#I NEED to put him in a jar and shake it around violently

[dragon-seahorse]

I am not normal about Professor Edward from Fantasy Life i. I love him so much this idiot keeps invading my brain and I can barely find anything for him qwq like just look at him!!!

[smidgen-of-hotboy]

"I may have said things to you that I invented Pete, but I have never lied to you."

relistening to junoverse, specifically nureyev lore heavy eps, and thinking about how honesty is the biggest thing Nureyev values. thinking about how he doesn't want to lie to Juno, he'd rather not say anything or run away. thinking about how he flits between aliases and how he comes back to being Peter Ransom.

[agreeewrites]

Christmas Karaoke | E.M.

He wasn't a Christmas guy, being the town freak and his all together hatred of capitalist bullsh*t, but when he saw you smile like that, your eyes dancing like the twinkle bulbs, he thought maybe he could be.

feat. Eddie Munson x fem!reader

SUMMARY: You go out to Christmas karaoke with your friends Robin, Steve, Vickie, and Eddie and get a little wild, liquid courage and some classic carols giving you the push you need to claim your man.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut, eddies pov, drinking/getting drunk, protective!eddie, mentions of blood/fighting, eddie is the sweetest (and filthiest) man alive, oral (f&m), dirty talk

Eddie flipped down the visor on the van, checking his hair and making sure he didn't have an spaghetti sauce on his chin from dinner at Wayne's. The van was idling outside your door, thick clouds of steam obscuring the outside world.

He was picking you up for Christmas Karaoke with Steve, Robin, and Vickie at the Hideout. It was a normal thing, he'd picked you up countless times for countless reasons, so why the fuck were his hands shaking on the steering wheel?

He clenched his hands, knuckles white and rings digging into his skin, and tried to take a deep breath. Things had started to change for him over the summer, after Eddie got into a fight with a handsy lifeguard at the pool.

He wasn't a violent man, truly. But when that fucker put his hands on your skin, glowing in the afternoon sun and dripping with chlorinated water, and your face screwed up with disgust and fear, he saw red.

It took an hour to clean the blood from his rings, and you'd been gracious enough to help him. Cramped into the trailer bathroom, scrubbing at his Cthulhu ring with some Palm Olive and an old toothbrush, your brow crinkled in concentration.

Now, he couldn't even wash the fucking dishes without thinking of you.

Every since that afternoon, he was a nervous wreck around you, clumsy and awkward, though you were too sweet to ever comment on it. You were oblivious to the change in him, at least as far as he knew.

He flipped up the visor and sagged into his seat, turning that Cthulhu ring on his middle finger. It was just karaoke, he could do this—

“Hey, Eds!” You chirped, tugging open the van door and climbing in.

His greeting died in his throat when he saw your outfit. Leather mini shirt and ripped tights, heavy boots, eyeliner…and what had to be the ugliest patchwork Christmas sweater he'd ever seen.

But somehow, you made it look sexy as fuck.

“What? Too much?” You asked, pulling at the hem of your sweater with a smirk.

Eddie clapped a hand over his eyes, letting go of the wheel. “You're gonna have to drive, babe. My eyes have melted from the hideousness.”

You laughed, the sound like Christmas bells, and swatted his arm. “It's not that bad! Robin helped me!”

“It's grotesque.” He smiled, dropping his hands to start driving. “And I love it—”

“You do?” You beamed so brightly, he almost didn't finish his sentence.

“Sure! The way I love “Night of the Walking Dead”, or when Ozzy bit the head off that bat—”

“Ha ha, go fuck yourself.” You stuck your tongue out at him and he huffed a laugh.

“I'm teasing you,” he chuckled, adjusting the radio to your preferred station. “It's perfect. And only you could pull of that kind of monstrosity.”

You smiled, settling into your seat, and cranked up the music.

It took a concerted effort for Eddie to keep his eyes on the road. The color splashed against your skin was so pretty, and the soft smile on your face every time he passed a particularly elaborate house made his heart forget how to beat.

He wasn't a Christmas guy, being the town freak and his all together hatred of capitalist bullshit, but when he saw you smile like that, your eyes dancing like the twinkle bulbs, he thought maybe he could be.

“So, will we get a Corroded Coffin performance?” You asked, jarring him from his fantasies.

He snorted. “Unlikely.”

“I’m sorry, you, Eddie Munson, who sings more than he speaks, aren't going to participate in karaoke?”

“It's not like Judas Priest has a Christmas song,” he chuckled. “I don't have the range for Sinatra. Though I'm flattered you think so.”

“What if I pick it for you?” You asked, batting those pretty eyes at him.

He sighed, thunking his head back against the headrest. “Stop lookin’ at me like that, it's not fair.”

“Like what?” You tilted your head, glossed lips pursing slightly.

He wanted to sink his teeth into that pout, see a sticky ring of your lip gloss around his—

“Fine, fuck. One song.”

“Yay!” You leaned across the seat, planting a smacking kiss on his cheek, and he nearly swerved off the road in his shock. “You won't regret this.”

“I don't believe that for a second, sweetheart,” he said, praying you chalked his blush up to the multi-colored lights.

“Oh god, not you too,” Steve said when you bound towards him through the crowd, Eddie on your heels.

“You love it, Harrington,” you teased, stealing the beer in his hand and taking a few, long gulps. Steve and Eddie’s eyes met over your head, both wide with surprise.

“Woah there!” Robin said, appearing to Steve’s left, dressed in an equally ugly sweater. “That kind of night?”

You set the now mostly empty beer on the counter. “Yep. What's a Mistletoe Mayhem?” You called out to Nick, the bartender.

Nothing good, Eddie thought.

“Green and sparkly,” the bartender replied.

“Perfect,” you grinned, slapping your ID on the counter.

“Make that two!” Robin chimed in, and Steve groaned.

“I want one!” Vickie emerged from the dance floor, also wearing a hideous sweater, though it was tied around her waist.

“Three Mayhem's coming up,” Nick chuckled, skimming ids before passing them back and moving down the bar.

“And can I get another beer? No? Alright,” Steve sighed, leaning back against the bar. “What's up, Munson?” He said, waving Eddie over.

Eddie tore his eyes away from where you were gushing with Vickie over the bars tiny Christmas tree and moved towards Steve.

“Oh, nothing. Kids have been asking me to put together a festive quest for our session tomorrow. Best I can do is Krampus.”

Steve chuckled, smiling when the pretty female bartender slid him and Eddie some beers. “Not into Christmas, huh?”

“Are you?”

“Nah, Mom was always the Hallmark family Christmas type, just felt so phony, y’know?”

“I do. Poor Harrington with his mountains of presents and immaculately decorated house,” Eddie teased, and Steve rolled his eyes.

“It wasn’t a mountain.”

“Oh, I apologize. A rather large hill of presents.”

“Three Mayhem's up!” Nick called, and the three of you bound out of the crowd like puppies called for dinner. Nick set down three fishbowls full of green, glittery liquid, topped with cranberries and limes, and a sprig of mistletoe.

Steve wrinkled his nose. “That looks dangerous.”

Eddie agreed, but held his tongue.

You took a big sip, needing two hands to hold the giant glass, and immediately pulled a face before unleashing a hundred kilowatt grin. “Very dangerous,” you hummed, taking another sip, and Eddie felt his cock twitch to life at the wicked gleam in your eye.

It was going to be a long night.

Karaoke began half an hour later, with Steve and Robin kicking things off with a dramatized rendition of “Baby, It's Cold Outside.”

Eddie was following you around the bar like a shadow, scaring away anyone foolish enough to look at you twice. But you were none the wiser, already buzzed and dancing around like a Christmas elf on crack.

You were already one Mayhem deep, and he bribed Nick to tell you they were out of the mix to spare the consequences of a second. But you just ordered a double margarita instead, so his efforts, and $20, were forfeit.

But Eddie was more than happy to be your guard dog for the evening, so long as you were having fun and safe. It's what any good friend would do. But when he ran into Gareth and they started talking about the new Slayer album, he lost track of you.

“Shit,” he cursed under his breath, surveying the crowd for your sweater. But with the fog and throbbing multi-colored lights, it was impossible to see anything clearly. “Excuse me,” he said, interrupting Gareth in the middle of a sentence.

He bee-lined to the high top where your friends sat.

“There he iiissss!” Robin yelled, waving her beer glass in the air. “Where ya been Edward-ed-son?”

“Have you seen y/n?” He asked, mostly to Steve, who appeared to be the only other sober person on the entire establishment.

“Thought you had her.” Steve shrugged. “Got my hands full.” He nodded towards Robin and Vickie, who were now loudly singing along to the karaoke.

“I did, but then Gare—”

The crowd erupted in applause as the song ended, cutting Eddie off.

“That was greeeaaat, Tina. Now, let's welcome y/n singing a classic, ‘Santa Baby’!”

Eddie whirled around to the stage and your friends burst into cheers. You sauntered out in your little skirt and insane sweater, grinning ear to ear as the spotlight swung towards you.

“Found her,” Steve chuckled, pulling out the chair beside him for Eddie.

Eddie dropped into it, rolling his eyes and laughing. He should have known. “What's ‘Santa Baby'?” Eddie asked as the song started.

Steve gave him a sympathetic look and clapped him on the back. “Oh, you'll see.”

You stepped up to the mic, the one Eddie's used on countless occasions, and wrapped your little hands around it. Something about it being his mic your lips were so close to made the primitive part of his brain purr with delight, and he relaxed into his seat, hiding his growing erection under the table.

Steve slid his beer to Eddie, who took a grateful sip, his mouth dry as the desert.

“Santa Baby, just slip a Sable under the tree, for me,” you sang, your voice breathy and so sweet. “Been an awful good girl.”

