey at this point. He doesn’t hate it. She says she’s freezing, but her hand is warm in his as he uses it more than he thought he would need to as he gets to his feet. His body is complaining about its various hurts now that he’s moving again, and he turns his face away so he can wince without worrying her.

It doesn’t work. “Are you okay, Xefros? I mean, of course you’re not okay, but like, do you need help?”

“No. I’m fine.”

Joey smiles slightly. “That’s what you told me when you were being crushed under rocks and when you were being juggled by a murderous clown.” Her words are teasing but kind and concerned. “You’ll tell me if you’re really hurt? I don’t want you to just say you’re fine if you’re not.”

Although it was a question, Xefros hears the command in it. “I’ll tell you,” he promises even as he wonders what ‘really hurt’ means to Joey. He almost asks but decides not to--he’s not sure now is the time to have that conversation. It’s kind of funny when Joey acts shocked to learn how things are on Alternia, but it also hurts a little to see her look so disappointed afterward?

She’s not disappointed in him personally, and he knows that, but it’s hard not to feel like she is sometimes. Like he should have tried to come from a better planet. It’s dumb and makes him feel dumb, and maybe it’s selfish, but he’d really just rather not right now!

Another soft smile distracts him from his spiral. “Okay.” Then she straightens her shoulders, and her eyes narrow. She looks determined and brave, even if her hold on his hand tightens like she’s drawing strength from him. Which is ridiculous--she’s the brave one here, not him no matter what she says. “Let’s go.”

Xefros follows her into the clown car, still holding her hand in his, feeling like he could follow Joey anywhere, ready to throw down his life if that’s what he has to do to protect her. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt like that before tonight, and he holds onto the feeling as Joey leads them through the dark, stuffy car. He wants to cover his ears against the loud music, but that would mean letting go of Joey, and he isn’t going to do that.

The clowns are busy, as far as Xefros can tell from quick glances through squinting eyes, worshiping at their strange altar. The screams of the young clown whose… matesprit? moirail? Xefros killed have made way for sobs, and that’s almost worse. He can barely breathe, but he’s not sure if it’s from building panic or from whatever drugs the clowns have been doing besides soda.

When they reach the dubious safety of the elevator and are lifted out of the worst of the cloying air, Xefros lets go of Joey’s hand, feeling suddenly awkward without the threat of imminent death. Joey said they’re friends, and she still doesn’t get quadrants, but they’ve been a lot closer than normal friends, so this is all really confusing. Maybe friends are something that are different on Earth, too. Joey doesn’t seem to mind, giving him another small smile.

When they’re back out into the open, Xefros breathes a little easier. Joey looks out the rope railing, and he wonders what she thinks when she looks up at the twin moons. Is she homesick? Does she think they’re pretty? It’d be nice if at least one thing on Alternia wasn’t a horrific disappointment to her.

Then she turns back to him, her smile is sad but genuine, and despite her various physical deformities--or what would be deformities if she were a troll; he doesn’t know if she has human deformities, too, because it never seemed like the time to ask--, he wouldn’t change a thing about her.

It’s Joey Claire: the best human friend a troll could ask for.

#Hiveswap #Homestuck #Xefros #Joey #Hiveswap Act 2 Spoilers #fan fic #mine

[purpli-writes]

Hunting for Love

Summary:

Makoto Naegi is the disgrace of the Naegi monster-hunting clan.

With the recent attacks, Makoto believes that he can finally prove his worth.

Will he be able to slay the monster or will he stay as a failure?

You can read it on AO3 here

It was a hard existence being the son of a well-known Monster Hunting clan. His family always stared at him with eyes filled with disgust.

He was the weaker child, a bit too kind-hearted. How could he even think about showing monsters kindness after what the monsters did to humans?

“Makoto,” his mother had said softly. “This world wasn’t made for people like you.” The sadness in her eyes was almost too much for Makoto to bear.

That’s why he was here, with his only friend, Sayaka Maizono. There had been reports of a lone werewolf ravaging houses on the outskirts.

“Are we sure that it’s only one werewolf?” Sayaka had asked nervously, there were barely any houses left.

“Apparently only one werewolf has ever been spotted,” Makoto confirmed. “But jeez, how strong could this thing be?”

“Not strong enough to beat you Makoto!” Sayaka cheered. “You’ll be hailed a hero in no time.”

Makoto nodded and smiled appreciatively. “You’re right, let’s do this!”

And thus, the two went straight into the forest, unaware that they were already being watched by the werewolf they sought to hunt.

Bravery, the trait of the foolish.

A trait commonly shared by hunters.

It seemed these two hunters were no different. Unaware of the situation they were entrapping themselves in.

Izuru Kamukura found himself watching the two hunters despite their actions being usual and boring.

The girl with blue hair followed eagerly after the shorter boy, seemingly holding on to every word that he muttered.

Said boy looked almost familiar. The way he held himself was anything but confident. As if he was forcing himself through every step.

The two seemed wholly unprepared for what awaited them in the forest even without the werewolf issue.

This would be quick, that was obvious.

But when he thought about ending the short boy's life, he was filled with a feeling akin to disgust.

That would be interesting.

“Maybe we should set up camp for tonight,” Makoto said, staring at the sky. “It looks like we aren’t going to encounter anything today.”

“Good thing we came prepared,” Sayaka said. “That was a smart idea, Makoto.”

“Really?” Makoto asked. “I thought it was just common sense…”

“Nope!” Sayaka said. “You’d be surprised about the sense of some of the people in our town.”

Makoto laughed as Sayaka began to complain about the boys who were always after her.

Even if they didn’t catch the werewolf, at least Makoto could be free from the chains of his last name.

He didn’t like to think about his family when he didn’t have to.

The Naegis were an all-powerful clan, saviors of the town.

And then there was Makoto, who was barely able to wield a weapon. Too soft for his last name but too human to be killed.

The world was cruel to those who didn’t fit in, and unluckily Makoto fit right into the not fitting in box.

“Makoto,” Sayaka said, interrupting his train of thought. “Were you paying attention to what I was saying?”

“Huh…?” Makoto said. “O-of course!”

“If you were paying attention, you’d know I said we needed more firewood,” Sayaka said, staring at Makoto.

“Oh, oh…!” Makoto said, noticing that they did in fact need more firewood. “I’ll go get some more.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Sayaka asked. “It could be dangerous out there.”

“I’ll be fine,” Makoto said quickly. “You should stay at the camp so I can find it more easily.”

“Alright, Makoto,” Sayaka said. “But stay safe, alright?”

“Of course.”

Makoto walked away from the camp, carrying a silver knife and a flashlight. Nervously, he wandered the forest, looking for branches that would be big enough to be used for the campfire.

Makoto had the feeling he was being watched although when he looked around, he didn’t see anything.

So he continued deeper into the forest, grabbing spare branches when he noticed them. It was silent, too silent. Even the bugs had stopped making their nightly noises.

What does it mean when it gets too silent…? Makoto thought, trying to recall his training. Is it something about a predator…?

Makoto didn’t have much time to ponder. As he took another step, he was met by a low growling noise.

Makoto turned around just as he was jumped by the mysterious animal.

Izuru watched as the boy got jumped by a wolf, deciding it would be a fitting end for him. But before he could leave to watch something else, a surge of emotion stopped him right in his tracks.

Although only for a few seconds, Izuru was reminded of a lifetime of memories. The relative peace he had in his head being disrupted by something both new and old.

What are you doing ? The intrusion hissed. You can’t just let him die.

Izuru subconsciously bared his fangs, emotions that weren’t his started to flood his system.

That boy is inconsequential, Izuru responded. He was here to kill me, so why should I save him?

The voice didn’t respond, but Izuru could feel its anger.

This was annoying.

There would be no reasoning with the voice as Izuru already knew what it was like. Stubborn to a fault, the original owner of the body he was in.

Hajime Hinata.

The boy, who Hajime had identified as Makoto Naegi seemed to be in dire straits. With the feeling that Hajime was going to be more of a nuisance if Izuru didn’t save Makoto, Izuru jumped down.

The wolf was going to be an easy target.

Dealing with Makoto would be less so.

Makoto saw his life flash through his eyes, trying his hardest to fight against the animal that was constantly going for his neck.

He was losing strength quickly, wondering if the sight would be too gruesome for Sayaka to discover.

Just as he was about to give up, the animal was thrown off of him at a terrifying speed. Makoto scrambled for his flashlight, shining it at the shadow of his savior.

When Makoto got the light on its figure his heart sunk.

His “savior” was the same werewolf he was hunting. In his current position, there was no way he could do anything.

His knife was far away from his hands and his whole body was scratched up.

“Please,” Makoto began to beg. “Just take me and not my friend.”

The werewolf tilted its head, staring at Makoto as if it was confused.

“If you’re going to kill anyone,” Makoto continued. “Please just have it be me.”

“Why aren’t you trying to sacrifice your friend instead?”the werewolf growled out. “That would at least be the normal reaction.”

Makoto frowned, not expecting to have lived long enough for a conversation. “People will miss her.”

“And they wouldn’t miss a Naegi?” the werewolf asked, clearly not buying his explanation.

“They wouldn’t miss me,” Makoto corrected. “I’m only a Naegi in name, at least to them.”

“You’re still a hunter.”

“Not really,” Makoto said, looking away from the werewolf and putting his flashlight down. “I have the training but no skill to go along with it.”

The werewolf stayed silent and Makoto wondered what was going to happen. Should he feel thankful that the werewolf saved his life or should he at least be trying to kill the werewolf?

“Wait,” Makoto mumbled. “Why did you save me if you knew who I was?”

“It’d be easier to show you,” the werewolf said. “Wait here.”

As the werewolf disappeared into the foliage, Makoto decided to wait. His arms and legs ached and burned, and if he was going to die here he’d rather it be quick.

When the werewolf came back, it wasn’t in the form of the wolf but in the form of a man.

Makoto ran his flashlight over the werewolf’s body, noticing the long ink-like hair. When Makoto got to look at the werewolf’s eyes, he was surprised to see a red iris and a green one.

“Your eyes,” Makoto said. “They’re two different colors.”

The werewolf only nodded, staring at Makoto with what seemed to be desperation. What was Makoto supposed to be seeing here? 

“Have we met before?” Makoto asked, trying to put a name to the werewolf’s face.

“You can say that,” the werewolf responded, voice cold. “My name is Izuru Kamukura, although you wouldn’t have originally met me under that name.”

“Huh…?” Makoto asked. “What do you mean…?”

Just let me take control, Hajime hissed. It’d be easier for me to explain it to him.

No, you’d only make things worse, Izuru answered. I don’t need any attachment to this human.

You can’t just ignore our feelings for him, Hajime protested. We’re not just going to leave him.

Your feelings for him are not my concern, Izuru responded.

“Originally there was a boy named Hajime Hinata,” Izuru began to explain, and Makoto audibly gasped. “He agreed to an experiment which changed his personality, outward appearance, and abilities.”

“The experiment made him a superhuman,” Izuru said. “And the new personality, Izuru Kamukura, was quickly bored with the life around him.”

“I don’t understand,” Makoto stammered out. “Why would he, why would you ever agree to an experiment like that…!”

“Hajime Hinata wanted more than what he was given,” Izuru answered simply. “He was willing to throw away his life for a chance at success.”

“But why did you save me if you’re no longer Hajime?” Makoto asked. “We’re strangers and I came here to kill you…!”

“That is because Hajime has made his way back,” Izuru said, voice developing a growling undertone. “Because of you.”

“Because of me…?” Makoto asked. “That doesn’t make any sense at all…!”

“You apparently meant a lot to him,” Izuru said. “And because of that, you’re causing problems for me.” 

“Huh…?”

“His feelings are now mixing in with my own,” Izuru spat. “I want you to fix it.”

He’s not going to be able to change your feelings, Hajime informed him, sounding a bit smug.

Shut up.

“I don’t really understand…” Makoto mumbled. “I don’t know how to fix your feelings, but if you told me them I could try to help…!”

“It’s almost as if I cannot avoid looking at you,” Izuru began to explain. “There’s this strange feeling in my chest and I cannot decide if I want it to stay or if I want to rip it out.”

Makoto’s face began to flush, “U-um, could you describe anything else…?”

“I also feel this strange need to be close to you,” Izuru said, beginning to inch his way towards Makoto. “As if something bad might happen if I let you get away.”

“That’s um…” Makoto said, face fully red. “That sounds like… you might have a crush.” 

Izuru’s face was inches away from Makoto when he next spoke. “Is that so?” 

“Y-yep…!” Makoto said, voice higher pitched. “S-seems to be the case!”

“Do you have any solutions to this issue…?” Izuru asked, breath caressing Makoto’s face.

Izuru was way too close to Makoto. This man, no, werewolf was inhumanly attractive, sure, but there was no way this was happening… right?

Deep breaths, Makoto thought. He’s probably just messing with me… right…?!

“A s-solution…?” Makoto choked out. “U-um, well usually s-some people kiss who t-they like but-”

Before Makoto could finish his sentence, his and Izuru’s lips met.

What… the crap...?! Makoto thought. What is even happening…?

“He was taking too long,” Izuru said as he pulled away.

“H-he…?” Makoto stuttered out. 

“Ah yeah,” Izuru said. “And it’s Hajime right now, not Izuru.”

“Then he wasn’t lying about that…?” Makoto asked. “You’re really Hajime Hinata…?”

“Yep,” Hajime answered. “Sorry that I’ve been gone for a while.”

Makoto stared, mostly awestruck. The only other person from his town who had cared about him was back.

Oh, and they also kissed, but that could be dealt with later.

“Wait,” Makoto said, reality catching back up to him. “Aren’t you a werewolf…?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Hajime said. “That’s Izuru’s fault, I don’t really know much about it.”

Before Makoto could ask any more questions Hajime was standing up and examining him.

“Jesus,” Hajime muttered. “That wolf really got you good.”

Suddenly reminded of the scratches littering his body, Makoto winced. “Yeah, I guess you could say that…”

“Ugh that asshole should’ve came in sooner,” Hajime said, mostly to himself. “Do you have a camp or anything like that…?”

“Camp… oh yeah,” Makoto said before quickly remembering Sayaka. “Sayaka…! She’s got to be worried sick by now!”

“Sayaka?” Hajime asked before quickly saying “Oh, Sayaka.”

“Huh… you know her?”

“You could say that.”

Makoto began the laborious task of trying to get up. Hajime, who soon realized Makoto’s problem helped him up with ease.

“Are you sure you’re going to be able to walk?” Hajime asked, staring at Makoto worriedly. “I could carry you.”

Makoto’s legs were screaming at him as he responded, “No, it’ll probably be best if I walk there. Makes it easier to explain to Sayaka.”

Hajime nodded uncertainly at Makoto, letting the smaller boy take the lead.

Watching Makoto limp was worrying. Although he pretended that he was fine, it was obvious that his body had taken some sort of toll.

You should’ve let us carry him , Izuru said. It’s obvious he’s in pain right now.

We have to respect his wishes, Hajime said, silently agreeing with Izuru. It’s going to be hard enough to explain to that Sayaka girl without us carrying him.

If there is any explaining to be done with her, Izuru said. It seems she might be a bigger problem than Makoto is expecting.

What do you mean…?

She seems fiercely protective of Makoto, Izuru said. We should be on our guard .

Hajime acknowledged Izuru’s concerns before focusing wholly on Makoto.

“Um for this part,” Makoto said, nervously looking at Hajime. “It’d probably be better if we held hands…”

“Huh…?!” Hajime yelled. “What, why…?”

“All the trees are closely packed together,” Makoto explained. “It’d be a lot easier to lose each other if we aren’t holding hands.”

“A-alright…” Hajime said, reaching for Makoto’s hand.

You kissed him before, Izuru commented. Why is this any different…?

It’s different because he’s the one doing it…! Hajime bristled You just wouldn’t understand!

As they got closer to the camp, Hajime could make out the faint smell of fire and smoke. It seemed Makoto hadn’t noticed yet, judging by how he went only based on sight.

His senses aren’t as good as yours, Izuru explained. He’s a human and you’re not.

Hajime wanted to complain, but so far it seemed to be helping. He could admire Makoto without looking too weird.

When they made it to the camp, Sayaka ran over to Makoto and hugged him.

“Makoto!” Sayaka yelled. “I was so worried about you…!” 

“I’m sorry,” Makoto said. “I got caught by a wild animal…”

After hearing that, Sayaka released her grip on Makoto and saw his injuries. “Oh god, Makoto, you’re hurt!”

“I’m fine,” Makoto protested. “Nothing that can’t be helped with a few bandages.”

Let me take control, Izuru said, watching Sayaka faun over Makoto. I have medical expertise.

We wouldn’t need your medical expertise if you didn’t let him get hurt, Hajime grumbled, reluctantly letting Izuru take over.

Izuru walked closer to Makoto and Sayaka. “I believe I can offer existence.”

Sayaka finally noticed them, glaring up at him. “And who are you…?”

“These are my friends Izuru and Hajime,” Makoto said quickly. “They’re the ones who saved me from the animal!”

