#that make them fold like a lawn chair the same way | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jeons-catalyst · 28 days

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I don't ship jikook or talk about them being together on main and I don't try to convince people they're together but they sometimes do something that just makes me pause. For sometime I made myself watch other ship edits and theories because I felt I must be becoming biased from watching too many jikook edits. I was hoping I would get the sense that they all act like that with each other and I just never noticed or that seeing a bunch of ship edits with people I know aren't together would make me realise that jikook are the same. But they hit different. I will still never be fully convinced they're together but I also don't think it's crazy to think they might be.

I still don't really like the concept of shipping though. Some people portray them really weirdly online and this alpha-omega stuff is really disturbing to me.

Well i feel like none of us can really be sure that Jikook are 100% together but the truth is that, they make you wonder.

You can watch as many ship videos of other pairs as you like but Jikook’s charm to me is in how realistic they are. I have seen so many people try to debunk jikook by claiming that all ships in kpop act like them but when i ask them to show me other ships in their fetus years acting like jikook, it is crickets. There is something that is extremely different about Jikook.

In all my years of being a BTS and kpop fan, i have never seen any other duo being accused of hating each other as much as Jikook. Many people take this negatively (and it is negative) but this to me is all the proof you need to know that Jk never had the same relationship with Jimin as he did with the rest of the members. Jikook’s fetus days is a sour topic for most Jikookers but nothing has ever convinced me more about Jikook than how they both behaved with each other when they were younger.

We had an annoyingly clingy Jimin who kept questioning himself on why he liked Jk so much, a jimin who you could tell has no experience in dating and that was probably his first time having a crush too and he didnot know what to do with himself. He basically just let his heart lead him into looking like the biggest simp (said this in the most loving way) for Jk. Asking Jk for kisses and dates on the beach holding hands only to get rejected but still not relenting his efforts. He liked Jk and nothing was going to stop him from following his heart (and we literally see this aspect of Jimin in how he doesn’t stop until he has achieved his dreams) he wanted Jk and no amount of “rejections” or being shoved into walls was going to change that. (I know this sound sad but it’s the truth)

Jk on the other hand was your typical teenage boy with a crush.

These are a few characteristics of teenage boys with a crush. Can you tick how many of these things apply to Jungkook and Jimin that we know of?

1: Nervousness: Till this day, Jk is still not very able to look Jimin in the eyes and it was worse when they were younger. On my older account i posted a video compilation of Jk looking at Jimin and immediately looking away when Jimin looked his way. (Tbf, not many people can look Jimin in the eyes). The only time you will see Jk stare Jimin down is when he is determined to make him flustered and then you see Jimin fold like a lawn chair.

2: Attention seeking/ teasing: There was no other member….scratch that. There is no other member that Jk teases as much as he teases Jimin. He has found all the possible ways on earth to tease Jimin and many people unfortunately took that to mean he hated Jimin but the truth is, nobody takes all that time to tease someone they don’t like. When you really don’t like someone, you generally just avoid them, you don’t continuously go up to them to tease them about different things. This is what you do when you want their attention but don’t want to seek it in a way that makes it obvious that you like them and this is very common in adolescent or teenage crushes.

3:Protectiveness: We didn’t really see alot of this is fetus Jungkook but as he grew older, he became extremely protective of Jimin. He would speak up for Jimin, defend Jimin, warn other members not to fling things at Jimin, charge at people with frying pans, warn his hyung to not make fun of Jimin but instead make him feel better, take the blame for things Jimin did and the list goes on. It’s no wonder Jimin has said several times that he feels safe when he is with Jungkook. He wouldn’t say this if it wasn’t true.

4: Shyness: Till this day, many people pull out those shoving videos or videos of Jk “rejecting” jimin’s kisses or dates and they use them as proof that Jk hated Jimin. What they don’t release is that Jk probably acted sometimes to such extremes because Jimin flustered the hell outta him. All his hyungs dotted on him and loved on him but not once did Jk ever say he ignored or was cold towards any of the other hyungs because he was shy. If you really thing about this statement he made, what did he have to be shy about? If Jimin was to him the same way the other 5 hyungs were, why did he get shy with his hyung just trying to be affectionate? You would see Tae cuddle and hug Jungkook and will just bask in it. You will see Jin literally put Jk in between his legs and pat his head like a baby and Jk would sit there enjoying every second of it. You will see Hobi give him kisses and hugs and Jk will savour every bit of it but the moments he sees Jimin coming from his periphery, he states shaking like a pair of old underwear. Why? What was it about Jimin’s affection that made him so “shy” to receive it if Jimin was the same to him as the others?

I understand that Jimin could be intense but most people would react to that intensity with annoyance if they don’t like it, instead of saying that they are shy.

5: Mirroring: Do i even need to explain this one. Other than the fact that Jk copied Jm so much that even he noticed it, watching some fetus jikook videos will make you laugh because of how much copying and Mirroring Jk did. Most of then were done subconsciously too.

6: Trying to impress: I don’t even want to remember the fact that Jk never stopped flexing his muscles or acting “manly” around Jimin the moment Jimin mentioned that he liked those things about Jk. I don’t know if many of you have noticed but if you look at the way Jk behaves with all the other 5 hyungs, you will see moments of him just letting them dote on him like the maknae he is but that is something i have never seen him do with Jimin. The funny thing is, Jimin always tries to just dote on him and treat him like a baby sometimes but Jk doesn’t let him. You don’t hear Jk calling any of his other hyung “baby” (not in a romantic sense but the literal sense of the word). You don’t really see Jk drop formalities with any of his other hyungs like he does with Jimin. All these things are probably his ways of acting “manly” because he knows that Jimin likes that about him.

It is also kinda funny to me how people used some of those videos from fetus Jikook’s days to debunk the idea that these two could ever like each other like that forgetting that we will see Jk shove Jimin at walls infront of the camera but we later hear that he has gone to cuddle Jimin in his sleep, or has piled clothes in his bed to go sleep in Jimin’s bed or has put blankets outside the room to sleep with Jimin on the floor or you are hearing making taking a video of Jimin while saying “i want you”3x or you are hearing him say that out of all the members he spends most of his nights with Jimin and he apparently doesn’t know what they do🤨.

This is why i had once mentioned that it takes a good reasoning faculty, life experience and some level of physical and emotional maturity to understand jikook. You need to have discernment to know what to take at face value and what to look at a little closer.

I know i digressed alot anon, but to me, no other ship in BTS will ever come close to what Jikook have. It doesn’t matter how many slowed down videos of eye contact or touches or of Jk just being a good friend and human being i watch, i will never see this level of reality that i see when i watch jikook. Other ship videos may give me more butterflies because of how almost every moment is wholesome but Jikook gives me a reality check.

#jikook #jungkook #jimin #fetus jikook #jikook dynamic

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heavyhitterheaux · 3 months

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The Mighty Fall

Molly's Tale as told by @snows-blog-of-fiction

Heaux Tales of Jack Harlow

Nothing in life is ever easy, is it? It reels you in, gets you all excited for the end result, and just when things are *really* starting to get good, it’s snatched out of your reach, like a toy on the top shelf. I, for one, should have taken better caution. I should have known the perfect relationship with the hottest new rapper in the game - all six-foot-three of a curly-haired, freckled, blue-eyed Southern gentleman who had a smile to light even the darkest days - would eventually come to a screeching halt. I just didn’t realize it would take six months to do so.

*Come Home The Kids Miss You* has been released. I was at the release party, ready to interview Jack for my media journalism final. I had to impress. I had to make sure the questions weren’t repetitive from every other interview. And most importantly, I had to look my very best. I don’t get starstruck, let alone have celebrity crushes. But something about him was extremely magnetic. Was it the looks? The flirty vibes? Or maybe it was the mystery.

For as big as he was, he sure did hide a lot. “Right this way,” his manager, Neelam, led me to the VIP room. As we passed the invitees, I couldn’t help but take in their expressions of shock and envy, as if they were all thinking the same thing: “why is *she* VIP and not me?” One woman’s glance captured my attention. It was a mix of concern and pity, like she knew something I didn’t. Opening the doors of the VIP room, my heart caught in my throat as I gazed at the man who would eventually destroy my life. He wore all black, complete with sunglasses, which were removed upon my entry, and a toothpick hanging out of his mouth.

The table in front of him had bottles of Sprite and Pellegrino, and the entire room smelled of cologne with a hint of weed.

This is where innocent girls come to die

“Evening, Mr. Harlow,” I extended my hand for a shake, and he accepted it

. “Call me Jack,” he grinned widely. “Or call me yours. Whichever you’d prefer.”

Goddamn, those eyes

Even if I looked away, I could feel them on me. I cleared my throat, maintaining my composure. I wasn’t going to fold that easily.

“Do you try that pickup line on everyone?”

“Only the very special ones,” he murmured lustily.

Was that a wink?

“This is an interview, not a date.”

“Well, we better make the interview quick, then. And if we’re both lucky, we can still make a date happen.”

That’s where I folded like a damn lawn chair. To be frank, I’m not sure if the interview even happened. Everything was such a blur. Each time he’d open his mouth, I just fell deeper, like he had physically cast a trance that caused me to stutter and stumble.

Who am I? Why am I falling so easily? Why can’t I snap out of it?

But even so, I wasn’t about to complain about the night taking a turn. He ditched his own party to take me for a drive. Normally I’d have 911 on speed dial if a man I barely knew was driving us to the parking lot of an abandoned store, but him… I trusted him. I trusted him enough to consent to us fucking in his backseat.

My first time

He drove me back to my apartment a while after we talked and got to know each other, and handed me a slip of paper on my way out. “Call me, Molly,” he blew me a kiss as I stood in disbelief.

The couple of months that followed were nothing short of a whirlwind. He was here, there, and everywhere but Louisville, as he was filming White Men Can’t Jump and doing international festival appearances. Still, he made sure to call and FaceTime me every day. Our relationship was blooming, but I couldn’t tell anybody, as a requirement of the NDA. Even when he invited me to go on tour with him that fall, I couldn’t talk about it. But I couldn’t say no. And then we went to Europe. If this man was inviting me to Europe, for a whole damn month, then we were secure. It was all going the way it was supposed to. Until the day after the tour had wrapped.

It was 8:30 am, and I awoke before him. Normally I’d get straight up to begin my morning routine, but today, I was in no rush. We’d been going and going for the whole month - the past several months, really - and today was our “us” day before we were set to fly home.

We had a dinner reservation that evening, after a day of sightseeing and shopping. He did owe me a new Prada bag, too. But something in my head was bothering me. I wanted to brush it off as me just overthinking like I tended to do, but it seemed like more than just that. Something in my gut had convinced me that this day was going to start and end horrifically, and there was nothing I could do to prevent it. It had all been going according to plan, but I guess the Good Lord always has a bigger plan.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of Jack stirring awake. He rolled over and placed a cold hand on my thigh, making me jump a little.

“Morning, baby,” he rasped. God, his morning voice was enough to make my knees buckle. Enough to get me wet, as if we hadn’t fucked four damn times in a row the night before.

“Morning,” I held his hand.

“Why are you so cold?”

“It’s chilly in here,” he wrapped himself around my legs, closing his eyes again.

“That’s cause you only ever sleep in a tank top,” I giggled.

“Maybe if you had another layer, you wouldn’t be so damn freezing.” His only response was a couple of snores, before he jerked himself awake again.

“Were you saying something?”

“Boy,” I laughed out loud, and he did, too.

“Why don’t you get in the shower? That might wake you up.”

“Mmmph, can’t I just stay here?” his eyes were threatening to close again.

“Well, you could, but you also smell. Go wash up, baby.”

“Fiiine.” He grabbed a pair of boxers and sweats before heading into the bathroom, as I flipped on the TV, trying to find something mindless to play in the background while I checked social media. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jack’s phone light up, and my curiosity got the best of me as I read what text he had received.

Xiomara ❤️‍🔥🤞🏻: “Good morning on your end babyyy I’ll see you soon 😘”

*Excuse the fuck out of me?* I already knew his passcode, so I typed it in to do a little digging. Come to find out, this Xiomara woman was his fucking wife. The mother of his children. And clearly not an important asset to him considering she’d been so hidden from everyone who interviewed and interacted with him at all.

Digging a little deeper, I discovered even more gut-punches. Not only was he married with children and failed to tell me, but I was also the side bitch to Vanessa, Grace, Alyssa, Jessica, Mariah, Brie, Gabrielle, Tahira, Noelle… the names just kept coming. Each of them saying the same thing.

“Can’t wait to see you soon pookie 😋”

“When are you coming back? I miss your dick.”

“Love you! Text me when you wake up!”

And he’d send them all the same response: “You n me forever baby. Love u. ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥”

This motherfucker… I allowed myself to be heated for one more minute before taking some deep breaths, then screenshotting the messages like crazy. Once I captured what I needed, I sent the photos from his phone to my phone, where I then saved each one in a private folder. I heard Jack step out of the shower, so I went back and deleted the screenshots from his camera roll. He didn’t like anyone but himself touching his phone, and besides, I had all the evidence I needed to do the next step. He emerged from the bathroom, a towel around his hips, but this time I wasn’t mesmerized by the sight of his dripping wet abs.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he noticed my solemn expression.

First of all, I’m not your damn baby, so jot that down.

“I just got a call from work.” “They know you’re still on PTO, right?”

“Yeah, but…” I faked a catch in my throat.

“They need me to come back early. Turns out they fucked up and didn’t realize my time off was supposed to end yesterday.”

“Oh, damn. Seriously?”

By his tone, he knew I was plotting something, but he didn’t say anything.

“Yes. They said I’m not in trouble, but I just need to get back to Louisville right away.” I got up and started packing a bag.

“I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t want it to end like this.”

Double meaning.

“Don’t be sorry, babe,” he said. “You just pack your bags, and I’ll drive you to the airport. But don’t worry, I’ll be back on Saturday and we can pick up where we left off.”

Don’t count on it.

“Thanks for understanding.”

As we piled into the car Jack rented, I pulled out my phone from the passenger seat and got right back to work. I loaded up the screenshots I had saved, then sent a message to both Deuxmoi and TMZ.

”This may be hard to believe, but I’m Jack Harlow’s girlfriend. Or, at least, I assumed I was. Come to find out, however, I’m just one of many side pieces he likes to drag around and rap about, as I’ll show you here. We all know he’s a private man, but does he have to be so private that he hides away a literal wife and children? Ladies, beware, for nothing can ever be what it seems.”

Send.

“Here we are,” Jack announced once we pulled up to the gate.

“Want me to wait with you inside?”

“No, I’ll be okay,” I smiled half-heartedly.

“I’ll text you when I’m back in the states.”

“Fly safe,” he leaned in for a kiss.

“I love you.” The most sour kiss I’d ever tasted from that man’s lips.

It didn’t take long for my little message to make its rounds. I’d only been in the airport for less than an hour when I got one last text from Jack:

“What the fuck did you do?”

Deuxmoi had a new post on their story.

TMZ had published an entire article.

Stan Twitter was going off the rails.

#JackHarlowIsOverParty was the biggest trending topic worldwide.

“What needed to be done. Bye now!” As my flight was called to board, I blocked his number. I sat waiting for takeoff and blocked his Instagram and Twitter. The flight crew gave their safety instructions and I muted his music on Spotify and deleted all traces of him on my phone. The plane rose into the air, and I settled back into my seat with no remorse, feeling sorry for all the girls he made those empty promises to.

So fatal. So tragic. And oh, so preventable.

Didn’t anyone tell his actions have consequences?

#jack harlow #jack harlow fic #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow fanfic #jack harlow angst #jack harlow imagines #heaux tales of jack harlow #jack harlow fluff

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harringtown · 2 years

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steve harrington must die - pt 1

did it take me an eternity to finish part 1? yes. but we did it pals!!! welcome to the john tucker must die au!!! right now I've got this plotted at four parts & it'll kinda follow along the s3 timeline!!!

requested by @la-fille-en-aiguilles

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: three of Steve Harrington’s exes set up their former boyfriend to fall in love with the reader, so they can break his heart (aka introductions, general set up, and a laser tag date)

word count: 4.6k

During June in Indiana, there are only a handful of places to escape from the sweltering heat and near-constant dampness that comes along with it. If you’re committed enough and make it to the pool before the crowds descend, a lawn chair in the shade and a dip in the water. If you’re quiet enough, the library’s AC spends its summers rattling and cranking out cool-but-not-cold air.

The best, though, is Starcourt Mall. With its shiny new fixings and fancy appliances, walking into the mall always feels like stepping onto another planet. One where the sun doesn’t declare war on its people during the summers.

Three days into June, and the heat is already unbearable. As such, you spent most of May in the food court or browsing the stores or simply lying on the benches with your friends to avoid going back outside. June, July, and August are looking the same.

Having a mall is already an oddity. The girls you occupy your time with while you’re at the mall is even more odd.

You’d always heard things changed after graduation. You didn’t believe it until now, sitting around bright white food court tables with three girls you wouldn't have been caught dead with in high school, and vice versa. Social circles ran tight at Hawkins High, and it wasn’t until you were all released that you saw them for what they truly were. Or, more technically, until you got stuck in the Starcourt Mall elevator for two hours with them on your first day of summer vacation and came out fast friends.

“Alright, what are our options today, ladies?” Rebecca asks. In high school, she was class president and head of pretty much every club. Today, she stares intently at the food court signs like they’ll change out of her sheer will.

“Exactly the same as yesterday,” says Theresa-call-me-Thea, kicking her shin-high slouched leather boots up onto the plastic table. To her right, Beth swipes her smoothie out of the way just in time to keep it from going flying and shoots Thea a glare.

“We’ve got hot dogs, pretzels, burger king, and the great cookie. Not a single healthy option,” Beth says. Once a star athlete at Hawkins High, her few months of graduation hadn’t yet shaken its hold. Beth is always dressed like she’s heading to a workout or just came from one.

“Don’t even talk to me about the great cookie,” Thea groans. “If I eat another, I will combust.”

“We could just get ice cream,” you say. In over a month’s worth of rotations, Scoops Ahoy hasn’t been factored in once. The girls practically act like it doesn’t exist and have for so long you forgot to question it. “We never do, and that sundae always looks ridiculously good.”

All three girls protest at once.

“Absolutely not,” Rebecca says.

“Not a goddamn chance,” Thea says.

“No way,” says Beth.

You frown, sneaking a glance at the Scoops Ahoy counter. Apart from a manager you’ve only seen once or twice, the only consistent employees are a girl from the year beneath you, and Steve Harrington, once the alleged King of Hawkins High, who now spends his days scooping cones for tweens. Unless there was some rumor about rats in the kitchen, you don’t see any reason for boycotting what is clearly a popular spot.

“What do you people have against ice cream?” you ask.

One side of Beth’s mouth curls up, but the others aren’t impressed.

“Ice cream? Love the stuff. Can’t get enough of it,” Thea says.

“Steve Harrington, on the other hand?” says Rebecca. She shakes her head.

Thea scoffs and folds her arms over her chest. Her bracelets jangle and clack. “That’s one prom photo I will never get back.”

“Homecoming,” Beth says.

“Spring Fling,” Rebecca says with a snort.

“Wait, all three of you—” You start.

“Three months in ‘82,” Thea says, jabbing a finger at Rebecca. “Four at the beginning of ‘83.” She points to Beth. “And a whopping four and a half after that.” She gestures to herself.

“And still breaking hearts from the looks of it,” Beth says.

At the Scoops Ahoy counter, Steve has an exaggerated grin as he talks to two girls as he rings them up. You may not be able to hear the flirting, but you don’t need to.

“Friggin’ Casanova.” Thea huffs. “I mean, I get it, we all get a little too caught up in a boy with cute hair at some point, but Jesus. You’d think he’d run out of girls to work his act on by now.”

“He’ll get his,” Rebecca says. “Just you wait. One day, a girl is going to come along and rip his heart into pieces, just like he did to us. And he won’t even see it coming.”

“Oh, I’d like to see that,” Thea says.

“Ditto,” says Beth.

A silent second passes, and then, three pairs of eyes slide to you.

A wide, mischievous grin pulls on Thea’s dark-red stained lips. “Is anyone thinking what I’m thinking?”

Beth frowns. “Oh, I don’t know about that—”

“Absolutely I am,” Rebecca says.

“Oh, come on, Beth,” Thea says, reaching over to tap on Beth’s wrist. “You can’t tell me you haven’t secretly wished to see that boy get knocked off his high horse for years.”

Beth frowns. “I mean, yes, but—”

“Yeah, so I’m not thinking what you’re thinking,” you say, “and I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Look me in the eyes and tell me it's not possible,” Thea says, leaning over the table to stare at Beth. Beth, with visible irritation, rolls her eyes and turns to Rebecca.

“Do not encourage this,” Beth says.

“Encourage what?” you ask. “Seriously, if someone doesn’t start talking, I’m going up to the Scoops Ahoy counter and telling Steve Harrington you all want a sundae delivered right to the table by him, personally.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Thea says.

Beth leans her forearms into the table, nudging Thea’s boots aside.

“They’re talking about getting even,” Beth says. “Breaking Steve Harrington’s heart and using you to do it.”

“Using is such a negative word,” Thea says.

“We could do it, though,” Rebecca says. “The three of us combined, we know him better than anyone. What he likes, what he doesn’t. We could make the perfect girl. Or, perfect for Steve Harrington.”

“That’s insane,” you say. “If it were someone else—If I were someone else—maybe, but...”

“You’re pretty much the only one who can do it,” Rebecca says. “You’re our very own trojan horse.”

“Weren’t you the one who was complaining about being bored out of their mind?” Thea asked. “Having nothing to do?” The excitement in her voice is persuasive in itself. It’s one of the things you like best about Thea. To her, anything is an adventure to embark on or a mystery to solve. “Think about it. You’d go down in Hawkins history.”

“She’s exaggerating,” Beth says. She purses her lips. “But she’s not wrong.”

“Aha!” Thea claps once. “And we’ve swayed the jury, ladies and germs.”

“It’s not up to me,” Beth says. “It’s up to you.” Beth nods at you.

“So?” Thea asks. She props her elbows on the table and leans her chin into her hands, waggling her dark brows. “Are you in? Tell me you’re in.”

You look between them.

Without a mission, albeit stupid, ridiculous, and destined to fail, the rest of the summer will be just like it has been. Every day as boring and uneventful as the last.

And maybe breaking Steve Harrington’s heart won’t put you in the history books. But it is something, and clearly, it’s important to the girls.

“I’m in,” you say.

And so, after three days of surprisingly intense preparation by Thea, Beth, and Rebecca, you don’t head to the usual spot to meet up with the girls. Instead, you make your way through the crowded food court—the lunch rush is in full swing, and you swear half the town is in line for shriveled corn dogs or oily pizza.

Steve Harrington stands at the ice cream counter, just like he does every day.

Back in school, your familiarity with him was more of a know-of-him type. The first two and a half years, his name carried through the halls daily. Then Billy Hargrove moved to town. One day the boys came to school with bright bruises and fresh cuts, and in an instant Billy’s name climbed above Steve’s.

After that, you didn’t hear much about Steve Harrington.

Only a few customers are waiting at the ice cream counter, and within two minutes, it’s your turn at the front.

“Be with you in a sec!” Steve calls, momentarily busy wiping up the melted sample someone spilled on the ice cream case.

He is immediately not what you expected, though the uniform doesn’t help. The bright blue sailors uniform and clunky white hat aren’t exactly doing him any favors in upholding his reputation. He looks more like the boy next door than the king of Hawkins High.

He doesn’t look as perfect as he once did, either. His nose has clearly been broken, probably more than once, and a handful of little scars catch in the fluorescent lights.

“Sorry about that,” Steve says, tossing the blue-stained napkins into the trash and turning to face you. “I swear, some of these kids were raised by actual wolves—” He stops as his eyes catch yours, mouth open mid-sentence like someone reached in and plucked the words out. He clears his throat, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think he might be blushing. “What can I get ya?”

Your heart races, and not for the first time, you wonder if you’re even capable of this. If you’re the right choice for this little mission. But you’re at the counter, so there’s no turning back now.

“Can I get a scoop of the U.S.S. Butterscotch?” you ask, willing your voice not to waver. “Apparently it’s the best ice cream in Hawkins.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s out of this world,” Steve says.

Steve isn’t the only one surprised when you laugh—you’re surprised, too. Surprised that he made such a dorky joke, and surprised that it’s actually kind of funny.

“Don’t hype it up too much,” you say. “Your tip depends on it.”

Steve snorts a laugh. A line forms between his brows. He tugs an ice cream scooper out of his pocket and flips it over his wrist—a mindless action that, weirdly, grabs your attention and holds it. Holds it tight enough you don’t hear what he says next, and ask, “What?” far too loud.

A lopsided grin forms on his lips. “I know you,” he repeats.

You frown. Shit. It figures. Three minutes into the con, and your cover is already broken.

“Miss Harrison’s class. Senior year.”

Relief pushes a breath out of you, and you force a nervous smile—the nerves don’t need to be faked.

“I can’t believe you remember me,” you say.

He shifts back a bit, still smiling, like he’s shocked you’re even asking.

“Of course, I remember you. You sat right in front of me. I spent a year staring at the back of your head.”

“So, if I’d have walked up backwards, you’d have recognized me immediately?”

“Oh, no doubt,” Steve says.

You laugh, and though you know you’re supposed to, you don’t have to fake it. Steve laughs, too, and when the laughter fades, the pair of you just smile at each other for a little too long.

“Hey! Harrington! We have ice cream needs back here!” A young girl with her friends sidles up beside you, apparently familiar with Steve or just confident, or both.

Steve takes a breath and gives you an expression that makes it seem like you’re both in on some inside joke. It’s almost impressive how quickly he managed to turn you from strangers into allies.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you, Sinclair. You’ll get your ice cream. Hold your damn horses,” Steve calls. He gives you an apologetic smile. “That’ll be $1.25.”

You nod, digging a bill and a quarter out of your pocket and handing it over. Steve’s fingers brush yours as he takes the money, and it feels like a moment right out of those cheesy films Rebecca is obsessed with, but your heart skips a beat anyway.

Steve tucks the money into the register and holds out a receipt.

Before you lose your nerve, you ask, “Do you have a pen?”

Steve frowns but digs a pen out of his pocket and passes it to you. He says nothing, but as you scrawl the digits onto the paper, his eyes go wide.

“What is—” He starts.

“My number,” you say, shoving the receipt back across the counter. You flash a smile. “You should use it.”

His frown deepens, and then, in an instant, transforms into a smile that even manages to convince you, at least for a moment, of its genuineness. Before you do something stupid, like fall for it, you turn and walk away, heart still pounding against your ribs.

“Well, well, well, Popeye,” Robin announces as she shoves open the flimsy divider between the front and back of the shop. She slaps her whiteboard on the counter, uncapping her pen. “I think you just earned yourself the first tally for this side of the board.”

Steve rolls his eyes, grabbing the receipt—your receipt—from the counter and tucking it gently in his pocket.

“Thank you, captain obvious,” he says, and hopes Robin can’t tell he’s blushing.

To his infinite relief, Robin only teases him about it for a few minutes, and the lunch rush saves him. He spends the rest of his shift thinking about the two minutes you stood at the counter.

It feels different. It feels like, maybe, finally, it might be real.

“Steve Harrington has officially taken the bait, ” Thea says, throwing herself onto Beth’s bed. Beth, sitting against the headboard, draws her legs out of the way just in time to prevent Thea slamming into them. She purses her lips but doesn’t chide Thea.

Rebecca slides across the floor on the rolling desk chair, leaning her arms over the back of it. “Where’s he taking you?”

You take the open spot at the end of Beth’s bed, pulling your legs up under you. “No clue. He said it was a surprise.” You cock a brow. “What are the chances he’s taking me somewhere to murder me?”

Thea snorts. “He may be a lady-killer, but he’s not an actual killer.”

“Never say lady-killer again,” Rebecca says.

“Lady-killer.” Thea grins. “Lady—”

Beth reaches down to swat at Thea’s shoulder. Thea laughs, craning away.

“Focus,” Beth says. “Y/N is going into the lion’s den tonight.”

You frown. So far, Steve Harrington isn’t the playboy he’s been made out to be. To be fair, you’ve only had two interactions with the boy since high school. And the girls actually knew him.

“He’s just a guy,” you say.

“A guy who probably doesn’t know how to do his own laundry,” Rebecca says.

Thea lets out a dramatic sigh. “Those are always the most dangerous ones.”

Steve doesn’t take you into the lion’s den. He still won't tell you exactly where you’re going, but when he pulls into the parking lot of a decent restaurant, some of your fear dissipates.

“Italian food?” you ask, as he puts the car in park.

He flashes you a grin, and says, “Someone’s impatient.”

“More like, making sure you’re not kidnapping me.”

He snorts. “I don’t think it’s kidnapping if you’re 18.” He arches a brow at you. “And do you really think I’m organized enough to pull something like that off?” He shakes his head. “Besides, my trunk is way too small.”

“I mean, no, I don’t think you are—“

Steve feigns offense, a hand flying to his chest, and he gasps.

“But I’d be stupid to put it past you.”

To your surprise, Steve just smiles.

“For the record,” he says, popping open the driver’s side door, “we’re not getting Italian food. And I’m not kidnapping you.” He slides out of the car and shuts his door, but before you’ve even undone your seatbelt, Steve is opening the passenger side door for you.

You know it’s all part of the act, but there’s nothing in his eyes that justifies that. All you can see is a bouncy, nervous boy opening the door for his date.

He’s more dangerous than you realized, because he doesn’t appear to be.

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you climb out of the car, Steve nudging the door shut after you.

“So, if we’re not getting Italian food, what exactly are we doing here?” you ask.

A mischievous grin pulls on his lips.

“We,” he says, “are playing laser tag.”

And against your better judgment, against everything you told yourself before going into this, you smile back.

The laser tag place, appropriately named Laser Tron, is busier than one might expect on a random Thursday night, and apart from you and Steve, no one is older than fourteen.

And though the teams are split evenly before heading into the room, the second you pass through the door, it becomes two on everyone else, with the younger kids splitting off to one side of the dark, neon-splashed room, and you and Steve heading for the other side.

The room has two stories, with dozens of walls and objects to hide behind, and green, pink, and blue paint scattered across the walls and floors. You’re sporting a bulky, worn vest, and a massive plastic gun, and once again, despite all your preparations, you’re surprised to find you’re already having fun. Steve helps you into your vest, and his fingers linger at the top of the zipper, thumbs grazing the hollow of your throat, and you try and convince yourself it’s adrenaline, not him, that makes your pulse leap.

With one minute until the game begins, you and Steve find a spot in the far corner, back to back.

“You ready for this?” Steve asks, his shoulders bumping yours. You can hear the smile in his voice.

“I think I’d prefer Italian food,” you say.

Steve snorts a laugh, and says, “Too late for that now.”

“You do realize we’re, like, the oldest people here, right?”

“Which means we’ve got the advantage,” Steve says.

“Us against fifteen pre-teens? I don’t know about that.” You raise your laser gun in preparation. “I think we’re screwed.”

Steve laughs again, and it’s an infectious sound. His energy, the shifting weight and fast breaths, is infectious, and again, you forget the whole reason you’re here.

“We’ll see about that,” he says.

Then the buzzer starts, a dozen children scream with delight, and the game begins.

“Go, go, go!” Steve yells, his gun in one hand, your fingers held tight in the other. You race up the stairs with him, twisting to fire a laser shot toward the trio of twelve year old’s pursuing you.

An OUT buzzer rings, and one of the kids curses just as you and Steve reach the top of the stairs. He pulls you sideways, down the neon walkway, firing as he goes.

“Behind you!” You say, ducking under Steve’s raised arm to fire at the teen coming down the hall. His buzzer rings, and he groans, his gun smacking his side.

Steve drags you behind a wall, and you skid, falling into him, pinning him against the wood. The only thing between you is the thick fabric of the vests, but you can feel his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Time slows. His eyes find yours, and his irises are blown, and the crown of his hair shines with sweat, and his gaze darts down to your lips, and for a moment, you’re sure he’s going to kiss you. For a moment, you want him to.

Then his eyes dart over your shoulder, and in one swift motion, he slips an arm around your waist, spins you around, presses you against the wall, and raises his gun to fire at someone around the corner. A buzzer rings, and Steve catches your gaze again, grinning lopsidedly.

You let out a harsh breath, and push out of his arms, pretending you’re adjusting your vest.

“How many are left?” you ask.

Steve leans to each side, scanning the aisles and the floor below, his brows furrowed.

“I wanna say… six? Maybe seven?”

“God, it’s like they’re multiplying,” you say.

“Don’t tell me you’re giving up,” he says.

“Not a chance.”

“Good,” Steve says. “Because we’ve got three pre-teen girls headed our way, and they look pretty pissed.”

“Guess we should do something about that,” you say.

Steve grins, and takes your hand, and you let him. And for a little while, you forget why you’re not supposed to.

The game lasts another twenty minutes, and to your utter shock, you and Steve’s duo comes out on top. And you know you should probably feel bad about kicking a bunch of thirteen year old’s asses, but as you and Steve head out into the warm night, all you feel is giddy. Like you’re drunk, but you haven’t had a touch of alcohol.

Steve has an arm around your shoulder, and he smells like sandalwood and aftershave, and in the moonlight, he doesn’t look like everything you’ve been told he is. The last hour, and he’s been nothing like you’ve been told he is.

He only lets you go to open the passenger door for you, and though you tell yourself this is only part of the game, you still blush as he shuts it after you. Blush until he comes around the front and climbs into the driver’s seat.

You don’t realize you’re staring at him until he frowns, and asks, “What?”

You shake your head. “How the hell are you so good at that?”

An almost sheepish smile flashes across his lips.

“I mean, they were a bunch of kids. We got lucky.”

“Oh, no, we absolutely did not,” you say. “That was… incredible. Like, you have no right to be as good at laser tag as you are.”

“You weren’t so bad yourself,” he says. And when you roll your eyes, he continues, “Seriously. You kicked ass in there.”

“You did most of the work. What, were you a soldier in some past life?”

An indecipherable emotion flickers across his face, and you can’t begin to read it, but it makes your insides ache, opens some unknown door in your chest. It feels like seeing behind some big curtain, but before you can identify what you see, Steve is smiling again, and turning on the engine.

It’s a clear and unofficial end of conversation, but you don’t mind. With each foot the car pulls away from the plaza, your friends' voices pop back into your head. The stories they told of the weeks or months it took to get over him.

Shame coils in your gut, hot and sharp.

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe you’re the wrong person to do this. Maybe you have no goddamn clue what you’re doing, and you’re just going to get hurt.

But as Steve pulls out of the parking lot and back onto the road, tossing a soft smile your way, you realize that maybe none of that matters. Because maybe it’s too late.

Steve makes conversation as he drives you home, asking questions about your summer and your family and your pets and your future plans, and he seems to actually want to know the answers.

And you surprise yourself by asking questions back. About how he ended up working at Scoops (his dad is an asshole, and Steve didn’t get into college) and about the girl, Robin, he’s always with (from the way he talks about her, you don’t think there’s anything romantic there, but you’re not sure) and about what he wants to do with his life (he has no clue, which is an odd relief, because you have no clue, either).

It’s all painfully and beautifully normal until Steve turns into your neighborhood, and the car slides past the Holland house. It’s been two years since Barbara Holland disappeared from Steve’s backyard. Two years since the cops started looking, and a year since they stopped.

The car slows down just enough for you to notice, and when you look over, Steve has the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip. His gaze is locked on the house.

Your brain rifles through everything it has regarding Barbara Holland in relation to Steve Harrington. Barbara and Nancy Wheeler were attached at the hip for most of high school, and when Nancy and Steve started dating, that didn’t change.

“You were friends with her, right?” you ask, knowing you’re poking the bear, and unable to stop yourself.

“What?” His response comes a little too fast, and his voice is a little too high.

“With Barb. Before she…” You clear your throat.

“No,” Steve says. “I wasn’t.” And his tone is harsh, a clear ending to the conversation before it even starts.

“But I thought—”

“I said no,” Steve snaps. “Just… drop it.” He rakes a hand through his hair, and his entropy changes. He is rigid and cold. He’s not the boy from the laser tag place, the one who opened your door for you.

The spell that’s been broken doesn’t rise again, and the last two minutes of the drive to your house are silent and awkward. By the time Steve pulls into your driveway, the tension in the car is so thick, you could slice through it.

