#Mr. I will die on any hill

[profoundlyprocrastinating]

People try to shorten Brennan Lee Mulligan's name to BLM but what they don't know is that Lee is actually short for "Let me just say something really quick and then proceeds to monologue aggressively" Mulligan

[sillycyan]

TIKTOK SUPPORT IS FINALLY HELPING ME SERIOUSLY YESSSSS

[foldingfittedsheets]

When deciding who to work for there is a sliding scale of employers that goes from lil mom and pop shops up to corporate monoliths. I have worked at both ends of the spectrum and I can pretty definitively say that tiny businesses are hands down the most insane employers.

The sweet spot is a place that has like 10-20 stores; that’s the best possible work environment. They’ll be polished enough to have protocols that make work structured, but not so bogged down with bureaucracy that nothing can ever get done.

This story is not from that sweet spot. This story is from my time working at Oil and Vinegar. Now, like many little franchise stores, the idea was solid. There was on tap imported olive oil and vinegar and it was really delicious. Top shelf. Unfortunately, each location was like the Wild West because owners varied wildly.

My owner was the human embodiment of Mr. Krabbs. His eyes were just constant dollar signs. Throughout my training he informed me of the price of every single piece of equipment I touched and how much it cost to replace it.

He had cameras set up to watch us, and an app on his phone to access the live feed. He’d call us to ask what we were doing when he’d just checked a camera to make sure we were being honest.

Now, the trouble was he had two locations. His location further south did amazing. It was way more centrally located and got three times the foot traffic. The one I worked in was in the snottiest mall possible in Arizona and consequently the rent was through the roof.

It was not going well for my store. We didn’t get as much traffic, so there was only so much I could do in a day. I could dust, sweep, and wait for customers. I read a lot and was frank when he called to interrogate me. I always asked for additional tasks but he never had any. What could I do to prop up a failing business?

But this man was convinced there was some Secret Reason that the store I was in was doing worse. He crunched numbers, looked at staff, and eventually hit upon the most insane possible solution.

We used too much toilet paper.

We were probably stealing toilet paper! Bleeding him dry one single ply square at a time! How dare we need to use the bathroom?! His south location used half as much toilet paper as we did, we must be thieving little monsters!!!!

Friends. The south location was populated entirely by men. My location had three people on staff who had to sit to pee. It was so blindly transparently the source of the discrepancy but this man was convinced we were making off with toilet paper to bankrupt him.

So he implemented what he believed to be an entirely reasonable response to this base treachery. We were allowed to have one roll of toilet paper. At any given time, one roll was permitted to us. This was so transparently unhinged that we protested but he insisted. If we were low on toilet paper we needed to call him to drop off a roll that he brought from his home. Smiling jovially, he assured us he lived so close by that it would be no problem!

When we needed to call him often for more he started tearing his hair out. What were we using toilet paper for?! Why wasn’t his genius plan to stop our scandalous waste working??!

Finally, the manager, the only man on staff had to pull the owner aside and be like, “Look, man, their bladders are smaller. They need to wipe every time they pee. They need to pee even more on their period. Is this really the hill you want to die on?”

Yes. It was. The manager was fired unrelated reasons and denounced as a traitor. The toilet paper ration lasted until I quit and probably until the store closed six months later.

[world0fmadness]

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ✩ ˚ BOTH? BOTH!

oscar piastri x silent hill / horror game obsessed! reader x lando norris

featuring: daniel being very much like a big brother in the comments and * gasp * a picture of my OWN silent hill collection

faceclaim: assorted

୨୧ some people asked for a part two of this smau due the ending really hinting at a throuple so here it is! it can be read separately or as a continuation as they’re an established throuple here <3 and i know the silent hill 2 remake was announced ages ago but it’s fanfic, let me pretend

reading music recommendations: i want love by akira yamaoka - float up from a dream by akira yamaoka - you’re not here by akira yamaoka

oscarpiastri: this is what happens when i take both of them shopping at the same time…

ynlovesthehorror: we’re peaceful beings :)

> oscarpiastri ✔️: you threw a cucumber at my head…

> landonorris ✔️: can’t handle a little fun osc?

> oscarpiastri ✔️: and you’re no better, you shoved me into the boot of the car!

oscarpastrylover: are… are they all dating now? i feel like this is a little too couple-y…

> landoscaryn: there is no fucking way they’re not all dating… i’ll swear on my hamsters life they HAVE to be dating

> iluvf1: leave the hamster OUT OF THIS LMAO 😭

oldf1lvr: lando and yn be serious for five minutes challenge ( IMPOSSIBLE )

danielricciardo ✔️: cute!

❤️ liked by ynlovesthehorror, landonorris and oscarpiastri

> landoscaryn: mr man, what do you know? do tell…

landonorris: not too shabby if i do say so myself…

danielricciardo ✔️: happy for you three ❤️

❤️ liked by ynlovesthehorror, oscarpiastri and landonorris

loveuyn: he really said “you guys still aren’t sure if we’re dating? just have this and leave”

ynlovesthehorror: i kind of look good in these pictures 🤔

> landonorris ✔️: nah, you look like a tramp to be honest

> ynlovesthehorror: die ❤️

landoscaryn: I FUCKING TOLD YOU PEOPLE

> iluvf1: thank god, for your hamsters sake 😭

oscarpiastri ✔️: love you both so much ❤️

> landonorris ✔️: love you more ❤️

> ynlovesthehorror: lol, gay ( i love both of you more, now come home so we can make out )

❤️ liked by oscarpiastri and landonorris

oscyn: praying these three never have a kid because you just know yn would FIGHT to name it after a silent hill character…

> landonorris ✔️: fucking hell, don’t give her any ideas…

> ynlovesthehorror: 👩‍🍼 < me and the god i birthed ( we will now build an eternal paradise )

> loveuyn: i don’t think yn realises how niche her references are when it comes to f1 fans 😭

> oscarpastrylover: literally, i think most of them just think she’s clinically insane or something so they leave her be

❤️ liked by ynlovesthehorror

landoscaryn: not gonna shut up about this for MONTHS, my throuple ship is REAL

ynlovesthehorror: just spent hours explaining some of the silent hill lore to lando and every explanation lead to another question from him, i want him DEAD ( also a very good representation of what i want to do to people that say “ it’s ash not snow ” if you ever come into my comment section with that “ lore ” i’ll get lando and oscar to put a brick through your window )

landonorris ✔️: IM TRYING

> ynlovesthehorror: the information is going in one ear and right out the other, honestly, you just need to play them yourself now because i’m DONE

> landonorris ✔️: i’ll play them on stream then, muppet

> ynlovesthehorror: GOOD

> oscarpiastri ✔️: stop arguing you two

> ynlovesthehorror: sorry babe

> landonorris ✔️: sorry love

> oscarpiastri ✔️: ❤️

> landoscaryn: all three of them have each other wrapped all the way around each others finger lmao 😭

maxverstappen ✔️: it’s ash not snow

> ynlovesthehorror: gonna get lando to crash into you

> maxverstappen ✔️: if he can catch up

> ynlovesthehorror: omg??? maxi pad you are a horrible man 💔

> landonorris ✔️: come kiss me to make me feel better 😔

> ynlovesthehorror: on it <3

> oscarpiastri ✔️: me too please

> ynlovesthehorror: nothing happened to you???

> oscarpiastri ✔️: lando whacked me over the head with a lead pipe

> landonorris ✔️: what is it with you two and making up the most unbelievable lies about me 😭

ynlovesthehorror: look at my husband you guys 😩 i cannot believe it, the transmission was actually something fucking good, after years of drought

oscarpiastri ✔️: the most inhuman noise came out of you…

> ynlovesthehorror: I WAS EXCITED

> landonorris ✔️: still, that noise was mental… and i thought we were your husbands?

> ynlovesthehorror: you are! but james was my 1st husband <3

> landonorris ✔️: and was this before or after he killed his wife?

> ynlovesthehorror: ☹️

loveuyn: i feel bad for everyone on the grid and in the paddock because she will not shut the fuck up about this until it releases and when it does release it’ll be even worse 😭

> landoscaryn: right? i’m keeping the engineers in my prayers lmao

danielricciardo ✔️: excited for you yn! i know how much the game means to you ❤️

> ynlovesthehorror: thank you daniel, finally someone that likes me for ME

> landonorris ✔️: ?

> oscarpiastri ✔️: ?

ynlovesthehorror: we finally did it! me and oscar dressed up as james and maria, here are the pictures <3 and a sneak peak of me and lando dressed as james and mary hehe

oscarpastrylover: they need to stop being so hot IMMEDIATELY

landonorris ✔️: you looked amazing love, oscar too i guess… ours is better though 😗

> oscarpiastri ✔️: oi!

> ynlovesthehorror: we all looked amazing :) but especially you two

❤️ liked by landonorris and oscarpiastri

> landoscaryn: the way they’re always either bullying and mocking each other or being so sweet and loving on each other kills me, it’s literally just three best friends that kiss

> landonorris ✔️: we do more than kiss, my friend

❤️ liked by ynlovesthehorror

> landoscaryn: oh-

> oscarpiastri ✔️: for fuck sake lando!

oscyn: okay… yeah… i’m so normal about this! SO NORMAL

iluvf1: i have no idea who these characters are but this is the hottest thing i’ve ever seen an f1 driver do i think…

> oldf1lvr: literally 😩 hot in so many ways, hot because lando and oscar LOOK hot and hot because they actually do this stuff with yn instead of not participating in her interests! we love men who do things with their gf

❤️ liked by ynlovesthehorror

loveuyn: that 4th picture… hideo kojima approves

> ynlovesthehorror: what could’ve been 💔 biggest heartbreak of my life

> landonorris ✔️: me and oscar could die in a fire and that still wouldn’t beat the heartbreak that P.T. caused you…

> ynlovesthehorror: well at least you know!

> oscarpiastri ✔️: 😔

landonorris: was on a walk with my boyfriend when we came across this strange creature on the side of the road 😟 took it to get some food and we’re not too fond of it, anyone else want it? selling for 10 quid

ynlovesthehorror: honestly hope you get hit by a bus or something

> landonorris ✔️: no you don’t ❤️

❤️ liked by ynlovesthehorror

danielricciardo ✔️: fucking hell, that second picture is amazing

❤️ liked by landonorris and oscarpiastri

> ynlovesthehorror: :(

> danielricciardo ✔️: sorry yn!

oscarpiastri ✔️: i think it’s sort of cute, in its own weird way ❤️ definitely worth more than £10

> ynlovesthehorror: 🥹

> landonorris ✔️: £11?

> oscarpiastri ✔️: yeah i reckon that’s enough

> ynlovesthehorror: ☹️

landoscaryn: seeing and hearing lando refer to oscar as his boyfriend literally makes my heart explode 💔 i love these three so much

> oscarpastrylover: yep, this relationship is literally a bisexual f1 fan’s dream, just three hot best friends in a relationship

ynlovesthehorror: my boys <3 ( i love thinking about things they’d go to silent hill for )

landonorris ✔️: you ALMOST made a sweet post but then you just had to go and bring up that game, BE NORMAL ( don’t be normal, i love you weirdo )

> oscarpiastri ✔️: just be happy she made a post about us at all, it’s a once in a blue moon occurrence, 99% of her feed is silent hill ❤️ love you both

❤️ liked by ynlovesthehorror

> ynlovesthehorror: at least SOMEONE knows how to be grateful, love you osc ( and lando, i guess 🙄 )

danielricciardo ✔️: you’ve 100% gotten over lando pointing a gun at you and threatening you then yeah?

> ynlovesthehorror: oh that, yeah, totally! he bought me mcdonald’s and more silent hill stuff and toys for heather so we’re all good now <3

> landonorris ✔️: we’re literally DATING, you muppet 😭

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨୧ ˚ NEW ADDED BONUS ˚ ୨୧ ⋆｡˚ ⋆

yn ln being horny on main

[15minlatewithbatbucks]

It's forty minutes into the latest state of the company press conference and Bruce has had to mute his mic entirely to avoid being turned into a meme AGAIN for sighing too much at his own event. For all that he's spent almost 20 years coaching his own children on not making scenes, he's really not much better. It's hot and he doesn't want to be here. His ribs hurt. He's tired. He's hungry. He's every excuse Dick or Jason have trotted out over the years.

(Tim understands company manners and can almost always be trusted to stick it out as long as he's allowed to vent his frustrations afterwards. He's recently taken to smashing ugly thrifted dishes. Stephanie and Damian have been collecting any ceramic not entirely pulverized and turning them into pavers for Alfred's garden.)

(Bruce gave up after Tim. He really only needs one kid to tag along to social events. If the kid start to outnumber him they start getting IDEAS.)

His distraction is why it takes two very rude repetitions of his name for him to take notice at the young reporter pushing his way to the front. Lucius stands, cutting off the project manager currently presenting and speaks into the mic.

"Please keep hold all questions until the end of the presentation, thank you."

"Mr. Wayne," the reporter tries again and Bruce waves away Lucius's further protests.

"Can I help you?" He asks, smiling with the full force of Brucie Wayne's charm behind it. It's been awhile since his last scandal, but if the press is inventing drama then it's less work for him.

The man holds up a photograph almost accusingly. He reeks of gotcha journalism.

Bruce squints towards him, unable to fully make out the contents of the photo. Dick may have been right when he gently suggested Bruce add glasses to his Brucie Wayne persona but that was a hill Bruce was still willing to die on. It was bad enough he had to have a prescription COWL.

"What do you have to say about the presence of your adopted son, Timothy Drake at the illegal mob in Robinson Park last Saturday?"

"Drake-Wayne," Bruce corrected because Tim hyphenated, damn it. He was the first of his children to let Bruce tag the Wayne name on and it mattered, damn it. "Wait do you mean-"

"How about reports of him kissing a man while there?"

"A blond man?" Bruce asked, finally giving up and crossing to take the photo for himself. "Oh. No, that's his boyfriend."

There was a beat of silence before Bruce realized his mistake. Just as the reporters began to squall, he dropped the blurry photo and began to speed walk off, phone suddenly in hand.

Through the podium's microphone, the gathered reporters heard one thing as Bruce evacuated the immediate vicinity.

"Tim? Don't be mad."

---

Despite Bruce's best efforts, he becomes a meme.

---

Immediately following the bombshell that Timothy Drake-Wayne had a boyfriend, social media blows up, clamoring for more information. They're ravenous for it, desperate. Tim doesn't have a personal social media presence but they stalk his professional accounts religiously. Bruce does have personal social media, but he maintains radio silence.

In the end, a Gotham based "influencer" stumbles across Dick Grayson and Damian Wayne getting donuts at Kosher Donuts and Co. Dick is personable, as always, and stops to speak with the young woman briefly.

"Yeah, Tim wasn't mad," he laughs when asked. "Just disappointed. But man, he knows how to milk it."

"Bruce is in the doghouse, huh?" she asks, full of false sympathy.

"A little bit," Dick says as Damian mumbles, "Titus would never share."

"But," Dick continued. "Tim's spun it so Bruce is on the hook for like, half a million in donations for local LGBT charities. Tim says it would hurt less if he sponsored a new shelter too, so that's something to look forward to."

"That's a lot of money! Where's it all going?"

"Oh you know," Dick says and gestures vaguely. "A lot of different programs."

"Yeah? Anything you personally want to see done with the funding?"

"Drag story time," Damian answers before Dick can. He looks intense. "But not for children. For dogs. In the shelter."

---

A day later, Tim breaks the silence. He goes live on Bruce's Instagram.

"So the problem was that Bruce thought the reporter was saying I was being unfaithful," Tim explains. "He totally forgot I wasn't out to everyone yet. Bruce was just worried because he's already told me if I break up with my boyfriend, he's not uninviting him from any future family events."

"Luckily, I was in fact just kissing my boyfriend at PRIDE. Just because people got shifty with the permits at the last second because of protestors doesn't make it an illegal mob. If you wanna hear about Wayne's and illegal mobs, talk to Dickie about his younger years. Nothing I do can compare."

[sashi-ya]

𝑨𝑩𝑶𝑽𝑬 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑳𝑶𝑼𝑫𝑺 ⛈ [chapter 1: introduction] 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐭! 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐋𝐚𝐰 𝐱 𝐅! 𝐂𝐄𝐎! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫.

⇝ Interactive fic format welcome to the first chapter! as mentioned previously this will be an interactive fic! how does it work? by the end of every chapter you will find a poll section where you will be able to vote for what's coming in the next chapter! what will reader do? what will be the consequences? have fun! ⇝ tw: the story is set to be an awakening for reader. you will find topics as loneliness, hints of depression and suicidal tendencies. be specially careful if this topics are triggering for you. there is no smut in this chapter, but it will be in the following ones. ⇝ don't forget to vote at the end of every chapter! ⇝ masterlist

Nobody, never, told you no. And nobody, ever, will. Miss Independent. Miss Successful. The Boss.

“I don’t care about a stupid storm, get me a damn ticket NOW” you order. The sound of your voice echoes against the many glass windows of your rooftop office. You don’t mind, nor care for your safety… all you have in your life is your job. Biggest enterprise that leads many markets and won’t ever stop growing. At least not on your watch.  

Your hills click harder against the cold marble of the floor, a tuft of hair gets curled around your finger, the insides of your mouth are heavily bitten. Nobody, however, knows you can get anxious. And nobody should, either.

“The… the airport is closed, Miss” your assistant, Usopp, informs.

Your eyes are glued to the blurred image of the city. You can see almost all of it from your position. And it’s that, exactly, what money and power makes you feel; like you are above them all.

“Then get the jet” you venously spit, as if your assistant was stupid enough not to think of that already. “I don’t give a fuck if it’s closed, we are taking off from the vineyard runway”

You notice your secretary nervously trying to find any type of words that could stop you from doing such stupidity, but he finally gives up and simply says “yes, boss...”

He walks away, already with his phone in his hands. He needs to call the private pilot on a Thursday night, with a cyclone outside, just because you couldn’t wait.

The tuft you’ve been playing with around your finger is now behind your ear. You tucked it. As always, your hand did it. Your long red nails did. Loneliness never made you less successful; in fact, quite the opposite.

Through the glass wall, covered in uncountable raindrops, your blurred vision finally fixes into the many buildings around. All of them, so late in the evening, begin to show candid lights throughout them. Families that join and play together. Lonely people hugging their pets. Couples dancing and kissing, or even looking through their windows. None of them, but you, show a single silhouette tonight.

“Boss, I’m- I…” your assistant breaks your bubble of hate and self-awareness. “The pilot says he is not flying tonight. It’s too dangerous” he excuses himself. In fact, his head bowed down exposes how mortified he is by not being able to accomplish your orders.

You turn around and massage your temple. There is a very important meeting you need to attend tomorrow morning. You can’t wait.

“Put Doffy on the line and leave me alone” you straight and coldly say.

He nods, leaving immediately, closing the heavy doors behind him. Not even five seconds after, the sound of your phone announces  Mr. Donquixote is waiting on the line.

“My sweet (Name), to what do I owe the pleasure of your call? Are you feeling lonely tonight? You can come home whenever you can” the excentric billionaire, who you sometimes fuck with, sings through the phone.

“I need your private pilot. Now. Flying my jet from the vineyards” you say, not much information is given. He probably understands.

He laughs. Extremely loudly.

“No pilot will take you anywhere tonight but let me see if my nephew wants to risk his life. The kid wants to die often, and apparently you too” he keeps laughing while telling you such terrible statement.

“I need a pilot, not a kid Doflamingo” “He is, indeed, a pilot. Give me twenty minutes, I’ll send it to your vineyard. But you owe me one… you know exactly those lips are my weakness”

Done. Problem fixed. You always know who to call when you need something; you know nobody really cares about your wellbeing but only the things they could get in return if you owe them something.

A carry on is always packed with essential stuff on your office; many are the times you spend travelling compared to those you spend at your own house. You grab it along with your coat and your keys.  You don’t wait for your chauffer; you don’t want to hear blabbering about safety.

“It’s just rain. What’s gonna happen? Am I getting my stilettos wet? So what?”

There isn’t much traffic, the many lights are indeed going the opposite way to yours. Everybody seems to be returning home, while you are driving straight to the outside of the city. Your vineyards aren’t that far but are certainly on a much rural zone.

Thunder roar in the open sky, the darkest night seems to be only illuminated by the power of those flashing lights inside growing grey towers of fluff.

“Bet is gonna be a very fun flight ~” you hum, as you imagine the little powerful plane crossing the menacing clouds ahead.

It takes you little time to arrive to your destination, the engine of your car is way more powerful than most of the automobiles out there.

Right by the door of your vineyards, a man that seems to be on the bones, salutes you.

“Yohohoho! What are you doing here, Boss? Welcome! Do I prepare a glass of Merlot or maybe a Pinot Noir for you tonight? ” he asks, taking his hat off, revealing an amazing afro underneath.

“Brook, take this to the jet. The pilot will be here at any minute, he is a new one so let him pass the door” you instruct your housekeeper, throwing your carry on at him.

His eyes, deep into the sockets of his skull, open wide. Of course, nobody expects you to fly with such storm outside… but that’s just you, and exactly how you are.

“Sure, Boss. I’ll sort everything out for you right away”

You take a swift look at the main house of your vineyards. Everything is perfectly clean and well kept. You are satisfied; your personnel works perfectly well. Except your private pilot, that one is already fired.

You sit down, flopping maybe onto a fancy couch. Nobody is watching, you are allowed to rest for at least just a moment. However, the calm lasts no longer than a couple of seconds.

“Miss (Name), the pilot is here” Brook comments, making your shut eyes to open slowly and -mostly- annoyed. You didn’t expect to see a man standing right next to your employee, but there he is.

“Who are you? why aren’t you on the plane already?” you ask, not even standing up but crossing your legs as you stiff your back muscles. Your thighs, flash a little bit of them underneath the cut of your pencil tight skirt. Your red nails carve on the sides of the armchairs.

The man, of steel eyes and dark hair smirks just a little with defiance and superior demeanour. Something you most likely don’t fancy but makes your insides… anxiously alive.

Wearing nothing but a private pilot uniform, he stands right in front of you. It shows that he is clearly not used to serve, but to be served. And you soon remember this man, who’s been called a “kid”, is in fact Donquixote Doflamingo’s nephew.

“You must be Doffy’s nephew; you are just like him; you don’t bow before anyone. Don’t you?” you ask, this time standing up. Not even your high heels are enough to surpass his height.

He hums. “Trafalgar Law, and I’m not like him” he spits. Apparently he is not only spoiled, but also hates his own family. “I’m not here to work for you, I am here because I’ve been told you needed a favour. You should know how to fly planes by now” he states.

You burn. How dare him tell you are not independent enough.

“Indeed, I do. Apparently you aren’t aware of the fact that I can’t fly without another pilot because of stupid laws and regulations. This isn’t a helicopter; this is a jet” you inform him, walking right pass him and asserting dominance with your hand on his shoulder.

You look him in the eye with a side look. Law, does the same. You are close, so close you can hear his breathing. And your image, imponent and beautiful, reflects on the golden hoops that hang from his right ear.

Both, intensely fight in silence. For what, however, none of you exactly know. And the energy between you two, could probably alter the weather, and the world itself…

“Come on, I have no time to waste. I need to be in London by tomorrow morning” you break the silence. Walking towards a big hall that takes you to the hangar, you turn around just for a couple of seconds to give a last lethal look at your new young companion.

Just a hint of flustered cheeks show in his face, but it’s enough for you to feel like you have won the battle of dominance. Or that’s what you thought.

The heavy steps behind you, makes you internally smile. You are used to be followed by almost mute employees, walking on eggshells not to piss you off. But Law is different; he is not doing this for the money, nor status. He is as suicidal as you, flying in this weather should be prohibited… in fact, it is. But the rich never ask for permission. You are know you are above everything else. And that includes the clouds, too.

“Give me a second, let me sort the charts” Law says, taking a look at the papers in his hands before climbing into the jet.

You nod, as you do the same with your laptop. Something inside you tells you to stop; that those conditions will bring more than mere turbulence. Yet, your cold heart, tells you something louder than your reason; “who cares if something happens, after all? Just do it”

Half an hour after, and a couple of swift looks at each other, Law and you are already set to departure.

For the first time since he arrived you notice the tattoos on his hands; knuckles inked with the word “D.E.A.T.H” rip a scoff from you. It is quite funny to you, that those hands could most likely either fly you to death if you aren’t lucky enough, or to London if you are.

“We don’t need to fly now, we can wait until the conditions seem better” Law murmurs, as those inked fingers turn on every button of the plane. “Your plans aren’t more important than any life”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤOh. So, he is not that willing to die as Doffy said…

[2smolbeans]

Wait in that ride or die thing that you wrote abt the two yan CEOs- how did reader get caught?

Context

Hihi!

So you know how the reader/"Ron" made a bunch of friends and socialized? That was how you got caught.

When you and April faked your deaths, Marco already knew that you wouldn't have died. Why?

Because he knew you were afraid of death.

So he already knew that you ran away somehow with his brother's husband. Now for the 4 years where he didn't find you, even after hiring private investagators and putting out bounties.. It was because you were smart.

You kept quiet, you didn't stray away from your story, and you didn't make any friends. You did this for 4 years straight.

But of course on the 5th life (your 5th year doing this) living out as Ron, you got comfortable. And getting comfortable, you started to open up to people. Sure you had April/"Maxine", but you needed more than that. You wanted friends. People could only go for so long without socializing and making friends, humans are social creatures y'know?

So you might've slipped a few words here and there that you shouldn't have. Maybe it was about your childhood pet, or perhaps the high school you went to..Vague things that Ron didn't do, but you did. And you probably said this to the wrong person..Perhaps a co-worker who knew about a bounty for a particular someone.

"Dear Mr. Smith,

Ron Smitt might be your person. He mentioned that he went to East mountain secondary school. He's currently living with a woman named Maxine, and lives on Avenue road. Let me know if anything comes from this for the paycheck. Below the email is the attached photos of the man"

When Marco got the email, he really didn't think it was you. You weren't a 40yr mechanic with a large beard, followed by a massive beer belly..

(I think, depending on how you see your reader lolol)

You were different..

But when he mentioned the high school you both went to, he decided to double check. At night peeping outside your apartment, he listened for your voice. At first it was unrecognizable, it was gruff, deep and husky.

But then you dropped the voice..And he knew it was you all too well.

"Maxine- I mean April, look at this! Isn't it cute?"

"Ew no that's ugly."

"Dude shut the fuck up! You don't have any taste"

"Uh-huh."

And there was April, his brother's husband too! Well if this wasn't a two in one deal!

So recording the both of you from your apartments, taking pictures to take in your new appearance- he just watched and sent all the photos and video evidence to his brother.

"Found em"

"...Why is your spouse dressed like a hill billy?"

"I dunno but I still love them <3"

"Uh-huh. Marco your hopeless"

"Look who's talking"

[slytherinsrule89]

Blaise Headcannons

Saved the best for last because I literally love him with my whole heart and soul 😊😌

- He’s a cat person

- Will always be holding your hand

- Always quietly making jokes to you in class and laughs a bit when you both get detention talking

- Man has a STARING problem. LIke always just has his eyes glued to you

- Literally knows everything. He’d always have the latest gossip and will tell you all the time.

- Has to constantly get the other guys out of trouble

- And if he does break rules(which he would) he’d never get caught by any teachers and the rest of the group is constantly trying to figure out how

- Has friends from other houses. They aren’t as close to him as the main slytherin group but you’ll still see him hanging out with them.

- Would love to play with your hair. He finds it very relaxing

- Personally I don’t think he’d be a player. I know a lot of people think that because of his mom but in my mind he wouldn’t be

- Speaking about Mrs. Zabini though, he would do anything for her and they have a really good relationship

- However the slytherin group is banned from going to his house because he refuses to let them thirst over 24/7

- Favourite subject is potions

- He’d have such good fashion taste and would love picking outfits out for you as well

- Likes bringing you to fancy dinners so he can show you off and he also just loves seeing the way your face lights up

- The best humour out of everyone.Like no matter what he always has people laughing

- Definitely has a sweet tooth and will only ever share his stash with you

- Good painter. He learned from his mom and will often paint little pictures for you to keep.

- Blaise is a hopeless romantic and I will die on that hill

- He’d literally be so good at writing you love letters and will always put a pressed flower in the envelope

- LOVESS candles so much and had like a billion in his dorm

- Also likes to read a lot and will often read a book to you to help you sleep if you ever struggle with it.

You guys really liked my last headcannons I posted so I thought I’d make more :) Hope you enjoy :)

[dean-a-mean-tae]

My Dearest | Jeongin x GN! Reader

SUMMARY: Reader is told to help Gordon trick the Addams family into believing he's the missing brother of Gomez Addams. However, Morticia and Jeongin suspect the man is a fraud. Their suspicion is slightly clouded by their positive view of Reader. Along the journey, Reader gains a dedicated "lover." A lover who drinks his respect juice every morning and snorts consent every chance he can get. How do the frauds get out of this mess?

WARNINGS: Manipulation (not from Jeongin), blood (nothing gory), and talk of death. The reader is slightly taller than Jeongin. You can decide if it because of heels or not. Mention of killing for the reader's smile. Jeongin chokes the reader. Jeongin is a whipped simp for the Reader, Gomez is a whipped simp for Morticia. Jeongin and Reader are a mini Gomez and Morticia. Jeongin follows after Gomez, so there is a slight yandere in this. He's a soft yandere, but I understand that some people are uncomfortable about them.

TRANSLATION(S): Please tell me if I missed any

Il me perce comme un poignard (French) - It pierces me like a dagger. Oui (French) - Yes Cara mia (Italian) - My darling En garde, monsieur soleil (French) - On guard, Mr. Sun Mon amour (French) - My love Mon cœur ( French) - My heart

A/N: If you see a paragraph repeating or something, please tell me so I can fix it. My editor crashed so I had to transfer some thing and I'm not sure what broke or not.

On top of a hill sat a big, old, rickety house surrounded by a gate. To an outsider, it looked abandoned. Vines and dirty white wood covered the house with windows and doors that creaked in the wind. But to the family living inside, it was home.

Inside the house and up the stairs, a miniature clock version of the house rings. A hand crawls from behind the clock and off the table. He crawls down the hallway straight to the side of Gomez Addams.

The man had been looking into an abandoned bedroom for over two decades. The bed is a mess, and dust covers the dresser. Cobwebs sit in the corners.

"Think of it, Thing," Gomez sighed, eyes mindlessly wandering the room. "For 25 years, we've attempted to contact Fester in the Great Beyond, and for 25 years, nothing."

They passed a room with two teenagers inside.

A young man held a crossbow at his younger brother. His hair matched the night sky, and his eyes were so dark they nearly matched his hair. His suit pants were black, along with his button-up shirt. His name was Jeongin Addams.

His ten-year-old brother, Pugsley, wore a black striped shirt and brown shorts covered in dirt, giving them a black fade. Jeongin had tied him to a post and stuck an apple in his mouth.

Gomez glanced in the room just in time to see Jeongin fire the crossbow and hit the apple. With a grin, he continued down the hall to his shared room. In his bed lay his sleeping wife, Morticia.

"Look at her. I would die for her. I would kill for her. Either way, what bliss," Gomez breathed, smiling as he stared at his wife. Carefully, he walked to the window and drew back the curtains. He watched Morticia's eyes flutter open, her lips curl into a smile.

"Unhappy, darling?" He asked.

"Yes, completely," Morticia responded, her voice soft. She squinted as she raised her hand to block the sun. She hissed, "Gomez, the sun. Il me perce comme un poignard."

"Tish, that's French," Her husband sighed.

"Oui."

"Cara Mia," Gomez whispered as he kissed her hand. After calmly placing her hand down, he grabbed a sword. He flicked his wrist, and the curtains closed as he shouted, "En garde, monsieur soleil!"

"Gomez," Morticia called, watching him turn to her. Her voice grew softer as she continued, "Last night, you were unhinged. You were like some desperate howling demon: you frightened me. Do it again."

Downstairs a tall man in a suit with bolts screwed into his neck held out squirming paper bags for the boys racing down the stairs. Jeongin won, calmly walking over and grabbing his lunch.

"Thank you, Lurch," He said, nodding at the butler before continuing out the door. Pugsley huffed, snatching the remaining bag, and waved Lurch goodbye as he followed his brother.

Later that day, Morticia, Gomez, and Thing sat in the greenhouse. Morticia decapitated a blooming rose as Gomez talked about his brother while he played chess with Thing.

"It's a milestone, Tish. This very night, our 25th seance. All those years gnawed by guilt undone by woe. Burning with uncertainty."

"Don't torture yourself, Gomez." Morticia grabbed another rose before slowly turning to look at Gomez with slanted eyes. "That's my job."

"Oh, Tish."

"Imagine, darling, if Fester did come back," She said, looking up in thought. Before smiling at her husband, she whispered, "Half alive, barely human. A rotting shell."

"Don't tease," Gomez warned, playfully glaring at Morticia. She smirked as she snipped another rose head.

Out the window behind her, a couple approached the gate. The doors opened automatically, and the two walked on the gravel. Just before the man could pass, the gate snapped shut on the back of his coat.

"Ouch!" He cried out as he waved his arms around. His bag nearly hit his wife as she watched in irritation. "Stop it!"

The commotion caught Thing's attention, and he snapped his fingers before pointing outside. Morticia, the only one acknowledging him, turned around before smiling.

"Look, darling, She called, glancing back before snipping another rose head when her husband looked at her. "Tully is here, romping with Gate."

Thing used the distraction to smack one of Gomez's pieces off the board and move his own. Gomez grinned before looking down at the board. His smile dropped.

He lost.

Tully ripped himself free from the gate. His wife, Margaret, groaned when she saw his white shirt peeking through the torn fabric of the back of his coat.

"These are your last paying clients. May I remind you?" She grumbled, attempting to fix his coat.

"If it pleasures you." Tully groaned as he waved his wife away.

"Something has to!" Margaret shouted, glaring at him as they walked into the house before continuing. "Like a decent coat or something dressy for the evening. Ask for a loan. Beg!"

"No loans," He snapped, pointing a finger in her face. "I am not a bum."

"Don't say it!" He said, watching Margaret snap her mouth shut. "I'll get the money. I have a plan."

"This is humiliating. Why did I marry you?" Margaret whined as Lurch helped her out of her coat.

"Because I said yes," Tully retorted, walking into the right hallway. He turned into another hallway with one door at the end. As he continued down, a polar bear skin rug bit his leg.

"No, stop it! Let go of me!" He shouted as he kicked the rug off him. When he looked up, he noticed a bald statue staring at him. With a glance, he caught the big word: Fester. He ignored it and walked into the door. As soon as he closed the door, a sword flew past his head and stuck in the door.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Lurch, Morticia, and Grandmama were looking for something to give Margaret for Charity.

"Charity auction," Grandma grumbled, flinging a pot across the kitchen. The pot narrowly missed Margret, who was squirming at the counter. "It's ridiculous."

"Perhaps it's in here," Morticia said, gliding towards a wooden cabinet.

"I don't think so," Grandma replied as she waddled over. Lurch pulled a body bag out of the cabinet, shifting it so Morticia could grab the tag.

"Uncle NikNak's Winter Wardrobe."

Lurch pulled another body bag out of the cabinet. This time, Morticia could easily read the tag.

"Uncle NikNak's Summer Wardrobe."

Another bag.

'Uncle NikNak," Morticia hummed, stepping back so Lurch could drop the body onto the other bags. This one thudding much louder than the others. Margaret gasped.

A thud from upstairs made everyone look up.

Thing snapped his fingers from his place on the table and pointed towards something on a shelf. Another thud from upstairs, this time only Margaret looking. Morticia smiled when she saw what Thing was pointing at. She picked the item up, thanking Thing as she showed it to Margaret.

"What is it?" Margaret asked.

"A finger trap from Emperor Wu's court," Morticia said.

"It must be worth a fortune," Margaret whispered, snatching it from Morticia. She tilted the finger trap around, squealing, "Oh, Morticia, this is too extravagant. Even for the auction."

"Let's keep it." Grandma grinned.

"Hush, mama. It's for the Widows and orphans charity. We need more of them," Morticia said, nodding once. Margaret stared at her from the corner of her eye.

"Margaret, about the seance tonight. I wish you'd come," Morticia said, looking down at the black ring on her left hand. "It's Gomez. I'm terribly worried about him."

Margaret ignored her in favor of pushing her fingers into the trap. She gasped when she couldn't remove them.

"He won't eat. He can't sleep. He keeps coughing up blood," Morticia sighed.

"He coughs up blood?" Margaret asked incredulously, dropping her hands to her lap.

"Not like he used to."

Tully finally made it back to his office. Hobbling in, he called for his assistant and nearly fell when a different voice answered.

"She's gone home, Mr. Alford."

He looked up and saw a woman sitting on the couch. Her red hair was in an updo hairstyle, and her legs crossed under her.

"Mrs. Craven. I was just about to call you." Tully laughed awkwardly.

"I'm sure you were," She said coldly. She grinned, her eyes dull, before waving behind Tully. "You haven't met my son, Gordon. Have you, Mr. Alford?"

Tully turned around and gasped. A tall, burly man appeared behind him. His curly hair was a bright contrast to his pale skin.

"Is this the one, Mother? The deadbeat you mentioned?" Gordon asked. His voice sounded like rocks in a plastic bottle. He grabbed Tully by the collar and slammed him into the wall, ignoring his protests.

"You have to listen to me!"

"Do, Mr. Alford? Why?" Mrs. Craven taunted. She smiled as Gordon turned Tully upside down, pennies and clips falling from his pockets.

"Your call, mother," Gordon said, grinning at the woman on the couch.

"Down, Gordon," Mrs. Craven commanded, picking at her nails. Gordon threw Tully to the floor, and Mrs. Craven looked up. "We've lent you a considerable sum, many thousands of dollars. Payment due."

"I don't have the money. I've tried everything."

"Oh, Gordon, I want to believe him," Mrs. Craven said mockingly. After a moment, she grinned at her son. "Make me proud."

Gordon grabbed Tully by the neck again and slammed him into the wall.

"Mrs. Craven?" A voice asked. Gordon dropped Tully and straightened up. Glancing at Mrs. Craven before looking at the door, Gordon grinned at the person in the doorway.

"Come here, child," Mrs. Craven answered, smiling as she waved you to her.

"Mr. Alford, meet Y/N. Y/N, this is Tully Alford. We work together," Mrs. Craven explained, patting your knee. She glared at the confused man.

"Don't we, Mr. Alford?"

He quickly nodded as he waved at the equally confused teenager. Mrs. Craven smiled at you as she rubbed your back. "Be a dear and wait outside."

"I didn't know you had children," Tully said. Watching you leave the room, Mrs. Craven sighed.

"Y/N is not my child. They are my protege," Mrs. Craven explained as she dug in her purse for a pouch. Finding it, she immediately opened it before frowning. "Gordon, I've run out of Y/N's mints. We'll have to get more shipped in."

"Moving on, where were we?" She smiled as she looked between Gordon and Tully. Her son grinned as he slammed Tully into the table, knocking his briefcase off and spilling the gold coins.

Gordon leaned over. His eyes widened at the gold circles covering the floor. "He lied to us, mother."

"No! Those are doubloons for the Addams account," Tully explained.

"Addams?"

Tully nodded as he continued, "There's more, but nobody can get to it. Don't you think I've tried?"

"Have you? Have you tried hard enough?" Mrs. Craven stood from the couch, stalking towards the desk. "Ask him, sweetheart."

"No, no, sweetheart. Don't ask," Tully begged, pressing further into the desk and away from Gordon. He froze before whispering, "Fester?"

Gordon looked up, confused.

Gordon and Y/N sat at the table, eating leftovers. Mrs. Craven stood next to them, holding a picture of Fester Addams.

"It's gonna be great," Tully slowly walked away from the trio and towards the door. "You'll get all the money I owe you. You'll see."

"Goodbye, Mr. Alford," Mrs. Craven said, watching the man run out the door.

"What's the plan?" Y/N asked. You flinched, glaring at Gordon when he poked you with a spoon.

"You don't need to worry about that, child," Mrs. Craven said. She sat beside them, swatting at Gordon when he poked you again.

"Okay," Y/N dragged, looking between the adults' mischievous grins.

Tully and Margret brought you to the Addams's home the next night. Margaret's heels crunched and clacked against the gravel, followed by yours and Tully's footsteps.

"Remember, kid. When Gordon and Mrs. Craven show up, they'll pretend to be Fester and Dr. Pinder-Schloss. Got it?"

"Tully, this is the twelfth time you've told me this in twenty minutes. Tell me again, and the loan will be the least of your troubles," You warned, quickly catching up to Margaret, who smiled at you.

Tully sighed shakily before trudging after the pair. The door opened, and Lurch stared down at them with a soft smile. Behind him stood Jeongin with a blank look.

"Hello, sweetheart. Could you?" Margaret held out her fingers, still stuck in the finger trap. The boy sighed, unhooking her fingers as Margaret grinned, breathing out, "Thank god."

"Welcome, honored guests," Morticia greeted from the stairs. Her eyes trailed over you with a smile. "Who is this?"

"Uh, a family friend's child, Y/N. They're in town for a project. Hope you don't mind we brought them along," Tully explained, watching Morticia tilt her head.

Pulling your hood down, you smiled back at Morticia. "Lovely to meet you, Miss."

"Hello, dear. We're so glad you could join us," Mortica said, walking down the stairs. She pulled Jeongin with her. "This is my son, Jeongin."

"Hello, I'm Y/N," You said, sticking your hand out for Jeongin to shake. He looked between your face and hand before finally shaking it. Morticia smiled before telling everyone to move to the seance room.

You unzipped your coat, about to take it off when someone took it. With a glance over your shoulder, Jeongin gave your goat to Lurch. Before exiting the room, he nodded for you to follow him into the seance room.

Lurch played the piano as everyone sat around the table. Jeongin sat you between him and his mother. As Morticia recited the chant, Pugsley, who was on Jeongin's right, slowly raised a butcher's knife, intending to whack his brother.

"Stop it." Jeongin side-eyed the boy.

"Pugsley," Gomez playfully scolded, taking the knife from his son. Pugsley giggled as Gomez looked at Margaret and Tully. "Kids."

"All close eyes and join hands," Morticia said as she closed her eyes and grabbed your hand. You looked at your joined hands before looking at Jeongin. Jeongin slowly opened his hand for you to take.

Across the table, Margaret grabbed Grandmama's hand in hers.

"Ow! What a grip!" The older woman cried, snatching her arm away, but the hand remained in Margaret's. "Oh! She's got my hand!"

You huffed, shaking your head in amusement. Next to you, Jeongin tilted his head. Why weren't you scared?

Margaret managed to shake Thing off and onto the floor. She stood from her seat only to be pushed back down by Tully as he tried to comfort her. "Sit down, pumpkin. Join the fun."

"Mama, you should know better. Thing, you're a handful," Morticia scolded before leaning back in her chair. She told Jeongin to continue the chant, smiling when he finished. She closed her eyes as Grandmama continued where he left off.

"Fester Addams, gather your strength and knock three times," Grandma commanded.

Silence.

Three loud bangs sounded through the air. You flinch, squeezing Jeongin's hand. He gripped it tighter, rubbing his thumb along the back of yours.

"Fester Addams, I demand that you knock again!"

Again, three loud knocks echoed throughout the house. Gomez stood up, pointing out the doorway. "He's at the door!"

Thing rushed out of the room and to the front door. Once he reached it, he yanked it open to reveal a bald Gordon. Everyone followed him.

"Could it be?"

"Is it him?"

"Is it possible?"

Gordon stepped into the house and out of the rain. His now bald head glistened in the candlelight.

"Fester," Gomes whispered.

"Gomez," Gordon, now called Fester, replied. Gomez walked between Jeongin and you, accidentally breaking your latched hands, and embraced his brother.

Behind the hugging brothers, Mrs. Craven stepped forward.

"Good evening," She greeted in a heavy German accent. "I am Dr. Pinder-Schloss."

Morticia guided everyone to the living room to listen to Dr. Pinder-Schloss explain Fester's story.

"That's preposterous," Margaret grumbled. "Isn't that the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard?"

"It certainly is," Gomes grinned from his place beside Morticia. "Now you're back."

"I just don't know," Margaret said, shaking her head at Fester. He stood by the fireplace, staring straight ahead, unblinking.

Tully distracted Margaret by holding up the finger trap. "How does this work again?"

"An infant would understand," She snapped, sticking her fingers in the trap and getting stuck again.

"Fester Addams, home at long last," Morticia announced, ignoring Grandmama laughing at Margaret.

"At least for a week," Fester said.

"A week?" Gomez repeated. He walked to his brother, pleading, "Don't be ridiculous, you're home!"

"I have to get back, things cooking in the Bermuda Triangle," Fester explained, looking around in thought. Your head tilts as you huff. This man was pulling anything out of his ass.

"Gomez, the Bermuda Triangle," Morticia purred, leaning back on the couch. Gomez grinned as he walked back to her. Morticia raised her hand to him as she continued, "The Black Hole of Calcutta."

"Excuse us," Gomez said before kissing his wife's hands.

"Second honeymoon," Morticia explained to Dr. Pinder-Schloss. She smiled at her husband before looking back at the doctor as she asked, "Dr. Pinder-Schloss, will you be staying with us?"

"No, I must be going. But I will be back to check on Fester's adjustment. Maybe this child here could help Fester with his adjustments," Dr. Pinder-Schloss said, gesturing to you, sitting in an armchair.

"I think that's a terrific idea," Tully agreed.

"You're going to leave the child here?" Margaret asked, negating.

"I'm sure they don't mind. Do you?" Tully asked.

"Course not, I like it here," You said, leaning over and almost hitting Jeongin, who lay under the chair you sat in.

"It'll be nice to have someone around Jeongin's age," Morticia chimed.

"They can be my new fencing partner," Gomez added, smiling at you.

"Nobody gets out of the Bermuda Triangle, not even for vacation," Jeongin interrupted, fiddling with your left shoe. "Everyone knows that."

"So much you don't understand," Dr. Pinder-Schloss cooed, "The human spirit is hard to kill."

"Even with a chainsaw," Grandma chimed, nodding in thought.

After Tully, Margaret, and Dr. Pinder Schloss left, Jeongin brought you upstairs to a spare bedroom. He stood in the doorway, watching you look around. Your eyes trailed the cracks in the concrete, your hands felt for dents in the wood, and you examined every creak in the floor. He watched your fingers trail along walls, windows, and under furniture.

"Why are you detailing the room?"

Y/N turned to the boy in the doorway. He stared back at them with furrowed brows, his face expressionless.

After you tilted your head, Jeongin continued. "You looked and felt for everything as if you expect someone to intrude during your stay. Why?"

You hummed and looked down in thought. You would be lying if you said you were comfortable with your situation. Usually, you slept in hotels with Mrs. Craven in one room and Gordon in the other. Sometimes, you would wake up to Mrs. Craven watching you from the doorway.

You wouldn't have to worry about that now. At least, not while you stayed here.

"I've lived in places no one should have to call home," They answered. "It teaches you things."

"Goodnight," He muttered to the quiet voice he heard whispering behind him before shutting the door.

Jeongin walked past his brother's room. Ignoring Pugsley's shout for him, Jeongin closed his bedroom door, making sure to lock it, before flopping on his bed.

Jeongin hadn't thought about your life.

You weren't like those strange kids from school who kept asking if he was depressed. Or the teachers who kept giving him annoyed looks like he couldn't see them. Or the teachers who kept putting on false looks when speaking to him. So they wouldn't have to deal with his parents. It wasn't his parents they needed to worry about. It was him, but they didn't need to know that.

Y/N. Soft hair, gorgeous eyes, soft hands, and plump lips. They walk so smoothly, their movements graceful, and their smile bright.

Jeongin felt a shiver down his spine. He'd kill to see that smile again.

Is this how his father felt about his mother?

A knock on the door awoke Y/N from their slumber. Throwing the covers off, you trudged to the door, nearly toppling over after fighting with the blankets. The door creaked open, and Jeongin peeked in. His eyes trailed your body, looking at your legs peeking out the shorts.

"Breakfast is downstairs," He whispered. His cheeks had reddened, and his eyes remained on the other's legs.

"I'll be down in a moment," You said while closing the door. You snatched your bag off the floor and onto the bed. You dug through it until you pulled out a comfy outfit. After changing, you opened the door to see Jeongin leaning against the opposite wall.

"I'll escort you to breakfast. Come," Jeongin said, grabbing your hand and dragging you behind him.

When they entered the kitchen, Jeongin sat Y/N down before sitting in the chair between them and Fester. Grandmama brought a pan of food, putting different-sized servings on everyone's plate.

"May I have the salt?" Jeongin asked, staring at Fest. He watched the wrinkly older man pick up the salt shaker before Morticia interrupted them.

"What do we say?"

"Now!" He demanded. Fester handed Jeongin the salt shaker just as Grandmama scooped some food onto his plate.

"This is Mama's Specialit de la maison," Morticia told their guest.

"Tish," Gomez breathed, kissing his wife's hand.

"Start with the eye," Grandmama told Fester before turning to their other guest. She grinned as she told you, "You will like it, Y/N. I know it."

"Y/N, when will you be going back to your parents?" Morticia asked, her eyes remaining on her dotting husband.

"Trying to get rid of me already?" You joked. Morticia's head snapped up, her eyes wide with regret. She froze at the soft smile on your face. You shared a smirk before answering, "My parents are dead. I live on my own."

"An orphan?" Jeongin asked, his eyes trailing Y/N's body before latching onto your lips as you ate a piece of the meal. When you nodded, Jeongin placed his hand in the crook of Y/N's elbow—a soft look passed between them.

"Oh, Fester, did you sleep well?" Morticia asked. Her eyes slowly dragged away from the teens.

"Like the dead," He grinned.

"Really? Who would have thought the Bermuda Triangle could change you so much?" Gomez asked, impressed. "You used to toss and turn all night. We had to chain you to the bedpost."

"It doesn't make sense," Jeongin glared, his grip unconsciously tightening around your elbow.

"The Bermuda Triangle is a strange and mysterious place. You'd be surprised at the things you don't know," Fester responded.

"He certainly would. Jeongin adores the Bermuda Triangle. He studies death at sea. He's hooked." Morticia explained as she smiled at her oldest son.

"Ask me anything," Jeongin glared, slowly removing his hand from your elbow as he turned to his uncle.

Blinking quickly, Fester changed the subject. "Being in my room brings back memories. Remember Camp Custer?"

"For preteen offenders," Gomez laughed with Fester.

"Today, I'd like to wander through the house," Fester said.

"Sorry, old man, no can do. Today, we are going straight to the vault," Gomez told him.

Pugsley carried a stop sign in, and Gomez shushed everyone. They heard a car crash and horns blaring.

"Bravo, Pugsley!" Gomez praised.

You laughed, slumping back in your chair and rubbing your stomach. Looking down at your hand, Jeongin tilted his head before gripping your elbow. His thumb rubbed against the inside of your arm as he glanced over. There was that feeling again.

After breakfast, the children went upstairs to Grandmama's room. Pugsley had dragged you to his guillotine and shown you how it worked. You watched as the young boy cut off a doll's head. Behind the pair, Jeongin watched from next to the electric chair, tinkering with wires.

"Pugsley, sit in the chair." He commanded. The giggling boy turned to his brother with a frown. Jeongin sighed," So, we can play a game."

As Pugsley walked over to the chair, he asked his brother, "Do you think that's Uncle Fester?"

"Father thinks he is. Mother and I are suspicious," Jeongin answered as he strapped Pugsley to the chair. He turned to you with a twisted smile. "Y/N, have you ever killed someone before?"

When you shook your head in response, Jeongin pulled you to him, so you both stood in front of a wall with levers. Jeongin grabbed your hand, placing it on the last lever as he pulled your back against his chest.

"Pull it," He whispered and hummed in contentment when you did as told. "It has to warm up."

"Why?" Y/N asked, turning your head to see the boy behind you.

"So it can kill Pugsley," The other teen replied, gripping your hips to turn you to his giggling brother. