#I mean also. It's been raining all week. it's a mud puddle out there

[pilferingapples]

IT'S BACK THE WIFI IS BACK I HAVE UNLIMITED DATA AGAIN I AM ONE WITH THE UNIVERSE OR AT LEAST I CAN PLAY VIDEOS ONLINE AGAIN WE ARE TOUCHING ZERO GRASS THIS AFTERNOON

[fragilefawn444]

BLOODLUST, an eddie munson x reader oneshot

Summary : Eddie has been missing for weeks, and nobody has heard from him. Absolute radio silence. Until you receive a text…

Contains : Contains : Suspense, descriptions of blood and injury, minimal explicit language, anxiety and panic, a little angst, manipulation (if you squint) , mention of dead bugs, pet names, vampire eddie <3

Word count : 1.7k

Authors note: I’ve never written anything like this, and I’m super excited about sharing it! Vamp Eddie is a theory that I’ve seen circling around, so I wanted to bring it to life. I also impulsively posted this without checking for typos…oopsies

You haven't heard from him in weeks, and quite frankly never expected to ever again.

The air outside felt thick as you trudged through the mud, using more force to lift your shoes from the muck than it should have. Papers were tacked to the tree trunks all around you, some of them floating in the wind and landing in puddles beneath your feet. You'd seen the posters around town, but never picked one up until now.

“MISSING”

EDWARD ‘EDDIE’ MUNSON, TWENTY YEARS OLD, LAST SEEN WEARING A WHITE AND BLACK LONG SLEEVE HELLFIRE SHIRT WITH NAVY JEANS. WHEREABOUTS : UNKNOWN. LAST SEEN AT HAWKINS HIGH ON FRIDAY, JULY 15TH, 2022. IF YOU HAVE ANY INFORMATION, PLEASE CONTACT THE HAWKINS POLICE STATION IMMEDIATELY”

The rain from earlier had completely blended the photos of Eddie printed on the page, the ink bleeding across the paper, turning him into a warped version of himself. His facial features seemed to smear together, leaving only an eye or an ear visible. The visual was haunting. The wind around you didn't help with the chill already creeping up your spine, a shiver making its way to the surface.

Two hours earlier, the text message came.

“its eddie. the woods at 5pm. you know which ones i'm talking about. come alone”

You didn't know if it was really him, but who else would know about your special spot? The memories you two had shared there together. The secrets you'd had exchanged when it felt like no one else in the world would listen to you. The kiss you two had shared the day before he went missing. You knew you had to go.

Dropping the paper to the ground, you watched as the wind carried it, floating into a puddle of rain. The page just about disintegrated in front of your eyes, his face fading away with it. He was gone just as fast as he was there.

By this point, 4:45 was rolling around, hardly making it to your destination on time. The old wooden picnic table was soaked, the smell of rotting wood and damp earth tickling your nose as you leaned against the surface. The thick coat you had on wasn't getting the job done in terms of warmth, and impatience was quickly setting in. The slow crunch of leaves under someone's heavy boot signaled you were no longer alone. Turning around, you squint to look farther into the distance. The crunching had silenced, leaving you with nothing but an increased heart rate and the looming feeling of dread.

“Eddie?” You call weakly into the forest, spinning around at the snap of a twig. “If that's you, this isn't funny. I need to know you're okay. Just come out”

A figure appears in the distance, frizzy hair being the first thing you can make out. As they approach closer, the worn out hellfire logo comes into view, and your heart is at ease. He's alive, but that doesn't mean he's well.

A dark red stain engulfs a major portion of the white on his shirt, a tear on the leg of his jeans. The skin beneath however, does not appear to be sliced. Eddie approaches closer, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. He's breathing heavily, like he's been running. Your instinct is to back away as he comes closer, but your legs refuse to take you backward, only forward. Against your better judgment, you meet him in the middle, and that's when you see it.

A drop of blood spilled from between his lips, attempting to travel to his chin before Eddie intercepted it with his tongue. The action was quick, like he didn't want you to see. But you were too observant. Still, though, no injuries were present, so where was the blood coming from?

“You need to understand that I had to disappear. It wasn't safe for me here anymore. Just trust me when I say I needed to see you one last time”

“Why didn't you tell me you were leaving? Maybe I could've done something to help you. I poured my heart out to you in these last few weeks. You told me you trusted me with anything. I thought you were dead, eddie” Your voice shook no matter how hard you tried to keep your composure. You felt utterly deceived. The idea that something so terrible had entered his life that he had to drop off the face of the earth was unfathomable.

“You're not listening to me” His voice had lowered to a cautious volume now, as if he were worried someone was lurking, stalking in the trees surrounding the two of you.

“No, Eddie. I am absolutely listening to you. This entire situation is shitty. Do you know how many people are out there looking for you right now? And you're telling me it's not safe? For heaven's sake, the entire Hawkins police force has been scavenging the area for you. They Are the safest people we've got!- ” Your volume increased with what seemed like every word, but you didn't get to finish.

Reaching forward with a frightening sense of speed, Eddie placed his hands on your shoulders, completely in his control. The grip was anything but light. Never before had he made such a hasty move like this. Something changed him out there in god knows where these last few weeks.

The boy opened his mouth to speak, an almost metallic smell hitting you in the face.

“Keep your voice down” He spoke through gritted teeth now. “You don't get it”. With every word, his face inches closer to yours. As his words trailed off, something you'd never noticed before appeared to occupy the space between his flaky, blood stained lips.

Two white fangs.

Two little piercing triangles sitting in place of where the plain old canine teeth should be. Your entire life, observancy has shown itself to be a blessing and a curse. It was proving itself to be a curse in this moment as your feet froze to the ground, invisible cement sealing you to the earth below.

The fear you felt inside must have been perfecting itself onto your face, as Eddie was clearly taking notice. His lips slammed shut, tongue swiping the surface and taking the dried blood with it. The grip on your shoulders never loosened, no matter how hard you tried to inch away.

“I'm starving…” his voice trembled. That familiar stinging, burning feeling before you're about to cry welled up in the back of your throat, eyes turning misty. The reality of the situation was setting in. He hadn't called you here to see you one last time.

You were nothing but a meal in his eyes. A blood bag.

“Please” he begged, almost pathetically. The sockets in which his eyes sat now looked like two areas void of occupancy, the skin on the rest of his face clinging to the bone for dear life. The lack of nutrition appeared to be affecting him severely now, right in front of your eyes. “Can't you see I need this?’ His ringed fingers curled around your shoulders, pressing into the skin as if to say ‘please don't go’. Fight or flight surged through your body, and you chose flight.

For the first time since you arrived at the spot, your legs finally listened to your brain. With urgency, you sprinted from the scene. Being in the woods, everything looked the same. The same puddles filled with bugs lying on their backs, the sky being the last thing they ever saw. The sky might be the last thing you'd ever see too.

The same trees around every corner. The same missing posters with the monster you hardly recognized anymore. His face was everywhere you turned, whether it be tacked poorly to trees or being carried to some far away place in the wind.

The familiar snap of twigs under someone's heavy foot came from behind you accompanied by a shout.

“Awh c’mon sweetheart. It didn't have to be like this. It could've been over so quickly. Somebodys a runner, huh?”

An evil chuckle slipped past his lips, causing your stomach to drop. Eddie Munson was a fraud. Was everything he said to you a lie? His full intentions were finally laid out on the table now. No more secrets. No more lies.

The stale leaves folded and smashed beneath your feet, leaving little remnants crushed into the soles of your shoes. These shoes would forever hold the memory of this moment. Your lungs ached as you swerved through the trees. The odds of you having already run in circles was high. It felt like being trapped in a never ending maze. Or a neighborhood where every house looked the same. The only thing that changed was the distance between you and Eddie's voice. A bead of sweat rolled from your forehead, gasping for air as you slid behind a tree stump.

“Come out, come out wherever you are. You can't hide from me forever”

The wind blew, swirling up the loose papers from the ground once again. No matter where you went, even if he wasn't physically in front of you, you couldn't get away from him. A sinking feeling carved a hole in the pit of your stomach as two boots crept up behind you.

“Found ya, darling”

His arms reached out, encompassing your body with an obvious eagerness. You fell limp, no matter how much your body begged to kick and thrash.

Except you knew you didn't need to run. It was time to pull the trick out from under your sleeve. Spinning around in his arms, you looked into the man's blood thirsty eyes. Part of you felt bad for the stunt you pulled, but maybe he deserved it. A dumbfounded look spread across his face as you used two fingers to pull up your top lip revealing two small white fangs.

His skin flushed pale, devoid of color. You ran your tongue over the two sharp bumps as his hands began to tremble.

“Bet I had you fooled. I can keep a secret too. Surprise.’

[airashisakura]

My last entry for @ssskmonth | Prompts used Festivals and Family

Kin

Summary: When Sasuke struggles with letting go of pain from his past, Sakura and Sarada remind him that he doesn't have to do this alone.

Rating: Mature

_

“Anata?”

Sasuke stopped dusting off the shelves and looked over in Sakura’s direction. He frowned though, seeing Sakura perched on a stool dangerously, trying to clean the cobwebs of their apartment.

“I was asking…” Sakura scrunched her face in displeasure. She hadn't realized when she had left with Sasuke on his journey that it could bring this much work.

A week ago, when they unlocked the door of their apartment, back after a year with their three-month-old daughter, they had realized making their home habitable again wasn't going to be easy. The exhaustion of their journey back to Konoha hadn’t left their souls, but the Uchiha couple prioritized cleaning over resting.

Sasuke walked over to her and steadied her wobbling stool.

“What?”

Sleep deprivation had left him cranky. He had hoped that Sarada's wailing would cease after they had moved from roads to Konoha. Although he was glad that she was more safe under a roof, it hadn’t stopped her from crying the whole night.

Sakura caught the irritation laced in his voice, and considered whether she should say what she was about to.

“Obon is in two days..." She spoke cautiously, busy with her work. "I was asking if you want to…” She trailed off again, not sure how to phrase this.

“Obon?” Sasuke looked up in her direction. He was about to ask her again, when he realized. “Obon.”

Sakura turned, facing him, and asked nervously, “Should we?”

In all these years, he had never celebrated Obon. When he was a child, he remembered his mother strictly following rituals, preparing to welcome the spirits of their clan's ancestors.

He realized that although he always carried his long gone family in his heart, he never had given any damn about the festival.

“Aah,” he agreed.

Sakura's face lit up with a wide grin, but that died off when they heard Sarada crying at the top of her lungs.

While Sasuke rushed to attend Sarada, Sakura wrestled with more dust and ended up coughing.

Although Sarada’s shrill cries bore holes in his eardrum, all the chaos of his new-formed family had settled down all the internal chaos that he had carried for years.

_

Sasuke stirred out of his slumber engulfed with warmth . Sakura's body was pressed against his back, her arm snuggly thrown around him. Sarada had been quiet after days, and he felt fully rested, refreshed after a sleep devoid of nightmares too.

The light filtering from the curtain told him it was still early, and Sakura's breaths on his neck made him want to wake her up and kiss her numb. He had lost count of the number of days he had felt her bare skin on his, slowly and passionately driving her crazy. The days and nights after Sarada’s birth went by changing diapers and trying to understand the meaning between different kinds of cries, which he hadn't quite mastered yet.

Sasuke was tempted even further when Sakura pressed her lips on his neck and murmured 'morning,' her pert nipples brushing against his muscular back. Sasuke suppressed a gasp, his twitching member, and the urge to reciprocate his wife's desire. He gently pried away from his wife's leg, and regretted it when Sakura retracted herself from him.

"Anata?" Sakura sat up with a myriad of emotions on her face — confusion, hurt and rejection.

Sasuke didn't want to make her feel like that.

"I… I'm going to visit my parents' grave."

Sakura nodded and smiled, her features relaxing.

Sasuke never thought that gulping down the guilt of neglecting his dead family could be that easy.

_

Sasuke sauntered through the path that led to his parents' grave. The place was cold and distant like his heart had been for many years. Neglected even, he mused.

He stopped when he found the stone that bore his parents' name. Uchiha Mikoto and Uchiha Fugaku — names engraved with such beauty that was ironic considering the way they had died. A surge of rage and emotions pumped through his veins in a way that he was too familiar with — it had made him a person of sins that he was still redeeming for.

He stood there unable to repress the painful memories that had seeped from his past like a poison. His surroundings reverberated with the screams and blood that painted his nightmares.

Years of redemption had seemingly healed his wounds, but the sharpness of the past always cut, and the wounds bleed as they always had.

Unable to anchor himself, he looked anywhere but his parents' name. His eyes darted across the ungrazed grass, wild flowers, and puddles formed by summer rain. Stubborn weeds creeping over his parents grave, like the past that was attached to him.

His eyes caught something. And there it is, he mused again. A small pink wildflower intertwined with weeds, facing the sun. A gentle breeze that made its petals gleam in the sunlight reminded him of Sakura's unwavering love. The love that had waited for him through his sins and redemption — love that assured him every day that he no longer was in the darkness alone — love that gave him Sarada.

He crouched down, sighing. The summer heat was getting unbearable, and beads of sweat rolled down from his forehead. This reminded he should get going. Sometimes Sarada got all fussy, and it was hard for Sakura to manage her alone. Although his heart was heavy when his eyes glided over the name of his parents again, he smiled thinking about his new family.

Sasuke traced his finger on kanji of his mother's name, dirt gathering on his finger tip. He picked up the rag that he had brought with him and scrubbed the dirt and mud from the stones. With every swipe of the rag, the images of lifeless bodies of his parents became clearer in his mind. His fingers twitched, but he did his work diligently. The dirt from his parents' name was gone now, like the blood from the wooden floor that had pooled out from his parents' bodies.

Shaking his thoughts off, he held his shirt sleeve with his teeth and rolled it upwards. He went on plucking the weeds, wishing if it was this easy to pluck away memories of his past. There was a hopeful part of him — a little part — thought that with time, the pain of his lost family would wash away, but maybe hope wasn't a thing for Uchiha Sasuke.

He bid adieu to his dead parents, and got up to leave. As he walked away, he looked back over his shoulder to get a peek of the pink flower that remained. The pink flower that had grown in his life — accepting him and his past.

_

As he reached the threshold of his house, he stiffened when he couldn’t feel the familiar chakras he was accustomed to.

He looked around and found Sakura had almost finished cleaning their house. Bookshelves no longer had cobwebs, the white sheets had been removed from the furniture, and the floor was polished.

“Sakura?”

He was answered by the empty hallways and a note. It was a note from Sakura that said she was going out for grocery shopping.

He ran fingers through his hair, sighing, and walked towards the kitchen. He decided to cook a proper lunch. They had been surviving on simple food after they had returned, courtesy of Sarada's fussiness. It amazed him sometimes how their child managed to command all their attention.

Sakura always jokingly complained that it was something Sarada definitely had inherited from him. Sakura boasted that she was a quiet infant, and her parents always backed her up. Sometimes he felt a tinge of jealousy at that.

He opened the fridge and grabbed the leftover rations that they had, and he remembered Naruto grumbling about something similar. He knew he shouldn't find that soothing, but he realized in that aspect he wasn't alone.

In fact, he wasn't alone at all anymore.

Sasuke delved into cooking, but as time ticked on, he got impatient. He decided to go out and look for them. Something made him scared that he couldn't pinpoint.

As he was going to turn the stove off, he heard the click of the door knob. He heard Sakura calling him and responded.

Relief washed through him as Sakura approached him. He had been worrying over nothing. Perhaps his heart was still as fragile as his younger self's. Too afraid to lose, yet too afraid to accept his weakness.

Sakura kept the bag of groceries, grinning widely at him before she complimented the smell of the food. He was captivated by her green eyes, but his daughter seemed to have his attention now. Sarada happily clapped her hands on seeing him and wiggled in her baby sling to reach for him.

Sasuke bent down, and Sarada reached for his cheeks and patted them with her small hands, grinning toothlessly. This was Sarada's way to embrace, Sakura had told him once. Sasuke kissed her little palm before straightening himself.

"When did you return? We were sort of feeling alone, so we decided to make a quick trip to the market. "Ne, Sarada-chan?" Sakura cooed, rubbing her nose on Sarada's head, and Sarada giggled, agreeing with her.

"But someone had more fun than she expected." Sakura tickled Sarada, and she joined her in fits of laughter.

A smile slipped past his lips, and all the heaviness that had settled in his heart from that morning began to dissipate.

"She seemed to be in a good mood," Sasuke commented, looking for something from the bag.

"Yes." Sakura hummed, sifting her fingers through Sarada's hair.

His eyes lingered on them, before he started grating ginger.

"Umm, Anata? Isn't that too much?" Sakura pointed out.

Sasuke nodded, but he added it to the pan and said, "Father always liked it this way."

Sakura blinked. She didn't know how to respond. Sasuke rarely talked about his parents, so she stood there just nodding.

The space between them stilled, with only sounds of food sizzling on the pan and Sarada's squeals.

"Father used to love the spice of ginger, so Mother used to cook like this," Sasuke explained.

"I see," Sakura replied, excitement spiking in her voice.

"Mother also added less Mirin than required," Sasuke went on, and Sakura listened raptly, watching him while he cooked Gyudon.

Sakura didn't miss the melancholy in his eyes when Sasuke said that Gyudon was his father's favourite, and it stirred Sakura's heart

Sakura knew the things which are gone always hurt, but she knew too it took time to heal them. So when Sasuke told her bits of his family, she was glad that Sasuke talked about them without any resentment — sharing his lost happiness with her. She wanted to thank him, so Sakura tiptoed, her arms wrapping around Sarada, and she pecked on Sasuke's cheek.

It was unexpected, and Sasuke stared wide-eyed at the contents in the pan, while the tips of his ears turned red.

"I'll remember this when I cook next time," Sakura blushed.

Sasuke nodded, smirking.

Sarada wiggled in her sling to reach for Sasuke again while Sakura giggled and commented on how restless she was growing.

The house, the people, and the meal he had once shared together with his parents were long gone for him, but now he saw himself in Sarada who was trying to get her father's attention like he used to. He realized time had its own way to fix things.

_

Sasuke watched the sky, summer clouds lazily drifting and strings of smoke whirling between them. The smell of smoke from the neighborhood mingled with the evening breeze, and he felt nostalgic.

His clan breathed fire, and where there was fire, there was smoke. He remembered tasting the bitterness of smoke that lingered on his tongue when his lungs had flamed out a great fireball in childhood. He’d been excited to share his experience, and Itachi had confirmed with his too gentle smile that he had felt the same way

It was a memory that had been long forgotten. Years and years of using katon jutsus and chasing his older brother for revenge had made him ignorant to these feelings that he had held precious in his childhood.

The orangish hue of the setting sun told him it was time.

It was the first day of Obon. He looked around and saw the lantern that was tied at the entrance of their house swinging with the wind along with a windchime.

The lantern will guide them home, Sakura had said when she had tied them.

He knew that too. His mother had told him during childhood while Itachi had set up the bonfire for mukaebi. He had complained that bonfires are for winters, not for summers. His mother had laughed and had corrected him.

Sasuke, this bonfire and lanterns are for the spirits of our ancestors to guide their paths back home.

He had shrugged back then, because he thought he wouldn't have to bother about this in future.

Sasuke set the twigs, and lit them using a small fireball jutsu.

He sat there, remembering that Obon during his childhood had never been so solemn. Lots of people visited during that time. He hadn’t remembered any of them, though Itachi remembered some of them. Sasuke had challenged Itachi: Just you see, nii-san, next time, I'm going to remember everyone's name. Itachi had chuckled and had flicked his forehead.

The next time hadn't ever come. Before he could add more people to his growing list of people he knew, Itachi had wiped out everyone. And then Sasuke was alone.

He realized after all these years how much he had missed his older brother. He always wanted to bury the feeling because it came with the realization that Itachi was dead because of him. Itachi was dead because of Konoha.

Itachi was dead because he wanted his otouto to live.

"Anata?"

Sasuke lifted his eyes from the flames to Sakura, who looked worried. He looked back to flames.

"Are you okay?"

Sasuke nodded. He knew they had spent enough time together for Sakura to know he wasn't alright. His eyes were fixated on flames, so he didn't notice the way Sakura's eyes softened when she sat beside him.

He didn't want to ask her, but he found himself talking anyway. "Do you think Itachi can find his way?"

For the second time in the day, Sakura blinked in confusion.

Sasuke clarified again, "He doesn't even have a grave."

For a second, Sakura felt like she couldn't breathe. She had never seen Sasuke so vulnerable before.

"This place… Konoha…" He gritted his teeth. "I- I don't know how to call Konoha my home after what they did to my clan… to Itachi."

"I can't," He said, his voice louder and filled with accusation.

But as soon as these two words left his mouth, his eyes widened in the realization of what he had done. He shut his eyes and apologized to Sakura.

He felt Sakura's palm on his left cheek. It reminded him of his daughter's gentle touch — that they were his home.

Sakura smiled when his mismatched eyes met her green, and spoke softly, "Hate it till you can love it back, Sasuke-kun."

_

Sasuke swallowed the soft moan that fell out of Sakura's plump lips before he moved down on her neck, leaving a trail of kisses. When their house turned silent from Sarada's cries, they both sought comfort in their bed, limbs tangled innocently. Sasuke was comfortable enough now to delve into his wife's gentle touches. Gentle touches soon turned greedy when he kissed her the way he had wanted to that morning. It wasn't too long before their clothes were scattered across the polished wood of the floor.

He nipped her neck, eliciting a whimper and a delicious clench of her walls around his pulsing cock. He groaned and pushed deeper into her wet velvety cunt. The air from the ceiling fan cooled their sweating bodies, but the heat where they were intimately joined made both their spines tingle.

Sasuke leaned down to capture her lips again, and Sakura reciprocated wantonly meeting with his thrust. They gasped for air when they parted, saliva smeared across the corners of their lips. Sasuke held his gaze with hers, which was always soft, assuring, and accepting. Like a wanderer on a cold night regarded the flames that kept him warm, Sasuke tried to emanate his gratitude for her through his mismatched eyes.

He inched deeper, relishing the warmth of her skin. Sakura's lips parted in a silent cry when he hit the spot that he knew made Sakura come undone. Their rhythm became more erratic, and the heaving and slapping of wet skin was driving Sasuke to his own finish.

Sasuke angled his hips and thrust roughly. Sakura shuddered, her nails digging deep in his bare shoulder. He closed his eyes, focussing on the pleasure unknoting in his belly, he pushed roughly again, and felt—

Sarada's whimpers reached their ears. His eyes snapped open reflexively like he was waking in the midst of a nightmare, and Sakura's grip loosened on him. Sakura winced as he reluctantly pulled out of her. He wasn't sure if it was because Sarada's cries intensified, or if it was because they’d been interrupted.

She smiled weakly and slid out of bed. Sasuke huffed and dropped onto the bed, watching Sakura hurriedly putting his shirt to cover her curves.

When he made his way towards them, Sakura was pacing along the room, cradling Sarada in her arms trying to calm her down.

"I fed her, changed her diapers, and still she is crying," Sakura said, expression etched with worry and irritation. Sarada shrieked louder, and Sakura's patience was waning thin.

Sasuke stretched his arm towards her, and Sakura handed the baby over. When he took her in his arm, rocked her and carefully nuzzled his nose on her forehead, she stopped crying. Somehow, it felt strange yet so good that someone needed him.

He was sure Sakura was red with envy and embarrassment when she mumbled something and walked away. He couldn't help himself but let out a chuckle, and Sakura turned and laughed too.

_

Konoha's streets were overflowing with families, people enjoying and dancing around the yagura stage to the beats of Taiko drums on the second day of Obon.

"Ino and I always loved dancing to this rhythm."

Sasuke didn't remember anything from his genin days. Maybe Sakura had told him back then, but he never paid attention to it like the other things he had missed while chasing blindly after revenge. This festival, this tradition, and Sakura were always there, and he had always been a piece out of the puzzle.

But Sarada with all her charm had made him fit in the puzzle. And now he and Sakura sat on the engawa, basking in the comfortable silence that they shared while the sound of Taiko drums reverberated with his heart beats.

Sakura held Sarada close to her body. He smiled, eyes falling on the Uchiha fan on her little back.

"I sprained my ankle the previous year. It was all stupid Ino's fault."

Sakura went on telling him about her Obon experiences while his eyes lingered on the swell of her chest, the bindings tugged down for Sarada to suckle. Sarada fed herself without any complaints, her little fingers clutching on folds of the beautiful green yukata Sakura was wearing.

The beautiful cherry blossom print on her green yukata accentuated her beauty, but it was the Uchiha crest that she sewed on her yukata in the afternoon that accentuated her beauty.

Sasuke's eyes trailed upwards to her exposed skin, and he noticed the hitch in her breath when his eyes stayed on the purplish mark he had given her the night before. They locked eyes, trapping her green with his mismatched ones.

Sakura blushed furiously under his gaze. Sasuke smirked and asked, "Want to go to the festival?"

_

The sound of heavy breathing disturbed the silence, as both of them came down from their high, basking in the afterglow. A sheen of sweat covered them like velvet, limbs entangled and limp. Sakura's yukata lay crumpled between their bodies, tugged upwards and sideways unceremoniously.

Sasuke had committed to memory the way her pink hair seamlessly smudged with the green of her yukata when he had pushed inside her from behind, losing himself to pleasure. His fingers lightly traced her pink nipples, and Sakura gasped.

She turned her head back, and Sasuke pulled her closer to his body, his palm now resting over her beating heart. Sakura smiled, and Sasuke realized there were so many colours that adorned his life now — the red of her lips, the pink of her hair, the green of her eyes, and that mirthful smile.

His heart skipped a beat when he felt Sakura's heart dancing under his palm, synchronising with his. Their lips found their way to each other, the uchiwa on the Sakura's garment silently observing their love.

_

A wisp of smoke rose into the air while twigs in the bonfire crumbled down to ashes. Sasuke sat in front of the extinguished bonfire, looking above at the dark sky.

The moon hid behind the clouds and stars twinkled, trying hard to compensate for the overcast skies. A breeze touching his skin gave him a familiar feeling. He had spent more time under open skies wandering than under a roof with a family. However, tonight he felt the same heaviness that he had carried for a long time.

After they had dinner, Sakura had reminded him that it was the last day of Obon. Reluctantly, he had lit the okokuri-bi — the bonfire that sent the spirits back to their resting place. Maybe he didn't want to part with his dead family. Maybe holding on to the illusion where his father, mother and brother were with him was easier.

The breeze swept the hair that covered his eyes, his mismatched orbs growing wet. It wasn’t because of anger anymore, though. It just hurt. He clutched at his chest, fingers digging into his shirt, trying to soothe the pain that was there. An invisible pain that he only owned — that Sakura and Sarada couldn't replace.

"Sara-chan, did you like it?"

Sasuke snapped out of his thoughts as Sakura approached him. Sarada fiddled with a toy that Sakura bought recently for her. Sarada cooed in excitement, and Sakura giggled.

When she reached closer to him, Sakura stretched out her hand towards him. Words were not their way, and Sakura smiled gently, coaxing him to take her hand.

And Sasuke did.

Because there were things Sakura and Sarada couldn't replace, but he could relive and recreate memories with them. Severing bonds would never ease his pain, he knew now; instead, new bonds would help him embrace the old ones.

They were there for him — he wasn't alone, and he didn't need to do this on his own.

_

FFN | AO3

Obon is a Japanese custom to honor the spirits of one's ancestors. This custom involves a family reunion holiday during which people return to ancestral family places and visit and clean their ancestors' graves when the spirits of ancestors are supposed to revisit the household altars. It has been celebrated in Japan for more than 500 years and traditionally includes a dance, known as Bon Odori.

Credits: Inspired from Warm by @catflorist . For those who haven't read, please read this wonderful piece.

Thanks to @fm-white for telling me more about rituals of Obon.

Thanks for @fictionalquacker's headcanon that Fugaku loves beef, which helped me making an assumption that it could be Gyudon. Also thanks to lovely @birkastan2018 for giving some tips about cooking Gyudon 💪. A big thanks to @theredconversegirl for naming my fic 🥺. Believe me, I would be forever grateful to you for this❤️

Thanks to @something-like-air for beta-ing this. 🤗

Last but not the least, @thatsakurastan :") with her constant support and nagging, I was able to complete and post this fic. You deserve big slabs of chocolate!🍫🍫🍫

[weelittleweasley]

love affair (g.w.)

prompt: a relationship with george weasley was all you wanted. but it seemed as though the two of you had two different ideas of what a relationship meant.

pairing: george weasley x fem!reader, fred weasley x fem!platonic reader

warnings: cheating relationships, physical violence, tiny blood warning (literally one sentence), lots of angst, language

word count: 7.5k

author note: this is an amalgamation of me getting out of a very strange relationship six months ago, driver’s license by olivia rodrigo, and two ghosts by harry styles, so take that as you will. this made me sad to write. im so sorry. i also wrote this half tired so if it doesn't make sense, IM SO SORRY LMAO

Knees curled up to your chest, you wrapped your arms around your legs, forcing your body into a coddled position as you sat upon the window sill. Forehead pressed to the glass, the coolness of it made your warm forehead ease with the sensation, condensation fogging up the window pane as your eyes stared mindlessly out of the window. Small mouth sounds fell from your parted lips as you inhaled and exhaled deeply. In the fog on the pane, you dragged your finger across the condensation, drawing little figurines as you attempted to distract yourself from your wandering thoughts that flooded with panic at the news you had received moments ago.