Steve kills the engine and is out of the car and opening your door before you have your seatbelt undone, once again. But he doesn’t meet your eyes, and his jaw is clenched, and he doesn’t put his arm around you again. He walks to your door, and when you turn to face him, his smile is so plastic, you think it would crinkle if he moved.

“That was fun,” you say, because you’re not sure what to do with the silence, because you’re desperate to fill the seconds until you can get inside the door.

“Yeah, it was,” Steve says. You don’t have to know him that well to see he’s distracted. He glances over his shoulder as if he expects to find something running up behind him. He catches your eye again, clearing his throat. “Have a good night, y/n.”

And then he’s turning, heading back down the drive, climbing into his car. He’s gone so fast, you can do nothing but stand on the porch and watch as his car grows smaller and smaller, until it turns down the street and disappears.

Your stomach churns and lurches as you unlock your front door and slip into the dark house. To your eternal relief, your family is already in bed, and you don’t have to suffer the third degree. You’re already guaranteed it from the girls at the mall tomorrow.

You had fun with Steve tonight. A lot of fun. More fun than you’ll ever admit to Beth, Thea, and Rebecca.

But the Steve that dropped you off is different from the one you spent the night with, and he is the whole reason you’re here in the first place. The cruel, cold tone. The refusal to meet your eyes, like he’s too good to do so. The flippancy with which he left, like he hadn’t just taken you on the best date of your life.

You’re here to break Steve Harrington’s heart.

No, not to break it. You’re here to shatter it. Pulverize it. Break it beyond repair, the way he’s done to so many girls.

Game on, Harrington.

#Brooke writes fic #jtmd au #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #Steve Harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington au #steve harrington fic #stranger things #stranger things au #stranger things imagine #x reader

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lavender-verse · 2 months

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Grian has seen some of Scar's drawings of him. Grian knows what he looks like of course. He even knows what he looks like during sex because he's used his Watcher powers. And like, he doesn't think himself ugly at all (except a few fleeting moments where he's self conscious about his scars from...Them) he's aware that he's conventionally attractive.

But the way Scar draws him? He looks beautiful. To the point where he thinks, is that really what I look like? He sees me like that?

And he sees Scar as the most beautiful thing in the world, so it makes sense that Scar would see Grian the same way. But he always blushes and feels a little sheepish when he sees Scar's drawings of him.

seeing himself through scar’s eyes in his artwork is… well it really is something else. it shouldn’t be surprising, but somehow it is

because like, it’s a no brainer to grian that yeah, scar is Clearly the prettiest and most beautiful guy to exist. but then to see how scar looks at him the same way??? grian folds like a lawn chair, he’d do anything, give anything to this man

and GOD is he sheepish as hell over the drawings. scar catches him looking at them once and he’s coming up from behind to tease him about it and makes grian all the more flustered

#letters #secret husbands

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blues824 · 1 year

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i haven't seen any mha requests since i followed, so im gonna be the first (?maybe?)! could i request kirishima, bakugo, and kaminari with someone who is like hinata hyuga? as in, same looks, strength, personality, and cares for them and admires them as hinata does for naruto in the anime

So… the thing is… this isn’t the first MHA request. I just didn’t want to deal with a new set of tags. Hey, MHA community!

Katsuki Bakugo

It doesn’t matter what you look like physically. He’s only focused on someone’s strength and how they would fare against him in battle. He doesn’t care about anything else, alright?

He’s a bit weirded out by seeing someone so worried about him whenever he gets hurt while training. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he gets so flustered if you’re the one who tends to him. It’s then where he can truly admire your beauty.

Out on the battlefield, he has to admit that he struggles when fighting against you. Your eyes grant you pinpoint accuracy, and your kunai knife throwing skills are definitely nothing to laugh at.

In class, you easily top everyone else in academics. He both loves and hates it. You’re better than him, but you’re also better than all those extras that you both call ‘classmates’. He’s secretly proud.

We all know how this angry Pomeranian is always angry, but when he sees you worried about your friends that ‘got in his way’, he feels like shit. He also feels jealous, especially if you’re helping Midoriya up. Everyone notices how he has been a tad more calm recently, and they thank you for it.

Guess who has scary guard dog privileges? YOU DO! When those jerks from Class 1-B (Monoma) decide to pick on you for your eyes, Bakugo is there and willing to throw hands with anybody who was mean to you.

Overall, everyone thinks that the dynamic in your relationship is adorable. We have the angry and borderline tyrannical guy and the only person in the world who could calm him down and make him soft.

Eijiro Kirishima

He cares more about your personality than physical looks. As long as you’re not a jerk and you don’t bully anyone, but you’re not a pushover and can stand up for yourself, he doesn’t care.

He most definitely gets flustered whenever you patch him up after a full day of training. Just to feel your delicate touch on his skin is enough to make his face as red as his hair. He takes this time to actually take in your features, and he thinks you’re gorgeous.

He has to admit that you’re incredibly strong. He once had to face you for a class assignment and he got folded like a lawn chair. He is so impressed as he’s laying there on his back and staring up at you, who looks worried and asks him if he’s alright.

Whenever you get the top score on a test or something, he will personally cheer you on. You did amazing! He tried to refuse your help with his work but he can’t help himself whenever you explain that you want to help him and that you’re worried.

He doesn’t get jealous a whole ton, unless you are tending to Kaminari. He’s worried that his friend’s smooth words could sweep you off of your feet. Time and time again, you have to reassure him that you love him and only him, and he soaks it up like a sponge.

He will definitely act as your protector because it’s the manly thing to do. It doesn’t matter if you’re a man or that you’re wearing the pants in the relationship. Let this poor baby protect you. It gives him a sense of accomplishment.

Overall, you both make an absolutely adorable couple. PDA is most definitely there and makes every person that’s single jealous. You both act so love-dovey, and Mina is always squealing in excitement whenever she sees the two of you cuddling in the common room.

Denki Kaminari

This simp loves every single part of you. He’s always looking at you with hearts in his eyes (sounds like Sanji from One Piece). He thinks you’re drop-dead gorgeous and always compliments you.

The blush on his face as you tend to him while he’s in his yAaAy mode is very apparent, but you think it’s just a part of the consequences of him overusing his quirk. If he were an adult, he would’ve gotten on one knee right then and there.

I don’t know about you, but I think he enjoys being with a person who’s stronger than him. Having you wear the pants in your relationship… there’s something attractive about it to him.

Like Kirishima, whenever you get the top score on one of Aizawa’s tests, he cheers you on. He would gladly accept your help in studying for the upcoming tests because you teach him in a way that he understands the material.

We all know that he’s a flirt, but he does get jealous. Ever since getting with you, his Casanova ways have been retired. Now, he will gladly knock out Mineta if he ever decides to try anything.

Speaking of Mineta, Kaminari will absolutely pack him the f up if he ever tried anything. If you tell him that the disgusting grape did anything to you, you bet he would go ballistic.

Overall, he thinks you’re an angel sent by whatever gods there are. You are his saving grace and he makes sure to cherish every moment spent with you. He is fully devoted to you and only you.

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starlahuskyz · 2 months

Text

Chances - Chapter 17

Summary: Marko and Jordan go for a night out with the boys, and things are all over the place. Withheld secrets, familiar yet mysterious figures, and bottled up emotions confuse them.

I'm back with a longer chapter, I'm trying to make longer chapters for you guys so I hope you guys like it.

Chapter 16 <<< >>> Chapter 18

TW// Vomit, Stalking

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It had been roughly a month since Jordan’s “initiation” via jumping off a bridge and she had started spending a majority of her time with the boys ever since. And her relationship with Marko had also blossomed a lot ever since their first kiss. It’s sickeningly sweet, they had become inseparable and were always trying to be with each other no matter what.

Either way, this night was like any other. The boys and Jordan were all in the cave just enjoying the night, David sitting in his wheelchair as usual, Marko and Jordan sitting on the old couch together watching Dwayne and Laddie play fight with Paul instigating.

“Ladies, and gents! You are about to witness the fight of the century! One like never before!” Paul sits on an elevated beam in the ceiling of the cave and points towards the entrance of the cave. “On this side, the big man himself, the predator, the king of the jungle, the man who will fold you in half like a lawn chair, DWAYNE!” He plays a tape on the boombox of some rock music meanwhile Dwayne boasts and makes a grand entrance. Marko cheers for his brother leaving Jordan to roll her eyes. “And in this corner we got, the little man, the smallest vampire, a child who gives the gremlins a run for their money, the creature who will bite your ankles and never let go, LADDIE!” He continues playing the tape and Laddie makes his grand entrance as well. He smears what appears to be some kind of war paint on his face and growls in dominance. Jordan cheers him on, as she had been training him for this very moment and Marko only laughs thinking it’s curtains for Laddie. Paul jumps from his spot and stands between them, “Alright guys, I want a clean fight. No hitting above the shoulders, no throwing each other around, no wet willies, no noogies, no using fire, and no swearing.” The three of them look at each other for a moment and throw their heads back in laughter. “I’m joking, THERE ARE NO RULES AROUND HERE! Except for killing each other or touching David cuz he’s a party pooper.”

“Just shut up and fight already!” David barks while lighting a cigarette.” And with that Paul backs up and begins his countdown. Marko and Jordan meanwhile place their bets on who will win. “Dwayne’s gonna crush that kid, Laddie ain’t got a chance.” Jordan scoffs, “You only say that because he’s big. He’s at a disadvantage cuz Laddie can zoom around much faster than he can. And…he bites.”

Marko looks at Jordan and smirks “You wanna make a wager on that?” Jordan looked at him with her eyebrow raised “Depends…what are we wagering?”

“Loser has to take the other out for dinner.”

“You’ve got a deal.” Jordan grabbed Marko’s hand and shook it with conviction. At the same time, Laddie was being thrown straight in their direction and onto Marko’s lap.

“Sorry, uncle Marko.” Laddie looked up at him before getting off of him, but before he could continue his battle, Jordan stopped him and gave him some advice. “Give him hell bud, remember what I taught you. Don’t let him grab you, and if he does then bite him wherever you can reach.” Laddie nods in confirmation and with a battle cry he runs back at Dwayne. Paul walks over and plops himself onto Marko’s lap much to his dismay and says “So, how are my two favorite love birds doing? Enjoying the show?” Marko huffed and shoved Paul off of him. “I would be enjoying the show, if you didn’t put your fat ass on me.”

Paul put his head on Marko’s lap “Thank you for the compliment babe.” Marko lets out the tiniest growl in frustration and Jordan pats his head running a hand through his golden curls. While the twins bicker between each other, Jordan watches the fight and sees Laddie using string lights to tie Dwayne’s feet together while he has trouble reaching for the little rat. After bounding Dwayne’s feet together, he yanks the lights and sends Dwayne falling onto his side. He then grabs a metal rod and starts beating him like a piñata. Paul and Marko laugh like hyenas at the display in front of them. It’s short lived however, Dwayne grabs the rod and frees himself. He throws the rod aside and with a firm hold of the boy's ankles he spins around at a dangerous speed making the others laugh at the display. It even gets a chuckle out of David.

At the same time, Michael and Star entered through the mouth of the cave entrance and saw what was happening. Michael started laughing along with the others, Star on the other hand was less than pleased. “Dwayne! Stop whatever this is and put Laddie down now!”

Dwayne and looked over and sighed exasperatedly “We were only having fun, Star.” He finally put Laddie down on his own two feet, only for him to fall over due to his dizziness. Paul got up and put his hands up “We will have to put this fight on hold for now, but it was fun while it lasted.”

David rose from his chair surprised by Michael and Star’s arrival. “What brings you here? I’ll assume you came for Laddie?” Michael walked up and picked up the dizzy child and Star explained “We didn’t have any plans tonight, so we came to get Laddie now instead of later.” Laddie finally came to and groaned, “Do I have to? I wanna stay and play with Dwayne.” Star wiped the paint off of his face and said “I know you do sweetie, but we have to go.”

“Do you have to? Why can’t we just spend the night together? We are all one big family right?” David raised his eyebrow questioningly. Paul gets up and races to throw his arm over Star’s shoulders “Cmon! Pleeeaaaassseee?”

“It can’t have been that long since we’ve hung out…right?” Michael asks, David comes over slinging an arm onto Michael's shoulders.

“It’s been too long, one night won’t hurt you, Michael.” David stared at Michael with his icy blue eyes making him stiffen up, David’s gaze was enough to put a slight twinge of pressure on his mind.

“I mean, I guess you’re right. But what would you guys even wanna do?” Paul raises his hand, having an idea for a potential night plan.

“I say we go to the boardwalk and have some fun, and since we got some lovebirds in the building we can have a sappy couple’s night while we are at it.” Everyone looks at each other and Michael speaks first.

“Boardwalk sounds good, I don’t know about the whole couple’s night though…” He looks at David who he already knows is gonna third wheel the crap out of Michael and Star's fun tonight. Star then asks “Wait, if this is supposed to be a couple’s night…who’s going to watch Laddie?” Paul strolls over and takes Laddie right out of Michael’s arms.

“Don’t worry sweetie, me and Dwayne will watch him. And if we end up getting busy then I’ll hand him over to Jordan and Marko if they aren’t busy eating each other’s faces on the beach.” Jordan pipes up.

“If you think I’m bothered by you airing that out to everyone then you’re wrong, and for your information, I like eating Marko’s face.” Marko gets up and pulls Jordan up with him.

“He’s trying to get a rise out of you, don’t bother.” He makes his way past the others towards the exit of the cave and punches Paul on the shoulder to get him back for the comment. Paul only giggled and walked over to Jordan. “Don’t take it personally, I’ve eaten his face plenty of times too…” Jordan only gave him a side eye and just walked off in a huff.

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The boardwalk was as busy as ever, plenty of people swarmed the area looking for some fun for the night. Everyone had gone their own separate ways to do whatever activity they wanted to do. Michael, Star and David went to check out some shops, Paul and Dwayne went to take Laddie on some rides, and Marko and Jordan were just walking around looking for something to do. As they walked through crowds of people, they held each other’s hands as a way to not get separated.

Jordan was the first to ask about what to do, she hadn’t quite planned to go to the boardwalk tonight so she was pretty much out of ideas for the time being. “So, you got any ideas for any mischief you wanna get up to?”

Marko scoffed “Mischief is my middle name. Of course I have some ideas, we got an hour or two to kill. Let’s hit up the haunted castle ride and scare the shit outta some stupid teens.”

“Ugh, I don’t like that ride…I say we do something else.” Marko raised an eyebrow and pulled Jordan aside towards the railing abruptly. He looks at her incredulously and Jordan stares back confused “...what?”

“So you’re telling me, you’re a scary vampire who could easily rip out anyone’s throat and yet you’re scared of a wimpy ride for kids? That’s adorable…” He put his hands on her face and squeezed while gushing about her fear of the ride.

“Shut up! I’m not scared of the ride…I’m just scared of a very specific thing that isn’t exclusive to scary rides but just so happens to be on that ride.” She pulled away from him and he just laughed.

“Yeah, you can't stand spiders. Like the one that was in your room.” He then put a hand to head mimicking, albeit in a very exaggerated manner, what happened that night. “Oh, my sweet and strong husband, Marko! Save me from this HORRIBLE BEAST!”

“You know I didn’t say it like that, and also screw you because that spider was scary looking.” She crossed her arms while he placed his hands on her hips pulling her close.

“Well, no matter what you gotta admit…I did get rid of it. I was brave and you know it.” He left a peck on her nose while grabbing her hand and pulling her somewhere.

“Wait-where are we going then?” He didn’t even look back at her and just kept walking along taking her god knows where.

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

Eventually they found themselves at the entrance of the sky glider ride, Marko always told her it was a good way of scoping out a good meal and throwing paper balls at random strangers just for the hell of it. As they approached the ride vehicle to board it, the ride operator gave Marko a look of what seemed to be annoyance. While he didn’t say anything to his face, Marko kept his gaze on the operator even as he and Jordan boarded. As they started moving upwards they could hear a distant yelp from the operator who was freaking out over…something.

“The hell was that about?” Jordan looked at Marko who was busy looking at the many people beneath him.

“I don’t like that guy, so I gave him a rat.” He smirked while scoping out for a victim.

Jordan remembered how vampires could perform mind tricks on people and let out a huff. “That’s right…I never understood how that stuff works.”

“It’s easier than you think, it’s all about getting into someone’s mind and finding their weakness. Once you do, you can toy with them all you want.” He leaned over and draped a heavy arm over her shoulders. Marko still didn’t really understand how Jordan could manage to block him off mentally, it takes a lot of tension and effort to keep a vampire out. He took it as a sign that she was hardly vulnerable to anyone, weakness was not an option for her. Despite that, Marko was still determined to find out what she was truly like, for as much as he already loved her he didn’t really get to see a more vulnerable side to her. To say he craved being the one to know all her secrets would be an understatement. He spoke again “Speaking of weakness, what would you say is yours?”

Jordan looked at him “My weakness? Why would you wanna know that?”

“Relax, I don’t plan on doing anything bad, I just wanna know. If you plan on being my mate, you’re gonna have to let me into that head of yours at some point. You can’t hide your secrets forever.” He intertwined his fingers into her raven hair and leaned into her side, nipping her neck slightly. She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him away.

“Maybe later, not right now though.” She looked off into the ocean watching as the piers in the distance casted subtle lights onto the ocean’s surface.

Marko rolled his eyes, feeling a twinge of frustration. “Why do you say that?”

“What do you mean?” She looked at him confused.

“Whenever I ask about your past or anything intimate, you always say you’ll tell me next time. But next time never comes. Why can’t you tell me now? Are you scared I’ll do something?”

Jordan cringed, she thought about how all of her problems stemmed from her giving out too much info all at once. Allowing for anyone to slink on by and have her wrapped around their fingers. Although she still did realize how unfair it was to stay completely bottled up. Especially considering how Marko has been with her this past month. So she decided not to leave him in the dark this time and tell him something.

“I know I say that a lot, but it’s not because I plan to keep it to myself forever. It’s because I always say too much and end up getting in trouble. So I don’t wanna say too much at once, even if we are dating I don’t want to take any chances with my luck. Knowing me, I feel like I just make things worse when I overshare.”

“Okay, but what if I WANTED to know everything about you? If you only leave little crumbs for me I’ll starve. You don’t want to make a cute little guy like me go hungry do you?” Marko gives her his best puppy eyes and she chuckles.