Sayaka examined Izuru. “I feel like I’ve seen you before.”

“Perhaps you have,” Izuru said. “Could you give me the bandages and antiseptic so I could treat Makoto?”

Sayaka glared at Izuru before reluctantly giving him the bandages.

“Don’t hurt him,” Sayaka whispered into his ear before walking off to tend to the fire.

“This might hurt,” Izuru warned, gently cleaning the wounds on Makoto’s arms and legs.

Makoto hissed, grabbing onto what remained of the fabric of his pants.

You’re hurting him, Hajime said.

It has to be done, Izuru said. Otherwise, they’ll get infected.

After cleaning and bandaging the wounds, Izuru turned Makoto around.

“I believe we were having a ‘moment’ before Hajime interrupted,” Izuru said, once again putting his face near Makoto’s face. “Were we not?”

The effect was near-instantaneous, Makoto’s face lit like it was a match.

“U-um, y-yeah,” Makoto stuttered out. “I guess we w-were.”

Izuru grabbed Makoto’s face softly, tilting it up before lining up their lips. 

Unlike Hajime’s kiss, Izuru was gentler, more skilled but less forceful. Izuru noticed Makoto reciprocating much quicker.

But the moment couldn’t last too long, not with Sayaka as a spectator.

“You,” Sayaka growled, glaring daggers at Izuru. “What are you doing with Makoto?”

“Kissing him,” Izuru said plainly, pulling the smaller boy into his chest. 

I thought we weren’t going to piss Sayaka off? Hajime asked.

We never said anything like that , Izuru responded. If she wants to start a fight, we’ll give her one.

Sayaka gripped at her own silver knife, pointing it at Izuru. “You’re that werewolf that is terrorizing our town, correct?”

“Correct.”

“If I killed you and gave the glory to Makoto,” Sayaka continued. “Makoto and I could live a happy life just the two of us…”

Makoto pushed himself away from the protective hold of Izuru. “Sayaka, what are you talking about…?”

“Makoto, I loved you for so very long…” Sayaka said, moaning out the last word. “With this kill, we could finally be together forever…”

“Sayaka, please…” Makoto whimpered, but it fell on deaf ears.

Sayaka charged for Izuru, filled with adrenaline and rage. It was an easy attack to dodge, no skill was placed into it.

Grabbing Sayaka’s arms once she got close enough he forced her down on the ground. Growling into her ear, “Give me one reason not to kill you.”

Before Sayaka could say anything, Makoto’s arms were around Izuru’s chest.

“Please,” Makoto murmured. “Don’t hurt her.”

Izuru removed the weapon from Sayaka’s hand before releasing her.

You should’ve killed her, Hajime growled. She tried to hurt us and take Makoto.

You heard Makoto , is all Izuru replied.

Once released, Sayaka ran towards the town.

“I didn’t really see that one coming,” Makoto said, relaxing onto Izuru’s back. “I always thought we were just close friends.”

“You’re naïve, Makoto,” Izuru responded, slowly moving around to wrap Makoto in his arms.

There’s no way he can go back home, is there? Hajime asked.

No, Izuru answered. Sayaka will probably have the town rally to try to kill us.

“I don’t think I can go home,” Makoto muttered as if reading their mind. “But I don’t mind, as long as I have you two.”

“Oh?” Izuru asked.

Makoto smiled up at them, “In fact, I think I might be owed something from all of this.”

Izuru stared blankly waiting for Makoto to continue.

Makoto pulled Izuru’s face down and captured his lips in a kiss.

“I don’t think I mind spending my life in exile,” Makoto said after their lips parted. “As long as it’s with you two.”

#kamuegi week #kamuegi #kamuhinaegi #hinaegi #sayaka maizono #makoto naegi #izuru kamukura #hajime hinata #werewolves

[j-reau]

BUTTERFLIES AND BLACKBIRDS 

 the building and breaking of jennifer jareau - PT 1. Butterfly

[based entirely on canon events. save for JJ’s report about butterflies which I just made up two seconds ago, this is a timeline of JJ’s growth over the course of the show and given the background we were provided without any of my own added headacanons/backstory. CW: mentions of suicide related to another character’s death.]

She’s born the younger sister. With blonde hair to contrast Roslyn’s dark brown, and a big, wide eyed, innocent heart to contrast Roslyn’s growing darkness. They make each other promises, in their hometown in Pennsylvania. Before Roslyn gets too old, they promise each other all of the things they’ll do one day. They collect butterflies in the yard. Butterflies are transformative. She’s eight when Roslyn names her JJ. 

She’s 11 when she finds Roslyn dead in the bathroom. Her wrists are slit in the bloody water. It’s the most horrific thing to ever creep into the big eyes of a tiny girl in a tiny, boring farm town. 11 year old Jennifer Jareau stands in the doorway for ten minutes and doesn’t move. She builds herself a chrysalis. 

The next year in school, Jennifer Jareau learns what happens during a butterfly’s pupa stage. She recites it in a report in front of a class. The imagery is gruesome. For a report about butterflies. But she doesn’t blink; The change inside the chrysalis is slow and gradual. The caterpillar’s body digests itself from the inside out. The caterpillar is attacked by the same sort of juices that it used in its earlier life to digest food. Many of the organs are hidden in the caterpillar and they take a new form within the chrysalis. The old body is broken down into imaginal cells but not all the tissues are destroyed. Jennifer Jareau is 13 when she learns she can say anything with a straight face. 

With her new body built stronger, JJ plays soccer. With eyes that blink at all the right times, she makes friends, and with her hard shell built so perfect it’s invisible, she goes home at night and smiles at her parents. She never tells them that she sees the darkness in her sister’s eyes reflected in her father’s. She never asks them if it’s symbolic, that Roslyn used his razors. She never comments on the fact that her mother doesn’t smile. That the Jareaus don’t hug anymore. They call her their baby. But Jennifer Jareau hasn’t been a caterpillar for years. 

She’s in college when David Rossi gives a talk in front of her class. He talks about psychology and criminology. A girl beside her flinches as bloody images of mangled bodies fill the projection screen. It’s not until David Rossi laughs about the reality of his job that JJ realizes she hasn’t flinched. She buys a copy of his book. She reads it four times. Somewhere in the pages, thirteen year old Jennifer Jareau reads a report about butterflies;

A new body is formed. Some parts of the caterpillars’ body are more or less unchanged, including the legs. Underneath a caterpillar’s skin the beginnings of wings form before it sheds its skin for the last time. Inside the chrysalis, the butterflies’ wings are fully formed. A butterfly's sucking mouth parts are formed from the caterpillar's chewing mouth parts.

Jennifer Jareau makes herself into a man eater. Not in practice but in presence. She goes to the FBI’s training academy at Quantico where she learns that even there, speaking horrors without flinching is a rare skill. She learns that even there, her gift for asking the right questions and not the wrong ones will get her places. She learns that when a girl learns to build herself, she also learns to take apart everyone else. 

They make her a communications liaison. Her job is to sift through files and decide which cases to take. She looks at each one alone, behind stacks of more, and flips through images like the ones she’s seen a thousand times. They can’t hurt her. She’s built herself a shell so tough, it can eat her own organs. She doesn’t need to apply her heart to her decisions when her mind is so sound. But sometimes she does it anyway. Sometimes it sneaks out anyway. She’s sharp tongued and laser focused, quick witted, fast on her feet, even in heels. High school soccer taught her five years ago to make a parry look effortless. She can stare at blood for ten minutes without blinking. 

She’s been at the job for four years when she’s attacked by a pack of hungry dogs. It’d be a metaphor in anyone else’s life. She shoots them all dead in the dark and later, JJ finds the images impossible to recollect. Maybe this time, she’d closed her eyes. 

She asks Emily a question that feels like sitting in a barn with her sister. She asks how she doesn’t flinch. I compartmentalize better than most. But Emily never says it isn’t advice. Somewhere, behind a chrysalis and a shell, in a pool of melted organs, Jennifer Jareau rebuilds something new; Boxes to put everything inside.

It’s the first time she’d fired her gun in the field. But not the last. 

The next year, she fires her gun again. This time at a person. Through glass, from rooms away. She hits him exactly where she’d aimed for. The same man who shot her first friend at the BAU. Because she won’t lose another person. JJ finds firing a gun is completely still. Like ten minutes of staring at a tragedy. One breath, one pull. Penelope thanks her for it. Hotch stares at her through broken glass like he’s surprised. She isn’t. It’s what you do for family. In the reflection of his eyes, through the cracks in the glass, JJ sees herself at thirteen. She reads a report about butterflies in front of her class;

The chrysalis loses nearly half of its weight because the metamorphosis consumes energy. Some species survive the winter in the chrysalis and the transformations take a couple of months.  A butterfly cocoon is a silk covering of a chrysalis. , The butterfly's patterns and color can be seen though the chrysalis. The butterfly breaks out of the protective chrysalis and pumps blood into its newly formed wings. 