Your pointer finger drew a small heart into the glass before you ripped it away. The sound of a deep tenor rumble resonated outside as small water droplets began pitter-pattering down onto the window. The rain was soothing in contrast to your current state, washing over the lush landscape of the Scottish countryside that Hogwarts castle stood proudly on. 

The rain renewed and refreshed the early autumnal landscape. Water struck upon delicate flowers and reached up to the pale gray sky, accepting the water gratefully. Like a stream in a forest, water rushed down the sides of the Whomping Willow as it twisted and shook off the rain as it poured down. The lush green grass absorbed the water, causing mud puddles to form in pockets across the ground. A smile creeped onto your face as you bit your bottom lip, thinking about how George would insist the next morning that you two go romp around in the mud, behaving like children. George loved mornings after the rain, the way the air was crisp, the smell of fresh dew, the soft ground beneath his yellow rain boots. 

But with the thought of George, your anxious thoughts swirled in your mind like a mixing bowl. You took a deep breath in and repeated to yourself that you would not like to jump to conclusions. This could have been a misunderstanding and Patricia Stimpson had just conveyed the message incorrectly. But the churning in your gut suggested otherwise.

The rain came down relentlessly now, thunder rumbling like a snare drum as darts of lightning flashed far away. The storm was far away, thankfully, which put your mind at ease. 

As a rumble of thunder rippled through, gentle knocks sounded at your door. Rather than getting up and greeting the expected visitor at the door, you lifted your wand beside you and with a gentle flick, the door creaked open just enough for him to push it open all the way.

Entering the room, George closes the door behind him. Without even saying a word, he knows you aren’t yourself. Something was troubling you and it was palpable. The way you curled up watching the rain trickle down the window as you followed it lazily with your finger. George sighs and walks towards you. “Awfully quiet today, aren’t we?” he speaks simply as he takes a seat across from you on the window sill, him sitting criss cross. 

You peel your eyes away from the window and give him a gentle smile as your mind screams to tell him to leave the room, you need space. But when you look at him, your heart swells with all the love you can conjure in your body. He was your George. How could he have done something so unthinkable, but your heart still leaped at the sight of him? You pushed the thought away; nothing was confirmed yet. “Hi, Georgie,” you speak quietly. He scoots closer to you, smile on his lips as he leans forward and presses a light kiss to your forehead. “There’s just a lot on my mind today.”

George peels your arms from around your legs and pulls on them gently, making you wrap your legs around his waist as you huff, giving into his touch. Now, you were wrapped around him like a koala would be, his hands resting on your hips as he brushed a loose strand of hair from your face. “Would you like to share with the class?” he jokes as you give him a look that tells him you were serious. He clears his throat. “Sorry, darling,” he smiles. “What’s bothering you? You can tell me...I don’t like seeing you upset. Especially if it is something I can prevent.”

How ironic. You rub your eyes with the heels of your hands as you inhale a shaky breath. “I received some news from Patricia Stimpson this morning,” you start as you gently start to peel yourself off of George. It didn’t feel right to talk about something like this while being complete entangled in each other. George gives you a concerned look, a little confused as to why you would be talking to Patricia Stimpson. “She saw something that you did that is honestly quite disturbing.”

Patricia came up to you this morning after you had finished breakfast in the Great Hall with George as you parted ways for the day, him to the library and you to you the courtyard. She had a look of urgency in her eyes as she tapped your shoulder and requested to speak somewhere privately. The two of you sat on a bench in the courtyard as she gave you a sad smile and revealed information that you never thought you would receive. 

Your heart had stopped beating at the mention of the combination of names strung together in that sentence. It felt like your worst nightmare had grown legs and had walked into your life. The news slapped you in the face as you just stared at her when she told you, looking into her eyes that looked at you so sad for you. “You mean to tell me,” you breathily laugh, not wanting to even think that this situation was a possibility, “that you saw George and...Angelina...”

She nodded her head, sadly with a look of guilt on her face. She hated that she had to be the barer of bad news, especially since you two weren’t that close. But she would hate to see another girl struggle to breathe as rumors flooded in when she knew she could have helped prevent the situation. Patricia gulped and spoke, “Snogging, yeah.” The thought makes bile rise in your throat as you swallow hard and close your eyes. “It happened a few days ago. They were in the library in the back. I was trying to return a book and I stumbled upon them. The two of them both froze and Angelina then yelled at me to leave and I did, I was shocked, I didn’t know what to do,” she tries to reason. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N).”

You shook your head and placed a reassuring hand on Patricia’s. “Please don’t apologize. You didn’t nothing wrong, darling,” you give her a weak smile. “There was nothing you could after seeing that except tell me. Thank you for telling me,” you speak as you inhale a deep breath, trying to understand how something like this could have happened.

George went to the library often, but he was usually accompanied by Fred or Lee to talk about the joke shoppe or sorts. He would have meetings every four days. If he had slipped away to do something with Angelina, Fred or Lee would have known. But what really stung was the fact that it was Angelina. Your first friend at Hogwarts. She introduced you to George. She helped set you two up. And now she was the one tearing you apart. 

Patricia starts rambling, “I should have told you when I saw it, but I was scared that I had the wrong twin. That it was Fred and not George, but I could have sworn it was George. It had to have been.”

You speak, “Stop justifying things, Patricia. It’s okay. I’ll, um, I’ll have a chat with George about this I guess. Thank you, again, Patricia. I’ll...see you around.”

When you recounted the events to George, he just sat there and looked at you in disbelief. The way he looked at you with so much pain in his eyes made you feel guilty for accusing him of such a thing. You gulped down a dry swallow and told yourself you couldn’t cry, but that didn’t halt the tears from welling up in your eyes as you inhaled a shaky breath. George still just stared at you in shock. “Please, Georgie,” you beg, just barely above a whisper, knowing if you speak any louder, you’ll crumble. “Tell me it’s not true.”

Your bottom lip trembles and threatens to spill out a sob, but it’s stifled when George pulls you into his chest as you cry into his jumper, taking it in your hands in fistfuls. You let cries erupt throughout your body as George rubs your back soothingly, kissing the top of your head. “Don’t cry, angel,” he coos as you sob into his chest, praying to whoever was listening that this wasn’t happening. “Shhhh,” he hushes you, gently prying you off of his chest so he could look into your eyes.

Looking up at him teary eyed, George cradles your face in hands, thumbs wiping away your tears as you tremble like a child after a sick nightmare. He pressed a kiss to one cheekbone and then the other, where tears fell before he pressed his forehead up against yours. “Never in my life,” he speaks, “would I do that to the girl I love.” The fear evaporates from your body as your shoulders relax and you let out a shaky breath. “I know Patricia claims it was me, but it was absolutely Fred. He’s had his eye on Angelina for a few weeks now. Nice to know that my own twin brother doesn’t tell me when he snogged a girl,” he teases as you giggle lightly. “(Y/N)...” he speaks, his voice trailing off, almost as if it were a warning. “I love you.”

His declaration of love felt more like a statement when he said it. As if you should have known. It was firm and pressing. You shook your head as you smiled lightly, sniffling. It was dumb of you to question George’s loyalties in the first place. He loved you fiercely. “I love you, Georgie.”

And for the first time ever in this relationship, the words you exchanged felt out of place. Misused. But you knew the words still rang true for the both of you after three years of dating. If they didn’t, you wouldn’t have your lips pressed against his right now in a gentle kiss, trying to mend what had almost been broken.

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

A few days had passed since the rain and you found yourself happily walking down the hallway, hand in hand with George. He leaned down and whispered in your ear, making you laugh and slap his chest as he joined you in laughter. George squeezed your petite hand in his larger one before he spoke, “Freddie and I have got a team meeting in the library. We’ve got potential investors for the joke shoppe.”

Your eyes widen as you excitedly push his shoulder. “Investors? Geez, Georgie, why didn’t you tell me?!” you exclaim as he chuckles. “I’m so proud of you,” you beam, gently stroking his cheek before you place a gentle kiss to his lips. “Go on then, go do more exciting things,” you push him in the direction of the library.

George sends you a wink, “I’ll catch you after, alright?” He walks backwards down the hall. “In your room?” he asks as you smile and nod. “Brilliant.”

And with that, he’s gone as you shake your head and continue walking down the hallway. As you walk, you think about how that night between you and George had brought you closer. He wanted to be around you more, he gave you more compliments, he paid close attention to how you were feeling. It was like he was becoming a more attentive boyfriend. A new George, one that you could get used to. 

You lazily walked through the halls of Hogwarts, chatting with people you knew as you passed. Now, you found yourself giggling as you stumbled upon Ron, linking arms as dancing down the hallway. You erupted in a fit of giggles as Ron spun you around and he chuckled. The two of you engaged in light chatter before he offered you a snack from his satchel, a bright red apple. “What is it with your family and always eating? I don’t get it,” you tease him.

Ron shrugs, “Always be prepared?”

You roll your eyes as you continue to walk, talk, and eat as you turn the corner and you furrow your brows. There was Fred leaning up against the wall, chatting to Lee about something before Lee threw his head back in laughter. That was odd. Quite a short meeting Fred and George had. “Oi!” you call out. “Freddie!” You drag Ron down the hallway to meet his brother and Lee as Ron throws a lazy arm around your shoulder, towering over you.

Fred turns his eyes and when his eyes land on you a genuine, happy smile appears on his face. “Oi, is my younger git brother annoying you?” he teases as Ron sarcastically laughs before punching Fred in the arm as Fred laughs melodiously.

“Piss off, Fred. Don’t you have somewhere to be?” he sneers.

You turn to Fred again, “I thought you and Georgie had a meeting about the joke shoppe. I was just with him like twenty minutes ago and he said he had to run.” You were genuinely curious and also confused. You thought an investor meeting would take more time than just a mere twenty minutes if it was a serious offer. 

Fred shakes his head and tucks his hands into his pockets. “No,” he speaks, brows furrowed, confused as to why his brother would relay false information to you like this. “We have a meeting about the shoppe every other week. Our next meeting isn’t for another week.” Lee looks at you, puzzled, looking back and forth between you and Fred. There was something wrong. 

Your heart sinks and your mouth goes dry. Ron watches your face drop from an excited smile to the color of parchment. He places a cautious hand on your shoulder. Before he can ask you how you’re feeling, you speak up, “Freddie,” you gulp. “This is going to sound like a weird question, but I need you to be brutally honest with me.” Fred looks at Lee completely puzzled before looking at you. “About a week ago, did Patricia Stimpson walk in on you snogging Angelina in the library?”

Lee cackles, “He wishes! Angelina Johnson wouldn’t go near our poor Fred with a ten foot pole!” Lee claps Fred’s shoulder as Fred shoots him a glare, making Lee pipe down immediately. Now was not the time to joke around. And that really meant something when it came to Fred Weasley.

Your heart sinks further and your chest starts to rise and fall with anxiety. The big red apple that was once in your hand fell to the floor and rolled away. Something was gravely wrong. Ron peels his arm off of you, knowing that you need space as you anxiously look between Fred and Ron and Lee, trying to figure out where George could be then. If he wasn’t with Fred or Lee or you, then that meant he was alone. Or...

Fred looks at you and takes a step closer to you. “(Y/N),” he speaks, approaching you with caution like you were ticking time bomb. “Look at me,” he speaks, placing both of his hands on your arms as you look upwards at him, fear in your eyes. “Where did my brother tell you he was?”

Breathing heavily, you open your mouth and no sound comes out at first, just a squeak. Fred’s eyes soften, concerned for you and moment away from kicking his brother’s teeth in. His eyes coax you into trusting him with the information you have. Finally, you manage, “In the library, with you, talking about investments for the shoppe.”

Without another word, Fred takes your hand in his and speaks directly to Lee. “If George doesn’t come back to the room tonight, don’t go looking for him,” he speaks through gritted teeth. “Ron, stay here. We don’t need more attention to the scene we’re about to cause. Or should I say, I’m about to cause.” 

Before anyone can object, Fred and you are now walking, more marching, down the halls of the castle to the library to hunt out George. Panic and fear are pumping through your veins as Fred radiates pure fury. Fred and you were always very close, even more so after you and George had started dating. In Fred’s eyes, you were like another sister to him. He felt the overwhelming need to protect in a way that was different how George protected you. Fred knew the inner workings of your mind like the back of your hand. You were the first person he came to when he had a problem and vise versa. Fred was your friend and a damn good one at that. He hated seeing you upset, especially if he knew it was the doing of his own twin. 

“Freddie,” you breathe out. “Patricia came to me days ago and told me that she saw them, but I didn’t believe it. He had told me that it was you and that you had a thing for Angelina for a while and I believed it because I have always trusted George. But now I-”

Halting dead in his tracks before you walk into the library, Fred grabs your shoulders and spins you to face him. “Listen to me, (Y/N),” he commands your attention. “I love my brother. He’s my other half. But something he can be that the guy who is down right dick. And if he did, or is doing, what we’re thinking, then he’s even worse than I had ever imagined. And that is on him.” Fred’s words bring you peace, but also a wave of nerves. Could George ever be unfaithful? Did the relationship have that many cracks that he allowed himself to slip through one? Fred’s brown eyes that looked so like George’s stared into yours as he gave you a smile. “You’re the best girl I know and George is a fucking idiot if he’s letting you go. Regardless of what happens in there, I am your best friend first and foremost. I’m here for you no matter what he does.”

You nod your head and sigh before pulling Fred into the tightest hug you’ve ever given anyone. With all your might, you hold him close as he sighs and hugs you back, knowing the outcome of this situation before it had even unfolded. Fred thought to himself how could his brother be so selfish, so childish, so moronic to do what he had done. There was no going back now. You can feel the hot tears stinging the back of your eyes, but you don’t dare let them fall. You were still clinging onto the last bit of hope before you entered the library. “Thank you, Freddie.” 

His arms gave you one last squeeze before taking your hand in his. “Are you ready?” he asks, eyes genuinely searching yours for your answer. Fred was ready to go in there without you to confront his asshole twin and your once best friend, yelling and screaming. Rage was pumping through his veins, but he tried his best to conceal it in front of you. Fred didn’t want you to see him like this. 

With a weak nod, you inhale a shaky breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The two of you walk into the library and you feel your heart drop into your feet when you step in. You didn’t like the way the library felt in this moment. It was cold and hot at the same time and you felt stifled. But that didn’t stop you from chaotically walking to the back of the stacks to find your boyfriend. 

You peer down aisles trying to find that familiar tuff of red hair, but all you find are diligent students reading, some joking around with each other, others peering through the stacks to find books. “Where the bloody hell...” you whisper to yourself, growing frustrated that you couldn’t find George. Your nervous energy was now being channeled into anger as you balled your first beside you.

Before you can flip around and ask Fred where he thought his brother could be, you hear a familiar low voice and girlish giggle from behind you. You look at Fred, your eyes wide and stomach churning. Fred opens his mouth to say something, but you are already walking to the back of the library to find exactly what you expected.

The red haired boy your heart belonged to was now pressed flushed against your once best friend, lips connected to each others as her fingers played with the hair that stuck up on the back of his neck. George’s hands were placed on her hips before running down her sides to squeeze her bottom cheekily as she giggled. You inhaled a sharp gasp at the sight, wanting to vomit at the sight of George and Angelina pressed up against each other like this. Your mouth hangs open as the detach themselves from their embrace, faces falling from smiles to sheer horror. 

“Fucking hell,” you breathe out, the tears that threatened to fall outside now flowing down your cheeks freely. You feel Fred’s presence behind you as George and Angelina’s eyes dart between you and Fred. Angelina stutters for a moment as George’s hands fly off of her body and into his pockets. “So is Angelina your potential investor?” you ask, bottom lip trembling in horror as Fred steps right behind you, placing his hand on yours giving it a squeeze, letting you know that he is right there with you. 

George steps away from Angelina and Angelina fumbles with her words, “(Y/N)-”

You scoff, “Oh, shut up, Angelina. You have no excuse. You were supposed to be my best mate, but instead you decided that you’d rather fool around with my boyfriend behind my back, eh? Some fucking friend you are.” 

Angelina’s face contorts with sadness and guilt as she looks down at her feet, playing with her fingers. “I didn’t mean for it to happen,” she tries to defend herself. 

With pure fury rushing through your veins, you laugh. “Well, I’d bloody hope you didn’t plan on it!” you exclaim. “I always knew you to be competitive, but not like this. This is low. Even for you,” you shake your head before looking at George who has guilt slapped all over his face. He opens his mouth to say something, but you stick up your hand. “Don’t even say anything to me. Don’t you dare even look at me. You’re a liar and a cheat and loathsome. I hope you’re happy. Angelina, he’s all yours.”

You turn away and let a hand fly up to your mouth to conceal your sob as you run out of the library with Fred draping a protective arm around your shoulder. “Come on, now,” he whispers to you as some people notice your state. “It’s over. They’re both done and that’s it. You can cry, darling, it’s alright.”

Fred whisks you out of the library quickly and the moment you step down the secluded hallway, you collapse into Fred’s arm as he holds you, brushing your hair calmingly. The sobs rake through your body, causing it to tremble hopelessly in his arms as he holds you tight. Seeing you like this filled Fred with rage as he kissed the top of your head as he allowed you to cry into his chest, holding onto him for dear life. You sob and mumble things into his jumper as he nods his head. “I’m here, it’s alright.”

That’s when you hear his voice. “(Y/N), please let me talk,” George pleads, pain evident in his voice, but immeasurable to how you felt in this moment. You don’t dare look at him, burying your face deeper into Fred’s chest as his grip grows iron on you.

“Back off, mate, haven’t you hurt her enough?” Fred defends you as he rubs your back. “What has gotten into, George?”

George’s jaw clenches and his fists bundle up beside him. “Piss off and let me talk to my girlfriend, Fred,” he speaks through gritted teeth. “Please, (Y/N),” his voice changes when he addresses you, more gentle and coaxing as you sob harder into Fred’s chest. “I need to tell you my side of the story.” Fred laughs as you peel yourself from him, wiping your eyes, hot with tears. “There’s no explanation needed, dear brother,” Fred sneers at George who with a sarcastic smile presses his tongue to his cheek in sheer annoyance. “She caught you in the act. What are you going to explain? How your tongue accidentally found its way into Angelina’s mouth?”

George takes a step forward, challenging his brother. “Shut the fuck up, would you?” he bellows, anger in his eyes as Fred doesn’t back down, unafraid of George. You watch as the scene unfolds in front of you, still sniffling. “All of a sudden you’re interested in my girlfriend? You trying to scoop her up while she’s vulnerable?” he pushes Fred’s chest.

“Scoop her up?” he pushes back. “Are you mental? And if she hadn’t made it clear already, I’ll do it for you. Ex-girlfriend. She’s your ex-girlfriend,” Fred corrects his brother. “Not to mention, (Y/N) has always been my friend, even before you started dating. I’m not trying to scoop her up, George, we’re friends! I will always protect her! Especially when you fail to do so,” he spits at George. 

That’s what sends George over the edge. With a yell, he sends a gruesome punch to Fred’s jaw who nearly falls over from the blow. “Godric, George, stop!” you yell out at he goes for Fred again, but Fred sends a punch to his twin brother’s nose as George stumbles back, blood trickling down from his nose. 

People start to notice that the twins are now in a full on fight, grabbing and swinging at each other as they yell profanities at the each other. A crowd starts to trickle in, cheering on either side of the boys as you watch in horror.

“Fucking hell, get off of each other!” you scream as you grab Fred’s arm as he holds it up to send another punch to his brother’s nose. “Knock it off, you fucking dickheads!” you throw yourself in front of Fred as George and Fred catch their breaths, chests heaving. “Can we not make this a public affair?” you scream again, gesturing to the small crowd that has formed to witness the Weasley twins having it out at each other. “We can talk about this in private,” you say in a hushed angry tone to George. You turn to Fred and take a look at his face, no blood, but definitely lots of bruises and a split lip. “Episkey,” you wave your wand at his face, sealing his broken lip as well as managing to take away some of the swelling of his eyes. 

Fred hisses as his face stings as it heals. “You don’t need to talk to him, (Y/N). He doesn’t deserve to hear what you have to say,” he sneers at George who takes another challenging step at Fred.

You hold Fred back again and hold a warning finger to George. “Don’t you dare. You’ve already hurt enough people today,” you spit at him who immediately retaliates. You speak to Fred with a soft, calm smile. “I’ll be okay. I can handle him, Freddie,” you insist as Fred gives you sad smile.

Slowly looking away from Fred, your eyes land on George as your heart breaks at the sight of him. He wiped his bloody nose on his shirt sleeve as he glared at his brother, eyes eventually trailing to you as his glare fades into a guilty look. The brown eyes that you loved so much suddenly made you feel cold and alone as you inhaled a shaky breath. George tries to offer you his hand to walk somewhere more private to discuss things, but you just scoff and walk past him, letting him follow you. The audacity, you thought to yourself.

The two of you walk into an empty classroom as you close the door behind you and leaning against it, arms folded in front of you as you glare at George. You could feel yourself wanting to cry again, but you refused to let him see you cry again. He wasn’t worth your tears. Instead, you let rage course through your body instead of sadness. 

George gulps before speaking. “I never wanted this to happen...” he trails off.

“No, you never wanted to get caught,” you correct him as he lets out a disgruntled sigh. “I never thought you would ever do this to me, George. Nevertheless, do it to me with my best friend,” you shake your head. “I thought that if you didn’t love me anymore, you would at least have the decency to tell me,” you throw your hands up in defeat. George remains dead silent. “But somehow, you thought this was a better option.” He quickly replies, “It just happened, (Y/N)!” You furrow your eyebrows. “We were in the common room one night, studying for an exam and we started talking and then for some reason, one thing lead to another, and we kissed,” he admits as your heart breaks. So they had kissed before the time Patricia caught them in the library. This wasn’t a one time mistake he made. George had repeatedly kissed Angelina. Godric knows what else they did. “It was a huge mistake, (Y/N), and I’ll never forgive myself for it. You mean so much to me,” he tries to rationalize with you, begging at this point.

You just scoff and say, “A huge mistake that you did again and again and again. If I hadn’t caught you in the act, you would have kept seeing her, wouldn’t you?” George just shakes his head and gulps, taking a step forward. “Don’t lie to me, George...not again,” your voice cracks, but you refuse to cry. “Instead of telling me how you really felt, you kept telling me you loved me.”

George takes your hands in his and speaks, “I have always loved you, (Y/N). None of that was ever a lie.” Your eyes search his eyes, searching for a truth. Something to tell you why you should stay with him. But instead, you found nothing. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” he whispers, tears filling his eyes as he truly feels sorry when he understands what he losing. “We’re just not who we used to be, I guess,” he shrugs his shoulders, trying to shift the blame on both of you.

Pulling away from his hands, you spit back, “No, you’re not who you used to be.” You shake your head. “In fact, I don’t know who you’ve become. But you’re not the George I fell in love with,” you take a deep breath in as George’s heart breaks. What George did really ripped your heart out of your chest, but this is was ripped it into a thousand pieces. Leaving him. “Goodbye, Georgie.”

George shakes his head, “(Y/N), please don’t.”

But you were already gone.

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

Being without George for the first weeks of the breakup were difficult. You missed his touch, his voice, his eyes, his laugh, his smile; you missed it all. Even though what he did rung your heart out, there was a part of you that missed him more than words could say. 

People took notice immediately about how you didn’t sit next to George during meals in the Great Hall or converse to Angelina in between classes. This all earned you sorry glances in your direction as people found out what happened. It was embarrassing, having everyone know exactly what went down between you and George and Angelina.

You tried to distract yourself with other friends and schoolwork and other hobbies to keep yourself from thinking about George. But somehow, you always thought of him and how he so harshly betrayed you. No matter what you were doing, something had made you think of him. It came down to the point that you had to distance yourself from Fred, your closest friend after Angelina, because just the look of him made you think of George. That fact that your best friend had to be the identical twin of your cheating ex-boyfriend was enough to drive you mad. 

But after a few weeks of healing and distancing yourself from everything that reminded you of George, you finally decided you couldn’t let him prevent you from seeing Fred. Fred was not only George’s brother, but your friend and you were’t going to let that stop you. When you had seen him for the first time since you and George broke up, tears welled in your eyes, you missed him so much. Fred gave you the tightest hug and profusely apologized for his brother’s behavior. Fred was insistent on helping you in every way possible to move on from George; he wanted you to know that no matter what he would be there for you, no matter if it was his twin who had done the damage or not.

Fred along with the help of your other friends helped you get over George and move on. They helped you regain your confidence and have fun and you couldn’t be more grateful. Soon enough, George was the last thing on your mind. His presence in a room no longer made you sad, the mention of his name didn’t make your heart stop, and the sight of him didn’t make you miss him. You were over George Weasley; something you never thought you would be able to say.

Even though you were over George, you didn’t think that you would date someone else after four months after your break up. But funnily enough, you were. The relationship that had blossomed between you and Roger Davies started as something very innocent. You had always been friendly with Roger, but not very close. So when you had initially started studying in the library, you didn’t think it would lead to hanging out in the courtyard, to your first date to Hogsmeade, until your first kiss on the moving staircase. 

Roger was so refreshing. He was gentle and kind and shy, but he was affectionate and loved showing you how much he truly cared for you. He would be in the hallways with his friends and spot you across the way before running over to place a quick kiss on your cheek before running back to his friends. Or he would see you studying in the library alone and then immediately find the chair next to you to keep you company. It was the little things he did that made you feel so loved.

When word got to George that you and Roger started dating, he was didn’t take the news well. Unlike you, after the breakup, George wallowed in his guilt and couldn’t stop thinking about how foolish and careless he was. He cursed himself for letting he and Angelina share that kiss on that late night in the common room. He hated the fact that he let himself come back for more when he had someone like you in his fingertips. Someone who loved him fiercely and would do anything to prove their love. When Fred told him the news about you and Roger, George sat there with sad eyes and dryly gulped. “Why him?” he spoke. He was sad, angry, disappointed, jealous at the fact that Roger had just scooped you up. 

“She found someone who she cares for and who does the same,” Fred tells his twin. “You should be happy she found someone like that after how the relationship ended with you two,” he tells him as George just closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I know you miss her, George, but it’s over. You messed up.”

George just looked at his brother with the most pained look on his face. George knowing that he hurt you in a way unimaginable sat with him like a rock in his stomach. “It was the worst thing I ever did, Fred. I fucked up big time and I can’t fix it. I really can’t fix it this time,” he spoke, pools welling up in his eyes as Fred gave his brother a sympathetic gaze. “I really messed up, Fred.”

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

Winter break rolled around and it would be your first holiday with Roger, but the first holiday without the Weasleys. The thought made your stomach churn. The Weasley family took you in as their own the moment they saw you. Molly and Arthur felt like a second set of parents and you were so grateful that you always had a home with them. You sadly smiled at the memories of the Burrow and the holiday season. You had spent the past four Christmases with the Weasleys and each year just got better and better. You had thought your seventh year would be the best yet, but you had to cast that thought away before you grew sadder.

Shaking away the thoughts of the Burrow, you smiled at the thought of spending the holiday with Roger and his family. You were more than nervous to meet his parents and his older brother, but Roger made it abundantly clear that his family was thrilled to meet you. “I’ve talked to my mom about you before and she is so excited to meet you. She says you sound lovely,” Roger kissed your forehead as you danced nervously around your dormitory room. 

You gave him a nervous smile. “I just really want them to like me,” you shake your hands nervously as he takes your hands in his, laugh gently at your nerves. “I’m serious, Roger. I love you and I want your parents to know how much I care for you,” you stand in between his legs as he sits on your bed.

Roger smiles and kisses your nose gently. “They’ll love you because they know how much I love you and how much you mean to me. Let’s be honest, though, what’s not to love about you?” he pokes at your sides as you giggle.

And he wasn’t wrong. Roger’s family was so warm and welcoming to you. Practically the moment his mother spoke to you, you saw how kind and lovely she was and how the whole family took you in instantly. You couldn’t be more grateful to have a boyfriend who had a family that was kind and welcoming like the Weasleys. 

On the first night at Roger’s home, you laid in bed next to Roger as you played with the hem of his jumper. “My family bloody loves you,” he whispered to you with the largest smile on his face. You smiled wide and pecked his cheek. “I’m serious. You even impressed Chester and that’s not an easy feat,” he refers to his older brother. 

You beam, “Your family is wonderful. Truly. I love them already and it’s just the first night.”

“It’s only going to get better from here,” Roger wiggles his brows as you giggle before he presses his lips to yours.

When the Weasley students arrived home from Hogwarts, they were all tightly embraced by Molly Weasley who peppered each of her kids’ faces with kisses, making them all lovingly groan. “Ah! Harry, there you are,” Molly beamed as she kisses the top of Harry’s head. “Good to have you back home again, my dear,” she spoke before doing the same to Hermione’s head and giving her a tight squeeze. Molly looked around the living room, searching for something or rather someone. “Where’s (Y/N)? Georgie, did you leave her at Hogwarts as a mean prank?” she teased before noticing her son’s hollow face and everyone tense up as Molly spoke of your name like it was You Know Who. “What happened, Georgie?” she looks at her son with a stern look in her face. She knew something was very wrong and she had a bad feeling about it.