“You’ll be okay, I’ll tell you one day. Only thing is that I hate sharing information that either puts me or someone else in danger. If it ain’t anyone else’s problem, then no one else should have to know.

Marko raised an eyebrow at that statement, he was starting to make efforts in trying to piece together what might’ve caused her to be this way. “Well…will you tell me one day? Please? I’ll be a good boy for you, I promise.”

“One day, although it’ll have to be a time where I can tell the other boys too. I feel like they’d kill me if I left them out of some important information like that.” She ruffled his curls and he gave a little purr.

“Alright, I hear you loud and clear.” Marko pulled a paper out of his pocket and crushed it up “Hey, check this out.”

Jordan watched as he pointed at Dwayne and Paul who were sitting on a bench with Laddie and with scary precision, he chucked the crushed up paper ball at Paul’s head and she watched as he yelped in surprise, startling the others.

“DAMN IT MARKO QUIT THROWING SHIT AT MY HEAD!” Paul threw the ball right back in Marko’s direction but he was able to catch it much to Paul’s dismay.

“How often do you do this to him?” Jordan asked.

“A lot. It’s pretty fun, here, try it out.” He placed the ball into Jordan’s hand and she took to looking for someone to hit. So many targets presented themselves to her, but before she could set her eyes on anyone in particular, she felt it again.

That feeling…she felt someone watching her, even though Marko had his eyes on her, that’s not what this was. She snapped her head behind her and saw the ride vehicle following, but there was nothing. So she continued looking around, she was getting tired of whatever this feeling was. It was creeping her out, and she hated that she could never find the source. She looked around through the crowds trying to find it, and something had caught her eye. It was a lonesome person watching her, she couldn’t make out any specific features on them…except for a brightly colored clown mask that was almost verbatim to the clown seen on the Loof carousel’s walls. Jordan froze in place and stared back at the figure. There was no movement, they just stood there and stared…Jordan felt herself break into a cold sweat, all other noise around her was being drowned out and she could only focus on the mysterious person. There was something familiar about them, nothing she could see, it was more of a feeling. She could tell something was off, there was a sense of control that this person had over her despite how they were nowhere near each other.

The ride was beginning to descend and Marko was watching as Jordan was in a trance staring at something, but even as he looked to see what she was staring at…nothing. He began to shake her shoulder trying to get her to snap back to reality. “Hey, Jordan. You alright?”

At that moment, Jordan experienced a horrible surge of pain through her head, she could hear the distant whispers of someone talking to her. However, the pain made it impossible to discern, and finally upon getting off the ride, she ran off in a rush to get away. As if running will make the pain and voices go away. Marko, being caught off guard, ran after her.

“Jordan, wait!” But his yells were futile, she ran out of view and he didn’t know what to do. He reached out to the pack bond letting the others know what happened.

“Guys, Jordan ran off. I don’t know where she went but something happened.”

“Damn dude, the hell did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything, Paul!”

“Relax, she couldn’t have gone far. We’ll split up.” David remained calm and stomped out a cigarette he was working on.

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

Jordan sat inside a restroom stall, her headache had gone away but she stayed there feeling a mix of emotions. Her headache had made her nauseous to where she emptied out the contents of whatever was in her stomach into the toilet in front of her. She was confused, first it was just a simply uneasy feeling and now it’s a sign of pain coming her way. She exited the stall, walking up to the mirror that was full of scratches and vulgar messages. She felt herself upset remembering how she can’t even see herself in the mirror, she wasn’t at her parents house so there was no way to even make her feel remotely human. She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t let herself fall so easily so swallowed her feelings and stood tall.

She heard the door to the restroom swing open and to her surprise, it was Star. “Jordan, what happened? Marko is worried sick about you, why did you run off?”

Jordan was at a loss, she didn’t really think about the fact that she literally ran off without warning. “I uh…I had to handle some business.”

Of course Star didn’t buy it, and she smelled the faint smell of vomit which repulsed her. But the trail of blood mixed into it gave her the extra bit of context she needed, she gave Jordan a look of disappointment. “Why did you lie?”

“I didn’t lie, I said I had to do some business but I never specified what kinda business I was talking about.” Jordan went back into the stall she left to flush the toilet realizing her mistake.

“Why couldn’t you say you got sick?”

“I wasn’t, it was a bad headache which turned into nausea..”

“What caused your headache?” Star approached Jordan placing a hand to her forehead checking her temperature.

“I’m not sure, I felt someone watching me so I looked around to see who it was, next thing you know, boom, headache.”

“Who was watching you?”

“Some creep…if I catch that guy in the act then I’m gonna pull his tongue out his ass.” Star sighed and grabbed her hand giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Listen, if you have anything you need to talk about, come talk to me. I don’t know what’s up with you, but you need to relax. I can feel how tense you are all the time.”

“Thanks, Star. Things have been getting weird lately, maybe I will come see you at some point. I’m pretty sure I could write a book about all the shit I’ve been through.” Star smiled and took her hand leading her out of the bathroom. Upon exiting, Marko made an instant beeline to Jordan giving her a bone crushing hug and asking plenty of questions.

“Jordan, are you alright? What the hell happened? Someone do something to you?” Jordan hugged him back and reassured him that she was okay.

“I’m fine, Marko. Just had a moment, got sick in the bathroom that’s all.” Marko pulled away in anger.

“Who did this? You were staring at something, I don’t know what it was but you were fine until you saw…whatever that thing was.”

“If I knew who it was then I’d handle them myself, I saw someone but I couldn’t make out any specific details on them. It’s not worth the trouble.” Marko huffed in frustration and led Jordan away to meet up with the others with Star following close behind.

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

After everybody settled from the minor situation with Jordan, everyone left to go feed. Michael, Star, and Laddie also came to get their fix of blood to keep them somewhat sane. They found a group of tourists camping in a forest a little too far from civilization, and made a quick and easy meal out of them. Most of the group settled onto the camping chairs left out, with others rummaging through the tents and coolers checking for any potential goods. Paul had managed to find a pack of marshmallows in the tent and ripped them open, while Laddie left to go find some sticks to put them onto. Michael had been telling the others about what’s been going on in his home life while everyone listened. Jordan had grown interested after learning about how Michael met the boys and became the way he was, she asked him questions about how he adjusted to such a change.

“How did your family react to you becoming a vampire?” Jordan asked while cozying up with Marko who was purring quietly at the affection.

“Well…when you have a brother who hates any kind of monster, you can imagine how well he took the news. But we didn’t tell mom about it at first, we were gonna try to undo the curse but that of course didn’t go so well.”

“You really should’ve just joined us, and I’m still waiting.” David sat across from Michael smoking a cigarette. Michael only rolled his eyes.

“You don’t give up, do ya David?”

“Hell no, I care about you Michael. There may have been bad blood between us but I still want you.” David smirked at Michael, Jordan noticed the faint blush on Michael’s face when he said that. The group went quiet for a minute.

Paul and Laddie came back to the group with marshmallows and sticks in hand and they both settled down with the others. “Hey I got an idea, why don’t we play a game?”

“I’m not playing spin the bottle…” Dwayne immediately said.

“Um, I wasn’t gonna say that you dirty boy. I was thinking truth or dare instead.” Paul looked at everyone and watched as nobody objected. “Fantastic, who wants to go first?”

Nobody volunteered and so with a huff Paul said “Fine…I’ll go first. David, truth or dare?”

David flipped off Paul and the others laughed.

“Alright party pooper, okay then. Marko, truth or dare?”

Marko thought for a moment “Dare.”

“I dare you to show your girlfriend your method of eating-” He caught himself before he could say what he meant to say, he saw Dwayne give him a look as there was a child present. “Never mind scratch that, I dare you to tell Jordan about the kind of art you’ve been making about her lately.”

“Dude you can’t be serious…” Paul smirked at him, Marko sighed and proceeded to explain in great detail about the many paintings he’s been making of Jordan. She was pleasantly surprised but also wasn’t, she had always had a hunch he was a bit of an artist.

“Does that explain the paint your face is covered with when I see you sometimes?” Before Marko could confirm Paul answered for him.

“It’s mainly because he makes out with the painting before he can let it dry because if Marko likes anything, he loves it wet.”

“PAUL!” Dwayne covered Laddie’s ears meanwhile everyone else either laughed, choked or felt second hand embarrassment.

“That’s slander Paul! I don’t do that shit.” Marko got up to confront Paul who only kept on laughing.

“You did it once though! You know it!” Marko proceeded to grab a stick and start beating the shit out of Paul with it.

Jordan only watched in confusion as Paul shrieked like a girl as he kept getting his ass handed to him by Marko and thought about how her boyfriend was potentially making out with paintings of her. Marko finished roughing up Paul and got back up to sit with Jordan except he was a little embarrassed to cuddle back up with her. Paul sat up again and spoke.

“Okay, I think we are all good now. So Marko, it's your turn.” He pointed to Marko who let out a small growl.

"Jordan, truth or dare?”

“Truth.” Jordan was gonna say dare initially, but she thought about her conversation with Marko earlier and wanted to give him a chance to ask her about something. She thought telling him one little thing won't hurt-

“Tell me about how you became a vampire…”

Taglist (If you wanna be tagged, just ask ^ ^)

@blog4horror @ria-coolgirl @oceansrose2002 @hypocriticaltypwriter @deliciousfestsalad @kristel1990

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #tlb #david the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #marko the lost boys #paul the lost boys #michael the lost boys #star the lost boys #laddie the lost boys #tlb jordan

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laurel-finch · 2 months

Text

'I Don't Bite' S1.Ch14: Learning

Summary: Pack life takes an unusual twist... Referenced Episodes: None. CW: Minor gore. Major lore. Word Count: 7138 words. Recommended Song: Back In The Saddle -- Aerosmith Previous Chapter -- Masterlist -- Next Chapter

Caeden was surprisingly competent when it came to fighting, though he refused to explain why. He had deep scars running across his dark shoulders in a twisting pattern that gave me chills. Seeing him fight... he had a certain cold viciousness about him that made me doubt my easy victory the day we played capture the flag. I watched carefully as he stood at the edge of the ring where Andrew and Calliope scuffled together.

I scowled with my arms folded tightly against my torso and reclined in a newly bought lounge chair as I watched my pack members scamper across the lawn or tussle with one another. Booth had taken it upon himself to educate the others on fighting- few of them were capable fighters. At this point, I was more than ready to let him kick my ass in the ring, just so long as I could do something. I hadn't been on a run in weeks, and it was beginning to show. I could practically feel my muscles dampening. I would be sore after my next run, that much was certain.

I huffed and reached for my book on a small table beside me, ruffling the pages with my thumb. I really wasn't in the mood for reading, but I felt like I needed to do something with my hands. I sat up slowly and rolled my shoulders, enjoying the feeling of the harsh sun beating down on my exposed shoulders. We were well into spring now, and the weather was beginning to show it.

I stood and stretched my arms high over my head, feeling my bad shoulder pop. I flinched and brought my arms back down, rolling my shoulder once more. My shoulder was healing well. It was still sore and scarred, but the skin was beginning to heal over the top of it, closing the exposed wound. I expected that by the end of the week, it would be healed enough for me to start using it as I had before, though maybe with a little extra care.

I tucked my book under my arm and reached for my crutch – I only needed one now, thank God. Having to rely on an object to assist me was a new feeling. Any injuries I had previously had left me out of the game for maybe a day or two. The perks of healing quickly, I suppose, unless the damage was caused by silver.

I hobbled up the steps of the back porch and relished the shade of the lip of the roof overhanging the back door. I loved the sun, it made me feel warm, safe even, but it was sometimes too much. Blistering. The moon, however... gave me a sense of hope and purpose.

It was always odd to me, how much of a pull the moon had on skinwalkers. The closer to the full moon, the more excited I got and the more I wanted to go out and run. Sure, skinwalkers were cousins to werewolves, but we weren't the same, not even close.

I wondered how many of the old skinwalker legends were true. Were we really witches in the early ages of our species? The Navajo had always said we were evil and did harm to our fellow man. Had we always been wolves? Or were we once some odd cross between man and animal in our early days, like our cousins the werewolves?

I cared little for the concept of deities, but I know that would be one of the many questions I would ask God if I ever had the chance to speak to him. That, and maybe why he felt the need to make humans so defenseless. I mean honestly, it's one thing to give a monster built-in weapons, but to leave a creature so defenseless that it feels the need to perfect the art of killing? That's ten times worse.

The door to the rickety old barn was open, pushed aside on rolling hinges to let sunlight spill into the dingy single room. I glanced from the fights to the door. No one acknowledged me as I stood up and hobbled across the lawn with one crutch– maybe I preferred it that way.

Clanking from within the barn drew my attention. I leaned against the large doorway and watched Booth march around with a quizzical expression on my face. Finally, the graying male looked up with tired blue eyes and grumbled.

"Andrew was complaining about the pickup acting funny when he went out for groceries," the older man grumbled, scratching the back of his head. "Figured I'd come take a look while Caeden's managing the fights."

I hummed quietly and sidled up to Booth, his eyes never leaving the truck. "What do you think's the matter with it?" I questioned. Booth huffed and crossed his burly arms.

"Probably nothing," he scoffed. "Andrew doesn't know a truck from a moped. Wouldn't be surprised if he's driving it a bit rough."

I frowned a bit and rested my crutch against the rusted car door. The pickup only seated two people, with plenty of room in the pickup bed to host more. "Andrew's a pretty careful driver, Doesn't know much about trucks, but he's safe. I think if he says there's a problem, it's worth looking into."

Booth grumbled and moved the tools from the hood, placing them on the straw and dirt-covered barn floor. "Pop the hood, would you?" he asked. I nodded and climbed carefully into the cab, and popped the hood for Booth.

I sat in the cab of the rusted old pickup while Booth leaned over the engine. My hands slid over the steering wheel reverently, squeezing the worn grooves where my uncle’s hands had sat ages ago. Firm hands that molded the world into a place that embraced him with vigor. It was a temperament I would never have.

“What’s going through that head of yours, dove?” Booth asked. My eyes flicked up to look through the windshield. The lifted hood of the truck blocked him from view. His tone was soft, despite the worn texture of his throat that led to gruff words. Soft, doting, affectionate. Did I deserve that?

“Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

He hesitated. I could practically feel the way his thoughts roamed, searching for the right answer to my ambiguous question. “Elaborate?” he pressed.

“Like… I don’t know, I just sometimes wonder if- if taking on a pack was the right decision,” I answered in one shaky breath. “It’s not like I’m around much, at this point, and I never… never wanted a pack to begin with. Ever. I just never had an interest in it.”

I dropped my gaze as Booth slowly lowered the hood of the truck. His eyes settled on me in the cab, twisted in the seat in such a way that I could cradle my arms around myself without stressing my injuries further than I already had. I exhaled a deep sigh. “Sometimes I just… I come home to- to people in my house- my uncle’s house, and I just wish I was alone. I wish I wasn’t responsible for anyone but myself.” I paused and lifted my gaze to meet his. “Does that… make me a bad person?”

Booth shook his head, not even stopping to think first. “I think it makes you pretty human- or, close enough to it.” I cracked a timid smile. “It’s alright to want to be alone every once in a while.”

“Do you think we’re a normal pack?”

He huffed out a laugh. “I wouldn’t know a normal pack if it hit me over the head. I’ve only ever known scavengers and Chikaltio, and this is nothing like that. You’re more of a friend than a boss. I think we’re all pretty happy with the dynamic, even if you’re gone a lot.”

I didn’t answer. He held my stare for a few long moments before turning his attention back to the engine. “Might be time to sell it for scrap.”

I pursed my lips. There wasn’t a chance in hell that I would be getting rid of the truck willingly, no matter how much rust adorned its once smooth surface. It was my uncle’s, one of the few things I had left of him other than the house. A house which now felt more like someone else’s home than his. Clothes that weren’t his, furniture he would’ve hated, new residents deciding everything. My skin itched.

"Where are we gonna get another one?" Booth asked as he stood rockily on old legs. "I'm sure the government would take notice to us paying that much money. They aren't blind to credit card theft, y'know."

"Then we take from multiple accounts," I offered. "Five hundred here, three thousand there. Not too much, but enough." Stealing money was a rough business, we could only take as much as we needed to get by. I didn't like it, but it was necessary – we couldn't exactly get normal jobs, could we? Booth wiped his hands on his oil-splotched jeans and ran a calloused hand through his silvering hair. "I don't like it – stealing from people like that. It's not honest," I said, hoping he would pose some alternative.

"Since when is anyone honest? We sure aren't, and I'll bet my life that no one else is. Not the President, not the Pope, not even God. Hell, if God was honest maybe the world wouldn't be such a shithole," he retorted as he began filling his toolbox once more and locked the lid. "I don't much like the idea of honesty. It's flawed. No one's ever truly honest. If you say you are, you're lying." And with that, Booth swept up his tools and marched out the open barn door, leaving me alone in my bewildered thoughts.

—

Three weeks into my healing process, my leg was feeling much better. I still kept bandages on it, but I could at least walk without the crutch. Sasha demanded I keep a can nearby, in case I needed it, though I hardly used it. A few too many times, she smacked me with a dish towel for my stubbornness.

It was Calliope's night to lead a hunt and she had chosen to drag Andrew along with her. He wasn't too fond of hunting, but she felt he needed improvement. They worked well together, moving as a lithe team in the arena and on runs. They worked even better against each other, in the spirit of competition. The other pack members who wouldn't be hunting tonight had of course made bets of their own – my money was on Cal. She was beyond skilled when it came to hunting, and no amount of determination on Andrew's part would get him the win.

Calliope and I had spent quite a bit of time together during my house arrest. Several nights in the past two weeks had been deemed 'movie nights,' and several other pack members had chosen to join in. Sasha was a recurring face every night, while the boys would typically pop in to see what we were up to or steal snacks, Unsurprisingly, any time we watched a romcom, Marcus chose to join us.

While Andrew and Calliope were preparing for the evening hunt, I ran through Andrew's shopping list. I was eager to get out of the house, and there was no better time than now. It was surprisingly long, though I should have expected that. He was interested in trying out a few new recipes.

"Do you need someone to go with you?" I heard Sasha's cheerful voice from the kitchen. She popped her head out from around the counter, a mop gripped tightly in her hands.