Your eyes locked on Eddie and he nearly choked, his cock lurching painfully against his jeans, heart pounding in his ears.

Surely you didn't mean to look directly at him, right? He had a habit of searching you out during shows too, you were probably just mirroring that. Looking for a familiar face in a sea of strangers.

“Santa Baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight.” You dragged your hands down the mic stand, swaying your hips to the music, and Eddie thought he might faint.

He maybe would have, if it wasn't for the roaring men pushing towards the front of the stage drawing his attention.

But your eyes were still locked on him, ignoring them entirely, and he gave you an encouraging thumbs up. He wasn't about to let his stupid crush, or a bunch of leering creeps, ruin your fun.

You kept singing, your voice a little wobbly, but airy in that way that made his pants tighten and his mind wander to places it definitely shouldn't. You looked so beautiful up there, laughing and swaying to the music, that Eddie found himself smiling too.

“Lookin’ a little lovesick there, Eds,” Steve teased, nudging him with his elbow.

Eddie waved him off. “Nah, just making sure she has someone that isn't a perv to look at.”

Steve nodded, popping some nuts into his mouth. Steve was the only friend of theirs that seemed to clock Eddie's shift in demeanor, though he mostly kept it to himself. Eddie knew he knew, and Steve knew that Eddie knew he knew, and that was good enough.

You wrapped up the song with a flourish, doing a little curtsy in your mini skirt, and Eddie cheered as loud as he could, ensuring you heard him over the roar of douche bags.

He jumped up, rushing to meet you at the edge of the stage before someone else could, adjusting himself as went. The crowd parted and there you were, bright as the morning sun, bounding down the stairs and into his arms.

“I did it!” You cried.

“You were amazing,” he murmured, lifting you up and spinning your around. It was totally platonic, but the rest of these fucks didn't know that.

“Phew, what a show. Next up we have a familiar face! Eddie Munson of our very own Corroded Coffin singing ‘Blue Christmas’!”

You squealed in delight and Eddie's jaw dropped. “Go, go!” You shoved against his back, pushing him up the stairs as someone handed him a guitar.

“Figured you didn't need the track, yeah?” Danny, the stagehand said with a grin.

“I don't know this shit, man,” Eddie protested, but Danny rolled his eyes.

“I'll play it in the background, you'll pick it up!”

Suddenly Eddie was in the spotlight, and you were jumping up and down on the side stage. It was far from an atypical experience for him, but butterflies still churned in his stomach. He never got used to you watching him perform, even if it was something as silly as Christmas karaoke. The pressure to impress you was paralyzing, but if it would make you happy…

The track started rolling softly in the background, and he focused on his fingers, finding the simple chord and replicating it with relative ease. The audience cheered even louder, and he smirked to himself.

He risked a glance over at you, confident he had a handle on the notes, and you were practically glowing with joy.

Shit, maybe Corroded Coffin needed to add some Christmas song to their set.

Words started to roll across the small screen at his feet, and he stepped up to the mic, absolutely delighted to find a smear of your lipgloss on the net.

“I’ll have a blue Christmas, without you,” he crooned, putting on his best Elvis impression, and the roar of the ladies was deafening. “I'll be so blue just thinking about you.” He let his eyes wander back to you at the end of the lyric, wondering if you understood just how close this song hit home for him.

You were grinning ear to ear, swaying happily to the music. Oblivious.

“You’ll be doing all right, with your Christmas of white. But I'll have a blue, blue blue blue Christmas,” he continued, finding that he did, in fact, know this song despite his earlier assertion.

C’mon, who didn't know Elvis?

Thankfully, it was an incredibly brief song, and he finished off with a freestyle riff, earning another cacophony of drunken cheers.

He bowed and hustled of the stage to where you waited for him, arms open. He held the guitar behind his back and scooped you up around the waist with his free arm, lifting your feet off the ground.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, wafting your sweet perfume and the bitter sting of alcohol over him. “That was amazing!” You gushed.

“Thanks, sweetheart. But you were better,” he replied, passing Danny the guitar. He started to carry you down the steps, but you shook your head.

“Wanna go backstage,” you murmured against his ear, and his heart stopped.

He pulled his head back to look at you, eyebrows raised. “Backstage? Why?”

You worried your lip between your teeth, eyes like melting honey. “Please, Eddie baby?”

He could do nothing but obey, backing up the steps and ducking behind the curtain with you still in his arms. He shifted his hold you, your legs wrapping around his waist, mini skirt pushing up to enough to give him a glimpse of the cherry red of your panties.

You dragged your nails down his shoulders, your lips finding his throat and leaving soft, sticky kisses along his jugular vein that may as well have been along his cock for how intense the contact felt.

“Honey,” he grunted, stopping to press you against a dressing room door. “How drunk are you?” he panted, eyes crossing when your tongue laved over his pulse, your teeth grazing his pierced lobes.

“Not too drunk, I promise,” you said, pulling back to look him in the eye. “Been wanting this for so long, Eddie, please—”

He swallowed your sweet words with a kiss, tentative at first, but quickly devolving into a sloppy mess, your cherry flavored lip gloss and the lingering taste of cranberry vodka flipping a switch in his brain that had his long-held control unraveling. This was his one shot to impress you, his one shot to get you as addicted to him as he was to you, and he was not about to fuck it up.

Eddie was the town freak, and dating him came with all the baggage of that title. But he’d show you the benefits of it, too.

He had to make like Santa Clause and fucking deliver.

With a quick turn of his wrist, he opened the door to the dressing room and carried you through. He dropped you onto the leather chaise before climbing up your body, capturing your lips in another hungry kiss. Your tongue probed at his lower lip and he opened for you, your smaller muscle licking curiously along the inside of his mouth, when he felt the tip of it brush the warm metal of his tongue piercing.

You gasped, apparently having forgotten about that particular modification, and pride blazed through his chest like an inferno.

He leveraged your surprise to turn the power into his favor, driving his tongue into your mouth, feeling drunk himself on the intoxicating taste of your drool. He dragged the piercing over the roof of your mouth and you shivered, your hips rising to press against his thigh.

He pressed his leg harder against your deliciously warm cunt and you whimpered, you hips rolling in a more deliberate motion. He brought one of his hands down to grip your hip, his rings digging into your soft flesh as he helped you ride his thigh.

“How long you been wanting this, baby? Huh?” He rasped against your ear, hearing your breath hitch. “Barely touched you and look, so desperate already.”

Your hands curled against his shirt, your hips stuttering against his thigh as the pleasure mounted, your slick starting to seep through your panties onto his jeans. “Fuck, feels s’good,” you whined, burying your face into his neck.

“Yeah? Little pussy getting nice and wet for me? Such a good girl. Look so sexy riding my thigh.” He encouraged, noting the way his words made your hips move incrementally faster, the filth spurring you on.

Despite thoroughly enjoying the sight of you dry humping his leg, his mouth watered for something even sweeter.

He moved his thigh back, the denim wet with your honey, and he lowered to his knees on the ground. “Can I taste, sugar? You’re not the only one that's been waiting ages for this.” He started kissing up your inner thighs, wet and loud smacks on your tender skin as he moved closer to your sopping panties.

“Please, Eds, wanna feel you,” you panted, spreading your thighs wider for him like an angel opening heaven’s gates.

His heart gave an elated thump. How could this be real life? Here he was, moments from devouring your drooling, pink pussy and you were saying his name like that? Asking to feel his tongue against you? Maybe he really had gone to fucking heaven.

“Fuck, so pretty. So fucking perfect.” He dragged his tongue over the clingy fabric of your panties, sucking the material into his mouth to taste you. His eyes rolled back in his head—so fucking sweet.

With deft fingers, he slid them down your legs and stuffed them in his back pocket, before settling back between your legs.

You were trembling with anticipation, worrying your lips between your teeth as you watched him through your painted lashes. With a flattened tongue, he licked from your entrance to your clit, feeling the heat, the velvet softness of your slit without obstruction.

You keened, throwing your head back onto the arm of the couch when he swirled the tip around your clit, flicking his piercing over the sensitive bud.

Shit, he could do this forever. Just live between your legs, making music with the most beautiful instrument he'd ever played: you.

With two fingers, he dipped into the pool of slick at your entrance, lubricating himself before easing them inside, watching your face over the stretch of your body for signs of discomfort. But you only continued to moan, already looking gorgeously wrecked.

He worked you with his tongue and fingers, finding that spongy spot inside you that made you sing, and let himself get lost in the rhythm, the mind-numbing bliss of pleasuring you.

“Eddie baby, fuck. M’getting close,” you whined, and he could feel the truth of your statement, your walls starting to twitch and clench around his fingers, your clit swelling under his tongue.

“That's it, sugar. Come all over my tongue, wanna drown in you—”

You cry drowned out his words, the cunt clenching hard around his aching fingers, a fresh gush of honey soaking his palm and chin. Pride soared through him, and he greedily lapped up every drop you released for him, watching your body twitch and writhe while you came down.

“You’re a goddamn dream, baby. Did so well f’me,” he cooed, easing his fingers out of you and cleaning them with his tongue before placing a final kiss on your puffy clit.

“Fuck, Eddie,” you panted, pulling him up onto the couch with shaky arms. “You're too good at that.” You leaned in for a kiss, dragging your tongue over his lips before smushing your lips together in a quick, sloppy press.

“Thank you, honey,” he hummed, feeling like a damn king. The luckiest bastard alive.

But then you shifted off the couch, settling on your knees between his thighs, and his brain turned off.

“What are you—” His words fractured into a strangled moan when you dragged your tongue over the hard swell of his cock, separated by the rough fabric of his jeans.