George gulps before saying, “(Y/N) and I broke up, Mum.”

Molly’s face drops with sadness before looking at Arthur whose face resembles Molly’s. “Really? Oh my dear, I’m so sorry, Georgie. (Y/N) and you seemed so happy. How did it happen?” she implores as George stiffens and Fred sighs and rubs his face.

This is the part that George Weasley was dreading; the reason why you split up. Everyone else in the room was scared for him too, Merlin’s sake. With a deep breath, George said, “Um,” and swallowed hard. “I wasn’t a good boyfriend, Mum. I betrayed her trust.”

And that’s when Molly’s face dropped into a serious expression. Molly always taught her children how to care for others and always be loyal to the ones who treat you with love. George’s behavior spoke a different story. “George Fabien Weasley,” she shook her head. “I thought you knew better,” her heart broke for you and it hurt her to know that one of her own boys did that to you. “Your father and I taught you better than that,” she told him with a disapproving look on her face.

It was all she needed to say in order to make George feel more disappointed in himself than ever. He sadly looked to Fred who gave him a sad smile. Losing you was the worst thing he’s ever done. He not only lost you, but he made his parents feel disappointed in him. You meant so much George and he threw that all away for a silly fling that he could never take back. George nervously bit down on his lip before huffing his way up the stairs, needing to be alone with his thoughts for a while. 

The Weasley siblings dispersed throughout the Burrow as they all felt the strange shift in the energy of the house. The house was feeling the weight of your absence. When everyone was in the Burrow, the home was full of life. But with you gone, it was like one piece of the puzzle was missing and wouldn’t be found. 

As George opened the door to he and Fred’s room, the memories of previous holidays flood George’s mind. The two of you laying on his bed, him on his back, you on your stomach as you comb your fingers through his hair. He would steal kisses from you every now and then and poke at your sides, making you giggle wildly. George would hold you close in his arms and whisper how happy he was that you were with him. You would pepper his face in kisses, telling him how much you adored him in between pecks.

The memory made him smile as he entered the room, the more he walked in, the more memories resurfaces. He thought of the time you two watched the sunset out of his window, or the time you two laid on your back on his floor and reread a muggle book of yours, or the time he told you he loved you for the first time in the middle of the room on Christmas Eve all those years ago. 

“You alright, mate?” Fred’s voice interrupts George’s thoughts. Fred gives is brother a sad look. “I know it must be hard this time of year, George,” he puts a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “But you’ll be alright. And so will she.” George shakes his head sadly. “Listen, George, even though what you did was still very wrong, you’re my brother and I love you. I’m here for you.”

George gives his brother a sad smile and shakes his head as if to say thank you. He looks Fred in the eyes and just shakes his head, “I want the best for her, Freddie. I want to be the best for her.” George has tears in his eyes and chokes lightly on his words.

Fred’s heart hurts for his brother. George rarely cried in front of Fred, he usually liked to be alone if he was going to cry. He didn’t like Fred seeing him upset. But this was too much for George to hide. Fred holds his brother’s arms and speaks, “I know, George. I know. But right now, what’s best for her is space. You both need to be away from each other. That’s what’s best for both of you.”

That made George realize that his brother was very right. As much as he hated to believe that you two couldn’t be together, George knew it was true. And he would have to be okay with that.  

[sohotthateveryonedied]

No Matter What

Read here on AO3!!

Summary: 

Bruce figures out that his son isn't straight from an early age.

That doesn't make him love him any less.

- Eight Years Old -

Bruce is finally starting to get a hang of this parenting thing.

The first few months were rough, there’s no disputing that. Bruce lost track of how many times he panicked and called Leslie Thompkins whenever Dick burst into tears over something and Alfred wasn’t home. Not to mention all the times when Alfred would leave Bruce on his own for dinner, insisting that one must learn how to raise a child without a butler to help. Bruce fed the kid burnt chicken nuggets and garlic bread for two nights straight. Now, though? Bruce is immensely proud of how far he and Dick have come. He’s even taken to attending PTA meetings, if only for the free coffee and doughnuts. He hears the front door open right on time, then wet boots hitting the floor. Dick had a half day today to make room for meet-the-teacher night later. Bruce isn’t looking forward to spending two hours sitting in a chair made for eight-year-olds, listening to a teacher in plastic pearls talk about an elementary schooler’s oh-so challenging curriculum. At least he’s only got the one; he has no intention of having more kids after Dick. Bruce busies himself with his mostly unburnt slice of toast, one ear trained on the footsteps through the foyer accompanied by unceasing chatter that Bruce has grown quite fond of over the months. “—and then they let us outside for recess even though it was raining, and I went on the swings and my hair got all wet and it was so cool.” “That explains the muddy clothes,” Alfred says. “Sorry, Alf. I’m not immune to mud puddles.” “It would appear so, Master Dick.”

The two of them enter the kitchen, Dick working his elbows out of his yellow rain slicker to reveal the school uniform beneath. His cheeks are rosy, his eyes bright. “Hiya, Bruce!”

“Hey, champ. How was school?” “It was awesome. It was raining all day and at recess there were a ton of puddles all over the playground and a million worms. I didn’t touch them though, ‘cause the teacher said not to.” “What snack would you like, Master Dick?” Alfred asks, taking Dick’s discarded raincoat and folding it over his arm. “Can you do ants on a log?” “Coming right up, sir.” Dick heaves himself up on the bar stool beside Bruce, his sock feet kicking against the lower cupboard. Bruce spreads marmalade over his toast. “Tell me more about school. Any fights today?” “Nope,” Dick says proudly, flashing his gapped teeth. Dick and another boy got into a scuffle on the first day over a comment about whether Dick’s parents being from the circus meant they were part monkey. It’s a miracle Dick only gave the kid a nosebleed and didn’t break anything. The principal let Dick off with a warning since it was his first time at a normal school, but Bruce has a feeling the only reason he wasn’t expelled was because his guardian is the most powerful man in Gotham City. Bruce had a stern talk with Dick when they got home about the importance of controlling one’s actions. Traveling the world in a circus train car doesn’t do much to help one’s impulse control. He also banned Dick from watching television for the rest of the night, but Dick’s crocodile tears swayed him to balance it out by letting him have ice cream before dinner. That’s good parenting, right? “I even made a friend,” Dick says. “Oh? What are they like?” “His name is Caleb and his desk is right next to mine, so we talked during reading time. Then he gave me some of his chocolate during lunch and we played on the swings together at recess.” “Ah, the wonders of childhood friendship,” Alfred says from where he’s slicing up a celery stalk at the other end of the counter. He sounds relieved, and Bruce finds himself matching it. Dick has been at Gotham Elementary for almost a week and hasn’t made a single friend until now. Bruce can’t tell if that is more because of Dick’s circus background or because he is a tan-skinned boy with the barest of Romani accents attending a predominantly white private school. Sometimes (all the time) Bruce loathes being associated with Gotham’s high society. If you’re not white, straight, and rich, you are automatically shunned in their minds. “He sounds great, Dick.” “Yeah! And he’s got really pretty eyes too. I can’t tell if they’re brown or green, but they’re sparkly like glitter.” Bruce arches an eyebrow. “You must like him a lot.” He takes a bite of his toast, making eye contact with Alfred over the boy’s head. Alfred doesn’t react but for a twitch of his mustache. Dick nods, focus switched over to the plate Alfred slides in front of him. Dick takes a celery stick and picks off the first raisin coated in peanut butter, licking it off his thumb. “I hope he talks to me again tomorrow. Alfred, can I bring an extra snack to lunch tomorrow so I can share it with him?” Alfred smiles. “Of course. I will pack a second cupcake in your lunchbox tomorrow morning just for him.” “Thanks, Alf.” Dick goes right back to eating his ants on a log, cheerful as ever, completely unaware of the swarm of question marks buzzing around in Bruce’s head. Huh. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Eleven Years Old - Bruce gets home from a three-hour business meeting, his sandpapery eyes aching to close and stay shut for...let’s go with ten years? That should be enough. He loosens his tie and prepares to go upstairs to his bedroom where he’ll spend the next decade of his life hibernating, until he sees his ward on the living room sofa. Dick is lying on his stomach with his face buried in a throw pillow, as if he’s waiting for the sofa to swallow him whole. Must have been a bad day if he’s not sliding down banisters and flipping over chairs like usual. Sighing, Bruce goes over. “Dick? You alive over there?” “Mmph.” At least he’s conscious. Bruce sits on the arm of the couch, shaking Dick’s thin shoulder. “Come on, kiddo. Use your words.” “Mmph.” “Bad day, then?” Dick nods. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” Dick shakes his head. Bruce sits back with a frown. “Alfred?” he calls. Alfred pokes his head in. “Yes, Master Bruce?” Bruce gestures to their anguished preteen. “It would seem that our lad had a rough day at school. He wouldn’t tell me what, but I’m making his favorite casserole for dinner. Hopefully that will perk him up.” Bruce turns back to Dick, who hasn’t moved. “C’mon, Dickie. Sit up so I can see your face.” Reluctantly, Dick forces himself upright with one last groan into his pillow. His hair is mussed, standing up on one side. There’s a pillow crease on his cheek. He sits back against the sofa, miserable. “Better.” Bruce prods Dick’s ribs which earns him a giggle, goading the kid into sliding over a few inches so Bruce can sit beside him. Dick leans into his side immediately and Bruce puts his arm around him. “Now, tell me what’s got you down.” “I want to transfer schools.” “How come?” As far as he’s known until now, Dick has loved middle school. His childhood took a bad turn when his parents’ ropes snapped, but preteen life is at a good start. Until now. Dick’s gaze is trained on his sneakers, kicking them where they hang over the edge of the couch. “Some kids in my science class were talking crap about me.” “Don’t say crap.” “Can I go to a new school? Please?” “What did those kids say about you?” Dick picks at a dime-size hole in his jeans. “They called me gay,” he says quietly. Bruce tightens his arm around the boy, his heart panging. Of course someone had to bully Bruce’s kid. As if his life hasn’t already been hard enough without stupid teenagers making it worse. “I wasn’t even doing anything wrong. I was just talking to my lab partner, and the guys at the next table over started whispering about us. Then they started throwing papers.” “Did you tell the teacher?” “No. But I know she noticed. Everyone did. She just didn’t do anything about it.” That sets Bruce’s blood to a boil. Teachers have a responsibility to protect their students, no matter what. What gives her the right to turn a blind eye to bullying, just because a couple of students might not fit the agreed-upon standards of “perfect” upper class society? “I’ll set up an appointment with the principal,” Bruce decides. Dick’s eyes get wide. “Bruce, no. Please. It’s fine, really. I don’t want this to turn into a big deal.” “What did you do when it happened?” Dick shrugs. “Nothing. My lab partner stopped talking to me, so I just asked to go to the bathroom and didn’t come back until the bell rang.” Bruce sighs. Middle schoolers are the worst, every last one of them. (Except for Dick, of course; he is perfect.) “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Kids can be cruel—especially at your age, when they start learning new words that they don’t understand the way they should. They think some words are insults or something to be ashamed of when they’re not. Most kids grow out of this. Too many don’t.” “People suck,” Dick mutters. “I don’t even know why they were saying all that stuff. I’m not...I’m not like that” Bruce bites his cheek. He’s going to have to be careful about this. “Dick, do you know what being gay means?” “Duh. It’s when two guys date each other. I’m not stupid.” “I know you’re not stupid. But gay can mean a lot of things. Men can like other men, just as women can love other women. Like Kate, for instance. Then there are bisexual and pansexual people who love all genders, and asexuals who don’t like either.” Thank god Bruce thought ahead and read some LGBTQ+ research books all those years ago when he first began to suspect that Dick wasn’t heterosexual. “And transgender is when someone doesn’t identify with the gender they were assigned at birth. Sometimes people feel more like a man, a woman, neither, or both.” “...Okay?” “I just want to make sure you understand these things, because part of being a respectful person means respecting others for who they are. And if you don’t completely understand the label they identify as, then it’s your job to try and understand it the best you can.” “Why?” “Because too many people in this world judge others for things they can’t control, and that’s not right. No one should have to feel like they were born wrong. And I want to make sure you know this, that way you can be better than those who choose to hurt others for things they can’t control.” “Does that mean the guys who made fun of me are bad people?” “I’m sure they aren’t. They might just be confused because they don’t understand that being gay isn’t anything bad or dirty. The people in this part of Gotham...they don’t accept a lot of things. They think that being queer or a person of color means you don’t deserve respect, and that’s wrong. It was wrong of those kids to tease you and your lab partner the way they did.” Dick nods slowly. “I’m not gay.” “I know. I just want you to be aware of these things. And if you ever have questions or need to talk, you can always come to me.” He ruffles Dick’s hair. “Even when other people are nasty, remember that I love you no matter what, got it?” Dick shoves Bruce’s hand away and smoothes his hair back out, grinning. “Yeah, yeah. I got it.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Thirteen Years Old -

What’s the difference between a growth spurt and a shark? 

Dick doesn’t have any sharks. “We’re home!” Dick announces. He and Alfred stumble into the house, their arms filled with all kinds of shopping bags. With Dick shooting up half an inch nightly these days, he’s growing out of his clothes at a rate even Bane would gawk at. Bruce and Alfred can barely keep up with the kid. “Want to see what I got?” “Show me, pal.” Bruce sets aside his tablet and pushes his reading glasses up on his head. (He does not have poor vision, thank you very much. Leslie just made him get a prescription as a precaution, that’s all. He’s still young by anyone’s standards, just ask Selina.) Dick starts pulling clothing out of the boutique bags, showing off every one of his new sweaters and pairs of Alfred-approved jeans. After ten minutes that Bruce desperately tries to look interested during, Dick pulls out what looks like a t-shirt that’s been sliced in half horizontally. The fabric is bright pink with a chibi whale on the front. “This one is my favorite,” Dicks says. His grin is blinding. Bruce stares for a long moment, his brain a lagging computer drive. “What is it?” “It’s a crop top. You know, like a belly shirt?” Memories from Dick’s Kim Possible phase flash in front of Bruce’s eyes. “Alfred let you buy that?” “Yeah?” Dick’s smile flags. He lowers the crop top, suddenly self-conscious. “Do you not...like it?” “You were supposed to get winter clothes, Dick. For cold weather.” “So?” “That’s clearly something you’re supposed to wear during the summer.” Dick pouts. “But I like it.” He holds it up against himself, twisting this way and that like an amateur model. “Sorry, kiddo. You’re not leaving the house in that until springtime.” “Oh, so Robin can wear tiny shorts in the winter, but Dick Grayson can’t wear a harmless crop top? I smell hypocrisy.” “Yes, because Robin has thermal leggings and a built-in heater in his uniform.” He looks back at the pink monstrosity, at Dick’s pleading eyes. “I would be open to negotiations if you’re willing to wear a sweater under it.” “That’s not how fashion works, B.” “I don’t care. You can wait until it gets warmer out to wear it.” “You’re such a drag,” Dick whines. He lifts his dozens of shopping bags and goes to leave, then turns right back around. “What if I wear a jacket over it and promise to keep it closed whenever I’m outside?” Bruce considers that. “Fine. But not below fifteen degrees, got it? And if I see you outside for even five seconds without the jacket, I’m confiscating the Xbox. Deal?” “Deal.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Fourteen Years Old -

Something is different about Dick today. You’d think his boots were made of helium with the way he floats through patrol, and then smiles into his late-night milkshake like it did his homework for him. Bruce sits beside his Robin on the roof of Wayne Tower, silent for as long as he can bear before he can’t hold it back any longer. “Did anything interesting happen today?” “Huh?” Dick looks up as if Bruce pried him and his thoughts apart with a crowbar. “You’ve been...different. Happy.” “Am I not usually happy?” “No, you are. Just seems like you’re...extra happy, for whatever reason.” A blush dusts the kid’s cheeks. He sips his chocolate shake and shrugs. “Dunno. It was just a good day. Nothing special.” Yeah, and Bruce is a goddamn unicorn. Still, he knows better than to pry where Dick doesn’t want him. It’s a delicate thing. “If you say so.” “I got a hundred on my English essay,” Dick offers. It’s a start. “Was that the one on Grapes of Wrath?” “That was last month. We’re on Animal Farm now. It’s not my favorite.” “Yeah, I wasn’t a fan of Orwell either. Shakespeare was okay, but I preferred his tragedies over his comedies.” “Of course you did.” That makes Bruce laugh. He’s not worried; the two of them are high enough that no one can hear it. Bruce even has his cowl down, his face exposed to the cool air. “They had quinoa burgers at the cafeteria today.” “Mm-hm.” Dick is dodging something, beating around whatever bush he wants to talk about. Bruce can be patient while he figures it out. “And I spent some time with Barbara after school.” “Oh?” “Yeah. We walked home together and we took this old path through the park. Then we kissed.” Bruce chokes on his milkshake. He coughs, his sinuses burning and eyes watering. When he recovers, he says, “That’s...that’s great, chum.” “Yeah.” Dick can’t stop smiling, a true schoolboy in love. “And she asked if I wanted to patrol with her tomorrow night, but I said I needed to check in with you first.” “I don’t see why not.” It’s not like Bruce hasn’t patrolled without Dick before. Sure, he misses the company on the few days a week he’s alone, but he’s not about to deny Dick the thing he clearly wants. “You sure? You look...freaked out.” “No, no. That’s...great, that you kissed. Congratulations.” Awkward. He’s so fucking awkward. Stop being awkward right now. He doesn’t know why this is messing with his head so drastically. Bruce has listened to Dick moon over girls for the entirety of his pubescence, talking about them like they’re goddesses he’s forbidden to look upon, Barbara included. And Bruce has seen the way Dick and Barbara interact with each other in between muggings, always talking with their heads bent close like they’re the only two people in the world. Who would have thought Batman could be a third wheel? “I’ve liked her for a while now, but I didn’t know if she liked me back and I was too nervous to ask.” Dick’s face goes even pinker. “Kissing her was cool.” Part of Bruce’s brain jumps at the realization that, holy shit, Dick just had his first kiss, my little boy is growing up, what a milestone. The other part is far less happy about this new development. Yes, Bruce has seen Dick win brawls with men three times his size. He can fly the Bat-jet on his own, knows six languages, and is even leading his own superhero team. And yet, all Bruce can think is, no, not my little boy, he’s just a baby, Batgirl is corrupting his innocence and She Must Be Stopped. With great effort, Bruce holds it all back. He’s read the parenting books, he knows that it’s important to be supportive when they’re at this age. “Good to hear. I’m happy for you.” He pats Dick on the shoulder. “Thanks, B.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Sixteen Years Old - “Hey, Bruce? Can I talk to you?” Bruce doesn’t look up from the metal flakes he’s testing. “What is it?” “I can come back later if you’re busy.” “No, I’m just analyzing some samples. I’m looking for residue from one of Zsasz’s blades.” Dick steps forward, tentative for once. “Need any help?” “I would like for you to come out with whatever it is you clearly need to tell me.” Dick snorts quietly. “Nice phrasing.” “What?” “I think I’m bisexual.” Bruce turns around, forgetting about the samples entirely. Dick’s arms are crossed over his chest, his eyes skipping between everything that isn’t Bruce’s face. At sixteen years old he’s finally tall enough that he doesn’t have to crane his neck to look at Bruce anymore. “You...think?” “I am. I’m bisexual.” “Okay.” “Is that cool with you?” The question shocks Bruce. “Of course it is.” Did Dick honestly think this would change anything? Has Bruce done something wrong, made Dick think that he wasn’t loved unconditionally? Dick squints, appraises Bruce’s reaction. “You knew, didn’t you.” “No.” “Bruce.” “I knew a little bit.” Dick rolls his eyes. The tension slips from his shoulders. His arms uncross. “Of course you did.” “Well, you weren’t exactly subtle about it.” “What the hell does that mean?” “Language,” Bruce chides, more out of habit than anything. “And do you realize how often you would come home after elementary school complaining about stupid pretty boys?” “That was just me being dramatic.” “I’m not disputing that. But they were still crushes, pal.” “I figured you thought it was just a phase.” Bruce shrugs. “Maybe for the first few days. But trust me, I have known you liked boys since you were a kid.” “Then why didn’t you just say so? It took me years to figure this all out, and you’re telling me you’ve been sitting on this info the whole time?” “Because this is your truth, not mine. I knew that you would tell me about it when you were ready. And you have.” Dick is clearly fighting a smile. He bites his lip instead, runs a hand through his mop of black hair that not even Alfred can wheedle him into combing anymore. “Well, I’m heading to the tower for the night, so don’t wait up, ‘kay? Kay. Good talk.” He goes to leave, but Bruce stops him. “Hang on. Why choose now to tell me?” Dick stuffs his hands in his pockets—an obvious tell. “No reason. I just...wanted you to know. Just in case.” “In case of what?” “Oh, you know.” Dick waves his hand in a gesture that clarifies absolutely nothing. “Life happens. People meet each other. You know how it is.” Bruce’s soul implodes. “You have a date?” “I never said that.” “You implied it.” “Real detectives rely on evidence, not theories.” Dick winks. “Tell me who it is. Are they a civilian? A hero? Do they come from a respectable family?” If it’s Roy Harper, Bruce might have to bury a body tonight. Especially after learning about Harper’s drug problem. Dick is too pure for someone like that. Or—heaven forbid—that Wally West kid. Dick is already walking away. “See ya, Bruce!” “You come back here, Richard John Grayson! Do I know him? Does he know your father is Batman?” Dick’s cackle echoes around the cave. “It had better not be a speedster!”

[missinghan]

broken umbrella ⤖ han jisung

❖ genre : high school au; fluff

❖ word count : 1,6k.

❖ warning : explicit language

❖ summary : a typical day in your life starts with having candies poured over your head and ends with breaking han jisung’s umbrella. 

❖ note : I wanted to write smth dumb okay-

one.

Jisung gives his desk a harsh kick, one that does no good in releasing his inner storm, only to wince in pain later because he’s an idiot. 

Classes have been somewhat less than boring these days, partially because his mind is occupied with thoughts of you half of the time and partially because…well, more thoughts of you. Oh wait, today is a little different than usual considering the fact that you did not give him a proper response. 

To what?

Putting it simply, he woke up early this morning to go over his routine more thoroughly—styling his hair, making sure that his tie isn’t sloppy-looking, and spraying himself with his brother’s cologne. He doesn’t usually care for any one of those things until junior starts and you show up. Call him desperate, or delusional, or childish even but it truly felt like fate when you two first encountered each other. 

“Yeah right, fate,” Hyunjin snickers loudly, swirling a strawberry-flavored lollipop inside his mouth. “You meant when you fell on your ass on the bus the other day and you accidentally grabbed her collar?”

Jisung feels his cheeks heat up thanks to his friend’s less than necessary comment. “Shut the fuck up, you’re just jealous.” It was great. Not only did he fall head over heels for you, but he also left a bad impression. 

Back to the point. All of his hard work this morning is reduced to nothing because of the rain. His hair is messed up, his uniform looks sloppy, and his shoes are covered in mud from skipping through puddles. Not to mention, he showed up timely enough to be there when you opened your locker, having various candies and sweets poured down your head, scattered all over the hallway. 

Yeji should have told him you didn’t like sweet things yesterday, damn it. Because he’s never seen you giving him that look before. The look that makes him believe you will make him experience torment and pain, begging for the mercy that never comes—make his life a living hell basically. 

“How did your plan go, by the way?” His friend asks out of boredom. 

“Fantastic,” he replies under his breath when everything is, in fact, not fantastic. 

Hyunjin tilts his head. “Did she know?”

“Know what? That I’m in love with her? I mean I wasn’t trying to be subtle or anything-“

“No, did she know that it was gonna rain today?”

Shrugging, he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose in exhaustion; forty-five minutes periods should be illegal. “Why does that matter?”

“Hey, Han!” 

Jisung turns his head to the voice and sees Felix sliding the door to his classroom open, uneven breaths as if he’s been running for his life while holding two umbrellas in his arms. He glances at his friend’s state with a grimace, head cocked to the side in confusion. Luckily, no one really spends recess in class except for loners like himself anyway. “What are you doing?” 

“Y/N didn’t bring an umbrella!” The freckled boy exclaims with excitement, only able to coax an amused hum from Hyunjin. “But you have an umbrella, and it’s still raining! Which means…?”

A comical silence falls upon the three of them. It takes Jisung approximately five taps of Hyunjin’s finger on the table to fully process his friend’s point. Realization lights up in his eyes like a candle but dies down with a pout on his face. “But she can just go with her friends?” he says with expressive hands, though a little disappointed. 

“I’m not gonna half-ass it if I plan on helping you,” Felix gives the two umbrellas, a white one and a pink one, in his hands a slight jerk, looking oddly proud. 

This time, Jisung catches on immediately; his eyes go wide in shock as though his friend has committed the greatest sin. “Yeji and Lia are so gonna kill you.”

two.

“Did you bring an umbrella?” Lia asks while hopeless rummaging through her stuff. “I swear with my own eyes I saw myself putting one in my bag this morning.”

Yeji shakes her head in defeat, tugging at the straps of her backpack. “I was pretty sure I brought one too. I even used it to walk to the bus stop this morning! Someone must have taken it during recess,” she sighs, dreading the pouring rain and grey clouds. 

It’s raining again. It’s only been raining today, the weather forecast did predict that it’s most likely going to last for a whole week too (not that you bothered checking). You don’t mind the rain, though. You like the fact that they make the world appear mistier, hazier like a fever dream. 

What isn’t good about the rain is the fact that your parents won’t be too happy to see you come home looking like a wet rat. Or the fact that you’ll probably get a really bad cold, and that won’t be pretty during midterms week. Or the fact that most students are absolute idiots and didn’t bring their own umbrellas either. Everyone is shoving each other for space under the canopy at the main gate so the rain won’t soak their clothes. 

You’re not having it. At all. 

“Yeji, Lia. I’m going home,” you purse your lips together and take a breath. 

Lia frowns at your particular solution. “Already? But you’re gonna get wet.”

“My house is a ten-minute walk away. Shouldn’t be too bad,” you say lowly in faint annoyance, eyes squinted from the discomfort of lack of space; these students have no manners whatsoever, you’re getting claustrophobic. 

With a determined huff, you pull the zipper of your jacket up and throw the hood over your hair. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

Shadow suddenly looms over the top of your head, warmth radiates to your clothed arm. In the corner of your eyes, a familiar face comes into view and forces a heavy exhale from your lips. 

“Hey, do you wanna go with-“ Jisung pauses midway when you take off running, shattering his fantasy of living in a drama into bits without mercy. “Y/N! Wait up!”

three.

“Come here! Or you’ll get sick!”

“Why the hell do you care?”

“Y/N, stop being so stubborn! You’re gonna catch a cold!”

“It’s none of your business.”

After walking down several blocks down the road, past nothing but empty plazas and mostly closed café, you even take an extra U-turn, going through a skeptical alley just so Jisung will get tired and stop following you. Your effort doesn’t not prevail so you give up eventually, deciding to take the proper turn to head home before it’s too late to prepare dinner. 

The poor boy can feel the rain drizzle down his black umbrella before falling onto his windbreaker, soaking through the fabric to stain his senses with a chilling sensation. He has already calmed every racing thought that ceases to ease his erratic heartbeat but no matter how hard he tries, there isn’t one second where he isn’t thinking about your well-being.

“Hey,” he calls out; when you turn around, he’s closing his umbrella and tossing it to the ground, leaving it to graze the tip of your shoes. “Take it and go home. I won’t bother you anymore.”

You roll your eyes before picking it up, mercilessly letting it flop right in front of him. “I don’t need it.”

Jisung clicks his tongue in irritation, not caring that droplets are falling from his head and his skin is crawling from the cold. Somehow, he’s starting to become baffled for no reason. Perhaps it’s because of your nonchalance about the current situation; you shouldn’t be so apathetic when he’s genuinely worried sick for your health.

His eyes are heavy with rain droplets so he blinks them away before glaring at you slightly. “You need it more than I do. Would you please stop acting irrationally, take the umbrella and head home? The rain isn’t stopping anytime soon.” His leg jerks up to kick at the innocent object; still isn’t enough to relish the turmoil hurling his innards.

He brushes past you, shoving your shoulder a little while expecting you to finally accept his offer. To his dismay, you once again grab at the poor, poor umbrella, and throw it at his leg with more force this time. When it drops to the ground with a small thud, his heart pauses awkwardly in disappointment. 

The sun is going down by the second but you can still see the faint outline of his scowl. “Go home, Jisung. It’s getting late,” you remark coldly, stuffing your freezing hands into your pocket. 

With a loud groan, he marches back to where you two were originally standing, a curse word lingers on the tip of his tongue. But he manages to swallow it back down before gently tugging at the sleeve of your jacket. “Take the umbrella at least,” he voices softly, the crack more evident than anything at the end. “Look, I know I’ve been nothing but a nuisance since we first met. I just really like you and I care for you okay? Go home, Y/N.”