#stole this butterfly shit from another page obviously i'm not a science brain #i was goign to do this all the way through 200 and into season 15 but it got WAY too long #so two parts it is #the butterfly era and the blackbird era #ABOUT . you’re a hero jennifer jareau #i saw a quiz that treated jj collecting butterflies like hard trivia #LMAO #ok fam #writing

[tiaragqueen]

ah, requests are open!! i love your work! maybe with the zodiac prompt list,♏️ for Garou? I love that man, especially as a yandere. and if it's okay, could reader be just a regular civilian? I love that huge difference in power.

Unpropitious

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Garou x Reader

✂ Word Count: 1,1k+

✂ Trigger Warning: Possessiveness, isolation

[Edited]

***

Ah, the quality of my Garou content is worsening… *broods in the corner*

♏️-“oh, don’t worry! This won’t hurt! Well, it won’t hurt me. You? No it’ll hurt really really bad.”

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

“Why you keep me waiting? Why you test me? All that I want from you, my love, is everything I know you got. Oh, why you holding out on me, baby?” - Test My Patience [Donna Missal]

Garou never wanted to hurt you. At least, not intentionally. There were times when he pinched or gripped your limbs a bit too tight whenever you disobeyed him – like refusing to cuddle him after a particularly long and hard day of spreading ‘justice’, for example – but they only left minor bruises in its wake. The furthest thing he’d done was a slap across your cheeks, and even so, it was rare and far in between. He knew just how vulnerable you were, how defenseless you were against the real monster which was him. You were merely a civilian before he abducted you, after all. What chance did you have to oppose him in a fistfight? How high was the percentage of you coming out unscathed? He might’ve never killed a human before, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t.

You knew, and that’s why you didn’t complain about his fragile approach towards you. It was better this way, you reasoned with yourself, instead of being maimed like those poor heroes. There was a mild resentment that came from being treated like porcelain, however, it never bothered you much.

But, of course, being isolated was an entirely different matter. Garou might have the best interest in mind – the world was a dangerous place, after all, what’s with all the monsters lurking in every corner – but it still couldn’t justify his hasty action at all. Hasty, in your opinion. You didn’t know the length and time he’d taken to ensure that the transition happened smoothly. You didn’t know the painstaking efforts he’d exerted just to memorize your entire schedule. You didn’t know the extent of his tolerance when he saw other men touching or flirting with you, or the gruesome killings that he’d committed to the monsters who dared to lay a hand on your unsuspecting self.

You were unbearably naïve, prancing from one place to another despite knowing the dangers that merged with your shadow. That’s why he had to protect you, but you failed to appreciate it. Not a single thank you was uttered; all you seemed to do was crying and sulking in his presence. Sometimes, you even gave him a cold shoulder to the point where Garou ‘abandoned’ you for a few days just to make you taste your own medicine. There wasn’t a trace of silly grins and jubilant smiles that used to grace your radiant face – the positive expressions that amazed yet confounded him. How could someone look so happy when meeting a monster like him? How could you retain your optimism in this otherwise bleak world?

All Garou truly desired was love and acceptance. Time and time again, he’d been rejected by people close to him just because he happened to favor villains above heroes. Time and time again, people jeered and criticized his unconventional preference. And yet, you didn’t even bother to show a drop of gratitude to him. The things he’d done to guarantee your safety and life were spat on and stomped over by your childish tantrums and insults. And the last straw that broke his composure was your latest escape attempt.

It wasn’t the first you’d tried to flee, honestly. Many times he’d caught you struggling to unlock the bolts, destroying the boards that covered the windows or sneaking out of the bed during ungodly hours. What you lacked in strength, you made up in dogged determination. It was amusing to watch sometimes – how you thought you could simply leave without any repercussions – but everyone had limits to their patience.

For him, the limit was seeing you skulking around the city and sought help from a hero. A male hero, nonetheless.

He was weak, Garou mentally sneered as he stared down at the barely recognizable body. Beating him didn’t even give him a rush he usually felt when fighting against an A or S class hero. He concluded that the said hero must be a lowly B-rank because he’d never seen his face on the Hero Book. It didn’t matter, though. His presence had helped Garou eased some of his wraths, and he ensured you’d seen him in action. He wanted you to realize just how angry he was, and for you to regret your actions before it was too late.

You didn’t apologize, however. Instead, you decided to garner the attention from passersby by screaming at the top of your lungs and smacked his back repeatedly. A few people tried to step in, but a savage glare promptly scattered them without further debate. Garou knocked you out and locked you in your room for a day while he went out again to dispose of the lingering fury to some nameless heroes, and yet, you stayed adamant.

“You can’t keep locking me here forever, Garou.” you hissed, squirming against the ropes that bound your hands to the bed poles. “I’ll leave this hellhole someday and I’m gonna report you to the Hero Association. You’ll be thrown to jail in no time or, better yet, die on their hands.”

He said nothing for the next minute and kept polishing a knife instead. The thick silence sped up your heartbeat as you stared at his back, trying to deduce his thoughts. It was futile, though, since his face lacked any emotions. Normally, he’d scoff or jeer at your weak convictions because he knew – you knew – that as long as he was still alive, there was no way you’d be free. The freedom was there, lying behind the door and boarded windows, but his shadow never truly left you. It stood in the dark corners of the city and the recesses of your so-called home, anticipating another shenanigan that you’d pull behind his back.

Had you pushed him too far this time? From what you gathered, silent anger was primarily more… dangerous than the obvious one.

“That’s impossible and you know it, [Name].” he finally spoke, the cool and assured tone burned your ears more than his usual mockeries. Garou turned around, eyes lidded with the coldness that he used to show to the pests that bothered you. The knife nestled in his hand as he crawled towards you, yellow irises reflecting your agitated mien.

“S-stay away! I’m not… I’m not going to let you hurt me.” Your voice wavered the more distance he’d shortened between you two.

Garou cocked his head and sneered. “Oh, don’t worry! This won’t hurt! Well, it won’t hurt me. You? No, it’ll hurt really, really bad.” The fake warmth disappeared as quickly as it’d appeared. “I’ll give you a lesson you won’t forget.”

#yandere scenario #yandere imagine #yandere anime #anime yandere #yandere anime au #anime yandere au #yandere oneshot #yandere garou #Yandere garou x reader #opm yandere #yandere opm x reader #yandere opm #opm yandere oneshot #yandere one punch man #one punch man yandere au #one punch man yandere #yandere one punch man x reader #yandere one punch man au #yandere request #request #Anon

[myheartrevealedocs]

Untouchable Ch 20: 3rd Life (S3E12)

Warnings: murder of teens, graphic injuries, swearing

Ch 19 | Ch 21

~ ~ ~

“Have you ID’d the body?” Hotch asked as they got out of their SUVs and onto the scene.

Two teenage girls, Katie and Lindsey, had gone missing from Chula Vista, California almost a day ago and the police had just called them in after a body was uncovered during a search party. It’d been there for 5 hours and supposedly was extremely gruesome.

“It’s a girl,” the detective confirmed.

“One of the missing girls?” Hotch specified.

“All I can tell you, is it’s a girl.”

“Did you draw up a list of those involved in the search?” Morgan inquired.

The team had to dodge police cars, officers, and bystanders to reach the yellow tape and see the grave they had uncovered.

“You’re gonna find the parents of those girls on that list.”

“Please tell me they didn’t discover the body,” Emily huffed.

“No. As soon as our dogs caught her scent, we kept them away from the scene.”

They all stepped over the edge of the pit, looking down on the body. It was positioned awkwardly, as if thrown down there. Any exposed skin was coated in a layer of blood, followed by a layer of dirt. And the face wasn't just covered, it was completely gone.

Lydia’s stomach churned at the sight, but she swallowed it down, stepping carefully into the grave and closer to the body, her gloves coming out instinctually.

She took her time to examine the body, finally speaking up when Emily and Spencer broke away from the team to look with her.

“The bruises had time to develop,” she explained, pointing to the discoloration on the skin they could see. “Her hands and face were cut up in layers. And from the indentations on her neck, she was strangled to death with a belt.”

“The bindings cut deep into her flesh,” Spencer noted.

“But why destroy her hands and face?” the detective asked from behind Emily.

“It indicates she knew the attacker,” she told him. “They think if we’re able to identify her, we’ll be closer to catching them.”

“Do you think the other girl’s still alive?”