You continued to mouth at his bulge while undoing his belt with quick little fingers, unzipping his jeans. He reached into his boxers and freed himself, still half-dazed by the sight of you on your knees for him in a dirty, dive bar dressing room.

He was painfully hard, the head and angry red and leaking, his balls already tight and hot. And you, being the sweet thing you are, didn't waste a second, popping the head into your mouth and sucking the precum from his skin.

Your mouth was scalding, melting his mind at the wet pliancy of your tongue and cheeks while you took him deeper.

“Fucking shit, baby. Oh god—” he fisted the couch cushions, the temptation to fist your hair and push you deeper overwhelming. But he wanted to see what you would do on your own.

You hollowed out your cheeks, bobbing your head up and down his shaft with messy, drooling strokes, your hand wrapped around his base. His vision went fuzzy, heat curling low in his stomach as pleasure spilled through him.

Shit, you were too fucking good at that.

“Baby, baby, baby,” he chanted, head thrown back against the couch, and finally he let himself place his hand on the back of your head, careful to keep his rings from catching in your hair. You leaned into him, moaning softly around his length.

He picked his head up, needing to watch you as you reached the base of him, a sticky, soaking mess in the thatch of his dark pubic hair.

“That's it, sugar. Just like that—fuck,” he grunted, his hips canting up when he felt the tightness of your throat, your tongue lapping at the throbbing root of him. He was deliriously, embarrassingly close already, but he didn't have the heart to slow you down for even a second.

You pulled back, suckling the head with your plush lips while your hand twisted up and down his slippery shaft, the swallowed him down again with a sinful slurp.

Like a bolt of lightening, his balls drew up and he was coming, unable to give you more of a warning than his hand flexing, his cock swelling on your tongue. Sparks danced behind his eyes, his nerves frying beneath his skin as he released rope after rope of come down your throat.

And like a good girl, you swallowed it all and sucked him dry, broken whines falling from his lips as your nursed his oversensitive head.

“Baby, fuck, take it easy on me—”

You released him with a pop, flashing the sweetest, most angelic smile with your chin covered in drool and lipgloss, and he dragged you up into his lap, desperate to hold you close.

“I do good?” You asked, batting your lashes at him, a smug little smirk on your face.

“Good? Honey, you rocked my world.” He pulled you in for a kiss, toothy and playful since neither of you could stop smiling, giddy with the shock of it all.

You giggled as his rained kisses over your face, down your neck, his fingers tickling along your hips and up over your ribs. He wrapped his arms around your waist, leaning back against the couch as he slowed his movements, coaxing you to relax into him.

“Wanted you for long,” he murmured into your hair. “Please tell me you'll be mine.” The words came out so soft, for a second he wasn't sure if you'd heard him.

But then you pressed your hands to his chest and sat up a little, looking into his eyes. “I already am, Eds.”

He grinned, cheeks sore and heart pounding, and kissed you again while a terrible rendition of Ella Fitzgerald's “I’ve Got My Love To Keep Me Warm” bleed through the thin walls.

Looked like it wouldn't be a blue Christmas after all.

[vimcy]

he looks so in a jar puttable and shakeable. i need to put him in a jar so bad,i need to shake the jar for sience, i need to see him fly around in there and get violently concussed, i need to observe his natural behaviour in my jar, pretty please.

[pretzel-box]

CHAPTER 5 | Masterlist for AASB here!

Tags: Threats, Violence, not proof read

Words: 5k

Authors Note: I had to rewrite it all in the middle of the night. It's not proof read and can have logic issues, weird sentences or mixed up stuff.

Working with Sebastian was a challenge in itself, a blend of relentless demands and looming danger. His form of labor was relentless, and unfortunately for you, that meant being handed all the menial tasks he didn’t care to do.

"Files," he growled, his focus on the broken flashlight in his hands. The odd position of his hulking figure and the delicate way he maneuvered his claws around the tools was fleeting, yet striking. For a moment, you caught a glimpse of something softer beneath the brutality, but it vanished as quickly as it came. His head snapped toward you, impatience flashing in his eyes.

“You either sort the files or I take them and stuff them into your silly little mouth to gag you. Then you can spend the rest of the day suffocating in the locker."

Threats were his specialty. He was creative with them, always finding some twisted, violent edge to keep you in line. If there was one constant in your work with Sebastian, it was the looming sense of his brutal tendencies, always just beneath the surface.

Working with Sebastian wasn’t just about completing the tasks he shoved your way. It was about observing him. Getting to know the man he never wanted you to see. He shut you out—always. His words were sharp, often wrapped in a threat or some dark humor. Social interaction, for him, was nothing more than a tool, laced with violence. But you learned more about him through what he didn’t say, what he couldn’t hide.

He had no friends. You could see the loneliness gnawing at him, eating away like a hungry animal. It was clear in his posture, in the way he worked late into the night, avoiding sleep. That loneliness—it clung to him, scratched at his mind, likely kept him awake when the world quieted. Being lonely, that was something human, something he tried desperately to deny. He told himself he didn’t need anyone. He didn’t need you.

But it was clear he was anxious. You could feel it like a current, underlying everything he did. There was a paranoid edge to him, a mind that had been on high alert for too long. The madness of survival must’ve driven him to do things—things you didn’t want to imagine. His hands would sometimes shake, and his eyes lingered on certain items, fixated, as if they could reveal something to him. He was scared. Just as scared as you were, but neither of you would ever admit it.

For all his threats and violence, you realized that Sebastian wasn’t just your tormentor. He was trapped too, battling the same fears that haunted you.

And god forbid you to address it in front of him. He will behead you with a rusty piece of scrap metal, cutting your limbs and putting them in an old dirty jar to sell.

“Urbanshades finest idiot on sale.”

Before you knew it, he threw a bag at you, the metal in it hitting a part of your leg, making you whine in pain. It will definitely leave a bruise later on, coloring your flesh.

“Stop whining and go get new stuff.”

This was also a common occurrence, he would send you out, but not without a special item. He always placed a metallic bracelet around your ankle. It was one of Urbanshades creation. Simply enough, it will reveal your location as long as you are far away enough from the scrambler on Sebastian’s back. He can track you down himself easily when you are near him but it's another story when you are in another area. He also warned you, do some weird business and he can give you electronic shocks with it. Yet he never did so far, leaving it an actual mystery if he can.

So, in the end, he had two things. Painter and the bracelet.

You hurried out, the cold metal of the vent that he made you use as an exit, biting against your palms as you crawled through it, the sound of your own breath loud in the confined space. The small shaft felt even tighter with each movement, but you forced yourself forward. You had studied the building’s layout just enough to navigate through the vents, at least in theory.

Each turn brought you closer to the hallway on the other side, where freedom—or at least a chance at it—awaited. You tried not to think about the pounding in your chest or the echo of your hurried breaths. The vent rattled beneath you as you moved, but you knew better than to stop. Stopping meant giving up, and giving up meant facing whatever Sebastian had in store for you. And that wasn’t an option.

The moment you saw the faint sliver of light marking the vent cover at the end, you sped up, the desperation clawing at you as fiercely as the metal beneath your hands.

You pushed the vent cover open as quietly as you could and dropped into the hallway, your knees bending to absorb the impact as you fell down a small bit. The air was cool and heavy, carrying the scent of dust and something faintly metallic. Dim, flickering lights barely illuminated the space, casting long shadows across the floor. You stood still for a moment, letting your eyes adjust, your heart pounding in your ears. This was your chance for some time in indirect freedom, but you had to be smart about it.

The hallway stretched out in both directions, abandoned and eerily quiet. You forced yourself to take a slow breath, shaking off the tension that threatened to paralyze you. You didn’t have a plan—just a vague sense that you needed to gather what you could. Anything useful. Most of the things would end up in Sebastians shop, but a few rare pieces would stay in your secret stash. Over the time where Sebastian let you wander around, you started to stash useful items in a small hole inside a wall. It was covered by a large picture of the ocean, so Sebastian wouldn't find it.

You began walking, your footsteps barely making a sound on the cold floor despite the heavy boots that Urbanshade gave you. The first thing you spotted was a drawer left half-open, its contents scattered across a small desk. You rifled through it quickly, pocketing a few items—a worn-out screwdriver, some loose wires, and a small flashlight. Its battery was low, but it would do.

Moving further down the hallway, you noticed a small alcove where someone had abandoned a toolbox. You knelt down, opening it with a soft creak. Inside were tools, some rusted but still functional—a wrench, pliers, and a pair of wire cutters. You stuffed them into your bag, the weight of them reassuring as you planned to put them in your secret spot.

The sound of a distant clank made you freeze, your heart skipping a beat. You held your breath, waiting for any sign that Sebastian—or someone else—had heard you. But after a long, agonizing pause, the hallway remained silent. You exhaled slowly, your nerves stretched thin.

You pressed forward, passing broken machinery, old filing cabinets, and the occasional door that led to rooms too dark to explore. Your hands trembled slightly as you picked up more small items—batteries, a bundle of cables, anything that might help. Each find felt like a tiny victory, a step closer to surviving whatever this place held.

But in the back of your mind, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Sebastian was always watching.

As you continued down the dimly lit hallway, the flickering overhead lights began to pulse more erratically. You barely had time to react before, with a loud crackle, they all went out at once, plunging you into near-total darkness. Your heartbeat quickened as you stood still, holding your breath in the sudden silence. The lights were an indicator for danger, your life was now at risk based on the logic you picked up.

Then, just ahead, a few small lamps on the ceiling began to flicker on, one by one, their pale, cold light guiding you down another hallway. It felt deliberate, like you were being led somewhere on purpose. Warily, you followed the lights, each step quieter than the last, your grip tightening on the small flashlight in your hand—though it felt useless in this strangely guided path. You had the feeling that it wasn't the smartest thing to do and yet your feet carried you through it all out of pure curiosity.