“Please.”

You look at him after moments, your once hateful eyes finally glinting with something else other than general distaste and annoyance. It only takes one glance of his tired eyes to pierce through your phlegmatic front, leaving your raw emotions out in the open. Before Jisung can say another word or take notice of the rare warmth creeping in your gaze, you take his hand in yours and pull him toward a nearby apartment complex to not wait out in the downpour any longer. By the time that you’ve released the grip, he’s still staring into the nothingness, eyes slightly wide in shock.

“What are you doing? Aren’t you gonna go home?” he blurts out finally after snapping out of it.

“This is my apartment complex. But I must have dropped my card somewhere. So I can’t go inside.”

A sigh. “Is anyone home right now?”

“My phone is dead.”

Jisung perks up and his hand fishes inside his pocket. “You can use-”

You inhale deeply, looking away. “Enough is enough, Jisung. Go home.”

“You broke my umbrella,” he mentions, blinking rapidly to bat the droplets away from his eyelashes. “I can’t go home like this.”

Few beats of silence later, a middle-aged woman dressed in a beige trench coat walks past the both of you, two high school students pathetically standing under the canopy like wet rats; she swipes her card against the security lock and the glass door pops open without much effort. Sparing you the last look, she’s probably thinking ‘kids these days’ before heading inside with a roll of her eyes. 

Jisung hurriedly skips over to hold the door open for you, motions for you to walk in with his head. To his surprise, you comply but bring your steps to a halt to situate yourself in front of him. His lashes are wet and heavy; that’s when you realize how soaked you both are and how terribly cold the temperature it’s getting. Your hand reaches out to brush the raindrops away softly, shaking his heart to the core. 

The silence is graceful in the wake of the moment, the rain in the background just makes everything that much more cinematic. However, Jisung isn’t in the right mind state to fanboy over the fact that his drama fantasy is one step closer to reality. He wishes to cling to this moment forever because he just can’t get enough. He can never.

“I’ll get you a towel,” you pull away calmly, thinking how cute he sort of looks when his cheeks are three shades redder. “And a new umbrella.” 

His smile has never been brighter, you notice. Even when he’s out in the brutal cold and completely drenched from head to toe. And wait...have his eyes always been so pretty?

[miracle-sham]

Die Like the Butterfly Shoot With Their Guns.

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 2, Day 7: Guns} |

Chapter 1 of Sheltered by Darkness not yet Moths to the Flame.

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [Spotify Playlist Link] | | [Chapter 2] |

———

| Sometimes a family can be a gang comprised of eleven vigilantes, and their AI robot, fighting against the father of one of their own. |

| Or alternatively: after falling through the cracks, they do what they must to survive. And if that means committing crimes in order to bring down the Big Butterfly and all the other corrupt businesses in the city, then so be it. |

———

| Tonight's the night. Half of them will strike one of the Big Butterfly's warehouses that just so happens to contain some fancy new gun tech. Besides, it'll be in better hands with them than the Big Butterfly or his associates. Now all that matters, is that nothing goes wrong! |

| Word Count: 3,322. |

| Warnings/Tags: Cyberpunk/Criminal/Gang Au, Explicit Language/Swearing, Hacking, Breaking and Entering, Theft, Mentions of Bombs and Guns, Mentions of corrupt/shady businesses, Fluff, Gang/Team as family/family dynamics, Found Family. |

———

| A/N: It is Cyberpunk Au time! This is a twoshot, so have a looksy to see if you can find all the snippets of foreshadowing I've set! Also this is mostly Action/Fluff but beware of the warnings regardless. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

———

Rain patters against the concrete, sound mixing with the low hum and high buzz of electricity. The ground is slick with murky puddles that never seem to clean the pavement. Still just as filthy as before, permanently dyed with dried bloodstains, mud stains, electric scorch marks, and far worse. The air is heavy with the smell of cigarette smoke, ozone, and that ever underlying decay that clings to the city.

It's dark—dead of night—but the streets are awash with flickering neon lights. There are a few others haunting the street though most of them are sticking to the areas of light, avoiding the shadows.

Which is where Marinette, also known as the ruthless gang leader Fantôminou, is lurking.

Jason—Red Hood, her co-leader—snarls as he drops down onto the shadowed fire escape beside her. “We've got a rat. Someone's tipped off the big Butterfly and security has been increased around the perimeter. Most likely interior security increased too.”

Fantôminou flexes her glowing clawed gauntlets, “I suppose we should check in with our local pied piper, before we strike, hmm?”

There's a bzzt in her earpiece as the channel is hijacked by the familiar voice of their gang's hacker, Max aka Raijack. “I wouldn't worry about that if I were you, our pied piper has already been contacted. Whoever they were, they didn't reveal which location we were targeting, so it's just a general security increase.”

She hums. “Raijack, link us up with the rest of the strike force.”

“Got it, 'Minou.” He responds, and not a split second later, the earpiece makes another bzzt and there's the faint ping of the rest of the channel being alerted at someone joining.

“Look, I think you could totally pull off the—oh, who just joined the channel?” Adrien, Cheval Mallet, asks in surprise.

“Just me and our anthill tiger.” Red Hood announces, snorting at the glare Fantôminou sends him.

Silence echoes across the line before a scrabble of hushed but excited voices causes a ruckus.

Fantôminou sighs, “I know we're all excited to hit the big Butterfly hard by stealing some of their new fancy gun tech. But let's leave the yelling for when we inevitably set off the alarms!”

“Hey!” Raijack protests. “I'll have you know I have produced a new virus that has a ninety-eight per cent chance of not setting off any alarms!”

Red Hood rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, but you've still not worked out how to get your viruses to deactivate the bombs in the crates yet, huh?”

“I will one day, until then it's your job to stop the bombs from triggering the rest of the alarms!” Raijack counters with a huff.

Fantôminou sighs again, this time with an added sprinkling of are-you-kidding-me. “Red Hood, Raijack. I can and will kick your asses if you do not shut up so we can discuss final prep before we begin the pesticide protocol.”

Bumping shoulders with her, Red Hood snorts again. “I've got nothing against being beat up by someone as pretty and buff as you Minou, you know that!”

“Oh, I think we can all agree to wanting to get crushed by Minou's guns.” Cheval Mallet pipes up once more.

Fantôminou sighs very wearily. “Nevermind, are you all ready?”

Red Hood salutes at her, and despite his mouth being covered, it's easily telling that he's grinning cockily underneath. “I'm ready. My guns are ready, and I've got the bomb defusal kit at the ready.”

“I may be holding my horses but I'm saddled to giddy-up on the go!” Cheval Mallet cheerfully announces.

“This has to be one of your worst attempts at horse puns yet.” Raijack comments, “otherwise, I'm in position and ready to hack on your call, Minou.”

Red Hood exchanges a glance with Fantôminou as silence falls over the earpiece channel. “Hold up, where's Arsenal? Shouldn't he have checked in by now?”

Taking his hand gently, Fantôminou gives it a reassuring squeeze.

“He already did but because you two had your issues getting into position and avoiding the unexpected police patrol, Arsenal had to deal with another issue that popped up which would've threatened our plan,” Raijack informs, sounding nonplussed.

“Well, you don't sound concerned.” Fantôminou points out the obvious. “Has he got back up?”

There's the faint tapping of a keyboard through the earpiece channel before Raijack responds, “Chèvrapide is on her way to back him up, don't worry.”

“Then that's everyone accounted for. Let's rock and roll.” Red Hood orders, dropping from the fire escape and landing in the rain-slick alleyway with ease, conveniently right beside the hoverbike they had stashed here.

Fantôminou hops down after him, except she manages to flip and expertly land in the driver's seat. “I'm driving Jay, you're the one with the guns after all,” she all but states, putting one gauntleted hand up and flexing just to hammer in the point, “I'm close range only right now and you know it.”

Red Hood throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey! I'd never complain about getting to watch you drive this beauty of a hoverbike.”

Fantôminou snorts. “Just get on, pretty bird!”

“Well, if you say so, pretty kitty!” Red Hood teases back, vaulting onto the back of the bike behind her. He wraps an arm around her waist and rests the other hand on his sheathed-for-now gun.

She revs the engine of the hoverbike and steers out of the alleyway with practised ease. There's no directions on the hoverbike's holoscreen, but it's not like they need any—the directions to where they need to be outside the warehouse have already been memorised by each and every one of them.”

Down the left street, take the right at the T junction, pass under the flyover street, then take a further two lefts and then straight on until the block of office buildings forming a protective extra layer between the warehouse electric razor wire tipped fencing and the road. Easy.

“All networks in the office buildings have temporarily shut down. As far as the tech will be concerned, it'll look like the networks just decided to not work today.” Raijack announces through the earpiece channel, voice coming through slightly more robotic than usual.

“So no security cams?” Fantôminou checks cautiously, circling like a hawk around the small stretch of street between her and the office building she and Jason will be entering through. The rain has slowed to a drizzle but that doesn't make the circling in it any less mildly uncomfortable, at least inside it'll be dry.

There's the familiar clack of keys once more. “Not quite, they're a little harder to crack than entering in through the backdoor via someone's unprotected webcam in the office. Thank you, Shodan.” Raijack pauses, keys continuing to clack in the background. “Unfortunately, the Big Butterfly's got tech security smart enough to keep the security system on a closed network so I can't hop from webcam to computer to network to cams. However, they didn't account for Markov, suckers!”

Red Hood snorts. “Isn't Markov a little obvious for this kinda mission?”

“Oh, did I forget to tell you?” Raijack says, in a voice that very clearly conveys he didn't forget so much as purposefully neglected to mention, “I recently upgraded Markov, outfitting him with the currently most highly advanced cloaking system. Thanks to some help from Fantôminou's knowledge of cloaking and camouflage fashion.”

Red Hood leans his head onto Fantôminou's shoulder. “I'm hurt, you knew and didn't tell me? I want cloaking guns! Think of how much cooler I'd look with them!”

Fantôminou merely hums in an unamused response. “Raijack wanted it to be a surprise.”

He huffs. “I see who your favourite person in our gang is then!”

“You're right! It's me!” Cheval Mallet cheers, jumping into the conversation.

“Fucking 'ell!” Red Hood curses under his breath. “I thought you were gonna mute whilst getting in position.”

Cheval Mallet's laugh cuts in and out across the earpiece channel. “And when did I hay that!”

“Hacker voice, I'm in!” Raijack interrupts. “Looks like the security system was perfectly untouched by whatever minor error caused the main networks to crash, how lucky. Which is to say, looping is in process, and we now have free entry.”

“Got us a place to park yet, though?” Red Hood asks.

Raijack doesn't immediately respond, but the sound of the garage door connected to the office building opening, is answer enough. “I might.”

Fantôminou snorts. “Thanks, Raijack. Hood and I need to split here right, just until we get past the fencing right?”

“That's right.” Raijack responds, “good luck, and Markov and I will see you all on the other side.”

“Break a leg, or three!” Red Hood calls over the earpiece. “Preferably some else's though!”

Fantôminou pulls the hoverbike into the garage, keeping her gaze ahead. “If I could elbow you without fucking up my parking, I would.”

Red Hood cackles quietly in response, trying to at least keep to the stealth part of the mission plan.

In the blink of an eye, the hoverbike is securely parked. Perfectly hidden in plain sight but easily accessible for a quick and clean getaway should nothing go wrong. And well, if something were to go wrong, there's not going to be any hoverbike left for evidence. Though, that's not to say a small part of Fantôminou's brain doesn't anxiously hate how they're practically sitting on top of bombs ready to blow up at the slightest hint of things going wrong. However, they've been through enough strikes like this for the concern to be mostly easily ignored.

———

With the hoverbike parked, Fantôminou and Red Hood part ways.

Fantôminou heads up through the internal stairwell connected to the garage, whilst Red Hood takes one of the external doors leading to the office building next door.

The stairwell is like any other maintenance stairwell. Grey concrete walls, metal railings and steps. Even Fantôminou's light footsteps clang loudly against the ridged metal stairs. It's cold, just as cold as the garage was and barely warmer than it is outside in the rain. The air is stuffy but at least the respirator hidden beneath the bandana wrapped around her mouth makes it bearable to breathe. Other than the aforementioned clanging of steps, and her breathing, Fantôminou is alone with the ominous silence of a liminal space.

The stairs stretch on upwards for what seems far longer than it should, but eventually, Fantôminou reaches the final steps to the roof entrance door.

The door is unlocked, and so Fantôminou opens it as quietly as possible. She walks out into the rain once more and scrunches up her nose. A quick glance of the roof yields no immediate signs of danger or anything of note, so she continues to the edge of the roof.

Fantôminou rests one foot on the lip of the roof and flexes her gauntlets, lights switching off for stealth. Carefully, she turns around and crouches on the lip, gauntlets gripping the edge and toes of her boots braced against the wall. Bit by bit she descends, gauntlets making it more than easy to stay attached to the wall.

Two-thirds of the way down, Fantôminou climbs onto a window sill. The fence is only a metre below, with a further four-metre drop. No security drones in sight, yet—but no alarms have been triggered yet either.

A shadow drops down the building and over the fence on the other side of the compound. Not a second later is the double buzz of the earpiece signalling that someone is in position.

Fantôminou smirks beneath her face coverings, not one to be so quickly outdone she leaps forwards in a dive—spinning midair as she begins to plummet. Clearing the razor wire fence with room to spare.

She hits the ground in another diving roll, and immediately uses the momentum to throw herself up and run towards the nearest warehouse building. As soon as she reaches the wall, she double-taps her earpiece to send the double buzz signal to others.

A moment later comes the third double buzz, soon followed by the fourth and final signal.

“Markov is covering our air support.” Raijack's voice clips across the earpiece channel, “Fantôminou, you and Red Hood are on opposite ends of the same warehouse. I've unlocked the doors for you. You know the drill.”

“Thank you, Raijack. Entering now.” Fantôminou responds, she slinks over to the warehouse doors and cautiously pries open the now unlocked door.

Fantôminou heads straight for the terminal, and knows Red Hood is doing the same. Slipping Raijack's new and improved virus into one of the terminal's ports. Seconds pass.

“Interface secured,” Raijack informs.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Red Hood prowling over to her. She nods to him and taps into the terminal with her gauntlet.

Red Hood readies his bomb defusal kit as she instructs the internal warehouse drones into delivering the goods to them.

The drone, blinking yellow—a sure sign of Raijack's virus in effect—hovers over and drops a large black cased crate before them.

As soon as the claws of the drone release the crate, Red Hood is immediately on it, pulling it open and weeding out the bomb.

They wait with bated breath. Red Hood tinkers away. The earpiece channel is silent as the team focuses.

He hisses through his teeth, and Fantôminou tenses—ready to grab him and run, in the worst case—but he only packs the kit back away and sighs in relief.

He taps the earpiece thrice—signalling success.

Raijack and Cheval Mallet don't respond, so Fantôminou and Red Hood stuff their haul into Fantôminou's Miraculous, for ease of transport, and begin making their way towards the warehouse the other two were hitting.

By the time they reach the nearest warehouse doors, the earpiece triple buzzes. Success, again.

They pause only to exchange a nod between the two before continuing to meet up with Cheval Mallet and Raijack—no rendezvous needed this time so far.

It takes forty seconds to cross halfway to the other warehouse, where they meet the other two along with Markov in the middle.

Cheval Mallet waves a hand and the five of them skulk over to a small shed off the side of another warehouse. He raises his horseshoe weapon and calls out, “Bon Voyage!”

The portal forms and Markov flies through first. The remaining four exchange glances then bolt forwards, racing to see who can get through first.

The blue light blinds them all for a second, despite how used to the power they are.

“Mission success!” Fantôminou cheers breathlessly once the blue fades, throwing her hands up in celebration.

“WOOH!” Cheval Mallet yells, jumping up and punching the air.

Red Hood snorts, “but more importantly I so won!”

Raijack hums, “let's see what Markov has to say about that.”

Markov makes a series of boops and beeps, yellow LEDs flickering. “Red Hood is correct, he won the portal race.”

“YES!” Red Hood crows.

“Oh come on!” Raijack grumbles.

Footsteps and clapping approaches. “Well done,” Félix praises, “but perhaps leave the celebration until after you've all gotten into jammies.”

Cheval Mallet giggles, “Flicks, I can't believe you can somehow still sound pretentious whilst saying something as childish sounding as "jammies"!”

Félix raises an eyebrow, “you say this every time I call pyjamas that. Now come on, I've ordered pizza and Roy, Alix, Luka, Artemis, Kori, and Bizarro are already waiting for you lot, in the lounge, so we can get the party started.” He turns on his heel and walks out of the utility-changing room.

Markov, as the only one not needing to change, shows the tongue-sticking-out emoji on his LED screen and zooms after Félix.

Jason, Marinette, Adrien, and Max all start changing out of their gear as quickly as possible.

“Oh no!” Adrien gasps, half undressed, suddenly remembering something. “We forgot to take the motorbikes back!”

Marinette groans, “I knew I was forgetting something!"

Facepalming, Jason sighs. “We were all too caught up in everything going well for once.”

Max snorts. “Oh don't worry! I anticipated this, all it took was a little hacking into our hoverbikes and now they're on autopilot to one of our empty storage bases.”

“Oh. Well, that's good then.” Adrien says, looking a little embarrassed.

“Yeah… anyway come on, we don't want to keep your cousin and the others waiting any longer! They'll eat all the pizza!” Marinette exclaims.

They all finish changing into loungewear and pyjamas just as music starts to play from the lounge and so frantically, they all dash towards it, trying to shove each other out of the way and laughing playfully as they do so.

They've won a battle, they've successfully gotten in and out with a good haul of gun tech. No alarms tripped, nothing went wrong. Hoverbikes undamaged and on the route home. For once, everything went smoothly. And that, is cause for an evening of celebration.

Leaving the worries of the rat for tomorrow.

———

In a dark observatory with a closed butterfly window, a folder is tossed across a desk.

Papillon glances down at the folder with indifference. He rests his elbows on the expensive polished wood and steeples his fingers. “You said you had acquired information that you believe will interest me?”

The man in a black suit sitting opposite Papillon, smiles patiently. “My informant went through quite the lengths to acquire this. Why not take a look inside.”

Papillon purses his lips, “this better not be a waste of my precious time, Lex.”

Lex Luthor raises an eyebrow in amusement. “I assure you, Gabriel, you will find what is inside most interesting.”

There's a moment's pause as Gabriel waits. Nothing happens. He nods and then opens the folder. He spreads the papers inside in arc across the desk. In the middle of the papers, is the photo of a smiling teenage girl with bright blue eyes, and blue-dyed hair. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng?” He reads out, lips curling into a contemplative frown.

“Poor little girl,” Lex croons mockingly, “missing—presumed dead—after her parents' bakery was destroyed in an Akuma attack. Her name should be familiar to you though, won your one-day derby hat competition at her school.”

Gabriel's fingers still mid-steeple, and he moves one hand up to his chin in thought. “Ah yes, I remember that designer. The one with the feather derby whose design was stolen and copied. That signature embroidery was impressive work.” He recounts.

Lex grins, “yes, however most distressingly, it would seem this up and coming star of a designer has lost her glow.”

“How so?” Gabriel responds, furrowing his brows.

“Well you see, my informant has found… evidence, that our poor little designer here fell through the cracks into the shadows after the loss of her parents and bakery. It's rather obvious that the larvae have taken her as their own, some of their masks and clothes fit perfectly with what we know of her unique incorporation of her signature, as well as stitch work.” Lex explains, waving a hand towards the rest of the photographs and documents spread from the folder.

Gabriel frowns and eyes a few of the other papers with interest. “I see, that is most unfortunate.”

“But.” Lex cuts in before Gabriel can say anything more. “I'm well aware you're plenty familiar with fixing larvae with damaged wings and frayed wires. As such, a strange little cold case brimming with potential for your program, would do quite nicely for your collection, wouldn't you say?” Lex insinuates, rising from his seat as he continues, “rescue the poor larvae, craft it a chrysalis, and nurture the Pupa into something radiant. Not unlike what you did with the Macrothylacia Rubi, and your replacement wife.” With that, Lex smiles smugly down at Gabriel and then strides out of the observatory, not giving Gabriel a chance to respond.

And leaving Papillon to the folder and his musings.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

| Behind the Names: Fantôminou is a portmanteau of Fantôme (Ghost/Phantom) and Minou (Kitty). And she's called that because I thought the Black Footed cat fit her, and they're nicknamed Anthill Tigers. They also have the highest successful hunting rate! |

| Raijack is a portmanteau of Raiju (lightning dragon) and jack plug (the connect-y bit on headphones into a phone for example) but is also a play on the word Hijack. |

| Cheval Mallet is an evil horse spirit that offers rides to weary travellers and kidnaps them. Yes, there is a reason behind this. It's covered in Chap 2 |

| Chèvrapide is a portmanteau of Chèvre (Goat) and Rapide (Fast). |

| Also feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I’ll be more than happy to answer! |

| @jasonette-july-event |

[skyemak]

Hi Skye!! 👁️✨ May I request a first kiss scenario with Jade? I'm so soft and you said you want fluffy ideas so maybe a little hand h*lding too...? Haha jk... unless..??

Take a Hike

Yuu sat at her desk, absentmindedly poking the eraser head of her pencil on her cheek. Laid before her was her homework for the night, which was almost finished. She sat on her stiff chair with one leg crossed over the other. Her foot did not quite touch the ground, and she kicked it around as a means to fidget. The girl stared out the window, not because there was anything quite worth seeing outside, but due to the rain outside. Droplets of water hit her bedroom window, and occasional bursts of lightning would light up grounds through this dusk. From the other side of the room, she heard grumbling from her roommate. Most likely he was frustrated with the homework assigned to him. Yuu knew how to pace her homework over a period of time, but Grim was one to put off things until last minute.

Heaving a sigh, Yuu set down her pencil and grabbed for her phone. She lightly tapped the power button to turn the screen on. No new messages. No notifications. Nothing. Dejectedly, she set the phone back down on her desk, and leaned back in her chair. Of course Yuu wasn’t expecting any messages, but she felt disappointed, nonetheless. A few weeks ago, she had approached Jade, and confessed her feelings to him. The girl was doubtful he would reciprocate, but figured it’d be no skin off her nose. She’d just get it off her chest and move on with life. Unexpectedly, after a time to ponder to himself, Jade said it sounded interesting, and agreed to be in a romantic relationship with Yuu. At the time, the girl’s heart had leapt out of her chest, and she was all smiles for a week. Afterward, however, no matter what Yuu would try, he’d never be available to make time for her.

Go for a walk after class? He’d have plans.

Meet up before class started for the day? He’d have plans.

Eat together at lunch? He, too, rejected that idea, mentioning something about not wanting to make their relationship public.

“It doesn’t even exist in private…” Yuu muttered to herself. Did he not know what it means to humans to be in a relationship? Is it different underseas? She grabbed her pencil again and flipped threw a few pages of her textbook. After finding the page she searched for, Yuu looked toward the window again, contemplating the thought that, perhaps Jade was just trying to be nice. Perhaps he didn’t want to date but didn’t want to outright reject her. Maybe he was just avoiding her until she called it off?

“Maybe I’ll just call it off tomorrow,” Yuu mumbled, returning her focus to her notebook. “One more question, then bed… Then I’ll ask if he wants to cut it off tomorrow…”

The girl couldn’t deny the squeezing feeling in her chest upon that thought, but found she had no other means to approach the situation.

-----

“Hey—Grim! Wait up!” Yuu called.

“You’re the one being slow!” Grim called back, about five meters ahead of her.

“There’s mud puddles everywhere!” she complained.

The night before brought more rainfall than anticipated. Throughout the path to school were a series of puddles. Not wanting to slip and fall into a puddle, the girl was being very careful to watch her steps.

“You’re gonna be late at that rate!”

“Well some of us can’t fly!”

Grim only responded with a laugh and continued to get farther away. With luck on her side, Yuu found herself with a few minutes to spare before class. As she powerwalked through the hallway, she was surprised to see a certain figure standing by her classroom door.

“Jade?”

“Oh, there you are,” he smiled toward her, walking a few steps in her direction.

“What’re you doing here?” A bit embarrassingly, Yuu was panting due to the hurry she was in. She tried to hide it but—

“In a bit of a rush this morning?”

“Uh, well—kinda,” Yuu averted Jade’s gaze, and timidly tucked her hair behind her ear.

“Oya, there must have been quite a lot of rain last night,” he chuckled to himself. “Speaking of rain, this weekend I was considering going mushroom hunting. The next few days will be a bit cool as well, so I expect to find quite a few. Would you care to join me?”

Yuu shot a look of surprise toward Jade, “Wha—?”

“That is if you’re interested,” he grabbed his chin and looked a bit bashful. “We’d leave early morning and expect not to return until evening. It’s similar to that of an all-day hike. Oh—of course we’d have food and water to nourish ourselves throughout the day.” He glanced toward Yuu expectantly.

Was…Was he asking her out on a date!? Yuu was astonished. Until now, she thought he wasn’t that interested in dating and was ready to break things off. Now she found her heart beating loudly in her chest and her cheeks flush a light shade of pink. The girl’s hair bounced as he vigorously nodded towards Jade. “Yeah! I’ll go! I’d love to!”

The eel smiled elatedly, “I’m glad to hear it. I’ll send you some advice and resources later in preparation. Now then, class is about to start, and I must be on my way. Until then.” Jade turned to leave and strolled in the direction of his classroom. Yuu could hear her heartbeat ring through her eardrums as she watched him leave.

-----

True to his word, Jade had messaged Yuu some advice and helpful tips for the upcoming Saturday. Yuu was all smiles when she opened her phone to find new messages from him. The message did not stray from the plans they had made, but she was happy to finally have something to talk about with Jade. Before and after school, she’d ask him a few questions here and there related to what she should bring or wear. His face would always light up with a smile when Yuu’d ask. Seeing him so excited about his hobbies made him seem so precious. On top of that, Yuu felt special to be invited along his adventures.

“Tomorrow is the day~” the girl hummed to herself. She laid on her bed on her stomach, reading through a few sources on her phone relevant to the next day. Yuu eagerly kicked her feet in the air as she read her screen. Eventually, she called it a night and double checked her alarm for the next morning before putting her phone away.

-----

“Oya, you look more prepared than I was expecting,” Jade commented at the sight of Yuu. He wore long black pants, a lightweight jacket, and a set of hiking boots. Hung over his shoulders was a hiking bag, presumingly stored with their food and water for the day. Yuu’s outfit was similar, also with a lightweight jacket, dark gray pants, along with her own set of durable hiking boots. She made a grin and posed. “Yup! I listened to all your advice!”

Jade chuckled pleasingly. “I see. Then, shall we be off?” He turned toward the mountainous landscape before them. “Yeah!” Yuu scampered toward him.

With the sunrise being only a few hours prior, the air felt chill as it brushed over Yuu’s face. The wind was not too strong that morning, but the girl was grateful she wore a windbreaker jacket to keep the cold air from penetrating her deeper. The ground was vast with evergreen trees, moss-covered rocks, and what sounded to be a small stream nearby. As they stepped through the grass, tips of the blades of grass still held some morning dew, causing the tops of their hiking boots became damp. The ground underneath was still cold and moist too. Yuu had to be cautious while she walked, since the terrain was rougher than she least expected. The girl was careful to follow Jade’s lead; he seemed to be very experienced with the area, or at least was good at adapting to changes of the topography.

Jade was quite thrilled when they found their first batch of mushrooms at the trunk of a nearby tree. He sweetly hummed to himself as he pinched the cap from its stem and placed it into a mesh bag. Yuu noted in her research the reason for the mesh bag was to help spread spores from the mushrooms to encourage more growth.

The morning was spent 90% walking and 10% actually finding and picking mushrooms. Jade found a number of different fungi growing about, but Yuu only managed to spot one before he did. Unfortunately for Yuu, the mushrooms she did find, Jade had said they were inedible. Her heart sank when she found out, and her mood began to spiral downward. Hours had passed since they began the day and her feet began to feel sore. He had mentioned bringing along food but had only given her a water bottle. Yuu’s stomach felt like it was about to concave from hunger, and she was hoping he’d propose a break soon.

However, a break never came. About twenty minutes after her thought of taking a break, he only offered her two granola bars from his backpack and kept trudging along. Jade seemed to be excited about the plentiful findings of the day, but more and more Yuu began to feel ignored. He’d run away without warning when he saw a bundle of mushrooms growing from the ground. When Yuu caught up to him, Jade would already be done picking them and continue on his way. Her legs grew sorer and more exhausted. She already had to quicken her pace to keep up with his longer stride, but eventually she let herself fall behind, doubting he’d even notice.

At some point, in the middle of a small forest, Yuu found a dead log to sit on. The log felt hard against her bottom, but it was a great relief for her legs. She could feel what she could presume would develop into blisters ache around her feet. The sun was overhead at this time, and rays of sunlight lit up spots of the forest floor. The girl held her head in her hands and leaned her elbows on her knees. Her eyes traced Jade’s movements as he waved through the trees, north to south, south to west, west to east, etc. Occasionally she’d see him pause at a certain spot ten meters away to crouch down and pick from another finding.