I chuckled and glanced down at the list. "Maybe, but you look pretty busy, Sash. I can take someone else, no trouble." The short woman nodded nervously, her loose brown curls bobbing with her head.

I made my way to the door, grabbing my cane from its spot on the wall upon feeling Sasha boring holes into my head with her glare. I hobbled across the freshly trimmed lawn towards the bunkhouse.

It surprised me how mundane life felt when you became... well, mundane. I hadn't tried shifting in weeks. I was nothing more than human without my fur, and with my bad leg... I was about as mundane as it could get. If I wasn't living with five other monsters, then perhaps this could be that apple pie life Dean so desperately craved.

I needed to call him and Sam again, and check up on them. I had called them the day after I woke up, the day after they left. Sam had answered, telling me essentially what Marcus had said - that when I was healed, I was welcome to join them again. To my dismay, I hadn't spoken more than a few short sentences since our late-night conversation. I assumed he was busy, they both were, but I would appreciate more than a brief update.

One step forward, two steps back.

I quietly turned the door handle of the bunkhouse and poked my head in, searching the dimly lit room for figures. My eyes fell on three figures seated in the center of the room, sets of bunks lining the walls to my left and right.

"So while Sasha's cleaning the main house, you three are playing cards?" I teased, leaning against the door frame. Marcus, Caeden, and Booth glanced up, Marcus looking especially guilty.

"'S poker," Booth crowed, holding his cards up high with their backs to me. "I'm kicking their asses."

Marcus snarled playfully. "You've won like three rounds-"

"- Outta five," remarked Booth with a smirk.

"That doesn't mean you're kicking ass!" Marcus shouted, tossing his hands into the air, making sure to hide his cards from view. "You know what, I call," he snapped, dropping his cards onto the floor for all to see. Honestly, it was kind of a pitiful hand- two pairs, both low numbers and not particularly high ranking suits.

Booth followed quickly behind and deposited the cards at his feet. He had a pair of jacks of two good suits. He grinned, knowing that he had beaten Marcus yet again.

Caeden scoffed and gently placed his cards down, revealing three aces. My eyes widened, but not nearly as much as Marcus's. The blonde's eyes rivaled saucers and looked like they might pop out of his skull. Caeden leaned back with little reaction, crossing his toned arms over his chest.

Booth laughed loudly, the deep, rumbling sound filling the room and drawing a chorus of laughter from the other players. "S'pose we can't beat that, Caed," he said with a hearty chuckle and pushed Caeden's winning - a few cans of peaches and assorted vegetables - towards him. "Looks like you're out of the game, Marcus," Booth teased, gesturing towards the lack of cans in front of Marcus. His blue eyes lifted to meet mine and he flashed me a lop-sided grin shrouded by his thick, graying beard. "Care to take his place?"

I shook my head and placed a hand over my mouth to mask my grin. "Nope, I was about to head to the store. Marcus, you could join me, if you'd like?"

Marcus stretched and rolled his shoulders out. "Sorry, I promised Sasha I'd actually help her around the house today. Guess I'd better get on that now," he replied as he stood a bit shakily, probably from the rise and fall of energy. "I bet Booth'd go with you though."

Booth shook his head and hobbled to his own feet. "I'm on clean-up duty for when Cal and Andrew get back," he remarked, shaking out his legs from when they had been folded neatly not long before. "How bout you, Caed? You up for it?"

The older male shrugged and stood up, facing me with a rather disinterested look. His eyes briefly flitted to Marcus. "I suppose," he said before stalking past me and out the door.

I frowned and glanced towards Marcus who looked oddly worried. He was often an open book and had a hard time hiding his emotions – that was one thing I liked about him. You always knew what he was thinking. Caedan, on the other hand, was still reserved and closed off. He had grown quite fond of the rest of the pack, and they of him, but hardly ever spoke to me unless necessary.

I sighed heavily and turned to follow him out the door. Perhaps this shopping trip would be a good chance to get to know him.

The drive to the grocery store was silent, and actually rather uncomfortable. Any attempt I made at small talk was shot down with a dismissive wave or a low grunt. It was infuriating, and I was beginning to think I should have gone by myself.

In the store we chose to stick together; or rather, I went my own way and he followed not too far behind with a shopping cart. My eyes scanned the shopping list as we darted up and down aisles, never lingering for very long.

"Why would Andrew want frozen lasagna? Can't he just make some of his own?" I inquired quietly, nose practically pressed to the paper as I made my way to the frozen food aisle.

"It's for Calliope," Caeden muttered out, just loud enough for me to hear. My eyes trained on his, his deep brown ones holding that familiar disinterested look. "Said she's never had it before."

"But why would she want the store-bought stuff when Andrew can make it?" I asked, turning to him and dropping my list at my side. Caeden shrugged and pushed past me, the squeaky cart rolling in front of him. I rolled my eyes. So much for that.

The frozen food aisle was not too far, only about three aisles down. While I searched for the lasagna, Caeden grabbed whatever he thought the pack might like. I almost laughed as I watched him deposit four boxes of pizza bites into the cart.

My eyes found the lasagna and I rifled through the different brands, looking for the best one. I smiled softly and inhaled the sweet scent of Stouffers. My mother would make it from time to time when she was too tired to cook.

I spun towards Caeden and tossed the package underhand towards him. "Catch!"

He did not catch it.

Caeden jumped back, a wildly frightened look in his eyes as the lasagna hit the ground. Thank God it was packaged, otherwise, there would have been cold food all over the floor. Caeden's eyes tracked up to mine, and for the first time in a very long time, I saw something other than indifference in them.

Fear.

It was the same look I had seen from him when I had first met him, back in that old hunter's house. Why would he have that same look now as when he had been shot?

"You alright?" I asked softly, worry dripping into my voice. He nodded and bent to pick up the lasagna as I tentatively made my way over to him. I reached to place a hand on his shoulder and he flinched away from me. My brows furrowed at this.

"I'm fine," came his gravelly voice, and just as quickly as the incident happened, he was gone, already at the end of the aisle and headed towards our next destination.

I scoffed and glared at his back. "Fine, my ass," I grumbled and followed him. The rest of the shopping trip was utterly silent until we got to the cash register, where I had to speak to the cashier. I paid while Caeden bagged our goods and placed them back into the cart.

"Have a nice day!" the cashier called after us.

I smiled at them. "You too!" I followed Caeden out of the store and to the truck, helping him silently load the groceries into the pickup bed. Not long after, we both climbed into the cab, me at the wheel, and headed home.

My finger tapped against the side of the steering wheel, contemplating how I could get him to say more than just a few words. I had seen him laugh and talk plenty of times with the others, though never when I was involved. Maybe occasionally on game night, but he was often stoic as can be whenever I was around.

"So..." I started rather awkwardly, looking for some way to make him talk. "How long have you and Marcus been together?"

Caeden didn't look away from the window, his eyes watching the tree line as we sped past. "Traveling or... together?" he asked, sounding just as uncomfortable.

"Either one," I offered, just hoping he would say more than three words.

"Traveling for four, together for three," he mumbled. "Roughly," he added as an afterthought. His fingers tapped together in his lap and I was sure he had finished speaking until he piped up again. He cleared his throat and spoke slowly, each word strained in effort at maintaining a conversation. "How about you and the hunter? Dean?"

My face flushed and I almost swerved towards the edge of the road. My grip on the steering wheel tightened. "We're not together. Don't know why everyone thinks that." Caeden hummed quietly and his fingers stopped tapping. I didn't think my grip could tighten anymore, but now I was clinging on with white knuckles and tense muscles. "We're not. And we're not going to be."

Caeden chuckled, a sound that surprised me as I had rarely heard it. "I said that once, too." From there the conversation died out and the cab was silent once more as we pulled into the driveway.

The rest of my day was spent doing simple chores and yard work, though my mind was occupied with swirling thoughts. Caeden, despite knowing him for months now, was still a complete mystery to me. I knew very little of his life prior to meeting the pack. I knew nothing about how or when he was bitten, how he met Marcus, or why he was trying to kill an old hunter with such vicious resolve.

I tossed my small shovel to the ground and sat back on my heels in contemplation. I didn't want to push him but did want to know him. I at least had the right to know why he refused to talk to me.

Right?

—

Another week and a half had passed and my leg was nearly healed. Sasha had pulled the stitches out a few days prior and I could walk without any sort of help. It felt great to not need a crutch. My muscles were only fragments of what they had been, but the last week had held many chances to rebuild.

I stalked out onto the lawn and towards my packmates, where Booth was leading fights yet again. Today was all about hand-to-hand fighting, something I certainly needed more practice in.

It had been a long time since I was able to shift, although I hadn't tried in the last few weeks. I hadn't had any contact with my rather vicious, instinctive side, nor had she felt the need to urge me to fight anyone and anything. I almost missed her angry outburst - at least when she was present I knew the ability to change forms lay just below the surface.

I had been trying not to think about my predicament. The scars along my thigh, shown clearly by the shorts I was wearing, were bad enough. I didn't need more on my plate.

I still wondered about the whispers from time to time. What was it that was speaking to me? I hadn't heard any of the whispers since my brief altercation with John. It drove me mad to think that everything I had been trying to understand was suddenly gone.

"Hey," chimed Booth, waving me over. "You come to watch?"

I shook my head. "I'm looking for a fight actually. It's been too long since I've had a good one." Booth frowned and I smiled at him with what I hoped was a reassuring grin.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" He asked, gesturing towards the spider web of white scars on my thigh. "You're still healing."

"I think I can manage it," I said with fake confidence, crossing my arms over my chest. Truthfully, I wasn't sure I would win a fight right now. Sure, I had received some tips on fighting over the years from my father or my uncle, but that in no way made me an expert. The lack of strength and confidence I had could be my downfall.

And perhaps, if I was in enough danger, I’d finally find it in me to change forms.

What I needed now was a solid win, when all I had been getting recently was losses. Booth seemed to sense that. He nodded slowly and shrugged. "Your funeral, kid." I cheered and pumped a fist into the air in excitement. "Calliope just got done with a match, but I can have her fight you if you'd like-"

“I’m real tired, Booth,” Calliope whined from her spot on the ground, her dark hair splayed out on the messy lawn and grass and weeds. “Give me a break?”

Booth pursed his lips and stared incredulously down at Calliope. The young woman scrunched her eyes closed tightly, avoiding his lingering gaze. He sighed dramatically and looked around the clearing, taking a mental catalog of my options. Marcus sat on the porch soaking up the sun with Sasha. Andrew sat on the grass on the opposite side of the ring, catching his breath after his bout with Cal. So that left…

“Caeden?” Booth called, and the quiet man twisted to face us. He stood at the edge of the designated sparring ring with arms crossed and brows furrowed. “You up for it?”

I heard shuffling from behind us and turned to see Marcus sitting upright in his lounge chair, suddenly interested in the fights. The relaxed grin he bore had rapidly disappeared, replaced with a curious frown. Sunglasses obscured his eyes, but I knew they were narrowed in curiosity.

“Don’t see why not,” Caeden responded calmly. I watched as he bent down and grabbed a roll of sparring tape from the ground. He taped his knuckles carefully before tossing it my way. I held my tongue, watching and waiting instead – I would have to treat myself carefully

"Right, this'll be a clean fight. I'll beat your asses, alpha or not, if it ain't.” I bit back a smile as I stepped into the ring and took to my side, by back to Booth. "You get knocked out or get your throat caught, you're done for. No shifting ‘til I say."

My ears pricked at that last line. Shifting. My skin paled as I twisted to look at him over my shoulder. “Wait, Booth, I don’t think-”

A shriek left my lips as a heavy weight collided with me, knocking my square onto my back. All the air in my lungs left my body in a quick puff of breath. “Caeden!” a warning shout came from behind us.

Caeden dove toward me and I lifted my knees to connect with his chest, his weight falling down hard on me and jarring my thigh. Pain rippled up my legs through my injury, a patchwork crater that was still working to fill the void in my flesh. I pushed and knocked him to the side and stood, stooping low in preparation for his next attack.

Caeden swung his leg out in a sweeping motion, connecting with the back of my knees and causing me to land on my ass. I sat up just in time to be met with a punch to the face.

"First blood!" I heard Booth call out. My head spun as I stood, feeling blood drip down my face. I wiped at my lips, my hand coming away red.

I stared at my bloodied hand in shock and wiped a knuckle across the base of my nose. I turned my head sharply towards my opponent, eyes narrowed with fury. "Did you just break my fucking nose?"

Caeden shrugged and brought his hands back up. "I think it's a good look for you."

I snarled and lunged, my elbow connecting with his jaw. His head lolled back and I gripped him by his ears, bringing his face down to meet my knee. Blood poured from his nose as he stumbled backward, a dazed look on his face. "Looks good on you too," I spat, blood dripping into my mouth.

He roared and launched forward, a blow connecting with my ribs. I swung back wildly, not caring where I hit him or what I hit him with. I fell to the ground, landing hard on my back in the dirt, and snarled.

I rolled to the side and struggled to stand, but was dragged backward by my ankles, nails tearing the sensitive flesh. Caeden released me and clawed at my hair, dragging me to my feet by my scalp. An arm struggled to wrap around my throat as I snarled and spat wildly, thrashing in his grip.

I grabbed his arm and dug my nails into his wrist, my teeth sinking into his dark flesh until I tasted blood. Caeden howled in pain and dropped me. I spun to face him with blood stained teeth.

"Shift!" Booth shouted and Caeden wasted no time in bursting forward in his fur, his chocolaty brown, wiry fur a tangled, bloody mess.

My eyes widened a fraction as he barreled into me, jaws snapping at my throat. Fuck. I still can't shift. I reached a hand up towards his neck and dug my nails into his fur, piercing the flesh. I pushed upward, putting pressure on his throat with the palm of my hand. Caeden slobbered on me, his claws digging into the soft flesh of my arms. I screamed as Caeden rolled to the side, dragging my hand with him and exposing my upper arm.

“Caeden!” Marcus’s voice drifted from the porch, followed by the thump of him jumping off the porch and running towards the ring. Caeden’s icy blue gaze drifted from me to Marcus. His eyes narrowed, his teeth sank into my flesh, and he ground his jaws together.

I swung a punch towards Caeden, my fist connecting with the side of his burly head. He yelped and released my arm. I slid to the side, and stood on shaky feet, eyes trained on the wiry mutt before me.

"What are you doing!?" someone screamed to my left. "Shift!" My eyes trained on Booth's figure as he frantically gestured to Caeden. My eyes whipped back to the dog before me, trained on his vibrant blue ones, opposite to his usual brown.

Caeden lunged forward again and I side-stepped, kicking him hard in the ribs. He yelped and landed rougher than intended, spinning to face me once more.

Caeden lunged forward, paws colliding with my chest and throwing me over backward. I could feel the pull in me somewhere, that same feeling I had when the bear found Calliope. An itch in the back of my mind, like I knew what I was supposed to do but couldn’t quite get there. Like a slippery rope sliding helplessly through my fingers. I howled as Caeden snapped at my throat and I braced my forearm against his neck, struggling to push him away.

A high-pitched ringing filled my ears as I screamed, fighting to get him off of me. I screamed and snarled and clawed at his fur, my fingers gripping and tearing at his flesh in an almost pitiful display compared to his claws. The hair on my arms thickened and darkened like fur, but it just wasn’t enough.

“Caeden, stop!” Marcus shouted. A growl ripped out of Caeden’s throat. His jaws snapped at my throat, the ivory tickle of his teeth teasing my flesh.

I shouted once more and gave a mighty shove, throwing Caeden across the ring with strength I never knew I had. Caeden struggled to his feet, blue eyes wide with shock from my sudden strength. He drew back his lips revealing pink gums and bloodied teeth. I snarled back and brought my hands up, ready to fight him once more. His eyes narrowed coldly.

What do you have to prove? I questioned as I stared at him and paced around the ring, keeping my distance. He watched with curiosity, taking in the blood dripping down my face, my hobbling leg, my tired ankle from his ceaseless dragging.

The itch fell to the base of my neck, now more of a tug that seemed to urge me forward. My teeth elongated into fangs, nails sharpened into claws. It wasn’t enough- it was never enough. I needed more.

That scared me. The need for strength and power, so easy to abuse. I didn’t want it.

My eyes feel on my pack members- friends standing at the edge of the arena. Did I have power over them? Was that what scared me-?

Caeden launched himself at me in my distraction, faster than a bolt of lightning. I punched him in the jaw as he flew towards me, redirecting his course to land roughly at my side. I kicked out, connecting with his shoulder and he whirled to grip my ankle in his firm jaws. He yanked and pulled me to the ground, a wild fury and hatred in his eyes.

Hatred.

Why did he hate me?

I howled and kicked again, my heel landing against his temple. He stumbled to the side, his teeth still fastened to my ankle, blood dripping down his jaws. He looked at me with utter malice, and suddenly I recognized the fear he had once held.

He never trusted me, not like he did the rest of the pack. I knew that, of course, but why now-?

Oh. An alpha that can’t shift… isn’t an alpha.

His snapping jaws dragged me to the ground by my already weak ankle. My blood boiled as I writhed on the ground, flailing as hard as I could to get him off me. I swung wildly, gripping at his ears and his fur, bruising him with heavy fists, throwing him around with frantic kicks. Still, he did not loosen his hold on my ankle.

His blue eyes lifted to mine, holding a resolve in them that appeared to say I knew it.

You're not my alpha, they seemed to say. If you were, you could win this.

I don’t want to be your alpha- I want to be your friend. That’s what I wanted to say, but all that came out was a strangled cry.

I lunged forward, gripped his upper jaw and struggled to pry him from my leg. My skin was scorching with unfathomable rage as I gripped his jaw and pressed my thumb into the roof of his mouth, my nail digging into the sensitive skin. Blood dripped down my thumb.

Caeden howled out and scrabbled at my arm, claws tearing the delicate flesh. I snarled and gripped Caeden's throat, pressing my hand down until he was gasping for breath, blood trickling down his throat. Red tinted the edges of my vision, and this time I didn't push it away. I let it fuel me.

“Would you just-!” I shouted through hot, sticky blood dripping into my mouth.

Caeden's eyes were still wild with defiance and anger. I snarled a primal growl that startled even myself. I felt my eyes burning, that same feeling of electricity that raced under my skin, and they began to glow their familiar molten gold. Caeden howled and struggled under my grip.

“- Fucking listen for once!?”