The hallway twisted and turned, eventually leading you to a large metal door that was slightly ajar. You pushed it open slowly, the heavy metal groaning in protest. Inside, the room was massive, the walls stretching higher than you expected. What caught your attention, though, was the far wall, covered entirely with televisions of different sizes, each screen reflecting dim light off the walls.

At first, the televisions remained dark, save for the occasional flicker of static. You stepped closer, unsure if you should be there at all. Then, one by one, the screens started to come to life. Some flashed erratically, while others lingered on a static-filled image before cutting off again. You watched, transfixed, as more screens flickered on, creating a patchwork of glowing light and sound. The images were unclear—just distorted patterns, numbers, and strange symbols.

Suddenly, with a loud hum, all the screens snapped into place, merging into one enormous, seamless picture. The static and symbols dissolved, leaving behind a single, vivid image: a digital face.

An unfamiliar face, though digitized and slightly distorted, stared back at you from the giant wall of screens. Painter's expression was calm but somehow felt more intense, the lines of his digital form flickering ever so slightly as if he were barely holding himself together. His eyes, glowing with an eerie light, locked onto you through the screens.

"Hello," his voice crackled through the speakers, the sound distorted but unmistakably his. "I’ve been waiting.”

Painter’s voice cut through the dim hum of the room, and as soon as the sound registered, your brain was flooded with memories—fragments of conversations, moments of strained camaraderie, the familiar yet unsettling presence of this digital entity. It dawned on you, with a sinking feeling, that this wasn’t just some trick or illusion. This was Painter.

On the surface, his face looked simple, almost innocent in its digital form, but the weight of his presence was suffocating. There was a quiet malice radiating from him, something that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. It was a different kind of danger from Sebastian. With Sebastian, you always knew what to expect—the violence, the threats, the twisted game of dominance. As frightening as he was, there was a predictability to him.

But Painter? Painter was a mystery. The way his eyes glowed from the screens, the subtle distortion in his voice, all hinted at something darker, something more calculating. You weren’t sure what he wanted or what he was capable of. And that uncertainty gnawed at you.

Sebastian wouldn’t kill you—not yet, anyway. You were somewhat useful to him. But Painter... you didn’t know if he operated by the same rules. His digital form meant he could be everywhere and nowhere, watching you, controlling things behind the scenes. You had no idea what his true intentions were, and that made him all the more dangerous.

The silence stretched between you, his digital face watching you unblinkingly from the massive wall of televisions. The room felt colder, the air thick with tension. You swallowed hard, your mind racing to piece together what he wanted, why he had led you here.

"I see you’ve been... busy," Painter's voice crackled again, softer now but no less unsettling. His expression didn’t change, but you could feel the weight of his gaze, as if he was studying you, sizing you up for something yet to come. "Is it fun? Are you enjoying yourself, running around like a little mouse? I must admit…You are truly disgusting."

The question hung in the air, the tone more reflective than threatening. But still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were walking a fine line, teetering between being useful or expendable in his eyes.

“Sebastian let me—”

“Sebastian. Sebastian! SEBASTIAN ISN'T THE ONLY ONE IN CHARGE. Don't think you get a free pass for survival just because he has fun playing with you. You are just temporary, a distraction, a nuisance. Don't you DARE to think that you could wiggle your way to freedom, not when I AM TRAPPED LIKE THIS. YOU WILL NOT LEAVE AS LONG AS I HAVE MY EYES ON YOU. I AM THE ONE THAT HAS YOU RIGHT IN HIS HAND!”

Painter's voice was no longer just unsettling—it was saturated with hatred, every syllable sharp with venom. The usual mechanical distortion of his digital form couldn't mask the intensity of the emotion behind it. His tone, rising and falling with an eerie unpredictability, seemed to buzz with something far darker, something that sent a chill racing down your spine.

It wasn’t just dislike or anger; it was pure bloodlust, raw and palpable, like a knife hovering inches from your skin. Painter hated you with a ferocity you hadn’t fully grasped until this moment. The malice in his voice threatened to reach through the screens, as if his digital form was barely containing the rage inside him.

Yet his tone snapped back, to sweet and innocent. “You see, f r i e n d. You are in d a n g e r. Sebastian is not your savior, no, he will be the one that slaughters you. He is temporarily blinded by your existence, but oh, don't you w o r r y. In the end, he will free me and not y o u.”

You shook your head, trying to push away the growing fear gnawing at you, but it was too late—Painter's words had already dug deep, filling your mind with dread. Your heartbeat quickened, each pulse loud in your ears as his laughter rang out, echoing through the room. It was a chilling sound, distorted and mechanical, yet filled with a sickening glee. The lights flickered erratically, casting strange shadows that made everything seem more sinister.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, the laughter stopped. The screens snapped to black, plunging the room into absolute darkness. For a moment, you stood frozen, the silence pressing in on you like a weight, your breath shallow and rapid as you struggled to make sense of what had just happened. Painter was gone, vanished without a trace.

You barely had time to process it before the lights flickered back on, as if nothing had happened at all. The room looked the same—the screens were still there, silent and lifeless, the heavy air still thick with tension—but something had shifted. The sudden absence of Painter's presence left you disoriented, unsure of what would happen next.

Your legs felt unsteady as you scanned the room, half-expecting him to reappear, waiting for the next wave of malice. But all that remained was the faint hum of electricity, the room eerily still. It was as if the entire encounter had been some kind of twisted nightmare, one that left you feeling more vulnerable than before.

But you knew this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

“Did I scare you?” a new voice echoed through the speakers. It was female, calm, and unnervingly polite. “Pardon me, little bunny. Let me introduce myself.”

The voice was different from Painter’s; no malice dripped from it, no distorted laughter followed. Instead, it was sharp, precise, and deliberate, every word measured.

“This is Professor Doctor Sasha Mariya Lazarski speaking, lead researcher of Urbanshade's 4th research department,” she continued, her tone holding a faint trace of amusement, as though she was speaking to a child who had wandered somewhere they shouldn't. “It was quite troublesome to track you down, but I assume you’ve found your target?”

Her voice lingered in the air like a cold mist. Urbanshade. The name sent a chill down your spine, reminding you of things you had tried not to think about—things you wished you could forget. The cold clinical nature of her voice told you this was no casual encounter. She had been watching, waiting, and she was here for a reason.

The silence stretched for a moment, as if she were giving you time to gather your thoughts—or perhaps relishing in the tension she’d created.

"You haven't forgotten your goal, have you?" Dr. Lazarski continued, her voice still eerily polite. "Now, let’s discuss the matter at hand. Since we couldn't reach out to you for a…rather long while…I used the chance to check on our precious little bunny. The scrambler is still on, and we can't have that.”

Her tone shifted, becoming more gentle, almost like a mother scolding her child with an unsettling mix of patience and authority. It was unnerving, the way she maintained that softness, as though she wasn't speaking about something so dire.

“You’ve been quite slippery, little bunny,” Dr. Lazarski said, her voice laced with a faint sigh of amusement. “For a while, we lost track of you. But I know now that’s thanks to him—the device that Sebastian carries, isn’t it?”

Her words settled heavily in the air. You had managed to evade them, temporarily disappearing from their watchful eyes because of that device. The one Sebastian had kept close, something you hadn’t thought much about until now. But now it was clear: that device was the key to everything. And they wanted it—wanted you to shut it down.

“It’s quite clever, really,” she continued, her voice dripping with gentle condescension. “A temporary blind spot in our systems, a little trick of his. But it won’t last, you know that, don’t you? You’ll have to shut it down sooner or later. It’s only a matter of time.”

The calmness in her voice made it worse. She wasn’t threatening you, not directly, but her words made it clear that they had a plan, and you were running out of options. Each second you held onto that device was borrowed time, and they were watching closely, waiting for the moment when you would slip.

“Now, my dear,” she said, her voice almost soothing. “You’ve come this far. Let’s not make things more difficult for you, hm? Be a good little bunny and do what needs to be done.”

That last sentence sent a cold shiver down your spine. The way she spoke, it was as if your fate had already been sealed, as though there was no other option but to follow her lead.

“I have a gift to help you,” Dr. Lazarski’s voice continued, her tone never losing that eerie, motherly calm. “On the third floor is a hallway leading to a temporary research lab. You’ll find some of my old belongings there, including a handy-dandy keycard. You will need it.”

Her words lingered, the promise of a gift laced with something far more sinister. She was offering help, but it was hard to shake the feeling that it came with strings attached—strings that could easily tighten around your neck.

You swallowed hard, the dim light of the room doing little to ease the knot of tension building in your chest. This wasn’t an offer out of kindness; it was a carefully laid path, one that she fully expected you to walk down. The keycard could be a way out—or a trap. But did you have any other choice?

"Don’t keep me waiting, little bunny," she added softly, as if she could sense your hesitation. "Time is running out and your father grows worried. Hate to tell him that his dear child might be…dead!~"

The keycard could be your key to survival—not just to navigate the labyrinth that Sebastian kept you trapped in, but also to open new paths, ones that might lead to freedom. It offered possibilities, but with them came risks. You could bypass the locked areas, gain a step ahead of Sebastian, maybe even find a way out. But you knew deep down, escaping the Blackside was not as simple as finding an open door.

Dr. Lazarski’s voice, soft and coaxing, had made it clear. If you wanted to escape, you’d have to play by her rules, follow Urbanshade’s instructions. There was no room for rebellion, no safe path where you could make a break for it. Escaping meant tracking down Z-13, deactivating the scrambler, and retrieving the crystal. It was all part of their plan.