Yuu sighed, dejectedly scraping the heels of her boots into the forest ground. She felt forgotten about and questioned if he’d even remembered inviting her out here. It’d be unfortunate for her, but she wouldn’t be shocked if he left her in that forest alone. She laid her palms down behind her and leaned back on top of the log. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come…” she mumbled. Yuu absently stared at her surroundings, admiring the forest and its beauty. At least it was a nice day out and she was getting fresh air…

Abruptly, Yuu felt a bug crawl over one of her hands on the log and yelped in surprise. She shook her hand furiously and turned around to see what the culprit may have been, but what actually caught her eyes was—

“Oh, a fairy ring,” Yuu said. From behind, she heard a set of footsteps approach. When she turned around, she saw Jade walking toward her.

“You shrieked earlier, Yuu. Are you okay?” he asked.

“Jade!” she excitedly called out to him, “Look at this! I’m surprised you didn’t see this!”

Yuu hopped off the log and walked a few meters. She approached a cluster of mushrooms in a circle formation. “There’s a fairy ring over here!” she smiled gleefully, crouching down beside it.

“A fairy ring?” he asked quizzically. Jade climbed over the log and walked toward her. “I only see a collection of mushrooms though?” The eel crouched down beside her. “Though I’m unfamiliar with this species…” He reached down to pick one, but Yuu pushed his hand away. “No, you’re not supposed to disturb the ring!”

Jade blinked toward her, astonished she had made that sudden movement. “Why?”

Yuu grinned ecstatically. “Heehee~ You don’t know?” she teased. “I just read about them last night. There’s a bunch of different beliefs surrounding them. Some say fairies will dance around the ring, or sit on the mushrooms to use for tables, or for umbrellas. The ring might also be a portal between the fairy world and this world—though we have fairies here so that may not be the case?”

“Ohhhh?” Jade smiled as he balanced his cheek on his fist. He was smiling toward her, but she did not notice.

“But don’t step into the ring!” Yuu continued. “You might die young, become invisible to the mortal world, or be unable to escape the ring. I don’t remember the details, but you’re also not supposed to disturb the ring.”

“I see. It’s a good thing I brought you here, otherwise I may have taken all these mushrooms and endangered myself to an early death,” Jade said.

Yuu giggled, “Well, I’m not sure how much of that is true though.” She stared down toward the mushrooms, absently holding out her finger as if too poke one. Jade smoothly grabbed her hand and used it as leverage to pull Yuu closer to him. Suddenly, she felt his warm lips over hers. He placed a hand on the side over her head to cradle and pull her in closer. Yuu’s eyes were wide in shock at first, and her chest felt like it was going to burst. Eventually, however, she found herself leaning into the kiss, and shut her eyes. His lips felt soft on hers, but as the kiss continued, he almost seemed…hungry.

After a few moments, Jade withdrew his lips, but Yuu found herself leaning closer toward him in a futile attempt to continue. Her eyes fluttered open as he lightly traced his fingertip down her jaw and to her chin. With a teasing smirk on his face, he whispered, “Don’t you disturb the ring either. I can’t let you be whisked away or see an early death.”

The girl’s face flushed red as she stared into Jade’s affectionate eyes. Yuu was so happy she decided to tag along.

“Now then, my dear,” Jade stood up and grabbed Yuu’s hand to help her up as well. “I must apologize for my behavior today. I was so entrapped by the numerous findings, I neglected you. You don’t have much experience with hiking around all day, so I’m sure your feet are sore.”

Yuu shook her head, “N-No! It’s fine! I’m fine!”

Jade made a bitter smile and shook his head this time. “Either way, thank you for coming with me today. I’ve already filled two bags in half a day, which must be a record. Yuu, you must be a good luck charm.” He beamed, and Yuu could feel her heart skip a beat. “Let’s call it a day here. I’ll cook you something with the mushrooms I found today as thanks.”

“Okay…” she mumbled, coyly twirling her hair.

Jade led Yuu on a path for the way back to Night Raven College. This time around, when Jade walked in front of her, he’d occasionally look back to make sure she was not too far behind him. When he saw she was a few meters away, he’d wait in his tracks for her to catch up before continuing on. Part of the path included a steep hill that made it difficult to descend. He had warned her to watch her step, but along the way, she lost her footing and fell on her behind.

“Ow ow ow…” Yuu groaned.

“Are you okay? You must have lost your footing,” Jade walked up to her and offered his hand. Yuu nodded and reached for his hand. The eel helped her to her feet and kept a hold of her hand. He guided her the rest of the way down the hill until a flatter area.

However, he did not let go of her hand. Jade’s finger’s were entwined with hers. Yuu glanced toward their hands then up toward him. He just smiled back at her, “This way you don’t fall again, or at least, I’ll use that as an excuse.” Yuu felt her heart pound and her face grow hot. She squeezed his hand a bit and felt a smile grow on her face.

The two continued to hold hands for the rest of the trip home.

 -----

There you are taku! 🥰

[abalonetea]

Just Keep Breathing: Chapter Two

I was partnered with @the-dot for the @originalfictionbigbang​! Thank you for working with me, Dot!

Here is the first chapter! I’ve split the first 10k words between four chapters, and will be posting them all in a masterpost in just a moment!

Summary: It’s the height of storm season and everyone in Hi-Banks, Florida is getting ready for the bad weather. It should be a year like any other - but on the tails of a national pandemic, a new disaster strikes. More than one new disasters. So many disasters that Eddie Carver would like to put some of them back, thanks. He’s just a down on his luck guy living in the local trailer park with his boyfriend. He’s not interested in dealing with the revival of an old murder case - which he knows nothing about, thanks -, the storm season of the century, or…zombies?

Yeah. Absolutely not interested in the zombies.

This black-comedy follows the inner workings of a small town as they band together to survive, and the young man - reckless, mean, angry, written off b the big city folk come to look into a cold case - that might hold all of societies survival in his hands.

Forget about society.Eddie’s only interested in keeping his friends alive.

Chapter Two – The Hunt Shop

The Mason family has owned a bait and tackle shop out on the north edge of Hi Banks for almost a solid four generations. It’s a good twenty minute walk from the trailer park, which isn’t that bad when it’s not also pouring down rain. As it stands, they’re both soaked by the time they hit the long dirt road that winds towards it. The sides are pitted out from constant tire tracks, turned into thick puddles of standing water and mud.

The rain lets up to a light drizzle, but it’s too late for that to be helpful. Eddie makes a point of splashing his feet in as many of the puddles as he can.

Carson’s the one who calls out, “truck,” when twin headlights appear in the distance. It’s got a massive dent on the passenger side and the fender looks like it’s held on with duck tape.

Lincoln Wiltshire, the deputy, pulls over. He’s a tall, skinny man with a hooked nose and a scar on the side of his neck. Every time he’s asked, Lincoln tells a different story about how he got that scar. Eddie’s pretty sure it’s something mundane and stupid, like a fishing accident.

“You boys having trouble?” Lincoln asks, rolling down his window and half leaning out it.

“Truck still won’t run,” says Carson. “We’re stuck hoofing it everywhere.”

“And the power’s out at the trailer park,” adds Eddie.

“Shit, already? I was hoping it might stay on a while longer.” Lincoln scratches at his side burns. “Wonder if it’s out where I live, too.”

“Store had power last time I was there,” says Eddie. There’s no need to specify. Everyone just calls it The Store.

Carson asks, “you coming from Red’s?”

“Was getting some more shells.” Lincoln gestures at the brown paper bag in his passenger seat. “I wouldn’t hold my breath on anything with him today, boys. He’s in a rotten mood.”

“Eh, we’ll take the risk. I want something hot to eat tonight, you know?” Eddie says “Shit. You think he might have some of that soup still?”

“Maybe,” says Carson. And then, to Lincoln, “can you do me a favor? I was only at the docks for like an hour earlier, but Clancy didn’t show up.”

Lincoln frowns. “Now that ain’t like him.”

“No, it’s not. He’s always there, doesn’t matter the weather,” says Carson. “Figure maybe you could swing by his place, see if he’s...I dunno. Gotten into something.”

“Sure, sure, I’ll do that before I go home. Thanks for the heads up, Carson. You two stay out of trouble now, you hear me? I don’t want to get any calls out there.”

“That wasn’t our fault!”

“I don’t care who starts the fight, I’m the one that has to pull pants on to come finish it. I’m looking to not leave the house again tonight, so. Behave.” Lincoln jabs a bony finger at them.

Carson rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

Eddie parrots, “yeah, man, whatever.”

“Maggots, the both of you,” huffs Lincoln, but he makes sure to pull away slowly so as not to splash them in muck.

They get about ten steps before Eddie asks, “so, uh, you worried about him?”

“I mean, yeah. Sort of.”

“Ain’t he a jerk?”

“Sure. But like, not all the time. And it’s weird. He’s always at the docks. Like, I’ve NEVER not seen him at the docks, Eddie. I dunno. I’ve just got a bad feeling about this.” Carson shrugs.

Maybe it makes Eddie a worse person, but he’s not too concerned about Clancy one way or the other.  The guy has a mean streak the size of the Grand Canyon, and a habit for acting like he’s the boss down at the docks. He’s not, clearly, but the guy has been working there forever at this point, so everyone mostly just ignores it.

Silence falls over them. The sloshing of Eddie’s boots is the only thing between them, until the shoddy looking wood building of The Hunt Shop comes into view. There’s a massive concrete raccoon statue out front. It gets decorated every time a holiday comes around. Right now, it’s got a massive yellow tarp wrapped around it in lieu of a rain coat.

The front door is propped open, the heavy twanging bass of the radio thudding out. Eddie ducks in first, glancing around.

For the most part, the hunt shop hasn’t really changed in...well, ever. There’s an old singing bass above the gun rack, and a mounted deer head on the wall just behind the front counter. Red is stretched out on a chair behind it, booted foot flung up onto the counter next to the register and an open can of beer.

“Lincoln was right,” says Eddie. “You look pissy.”

“Ey, if it ain’t my favorite scarecrow.” Red thunks his boot back down onto the floor. “Lemme guess, the power’s out.”

Eddie finger snaps at him. “Bingo!”

Carson stomps in just behind him. “Cat broke our damn window.”

“A cat?” Red snorts. “You know, I think you might have worse luck than I do.”

Eddie hops up onto the counter, next to the register. He helps himself to the open, half-warm beer. “Lincoln says you’re in a pissy mood. What’s up?”

“Ugh. This damned weather,” says Red. He uses his foot to push the wheeled chair away from the counter, and then spin around so he can slap a hand against the calendar hanging up behind him. “Look at this. I’ve got two days, and then I’m supposed to be going on my hunting trip.”

“Damn, is it that time already?” Eddie passes the mostly empty can to Carson.

Carson rolls his eyes. “Thanks.” And then, “isn’t that storm supposed to hit this weekend?”

“I’m thinking about just hunkering down out there,” says Red.

“That’s stupid,” says Eddie.

Red slaps the calendar again. “I’ve never missed a trip. I’m not gonna let it get passed over because of some rain. It’s, what, a cat two? I’ve spent worse storms out on the swamp. I figure there’s no power out there anyway, so what would I be missing?”

“The sun,” says Eddie.

At the same time, Carson says, “the hunting.”

Red scowls at them both. “Neither of you know the meaning of the word fun, you know that? I swear, I don’t know when you guys got so boring.”

“Around the same time we started dying from hunger,” quips Eddie.

“Fine, fine, we’ll go get something to eat. C’mon. I was gonna close up anyway.” Red hauls himself out of the chair and around the counter. He leads the way out of the shop – Carson closing the door behind them when he brings up the tail – and around to the back of the building where his camper’s parked.

The radio is already on inside, a woman’s voice, “and as if the predicted overly active storm season isn’t enough, we’re having more and more cases of this unknown virus showing up. We actually have managed to get an interview with Charlie Santero, the governor of Florida, where we get his personal thoughts on the situation.”

“Ugh, shut that off. I hate that guy,” says Red.

Eddie slaps the radio off. “So, food?”

“Chili,” answers Red. He grabs a bowl out of the fridge and shoves it into the microwave.

“Gross,” says Carson.

Red flips him off. “You’re the ones that came over.”

The microwave beeps. Red pulls it out and tosses it onto the little table on the other side of the kitchenette. He grabs three spoons and drops them down, too.

“Alright. Dinner’s served.”

* * *

It’s dark by the time they leave Red’s, all three of them loading up into Red’s old wood backed pickup. They roll the windows down, letting the stiff Florida air into cab.

Eddie sits on the far end, arm flung out so the mosquitoes slap into it as they rush past. “So, think we’re gonna get hit bad this summer?”

Red groans. “Do we have to talk about the storms? I’m trying to think happy thoughts about this week.”

Carson says, “I’ll check up on the shop for you.”

The tires catch in one of the ruts, splashing mud up onto Eddie’s hand. “Gross.” He pulls it in, wiping his palm off on his shorts. “I’m thinking it’s gonna be a small one. Just because it’s always small when the people on the radio talk about it. They’re always wrong and stuff.”

Red whacks the back of one hand against Carson’s shoulder. “Smack him for me, will ya? You’re gonna jinx my trip if you keep talking like that, scarecrow.”

Carson shoves at the back of Eddie’s head, pushing hair into his face. “Don’t jinx him.”

“Ow!” Eddie rubs over dramatically at the back of his head. “Fine, fine, I won’t – hey, knock it off already!”

They pull all the way through town towards the trailer park and are almost at the chain link fence around the place when the flash of red and blue lights come into view. Red cuts the engine. “Alright, nope. I’m checking out. Whatever you two did - “

“We didn’t do nothing,” says Eddie, the words a low sort of whine. “I’m telling you!”

“Looks like you did something,” says Red. “And I’m not interested in being involved. Sorry.”

Carson grunts, giving Eddie the stink eye.

Eddie shakes his head. “I didn’t. I’ve stayed outta trouble and you know it, man. I’ve got – fuck, nothing on me right now.”

“Whatever,” says Carson, slinging open the door. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Red doesn’t have a record, per say, but he likes to steer clear of the local officers all the same. The moment that Eddie and Carson are out of the truck, it peels into reverse and vanishes, a squeal of tires on the pitted pavement and a spray of muddy water up onto the other side of the road.

Carson says, “you’d tell me if I’m about to walk into something, right?”

“Yeah, man, I’d tell you,” says Eddie. “But I swear, this has nothing to do with me.”

“Ugh,” says Carson, and Eddie totally agrees with that. They head up into the trailer park and true to their luck, the sheriff’s car is parked right outside of their little hovel, along with a little shiny black car that doesn’t seem to fit in with the rest of Hi Banks.

Sheriff Bianca is sitting on the hood of her car smoking a hand rolled cigarette, short black hair pushed away from her face, the thick scar over her cheek visible even in the wane light of the street lamp. “There you are. We were waiting for you. This is - “

“Agent Smith,” says another woman, long blonde hair pulled back away from her face and an ashy pallor to her skin. “and my partner, Agent Russo.”

“We didn’t do shit,” says Eddie, lower lip jutting out.

Carson shoves him. “Idiot. Stop running your mouth.”

The corners of Bianca’s mouth twist up at the edges, just a little bit, and then instantly take on that hard slant again. She slides off the car, putting the cigarette out on the bottom of one mud caked boot and then tucking it into the front pocket of her uniform shirt. “Boys, they’re here about the Mulborne Case.”

There’s a beat of silence.

One.

Two.

Three.

Eddie lets out a bark of laughter, just can’t help himself. “What, really?”

Smith asks, “does that mean you know the man?”

“Of course I do. Everyone knows Benny,” says Eddie, with a shrug of his sharp, bony shoulders. “Ain’t this thing solved?”

“Yes,” says Bianca, a little tersely.

“On a local level,” answers Russo. “But we’ve recently been informed of something that’s brought the case into a larger light.”

Carson squints. “You two aren’t cops.”

“We’re with the FBI,” says Smith.

Eddie snorts. “Bullshit.”

That takes Smith off guard. “Excuse me?”

“The FBI out in Hi Banks? Yeah, I don’t buy it,” says Eddie. “This town’s barely on the map. What the Hell would send you people out here, huh?”

“We’re not allowed to discuss that information while the case is still under investigation,” says Russo. “You’re - “

“Eddie, yeah, and he’s Carson, and I’m sure the sheriff’s gone over all’a this with you. You realize how late it is? Some of us actually have to work,” says Eddie.

Smith gives him a tight lipped smile. “I’m sorry about the time. We got a little turned around on the way out here.”

“Not my problem,” says Eddie.

Russo says, “it might be. It’s been brought to our attention that you had contact with the men who were murdered.”

“They went missing,” corrects Bianca. “There was no proof of foul play.”

Eddie juts out his lower lip. “Yeah, sure. I fixed up their van when they came through, big fucking whoop. How about I just make this real easy and tell you exactly what I told her?” He jerks a thumb at Bianca, who rolls her eyes. “Their van was trashed. I fixed it. That’s my job, okay? That’s it. They paid in cash, big bills, and then they left and I never saw them again. End of story.”

Carson says, “you should try and find someone smarter to ask about it.” He slings an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and hauls the other man up against his side. “Eddie’s got a brick for brains. Even if something weird was going on, there’s no way he would’ve noticed it.”

“Bitch,” mutters Eddie, but he doesn’t protest. Easy out’s, right?

A phone goes off, some lame shrill tone. Russo excuses himself and steps away from the group and Bianca asks, “did you figure out where the machinery went?”

Carson grunts. “Probably Milo hawked it. Pretty sure his ma’s rent was due this month. We didn’t really look that hard.”

Smith questions, “machinery?”

“Carson works at the docks,” says Bianca. “A few parts went missing earlier this week.”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” says Carson, gruffly. “Look, no offense but we’ve already done this once. We don’t know anything else about it, and I’ve got work tomorrow. Can we wrap this up?”

A car door clicks open behind them. Russo, still on the phone, waves Smith over. Smith nods and then excuses herself, all polite, “thank you for your time. I’m sure we’ll be in touch,” before heading over. They climb in their little black car and leave.

Carson scowls at Bianca. “Seriously?”

“Trust me,” says Bianca, dryly. “It’s not my idea of a good time, either. I thought that we were done with this.”

Eddie snorts, already heading towards their trailer. “Yeah, fuck off about that. I am done with it.”

He’s pretty pleased when Carson just goes on and follows him, not so much as a goodbye tossed Bianca’s way.

[zmwrites]

tag: 20 first lines

I was tagged by @teasenpaiwrites! Thank you!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20 stories just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag others!

I was tagged in a similar game LITERALLY forever ago by @scmalarky PRE-BLOG MOVE, which makes it the oldest tag game sitting my drafts. It came with the following rules:

Rules: list the first lines of your last ten published stories. note if there are any patterns yourself and see if anyone else notices any! tag ten friends!

I put it off bc to date I’ve only published two stories over on Wattpad. So doing the first lines from the last twenty projects is somehow...easier? I suppose? 

I’ll be putting the opening paragraph or so of each piece, and will only be using WIPs that I actually started at the beginning. Anything that doesn’t start at the actual beginning will be skipped.

Anyways, this is going under a cut bc I know it’s going to be ridiculously long. In order of ‘last modified by me’ as per Google Docs:

Remnants

Radka had been a seamstress in a previous life. Trained from childhood on the most delicate stitches, the most intricate embellishments. She had worked for royalty, sewing crystals and spun gold into skirts for the biggest social events of the year. Her steady hand and attention to detail had earned her a job in the palace by fourteen, and a spot on the queen’s personal seamstress team by fifteen. But that was years in the past. The girl she had been then, demure and innocent, wouldn’t recognize the woman she had grown up to be.

Open Seas

Theresia Bowen sat in the back of one of her family carriages, forehead pressed against the window as she watched the countryside fly past. The sky stretched on forever above her, interrupted only by the occasional wispy white clouds, and the spring sun had melted the snow from the hills to her left. The grass was still struggling to grow but was scattered in patches across the mud. To her right, the sea rolled and waved to the horizon. Ships dotted the deep blue, their sails bright and full with wind. Most were trading ships, a few navy, and the smallest of them all were pleasure ships. It was how she knew they were close to her destination.

Indigo Wars

Violet Colby sat cross-legged on her narrow bed in the room she shared with her two sisters at Osbrick Estate. The name was a holdover from the property’s previous life as a stately home, though not much else had carried over. The walled compound was nestled in the eastern sands of Edristan, less than two kilometres west of the capital city, with sun-bleached buildings that housed several dozen orphans and foundlings.

Pine Hollow

It was a miserable Monday morning, with dark, heavy clouds masking the rising sun and a steady rain pounding the town of Pine Hollow and the surrounding area. The dirt trails through the dense forest were slick with mud, the tire ruts becoming puddles and the puddles becoming proper ponds. It was as far from ideal body hunting conditions as possible without snow, but Virginia Crane had a job to do and she wasn’t about to let some adverse weather stop her.

Rochester WIP

The wedding was supposed to begin in five minutes and the bride was nowhere to be found.

Evelyn Rochester, for her part, was not surprised. Her sister Dorothea had claimed a headache a week earlier to get out of a family outing and had been gone by the time they’d returned. A small chest and a collection of her clothing had been gone as well. Their parents had made inquiries to some family friends but no one had seen Dottie, and at twenty-six she was allowed to do as she pleased, so they’d been left to wait to see if she’d return.

Just Jane

Jane rolled over in the narrow bed, pressing her face into the pillow as though it would make it any easier to sleep. Even as she breathed in the warm, sweet scent of the bed owner’s favourite perfume—myrrh, rose, styrax, and marjoram—a new sound made her ears prick to attention.

UNSS Spectre

The spacecraft glided through the void, following its prey silently. It was using its minimum operating power, leaving the two inside to perform their duties without overhead or emergency lighting. Only the glow of their instruments illuminated the interior of the craft. 

“Cloaking device operating as normal,” Ensign Graecyn Ramsey said. She didn’t need to provide verbal updates since Captain Mezei could see everything that she could see and there was no one else aboard the tiny stealth class craft, but it was habit and she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

Fissures

Katherine Delacroix was seething. It was hard enough trying to get a gaggle of thirteen to eighteen year old girls to focus under normal circumstances but having the #1 most eligible bachelor of the school just hanging out at the back of the auditorium was making it nearly impossible. To make matters worse, the attention paid to the blond was bruising the egos of the boys in the group and she was painfully aware of how desperately the musical needed them not to quit. They already had a female Cogsworth and Le Fou; they didn't have enough girls with deep voices to play Gaston or Lumiere or, god forbid, Beast.

Snapshots

“Are you still looking for a roommate?” Misha asked, voice muffled slightly by whatever she was doing on the opposite end of the phone.

“You mean since you stole my last one? Yes,” Micah replied. He was stuck in traffic on his commute home from work, something his twin sister Misha knew, which was why she’d called when he had no excuse not to talk to her. It wasn’t that he didn’t like talking to her, he just wasn’t much of a talker.

“You’re gonna have to get over that,” she said.

The Tournament

The coin spun in lazy circles on the table, defying every law of physics. Izora Graham watched it with one hand held in a claw-like position over it. She didn't need to but it made it easier to cover the coin should anyone watch it too closely. The bar was still fairly empty so early in the evening and she was tucked away in the back booth away from the few early birds sitting at the counter, however any displays of magic would bring unwanted attention. Especially something that could be useful to any of the Upper Houses like her telekinesis.

Noyama Contest

Earthens had spread across dozens of galaxies once they’d perfected faster-than-light travel, and hundreds of solar systems within those galaxies. PT-759 was one of the galaxies they’d colonized only to find that it was already inhabited. It had ended up working out alright though, as the native species had radically different planetary needs and also happened to find Earthens downright adorable.

Naetov was a smaller planet at the edge of Federation-controlled space in PT-759. It had a few key cities where government funding was funneled to keep them perfect for non-Earthen tourists. Those cities were clean and friendly, open spaces and carefully maintained flora making up the downtown cores, streamlined designs and shiny surfaces giving the impression of a planet on the cusp of significance.

Gossamer Girl

It was the first day of winter and things were already looking bad. Even though the cold weather had held off for an extra two weeks, the harvest had been poor. A mold had festered in their southern field during the wet spring and had spread quickly. They’d razed the infected sections as soon as the fungus had been discovered but it had already destroyed a large swath of plants. They’d lost nearly a quarter of their usual yield and the troubles had only spiralled from there.

Knotted Strings

The room was just a bit too cold to be comfortable. The walls were wood panelled with some sort of reddish wood that matched the flooring. Rows of chairs with collapsible desks filled most of the lecture hall, with the front of the room dominated by a whiteboard and a table. The professor, hawkish in appearance, was perched on a bar stool facing the students and overlooking the table.

Tess lounged in her seat at the table at the front of the room, notebook open on the table in front of her and pen moving deftly across the page. She watched her competition critically as he spoke. His argument was solid enough to cast reasonable doubt on her case, or it would have been had he bothered to address a small piece of evidence she found to be damning. He finished his conclusion to a spatter of applause and returned to his seat across from her. 

“Well done, Mr. Wynn. Miss Kinney, would you like a few moments to prepare your rebuttal?” the professor asked.

“No, I’m good,” Tess replied. She sat up, scribbled a note in her book, and then pushed the book across the table.

Oh, Ophelia

Alexis lounged in the shade next to the pool, sipping a daiquiri and considering her next move. She’d been using the same identity for nearly fifteen years and the neighbours were starting to get suspicious. With all the new beauty products and surgeries available to people of her wealth it was easier to convince people she was nearing forty when she was in the body of a twenty-three year old, but now she had to deal with people asking for her skincare routines and her doctors and the identity wasn’t worth all of the research she was having to do. She was getting sick of Malibu anyways, what with the yearly forest fires that got closer each year. She missed the deep-rooted history of Europe, the memories she had in all of the major cities, the people like her who were still living in their castles and manors pretending like the world hadn’t left them behind.

Bloodlines

Ten of Wands. The Tower. Two of Swords.

Morrigan Keeling sat on the floor of her bedroom, chewing the end of a pen and staring intently at the tarot cards spread in front of her. It was a simple three card spread to indicate how her day was going to go: a card to describe herself, one to indicate what was going to greet her, and another to show the outcome of the situation. She’d gotten into the habit of doing it every day while living at home, and even five years after moving out she found it a relaxing routine to start the day.

The day’s cards, however, were not very relaxing.

PerDeA

The backseat of the car was dark, only illuminated for short intervals by the orange glow of the streetlights. Two figures sat across from each other in the shifting light. In the backwards-facing seat on the driver’s side was PerDeA. Her dark hair was pulled tightly into a ponytail, lips slightly parted as she stared unblinking out the back window. Shoulders square, back straight, chin up, hands folded neatly in her lap, her breathing perfectly rhythmic; she would have looked human if not for the faintly glowing cybernetic blue rings superimposed over her black eyes.

Westhaven

Her eyes were open but she couldn’t see anything. There were mechanical sounds ‒ beeping, whirring ‒ all around her, and voices too far away for her to understand. The sharp smell of antiseptic and the softer detergent scent beneath it.

“Initiate optical system,” a muted female voice instructed. Between one breath and the next she started processing visual information: bright white lights above her, the featureless ceiling beyond, her own nose and eyelashes. She couldn’t move her head to see much else. Walls that matched the ceiling so well it was hard to tell where one became the other, bits of the bed she was on with its bleachable white sheets and side rails.

“Increase tactile responsivity by fifty percent and disengage the motion inhibitors.”

Pro Patria Mori

She sat on the narrow bed with her packed suitcase next to her. Her blonde hair was pinned back, her blue eyes fixed on a spot next to the door, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The winter chill clung like burrs to the house, helped by the heavy spring rain that beat against the window in a staccato rhythm. Outside, trees bowed under the charcoal sky. The old house creaked and groaned around her, the wind whistling and wailing as the storm continued to batter the country estate. She waited.

At any moment there would be a knock on the main door of the house. Godfrey, the aged and shuffling butler, would answer. Standing on the other side would be some men in crisp uniforms, holding up her picture and asking if he knew her. She had seen them in town the evening before, and it wouldn’t take more than a day before someone pointed them in the right direction. They looked like military men but there was something different in their manner, something sharper. Godfrey would lead them up, and up, and up, until they reached her third floor apartment. The butler would introduce them, she would smile politely, and she would leave with them without a fight.

The Clocktower

Astra hated Capperham. The way it sprawled its squalor from border to border, from the sea in the west to the battlements in the other three directions. The harbour reeked of dead fish and unwashed human, the slums of sickness and stale beer. Even the neighbourhoods of rich merchants and factory owners lay under the thick smog of black soot the mines and mills spat out day and night. The grit and dirt was part of everything, so deeply ingrained that even the most rigorous scrubbing couldn’t make something clean.

Stars Incline Us

The Christmas gala was in full swing. The entire ballroom was full of people Pippa didn’t know, all wearing fancy clothes that probably cost more than her rent. Her own dress was aubergine and a simple V-neck, form-fitting enough to be attractive but loose enough to not draw too much attention.

She and another girl who didn’t seem to know anyone at the event were chatting with Antero and Mr. Rabinoff near the edge of the dance floor. Antero was already antsy to leave despite the dinner having just ended, but Mr. Rabinoff had trapped him in a debate he was too proud to back down from. The other girl was from legal and either found them hilarious or had had a little too much to drink because she kept giggling, leaving Pippa no choice but to laugh along while adding the occasional remark to the back and forth between the men.

That brings us all the way back to October 2016. Which tells me that I need to start at the beginning of more stories haha. If anyone has questions about any of these, please feel free to ask. Also, if you read all of that, you are a saint and a hero and have my eternal friendship.

I tag @the-writing-avocado​, @radiowrites​, @pigeon-hold​, @sleepyowlwrites​, @akindofmagictoo​, and anyone else who wants to share their projects!! As always, no pressure (to play or to read this whole post lmao).

[drowningbydegrees]

TITLE: Even in the Dark I Know You (Part 3 of 3) SHIP: Geraskier PROMPT DAY: Six - Monster MEDIUM (Netflix, Books, Games, Hexer): Netflix WARNINGS: No archive warnings apply, but canon typical violence SUMMARY:

The thing is, he’s seen Geralt in a bad way. Even the witcher can’t always avoid injury in his line of work, and so Jaskier has plenty of practice patching him up. But this is new, and it makes something awful and anxious twist in Jaskier’s stomach.

A contract goes wrong leaving Geralt captive and stripped of most of his senses by the time Jaskier gets to him.

WORD COUNT: 2,834 (8,195 total) AUTHOR’S NOTES: Written for @geraltwhumpweek Finally, the comfort part of the hurt/comfort

AO3 Link  Tumblr Part 1 | 2 

It’s the crash of thunder that finally drags Jaskier from sleep. Maybe just this once, Geralt’s lack of hearing is a gift. At least he can sleep through all the racket.

Except… Except the space on the bed usually taken up by the witcher is empty, and while that isn’t new in the grand scheme of things, Jaskier has still taken to immediately making sure he knows where Geralt is at. His friend would be furious at him probably, but what he doesn’t realize won’t hurt him and it certainly stresses Jaskier out a little less.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asks, stupidly, because of course there’s not going to be an answer. There’s no noise either though. Not of any of the idle tasks Geralt sets himself to to pass the time. And that’s maybe a bit alarming. It’s worrisome enough for Jaskier to sit up at least, eyes widening when he finds himself in an empty room.

“Bollocks,” he mutters, rolling out of bed and yanking his clothes on in a haphazard mess. It’s nothing short of miraculous that Geralt had stayed put as long as he did, but Jaskier was really hoping the spell would run its course before the witcher got tired of waiting. Maybe it did. Maybe Geralt is basking in the relief of being able to engage with the world again, which is not a combination of words Jaskier believes will ever apply to Geralt in any situation, but… Well, he chooses optimism, because the alternatives leave him queasy.

The innkeeper, much to Jaskier’s chagrin, hasn’t seen Geralt and okay, that’s fine. Geralt is up before sunrise half the time anyway, so that doesn’t mean anything. It does mean one thing, Jaskier guesses, that one thing being that Geralt isn’t here. Crinkling his nose and heaving a very put upon sigh that he’s sort of sorry Geralt isn’t around to hear and feel bad about, the bard stalks out into the rain.

There’s one likely conclusion Jaskier comes to when considering where Geralt might go. If he can see again, well he hasn’t seen Roach in at least a week on top of however long he was stuck with that bloody mage, and if there is anything in the whole wide world that Geralt of Rivia truly loves, it’s his horse. So, off Jaskier trudges through the mud to the stables.

Roach whickers at him, and Pegasus, his own mount, pokes her head over the stable door waiting for the apples he always brings. She stares until he’s forced to apologize and show her his empty hands. They’re both safe and warm and that’s good, but there’s no sign that Geralt has been here at all.

Jaskier wanders in search of places Geralt might have gone. The streets of the market are empty except for the occasional overflowing puddle where dirt road has worn away. The smithy is shut up for the day. The grand total of two people who are also out in the rain are no help at all.

Maybe Geralt went to go grouch at the awful mage, which would be very much an improvement over Geralt grouching at him. Also, entirely understandable because the woman is insufferable and Jaskier wants to do a great deal more than grouch at her about it. Either way, it’s the only place Jaskier hasn’t checked, so he sets off in that direction with only minimal grumbling about the weather.

The trek isn’t a long one, but it’s outside of the town proper. The landscape is probably quite beautiful under normal circumstances, but with the rain coming down, and worry crawling up Jaskier’s spine, it’s all horribly bleak. Grass and leaves that might normally be vibrant are dull in the lack of sunlight, leaving the rolling hills feeling like some melancholy memory. The mud squelches uncomfortably under Jaskier’s boots with every step. The poor man who’s caught himself out in this mess looks completely miserable in the hopelessly inadequate shelter of a solitary tree.

Said man lifts his head enough to slough some of the rainwater off of his face, and Jaskier’s heart lurches. It’s not any of the number of progressively more horrifying scenarios Jaskier’s mind cooked up to explain Geralt’s disappearance, but that’s a small comfort in the face of what he’s found instead. Wishing he’d thought to bring a blanket (or anything else, really), Jaskier ignores the rain and the mud, cutting across the meadow to make his way to Geralt.

---

He does not know how much time has passed. Long enough to slide from despair to fury and back again. Anger is the simpler one to cope with, so by the time he feels a hand on his shoulder, he’s bristling against the urge to snarl at his would be salvation. His chest shudders with it, even if he can’t hear himself protest. “I don’t need your help. I’m-”

What is he? Mutant? Monster? He’s the kind of creature villagers assume feels nothing. He’s the sort of thing a mage assumes no one will miss. He’s an entity defined by what he destroys, and in that he’s not so terribly different from the creatures he engineers the demise of. Hardly a person at all sometimes.

And yet, in the face of all his ire, there is still a hand on his shoulder. Fingers curl around it. A hand then, and he sullenly expects he’s going to be bullied into standing up, but it isn’t what happens at all. Against his thigh, he feels someone sink down to their knees. The hand leaves, but only in favor of being a pair of arms that draw him in. The bard, then. Stupid man. He’ll be whining about mud stains on his clothes later, not that Geralt is likely to hear a word of it.

Left to his own devices, Jaskier basks in his creature comforts. Warm spaces and comfortable beds and not the mud and the cold, cold rain. He must be lonely too, Geralt notes, because he hasn’t left Geralt in all this time, and the witcher can’t even hear him to carry on a conversation, and yet Jaskier stays.

What a pair they make. Geralt really shouldn’t need mercy in any shape, being what he is, but he wearily leans into it anyway. He’ll dredge up the energy to pull himself together, but right now he’s just tired. Bit by bit, he caves in the face of unsolicited affection, until he’s cautiously feeling his way up Jaskier’s arms, along his shoulders, cradling the bard’s face. He should let go. He means to. Jaskier leans into his hands and Geralt finds they just won’t budge.

It’s a stupid thing, an emotional thing, a want he’s set aside to gather dust because he knows better. But his mind has been shrieking its loneliness and isolation for what might have been hours, and the face cradled in his palms is sopping wet from the rain, but it’s Jaskier’s and he doesn’t want to be alone anymore. So, when he pulls Jaskier into a clumsy sort of kiss, it’s not so much about desire as it is about contact. He cannot see, cannot hear, cannot smell, but he can feel the hammering of Jaskier’s pulse where one of his fingers settles under the bard’s jaw. He cannot witness the way Jaskier’s arms wind around his shoulders or the way his lips part in surrender, but it’s warm and real, a beacon in this lost and empty place.

Geralt does not imagine the way Jaskier’s fingers clutch at his soaked through shirt. He does not imagine the pressure of Jaskier’s lips fitting against his or the tremor of what is probably a moan when the bard licks boldly into his mouth. For a second, just a second, the awful litany of alone, alone, alone goes silent.

But all at once Jaskier retreats, panting roughly against Geralt’s jaw. There’s a featherlight kiss pressed to Geralt’s cheekbone, a hand smoothing over his rain soaked hair, affection unmistakable even though he can’t see Jaskier’s expression. And he knows Jaskier probably wants to put a pin in this until they can talk about it, but Geralt isn’t sure that’s a conversation they’ll ever even manage, and in the meantime, that awful, lonely ache bubbles to the surface.

“What are we still doing in this town?” he demands, and though he cannot hear himself, he can feel the frustration bleeding into his words like a physical thing.

There’s no answer. Of course there’s no answer. How could there be when neither of them can bridge the gap between them? Geralt heaves out a sigh and tries to jerk his hand away when Jaskier grabs for it.

Only, one of Jaskier’s hands cradle Geralt’s clenched fist, and the other gently coaxes his fingers to relax. It’s just perplexing enough that Geralt lets Jaskier smooth his hand into a flat surface, and trace a shape in the palm of it with one finger.

W

There are more letters after that. An entire word. Not that it’s any less confusing.

Waiting

---

“For what?” A scowl takes up residence on Geralt’s face, much to Jaskier’s dismay. He’d been so pleased with himself for finally thinking of a way to communicate, thinking it would ease the way for Geralt, but maybe not so much. “If I’m going to adapt to this, it’s not going to be by sitting in that room.”

Oh. Oh no. The mage had said it would wear off, but Geralt couldn’t possibly have heard. Guilt twists miserably in Jaskier’s stomach as he realized the witcher must have thought this was a permanent affliction the entire time and that Jaskier wasn’t even trying to help him fix it. “Oh Geralt. I’m so sorry. I-”

Jaskier stops mid-sentence. The witcher can’t hear him now either. So, he takes Geralt’s hand instead, and traces another word.

Temporary

“The spell?” Geralt’s eyes aren’t even pointed in Jaskier’s direction, but his very genuine surprise makes the bard’s heart ache.

Sentences are slower going, but Jaskier isn’t about let it stand that Geralt thinks he matters so little that his closest friend would just leave him with this. So he tries, watching Geralt mouth the words as he spells them out.

If not, we would be fixing it!!!!!!!!

Maybe that was too many exclamation points. Geralt’s face scrunches up, and it’s either annoyance, confusion, or the fact that the rain keeps dripping from his hair into his eyes. None of those possibilities explain, “It’s not your responsibility.”

Well, that is something they’re going to be unpacking later, at length, when Jaskier doesn’t have to confine himself to sentences his frayed patience can handle spelling out.

I would never abandon you, Geralt. Never. I

“You what?” Geralt prompts when Jaskier stops writing, so quietly Jaskier misses it in the din of the rain. The thing is, there are things he wants to say, but he rather thinks Geralt deserves to hear it. They both do.

Care. I care. About you. Ridiculous man.

“Hmm,” Geralt says, and there in the moment, their back and forth is almost familiar. Jaskier allows himself a relieved sort of smile.

Now can we PLEASE go inside?

---

It’s longer than Geralt is sure he’s got the tolerance for before the spell finally fades. It does fade though, and Geralt doesn’t at all appreciate the mage’s parting gift. As it turns out, not even relief can just be gentle.

There’s no quiet easing of the world back into its rightful place, and while the wave it rides in on would be uncomfortably jarring to human senses, it’s agonizing for Geralt. Geralt wakes to find he’s already caught in the midst of an avalanche, an onslaught that is truly inescapable. The morning light is gray at best, but even with his eyes closed, Geralt feels like he’s staring into the sun. Ducking away only presses his nose more firmly to the blankets that smell of old soap and even older sweat, so overwhelming he can barely breathe. It’s raining again, and where the sound might be soothing any other day, right now it’s like a constant banging right in his ear. Geralt hasn’t even sat up yet, and he’s already feeling something like vertigo, and he hasn’t been sick in ages, but he’ll be damned if he isn’t right on the edge of it now.

He sucks in a shaky breath and hides his face against the pillows, waiting for it to pass. It’s a terrible decision, all told. Absently, he fists his hands in his hair and pulls, straining to focus, but it’s only pain rolling out in one more direction. The scent of all the other people who have slept in this bed is far too much and with his eyes squeezed shut, Geralt scrabbles for the edge of the bed, stomach lurching threateningly.

It doesn’t matter in the end. Nothing comes up but an awful, sour taste that collects at the back of his throat, and that might be worse because the nausea refuses to pass. There’s nothing comfortable about his head hanging over the side of the bed. The room itself isn’t offensive, but even the subtle sweetness of the wine left in the bottom of a carafe across the room is too much, inescapably so.

Geralt doesn’t realize he’s even made a sound, but a warm hand splays between his bare shoulder blades, more familiar now than it’s ever been. Jaskier, bless him, has probably been practically vibrating with the need to have a conversation, but he doesn’t try to. He doesn’t speak, barely even breathes as he presses closer and coaxes Geralt from the side of the bed.

Rosemary. Jaskier shuffles and Geralt catches a hint of it, and it’s the first thing since he’s woken up that hasn’t threatened to upend his stomach. So really, it’s just instinct that makes him roll over and take reluctant refuge in the space under Jaskier’s chin. Conveniently, Jaskier folds his arms around Geralt like the witcher belongs there, and the bard’s shoulder blocks the light far better than anything else so far.

Jaskier must feel when Geralt’s pride catches up with the rest of him, because there’s a hand cradling his head, a thumb sweeping indulgently across his temple. Still, Jaskier doesn’t speak, but Geralt can feel the bard’s lips move against his hairline. Stay.

“I don’t need this,” Geralt mutters, his own voice like screaming right in his ear. He hates the way he shudders in the wake of it. “I’m not-”

“Geralt. You don’t have to be unbreakable.” Jaskier whispers, but it’s a careful thing, quiet it enough that it almost doesn’t hurt. “I’m certainly not.”

“It’s different.” Against Geralt’s forehead, he can feel the steady beat of Jaskier’s heart. “You’re human.”

“And you’re what?” Jaskier asks like the answer doesn’t matter. He scritches at the nape of Geralt’s neck, a welcome relief, no matter how much the witcher doesn’t want it to be. By inches, he melts into it, chasing after the soothing scent of rosemary and Jaskier’s skin as he hides away from the light.

“...not,” Geralt settles on, quietly as he can manage, though the rumble of the word rattles his teeth in his skull. “I can’t be this.”

“I’m going to assume by ‘this’ you mean your self-loathing… self. So no.” Jaskier smiles against Geralt’s forehead, and he wants to be frustrated, angry, something, but the feeling won’t come. Later, he might fume about the vulnerability he was forced to suffer through the last few weeks. Later, he might be inexplicably angry that Jaskier stayed and treated him like he was worth the trouble of sticking around for, even though they both know that’s ludicrous. For now though, he just doesn’t have the energy.

Instead, he thinks about the way Jaskier yielded, when all the world was dark and silent and terrible. Alone, alone, alone. Without thinking, he tips his head up, and maybe it’s to tell Jaskier to please stop talking, or maybe it’s to learn what Jaskier’s mouth feels like molded to his in the light of day. The world has still gone dreadfully sideways, and even as the aching in his head begins to recede a little, Geralt still feels one drink away from puking his guts out. He allows himself a single kiss, a quiet, tender thing before reality overwhelms anything he might happen to want.

“Right. Good. Okay, I guess that clears some things up. Anyway, don’t be that.” Jaskier’s voice is painful in the way every sound is painful, but it’s more the tolerable, pressing on a fading bruise kind of hurt, and Geralt bears it willingly. When Geralt shuffles to press his forehead against the bard’s collarbone, Jaskier doesn’t resist or give chase. He snuggles into the blankets, his body a buffer of sorts. Geralt hears a quiet hitch in Jaskier’s breathing, an anxious hesitation before he pulls the witcher more snugly into his arms. “Just be mine.”

[creepy-spooghetti]

A Hapless Endearment [Creepypasta x F. Reader]

Sorry for being inactive... I’ve been busy this week and haven’t had much time nor inspiration to post any headcanons or anything else. Forgivesies?

Chapter 3- It’s Time To Begin

A sudden crack of thunder erupts throughout the sky, making her flinch and crane her neck backward to look up at the ever-darkening clouds. The atmosphere shifts from warm to damp in an instant as rain draws nearer. Oh great, she thinks, turning on her heel to walk the two miles back to her grandparents' cottage. That's what I need. Rain. She quickens her pace, being mindful not to trip over a stray root or run into a limb dangling lower to the ground, following the plant-ridden trail that she originally took to get this far out here.

She isn't exactly sure where she is, as she doesn't recognize the seemingly endless frondescence around her, but she knows that she has to be around thirty-five to forty minutes away from the cottage. This means she will likely get caught in the storm that just abruptly appeared out of nowhere. 

The air around her feels muggy and thick, and she can’t stop herself from sniffing. It grows steadily darker, though not enough to obstruct her vision any, for which she is exceedingly grateful. A bolt of lightning streaks through the sky, and following close behind is another startling clash of thunder. Forcing her legs to move at an even faster pace in an effort to get back before it starts to rain, she continuously avoids running into any plants or tripping over weeds sticking out of the ground and looping around each other.

It starts out as a small, almost unnoticeable droplet of water landing directly on her nose and slowly cascading down her skin, causing her to avert her gaze back up toward the sky anxiously. Another soon follows, this one stopping on the top of her head and dribbling down her h\c locks of hair. This is the moment that she wishes she would have brought a jacket. Well, how was I supposed to know it was going to storm?

The area around her now begins to seem more familiar, and she hopes that means she's getting closer. Maybe she can get back before it starts—

Another crackle of thunder erupts throughout the atmosphere, and not two seconds later, a shower of rain follows. She curses under her breath and now speeds up into a full-on run, desperately wanting to make it back home prior to being totally drenched. She'll need a shower at this point, anyway. 

Water blurs her vision as it leaves wet trails down her face, and she can feel it as it soaks her clothes and weighs her hair down. The cool drops send chills up her spine, and she dashes down the path, trying to step on the patches of grass to avoid slipping on mud and falling to the ground. Holding her hands above her eyes to act as a sort of shield from the rain, she navigates through the condensing fog and thick greenery surrounding her b\s frame. 

Every couple of minutes she steps under some branches housing abundant leaves, making a temporary shelter against the storm, though it only lasts about three or four steps before she's back underneath the mercy of the pounding rain. The nearer she gets to the cottage, the harder the rain seems to get, and it isn't long before her shoes and feet are slathered in mud and her hair is sticking to her neck. 

I'm gonna get a cold, aren't I? She can't stop the annoyed huff that exits her lips, her eyes squinted as she attempts to ward off the pouring water and stop it from irritating her senses even further. The deep rumbling of the constant thunder, the pitter-patter of rain splashing against the leaves and rising puddles of water, and the invigorating breeze gently blowing against her skin would be almost relaxing if she wasn't currently being saturated as she hurries back.

In her rush to get out of the weather, she stares ahead of her in an effort to see if she can find the tranquil little house, and just for an instant forgets to watch where she's stepping, and as a result, misses a particularly thick weed, causing her foot to get caught up in it which soon has her losing her balance and falling to the dirt floor with a grunt. 

She catches the majority of her body weight with her hands and allows her arms to take the brunt of the fall, though she still lands on her stomach and chest. The tips of her hair land in mud and she can feel pressure in the palm of her right hand, almost as if something was stabbing through the skin, but she doesn't pay much mind to it, too focused on returning before the weather has a chance to get even worse. Releasing an exasperated "crap", she slowly pushes herself to her feet, not taking time to look at the damage that had to have been caused, and makes sure to keep her eyes glued down to her feet and what's in front of them.

Finally, finally, after what feels like an hour, she comes upon the familiar driveway, and straight across from it, sits the quaint property that she calls her temporary home. Sighing in relief, she sprints toward the gate, hurriedly unlatching and opening it far enough so she can step through, closing it back behind her and moving to the, thankfully roofed, porch, where she meets the eyes of a very unhappy cat, who is also drenched in water, sitting on an old, wooden chair and looking at her in obvious contempt.

"Oh, you too, huh?" she mutters, brushing her hands off to the best of her ability and opening the screen door, hoping to God that her grandparents left the main one unlocked. To her luck, she grabs the knob and twists it without any trouble, and immediately steps inside, relishing in the warmth and dryness that it holds. 

Marshmallow nearly trips her as he tries to push past her legs and go through the door himself, though she puts her foot up in front of him and blocks his path before he can. 

"Sorry, little buddy. You'll get mud everywhere." She gently nudges him back outside, and he lets out a meow in protest, clearly not enthused about having to wait outside in the damp chill that the storm holds. Once he's out of the screen's path, she shuts it and gets a glimpse of the wet feline as he stands on his hind legs and pushes against the door with his paws, looking in pitifully and continuing to cry, even though it's mostly drowned out by the rain. She taps the glass in compassion and softens her voice just a tad. "Look, I'll dry off then I'll get a towel and dry you off, okay?" 

His calls raise in volume as if disagreeing, and she can't stop the laugh of sympathy that leaves her mouth. 

"It'll only be a few minutes, I promise—" 

"Sweetie! Oh, my goodness, are you okay?" She's cut off by the worried voice of her grandma, who appears by her side to examine her in concern. She meets her eyes and nods reassuringly, brushing a strand of wet hair stubbornly clinging to her forehead behind her ear. 

"Y-yeah, Nana, I'm fine."

"Are you sure? It's raining cats and dogs out there!" 

"I'm sure." She uses the back of her hand to wipe away a stray droplet of water as it runs down her cheek before shivering slightly. Farrah's eyebrows furrow. 

"My word, you're cold, aren't you?"

"Only a little," she replies, her gaze trailing down to the hardwood floor, or more specifically, the puddle that's quickly forming around her feet. "Um, will you bring a towel or something? I'd hate to get water and mud all over the floor."

"Oh, don't worry about that, hun. My biggest concern is you getting sick." She wraps her hand around her shoulder and lightly pushes her in the direction of the stairs. "Why don't you go and get cleaned up and I'll make some hot chocolate." The very sound of hot chocolate makes her heartbeat quicken, and she only nods and makes her way up the staircase, in a hurry to get the mud caking her skin off before it dries and becomes a pain to scrub. 

She tries to make the journey quick so she doesn't completely soak the carpet and cause mildew to grow, and soon enters the bathroom, where she flips the light on and shuts the door to grant herself some privacy. Grasping a piece of thoroughly-soaked clothing and prying it away from her body, she lets out a quiet scoff, not very pleased with the recent turn of events.

She looks at her hand after dumping her clothes on the floor beside the sink, noticing the color red mixed in with the minuscule pieces of gravel and mud coating her hand, and after rinsing it off under the faucet, she sees a hole around the size of a pinprick permanently indented into her flesh, along with two minor scrapes around it. 

A stick must've poked me, she thinks, remembering the moment she tripped and felt a sudden pressure in her palm. Sighing in discontent, she steps into the shower and turns the water on, having to wait a minute for it to get good and steamy. She rinses all of the mud from her skin and washes her hair, becoming irritated when she picks a couple of small twigs out of it and tossing them down the drain without a second thought. 

The hot water cascading down her body feels relaxing, and she finds herself almost wanting to go to sleep, though she shakes off the idea pretty quickly. Sure, the weather is perfect for it, but she needs to visit with her dear grandparents whom she hasn't seen in years. Perhaps she can show Nana some of her paintings like she was planning on doing originally. She highly doubts that she would be criticized; Farrah is too nice to do such a thing, and even so, she'd be doing it gently and out of love, hoping to help rather than condemn. 

Shutting the water off and stepping back out a moment after, she grabs at her arms in an effort to warm herself back up, as the temperature inside of the bathtub is much warmer than the temperature elsewhere. She wraps herself up in a towel and turns toward the fogged-up mirror, making a portrait of sorts with her arm to enable herself to see the reflection that it gives her and finding herself satisfied enough with it. 

After brushing her hair she cautiously makes her way to the room that she's occupying while she's staying here, making sure that nobody is making their way down the hall while she does so, and shuts the door, going to the closet to pick out yet again another pair of clothes to wear, since her first ones got wet and dirty.

She slips on her undergarments, a pair of sweatpants, a loose-fitting t-shirt, and a pair of socks before throwing her previous clothes into the laundry room and going back down the stairs, being sure to bring an old towel with her. The pleasant aroma of hot chocolate wafts up into her nose, and she licks her lips absentmindedly, glancing into the kitchen to see Farrah mixing the warm liquid into two separate mugs.

She seems to notice her granddaughter's presence and gives her a welcoming smile, one Y\n finds absolutely calming each time. "Hi, sweetheart! How are you feeling?" The h\c girl shrugs and moves over to the front door, where she knows a certain cat is likely still waiting in front of.

"A lot better, now that I'm not covered in rainwater and dirt."

"I understand. That's not a pleasant sensation by any means." As soon as Y\n opens the door, a gust of cool breeze hits her in the face, bringing drops of rain with it. Not wanting to confront this weather again, she looks around for Marshmallow and finds him curled up beside the door, a shivering lump of soaked fur, clearly attempting to create some form of heat to lay in. 

"Aw, little buddy," she coos, feeling bad that she couldn't have brought him in sooner. He lifts his head at her voice, and it's obvious that he's been trying to lick himself dry by the random tufts of fur sticking out here and there on his small body. He lets out a meow and she bends down and swaddles him in the large piece of cloth she brought with her, lifting him up in her arms and allowing the towel to soak up as much of the water as possible before she brings him back inside and closes the door. 

"Oh no, is that Marshmallow?" Farrah says, and Y\n hums in response and places him on the floor after wiping off the mud from his paws. "I totally forgot about him. I guess I was too distracted." She chuckles, and the girl rubs her damp hair, watching the grateful yet exasperated feline find a nice, cozy spot on the couch before starting the process of grooming himself, once more. 

"Well, he's okay, now." Her Nana hands her a mug of cocoa, and she sucks in a large whiff of it, looking around curiously. "Hey, where's Pops at?" 

"Oh, he laid down to take a nap. We old people don't have too much energy to spare, anymore." Both of them walk into the living room and find seats on the couch, thankfully not disturbing Marshmallow as they do so, as he's currently sitting on the back of it, seeming quite content at the moment. 

She blows on her drink, waiting for it to cool down enough to allow her to sip on it, and her eyes fall to the window, watching the drops of rain hit the glass pane and slide down the shutters. Farrah follows her gaze and flashes her a sympathetic look. 

“I really am sorry about the rain, Y\n.” The teen meets her caring brown orbs attentively. “If I would’ve known it was going to storm, I would’ve told you.”

“Nana, it’s fine,” she reassures, resting a hand on Farrah’s arm. “There’s no way you could’ve known what it was going to do. Besides, I’m inside and dry now, anyway. I don’t think I was out long enough to get a cold.”

“Lord, I hope not. I would hate for you to be sick on your vacation.” She pats Y\n’s hand and takes a small, cautious sip of her cocoa.

“Yeah, that would suck.” She agrees, and copies her grandmother’s actions, putting the rim of the mug to her lips and tilting it upward in order to get a tiny drink. She can feel it burn the tip of her tongue as a strong burst of flavor erupts through her mouth, and she swallows, holding back a peaceful sigh as it slips effortlessly down her throat and warms her insides. 

Haven’t had hot chocolate in forever, she thinks, savoring the smell and taste of the rich, chocolatey beverage. I forgot how good it was.

“So, hun,” Farrah starts, shifting her body around to have a better view of Y\n in her position on the couch, “what do you like to do? I mean, do you have any hobbies?”

She considers the question briefly, taking another thoughtful sip of her drink. “Well… I like to paint.”

“Oh, you do!” Her eyes seem to light up at the very thought, and she leans in closer. “I remember that. You were always giving us little art pieces that you did. There’s a drawer in our bedroom dedicated to that very thing.” Upon hearing this, Y\n glances away shyly as her cheeks glow a light shade of pink. 

“Heh, y-you didn’t have to keep them. They were all just meaningless stuff, anyway.” 

“Sweetheart.” Her expression morphs into one of seriousness, and her voice hardens slightly. “Nothing you do is meaningless.” She shrugs in response and bites the inside of her cheek. 

“If you say so…”

“Of course I say so.” She nudges her with her shoulder in a consoling manner, making Y\n avert her gaze back at her. “So what do you paint?” The genuine interest she holds within her tone almost surprises Y\n, as she isn’t used to somebody, much less a family member, being intrigued by what she does, and it takes her a moment to gather her thoughts and form a coherent reply. 

“Like… scenery, and stuff. Mountains, skylines, waterfalls. Gardens, sometimes people, though I’m not very good at that. I don’t know. It depends, really.” 

“Well, that sounds absolutely lovely. Did you bring some?” 

“I, uh, I brought one or two of the small ones. But I have most of the pictures on my phone."

“Can I see them?” Her eyebrows raise and her lips part a bit, attempting to contain the excitement quickly flooding into her chest as she glimpses at Farrah hesitantly. 

“...Really?”

“Yeah, really! I wanna see what my little girl has been up to all these years.” A bright smile etches itself across her face, and Y\n stares at her, perhaps a couple of seconds too long, before complying and slowly standing to her feet, setting her mug of hot chocolate on the frosted coffee table as she does so.

“Okay. Just, be warned that they’re not very good.” She, herself, is proud of some of them, especially the more recent ones, though when in the presence of someone she finds that she wants to impress, her confidence steadily dwindles down and shrinks into the back of her mind, plaguing her thoughts with doubt. What if she gets laughed at?

“Oh, stop criticizing yourself. I’m sure that they’re beautiful.” Her words offer the slightest bit of relief, and the girl nods slowly and makes her way up the steps and into her room. Grabbing her backpack and taking out the two canvases—one 6x6 inch and the other 9x12— she looks down at both for any mistakes. After all, she doesn’t want to embarrass herself in front of one of the only people in her life who actually seems to care about what she likes to keep herself busy with.

One of them is a painting using watercolors, and it shows a small stream glimmering in the moonlight alongside a meadow of vivid wildflowers of yellow, pink, blue, purple, and white. She remembers doing this one when she was bored, and she got inspiration from a photo she saw on Pinterest, although a few key details were changed when she created it.

The second painting is one of the ones she worked fairly hard on, one that took around a week to complete, and she was pretty happy about the result. It shows a beam of sunlight shining down into a forest of willow trees, capturing the life beneath them in a bright, cheerful embrace. A mother fox and her two kits sneak out of their burrow dug at the bottom of a small hill, a nest of robins lay up in a branch, away from danger, butterflies flutter their wings and land gracefully on a patch of lilies.

The project had been something she had wanted to start and complete ever since she began painting with acrylics, and once it was finished, she was proud of it. Before she left to go to her grandparents’ house, she had a mental debate about whether or not she should bring it. It may have gotten broke, after all, though she eventually decided, what the heck, why not. 

She made sure to pack it carefully, in a position where it couldn’t get crushed or torn easily. And it looks in perfect shape as of now, so she figures that she accomplished her goal. 

She tucks both of the paintings under her arm and grabs her phone from off of her bed before walking back down the stairs to present her work to Farrah, nervousness and slight hesitancy bubbling up and making itself apparent in her stomach, once again. What if Nana doesn’t like them? She’d feel ashamed and embarrassed for even mentioning her favored activity, in the first place. Shaking her head dismissively, she attempts to gather some form of confidence as she nears the living room. It’s only her grandma, not some popular judge from America’s Got Talent. It will be fine, she tells herself. It will be perfectly fine, there’s nothing to worry about.

A rumble of thunder tears her from her thoughts, and her eyes shift up toward the ceiling, almost expecting the house to shake, though nothing of the sort happens. Ignoring the second boom of noise as it seems to get more distant, she finishes her trek into the living room and takes her previous seat on the couch, beside Farrah, and puts her phone on the table in front of her.

“Okay, so, this isn’t one of my best ones. I did it about three months ago when I was bored.” She lifts up the painting with the pond and lays the other one beside her, handing it to Farrah and giving her a clear view. She subconsciously bites her bottom lip and glances in the between the painting and the elderly woman several times, trying to read her thoughts and anxiously awaiting her reaction.

An expression of pure revelation and pride appears across her face as she stares down at the work of art currently in her hands, taking in every, well-thought-out detail to the best of her ability, her mouth dropping in astonishment and her eyebrows raising. 

Y\n is unsure what to make of this; she’s never been great at reading other people’s emotions and sensing what they’re thinking. All she can do is wait for a verbal reply and hope that it isn’t one purely of criticism and distaste. 

“Sweetheart…” She speaks, and Y\n’s ears perk up in recognition. “Y\n, this is gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous.” She turns to meet the girl’s e\c eyes and holds the canvas up in front of her face to better get her point across. “You did this?”

Y\n nods timidly, her cheeks raising in warmth as they flush a faint shade of pink at the compliment. “Uh, y-yes, ma’am. I did.”

“Hun, this is spectacular. Absolutely amazing. How am I just now finding out about this secret talent of yours?” It’s asked as mostly rhetorical, as they both know the reason and the answer to the question. “You said you had more?”

“I only brought two, but I have pictures of others I’ve done in my phone gallery.”

“Show me!” She gives her back the painting, and she takes it again, before handing her the second one, the larger one of the two. Her eyes scan the surface, where all of the shades blend together in a peaceful cadence of colors and a proper story, full of raw emotion and dedication. 

“This is one of my favorites,” Y\n comments quietly, reaching up and petting the fluffy feline laid behind her head affectionately and looking over Farrah’s shoulder at her creation. 

“My word… this is even better than the first!” She looks down in the bottom left corner, where the young girl’s signature rests, and clicks her tongue considerately. “Hun, you could have a business with these treasures.” 

“I actually do want to become a professional artist. Make paintings for a living.” She tenderly takes the canvas from Farrah’s grasp and lays it atop the previous one before leaning forward and grabbing her phone. “Maybe, if I can scrape up the money to go to AAU, I can make it a reality. I’ve already gone to art camp three summers in a row, so I have practice.”

“Well, that sounds lovely. I hope you stay on that track because I think you would make an excellent artist. People all over the world would want to buy your paintings if they looked like those do.” She releases a small chuckle and unlocks her phone, scrolling to the side until she finds her gallery and clicking on it.

“Yeah, well, people are really picky about what they do and do not buy, so I dunno. A girl can dream, I guess.” Farrah wraps her arm around Y\n’s shoulder reassuringly and pulls her closer. “One of my dreams is to be recognized by April Gornik, maybe even meet her someday. She’s, like, my inspiration for half the things I paint.”

“It’s great to have goals, Y\n. I’m sure she would love to meet you. Who knows, maybe she could even teach you a thing or two about being an artist.” She smiles at the very idea and nods slightly, her thumb swiping patiently through the many photos as they appear across the screen. 

“Maybe.” She clicks on one of the pictures, this one revealing an older painting based on Niagara Falls, the rainbow shooting through the sky and over the surging white water below, and shows it to Farrah, who looks at it proudly. 

"That's amazing. Where'd you get that artistic talent from? I know it wasn't your father." She breathes an amused laugh in response and shakes her head in the negative. 

"Yeah, it definitely wasn't him."

 ✭ ✭ ✭

For the past couple of hours, she had talked with her grandmother about various other things, ranging anywhere from her potential job to what else she plans on doing in the future. Does she want to get married, have a family? Where does she want to live? Is there another career she wants to pursue should the original fail?

It takes her a moment to answer each question without stumbling over her words, mainly due to the fact she isn't used to somebody being so invested in her personal life and interests as a whole. But she quickly finds that she enjoys being asked frequent questions about such things and that she's able to tell Farrah anything and everything about whatever she wants to. A bond seems to radiate between the two; Farrah is like a long-lost mother figure to Y\n, and it feels good to have finally recovered her, again. 

The rain outside eventually ceases, as does the storm, and the clouds slowly thin out until they're nothing but thin streaks of white floating through the now grey-blue sky. The plants outside are coated with thick drops of water, the soil surrounding them properly soaked and allowing the roots to suck in the moisture. The very air itself smells of life, feels damp, and holds a certain cleanness to it, as if the earth has just been cleansed of evil and is made pure, once again. 

The rest of the day goes by, for the most part, uneventfully, with Y\n helping and visiting with Farrah, and when he wakes up, Phil. The three stay inside of the house, neither of them wanting to go out when it could possibly start raining, again. 

They have dinner; a few simple chicken strips and some homemade gravy, along with biscuits to add a bit of variety. It fills Y\n up well, and by the time all of them are finished eating, it's nearing eight o'clock. Despite the late hour that she awoke this morning, she feels drowsiness seeping through her body and making her mind hazy. Perhaps it's the stress of everything finally weighing down on her and causing her to collapse, or maybe it's the lack of stress, at last, allowing her to get the rest that she greatly yearns for. 

Releasing a small yawn, despite how much she tries to fight against it, she stands from where she had been previously lying down on the soft, delicately-patterned sofa, and discreetly rubs at her eye. "You alright, hun?" Nana's voice erupts from behind her, and she glances back and gives a tired smile. 

"Yeah, I'm okay. Just feeling sleepy."

"Well, go on to bed. Get all the rest you need; that's why you're here, after all."

"I'm here to see you guys," she argues halfheartedly. "I'd hate to cut this time short just cause I'm tired."

"Y\n, you've been visiting with us all day. Besides, you've been through a lot. More than what a person should ever go through, especially someone of your age." She parts her lips to further proclaim her point, though when she sees the final expression formed across the woman's face, she huffs lightly in defeat and internally rolls her eyes. 

"Fine."

"That's more like it." 

"You going to sleep on us?" Phil interjects from his recliner, momentarily taking his attention off of the old sitcom that's playing on the small flatscreen TV sitting across the room and onto his granddaughter. Y\n shrugs hesitantly, holding back another yawn that tries to escape past her lips. 

"I guess so..."

"I see. You get here then you leave again." His voice sounds serious, though anyone who listened closely enough could hear the playfulness hidden inside. His wife lightly slaps his hand from where it's resting against the arm of the chair in a scolding manner.

"Oh, hush up, Phil. She's tired. You've been sleeping near about all day."

"I know, I know!" He puts his hands up in front of his face defensively. "I was just joking! Jeez, woman." Y\n watches the two bicker in amusement, unable to decide which person she ultimately agrees with. Just in case she's forced to take a side. Farrah only scoffs, and Y\n leans in to give both of them a warm, fleeting hug, trying to put all of her unending love for them in that one gesture. 

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, hummingbird," Phil says.

"We love you."

"I love you guys too, Nana." She begins to walk toward the staircase. "Call if you need anything."

"You, too!" Then she makes her exit, stopping by the bathroom to do her nightly routine before heading into the bedroom and changing into her pajamas. The world outside has yet to darken enough to allow stars to peak down, but the bright illumination of the moon can be seen far off into the sky, if only somewhat. To her, it's a relaxing scene to go to sleep to, and she crawls beneath her covers soon after turning off her light and plugging her phone in to charge. 

Something about it feels tranquil, and she finds herself wishing that her parents never come back to get her. She doesn't have many friends back home anymore, if she can even call it that, and her lifestyle is less than desirable, largely considering the fact that she can have a perfectly good, stable, loving environment right here, where she could continue to grow, and do it healthily, this time. 

Her eyes slowly flutter closed, and she lets out a relaxed sigh, allowing her consciousness to drift off into the deep, dark hollows known as sleep. 

___

"What are we going to tell her?" Phil, now sitting up fully in his chair and staring at the aged woman beside him, asks, concern showing in his crystal blue orbs. Farrah lets out a distressed breath, burdened by the confounding information her husband recently shared with her.

"I don't know, Phil. It would... it would crush her if she knew what happened."

"Well, obviously. But we can't keep her in the dark. She asked about them. It's only a matter of time before she asks, again." Farrah pinches the bridge of her nose in apprehension, finding it hard to focus on what they should do to solve this issue. Do the right thing. But what's the 'right' thing?

"We just got her back. I don't want to make her upset the rest of her trip..."

"Yeah, neither do I. But we have to do something."

"Okay, okay. We'll just... wait until she brings it up, again." Phil raises his brow at her suspiciously. "Then we'll figure it out from there." Thoughts of perturbation swarm her mind, and she clenches her fists in an effort to calm her jangled nerves. "Phil... we already lost three babies. I don't... I don't want to lose another." Her voice cracks, showing the strain that this whole event has had on her, and she buries her face in her hands to conceal the tears threatening to flow from her eyes. 

"Baby, hey, hey." His tone softens, and he moves over to the couch to sit beside her, wrapping his arms around her smaller, frail frame comfortingly. "We're not gonna lose this one. I promise." She leans into his embrace and quivers vaguely, shaking her head in doubt.

"You can't promise that."

___

Darkness. That's all she can make out at first, as she blindly stumbles around, desperately trying to find a way out of this soul-crushing gloom that surrounds her. She blinks, and blinks, and blinks, even rubbing at her eyes to rid herself of the dull, emotionless scenery, until eventually, her wish is granted, and instead of never-ending darkness, she figures out that she's standing in the middle of a forest. 

The trees are all dead, their leaves having fallen long ago and leaving their branches bare and sharp. The flowers, or what she assumes used to be flowers, litter the lifeless ground below her feet, their stems drooping low and petals losing all original shape and color as it becomes pitiful piles of what could have once been beautiful plants. A heavy, morbid breeze blows, ruffling the brown grass and sweeping through her hair in what she can only describe as a taunting way. 

Chills zip up her spine, and she suddenly gets the feeling that she isn't alone. Spinning around frantically to find someone, any form of life in this dead, empty place of horror, she spots a flash of color as it disappears behind the trees, out of her immediate sight. She feels a tug in her chest, an invisible force pulling at her heart and begging her to follow. 

She doesn't want to listen to it. She wants to ignore it and walk away, though something tells her that she can't simply just walk out of this place. At least not alive. So she complies, hesitantly, and begins her chase after the mysterious blur of color that made itself present in her vision for only a mere second, but it was enough to gain her attention. Draw her curiosity. Forcing her way through the dead trees, she notices a thick fog appearing steadily around her, altering her vision severely though not enough to force her off of the trail.

Determination strikes her body, and suddenly, she wants nothing more than to find that figure of color. Confront them, ask them what their problem is. Why she's here, force them to take her back. An ominous force wraps around her mind, so abruptly it's almost blinding, and she feels nausea gripping at her stomach and squeezing. It's fear. Pure, raw fear that she's never felt before in her entire life.

Her breathing becomes more labored as she quickens her pace, and no sooner than she does, her foot catches on an unknown object and she comes tumbling down to the ground with a pained grunt, her arms taking the majority of the impact and shielding her face from the dirt underneath her body. 

It takes but a moment to collect her bearings, and as she leisurely rises to her full height, she catches a whiff of a smell. A bitter, rotten smell. An odor that's so strong, so rank, it reminds her of the possum that crawled under their house that one time when she was seven years old and died. They had to call the exterminator to pull out its rotting, maggot-infested carcass and burn it. 

She crinkles up her nose in disgust at the distant memory and tries to pinpoint exactly where the smell is coming from. Stumbling to her feet, she glances around to the best of her ability but finds her efforts are fruitless. It seems so close, but yet so far away at the same time. 

She finally spots a lump right beside her feet; the very same lump that she tripped over not a minute earlier, and she bats away the fog with her hand and squats down to get a better look. She recognizes something. The color. A light, serene shade of green. That's what it's wearing. A green t-shirt.

The smell gets stronger, she just knows it's coming from this motionless figure lying on the ground. Nearly gagging though wanting to get a closer look, she leans nearer, noticing a mop of messy, platinum-blond hair covering his head. It's a 'he', she knows it is. She pinches her nose and nudges him with her foot, though he still doesn't make any move to signify he's conscious. Or even alive.

Her heart rate quickens, and she puts quite a bit of strength into the next push she gives him. His body is quite small, which is why it takes her off-guard when he's so difficult to move. As if he's being weighed down by an invisible force. His body is rolled over, enough to give her a clear look at his face, what he looks like.

What she identifies as blood leaks from a large wound in his forehead and dribbles down his face, causing her to let out an audible gasp and tumble backward from shock in an effort to get away. She knows this boy. She knows him all too well, even though she hasn't seen him for years on end. Wyatt.

Her mind is in a frenzy as she stares at his corpse, breathless, motionless. Dead. An expression of absolute terror is etched onto his ghostly pale features, and she feels hot tears pricking at her eyes. How did this happen?? Why-why did this- what happened!

Her breathing is fast and hard as she covers her mouth, trying to contain the sobs from spilling from her lips and alerting whatever else may be here, on the prowl. Waiting for her. Looking for her. No, this can't be happening. He's only a kid. He was only a kid...

That breeze once again flurries around her shaking frame, bringing a warning like no other with it. "Remember this," it whispers softly in her ear. "Remember what happens when you fail to listen."

～

Shooting up in the bed with a strangled gasp, she looks around her room frantically, doing a mental reality check, as if to make sure that she's still here. That he's gone. That it's gone. Tears freely stream down her warmed cheeks, and she shakily runs her hands through her hair and tries to slow her breathing and the rapid pace of her heart. She swallows, perhaps a bit too hard, because she ends up gagging herself and almost throws up in her own lap, right on her bed.

A squeak exits from between her parched lips, and she moves her frantic gaze out toward the window, hoping to find some form of comfort in knowing, confirming where she's currently at, rather than where she was just moments before. Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream. 

She sucks in a cooling breath and wraps her arms around herself, staring intently at the treeline on the other side of the natural driveway as she makes sense of everything around her. It's okay, it's okay, you're safe, you're safe. He's safe. He's okay. It doesn't exist, it's just in your head.

Something catches her eye, and she leans closer to the window, attempting to rid herself of the salty tears making her vision blur and get a clear image of what she's seeing. Or, at least, what she thinks she's seeing. After a failed attempt, she wipes her eyes on her arm and looks again. Something white, reflecting the moonlight where it shines down from the sky and gaining her attention even further. 

With her fast, shallow breaths and busy mind, she finds it hard to concentrate, so all she can make out is something beige. Its height isn't very intimidating, at least not from her distance. Is that... a man? With a mask? She blinks, processing her assumptions and praying that they aren't true. And he's... is he watching me?

Releasing an unsteady, nervous sigh, she stares at it for around thirty seconds, before it turns abruptly and disappears behind the trees and likely deep into the forest. She sniffles, keeping her gaze locked in that exact spot until her eyes begin to get heavy, again. 

No! No, I can't go to sleep... not again. She shakes her head, getting rid of the drowsiness to the best of her ability and turning to grab her phone. Gotta keep myself distracted. I can't go back to sleep. Otherwise...

Her e\c orbs anxiously shift back toward the woods, and she bites her lip. Who was that guy...?

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #321

i’m exploring the deepest recesses of tumblr to unearth super old surveys, so you can expect an onslaught of ‘em.

When someone is tailgating you, do you drive faster or slower? I drive the same speed, even though it makes me incredibly uncomfortable. What place outside of your own home do you spend the most time at? My sister's place. Have you ever been snorkeling? No. Do most of your relatives live in the same state/province as you? No; only my parents and immediate sisters live here. Have you ever participated in a medical study? No. Is there a food you hate that everyone else seems to like? Especially where I live, fried chicken. It's disgusting. Have you ever had to evacuate from a natural disaster? No. Do you have any family members who are cancer survivors? Numerous, actually. Do you have any licenses other than your driver's license? I don't even have a driver's license, never mind anything else. What job does you significant other have? I’m single. When you were in elementary school, what was a typical afternoon like once you got home from school? I did my homework right away; well, after having a snack. After that, I was most likely on the computer playing Neopets or Webkinz, or something on the PlayStation. Is your favorite movie part of a series? Yes. Have you ever played in a water puddle? Sure, as a kid. I loved that. Have you ever played in a mud puddle? I don't think so. Have you ever kissed someone (outside) in the rain? Yes. He did it purely to be romantic, lol. Have you ever lost control of your car in the rain? No, thank fuck. Have you ever had to attend summer school? No. Have you ever experienced a summer where the temperature exceeded 120'F/49'C? Yikes, no, not that high. The highest we usually get is below 110. Do you live in a hot or cold (normally) climate? Hot. It sucks. Has your community ever had a “smog alert”? No. Have you ever raked leaves, and then played in them? Oh, absolutely as a kid. Dad would rake a pile just for us kids. Have they ever cancelled school because it was too hot? At least once, yes. Have you ever had to shovel snow? No. Have you ever experienced “cat’s breath”, where the wind was so powerful it took your breath away, literally? Yep, especially when I visited Sara and we went on a walk. It was fucking outrageous. Safe to say I didn't last long on that walk. Has your/or have you been in a car that was stuck in a snowstorm? No. What does your MySpace profile look like? I haven't seen it since that site was still "a thing." I do remember, however, that it was COVERED in meerkats, haha. Pictures, facts, etc. And my page song was "Pocketful of Sunshine" by Natasha Beddingfield lmao. Do you like living in the country or city better? Country, 100%. I'm not a city gal by any means. Do you have a big backyard? No, it's very small. Not used to that at all. What is your favorite Adam Sandler movie? I don't know, he's in too many to choose lmao. What was the last thing that surprised you? Apparently a rocket crashed today after launch. What color hair did your first crush have? Brown. Have you ever visited your state’s capitol building? No. I... didn't even know those existed lmao I feel dumb. Who was the last person that said something that warmed your heart? I'm not sure, but I'm quite certain my niece or nephew would be involved there, haha. What is your favorite park? I don't have one. Have you ever felt an earthquake? No. Do you believe anyone is asexual? ???????????? Yes???????????? Were you abused? No. Have you ever missed a deadline? Yeah. Can you tell Mary-Kate and Ashley apart in pictures? I haven't seen them in an eternity, idk. Describe your fondest memory: I don't really want to... but I'll entertain the question. It's hard to choose, and they just about all include Jason. I think what I hold closest though was our dance to "Stairway to Heaven" after prom in the headlights of his car in my front yard. It's something that physically hurts to remember. What song makes you cry every time you hear it? Let's set aside my "trigger songs" for this. "Terrible Things" by Mayday Parade does it very easily. How often do you break your promises? I almost never do. I don't bullshit around with promises. I've only ever broken ones I'd forgotten I'd made, if my memory serves me right. How long do you take in the shower, on average? Not even 10 minutes. Do you have your MySpace/Facebook profile set to a "friends only" setting? Yes. Did your last kiss mean anything? Why or why not? Of course it did. I care very, very deeply for her. Are your summers usually boring and relaxing, or busy and interesting? "Summers are hot and miserable." <<<< mood Tell me a crazy thing you did as a child. I don't really think I did anything "crazy" as a child, just weird. Like pretending to be a father penguin arranging rocks to mock a nest. I was fuckin weird. How many best friends do you have? One. When you’re upset, who do you wanna talk to the most? Either Sara, Mom, or nobody. Opinion on Daughtry? They're nice. "No Surprise" is positively beautiful. Do you like country music? Noooooo. What’s been the most awkward situation you've been in? Okay, possible TMI. Basically, Jason's parents arrived home way, way earlier than they were supposed to and my panicky ass couldn't find my clothes quickly, and when I finally did, I had to dress as quickly as possible in his tiny-ass closet while he distracted his mom and dad lmfao. I'ma just say it was a very close call to me melting into a mortified puddle. I look back on it and laugh now, but the absolute, throbbing fear I felt was NOT funny back then lmfao. Don’t you love that feeling when you look at someone and you just melt? <3 That is genuinely one of the best feelings in the entire world. Do you prefer male or female singers? I have no preference. So what are you planning for this summer? Nothing, really... Who knows where the Covid situation will be then. What’s a good book? In general for absolutely anyone, Johnny Got His Gun by Dalton Trumbo. It is a book about pacifism that is so very deep and emotional. For women, I highly recommend The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. As a woman myself, the concept of the book is terrifying, to be reduced to reproduction machines without rights, so it's something you can really feel as a female. It's a book that definitely makes you want to fight for women's rights. Is it awkward for you when your parents talk to you about boys etc… No. I'm a grown woman. Now if she asked about my sex life (if I had one), I'd feel a bit weird, but not very. Do you like it when guys play with your hair? Yeah. Ever cried when you had to say goodbye to someone? Well of course. Over multiple people. Have your parents ever hated one of your boyfriends/girlfriends? No. Have you ever dreamt of someone you barely know? Indeed. Do you have a blood donor’s card? Yep. Have you ever taken a pregnancy test? I had to before surgery. Has anyone seen you naked in the last week? No. What kind of doctor did you go to the last time you went? It was via phone, but I talked with my psychiatrist a few days ago. Does your ex still think about you? I'm sure Sara and Girt do, as they're my good friends, but idk if either think of me romantically. I would hope Jason at least remembers me with some degree of care in his heart... As for Juan, Aaron, and Tyler, idk if they do and I don't really care. What has been bothering you a lot lately? My weight. Are you trustworthy? I think so, yes. Did your parents teach that white lies were ok? Yeah, but it definitely depends on the situation. Which literary character would you dress up as, if you had to choose one? Speaking of The Handmaid's Tale, for Halloween one year, I really, really want to take some cool photos of me dressed as a handmaid with a (obviously fake) blood splatter over my stomach. What (or who) is the best thing that ever happened to you? Being born with the mom I have, probably. I have no idea. None. Of where I'd be without her. Do you miss college? Sigh, sometimes... but I'm not going back. No chance. Dropping out three times due to my mental state hints at a clear pattern. Have you ever called a teacher “mom”? Yeah, accidentally. Except with my physical science teacher in HS that eventually became my "other mom" and most recently our landlord, even. I call her "Mama" sometimes. What was the name of your first imaginary friend? It was a wolf whose name I don't remember. What color was your nursery when you were a baby? No clue. What is your favorite arcade game? I desperately wanna go to a location that has Silent Hill: The Arcade. :/ That's on my bucket list. It's very rare. Are you allergic to grass? No. Do you remember to water plants? I don’t have any plants to water. What is your favorite fall drink? I don't drink any "fall" drinks. Favorite winter drink? Hot chocolate! Favorite spring drink? There are "spring" drinks? Favorite summer drink? Gimme a nice, cold margarita. Name three creative people you know. Sara, Tez, and Mini are some of the most creative people I've ever written with. Name 3 YouTubers you aspire to be like. Mark in like a million different ways, I look up greatly to Jeffree Star's work ethic (say what you will about him personally, but holy shit does mama WORK), and Emzotic for her incredible growth after trauma that's left her more confident than ever, and she's amazing with animals and just a darling overall. Does anyone know who your current crush is? Yeah, I'm pretty open about it. Have you ever been scammed? Not successfully, no. Which song describes your life? I relate to "Get Up" by Mother Mother a lot at this point in my life. If someone dislikes you, what is most likely to be the reason? Probably because I open up so slowly/am very secretive of myself when someone might be trying to get close. People have also criticized my laziness. Where did you meet the last person you swapped numbers with? YouTube. At least I think Tez was the last person I gave my number to. Who was the last person to add you as a friend on Facebook? Hunter, my neighbor growing up. Who was the last person that asked if you were okay? My therapist. I had to leave group due to severe abdominal cramping. It was just my period, but he just wanted to check. What was the last thing you bought from a vending machine? Probably a soda back when I was still in school. Has anyone given you butterflies recently? Actually yeah; I had a memory of Sara that caused 'em to revisit me. What was the name of the first person you ever had a crush on? Why did you like them? I'm going to exclude my puppy-dog crush (Dylan) and talk about my first "real" crush, Sebastian. I liked him because we had very similar interests, he was really friendly, nice, and funny, and he clearly trusted me a lot because he actually confided in me regarding the relationship he was in that was struggling and causing him a lot of pain. I thought he was attractive, too. Ngl, I wonder sometimes where we could have gone if he hadn't been dating the girl, because I'm 90% sure he was into me, too. In current times, he very recently got engaged! Super happy for him. Which parent do you identify with the most? My ma. What do you think you cook or bake the best? Scrambled eggs, I guess. That's just about all I CAN make, haha. My family likes 'em. I always use American cheese, salt, pepper, and a bit of hot sauce. What embarrasses you the most in front of other people? Admitting I RP. If you had to choose one thing you were most passionate about, what would it be and why? Of actually important things, gay rights. If we're talkin' passionate about anything, then the answer's meerkats, duh. Who are you most envious of—real or fictional—and why? A rival photographer that lives here. I absolutely hate admitting that, but yeah, I'm extremely envious of her. She gets way more traffic than I do by a long shot, even though I, from a completely modest and honest standpoint, genuinely think I do better work than her. It's just frustrating. All about who you know in this business. How old is the most expired item in your fridge? Supposedly our milk expired on the 1st, but it smells just fine? And mind you, I am very cautious with expiration dates, and I've found milk typically starts to smell bad a few days earlier than the date to me. This jug is an outlier. What are your favorite style of underwear? I'm a fat old lady that likes high-waisted underwear. What’s the saddest song you’ve ever heard? Maybe "The Ballad of Dwight Fry" by Alice Cooper. I could name tons, though. How about the sweetest song? Maybe "Easy to Love You" by Theory of a Deadman. Another song I struggle to listen to because it was one of mine and Jason's "songs." Do you know how to play dominoes? No. Are you proud of what you’re doing with your heart and time right now? Not in the least. Why or why not? I'm just wasting time. Doing nothing with true meaning, and I seem unable to get over this low point I'm in. How many bones have you broken? One. Well, I was told "fractured," but apparently that's the same thing as broken? Have you ever won anything? Big or small? Yeah, multiple things. What food will you absolutely not, under any circumstances, eat? Animals like cats or dogs. Pets, basically. I would feel WAY too weird. Has anything/anyone every saved your life before? Yes. What is one thing you’re embarrassed to admit you want to try? If I'm embarrassed by it, why would I share it with whoever reads these? What is the most important memory you have and why? When I decided it was truly time to move on from Jason. Why that's my most important is obvious: it changed my mindset and life in general. Is there something you wish you had said sorry for but never did? God, I hope Jason read my apology email I last sent him. I finally accepted I did wrong, too, and I want to know that he knows that. Who was the last person you know to have a birthday? My youngest niece's first birthday was mid-February. What’s a musical instrument you think sounds really beautiful? The violin. Do you play that instrument? I wish I could. Do you have a favorite type of pasta? (like a shape of noodles, not dish) Just spaghetti noodles, ig. How many times a day do you brush your teeth? Once. Who sent the last e-mail you got? My PHP therapist sent me the Zoom link to our group session. Do you have a favorite shape? Out of basic ones, circles. What’s the last song you bought/downloaded? I don't recall. Probably something by 3TEETH. Have you ever been on a trapeze? Hell nah. Do you buy chocolate after Valentine’s Day when it goes on sale? No. Do you personally know anyone who is an author? I met a poet at the psych hospital once. I also have an old friend who had something published in a magazine, I think. Do you own a polaroid camera? No, but I'd love to to take more ~aesthetic~ photographs sometimes. What is something you think is underrated? Snakes! :( They're not scary or gross, nor do they in any way deserve to be killed. I wish the worth of snakes was seen much more clearly. They are spectacular, intriguing animals. Around what temperature do you consider it to be too hot outside? Once it hits like 65*F, I'm starting to feel uncomfortable. In what ways do you expect your life to be different one year from now? I hope beyond hope that I have a job I enjoy. And that I'm driving again. What’s a hobby you used to have, but don’t anymore? I used to loooove video editing, but I've lost all motivation for it. Do you have any exercise equipment in your home? Somewhere we have this one stretchy thing that I have no idea what it's called, then there are two sets of small weights somewhere. Where is the farthest north you’ve traveled to? New York. Farthest south? Florida. East? Well, ya can't go more east in NC unless you want to drive into the ocean... lol. West? Illinois. If you have/want children, will you raise them similar to the way you were raised? If I had kids, I would in some ways, but in a lot of other ways, no. Do you have any unusual decorations in your home? Nothing strange, no. What is the highest level math class you’ve completed? I don't know. Not very high. Do you have an ebook reader? (iPad, Kindle, etc.) No. What kind of natural disaster is most common where you live? Hurricanes. Have you ever had an animal get into your attic? No. When was the last time you started a “new chapter” of your life? 2017, ig. What is the last random act of kindness you did? I guess you could consider a loving text to Sara a random act of kindness?