“Until we find her body,” Rossi said, “we should assume she is.”

~ ~ ~

Lydia sighed, stepping into an abandoned house. The carpet was littered with blood stains, beer bottles and cans, cigarettes, money, shoes. The amount of evidence their unsubs left behind was astounding.

Throughout the day, they’d come to two discoveries. The first was that the body uncovered belonged to Katie Owen. And the second was that their other kidnapped girl, Lindsey Vaughan, wasn’t actually named Lindsey Vaughan.

Her and her father, Jack, were in witness protection after he’d been caught as part of the Boston mob. And if someone had figured them out, Lindsey was in much more trouble than they thought.

“Katie’s cell phone,” Emily said as she lifted up a small, pink object.

“Two different sets of footprints,” Morgan noted. “So, two unsubs.”

“Jack said there’d be two of them,” the detective offered.

“Hotch,” Lydia called. “We’re gonna need to pack up all of this. There’s DNA all over this scene.”

“For professionals, this is incredibly sloppy,” Emily stated and Lydia nodded.

“There’s no way. The mob does their job and moves on. They’ve been hanging out here, drinking… whoever’s doing this, they’re doing it for fun, not work.”

Emily picked up a belt. “This could have been the belt used to strangle Katie.”

“If they’re sending a message, why obliterate the ID and hide the body?” Rossi asked.

“So this has nothing to do with the mob?” The detective looked between them, baffled.

“Hey, guys,” Morgan called. “This blood trail goes all the way out the back here. Must have run out this way.”

The team followed them into the backyard and out of a broken section in the fence.

“Whoever it was,” Emily began, “they lost a lot of blood.”

“It’s getting thinner,” Lydia noticed. “It’s an arterial bleed. This person couldn’t have made it far on their own.”

Eventually, the trail disappeared, with no body nearby. “Okay,” Hotch said. “Spread out. Search the grounds and every house.”

The team had their guns out a moment later, splitting off. The whole area was under construction, meaning they could walk freely in and out of the houses, but at the same time, so could their unsubs. An entire house to themselves is a lot of cover.

Lydia followed Hotch, knowing that searching for suspects alone wasn’t in her job description. And the FBI was one of the only jobs where doing more than you were asked is frowned upon. She’d been told that more than once.

As they walked, she pulled at her vest, frustratedly, with one hand, the other still on her weapon.

“You haven’t told the team of your relationship yet,” he mumbled back to her.

“Spencer wants it to come up naturally one day. Too bad he doesn’t really do fluid conversation. I decided a long time ago that that’s his business,” she admitted. “He knows the team better. If he wants them to know, he should tell them.”

“I understand that, but don’t give up your free will to please him. Reid will understand.”

She chuckled. “I know. I promise though, I don’t mind either way.”

They went silent after that, Hotch approaching the closest house. Lydia held her gun at the ready, checking behind them constantly her eyes bouncing from door to door. The two of them made their way upstairs and stopped dead in their tracks to find a small puddle of blood. Hotch indicated she should wait in the hallway, before kicking his way into the room.

He stopped, standing in the door and just looking at whatever was before him, then said into his com, “Guys, the last house on the left house, second floor. I’ve got something.”

As soon as he lowered his gun, Lydia put hers away and walked into the room to find a body on the floor. It belonged to a boy, likely no older than their missing girls were.

“You know that I’m not a forensic anthropologist, right?” Lydia grumbled as she knelt down to examine whoever this poor kid was.

“Lydia, you’re the closest thing we’ve got,” he argued.

“My PhD is in chemistry,” she continued, ignoring him.

There was blood all the way down the front of his body: shirt, pants, dripping from his mouth, etc. He had three stab wounds in his chest. His eyes were already foggy and distant. Across his face and arms were scratch marks. And there was a bite mark on his right hand.

Next to him was an open cell phone, which she reached for after throwing on a glove, but it was dead.

Lydia stood up and showed it to Hotch. “You think this is one of our unsubs?” she asked knowingly.

“He’s got defensive wounds. They have to be from Katie or Lindsey.”

“Well…” She glanced at the boy. “He’s not part of the mob.”

“We’re well past that,” Hotch murmured.

Rossi was the first to arrive on the scene and they explained their findings.

“At some point for him, things got out of hand and he wanted out,” Rossi reasoned. “He makes a run for it and gets stabbed in the process. It’s dark. They can’t find him.”

“They think he’s gone to the police and they have to think fast, so they take Katie and they dump her across town.”

“And to maintain some amount of control, they take Lindsey.”

Lydia looked between the two older men. “So… where did his friends run off to?”

~ ~ ~

The station was in a panic as news broke out that Jack Vaughan had escaped his protective custody agent and was on the hunt for the boys who took his daughter.

Garcia had identified their dead kid as Doug Silverman, a student at the same high school as Katie and Lindsey. Jack had claimed he’d never seen the boy before, but his sudden disappearance seemed to suggest otherwise.

The whole team was on the streets, trying to find Jack, except for Lydia and Spencer. Spencer was marking up his map, frustratedly, trying to determine where the boys might have taken Lindsey.

The only lead they had was a boy named Ryan Phillips. They were pretty sure he was the leader of the group they were looking for. But there was no way he would have taken Lindsey to his house, so it meant very little that they knew his name.

“You’ve got to find him, fast,” the witness protection agent insisted.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Spencer hissed.

“Coloring in a map!”

Lydia got between them immediately, so that Spencer could work in peace. “We’ve got people all over town looking for your witness when we should be focused on saving Lindsey. You’re clearly much more helpful when you’re sitting on your ass doing nothing.”

“What the hell is your problem?!” he shot back, but they were both interrupted by an officer walking in, letting them know that there had been reports of shots being fired on Jackson St.

The agent left with him, anxious to find Jack.

“Got it!” Spencer cried, pulling out his phone and dialing up Hotch before Lydia could ask what he’d found. “After inputting all the sites, I’ve come up with a two-dimensional probability service overlay map that indicates the offenders’ operating area… I know it sounds crazy, but I think he’s taken her to the Mayford High School two blocks from here… Thanks.”

He was off a moment later, throwing on his kevlar vest and Lydia quickly doing the same.

“What are you doing?” he insisted. “You don’t go on raids.”

“The rest of the team’s too far away,” she replied. “You need backup.”

“Lydia, I’ll be fine.”

“Then, what’s the harm of me going?” She didn’t let him answer that. “Hotch gave me this gun specifically because he knew that one day I was going to follow someone into danger with or without it. I’m more prepared than I have been on cases before.”

“Stay behind me,” he told her, the two of them running outside and hopping into a police vehicle.

The car that Jack Vaughan had taken when he fled was abandoned by the side of the school. Spencer pulled up beside it and the two of them rushed to catch up with him, guns at the ready. If Jack really did have a gun and Ryan Phillips was inside, things were going to end badly.

They ran into a nearby hallway, Lydia checking the doors on the right, Spencer doing the same on the left. She stopped in her tracks, hearing muffled yells from inside a nearby bathroom.

“Kill him, Daddy! Kill him!”

Lydia nodded for Spencer to join her and on the count of three, she threw open the door and he rushed into the bathroom.

“Put the gun down!”

Lydia went around him and also trained her gun on Jack Vaughan. At some point, he’d acquired a shotgun, which he now had facing an older boy on the floor of the bathroom, with a split lip, who could only be presumed to be Ryan Phillips. Jack’s daughter, Lindsey, upon seeing them, stepped up next to her father, blocking their shot. Her hands were tied behind her back and there was dried blood around her mouth, but she seemed otherwise unharmed.

“Help me, please!” Ryan sobbed. “Please help me!”

“Jack, put down the gun!”

Lindsey glared at Reid before turning back to her father. "She begged him to stop and he laughed at her! He laughed at her!”

“I didn’t laugh at her! Honestly, I would change this if I could!”

“Lindsey,” Lydia tried to reason, “what good is killing him? Trust me, his sentence will be punishment enough, we’ll make sure of it.”

“Please,” Ryan kept pleading. “Don’t kill me.”

Spencer sounded exhausted, taking in a deep breath. “Jack, you swore to your wife that you’d protect Lindsey. Listen to her, Jack. Listen to what she wants. She’s-- She’s begging you to kill somebody right in front of her. What do you think your wife wanted you to protect her from?”

Lydia decided to try and plead with the girl again. “Lindsey, I know it may feel like killing him is the only just option. And I know it feels like that’s just how things work in your family. Being exposed to things like violence and murder at a young age can make them seem more understandable or natural than they are. But your father’s history doesn’t affect yours. If you tell your dad to shoot him, that will be your first kill. Do you really want a murder on your hands?”