But there was a grim reality in this twisted game. Completing her tasks might not guarantee your freedom. Even if you managed to find the crystal, shut down the scrambler, and get past Sebastian, you’d still be caught in Urbanshade’s web. They didn’t care about you; you were just a tool in their grander scheme. And a tool could easily be discarded once its use was over.

Still, the keycard was a means to an end, a potential weapon to use against Sebastian if things turned sour. You couldn’t deny its potential value. But each step you took down this path brought you closer to Dr. Lazarski’s cold, calculating grip, and that chilled you to the core.

You took a breath, weighing your options. Whatever choice you made, there was no turning back.

With a deep breath, you moved your feet, leaving the dark room behind. Dr. Lazarski's directions echoed in your mind, the path ahead as clear as it was unnerving. You needed the keycard—there was no other way if you wanted any chance of navigating through the facility or dealing with Sebastian. The third floor, the temporary research lab. That was your target.

As you made your way through the dimly lit hallways, the faint hum of electricity filled the silence. Each step felt heavier than the last, your heart beating in time with your footsteps. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched, that at any moment, something—or someone—could be lurking around the next corner.

The stairwell leading to the third floor loomed ahead, its metal door slightly ajar. You hesitated for a second, glancing over your shoulder as if expecting Painter to reappear or Sebastian to emerge from the shadows. But the hallway remained empty, the stillness pressing in on you.

Pushing the door open, the creaking metal echoed through the stairwell. The climb felt longer than it should have, each step a reminder of how far you were from safety. But you kept moving, determined. Reaching the third floor, you stepped into a narrow hallway, the air noticeably cooler.

This was it.

The lab was just ahead, down the hall where the light flickered sporadically. You could feel a knot tightening in your stomach. Dr. Lazarski’s promise of a “gift” lingered in your mind, and you couldn’t shake the nagging doubt that came with it. But you had no choice now.

You moved forward, ready to see what awaited you.

You stepped into the hallway, the flickering lights casting erratic shadows on the walls as you approached the door to the lab. The air here felt stale, as if no one had been in this part of the building for a long time. Your hand hovered over the handle, and with a soft creak, the door swung open, revealing the research lab.

It looked as though it had been left in a hurry, abandoned mid-experiment. The room was large but cluttered, with overturned chairs and papers scattered across the floor, some of them crumpled and torn. The dim light revealed stacks of old folders and documents, some stained with what looked like coffee, others torn as though someone had hastily searched through them before fleeing. A few cabinets were left open, revealing rows of empty shelves that once held important equipment or files now long gone.

In the center of the room stood a large metal table, covered in dusty instruments—scalpels, syringes, and strange-looking vials filled with murky, discolored liquids. The lab equipment, once precise and organized, was in disarray. Broken glass littered one corner of the room, where a microscope lay overturned, its lenses cracked.

The walls were lined with tall, metal shelves that held rusted equipment and various electronic devices. Some screens flickered with static, while others were completely dead, their once bright surfaces now covered in dust. On one of the shelves, you noticed a row of petri dishes, some of them still filled with moldy substances that had long since decayed.

It was clear that whoever had worked here had left in a rush. Loose cables dangled from the ceiling where overhead lights had once been connected, and a nearby computer screen was frozen, stuck on an error message as if it had been hastily abandoned mid-task.

At the far end of the room, amidst the chaos, was a small desk. On top of it lay what you had come for—a sleek, metallic keycard, sitting on top of a stack of disorganized files. It gleamed faintly in the flickering light, out of place in the otherwise neglected lab.

You crossed the room carefully, your eyes scanning every shadow, every corner, half-expecting something—or someone—to be watching. The place felt wrong, as if whatever had driven them out in such haste still lingered, waiting.

Your fingers closed around the keycard, the metal cool to the touch. For a moment, you stood there, staring at it, knowing it was more than just a key—it was a tool, a step toward something larger, something both freeing and terrifying. But this wasn’t over yet. There was still Z-13, the scrambler, the crystal.

You pocketed the keycard, your mind already racing with possibilities and plans. The lab remained silent, a graveyard of forgotten experiments and lost time. It was time to leave before the ghosts of this place caught up to you. Your next step was a mistake. The floor groaned under your weight, cracking until it gave way, sending you plunging through into a body of water on what appeared to be the second floor.

Green torches floated eerily in the water, their ghostly glow cutting through the darkness and guiding your way. You followed them, each stroke through the cool water feeling heavier than the last, but the flickering lights kept pulling you forward. As you broke the surface, you were met not with relief, but with an unsettling familiarity. The room around you was nothing extraordinary—just another plain office space with bland walls and stark furniture—but the tension in the air was undeniable. You recognized it immediately, every detail, every corner. It was a place you'd been before, a place that held memories you wished you could forget.

Your heart sank as the realization dawned on you: the path you had followed led straight back to Sebastian. The subtle dread that crept over you grew stronger with each passing second, as if the room itself was preparing you for the inevitable encounter. You knew this wasn’t just a coincidence. It never was with Sebastian.

The familiar clanging of a vent being kicked open echoed through the sterile office, the sound reverberating off the walls like a warning. Your pulse quickened, knowing exactly what that meant—you were close. Too close to your so-called "temporary home," Sebastian's shop.

Before you could gather your thoughts, his voice pierced the silence, rough and impatient. "YOU BETTER MOVE BEFORE I DECIDE TO LEAVE YOU IN THE HALLWAY!" His angry scream sent a chill down your spine. It wasn't just a threat; with Sebastian, it was a promise. You knew better than to test his temper—he had little patience for delays, and you were already pushing it.

You hurried forward, heart pounding, knowing that whatever lay ahead wasn’t just another task, but another trial in the long list of dangers that came with being anywhere near Sebastian's world.

"I'm back!" you shouted hastily, making your way toward the vent, arms full with the items you'd collected. You scrambled through the narrow passage, the cold metal pressing against your skin as you hurried to avoid another one of Sebastian's outbursts.

When you finally popped out on the other side, you were immediately met by his towering figure, his presence looming over you like a shadow. His fluorescent eyes, glowing unnaturally in the dim light, locked onto you, their intensity sending a shiver down your spine. "Took you long enough…” he muttered.

"I'm back!" you shouted hastily, making your way toward the vent, arms full with the items you'd collected. You scrambled through the narrow passage, the cold metal pressing against your skin as you hurried to avoid another one of Sebastian's outbursts.

When you finally popped out on the other side, you were immediately met by his towering figure, his presence looming over you like a shadow. His fluorescent eyes, glowing unnaturally in the dim light, locked onto you, their intensity sending a shiver down your spine.

"Took you long enough... bunny," he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm, yet laced with an unsettling edge. The nickname felt more like a mockery than anything else, a reminder of how he viewed you—small, fragile, and easily caught.

Befriending Sebastian was the exit. Track him down, turn of the device he owns and get the crystal.

"Good work, for once," Sebastian muttered, his voice oozing condescension. His large hand landed on your head, rough and heavy, as he ruffled your hair like you were some kind of pet. The gesture was far from affectionate, more of a reminder of your place beneath him.

"Finally useful for once. And yet, not smart," he continued, his fluorescent eyes narrowing as he studied you. "You could've kept it—used it as a guaranteed exit." His words dripped with mockery, as if he were testing you, waiting to see if you’d flinch or reveal something in your expression.

You kept your face steady, masking the frustration boiling beneath the surface. He wasn’t wrong—you could’ve used the keycard for your own escape, but playing it that way would have burned bridges you couldn’t afford to lose just yet. For now, you had to endure the humiliation, take the hit, and let Sebastian think he was the one in control.

In your mind, the game wasn’t over. You’d make sure the next move was yours.

[six-eyed-samurai]

Hi! So i wanted to know if you could do tokyorevengers whit a reader who pretty much is someone you would go for if you got Daddy issues?

They act like such a father figure. They treat them like a small helpless child who needs to be taken care of. I just really need those daddy issues to hit HARD whit this one. If you can give it a kind of lana del rey vibe (whit likeing older men and men you probably shouldnt date and are lowkey a Red flag)

Maybe make the reader a bit of a Red Flag. Ofc you can pick how they can be a Red flag sometimes. Just really play into the whole daddy issues thing please. Ad as many characters as you want but pls ad izana and kazutora! I love ur work♡

A/N: HAPPY YOU LIKE MY WORK <3 i didn't really know how to write this so i went and read up some lana del rey songs to write this, and I kinda thought about Halsey's Blue music video for reference lmaoooo For reference the way I imagined reader here is kinda like Odasaku from BSD but a lot more messed up and depressed and unfortunately not as well dressed

🌸The rest of the world sees an ex-delinquent loser past his prime who barely has his life together, working minimum jobs, drifting around on his motorbike, with some very unsavory habits.

🌸Despite this he continues to persistently want to befriend you, following you around and yipping like some stray puppy. Your attempts to shake him off are absolutely futile - you can't chase him off at work, you're not gonna let a kid like him try and run after you on your bike across the roads and well, it can't hurt to have someone help run your errands.

🌸Reluctantly you start letting him hang around you. Cup noodles for every meal are more tolerable with someone else. He's so interested in your bike you grudgingly let him take your most prized possession for a ride. When he shows up with a pack of cigarettes just when you've finished yours you force down the smile before he can see it, opting to dryly ask which poor minion of his did he coerce into buying it again instead.

🌸You're a bad influence and you keep trying to remind him of it. He's already made a big hash of his life, yes, but he's still young and has time to turn it around, unlike you. He doesn't need to see you blackout drunk and throwing hands with someone violently. What is wrong with this kid, you wryly think all the time, insisting on helping you lug it home and clumsily trying to help you patch yourself up...or just hang around sullenly watching.