My mind buzzed with an odd feeling, an unfamiliar presence that seemed to be cracking beneath me. Caeden howled, the only sound I heard amongst the harsh buzzing, and he thrashed. The defiance was gone. Instead, I saw fear.

No, no no no, don’t-

The floodgates broke and the buzzing swept over me like a tidal wave as memories and emotions filled my mind. Memories that weren't mine.

A young boy raced through dirty city streets, screaming for help as he struggled to outrun the pounding of feet behind him. He couldn't have been older than thirteen. He had deep scars on his hands, now drenched in blood from his bloody knuckles.

He ran, screaming for help that he knew wouldn't come. The thing owned these streets. It would catch him.

He felt a tearing in his shoulder and he screamed louder than he ever had before a terrified, pained scream. His deep brown eyes fixated on sharp, angular teeth digging into his shoulder. What felt like an electric shock went through him and suddenly he was a bleeding heap on the ground.

And suddenly the boy was older, though only by two or three years. He argued with a much older, grizzled, and angrier-looking man who was riddled with scars and tattoos. The older man smacked the younger boy backhand across the face, sending him sprawling on the ground.

"I won't do it!" the boy spat.

"You will," snarled the older man. His voice faded off into a series of threats as the memory swirled and faded into another.

The boy was running again, once more away from pounding footsteps behind him. He lept into the air and shifted into a deep brown, wiry form, blue eyes blazing. He howled in delight, a howl that delighted in the feeling of freedom.

The boy laughed gleefully as he pranced around in an open field around a recently dead deer, blood fresh on his matted jaws. His first kill. He could live without eating humans, despite what they had told him. Suddenly, his eyes whipped up to meet a brown pair, belonging to a dog. This dog, a clear English pointer, was like him. A skinwalker, right?

The English pointer had turned out to be a girl, and he thought she was rather pretty. She coaxed him into following her, and he did. She had a pack.

Packs are terrifying. Look at what his last one did.

But her pack was good. They welcomed him with open arms. They were kind like he wanted to be. Nothing like in the city.

He could be free with them.

And he was free for years. He rose through the ranks and quickly became the alpha's second. His alpha.

And suddenly his alpha was gone. The tents were burning, his pack was howling, screaming in pain. He could hear them, he could feel them dying off one by one. Suddenly his heart squeezed.

His alpha.

He raced towards the largest tent and burst forth to see an almost blinding flash of light and his alpha thump to the floor, lifeless, a bullet hole in his head. Caeden screamed, pain and sorrow ripping through his body as his now burning blue eyes fixed on the hunter who did this.

He would remember his face, his smell.

He looked older now, though it had clearly only been a few years. He looked exhausted as tears ran down his face.

A new pack had come into the area and they had taken over. Caeden had lost the challenge. He lost the pack. And now these new monsters were wreaking havoc.

He writhed under the weight of heavy silver chains as they dug into and burned his naked flesh. He was bound tightly in the middle of the camp for all to see. Their precious alpha, who couldn't protect him.

He deserved the scars the chains would leave.

The memory changed to one not long after, maybe a week or so. Caeden was covered in blood, his skin raw and torn. He fought with tired motions to push his former beta away, telling her to run. She removed the chains and ushered him to leave, to get away, to bring help.

He couldn't. If he did, she would take his place.

"I don't care," she said. "Just go."

And he did. He ran and he ran until his legs collapsed, not caring that he couldn't breathe. And still, he crawled, dragging himself through the woods. He stopped his scrambling as two massive golden paws landed before him, and his blue eyes trailed up to meet playful green ones.

Memories whirled past faster than they could truly be understood. Caeden running through wide, green fields with Marcus, their paws muffled by the grasses. The two quickly became family and accepted no alpha other than themselves. The bond they shared.

And suddenly it was dark, and one smell filled Caeden's nose. The smell of the hunter. He chased it with Marcus not far behind, hunting the man down. It had been years, but Caeden hadn't given up.

There was the house, with its single light from the second story. The duo stalked up the porch in their fur and Caeden shifted, pushing the door open for Marcus. He pounded up the stairs to find the man reclined in a chair. He shifted and leapt onto the man's back, tearing his flesh and basking in his blood.

And all too suddenly he was ripped away. He lifted his head to snarl at his attacker, only to be met with golden eyes bearing down on him with absolute rage.

And then he was bleeding and burning, silver filled holes in his stomach. He would die here.

He woke up in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar house. And before he knew it, that house was his. But he did not belong to the house. He hated the black monster that pulled him here - hated that he respected her and that she expected him to submit. Why did Marcus submit? Had they not agreed that they were their own alphas?

And now here he was, bearing his throat to her, sealing a bond he had never made with another alpha. Not his first. Not his second. Certainly not his third. But now, he was bound.

I gasped and stumbled backward, the flood of memories fading. Caeden groaned and clutched his head. When had he shifted back? His blue eyes faded to their rich brown and they fixated on mine that still held their gold.

I felt something heavy settle between us, like a chain tugging us together. Electricity buzzed under my skin, not like the molten heat I had felt previously. No, the heat was mine, but this was him. The weight settled at the nape of my neck. I stared at him in shock as the glade fell quiet.

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural x reader #fluff #angst #slow burn #cross posted on ao3 #cross posted on wattpad #monster reader #Monster #original characters #original monster characters #x reader #female reader

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alwritey-aphrodite · 1 year

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Hey!!

Can I please number 21 fresh cut grass with either Frankie or Santiago please

2023 Summer Blurbs

Santiago was a caretaker: anything he could do to help one of the people he loves, he’d do it. It didn’t matter if it made his back hurt or his knees ache, if one of the people he cares about needs something, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try.

That’s why he’s outside in 90 degree weather and trying to start his ancient lawn mower, and you’re inside making lemonade in the air conditioned kitchen.

You didn’t even ask Santi if he’d mow the lawn, he just knew how much you hated it and noticed that the grass was getting a little long. He wouldn’t even listen when you said it’s too hot, when you asked him if he’d wait until tomorrow when it wouldn’t be the same temperature as the sun.

But Santi being Santi, he pulled on some work clothes and kissed you on the forehead before going out to deal with the lawn. Earlier in the year, when it had first started getting warmer, you’d tried to convince him to splurge on a riding lawnmower, something that’d be easier on his knees, but he’d refused, claiming the lawnmower you have now works perfectly fine.

You wonder if he’s thinking that now when you hear his cursing coming into the kitchen on the warm breeze from the open window.

The noises of the lawnmower filter into the house through the open windows as you do housework, finishing the lemonade and the dishes before starting to fold the laundry. By the time you’ve folded and put most of the laundry away, the noises from the lawnmower have stopped and you hear the garage door open and shut.

Making your way downstairs, you see Santi sweaty and panting, slipping off the grass-stained shoes he only uses for yard work. His cheeks are all ruddy and he smells like freshly cut grass and the humidity of the day is making his curls all fluffy and defined and it takes everything in you not to drag him upstairs to the bedroom.

Instead, you pour him some lemonade and plant a kiss on his cheek, thanking him for all of his hard work outside.

“I’ve gotta head back out and do the Morales’ lawn while Frank’s outta town,” he tells you as he lowers himself into a kitchen chair and you’re thankful he’s looking the other way so he can’t scold you for the eyeroll you couldn’t contain.

“I’m sure Becca and Isabel can deal with an unruly lawn for a few days, or at least until it isn’t a billion degrees outside,” you tell him, even though you know he won’t listen to you. Santi would do anything for the people he loves, but sometimes his stubbornness rears up and he won’t listen to reason.

“C’mon,” you tell him, getting up to pour him another glass of lemonade, “how about you go shower and relax, and we can invite them over for dinner?”

“Fine,” Santi responds, draining his second glass before standing to place a kiss on your cheek, “thanks for protecting me from heatstroke.”

“It’s the least I could do.” You hope he understands just how much you mean that, understands that this is the least you could do after everything he does for you.

#santiago garcia #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #santiago pope garcia #santiago pope garica x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #2023 summer blurbs

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peterparkers-bad-youtube-apology · 2 years

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may i pls request an arvin fic with prompts 38 & 42😭🥹🤍

Hey love I hope you like it! I'm sorry it took a little while but I absolutely loved this I thought it was so so cute. Anyways I wanted to say thank you for supporting me for so long, you were one of my earliest followers and it means a lot ❤️ Also as an aside, there are 4 more summer of love prompts left in my inbox, those will be out shortly too. Let me know what you think, love u xx

The Hookman

38 - Making s'mores

42 - Getting scared while camping

Pairing: Arvin Russell x Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: You take Arvin camping for his birthday

Regular Masterlist

Summer of Love Prompts

Summer of Love Masterlist

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Arvin didn’t care much about his birthday, he never bothered planning any sort of celebration or party, he found it all unnecessary. He loved to celebrate your birthday though, and your anniversary, and Christmas, any opportunity to spoil you really. You liked spoiling him too, but he always appreciated the gesture much more than he cared about any of the actual gifts. He just wasn’t a very materialistic person, which is why this year you’d decided to give him an experience for this birthday instead of any physical object.

You would have loved to fly him to some exotic location and have some big romantic weekend, but you couldn’t afford anything like that. So you went with something much simpler, camping. One of your friends offered the perfect spot for a romantic getaway, it was secluded in the woods, perked on top of a large hill with a great view, and less than a mile from a massive lake. You were overjoyed with the find, and the same friend helped you make a list of everything you would need. You proposed the idea to Arvin and he was excited, spending the weekend alone with you was his ideal birthday really.

Although he was a little reluctant to let you plan the trip and pay for it, you wouldn’t budge on the matter, and he was forced to concede eventually. He did double check your packing list though, just to make sure you hadn’t missed anything essential. Once you were both sure you had everything you’d need you loaded it all into his car and headed out. It was about an hour drive, and it was a bit difficult to navigate the truck to the campsite, but the view was worth the effort. You were surrounded by a circle of trees, the forest was buzzing and everything smelled fresh. Below your campsite you could see the corner of the lake, and in the middle of the campsite there was a makeshift fire pit born from the hundreds of campers who had been there before you.

You attempted at first to unload the car and set up the tent yourself, insisting Arvin relax, but there was no way he’d let you do it all yourself. So you two put up your tent and piled your things inside. By the time you had your campsite all set up the sun was starting to set, and both of you were getting hungry. For your first night you’d decided to pre pack some sandwiches for dinner, so all you had to do was gather a bit of wood and start a fire. You two snuggled up next to each other in some folding lawn chairs while you ate and watched the sun go down.

“This is incredible,” Arvin hummed contently before he looked over at you, “You know I think this is already my best birthday ever.”

You flushed, “Well it’s not actually your birthday until tomorrow, but thank you. It’s really nice out here.”

“Yeah it is,” he agreed, tracing his hand over one of yours, “We should get out the s’mores before it gets too dark.”

“Don’t you wanna save those for tomorrow?” you frowned, “I mean I didn’t bring a cake or anything so that’s kind of our only dessert.”

“I’m sure we’ll have enough for tonight and tomorrow,” he hummed, “Plus it’s my birthday trip, I think I’m entitled to some s’mores if I want them.”

You rolled your eyes and pushed yourself out of your chair, “I’ll be right back.”

You returned with graham crackers, a bag of marshmallows, several Hershey’s bars, and some metal skewers you thought would be perfect to roast the marshmallows on.

“Yummy,” Arvin hummed, ripping into the marshmallows and throwing one into his mouth.

You carefully placed one of them on your skewer and dipped it into the fire, “They’re so much better roasted.”

“They’re delicious either way,” he said with a mouthful of marshmallow, making you crinkle your nose.

“It’s rude to speak with your mouth full Arvin,” you scolded playfully.

He laughed, “Oh I forgot, you fell in love with me for my good manners,” he placed another marshmallow onto his skewer and shoved it into the fire, “Did you ever tell ghost stories when you were little?”

You knit your brows as you tried to remember, “No, I don’t think so. There was rumor that one of the houses in town was haunted, but that’s the closest I can remember.”

He nodded, “Lenora and I used to tell them to each other,” his hand slipped over your leg, squeezing your thigh before he continued, “Not just when we were camping, but that always made them scarier. They’re so cheesy, I can’t believe I used to be scared of that shit…”

“That’s cute Arvin,” you laughed, “Do you remember any of them?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, “Uh, I don’t know, I haven’t thought about them in a long time.”

You pulled your marshmallow from the fire and began assembling your s’more, “Could you try and tell me one?”

“You wanna hear a cheesy ghost story?” he chuckled.

You nodded, “Of course, I like it well you tell stories, your voice is nice.”

He blushed and bit his cheek, “I suppose I probably remember enough…”

“Yay!” you cheered and leaned back in your chair, “Well get on with it.”

He let out a low hum as he pulled his burning marshmallow away from the fire. He blew it out, the marshmallow was nearly black, “It starts with this criminal, a murderer I think. I don’t remember exactly what happened to him but basically he loses his hand and it gets replaced with a hook. So he’s this hook handed killer, and he was always going after pretty young girls,” he glanced over at you, “It took years to catch him, and when they finally did they hung him. So he dies, but since his soul was so twisted it couldn’t rest properly, and he came back as a ghost. Now he wanders all over the country looking for more pretty young girls to kill. Oh!” he cracked a big smile, “And he especially likes girls with (y/h/c).”

You rolled your eyes, “I can’t believe that used to scare you.”

“That one didn’t scare me, it scared Lenora,” he defended, “I used to tell it better.”

Arvin kept trying to recall more and more details about the story while you finished your s’mores. You were almost certain that he was making it up just to try and scare you. You humored him, nodding along with whatever new details he added, laying your head on his shoulder while he talked. You two continued like that until the fire started to sizzle out. Arvin volunteered to fully extinguish it so you could get comfy in your makeshift bed.. Inside the tent you’d laid your sleeping bags on top of each other to provide a bit of padding and brought a pile of blankets to keep yourselves warm. You wanted the tent to be as comfortable as possible so you’d brought more than a fair share of blankets and pillows.

“Fires good,” Arvin promised as he crawled into the tent, zipping it closed behind him, “You look comfy.”

You smiled, “I’ll be comfier once you’re in here with me.”

“I’m coming,” he promised as he began stripping his clothes.

He got down to his boxers and crawled under the blankets beside you, “Ready for bed kitten?”

“I’m pretty tired,” you snuggled up to his chest.

“Me too,” he wrapped his arms around you and pressed his lips to the top of your head, “Thank you for planning this, I love you.”

“I love you too,” you cooed back.

He held you close to him until you fell asleep. Admittedly it was more difficult than normal, it was harder to drift off without your comfy mattress under you. Snuggling up to Arvin helped, but you already knew you wouldn’t be sleeping as deep as you normally would. Sure enough you found yourself waking up shortly after you drifted off, Arvin was already deep asleep, but you were suddenly uncomfortable. You rolled over so your back was against Arvin’s chest. He scooted closer to you and you closed your eyes in hopes of drifting off again.

When you fell asleep the second time you were able to fall deep enough into sleep that you started to dream. You would have hoped to have some sort of sweet dream about you and Arvin, instead you were struck with the hook man. In your dream he came stalking up to your tent, ripping it open and yanking you from the inside. Luckily you were woken up before anything too gruesome could happen, the sounds of the wind grazing your tent had drawn you back to reality. Arvin was still sleeping soundly, his face buried in your neck, his lips placed against your bare skin. His tight grip helped to relax you after the bad dream. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, sinking back into him with a smile. The adrenaline started to die down and your pounding heart relaxed.

Until the wind picked up again. This time it was more than just the wind, you heard some sort of awful, high pitched screeching that made your skin crawl. Arvin stirred but didn’t wake up. You sank under the blankets, pulling them up to your eyes, which were darting rapidly around the tent. The screeching sounded again, you tried to calm yourself but your mind was already getting irrational. Really you knew it was just a stray branch or the car, but you couldn’t help picturing the hook man from your dreams. Stalking you outside the tent, running his hook over the car, getting ready to tear you away from Arvin and murder you.

With a small squeal you flipped to face Arvin again, “Arvin,” at first your voice was quiet, still unsure if you wanted to wake him, “Arvin,” this time you were a little louder, pushing against his chest, “Arvin!” you snapped suddenly, just in time for the wind to pick up once more.

He groaned, reaching up to rub one of his eyes before he opened it, “Something wrong baby?”

Your cheeks flushed, suddenly feeling embarrassed that you’d woken him up, “I, uh, I had this kind of weird dream.”

His lips tugged to a frown, “What about?”

“The hookman…” you uttered shamefully.

He smiled and started to chuckle, “Really?”

“Yes!” you fell onto your back dramatically, “Then I woke up and I started hearing this screechy sound, it's freaking me out.”

“I’m sorry baby, I’m sure it was just a tree or something though,” he wrapped his arm around your middle and pressed his lips to your ear, “Or an owl, or anything. We’re in the woods, there are weird noises sometimes.”

“I know,” you groaned, “It’s just nerves.”

He nodded and moved right up next to you, “Well just come here. I promise it was normal forest noises, but if it was a hookman, I would protect you. You’ve got nothing to worry about, you’re always safe with me.”

You snuggled back to his chest, wanting to feel him close again, “Promise?”

“Course, I don’t care if it’s the hookman or the devil himself,” he mumbled against your forehead, “I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you, I love you too much for that.”

“I love you too Arvin,” your cheeks flushed and you smiled, “It’s probably after midnight now.”

“You think so?”

You nodded, “Yeah, so happy birthday.”

“Mmm, thank you baby,” he yawned and leaned in for a quick kiss, “I’m about to pass out again, but you can wake me up if you need me.”

“Of course, thank you hunny,” you cooed sweetly, “You always know just what to say.”

He said nothing, simply pressing his lips to your head again before sleep overtook him.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Taglist:

@niallsvirgosun @roseke @namoreno @zspideyy @emistrash @andreagf956 @tomsirishgirlx @peachyafshawn @agbspidey @nj01 @sleepybesson @misshale21 @prancerrparkerr @raajali3 @ellabellabus07 @minjix @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @graciexmarvel @lnmp89 @mcushvft @s-we-e-t-t-ea @liltimmyst @gloomynigvts @cest-la-vieve @afro-hispwriter

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oflights · 1 year

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no offense but im so excited for your veela harry fic i think about that snippet like twice a day. at least. xx

aww, thank you! i'm still working on it, it's just taking a little longer because it was supposed to be short and quick and fun and off the cuff and that is not my strength, haha. i do hope to have it done before the new zelda game comes out, though, because i feel like i will definitely not do any writing for a while after that...

anyway, have another snippet to tide you over:

Harry doesn’t even bother looking out the window—he throws himself out of the chair and stomps through the door, groaning out loud when he sees that Ron is right: there does appear to be a large hot air balloon in front of Harry’s house, tall enough to be seen down the road, boasting a brilliantly green, blue and brown peacock feather pattern along the envelope. Gritting his teeth, because he’s had absolutely bloody enough of feathers, Harry stomps further down, wand in hand, patience gone.