“Jack, your life has been… It’s been about violence, and if… you do this, Lindsey’s will be, too. Do you want that?”

“Lindsey, your father hasn’t killed anyone in a long, long time. He’s proved to the government that he can be a good person. Do you want to take that away from him?” The girl wouldn’t even look at her. She was angry. Her mind was too clouded by her need for revenge. If they were going to stop Jack from pulling that trigger, it was up to Spencer now.

“When does it end, Jack?”

“Put down the gun,” Ryan cried and they could hear sirens approaching outside the school.

“Kill him,” Lindsey whispered.

“When does it stop?” Spencer continued.

Jack looked at Spencer, then Lydia, then his daughter. Finally, he turned back to the pleading boy in front of him. “Tomorrow,” he growled and shot Ryan straight through the head.

Spencer’s face froze into one of pure shock, his gun falling to his side.

Neither Jack nor Lindsey said anything as Jack untied her arms and guided her out of the bathroom. As they passed though, Lydia could see the regret in both faces. They would never be the same after this.

Once they were out of the room, Lydia stepped in front of Spencer, blocking his view of the boy’s body.

“This is not your fault,” she said, firmly. “Ryan Phillips may not have deserved to die, but in the end, we did our jobs. We saved Lindsey.”

“I thought I could-”

She shushed him. “This is not on you,” she repeated. After a minute, Hotch, Morgan, and Rossi were rushing in, only to find Ryan Phillips’s brains all over the walls.

“You okay, Reid?” Morgan asked, seeing his friend’s distress.

Lydia looked up at Morgan. “I’m going to take him outside.” Then, she wrapped an arm around his waist and gently guided him out of the high school and onto a bench outside, pulling him into a hug for several minutes.

~ ~ ~

Spencer didn’t talk much on the trip back to headquarters, but stayed attached to Lydia’s side. After a while, he’d seemed to calm down a bit and reassured her that he would be fine. And then, asked that when they got back, they’d tell the team about their relationship.

After watching the two of them practically falling on top of one another for the whole flight back to DC, Lydia was pretty sure they already knew, but agreed quickly.

“Now or never,” Spencer whispered to her as they walked arm and arm into the bullpen, repeating her phrase from the day they’d told Hotch.

“Hey guys?” Lydia called to the team. “May we speak in the conference room real fast? Before everyone goes home?”

A couple of odd glances were shared between the agents, but they all nodded and shuffled onto the catwalk.

When Lydia and Spencer entered behind the group, the two were holding hands and no one had to say anything to know what the announcement would be.

“Spencer and I have been dating,” Lydia said, trying to save her boyfriend the embarrassment. But, Spencer smiled at the varying faces around the table.

Morgan looked absolutely appalled. Emily, JJ, and Rossi were pleased. And Hotch seemed relieved this conversation was finally out of the way.

So, Lydia continued, “This has been okayed by Hotch, but we avoided telling you guys for some time, because the Bureau obviously isn’t thrilled with the idea.”

JJ and Emily were quick to give their congratulations, the rest of the room silent.

“So… how long, then?” Morgan asked, as Spencer sat down at the round table.

“Have we been dating?” Lydia clarified.

“Yes… Come on,” he teased, seeing the two of them exchange an unsure look. “I know pretty boy’s got it memorized.”

“596 days,” Spencer snapped, clearly already fed up with the meddling. Too bad he was too frustrated to realize where he went wrong.

“Spence-!” Lydia squealed, both amused and nervous as Hotch’s head shot up. “Two weeks!”

It had been over two months since they’d told Hotch, but at that time, they’d promised him that they’d only been dating for two weeks, so that no one involved would get in trouble. Lydia could see the embarrassment flood Spencer’s face and he was sputtering to take it back.

“I knew it!” she cried, slamming her hands down on the conference room table in front of him. “I knew you’d be the one to break in the end! Mr. ‘I’m-such-a-great-liar’!” She laughed, mocking him as she sauntered around the room. “‘Let’s keep it a secret, Lydia!’ ‘They’ll never profile me, Lydia!’ ‘Sure, half the team already thinks I’m in love with you, but if you even talk to me at work, you’re gonna give us away! Be careful, Lydia!’”

“I didn’t-”

“You totally did!”

The whole team watched their playful argument around the round table room, never seeing such a side from either one of them. They were so comfortable with one another, not to mention genuinely happy.

“That’s not fair!” Spencer was saying. “Garcia only teased me about it the one time and I never admitted anything! So the only person on the team who thought I was crushing is Emily!”

“Emily knew?” Morgan turned on the dark-haired woman.

“How could you not!” she giggled. “Spencer is so pathetically romantic when it comes to Lydia.”

“I am not!”

“Guys,” Hotch said, sternly, catching the attention of the whole team. “Ambers and Reid have promised that their relationship would not affect anyone in the office and I expect the same from you. They’re a couple. That doesn’t change anything.”

“What?!” Morgan cried. “Doesn’t change anything?!? This is crazy! Does no one else find this crazy?!”

“Morgan,” Hotch tried again. “Please.”

There was silence, everyone’s eyes surveying the room, most amused at the situation. Finally, Morgan nodded.

“Good. Back to your desks. Ambers and Reid, my office.”

Spencer dropped his head onto the table dramatically.

~ ~ ~

Tags: @kris-stuff, @wooya1224, @arthurmorrgans, @anotherr-fine-mess, @eddysocs

#criminal minds #cm #spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds oc #cm fanfiction #cm fanfic #cm oc #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #oc #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #emily prentiss #untouchable #untouchable ch20 #lydia ambers

[skinks]

The Toziers convince Sonia to let them take Eddie to disney world on his 14th birthday. Needless to say he LOVES every second of it and that’s when Richie realizes that he’s lowkey in love with him

ok anon stop reading my MIND I was actually thinking weeks ago about this literal very same thing. Well, a variant, but yours is adorable too omg. Also I think a lot about them going as adults post-movie and Eddie spends the whole day just going on the Hulk rollercoaster at Universal over and over

but god imagine Eddie having a huge bowl of Disney World ice cream plonked in front of him at the Rainforest Cafe with birthday sparklers, and they’re like “Eat up son, you’re not 14 every day!” and Eddie tries to blow out the sparklers and not cry simultaneously. Eddie at a theme park is actually so personal. He tries ONE rollercoaster (Thunder Mountain) and immediately becomes an adrenaline junkie, and Richie’s sitting next to him hearing him shriek and swear and their hands are clasped together overhead as they hurtle down a plunging loop, and he’s like oh no.

My thing was that I have this image of a 90s family photo of Maggie and Went squishing long haired teen metalhead Richie between them maybe at Magic Kingdom or in front of the big ball at Epcot, and he’s taller than both of them with a gruesome unintelligible black tshirt on but he’s got the biggest goofy smile, and he’s wearing Mickey ears cause it’s his BIRTHDAY. But 14 is probably better cause maybe like, Went and Maggie saw how upset Richie and his friends all were the year before and want to cheer him up?

Then I thought, his parents say he can bring another friend with him if he likes, and Bev’s already gone to Portland right? Mike and Bill are working, Ben and Stan are both at different nerdy summer camps (I know Richie’s birthday is in March but let’s pretend they take him as a joint bday/end of school year treat) and so he brings Eddie. Richie kinda wanted to bring Eddie the most in the first place, so it works out perfectly. Eddie’s only allowed to go because he’s still riding his gazebos wave of defiance and also they promise Sonia Eddie won’t go on a single dangerous ride (wink), and she’d hate to be seen to be ungrateful, people would talk.

Richie and Eddie get their own room in the motel and trampoline between the two beds because they’re little monsters. They always run out onto the balcony at night to watch the thunderstorms. The first time they walk through the gates at Magic Kingdom Eddie’s like :00000 Richie look! EVERYONE’S wearing fanny-packs!!!! and Richie’s like yeah >:( but you were a cute dork first, and Eddie’s like hey fuck you—wait...... cute? and Richie’s like uhhhh HEY LOOK IS THAT PLUTO

They freak the fuck OUT at the Star Wars bit in MGM, back when it was still called MGM. Maggie and Went let them see The Muppets 3D three times in a row and Richie gets a Kermit shirt, and whenever Eddie starts pestering him about sunblock Richie sings It Ain’t Easy Being Green to drown him out.

The see the Indiana Jones stunt show at MGM and Richie decides he’s gonna be a stuntman. Then they go to the driving stunt thing and Eddie says it would be super cool to be stunt driver, and Richie’s like we can be a stunt team!!!! together!!! And Went grins, “Like Siegfried and Roy,” and Maggie elbows him.

Eddie overcomes one of his many anxieties and pets some lizards at Animal Kingdom. They fill their hats with water from the spouting fountains at Epcot and then put them straight on their heads, dumping water over themselves to cool off. It’s actually closer to Maggie’s real birthday than anyone else’s so they have dinner at Epcot Mexico for Richie, Mags AND Eddie and the mariachi band comes over. Richie and Wentworth start singing a totally inaccurate Spanish Happy Birthday and Eddie almost sinks under the table in embarrassment. People are staring, and he’s so used to people staring in public when his own mom causes a scene, but this is a fun scene, Maggie’s rolling her eyes and clapping along so maybe it’s not so bad.

They make up games to play in the long lines for rides, Maggie and Went joining in on Eye Spy, or Richie’s “Guess Which State That Gross Family Are From” game, but don’t join in with Richie and Eddie’s complicated patty-cake-thumb-war hybrid. Eddie always has a ton of water in his backpack and a lil hand-held fan in his fanny pack, and sometimes in the hotter lines he feels very bold and squishes his and Richie’s faces cheek to cheek so they can share the fan, but it doesn’t seem to make much of a difference cause Richie’s face almost feels warmer when he does.

At Typhoon Lagoon they wrestle all the way around Lazy River (and get chastised by the lifeguards) and have major water cannon wars. Eddie watches all the fit young lifeguard dudes up in their chairs like 😳😳😳 that looks like a... cool job. Helping people. Hm.

They split a thing of churros. They get right up to the top of the tallest slide and Eddie gets scared, but Richie just clambers all the way back down the stair tower with him, mouthing off at the bigger kids giving them grief, and Eddie’s like “you should have just gone without me” and Richie’s like nah, be it’d no fun without you, and Eddie thinks about this entire vacation and for a wild moment he thinks my whole life would be no fun without you.

They return to see Maggie lying face down on her deck chair and towel, reading her book with her sunny yellow bikini top untied and Went is Very Attentively Applying Sunscreen to her bare back lmao. Richie’s like UGH GROSS and Went jumps a little like, “oh fu—uh, hey boys, you’re back quick.”

The concrete is so hot they have to run quick from pool to pool to stop their soles burning. Richie can’t wear his glasses in the water so he clings to Eddie the whole time, both of them slippery and giggling and Eddie feels like he’s getting a full body sunburn every time their wet bodies bump together, even though he’s wearing like six coats of factor 50.

Oh and you know they go to Universal. Oh BOY do they go to Universal. Eddie screams on the Jaws ride when the animatronic lunges right against where he’s sitting, and he jumps back in his seat and like, Richie must’ve been way closer than he thought because he falls all over his lap and Richie’s like “Hooper ya idiot, starboard! Ain’tcha watching it!” in his Quint From Jaws Voice, which is actually one of his better Voices since Quint sounds like every other curmudgeonly Maine old-timer back in Derry, but this time he’s pretty shaky about it for some reason.

They go to the new Horror Make-Up Show and Richie waves his arm so hard he gets picked as the volunteer, and winds up making the crowd laugh even more than the hosts, they’re all mock-outraged like “Who’s your agent! You’re here from Mouse Town to make us look bad, right?!”

Then when the Wolfman bursts out, Eddie can see there’s a moment where Richie’s whole body flinches bloodless, his arms come up to cover his face, and his head jerks to stare out for a moment into the crowd looking like he did when he saw his face on a missing poster, and Eddie overcomes his terror of being Perceived by the crowd to yell “GET HIM RICH” and everyone laughs, Richie grins, and it’s fine again.

On their last night they go back to Magic Kingdom to see the fireworks, and they’re exhausted. Sun-dazed and sugar-filled and adrenaline-drained and the fireworks make everything kinda dreamy. They’re shuffling along behind Maggie and Went to get a good spot when they see Maggie take Went’s hand. Richie pulls a face at Eddie and Eddie scrunches a face back and they snicker, and Richie makes a mock “oooh~ Eddie~” noise and grabs Eddie’s hand—they both keep laughing and watching the fireworks, but like... then it stops being funny and starts being something else. Richie’s just holding his hand, and the crowd is so thick and dark under ballooning Florida clouds and the fantasy sky, so anonymous that nobody notices but them. Eddie’s heart might be shooting into the sky and exploding into sparks as well, he’s ready to collapse and he can’t possibly LOOK at Richie but for a moment he’s like shit, they’re right. Happiest place on Earth.

#reddie #tozier family #long post #once more this got away from me but i fucking love disney world ok lmao #listen every time i come back from Orlando im like ok! im done! dont need to go again! #and then by a year or so later im like WHO WANTS TO COME ROLLERCOASTING WITH ME......... #anyway idk if any of this is chronologically accurate to the parks in 1990 but that IS the year the horror make up show started #ficlet

[hold-my-hand-kuroo]

A Bouquet For You || 01 - Daffodil

A Bouquet For You Masterlist

“How long are you going to stand there and throw paper at me?”

You don’t know who this blonde boy is or why he’s sitting inside your new apartment, but you do know is that when you tried to pull him up by the arm to drag him out-or punch him depending on how he reacted-your hand went straight through his body. Like a projection or a mist, you ended up hitting the wall instead. And that’s when you started to freak out for real, pulling out all the exorcism seals that your parents had given you before you hopped onto that train heading straight to Tokyo. 

“Until now, I guess,” you mumble defeatedly, out of seals. You consider trying salt next. “I mean, if none of these hurt you, then I guess you’re not…bad, right?”

“Even if I was ‘bad’, what kind of harmful spirit would admit that to their victim?” He doesn’t look up from the game he’s playing, focused on the cracked screen. “And anyways, aren’t you oddly calm for someone seeing a ghost?”

Growing up with the weakest sixth sense in your entire household, exorcism proved to be a bad route for you. While you could sometimes see spirits, it wasn’t very often. It was frequent enough for you to get used to it, but other careers outside of the supernatural proved to be more promising. And that’s why you moved to this apartment with a surprisingly low rent to be closer to your new job. You hadn’t realized that the reason for its surprisingly low price was because of a haunting though.

“It’s…a long story,” you sigh. Slowly walking over toward the boy again, you scan his figure. He looked normal; his blonde hair, presumably bleached and sharp brown eyes stood out to you the most but you’re still confused as to why he played on a broken game console. The glass was clearly cracked beyond belief, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Again, you wave your hand at his figure, feeling nothing but air.

“Can you stop doing that?” he says, a little bit irritated. “I’m not going to hurt you, and even if I could, it’d take way to much energy.”

“Oh, oops. Sorry,” you respond. You feel unusually guilty for bothering a ghost. “Do…do you have a name?”

“Kenma Kozume.” His answer is brief and short, too focused on button tapping to pay too much attention to you. Then, his head jolts, as if just remembering something. “And if you’re wondering whether or not I can leave this apartment, it’s a no. I don’t know why i’m stuck here, either.”

You pause to think. Looking at the history of the home before hand, you don’t remember seeing any reports of gruesome murders taking place; for sure, you would’ve been able to recall that. Thinking back to the lessons your parents had taught you, ghosts really only stayed bound for one thing: there was something that they still had to do. Whether it be revenge, which wasn’t likely in this case with Kenma’s lazed attitude, or redemption, reasons for staying behind were vast.

“Do you remember anything? Maybe I can help you-“

“I’ve tried thinking about the past, but I really only recall my name. And that I like this game.” Well, him being an amnesiac didn’t help. “Don’t worry about it too much. No one’s been able to see me before, so I haven’t really accommodated to anyone, but…I guess staying in a closet it okay-“

“No, that’s weird,” you argue immediately, shaking your head. “You realize that if I don’t touch you, I can’t tell whether your alive or not, right? If you’re in my closet, it makes me feel like I’ve trapped somewhere there, and that’s not okay.”

“But you know I’m dead.” He finally looks up, tilting his head quizzically at you. “I don’t need anything. Being in cramped spaces doesn’t bother me.”

Maybe it’s because you’ve been conversing with him for the past ten minutes, or maybe it’s because you really don’t need to know that someone is playing games in your closet at night, but you can’t help but stifle a groan. Living with a ghost on your own has never happened before, let alone a ghost that was just there because he couldn’t leave. It’s not like you two couldn’t get along either…

“Consider yourself my roommate then,” you decide, nodding emphatically. “Since you’re bound to be here forever, I’ll be seeing you a lot anyways, so why don’t we just be friends?”

“Like I said,” he repeats, sounding confused and conflicted. He just doesn’t understand. “I’m dead.”

“Dead or alive, it doesn’t matter to me.” Picking up the failed exorcism seals, you put them back safely in the folder where they came from and turn toward your new, slightly empty kitchen. “Do ghosts eat? I’m about to prepare dinner.”