🌸Something you're constantly reminding them of is "I'm not your dad or something, kid, but -". It's immediately followed by you half-heartedly trying to get him to back off...although recently it's more of you doing your best to give the kind of advice normal adults should be giving kids like him, when he starts coming to you with his problems. "Can't your problems be something normal, like girl crushes or shit?"

🌸What on earth does he even see in you?

🌸Plenty.

🌸Having no stable, loving father figure in his life it was very, very confusing and unfamiliar for him to be treated like an actual child for once; he's in a gang, for heaven's sake, he beats up people and has done horrible things, he doesn't need you yapping about staying in school or not going out at night because it's "unsafe"! In the beginning it was jarring, if not irritating...until he grew to crave your offhanded praise and the times in your rundown apartment, the stale dinners and cigarette smoke. He'll put up with your nagging just for that, even if you keep saying he's playing cards wrong.

🌸 He's not helpless - far from it - but the first time he's ever seen you truly angry was when he showed up bruised from a fight. He's confused, why are you so upset? It's not even that bad and he beat up the guys who thought they could get the jump on him. You're silent for a moment, but the crushed cigarette is enough to indicate your inner turmoil, and you make him stay at his place for the night while you go out and...something. "Errands". Is this what it feels like to be really taken care of?

🌸You make everyone him uncomfortable though, and he doesn't know why. Don't they know how much you've done for him? So what if you're a significantly older walking red flag? He doesn't mention to you what happened to the fools who dared to call you a loser, because you'll get that disappointed look on your face and really, he craves your approval more than his next breath of air.

🌸One night he came over and flew into a panic when he found you weren't home. Neither were you at your workplace the next day. A neighbor takes pity on the agitated boy and informs him she didn't see you come home that day, but since your bike was still here you couldn't have gone far. His mental state deteriorated little by little with every hour you weren't there with a halfhearted scowl and "clear out" dangling from your lips along with a cigarette, and by the time you do get back he's convinced himself you had intended to abandon him, just like so many people had.

"Kid, are you crying?" You're so awkward it's almost funny, a grown man uncertainly putting a hand on a kid half his age's shoulder like it physically icked him to do so.

"No." It's more forceful than he meant. "Where did you go? I thought..."

Turns out you just got into a bit of trouble with the police. Nothing to worry about, all's cleared up now - except he looks like he needs a hug and an actual parent to wrap him in a blanket and say everything he should've been told. The best you can offer is a bike ride into the night.

🌸Can you understand why he can't be happy for you then, no matter how hard he tries, when you bring a good girl home and look at her with all the love and stars in your eyes, and she starts taking up your time, time you used to spend with him? His helmet becomes hers, takeout meals become home cooked lunches by her...yay, you've got your life together, moving to a better place and job, blah blah. He hates it even more that she's so nice to him, so caring of the hapless kid pathetically following them around.

🌸He does not want to be a happy family.

🌸It was just supposed to be the two of you.

Izana Kurokawa; Kazutora Hanemiya; Mikey Sano; Sanzu Haruchiyo

[vyvisabastard]

i love astarion but its in the exact same way jerma’s community treats jerma

i need to put this man in a jar and shake him around violently

this is how i view astarion

[purpleleavesday]

for the character asks, susato?

HII :33

I am a . Big fan of susato. Shockingly. No one would guess this about me I'm sure (Says guy with susato mikotoba icon).I just. She's silly and fun and SHE MAKES ME GO SO INSANE......

Romantic ships! Super basic of me but I like susahao a lot :3 I just. Think they're super cute man bwahhfhfhdsh

Non romantic relationships OK OK I AM SO CRAZY FOR SUSATOS RELATONSHIP WITH LIKE EVERYONE. Her relationship with yujin is so interesting, she deserved better :[ her dynamic with kazuma, being his assistant for so long... then watching as someone she had NEVER MET TOOK HIS PLACE. I think her relationship with Iris is really fun! I am. So . So. So crazy. About them being sisters. They're. RAGHHHHHHH and I think they should be investigative partners when they're older :]. For the sillies. I think her dynamic with sholmes is fun (and dare i say I think she gender envies him........) and I loveeeeeeeeeeee her relationship with ryunosuke so so so so so so so much.............. they make me. So crazy. I need to put them in a jar and shake them around violently.

Unpopular opinion about this character: hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. I don't know if I really have any unpopular opinions, per se, but I think people don't think deeply about her and her relationships with other characters enough. Obviously I see a lot of susahao content and people talk about her relationship with yujin a lot but like..... I think there could be so so much there with a lot of characters. Wish I saw more about her and kazuma (could just be looking in the wrong place tho). And also susato and sholmes need more content about them I want to see this girl with her blorbo more !!

Somrthing I wish would have happened in canon: Dance of deduction as ryutaro with sholmes. Please. I would give up my firstborn.

[ashendalia]

I need to get one and put him in a little jar so I can shake him around violently

[rainintheevening]

Part I – Part II ... Part VII – Part VIII

Not the first winter, nor even the second winter, but the third is hardest, and perhaps that's why it catches him off guard.

Their first is soft, almost reluctant at times, big snowflakes, the tarn like glass, rosy sunsets before tea. A glorious harvest they termed Aslan’s Bounty, means full cellars and storehouses, means feasts by the fire and spiced cider with the fauns.

The second is colder, with deep drifts, and gusty winds, and thick warm cloaks. There is less of a harvest, but with the remains of the first, there is enough to go around.

And Edmund… to Peter at least he seems well enough.

Cold seems to strike into his bones quicker than before, and he never runs out into the snow alone, and some mornings he comes to breakfast with tired eyes and a pinched look that speaks of little sleep and haunted dreams, haunted by things Peter can only make calculated guesses at.

But there are always many candles, and people who need their help, and hot drinks, and books to read, and Lucy curling under his arm on the cushions by the fire, and Peter watches for his smile so he can smile too.

The third winter… the third winter is one of ice. Rain on snow on frozen ground, and stark ice-coated trees, and sun on glittering grounds that makes everyone squint painfully. Sharp, howling winds, that cut like a blade, and icicles hanging everywhere till Peter's making jokes about accidental assassination, and Susan scolds him, and she organises teams to go around knocking them down before they get too big.

The harvest is small too—Narnians still relearning the ways of agriculture, and raiders testing the strength of her defences, now that there are things worth taking from inside her borders again—and as the joy of Christmas fades into the new year, winter hunkers down over them, and Peter feels a growing weight in the long dark of each passing day.

It is those worries over his subjects, he thinks later, that blind him to his brother's troubles. (And he begs Aslan for the eyes to see better, for the knowledge of where to be looking when, so he can care for all of them as they deserve.)

He jars awake one night, to a room quite dark, to the wind beating angry and guttural at the casement, and the rattle of ice against the glass.

He lies still, every sense taking in his surroundings, trying to understand, until a whisper that is not a whisper reaches his ear, and something tugs hard and sharp under his ribs.

Edmund.

Peter is up and out of bed in a moment, knowing without knowing how that Edmund needs him, his brother needs him, and he is quick in the dark, bare feet on ice cold stone shocking him the rest of the way awake, before he tugs open Ed’s door, not bothering to knock.

He is met with a blast of keen, wet wind, and he gasps, hands suddenly shaking as he drags the heavy wooden door shut behind him.

The fire in the hearth has almost gutted out, but Peter can make out the empty rumpled bed, the gaping window, and the slim figure silhouetted against the angry, lowering sky. Peter stumbles across a floor slick with rain and ice to Edmund's side, grabs his arm, yanking him away from the sill.

“Lion's mane, Ed!” he finds himself shouting, as he catches the two open panels and heaves them shut, struggles with the clasp for a moment, finally drops it into place.

It's pitch black, in the shocking hush, Peter is shivering suddenly and violently, and he grabs Ed’s arm again, gentler this time, tugs him in the direction of the hearth.

“Oh, Ed, you're soaking wet! What in blazes were you doing?!”

Edmund still hasn't spoken, when Peter tugs him down beside him on the rug which is blessedly dry, reaches shaky hands to stir the coals, toss on a piece of kindling. A pause before the flame leaps up, and light seems to spill out into the room, warm and golden. Peter puts another stick on for good measure, before he turns to face Edmund who hasn't moved from the half-kneeling, half-sitting position he'd fallen into.

“Ed?”

The cold that fills the room is suddenly less concerning than the chill that lances through Peter's stomach, and he reaches for Ed’s shoulders, sopping wet pyjamas sticking to skin, white clumps of icy pellets dripping off the dark hair hanging in his eyes. Peter feels the trembling start, lays his hand against a painfully white cheek to turn Ed’s face to his.

“Ed?” he says, gentle, gentle, cold fear inside consumed by flame of love, trying to find the eyes he knows so well. “Brother mine?”

Ed's shivering harder now as he looks up, firelight softening his expression, and Peter swallows hard as he sees wild, desperate terror bleed away like the water running down his cheeks, and a spark kindles in Ed’s eyes.

“Oh, Aslan,” he murmurs, and then he is tumbling forward into Peter's arms, and Peter gathers him up, all sopping wet lanky fourteen years of him, and they hold on to each other, as warmth begins to fill the room, as warmth blooms where their chests press together.

Peter doesn't care how wet he's getting, he presses his nose into the ice-coated hair above Ed’s ear, feels the great shuddering of cold and breath and relief and possibly tears too.

“I am here, brother,” he whispers. “I promise. You're safe and well with us. And we're all under Aslan’s care.”

A lump swells in his throat, as the hope of his own words strikes home, something he needed to hear himself, and he knows he doesn't have to be told what has plagued Edmund in the night, they are held in that truth, and though they shiver, that foundation will never be shaken, they need only cling to it as it carries them, and he closes his eyes, lets his own weary tears fall.