Behind him, he can hear Hermione yelling for him to wait, Ron swearing after them both, and then her pounding, slippered footsteps, but Harry ignores them to stand behind the balloon just as a blond-haired figure pops out of the basket, yanking on a cord above and muttering indiscernibly.

“Oh, what the hell,” Harry says as he recognizes the back of Draco Malfoy’s head.

“Potter!” Malfoy says, whirling around in surprise, before recovering and pasting on a bright, very white smile—the kind of smile that makes Harry want to refer his supervisor for teeth-whitening charm tips. “I mean, Harry. Hello.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Malfoy says, spreading his arms wide. He’s wearing very fine, lightweight summer robes in a shimmery, luminous blue with sleeves that drape a bit and silver clasps all up the front. They make Harry scowl because on most people—on Harry—they would look ridiculously gaudy and over-the-top, but on Malfoy they just look natural and effortlessly stylish. His hair has the same exact quality, artfully arranged on the top of his head and moving with him instead of looking as though it’s trying to escape him the way Harry’s always had before this nonsense.

He looks dressed-up, handsome, and attention-grabbing, and yet nothing about the reason he’s here is obvious.

Harry folds his arms across his chest, steadfastly ignoring the small crowd they’re starting to draw—held back a bit by the wards that Malfoy had somehow managed to punch through.

“It’s really not,” Harry says. “Get this thing off my lawn.”

“Ah, well, if you’d move around this way—” Malfoy gestures grandly around the basket, indicating the direction of Harry’s house. “—things will soon become clear.”

“No.”

“Very well. Love conquers all, even the stubbornness of a beautiful Veela.”

“A what Veela?” Harry yelps, but Malfoy ignores him, which is much more par for the course of their adult existence. Harry’s only seen Malfoy in passing since their eighth year, when they’d pointedly avoided each other while edging around the lingering echoes of the war. Malfoy had his friends and Harry had his and things were calm, peaceful, without all that fighting. Boring, Harry wouldn’t dare to say—boring had been a good thing that year, just like it’s quite nice these days. Harry would kill for boring right now.

The small, gathered crowd has grown to include a slightly out-of-breath Hermione and Ron still in Hermione’s now-lengthened dressing gown. Malfoy’s gaze clearly sweeps over this and his mouth twitches for a long moment, lips pressed together so tightly they’ve gone pale, but he busies himself with his raised wand and muttered incantations.

Harry watches as the balloon gives a whirring spin around Malfoy, basket and envelope and all, to rotate completely; Malfoy whirls around when it comes to a stop and yanks on the cord he’d been messing with earlier, unfurling a long banner attached to the very peak of the balloon. Gasps sound throughout the crowd, and Hermione says, “Oh no,” in a muffled sort of way that suggests she has her hands over her mouth, but Harry can’t look away from the banner to confirm.

Scrawled across the banner in glittery golden handwriting are the words HARRY – WILL YOU BE MINE? There are shining silver hearts drawn in swirls surrounding the words and animated drawings of white doves fluttering around.

“For fuck’s sake,” Harry says, throwing his hands up.

#drarry #drarry fic #drarry wip #drarry snippet #asks #anonymous #wip snip #veela harry fic

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just-patchy · 5 months

Text

Ship Headcanons: Dominic/Lucien

Lucien belongs to Lizz @thetwstwildcard

Lucien fell first, Dominic fell harder

Lucien’s compliments kinda fly over Dominic’s head (he’s not an arts person unfortunately)

Initially when he felt shy Dominic tried to stand at full height (183 cm vs 180 cm) for some sort of advantage but it didn’t work because Dominic folds like a lawn chair at just about anything

Met in NRC, though Lucien was a year ahead. I imagine it’s the cliche of “nothing in common except for having the same secret hiding spot.” Dominic may have also used to call Lucien “Lu-chan-senpai”.

Dominic being oblivious to Lucien’s advances is a running joke especially with the other relationship drama among the staff (namely Ice Skeleton)

In actuality, Dominic did pick up on some of them but just didn’t want to acknowledge it out of embarrassment + “nah, probably overthinking” + running from his feelings in general

Lucien’s devotedness kinda scared Dominic when they first started dating. They had a big argument over that actually (which was more like Dominic being fed up and Lucien trying to make things better but backfiring with Dominic’s mood); “You’re mine so treat me the way *I* want to be treated and not how *she* wanted to be treated!” “There’s a difference between being in a relationship and being an ass-kisser, dumbass.”

Dominic secretly googling the literature references Lucien uses towards him. He doesn’t get it but he’s trying

While brainstorming ideas I’ve come to the realisation that they are kinda Therapy Game-coded, specifically the scene where Shizuma’s drying Minato’s hair in the hotel room and Minato rubs his face against Shizuma’s hand like a cat.

Dominic always using the “I’m younger/I’m your junior” excuse to get Lucien to do things for him but gets flustered when Lucien takes the initiative to do things for him (“stop stop stop what are you doing-“)

Dominic panicking when Lucien picks him up (he thinks it’s hot)

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #dominic trein #lucien donadieu #oc ship hcs #ship hcs #i don’t remember the tagssssss but anyways

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just-jessie0 · 8 months

Text

Pip of a Raptor - The Death of the American Dream (Chapter 5)

Heather Morrison jolted upright in her bed, her heart racing, as a sudden, deafening crash was followed by a dull thud. She held her breath for a moment, listening intently, and exhaled slowly as the cacophony of voices erupted from somewhere else within the house. With a tired sigh, she reached up to rub the sleep from her eyes. It wasn’t the most peaceful way to begin her day, but it had become a familiar routine. At least this time, the shouting wasn’t aimed in her direction. Although oftentimes it usually was.

She rolled off her mattress, careful not to scratch herself on the one spring that was poking through the fabric. She scanned the room briefly before locating her sweats. After a quick sniff test, she deemed them clean enough and pulled them on. She knew she’d have to use the washing machine soon, but she wanted to wait until Samuel’s friends left. Venturing beyond the living room when they were around seldom ended well for her.

Dressing quickly, she pulled on her favorite sweatshirt and gathered her hair into a messy bun before slipping her feet into her converse. Her toothbrush, perched on top of the plastic bin she used as a makeshift dresser, was her next target. After she brushed, she gargled with the stagnant water from her cup, then pried open the rusted window and spat into the yard.

Heather pressed her ear against her bedroom door, listening for a minute. The woman—Doris, or maybe her name was Donna—was shrieking like a banshee, clearly upset about something. Heather guessed that someone stole her share of whatever drugs they decided to use today. She had learned that addicts were very particular about stuff like that. Several male voices, including her father’s, began to drown out D’s frantic yelling. From years of practice, she could tell that they were all gathered in the same room.

Heather retrieved the lawn chair she had jammed under the doorknob, folded it up, and gently leaned it against the wall, making sure not to make any noise. She cracked the door open just a sliver, peering out cautiously and double-checking to confirm that the coast was clear before tiptoeing down the hallway.

Fortunately, the kitchen was on the opposite end of the house from the living room, and Heather stealthily made her way there in search of something to eat. Piles of trash, pizza boxes and dirty dishes littered the countertops and spilled onto the floor. With practiced precision, she maneuvered around anything prone to making noise and quietly opened one of the side cabinets. Inside, she found an array of half-consumed bags of stale chips, a large tub of pretzels, and her father’s storage of beer. She selected the bag of chips with the nearest expiration date and shifted the beer aside to uncover her hidden trove of pop tarts, which she had stolen from the store during her last visit into town. They were a guilty pleasure she rarely indulged in, reserving them for special occasions. Though today hardly qualified as special, she reasoned that with four packets still left in the box and weeks having elapsed since her last indulgence, she deserved to treat herself to one today.

Clutching the chip bag and pop tart in her hand, she froze, listening intently for another minute to ensure that no one had moved during her scavenging. Satisfied that she remained undetected, she stepped toward the refrigerator, trying to stifle the sound of the suction release as she opened it. A wave of spoiled food odors assailed her nostrils and she had to hold her breath to stop from gagging.

Carefully, she pushed aside takeout containers and yet more beer until she reached a Styrofoam tray cradling a solitary piece of raw chicken. She turned the tray in her hand, noting that the chicken had a slightly off-color appearance, but its scent hadn’t yet taken on a foul odor. She deemed it acceptable for her purposes. No one ever cooked in this house anyway and she was sure that it wouldn’t be missed.

She pocketed the pastry and held the chip bag in one hand and the small tray of chicken in the other as she made her swift exit through the back door, ensuring she remained unnoticed by anyone inside the house. As the door clicked shut behind her, the screaming from within became nothing more than a muffled garble, and she felt the tension in her shoulders gradually release.

She followed her familiar path through the woods without bothering to trace her steps; the way to her own personal hideaway had etched itself into the grass over time. Even if it hadn’t, she had been taking this same journey for as long as she could recall. The sun shone brightly through the trees, casting its golden rays as if personally guiding her forward. She took in a deep breath, savoring the earthy aroma and the sharp scent of the pines. Birds flitted from tree to tree, and to her left, she heard the sudden crash of a deer bursting forth from its hidden sanctuary in the tall grass, bolting in the opposite direction of Heather when it decided she had come too close.

Heather paused briefly, unfurling the bag of chips, then scooping up a handful and scattering them in the spot where the deer had rested before her arrival. These skittish creatures never ventured close to her, but she made it a habit to offer them a small snack as an apology for her intrusion. Typically, by the time she returned to check the area, whatever she had scattered would have disappeared.

She pressed forward along the hidden trail through the trees, gracefully navigating over logs and sidestepping the prickly raspberry bushes until she reached her destination. The teepee, her secret refuge, lay a considerable distance from the house, far enough to ensure her father would never stumble upon it – not that he ever paid attention to where she spent her days. Miles of dense woods sprawled in various directions, and the nearest neighbor had no reason to venture so deeply into the wilderness. In this tranquil haven, she found solace, a place that felt more like home than her own house ever did.

Pausing for a moment, she circled around the teepee, meticulously inspecting her improvised tarp for any signs of damage. Content that it remained just as she had left it, she crouched down and slipped through the opening she had left in the sheet. Inside, she unfolded some of the old blankets she kept stashed in the back and cocooned herself in them, creating a cozy human-sized nest. She left the tray of chicken outside the entrance to bask in the sun.

She let out a contented sigh as she reclined into the soft mound of blankets. With a satisfied smile, she unfurled the bag of chips and indulged in the stale, salty rounds, crunching away happily.

Since she could walk, Heather had been constructing miniature teepees out in the woods. In the beginning, they were nothing more than haphazard piles of twigs, resembling more of a miniature firewood stack than any semblance of a livable structure. Years went by before she could lift the long branches required to build one that could fit her inside. It took many additional months of trial and error to figure out how to make them structurally sound. The snowfall and frequent storms often toppled her creations, but with practice, she honed her skills, and she could rebuild the teepee in less than half a day if needed.

She smoothed out the chip bag, tilting it upward and emptying the remaining crumbs into her mouth before crumpling up the foil and tossing it into the waste bin. Among the folded blankets, she retrieved her notepad and then pulled her box of pencils closer. Most of them she had stolen from the art room at the start of the school year, and now, many were reduced to mere stubs. She knew she’d have to make a trip to the store to replenish her supply soon. Maybe she would try to grab some alongside a new batch of pop tarts.

Selecting one of the pencils from the container, she carefully sharpened it before settling down to sketch. An hour elapsed before Heather caught the familiar sound of flapping wings and the soft, dull thuds of something landing on one of the trees outside the teepee, the leaves rustling in response to the added weight. Heather smiled to herself before setting aside her sketchbook and crawling out of the shelter.

“Well, there you two are. Running a little late today, aren’t we?” Heather shielded her eyes from the sun with her hands, scanning the trees until she spotted the pair perched together on one of the larger branches of a nearby maple. She placed her hands on her hips and called up.

“Come on down, I have breakfast for ya.”

Perched high in the tree, two red-tailed hawks swiveled their obsidian eyes to focus on Heather, observing her movements. The larger of the pair, a tawny-brown beauty with a chest adorned in snowy feathers, gave its companion a gentle nip before unfurling its wings and gracefully leaping, landing on the ground just an arm’s length from the girl. The hawk glanced back at its companion, the slightly smaller one, still tawny brown but with a smattering of speckled plum. It lingered for a moment longer, scrutinizing Heather, before finally jumping down from the branch and joining its partner on the ground.

“Hi Goldie. Nice of you to join us today, Shadow,” Heather addressed the hawks by the names she had given them, and they continued to watch her silently. “You guys hungry? I know you are, you can smell it, can’t you?”

As if in response to the question, the hawks turned their heads toward the chicken, now warm and leaking juices on to the tray, before they returned their attention to Heather. The larger, braver one waddled closer to Heather.

“Looking pretty today, Goldie-girl! But I bet you already know that. I bet Shadow can’t keep his talons off you,” Heather cooed affectionately at the large female. Just as his name suggested, Shadow cautiously followed Goldie forward, remaining slightly behind the female.

“We’ve done this for years, Shad. You think you would be a little less shy around me,” Heather carried on her one-sided conversation, briefly turning her back to the hawks as she picked up the chicken. She sat down and crossed her legs, making made easy work of tearing the chicken breast into strips using her fingernails. “Don’t let the other hawks know that you hide behind your wife when you get scared, they’ll probably make fun of you.”

Shadow didn’t appear to appreciate the insult. He bounced forward to join Goldie, who stood in front of Heather.

“Sorry guys, this is all I could find in the house. You’ll have to share nicely, okay? I’ll see if I can sneak some fish out of the store next week for you. I know that’s your favorite.”

She dangled a strip of chicken from her fingers, and Goldie extended her neck, deftly grabbing the end from Heather and tearing it into pieces before swallowing them down. Heather held out another piece for Shadow, who alternated his attention between the chicken and Heather before carefully retreating from her outstretched hand. Heather sighed and tossed the strip toward the male, who retrieved it from the ground and walked a few feet away to savor his snack, his rust-colored tail swaying with each step.

Heather repeated feeding the hawks until she ran out of the strips, having to reprimand Goldie a couple of times, who nipped at Shadow when he tried to take some of the strips of chicken that she deemed as rightfully hers. Both came within touching distance of Heather once they finished their last pieces, eagerly searching for more.

“All finished for today,” Heather said, raising her empty hands to signal to the birds that she had no more chicken. Both Goldie and Shadow tilted their heads, seemingly pondering whether the girl was telling the truth. Heather nudged the foam tray closer to the birds, who began to shred it apart, checking to ensure no stray pieces of chicken remained hidden somewhere on it.

Heather watched the hawks as they tore apart the tray. Suddenly, both Shadow and Goldie raised their heads and turned, listening intently to a sound that Heather’s ears couldn’t pick up.

“What is it, guys?” Heather asked the birds. Almost instantly, Shadow leapt into the air, spreading his great wings, and took flight. Goldie cast one last look at Heather, as if bidding her farewell, before following her mate into the sky.

Not five minutes later, Heather heard voices nearby, accompanied by the telltale cracking of leaves and twigs beneath sneakers. She froze, her heart pounding, fearing that her father had finally decided to track her down. A brief, hopeful moment passed when she realized that the voices sounded nothing like her father’s slurred, grumbling tones. However, that hope dissipated almost instantly as she recognized the voices drawing closer, and her panic surged once more.

“I’m telling you it was over here.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“We’re walking in circles. We’ve past that stump twice already.”

“They’re different stumps, Jon.”

“Oh yeah? Did the moss tell you that too?”

“No, you just weren’t paying enough attention.”

“We don’t get phone service out here; there’s nothing to do but pay attention.”

“Start paying better attention.”

Just as she stood and turned to flee, Jon and Alfie emerged from the thicket.

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing #america #fiction #novel #novel writing #pip of a raptor #writers and poets #creative writing

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lareinadelplata · 1 year

Note

7, 16, 19, 23, 26, 32

oof vin thank you so much <3333333 mwah

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

finding the perfect word or turn of phrase. i love editing i think more than "writing" itself (i dont see them as necessarily different processes), nothing excites me as much as writing and rewriting a passage until i read it and think Yes I Really Pulled This Off, maybe even "damn did EYE write this?". i love words and am eternally fascinated by how they mix and match and create image and sound and emotion.

16. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever used as a bookmark?

honestly since theres always some paper lying around i havent had to resort to many weird things but i did once have to momentarily use things like knives or uh a package of sliced ham. hehe.

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

i started writing as a small child, my parents made me love books from very young, everyone in my family would take turns reading to me 😭 i have very fond childhood memories of that. when i was very small before i knew how to write i would tell my grampa stories and dreams and hed write them down for me. then when i was a bit older i would make little booklets with mostly spy stories which was what i loved lmao. And then when i was around 10 i began drafting novels (and not finishing them)... HAVE i ever finished something longer than a short story. well no. thanks for asking. those are the bumps along the way i am more or less a slow writer and that means i end up getting really frustrated with long projects. ive been writing lh spn au for like 8 years now (DON'T TALK TO ME). i participate in various writing events to try and fight that lol. i dont know if this answers the question. maybe.

23. Describe the physical environment in which you write. Be as detailed as possible. Tell me what’s around you as you work. Paint me a picture.

I don't have A Place in which i write but! for the sake of giving an answer. The room is big but untidy, books, paper, folded lawn chairs, a big collection of backpacks filled to the brim with paper. The computer is at the corner, between the foot of the bed and the window, and the window is open, and through the open window the cool night air flows. A cup of coffee on the black desk, to the left, a blunt to the right, no ashtray. The computer is a lot higher than the chair, so I sit with my legs under me so I can see the screen.