Kenma looks at you incredulously, and you think he might even seem a little bit annoyed. Perhaps staying unknown for the most part has made him prefer isolation, but the idea of living with another person, or rather, someone who was once a person, without getting to know them at all felt like there was a stranger in your house all the time, and that was rather unpleasant. 

“I don’t need to eat,” he grumbles, turning back to his game, “but if it’s tasty, I will. Sometimes I stole snacks from previous owners, and they all called me a rat.” 

“Well, when food disappears, most people think animal than ghost.” Opening up to your nearly-empty fridge, you decide on something simple. You’d have to go grocery shopping soon. “Do you have any favorite foods?”

“I know I like apple pie and potato chips,” Kenma says, tilting his head. “I don’t really know what I like and what I don’t like.”

Oh, right. Amnesiac. 

“Well, I’ll be cooking a lot from now on, so we’ll find out.” 

Dinner is easy, and you discover that even though Kenma doesn’t get hungry or full, he has a preference for smaller portions. You suspect that he must have had a small appetite when he was alive. He doesn’t say much on the actual taste, but he guarantees you that he doesn’t hate what you made, much to your pleasure. Quickly cleaning up and getting ready for your first day of work the following morning, you try to head to bed early. It doesn’t work.

“Where are you going?” Kenma asks curiously, watching you walk out of the bedroom and into the living room. “It’s almost midnight. I thought you said you wanted to turn in early-“

“Can’t sleep,” you groan, rubbing at your eyes. You figured that your nerves would get to you, but not like this. “I’m dropping by the convenience store. Do you want anything?”

“App-“

“Apple pie it is. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” And just like that, you’re out the door and straight into someone else. It’s a light bump, but you can’t help but be surprised at walking into someone right when you walked out your own door. It’s quite frightening, actually, and you have your spare hand balled up into a fist.

“Shit,” the voice says. It’s deep. “That was my bad. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you reply, clearly startled. “I..uh…Sorry about that.”

“No, it’s okay,” the man chuckles, flashing a sheepish smile. “Rather, sorry about not greeting you sooner. I knew that I was getting a new neighbor, but I’ve been busy, so I haven’t been able to drop by to say hi.”

Oh. So he was your neighbor.

“It’s fine!” you reassure, laughing rather nervously. You’re still not sure whether or not you can trust him, so you look to your left. If you ran, maybe you’d get down via the stairs, but you’re sure that he could catch up to you with his long legs. “I wasn’t expecting-“

“I usually give out flowers when other tenants first move in,” he informs. You notice his out-of-control hair and really wonder if he actually lived next door. It’d make sense for him to come out looking disheveled seeing as he would’ve just have left his living space. “I’ll drop by soon with a bouquet or something. I have to run right now, though. I forgot to do some cutting today, and I don’t want them to die on me. See you around!”

He runs off, and you see that he’d definitely out-run you in a chase. You’re confused as to what he’s cutting and what would die if he didn’t cut them right now in the middle of the night, but you quickly shake yourself out of your daze. Just one quick convenience store run, and you’d head straight to bed. No buts about it. You couldn’t afford to be late on your first day. 

It’s only when you come home that you realize that you had just gone out of your apartment to buy an apple pie for a ghost that absolutely did not need food to sustain himself, and you definitely did spend a considerable amount of time worrying about the pie getting cold. The bizarreness hits you rather late, but it’s a little reassuring, almost funny. If you could establish a friendly relationship with the spirit bound to your apartment forever, you could walk into work just fine. Probably.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #kuroo tetsurou #tetsurou kuroo #kuroo #tetsurou kuroo x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kenma kozume

[horrificallyelisbaaron]

REVIEW: The Only Good Indians

Thank you to NetGalley and Gallery Books for this ARC in exchange for an honest review!

The Only Good Indians is the story of four friends and Blackfeet Indians --Ricky, Lewis, Cassidy, and Gabriel-- who decided to hunt elk in a section of the reservation reserved for elders without permission, ignoring Blackfeet customs and laws in the process. They knew at the time they were doing wrong, but gave themselves the excuse that they were doing this for the good of tribe, so everyone would eat well that winter. They tried to be heroic Indians instead of good ones. The hunt (of course) goes horribly wrong and, ten years later, something comes for each of them to dole out the consequences of their actions: blood for blood.

Immediately after I finished this book, I knew that it would take days for me to process what I had read, to fully understand the complexities of the story with all its focus on identity, history, violence, and sadness. I'll attempt to make some sense of my feelings now.

There is no question this book was written by an indigenous man. Though it's certainly a horror novel, it's also entirely about native identities. Ricky, Lewis, Cassidy, and Gabriel (and the younger generation, in Shaney, Nathan, and Denorah) are constantly asking themselves what it means to be Indian. What does it mean to be a 'good' Indian or a 'bad' one? Should they lean into their heritage and life on the reservation or should they try to get out and make a new life elsewhere? There are many answers and all of them are both right and wrong.

Nathan "hates being from here. He loves it, but he also hates it so much" and that conflict is driving him to cause trouble. He doesn't know how to resolve these ideas clashing in his head, so he lashes out at the world instead, much like Ricky, Lewis, Cassidy, and Gabe used to when they were young. He comes into the story because his father thinks time in a sweat lodge can help straighten him out, that participating in this ritual can make him better.

On the other hand, Denorah wants to use her talent on the basketball court to get a scholarship to college, to find a way out, but at the same time, she's empowered by the racism she encounters on the court. People chant "Kill the Indian, save the man. Bury the hatchet. Off the reservation," and, most importantly, "The only good Indian is a dead Indian." But this is fuel for her: "Bring it, Denorah says in her head, and drops another through the net. If the only good Indian is a dead one, then she's going to be the worst Indian ever."

These adverse ideas of how to be better are all linked to history: personal history, tribal history, the history you inherit. Ricky, Lewis, Cassidy, and Gabe reflect on their 'Indian-ness' in different ways, but their fates are sealed by the illegal elk hunt, their personal history. Nathan, Shaney, and Denorah have their own concepts of tribal history, but it's been diluted through their heritage: who their parents are, what they value, how 'Indian' they want their kids to be, and what each of them think about that.

Still identity politics never drowns out each character's identity. They may be conflicted about who they are in relation to their tribe, but the idea of who they are and want to be is much larger than that and more complex. There is no moralizing here, just people grappling with their lives and with real terrror.

Because this is a horror novel after all. There is something coming to kill each and every one of them, and damn if it isn't creepy, disturbing, angry, relentless, and almost vindicated in doing so. The inevitability of contact with this force constantly delivers punches to the gut: "You look right back at her, your hair lifting all around your shoulders. She doesn't know you yet, no. She will." "Names are stupid though. Pretty soon he won't even need his." "The night is almost here. It's the one you've been waiting for." "The boy keeps looking at the camper, like considering how to take it apart. Or--he can't see you in the reflection in a window, can he? Just your shape, your silhouette, your shadow? Your true face?...But it's better nobody sees you. Yet." "You're no dog either. Also: There are no dogs. Not anymore."

It's like watching Halloween for the first time, seeing Laurie run in panic, and Michael Myers following unhurriedly, step by awful step. What's come to punish these men doesn't have to hurry and refuses to. It wants to take its time, savor the pain, enjoy watching lives and bodies fall apart. Reading about patiently waiting brutality that can strike at any moment builds the perfect sort of tension: You get to know these characters intimately, care about their lives, believe that they can be better men...! and then watch as things turn for the worst.

"The worst" is gruesome, that's for sure. If you can't handle visceral, at times disgusting descriptions, I would skip this book. Normally, I'd say skip over those parts, but they're crucial to the book's success. Without such ferocity, the story would suffer. It'd lose it's credulity.

One thing I never expected, though, was a gorgeous, sad ending. Without giving details, we're prepared for a one-on-one fight to the death, each side representing more than just themselves, and for a time, that's where the story goes, followed by the classic run-for-your-life. But once both sides are almost dead with tiredness and vulnerable, there is a chance to stop hunting each other, to let go of "your anger, your hate, it was coursing through your, and you got lost in it, and--"

That's where I'll stop. You deserve the ending as Stephen Graham Jones tells it, not me.

#the only good indians #stephen graham jones #indigenous literature #ownvoices #horror novels #horror #horror reads #horror review #book review #five stars #gallery books #scary stories #read a book #read this #reading #book blog #horror blog #book rec #horror books #booklr #horror fiction #horror authors #book covers #netgalley #horror fan #dailyhorror #booksofinstagram #booksbooksbooks #books #readers of tumblr