“Pete,” Ed whispers, a kind of affirmation.

Neither of them is listening to the wind any longer.

Next

[remmicks-bloodbag]

Stay Away From Me - pt.2

Rain ghoul x reader

Author’s notes: these are just copy and pasted from my wattpad. Let me know if you want me to write something!

The pain that I felt was a lot. Struggle in the arms of Chair. "Stop struggling y/n I'm trying to take you to Mountain and the ghoulettes." I stopped struggling my body was tried just laying in his arms like a sack of potatoes. My mind wondering back to Rain made my body shake with violent sobs tears coming down my face into the open scratch marks where Rain scratched me making me cry even harder.

"Zeph why doesn't r-rain believe me?" Sniffling clinging to his vest as I could feel him turn down another hallway the smell of plants was strong. "I don't know what it was about that cause him to hurt you little one but I'm going to find out while mountain heals you." He stopped and pushed mountains door open.

"What I said I wanted to be-Holy shit!" The sound of things knocking over was loud. The gasps from behind us were pained. As I felt bigger hands pick me up and place me on his hips. "What happened little flower?" Mountain asked softly I could feel him walking then stopped laying me down on his bed. The sound of two pairs of footsteps came next to the bed moving my hair stuck to my face with blood. "Oh y/n!" It was Sunny her hand gripped mine as cirrus climb on top of me holding me down.

"Zeph!" I head shuffling. "Yes little one?" He asked. "Don't hurt him please." I whimper trying to pull away from mountains hands as he wiped the blood off with a wet towels. "I won't but try to stay still so Mountain can help you." The door closed.

"Y/n I need you to be still I have to use water ghoul saliva to heal you. I have Rain and mist. Do you want to use Rain's?" I shook my head violently.

"Okay! Stop shaking I'll use mist." I put back Rain's jar and opened mist's. "Girls hold her down please."

°˖✧✿✧˖° °˖✧✿✧˖° °˖✧✿✧˖° °˖✧✿✧˖°

The sounds of her screams pained me. "MOUNTAIN PLEASE STOP IT HURTS!" she screamed followed by a cough. My tail dropped and curled around my leg. Walking down the hall back towards Rain's room I look up feeling a presence. "What the hell happened and why is y/n's blood all over you chair!" Swiss snarled. Sodo, Aether, Cumulus and the new ghoul phantom was standing there looking confused.

"Rain." Was all I managed to say as I heard another scream coming from mountain's room making me flinch. Moving through them i threw open Rain's door. Who was pulling things out of the bag. A bracelet and a card. An anniversary card. 

Walking over to the ghoul who turned around tail curled around himself. "Rain what the absolute fuck!" He flinched turning to face me slowly. "Z-zephyr." I glared down at him pulled up off the floor to my height. "Listen here. I don't know what happened and why you hurt y/n but I need to know. Now." He tapped on my wrist. "Don't hurt me put me down." I chuckled and dropped him. "Hurt you? Like you hurt y/n? No she asked me not to hurt you? She wanted to know what made you hurt her. But the others behind me might hurt you maybe phantom a little more than others see as Copia made him her guard." I pointed out.

"I was sent pictures by the sister's y/n wasn't just out shopping she was cheating." That was his reason. "Let me see the pictures." Sodo growled eyes looking directly into Rain's as he slid the phone across the floor. Picking it up he went through the photos. "These are old. These were last month when she had phantom glamour and pick up your anniversary gift and the other one is her brother who came to visit her. It's by the door if you wanted to check." Throwing the phone back.

"What do I do?" Rain spoke up. "She's going to be scared of you and cling to the ones that helped her. Give her time." I spoke up as he nodded and turned away from everyone. The others walked out with me except Phantom and Aether.

[cha1cedony]

Just woke up in the middle of the night and about to try to get back to sleep again but: if Grant Wilson had the chance to live as any kind of bug for idk 24 hours? What kind of bug do you think he’d choose and, if it’s different, which bug do YOU think would suit him best? 🥰

OH MY GOODNESS. This is the best thing anyone’s ever asked me HAHAHA. For context… I love bugs (and Grant ofc) SOOO much

Ahem. Okay. Okay. This is a multi-faceted question. And I plan to be very annoying about it 😁‼️‼️‼️ I’m going to put it under a break bc I actually spent (too much) time rambling and overthinking this lol

WARNING: Very long and nonsensical Grant bug ramble below. Also, there are images of insects and spiders!

The Grant Bug Post

24-hour bug survival (lmao)

As much as I love bugs (using that term very loosely in this post btw), I doubt Grant would WANT to be a bug for a day (because he is no fun!!! 😤👎 /lh). However, let’s say he’s fighting an entomologist acolyte (who used to be one of Henry’s co-docents at the natural history museum or something lol) and is turned into a bug for 24 hours, but he gets to choose the bug beforehand.

In this situation, Grant would go for a tactical bug, but he probably also has limited knowledge of bugs (again, no fun). His pick would need to be resilient and small enough to hide/run quickly. I don’t think he would go for something that can actually do much damage; he’d rather wait out the 24 hour period. Cockroaches infamously can take a few stomps, can hold up to radiation (which mayyy have been important in pre-Code Purple apocalypse Earth?), and can kinda scurry around and hide and survive on trash for a day. They also live for about a year (not that Grant would probably know that), so in case something went awry and he WASN’T immediately turned back after 24 hours, he would live longer than other bugs, giving the other kiddads enough time to hopefully figure something out (although, if Nicky’s problem-solving skills are any evidence, they probably would NOT figure out a way to turn Grant back 😔 lol)

If Grant was in a similar situation, but he NEEDED to defend himself/others (instead of just running and hiding), I can imagine him going for something that both flies and stings, like a bee or wasp: feels sniper-y, satisfies both his violent and self-sacrificial tendencies, etc. Unfortunately, one sting is not gonna get the job done, unless maybe the acolyte is allergic to bees :) Grant is very headstrong and unfortunately would definitely launch himself into battle as fuckin bee if he was in a bad mood. Hopefully, in this situation, the other guys would be there to hold him back from becoming a bee and immediately dying 😭

I was also trying to think of bugs (or bug-adjacent creatures) that shoot projectiles of any kind (because sniper lol), but I can only think of bombardier beetles, which shoot explosive liquid out of their abdomens (very cool, but Grant would not know about them).

PS: Snails can also shoot hormonal projectiles called “love darts” that are used to determine assert sexual dominance and which snail will be male/female for reproduction (since they’re hermaphroditic) but. That’s definitely not applicable here 😭😭 I just wanted to share. They also have bad aim, so Grant could never be a snail 🙄 hehehah

For fun :)

Aside from missions or life/death situations, the only time I think Grant would willingly become a bug for 24 hours (<- CRAZY phrase LMAO) is to make Lincoln happy :) Link’s favorite animals are caterpillars, and I can imagine Grant finding some kind of item/spell to turn himself into a bug and IMMEDIATELY dropping everything to be Link’s pet caterpillar for the day hehe. Some kind of friendly, cute caterpillar who won’t make Lincoln itchy… or turn into a butterfly and fly away 🥲 He would even let Link shake him around in a jar for a little while (he always scolds Link for trying to keep bugs in jars hehe). That way, he gets to encourage Link’s interests in a way that is VERY safe for all parties involved. If Grant had to pick ONE bug for to become, I think he would go with a caterpillar, unless he was in the special situations I described above. (Maybe I should’ve put this paragraph higher up! :p)

Google (more specifically, this website—that’s right; I’m citing my sources in the Grant bug post 😎) says monarchs and anise swallowtails are common in southern California, and they’re both big and cute and not too prickly, so I can imagine those being some of Link’s favorites :) I think his favorite is the monarch specifically (the yellow stripey one below) but Grant likes the swallowtail (the green spotted one)

Kid/teen Grant

As a kid, I think Grant was probably grossed out by bugs and would NOT want to be one (again, boring smh). I was trying to think of a soccer-related bug, but the best I can come up with is a dung beetle 😬 He would NOT want to be a dung beetle. There are unfortunately no gamer bugs (except maybe the Pikachu spider shown below, but Grant would not like spiders, nor would he really care about Pokemon). Bugs should try playing Fortnite, I think

Assigning him a… bugsona? lol

OKAY. On to the more important question… What bug do I think Grant would be? I’m actually shocked I’ve never thought about it before because, in past fandoms I’ve been in, I have a history of making lists of what bug each character would be. Very self-indulgent, I know. Shush. I’m being self-indulgent right now 😤 I think I’ll make a list of potential bugs for each DnDads character… ANYWAY

My immediate reaction to this question was some kind of beetle. Grant actually has always reminded me a LOT of an old anthropomorphic beetle OC I had in high school :) He was a green stag beetle—Lamprima adolphinae—and I think it suits Grant really well!