26. How do you get into your character’s head? How do you get out? Do you ever regret going in there in the first place?

I'm a method actor when it comes to writing 😭 i think about the situation i focus on the feelings i try and relate to those same feelings in different ways, i experience them almost physically and then i try my best to put that physical emotion to the page. I'm not very cerebral when it comes to it, unlike with other things? I don't really regret it, i like experiencing a wide range of things even if those things are unseemly, i find great satisfaction in exploring those states of mind. cathartic!

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

I assume this means from someone else's writing. This line from Los días de la sombra is literally always on my mind. Death is a kindness, i suppose.

#thank you!!!!!!!#i loved answering these 🥺#rochu writes!#ask #zombiesun

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shutupptara · 2 years

Text

cowboy like me - Brandon Tanev

five - i’m never gonna love again

word count: 3,852

warnings: explicit language, alcohol use

masterlist

The bonfire is in full swing by the time you and Brandon arrive. It is thankfully lowkey, just a small group of people sitting in folding lawn chairs around the firepit. That same group lets out a rowdy hello when they spot Brandon approaching. Bottles are raised to greet him, loud ‘hellos’ and teasing comments being thrown around.

“Hey,” Brandon chuckles. There’s a carefree ease to him as he leads you over to the circle, and truly, it only makes you like him more. You’re privy to the comfort Brandon’s presence provides: it’s in the large smiles, the open seats immediately offered. Part of you is relieved to see just how taken everyone else is with him - it’s not surprising, but it does wonders to calm your ever-pounding heart. In some ways, it makes you feel better about how much - and how quickly - you’ve grown to like him.

Brandon introduces you, keeping a hand resting on your lower back, like an anchor. He recites each of his friend’s names for you, and you try your best to make them stick: Jaden, Kelly, Riley, Natalie, Alex. You know you’re bound to get them wrong, never having been particularly great with names, but you try to ignore the nerves eating at you over that. Mistakes are bound to happen, and you want to shift your focus onto making a solid first impression. As it stands, things are a bit awkward: everyone is very cordial, if a little stiff. The atmosphere hasn’t changed fully, though there is a definite shift in it. You try not to take that personally; it’s reasonable to be hesitant around a complete stranger, so you’re respectful of that. Brandon leans in close, whispering to you about grabbing you both drinks. Seconds later, he’s leaving you by the fire, wandering over to one of the many coolers by the trees.

You sink into one of the open chairs, beside Kelly. She seems nice enough, and when you offer a shy smile, she introduces herself as Jaden’s girlfriend. The man in question has fallen back into conversation with who you remember to be Alex. Everyone seems to be engrossed in their own conversations, and you can’t even express your gratitude for Kelly when she continues talking to you, trying to make you feel welcome. “So, how’s it been going for you?”

“Pretty well,” you tell her honestly. “All things considered, I mean.” You can’t help but chuckle lightly, and she mirrors your smile.

“I’ve heard rumblings…” she shrugs, “your car broke down?”

You nod. “Yeah, I was on my way to Seattle and my car just quit on me. Brandon found me on the side of the road and helped me tow it to Jack’s. He’s letting me stay with him at Ray’s too.”

Kelly grins, knowing. Her eyes are soft, friendly, and it helps you to relax into your chair. She’s just curious, not judging, not weary. “Yeah, that sounds like Brandon. He has a tendency to save the day.”

“He’s amazing,” you blurt. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay him and Ray for their kindness.” You feel a warmth blossoming in your chest as you think of him, that alone lifting your mood. He is amazing, and kind, and thoughtful… you don’t want to gush, but you know how easy it would be to. Maybe that should scare you, but it’s not like you’re telling Kelly anything she doesn’t know; she’s Brandon’s friend, obviously she knows how wonderful he is.

“I’m just really thankful,” you continue. “There’s no reason for him to be so nice to me, but I don’t know what I’d even do otherwise.”

“It’s really refreshing to hear you say that,” Kelly admits. “To be honest with you, I think a lot of people in town were skeptical about the whole situation.”

“I don’t know if ‘were’ is the right word,” you mutter. “I overheard a few people in the market today. I understand being weary of a stranger, but it’s not fair for them to be openly mean.” You surprise yourself with your admission, certain this was something you’d keep to yourself for as long as you stayed in town. But Kelly’s easy to talk to, and you can tell actually getting to meet you has eased her mind. If you’re way off about her and she feels the need to spread it around town, then so be it, but you’re confident that’s not going to happen.

She winces, though she nods. “It’s not, and I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that.” You shrug; it’s not her fault, and you know you won’t change everyone’s mind. It’s nice that she seems to care, but it doesn’t make it suck any less. “Brandon’s kind of been adopted by the entire town,” she continues. “We’re all pretty protective of him.”

You can’t help but laugh, a little exasperated, but also somewhat relieved. It’s not really about you - you can live with the town being protective of Brandon. Hell, give yourself a little more time and you know you will be too. “That makes so much sense,” you say. “I can see how much the town loves him. How could you not?”

Kelly turns to you, lips pursed, like she’s holding back from saying something. You’re tempted to press her, but then Brandon’s standing in front of you, holding a cup out to you with that heart-stopping grin. “Jack,” he says, “measured with my heart.” He smiles again when you thank him, nodding as he takes the unoccupied seat next to Riley, across from you.

“Has Brandon talked to you about Harper?” Kelly asks.

“Briefly, yeah.”

She hums softly. “That’s good.” You can’t help but watch Brandon across the fire as she talks, admiring the hook of his nose, the strength of his jaw. You can tell he’s only partially listening to the conversation he’s just joined, nodding along. Whenever he brings his cup to his lips, he steals a glance at you, catches you watching him, but it’s not awkward, and you don’t feel the urge to look away.

Kelly talks about Harper with such awe, and you figure they must’ve been friends; it’s probably nice to reminisce, as nice as it is to learn about her. “Young love, high school sweethearts. They turned up in town with no plan and Ray took ‘em in, no questions asked,” she explains. You nod, shifting your gaze back to Kelly. “Gosh, she’s been gone five years already…” Sadness crosses over her features, the kind that creeps up on you and takes hold when you let yourself sit with it. “Brandon’s heart beat for her.” On instinct, you reach out a hand and rest it on her forearm, just holding it there, trying to provide some comfort. “When he lost her, it’s like the light inside him went out.”

Your eyes drift back to him, taking in the way he tips his head back as he laughs. It’s troubling to think of a time when his smile didn’t meet his eyes, when he didn’t breathe life into any room he walked into. Obviously Brandon had worked hard to become the person you know him as today, and you can’t help but be proud of him. It strikes you as odd to feel that way, but it’s fleeting. How could you not be? This incredible man who had suffered the worst kind of loss still got up each morning, still had a smile on his face and still showed you the utmost kindness.

“Until he met you, anyway…” Kelly continues.

Again, you draw your eyes over to her, head tilting in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Ever since you came around it’s like he’s his old self again. The light’s back.”

Your mouth falls open, but you’re closing it just as quickly, words escaping you. It's such a genuine, wonderful compliment, and your heart squeezes in your chest. You’re prepared to counter, tell her it has nothing to do with you - how could it? - but you’re reminded of Ray telling you that very morning not to sell yourself short. If those around Brandon the most, those closest to him, could see a change in him and correlate that change to you, it’s on you to accept that. Recognize it. Maybe even embrace it.

Kelly, seeming to recognize the whirring of the gears in your head, pats your leg gently. “All this to say, it’s nice to meet you. I hope you like it here.”

___

The bonfire really does turn out to be a lot of fun. It gives you the opportunity to get to know Brandon’s friends better, and see him in a different environment. He’s so easy-going, a calming presence amongst the boisterous crowd you’ve found yourself in. The loveliest part though, is that anyone who can get your ear for even a minute, tells you how thrilled they are that Brandon is so happy these days. It’s like an accepted truth within the group, and the more you hear it, the more you find your brain turning it over and over in your mind. It’d be easy to deny it, shy away and refuse to acknowledge what’s staring you in the face. You’d been spending the last few days so concerned with deciphering your own feelings you hadn’t thought to consider Brandon’s.

It gives you an uneasy feeling- the unknowns, potentially deviating from plans you’d carefully made. The last thing you’d expected was him to come waltzing into your life and make you question everything, but here you are. You’re ruminating, and you’re so grateful Brandon is as perceptive as he is when he wanders over to you and asks if you want to get going. “I don’t want to make you leave,” you say, though you’d very much welcome the excuse to go. Right now, you just want some time to yourself to get your head screwed on straight, but not at the expense of his time with his friends.

That dimple flashes again, and then he’s hauling you to your feet. “I’m ready when you are.” He waits for you to nod, then announces your departure to the group. He hugs his friends goodbye, promising to catch up with them more regularly than he has been. You notice him watching as Kelly gives you a quick hug, telling you she enjoyed getting to talk and to keep in touch. It means far more than you’d thought it would, gaining a confidant outside of Brandon, someone he trusts. If the look on his face is anything to go by, you can speculate it’s meaningful for him, too.

“Thanks, Kel,” he whispers. He holds his hand up and waves, then finally walks you over to his truck.

The drive back to the ranch is a short one, and decidedly quiet. After Brandon asks if you've enjoyed yourself and you assure him that yes, it was a great night, he keeps his focus on the road ahead of you. You see a muscle jump in his jaw, and you wish you could come up with anything to fill the silence. But your thoughts are fixated on analyzing every second you’ve spent with Brandon instead: the gentle way he smiles at you, his patience, his concern. It makes your stomach swoop, and before you realize it, he’s killing the engine and turning to you.

“Thanks for coming with me tonight,” he mutters. “I know my friends can be a lot…”

“They’re good people, Brandon.” You truly mean that. Even if they hadn’t been so open and welcoming with you, you could see it in the way they cared for Brandon. They have his back, that’s abundantly clear, but they want to see him happy too. “It was nice to meet them.”

He nods, though mostly to himself, and pushes open his door. You follow suit, walking up the porch steps behind him. There’s a tension in the air now, one you’re not used to and unsure how to rectify. It feels like he’s giving you space, and while your mind probably needs that, you don’t really want it. Still, you head off into your bedroom when Brandon heads to his, taking in slow breaths as you do. You know you need to talk about this, determine how much truth is behind what everyone is insisting, but really, where do you even begin? Vulnerability isn’t your strong suit, especially when you’ve been actively telling yourself not to fall for him. Now that you’re entertaining the idea, any sense of reason is thrown out the window.��

Deciding you’ve got to quiet your mind somehow, you rummage through your bag by the closet. You emerge, victorious, with a novel in your hands and a grin on your face. Flicking the light off, you head out of the room and back down the hall, right out onto the porch. It’s a cool night, with a soft breeze blowing. You inhale deeply as you drop into one of the chairs, letting your breath out slowly. You open the book, eyes sweeping across until you find your marked spot. Shutting your mind off, you begin to read.

You’re not out there long before the screen door is swinging open. A quick glance has your eye catching Brandon’s, and he smiles, sheepish. He then takes the seat beside you, puffing out a sigh. He’s fidgety, tapping his hands against his legs, and you’re patient with him, giving him the moments he needs to gather himself. “What are you reading?” He asks. It’s unexpected, though not unwelcome.

“The Beautiful and Damned,” you tell him, holding up the book for him to see the worn cover.

He hums. “Haven’t read that one.”

“It’s alright,” you concede. “I think I got into it mostly out of a fascination of F. Scott Fitzgerald.” You grin, eyes sparkling over the top of the book.

“Oh?”

You nod. “There’s something so wonderfully ironic about the man being forever associated with a period of time he claimed to hate so much. I know they say write what you know, but-“ your voice trails off, shoulders shrugging as you hold in your laughter. “Anyway, this one’s a doozy. And I just feel bad for his wife.” You re-situate yourself on the chair, tucking your legs up underneath you.

Brandon’s quiet for a while, the hum of cicadas the only sound lingering in the air. Eventually, he clears his throat, glancing at you, almost hopeful. “Would you read it aloud?”

“You want me to read it to you?”

“If that’s not weird,” he drawls. “You don’t have to-“

“No, I will,” you insist. You’re trying not to appear eager, but you’re happy to aid in this simple request. Quickly, you find your spot back on the page, and begin reading.

“Absorbed in himself, he continued: I’ve often thought if I hadn’t got what I wanted things might have been different with me. I might have found something in my mind and enjoyed putting it in circulation. I have been content with the work of it, and had some sweet vanity out of the success. I suppose that at one time I could have had anything I wanted, within reason, but that was the only thing I ever wanted with any fervor. God! And that taught me you can’t have anything, you can’t have anything at all. Because desire just cheats you. It’s like a sunbeam skipping here and there about a room. It stops and gilds some inconsequential object and we poor fools try to grasp it - but when we do the sunbeam moves on to something else, and you’ve got the inconsequential part, but the glitter that made you want it is gone- he broke off uneasily. She had risen and was standing, dry-eyed, picking little leaves from a dark vine.

Dot-

Go away, she said coldly.

What? Why?

I don’t want just words. If that’s all you have for me you’d better go.

Why, Dot-

What’s death for me is just a lot of words to you. You put ‘em together so pretty.”

“That’s a hell of a line… If that’s all you have for me you’d better go,” Brandon repeats.

You slide a finger between the pages and hold the book closed over it, nodding. “It is. But what gets me is maybe there’s some truth behind what he’s saying. Not necessarily the stuff about getting what he wanted, but desire being fickle as a sunbeam?” You’re mostly thinking out loud, considering your own situation with that of the lines from the book. Seattle is in a sunbeam. Brandon, too. There’s so many moving parts pushing the sunbeam consistently out of reach- forcing it to skip around just out of your grasp while you helplessly chase it. And if you do grasp it, if you manage to capture even one of the things you’ve had your heart set on, will it still be glittery and desirable? Will that nagging feeling of ‘am I running or will this finally be enough’ ever truly leave you?

Brandon hesitates. “It feels like a cop out to me.” The unease in his voice contradicts the stoic expression on his face. His forehead is creased between his eyes, and you cock your head to the side slightly. “I just think if there’s something that you truly want, it won’t lose the appeal when you get it. At least, it shouldn’t. And if it does, you were probably only telling yourself you wanted it in the first place.”

The truth of that hits you suddenly and it’s startling. You blink a few times, take in a sharp breath. He’s so sure of himself, and you find it’s a welcome comparison to your own thoughts, because while you agree that things shouldn’t lose their appeal, you’re still of the mind that they could. Or at least, they could turn out to be very different from what you thought they would be. “That’s- a very valid point,” you admit.

“You seem indifferent.”

“Well,” you sigh, “I guess I just see the view that something could be nothing like what you’d expected.”

“Would that make you want it any less?” He asks. His big brown eyes are wide, taking in your every move, unblinking. It would be intimidating if there wasn’t so much care just pouring off of him.

“I’m not sure,” you admit. “What if it did?”

“That sounds like fear talking.” The corners of his mouth twitch, a smile threatening. “Nothing wrong with that, I’m just not in the practice of denying myself the things I want.”

Your heart is pounding in your chest, ears ringing. It’s impossible to draw your gaze from him as you wait, anxiously anticipating what he’ll say next. “No?” You choke out.

Brandon’s shaking his head, clearly amused. “No. And that said, I was wondering if I could take you to the fair this weekend. On a proper date.”

This catches you completely off guard. Flustered, you set your book down in your lap. “I… you- uh, yes?” You’re on the verge of pinching yourself, trying to process this is real, not an all too common daydream you’ve found yourself living in lately. Brandon’s asking you on a date. He wants you. It’s… god it’s a lot, and your stomach is swooping uncontrollably.

“You’re sure, darlin’?”

Well, if you weren’t before, you certainly are now. Brandon’s deep voice washes over you slowly, bringing with it a warmth and comfort you’d only imagined in the past. “Yes,” you say, with far more conviction this time. “I would love to go on a date with you.”

“Good.” Brandon looks up at you through his lashes, lips curling in a sly grin. “May I?” He asks, nodding to the book, forgotten in your lap.

“Oh!” You clear your throat, “sure.”

He takes the book from your hand, flipping it open to your marked page, tongue poking out between his lips. You watch as he traces a finger down the page, and quietly starts reading to you.

“I’m sorry. I was talking about, you, Dot.

Go way from here.

He approached her with arms outstretched, but she held him away.

You don’t want me to go with you, she said evenly. Maybe you’re going to meet that - that girl - she could not bring herself to say wife. How do I know? Well, then, I reckon you’re not my fellow any more. So go away.”

The cadence of his voice is really something, mesmerizing of course, but the attention he gives to speaking is deeply endearing. Each word is slow, pronounced, dripping from his lips like honey slips from a spoon. You’re long past the point of paying attention, your focus instead on the man beside you: his long fingers turning the pages, hooded eyes slowly crawling along the page. In this moment, it’s impossible to stay neutral: as if his life goal is to make it hard for you not to fall for him. And god, you’re doing just that, aren’t you? Falling head over heels.

“For a moment, while conflicting warnings and desires prompted Anthony, it seemed one of those rare times when he would take a step promoted from within. He hesitated. Then a wave of weariness broke against him. It was too late - everything was too late. For years now he had dreamed the world away, basing his decisions upon emotions as unstable as water. The little girl in the white dress dominated him, as she approached beauty in the hard symmetry of her desire. The fire blazing in her dark and injured heart seemed to glow around her like a flame. With some profound and uncharted pride she had made herself remote and so achieved her purpose.

I didn’t - mean to seem to callous, Dot.

It don’t matter.

The fire rolled over Anthony. Something wrenched at his bowels, and he stood there helpless and beaten.

Come with me, Dot - little loving Dot. Oh, come with me. I couldn’t leave you now -

With a sob she wound her arms around him and let him support her weight while the moon, at its perennial labor of covering the bad complexion of the world, showered its illicit honey over the drowsy street.”

Sitting there, listening to him read, the porch light casting a warm glow across his cheeks, you question how this could prove to be anything less than exactly what you want, how Brandon could, and that scares you. It’s an enormous leap of faith, one you don’t think you’re ready for, but at this moment, you don’t want to dream your life away. Maybe he’s right- maybe you’re being led by fear and trying to take the easy way out. The way with less heartbreak, less trust, less risk. Are you denying yourself?

Because this incredible man is here, and he isn’t. He wants this with you. He has more than just words: action, promise, and oh god, he gives you butterflies. How much damage could indulging in one date do?

#Brandon Tanev #brandon tanev imagine #brandon tanev x reader #cowboy Brandon #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #hockey rpf #shutupptara writes

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