[atths--twice]

And now for the final of the Family Life Series.. for now anyway. I wrote this one in August, but did not post it here, being in the middle of posting the stories from the beginning. I didn’t want to confuse anyone and so I saved it until now. 

During quarantine, I was home for two months. I thought I would get so much writing done, as I had literally nothing else to do.

Well... plans don’t always go the way we want and soon I was simply watching videos on Facebook every day. I happened to see one and then saw it again recently and I loved it.

It was of a little girl jumping in puddles and then asking her dad to join her. He jumped in happily, bouncing around her, and as cute as it is on its own, as a fic writer, all I could see was Mulder doing the same.

Jumping in puddles, building forts, telling tall tales... yeah, he would be into all of it.

Hope you enjoy this fun little story.

Mud Monsters      5/5

During the same summer break from school, we find a precocious little girl patiently waiting for it to rain so she can use her new rain boots and jump in as many mud puddles as possible. ❤️

July 2022

“Doctor Scully? Did we lose you?”

“I’m sorry. No, I’m here,” Scully said, mentally shaking herself from her thoughts and looking at the computer. “Actually, I think it did cut out on my end. Could you repeat the last thing that was said?” She smiled kindly, knowing full well it was a lie, but knowing that the others on the teleconference call did not.

Paying better attention this time as Doctor Snyder began to speak again, she still found her mind drifting away, as she wondered how Mulder and Faith were getting along. If they had found enough mud puddles for Faith, who had been so excited to jump in them.

She had new rain boots she had been dying to try out. Her old ones were “too pinchy on my toes, Mama,” something Scully had learned only when they had seen the current pair in a shop window and Faith had said how much she loved them.

Scully was sure she was not being completely honest and simply wanted the boots because they were cute and had planets, spaceships, and rockets on them, and also had sky blue rubber soles.

“Just like my raincoat, Mama! It’s my favoritest color. Look how pretty they are,” Faith had said excitedly, looking up at Scully with her blue eyes shining.

With a smile, they had walked into the shop, inquiring if they had a pair in her size. Seeing the true happiness the rain boots brought her, as she had walked around the store, Scully had smiled and nodded. What was twenty five dollars, really, in the grand scheme of things? She had remembered the feeling of wanting something as a child and knowing the probability of getting it was slim, so the boots had been purchased and carried home in a big rainbow colored bag.

Faith had been so pleased with them, she wore them inside incessantly, even going so far as to sleep with them on the floor beside her bed. Every morning she had woken up, hoping it had rained overnight, but it had been dry recently, with no puddles to jump in, something she dearly loved to do.

She had taken to sitting on the porch, Bella beside her as she stared at the sky, waiting for clouds to appear, and sighing as she shook her head when they did not.

“Is it going to rain soon?” she had asked at night when they tucked her in and kissed her goodnight, looking longingly at her boots. “Can you check your phone and see if it says it will?”

“I can, but you know it’s not always correct,” Mulder had told her.

“I know, Daddy,” she said as she sighed deeply and nodded.

“God,” Mulder had said quietly when they left her room. “I feel like letting the hose run to create some puddles for her, the poor kid.”

“Mulder,” Scully had said, shaking her head with a smile. “She needs to just wait. It will rain soon. It’s only been a few days now.”

“But those sighs, Scully,” he had said with a sigh of his own as he shook his head. “It’s like they come from the depths of her soul.”

“Mulder,” she had said with a soft chuckle, putting her hands on his chest, holding onto his shirt, and pulling gently to bring his lips down to hers. “She’ll be okay.” Kissing him again, he sighed against her lips and she smiled.

Another day had gone by with no rain and Mulder looked at Scully, shaking his head as they left Faith’s bedroom. She had seemed near tears tonight and Scully knew how much it hurt Mulder to see her upset.

“I know you want to give her everything she wants, and you want her to have a belief in the fantastic and love of nature,” Scully had said, touching his arms and smiling. “But, think about it, wouldn’t you rather it be real? ”

“Like Santa?” he had asked sarcastically, raising his eyebrows at her.

“And whose idea was it to tell her about him?” she had asked pointedly, raising her eyebrows back at him. He stared at her before sighing and nodding. “Mulder, it will rain. You both just have to be patient.” She smiled and gripped his upper arms, her thumbs rubbing gently.

“It’s just so hard,” he had groaned with a frown and she chuckled softly. He had smiled and she shook her head, letting go of his arms and turning to go downstairs.

“Maybe if you wish really hard, it will come true,” she had said and he hummed, following her down the stairs.

“You want to watch a movie? Rain Man maybe?” he had teased and she laughed.

“I have that call tomorrow, I need to go over my notes again, but maybe in a bit we could watch something, but not Rain Man.” She had smiled at him and he nodded with a smile of his own, as she disappeared into what was now her office.

In the last year, it had been converted into a workspace for her, allowing her to work from home some days, when a simple conference call was more than sufficient. They had tackled it one week, standing and staring at the room with heavy sighs, knowing what a large task it would be.

Papers, books, photos, videotapes… things that no longer meant everything to Mulder, had either been placed in plastic bins or thrown out. They had laughed over some of it and kept quiet over others, his hand grazing hers as he walked by, the past alive, but not needing to be spoken of again.

When it had been cleaned, everything was moved out and the walls were repainted a sage green, except for one that was painted with black chalkboard paint. That wall was left empty of any furniture so Faith could draw on it to her heart's content.

She drew rainbows, butterflies, clouds, animals, the letters and numbers she knew, and stick figures of them as a family; including Bella, Grey, and the fish. Mulder had drawn pictures as well, telling her stories as she had sat riveted in the old overstuffed chair, as Scully smiled as she had typed away at the computer, researching information for a patient.

The room still held books and photos, but now the… less mainstream ones… were on the bottom shelves, out of view of the webcam's vision. Medical journals, and children’s books were on the higher shelves along with photos and knickknacks they had collected over the years.

Her desk was clear of any clutter, and while the bottom drawer still held Mulder’s most important papers, it had all been organized and placed into folders. Different lights and a cozy throw on the chair, gave the room a warm, inviting, and open feel. It was now a happy space, much different than it had been in the past.

As Scully had sat working at the computer, preparing for her call, with Grey lying curled up in the chair, she heard a low rumble and looked up, holding her breath. She could hear the television playing softly in the living room when the first raindrop hit the window. Then another. And then another.

Hearing a gasp from Mulder, she had smiled, knowing he would soon be coming into the room. Turning around and facing the door, she waited with her hands clasped in her lap. She heard him get up and then he had been there in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear.

“It’s raining,” he had said and she nodded, with her eyebrows raised.

“I heard,” she had answered and he walked past her to open the door and look outside. She had watched him with a smile, until he came back to her and took her hand, pulling her to her feet.

They had stood on the porch, watching as the rain began to build, lightning flashing and thunder rumbling in the distance. Shaking his head, he had grinned when it poured even harder.

“She’s going to be so excited,” he had said and squeezed Scully’s hand as she had nodded with a smile.

Faith’s eyes had been huge when she had come downstairs the next morning, her beloved boots in hand, and looked outside. The grass was wet, there were puddles in the driveway, and thick gray clouds remained hanging overhead.

She would have run straight outside if Mulder had not insisted she eat her breakfast first. She had pouted, but this time it did not work on him as he had raised his eyebrows and pointed to the kitchen table.

“That was so tough,” he had whispered to Scully, shaking his head as they had watched her sit at the table with a frown, her arms crossed.

“She’ll get over it,” Scully had said with a scoff, shaking her own head. “You can’t always be the fun parent.” Patting his arm, she had smiled and walked to the cupboard to get Faith her breakfast.

Forty five minutes later, bellies full, they were dressed and ready to go. The coveted boots were on, along with her sky blue raincoat, even though it was warm and muggy out, despite the dark gray of the day. Her hair was in two braids to keep it from covering her face as the wind blew.

“Will there be lots of puddles?” she had asked as Mulder clipped on Bella’s leash.

“Gobs of them. Heaps. A plethora,” he had said with a grin.

“What’s a plefora?”

“A plethora,” he had corrected her with a laugh. “It means a lot. Like a lot a lot. I’m sure your new boots will see plenty of mud and fun today.”

“Yay!” she had cheered and he tweaked her nose with a laugh.

“You adventurers have fun,” Scully had said, pulling Faith in for a hug. “Jump in as many puddles as you can, but please don’t get dirty.” Faith had pulled back and stared at her, her brow furrowed.

“Mama, we're gonna jump in mud puddles. We can’t stay clean and jump in puddles,” she had stated, touching Scully’s arm and shaking her head. “It would be inpossible.”

“Impossible, my love. And you think so? Hmm…” Scully had pretended to think about it and then nodded her head. “You know what, I think you may be right.”

“I am,” Faith had said seriously, nodding her head. “I really am, Mama.”

“Okay,” Scully had said with a smile and a kiss to her forehead. “Have a wonderful time, my love, and I’ll see you when you get back, okay?”

“Okay.”

She had kissed Mulder and given Bella a pat, as they walked onto the porch and she watched them walk down the driveway. At the end of it, Faith had turned around and waved, yelling goodbye and that she loved her. Waving goodbye with a smile, Scully had gone inside, cleaning the kitchen quickly as she awaited her phone call.

Now, the call was almost over, well, in about twenty minutes anyway. She sighed as she focused her attention on the call, inquiring after patients and taking notes to look up more information later.

Grey came into the room just as the call was due to end, rubbing around her ankles under the desk, and purring loudly. Glancing down, Scully smiled at her as she looked up and meowed softly. Scully cleared her throat to cover the sound and tried to ignore her, but Grey would have none of it. She jumped up into her lap and laid down, rubbing her head against Scully’s hand, her purrs growing even louder.

“You’re a stinker,” Scully said under breath, scratching at Grey’s ear, and shaking her head. Glancing back up at the computer screen, she smiled, her fingers running slowly through Grey’s soft fur.

“So, I think that does it for today. I appreciate you all being here and sharing your expertise. We will be in touch in the next couple of days and if there are any questions, please feel free to get in touch with me or Doctor Reid,” Doctor Snyder said with a smile. “I thank you all for taking the time to share information.”

Everyone said goodbye and logged off, and Scully sighed as she closed the laptop and leaned back. Grey purred and stood up, stretching her legs up onto Scully’s shoulder, rubbing her head against her chin. Scully chuckled, petting her back and scratching at her head.

“You feeling lonely without Faith here to play with you? Needing some extra love?” she asked, closing her eyes and kissing Grey’s head. “Should we go see if they are heading back?”

Standing up, she carried Grey out onto the porch, looking to see if her mud monsters were making their way back yet. Finding nothing but dark clouds, the smell of rain heavy in the air, she set Grey down on the porch railing. She pet her as Grey pressed into her hand and Scully looked further to the left and right, keeping her eyes out for them.

“I guess they aren’t ready to come home yet, sweet Grey. Hopefully it will be soon because it’s definitely going to rain. Hard.” Looking up at the sky again, she shook her head. “I think I’ll get some lunch ready. You wanna stay out here or come inside?”

She looked at Grey who stared back with her head tilted, but obviously did not answer. Scully smiled, petting her once more and stepping inside. As the door closed, she heard her meow and she turned around.

“Well, say something next time, Miss Grey. I did ask you, if you remember correctly,” she stated with a smile, opening the door to let her inside and she bounded in, heading to her scratching post

Walking to the kitchen, Scully took out items for lunch. She made sandwiches, cut vegetables and fruit, and set some yogurt aside. Everything was placed in the fridge, ready for their return, no doubt covered in mud and in need of a shower.

Deciding on another cup of coffee, she made one and took it out onto the porch. Sitting down in the porch swing, she took a deep breath, breathing in the aroma of coffee as she closed her eyes.

She heard a bark and opened her eyes. Looking to the left, she saw them at the end of the driveway and she smiled. She could hear Faith talking, but could not understand what she was saying. Mulder’s laughter floated on the wind and she smiled as she stood up, setting her cup on the railing.

They opened the gate and walked inside, closing it behind them and at that moment, two things happened: she saw how truly muddy they all were and the rain once again began to fall.

Faith shrieked happily and started running toward the house. Bella barked, pulling on the leash and Mulder let it go, allowing her to chase after Faith, her tail wagging. He laughed again and Scully shook her head with a smile.

“Mama! Mama! It’s raining again!” Faith shouted, pushing her hair out of her face, which had somehow had come free of her braids. “Look, it’s raining!” She put her arms out and spun around, her face up to the sky.

Mulder caught up to them and took Bella’s leash off, tossing it up onto the porch. He shook his head at Scully and smiled, his clothes and face covered in mud. She shook her head again and laughed as she stared at them.

“Did you fall in a puddle?” she asked, seeing Bella’s black fur covered in mud and Faith’s clothes nearly devoid of color.

“I’d say… that’s a rather fair assessment,” he laughed, the rain beginning to fall harder. He looked up at her and tilted his head, silently asking her to join them.

Watching Faith spin around, knowing she had missed out on their fun adventure, she nodded and walked down the stairs, the rain cool as it hit her skin, despite the warmth of the day.

“Mama!” Faith yelled and flung herself at Scully. “Isn’t the rain so beautiful?” Scully lifted her and laughed, smelling the mud she could not see; she was truly a mess.

“Yes, my love, the rain is beautiful,” she answered, kissing behind her ear, possibly the only clean spot showing on her body.

“We had so much fun! My boots are… out of this world!” Scully laughed and hugged her muddy girl even tighter. No doubt Mulder had said that to her and she was now parroting it back.

Thunder rumbled as Mulder grabbed them both in a big hug and Faith squealed. Bella barked, jumping up in excitement, to see what was happening. They all laughed and played in the rain, until the lightning flashed close to them, and they went inside.

Scully stripped Faith, leaving her filthy wet clothes on the porch. Taking off her own wet things, down to her undergarments, they made their way upstairs and into the shower, while Mulder stayed behind to straighten up and clean off Bella.

Faith needed two washings before she was completely clean. After drying her off and putting on her robe, Scully stepped into the shower, washing quickly as Faith told her about their day. When she was finished, she put on her own robe, and ushered Faith into her room to get dressed.

Coming back into their bedroom, Scully got dressed, and then brought Faith back into the bathroom to blow dry their hair. Mulder came into the bathroom, a towel around his waist and his hair damp, having showered downstairs. Scully looked over Faith’s head, her eyes traveling up and down his body, her thoughts definitely not child friendly.

“Later, Miss Scully,” he all but growled, kissing her neck quickly, as he grabbed his hair gel. Her stomach fluttered and she knew that when Faith went down for a nap, they would be having some “adult time.”

Once they were all dressed, brushed, and ready, they went downstairs. Bella was sound asleep on her bed, Grey sniffing at her curiously, before she ran to the top of her scratching post and began to clean herself, as though even the close proximity to Bella had been enough to soil her fur.

Over lunch, she heard again how their day had gone. About the HUGE puddles and how the mud had been “so squidgy.” How Faith had lost a boot momentarily and then cried as she thought it was gone forever.

“But Daddy got it for me, Mama. He saved the day, just like a superhero.” She looked at Mulder and he struck a superhero pose, causing both of them to giggle.

“So, was it worth waiting for it to rain? Was it enough puddles for you, Miss Faith?” Scully asked with a smile. “Did your boots get dirty enough?” Mulder scoffed and nodded.

“They were very dirty, full of mud all the way through. How did you even wear those home, Faithy my love? Did you have pruney toes when you took a shower?” He reached for her foot, tickling her toes, and she laughed.

“It was muddy, but not as bad as Daddy’s. His shoes made squeaky sounds when we walked, Mama!” She giggled again and Scully looked at Mulder for confirmation and he nodded.

“Squidgy, squishy shoes. I definitely had pruney toes.” He winked at them and Faith laughed, getting up from her seat, and climbing into his lap.

“I had so much fun with you, Daddy, and I’m happy I got to wear my new boots.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and he hugged her tightly, patting her bottom as he smiled happily at Scully.

“I had fun with you too, Squatchy. I’m glad Mama bought you those new boots because they are…” He pulled back and looked at her expectantly. She smiled and held his face in her hands.

“Out of this world!” They said together and Scully laughed, as he hugged Faith again, laughing as he stroked her hair. He whispered something into her ear and she nodded.

Climbing down from his lap, she came over to Scully and got into hers, wrapping her arms around her neck. Scully held her close and closed her eyes.

“Thank you for my boots, Mama. I love them,” Faith whispered and Scully hummed.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. I’m glad you had fun with Daddy. Maybe if it keeps raining, we can all go out tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to help anybody tomorrow?” Faith asked as she pulled back to look at Scully.

“Nope,” Scully answered, shaking her head with a smile. “Not tomorrow. I’m free as a bird.”

“Yay!” she said, throwing her arms around her neck again. Scully hugged her close, smiling as she looked at Mulder and he winked at her.

As she held her, she thanked God once more for the second chance they had been given, and the little things they got to celebrate and experience.

Like the excitement over new rain boots, and coming home covered in mud from the puddles that had been jumped in, after waiting so patiently for it to finally rain.

[dimpled-gukkie]

Cold Hands, Warm Heart

A/n: This is a sequel to Fell for You but you don’t have to read the first drabble to understand this one.

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x reader 

Warnings: someone gags, one curse word

Genre: fluff, kinda college au but not really

Word count: 1.6k 

Summary: The rain pours down around you as you walk back to the dorm, cold and shivering. Thankfully you have a cute boyfriend to warm you up. 

The rain trickles down from the sky, angled perfectly when paired with the wind so it makes sure to hit your face and render the hoodie that is supposed to be protecting your head useless. Are you surprised? Not really because your life is just a series of misfortunes. Are you going to look in the mirror when you get back to the dorm and look like a wet raccoon? Most definitely as you blink hastily to get the mascara out of your eyes. As if the world wants to make your day even worse you can hear the daunting sound of a skateboard approaching, the wheels thumping rhythmically as they glide over the uneven pavement. You glance down at your white shoes, ones that are already becoming drenched, but as the puddles begin to grow around you you can already imagine them becoming soggy as the skateboarder gets closer. It feels like when you’re standing on a curb and watching a car speeding by, knowing and accepting your fate of them splashing the sitting water in the road up on you. Okay maybe you’re being a little dramatic but you’re cold and about to be soaking wet. 

The sound gets louder and louder, so loud that your ears twitch as the close proximity and you close your eyes as if not seeing them roll by will prevent you from the inevitable death of your favorite pair of shoes. Oddly enough though as they roll by your shoes feel absolutely nothing. There’s no additional wetness, they don’t feel like a sponge in texture, they’re perfectly fine. Peering one eye open you immediately close it after being pelted by the fattest raindrop of all time, and quietly curse the weather. You love the rain but only when you’re prepared. Cautiously you open your eyes again only to spot a boy sprawled against the grass, speaking of which looks like a mini swamp with all the standing water. You grimace. You go to take a step forward and stumble over their stupid skateboard, meeting Jungkook did nothing to lessen your hatred for the things, and step in possibly the deepest puddle of all time. You could scream as the water penetrates your shoe, your socks instantly molding against your foot uncomfortable and your shoes squeaking with each step. “You okay?” You ask as you reach the end of the sidewalk, unwilling to step onto the grass. You saw them load it with fertilizer earlier in the week. “Umm…you’re not dead right?” You ask, hesitantly reaching out to nudge his leg with your foot. 

“Internally yes.” He grumbles and pushes himself off the grass, clothes covered in a thin layer of watery mud. He stills for a minute before gagging, spitting into the grass several times. “My mouth tastes like shit.” 

You ponder telling him but decide it’s better not to. He’s already had a bad day. With a scrunched nose, he runs his palms down his sides in an attempt to push excess water off except it just makes his clothes stick to his torso more. He does have a nice chest though, not that you’re looking. “Glad you’re okay.” You say affirmatively and the guy smiles at you, cheeks dimpling before beginning to trudge away. You watch after him for a second before remembering something. 

“Hey dude! You forgot your skateboard.” You call, turning back to retrieve his item and holding it out to him. HIs eyes round and lips slightly part, and for a second it looks like pure adoration is in his eyes. This man is really looking at you like you’re the love of his life for returning his skateboard. Truly, what a day this has been. 

“Thank you so much! I can’t believe I forgot this after it did this.” He gestures to his soiled clothes, ones that are already beginning to turn brown as the dirty water seeps into the fabric. 

“Yeah. Maybe wash them right away to try and get the stain out.” The boy smiles again and laughs. 

“Will do. I’m Namjoon by the way.” He sticks a large palm out for you to shake and oddly it’s still pretty warm for it being so cold outside. He visibly jolts at your icy hands and you laugh, used to that reaction from other people due to your poor circulation. “Are you okay? Your hands are freezing.” 

“Yeah poor circulation is all. They’re always like that.” You shrug it off before standing there awkwardly. 

“Aren’t you gonna tell me your name?” The boy teases. 

“Oh yeah. It’s Y/n.” 

“Well I hope to see you around.” He smiles and you nod before walking away hastily to get out of the rain. 

When you get to your dorm building Jungkook is already waiting outside, perched against a stair railing as he huddles under a small ledge that provides cover from the rain. “Baby!” He cheers, pulling you into a tight hug before whining about your drenched figure. 

“I mean I don’t know what you expect.” You giggle, swiping your card so you both can enter. You shiver as the warm air hits you and Jungkook turns to you with a slight frown. 

“Your teeth are chattering.” He pouts, large hands resting on the sides of your face, his thumb stroking your jawline to warm them up. Your cheeks heat at the gesture and you look away shyly despite having been dating him for a few months. What can you say? You’re a sucker for only one skateboarder on campus. But how could you not with his sweet eyes, long curly hair, and adorable demeanor. Sure he’s occasionally a brat like that time he let his friend Jimin put salt in your drink just to see your reaction but he’s also the sweetest boy you’ve ever met. Especially as he immediately ushers you out of your hoodie and giving you his own when you enter your room and pushing a thermos of hot chocolate into your hand, one that he spent the last of his paycheck on to buy for you from Starbucks. 

When you’re changed and snuggled up with Jungkook under a blanket, hands wrapped around the thermos that you’re sharing despite Jungkook’s words that “I got it for you not for me”, you both drink fervently out of it in an attempt to warm up.

“I’m sorry you had to wait so long.” You mumble, blinking slowly as the sleep begins to take over. You’re far too comfortable and too warm to stay awake, especially with the way Jungkook’s chest lulls you to sleep as it gently rises and falls. He brings a hand up to your shoulder, brushing up and down the skin there gently. 

“It’s alright. I’m just glad you made it back safely. Was worried you were gonna drown in a puddle or something.” Despite his teasing about your own clumsiness you can still hear the concern in his voice, see the slightest draw of his brow as his anxiousness at your tardiness resurfaces in his mind. Quickly you reach up to press a kiss to his jaw despite the awkward angle and smile as you see the tension quickly dispel. 

“I really am sorry. This guy wiped out while I was walking back and I decided to help him.” 

“That was nice of you.” Jungkook mumbles, shifting you so you can lay between his legs and fully against his chest. His arms wrap tightly around your figure and he presses a small kiss to the crown of your head. 

“Yeah. I think I’ve seen him in one of my classes. His name is Namjoon.” 

“Kim Namjoon?” Jungkook asks. 

“Not sure. He only said his first name.” 

“Grey, kinda purple hair. Dimples.” Jungkook provides. 

“Yeah I guess he’s Kim Namjoon. Unless there’s another grey haired guy with dimples around campus.” 

“If he hurt himself it’s definitely Namjoon. The guy is the most clumsy person I’ve ever met and I’m dating you.” 

“Hey!’ You yell as you twist around in Jungkook’s arm to deliver a small slap to his chest. His eyes are crinkled at the corners, nose scrunched as his grin takes over his entire face, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “You suck.” You pout and Jungkook can only laugh harder, smushing you into his frame as he curls into himself. Only when he calms down does he press a soft kiss to your lips and untangles an arm from around your waist to brush some of your hair out of your eyes. 

“You don’t really mean that. You love me.” He says definitively, like he’s never known something to be more right in his life. He’s not wrong. 

“I do. Even if you’re a skateboarder.” 

“I don’t even understand your vendetta against the inanimate object. What has it ever done to you.” 

“You literally knocked me down the first day we met because you lost control on that thing!” 

“Don’t blame the board babe. It was an accident.” You huff in indignation and Jungkook only grins, pressing another kiss to your nose. “You’re cute when you’re angry.” 

“I can’t believe you just said that. That’s such a cliche.” You giggle and Jungkook narrows his eyes before tickling your sides. 

“I-I’m sorry! I take it b-back!” You stutter as his deft fingers dodge your attempts to stop his attack. 

“Great. Now settle down I’m tired and I just want to take a nap with you.” Gently he removes the thermos from your hand, but not before drinking half of it and placing it on the desk next to your bed. 

“You only date me for my bed don’t you?” 

“Nah. I date you for the free snacks too.” 

[septembersung]

It is raining again. And I don’t mean a nice aesthetic spring shower leaving behind a few pleasant puddles for mud pies. It will never not be raining. This is the wettest, coolest spring I can remember since we moved here, and I hate it. I’ve been staring at a screen for way too long this morning. I need more coffee. Rant below the cut, just ignore me. If you can’t beat your bad mood up with a verbal bat on your blog, where can you?? It’s therapeutic. 

I keep thinking I’m going to get Other Things done once I’ve finished Cleaning The House, but the catch is, I’m never done cleaning the house. I’m always behind. There’s always something big, a mess or a project, in our way on top of the daily stuff, which itself is never done to completion. I have some really significant things that need doing, with my full attention, that I feel like I cannot start until we reach a Good Housework Place, and I’m staring down the barrel of realizing, I am not going to reach that place. (And this is with Husband’s incredible support and help, even though he’s still working-from-home and burning the candle at both ends.)

In the very brief times during my married life I’ve been what I still think of as “normal”/”at my best,” (so, not incapacitated by morning sickness, late-pregnancy pains, and/or crippling mental health problems,) this hasn’t been a life-threatening issue - I’m busy, but I do the work, or enough of it to be satisfactory, and have a normal level of frustration and frustrated efforts about it, and I do get to the Other Things, if not as regularly as I’d like. And that’s just the troublesome part of the parenting life, but it’s a small price to pay for the privilege of raising a family.

But I’m about to have my fifth baby in seven years. I have spent most of my time not feeling “normal.” There’s a new normal, and I’ve never really, for a continuous, longish piece of time, gotten my sea legs with it. Or so it feels right now.

Combine that with my nearly solid conviction that I’m just, idk, not trying hard enough or something, that I could Do It All if I, personally, just wasn’t so... problematic. Part of me is aware that this isn’t really reasonable. The truth, like for most things, is probably somewhere in the middle. I am a bit lazy and I don’t always push myself when I should. Those are real problems to work on - like everyone has!! But there are also real limitations and setbacks that can’t be hand-waved away. But trying to think Reasonably in that fashion doesn’t solve the problem or present a way forward. 

This Real Housewife Gothic post brought to you by a week of frustrated to-do lists, another monsoon again delaying what few garden-ish plans I had left, and again remembering how I wanted to set up a spot to do beginner’s archery with B and M since like every other activity our free community beginning archery sessions were canceled, and also restring my fiddle that I haven’t touched in months, and also figure out which parts/products to order to fix the kids’ (cheap, one-step-up-from-toys but good enough for our purposes) fiddles, and a dozen other “fun” things.