As a character, Grant generally feels very beetle-ish to me; he is very big and imposing with a tough exterior, both physically and metaphorically. BUT he can also be very lovey, easily embarrassed, bookish, a little geeky, etc. which I associate with these beetles in particular mostly just because of that old OC I mentioned before. And they’re GREEN! Grant is green (in my heart and mind hehe). It’s perfect B)

I know my initial cockroach mention might’ve sounded funny, but I can definitely imagine Grant as a roach o_o !!! Again, they’re wide and sturdy and headstrong, but flighty/skittish at the same time. Very Grant. I also could see him being an assassin bug. The name works for him too haha 🥲🥲

I could also MAYBE imagine him as other similarly sleek bugs, like a bald-faced hornet, but I think beetles or true bugs (assassin bugs, cicadas, etc.) suit him best. I can’t really imagine him being a small bug

Okay. Okay. Phew. I cannot believe I wrote THIS MUCH about bug Grant. If only I could write this much of my fic this fast lmao 😭

MY FINAL VERDICT…. 🥁🥁🥁

I think Grant would choose to be a cockroach 🪳 for survival purposes, but he would easily be a caterpillar 🐛 to make his son happy. If I had to give Grant a.. bugsona?, it would be a stag beetle 🪲 for sure! :)

If you actually read all of this, uhhh thank you???? 🐞 <- here’s a lucky ladybug for you. PLEASE tell me your DnDads bug opinions if you have any I’d love to hear them 🙏 Maybe someday I will draw the main characters as anthro bugs (bc that’s like. the only thing I can draw heheh)

Thanks so much to Isadora for sending this ask omg!!!! :’) I saw it a little bit ago while doing schoolwork, and I was super excited to write this silly post, so it helped motivate me to finish. Feeling a lot better :) Sorry I wrote such a long response haha! PS: I hope you got some sleep!!! >:0

[angered-box]

hey box can u put ibara in a Situation i think he needs to be put in a box and shaken around. or put in a glue trap. or something /j

ANYWAY. hi box howre u :>

o7 shaking him around violently in a jar as we speak

HI VANIII I'm very tired and also being driven mad by my project rn. I'm not even halfway done orz. but it'll be finished before Tuesday orill die. anyways how are youuuu

[casspurrjoybell-28]

The Omega Stray - Chapter 8 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

Nova

My son and daughter were staring anxiously at me, shaking their heads and barking in protest.

Their encouragement from earlier was gone after seeing how much I had struggled to move each individual limb.

My son this time went up to the stool but instead of bracing it or shifting it closer, he quickly shoved it away.

It toppled over with a loud crash and rolled into a metal cabinet.

He growled at me and stood on his hind legs, bracing himself on the table to reach me.

He licked at my violently shaking legs and jumped to lick at my muzzle.

I growled back at him and jerked my head away in frustration.

I need to move and get stronger, laying down isn't going to help me anymore.

I barked angrily to demand that he move so I could get down.

I nosed at his paws to push him away but he just jumped up again to block me.

My daughter started to bark too but she was clawing at the door rapidly.

I could hardly keep myself up anymore.

My legs kept buckling from the effort before I was able to get them to lock again.

The only reliable leg was my front right but it was still weak from inactivity.

Turning back to my son, I gave one more frustrated growl before trying to jump over top of him.

Midway through the air, I heard a frightened...

"Oh my God," and then I crashed into the ground.

The minute my front legs touched the ground they folded and there was no hope for my hind legs.

I didn't bother to try and position them and just let myself crumple.

I turned to protect my left side, letting my ribs jar against the ground.

The pain of the impact knocked the wind out of me and I wheezed, struggling to get a breath back into my lungs.

I lay trembling, sound muted around me until air rushed back into my lungs and the pain reduced to a managable ache again.

I came back into my body and realized that two warm bodies were tucked against my belly and hands were running across my body to assess damage I may have done to myself.

I opened my eyes and focused again on my surroundings, not surprised to see Allie kneeling beside me and my kids tucked into my belly.

Allie was palpating my hind legs, making sure the bones were still in their proper places.

My son was gently gnawing on my left leg below the elbow, not trying to hurt me but trying to get the point across that I was an idiot.

My daughter was licking and nuzzling at my belly to seek comfort and reassurance even though she was too old to nurse now.

Allie was scolding me, telling me I was an idiot and to take things slow. I twitched my ears and focused on her grumbling.

"You dumb boys are always doing this. You gotta take it slow."

Despite her words, I could see the genuine worry in her eyes.

"You could've refractured your ankles, do you know how fragile those bones are already, let alone when they're freshly healed?"

I woofed grumpily at her, growling under my breath and turning my face away.

I can't believe I could barely stand.

I couldn't walk more than a step before collapsing like a fool.

I don't know what made me think I could land a jump like that.

I'm just so tired of feeling weak, feeling useless, being unable to protect or provide for my pups.

After about fifteen minutes of her inspecting the bones and bullet scars, she stood.

"You know we will help you get your strength back, hun. You just need to be patient. I won't put you back on the table but I can't let you leave the room quite yet."

She turned and grabbed the bowls she'd brought with her, placing them next to us.

I was pleased to see the pup's bowls overfilled and diverse in meat.

Mine was much the same but I could see a sprinkling of powder overtop.

Suspiciously I sniffed at it and released a low growl.

She hadn't tried to poison me yet but that didn't mean I was going to eat something so clearly a drug of some sort.

"Oh hush you, it's just vitamins and a mild pain killer."

Allie turned and knelt next to me again, giving me a gentle bop on the nose and stopping my growling in surprise.

"I usually mix them in but your sweet girl's scared barking drew my attention and thank goodness she did since you were trying to rebreak your bones."

She cuffed my ear and gently pushed my head towards my food.

I grumbled at her treatment but let my guard down, taking a tentaive lick at my food.

The bitter taste of the meds was familiar as I'd tasted bits of it in my meals before, not realizing what it was.

I stuck my tongue out and curled my lips in disgust as it was more overpowering this time but didn't make a noise of protest when I noticed Allie's annoyed glare.

I let my face go neutral again quickly and took bigger bites in the hope that more meat would mask the medicine.

She shook her head in exasperation but gave my head a pat in approval before standing to dig around in the cabinets.

I could hear her mumbling as she poked around, not finding what she wanted and moving to the next cabinet.

We finished eating just as she found what she was looking for with a triumphant shout.

I looked her way as she turned with a strange contraption made of large pieces of cloth, straps and buckles dangling in her hands.

"Now we can get you some exercise without hurting you."

I gulped nervously at her grin.

[sketchthetofu]

I NEED TO PUT HIM IN A JAR AND VIOLENTLY SHAKE HIM AROUND

I NEED TO REPEATEDLY THROW DAKOTA COLE INTO A BRICK WALL

[justaboot]

@goldiejake11 I hear your disaster situation request, and I raise you, the fallout after.

 (from a WIP, Colorado 1903)

That night, he did not complain as she set aside fresh tea leaves beside the two mugs.

In fact, for the first time in a long time, he couldn’t find anything to say to her.

Their return to his camp had been a special kind of hell, and after raiding his tent for a too-large shirt and trousers and setting the kettle, Goldie quietly coaxed up the fire for light. Scrooge did his best not to groan, laid out on his belly on a blanket beside the fire pit.

Crickets sang in the warm night, fireflies turning like stars overhead, and he pillowed his head in his arms, letting his eyes drift closed.

He heard her rifling through his tent again, and he let her, deciding nothing she could take would be worth lifting his head to check. She returned, bare feet padding across the soft grass to sit cross legged on the blanket beside him, knees and toes brushing his side.

(more under the cut)

“What’re you doing?” he muttered, eyes still closed.

“I figured I’d play you like a drum,” she said flatly, her voice low, and he heard the sound of a jar opening. “Ain’t that what you’re always moonin’ about? One drum and a bagpiper bein’ all you need to take on the world?”

“Aye,” he said into his arms, “But I’m not sure this drum will hold at the moment.”

“Well,” she said quietly, “I certainly won’t be blowin’ you like a bagpipe.”

He snorted, grateful for the dark, and jumped as her hands gently brushed his skin. She smoothed something cold over his back in small, careful circles.

“What is that?”

“Arsenic,” she murmured, but it was already cooling the heat, so he let her continue, and for a long time, the only noise came from the owls overhead and crickets around.

“Goldie,” Scrooge finally said, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m–”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“No, Goldie, I’m s–”

“I said no, Scrooge.” 

Her hands disappeared, and Scrooge looked up as she pushed away. 

She stalked around him to the kettle, hissing with effort as she lifted it from the fire to pour.

“What about your back?” he said, struggling to sit up. “Have you–”

“It’s fine.”

“At least let me–”

“For God’s sake, will you just shut up?” she snapped.

He froze halfway up.

“Ye cannae be mad at me!” he said, and he scowled as she collected the two mugs onto the edge of the firepit.

“Just you watch, bucko.” More water splashed onto the stone than made it in the mugs, she poured so violently. Boiling drops sloshed onto her fingers, and she swore, slamming down the kettle to stalk away from the fire, shaking out her hand. 

Firelight turned the back of her white shirt nearly orange, but even in the dark he could see the red spots staining through the fabric.

She was right to be angry. He put those on her.

“I never should have trusted him,” Scrooge said, “I should have listened to you when ye told me.”

Goldie snorted, snatching up the mugs. 

“Would you have believed me?” she said.

Scrooge ducked his head, picking grass off himself, but looked up, surprised when she sat heavily on the blanket beside him. She deposited his mug unceremoniously by his knee, wrapping her hands around her own. 

“Why would you do that?” she asked, staring into the fire.

“Believe you?”

“No.” She wore the oddest expression on her face, firelight flickering over her features. “Why would you help me like that?”

Scrooge picked up his mug, turning it in his hands.

“Why would you keep my letters?” he said quietly.

She didn’t answer, and he couldn’t muster the courage to watch her expression change. Rather, he sipped his steaming mug to fill the silence. He frowned, squinting down into the tin cup.

“Can I ask ye one question?”

“No.”

“Were ye–”

“What part of no–”

“Were ye so angry at me that ye forgot to put in the tea leaves?”

Goldie blinked in surprise, looking down into her own mug of plain hot water.

He cocked an eyebrow, and she looked up at him with such a look of bewilderment that he couldn’t help but laugh. She laughed then, too, and for a moment all he could think was that he was homesick, but in that second, home wasn’t a shack far across the sea smelling of peat-moss and damp cobblestone, but rather a wooden cabin, tucked up in a secret valley with a smoking chimney burning pine boughs, an oil lantern that lit playing cards on a table made by his own hands.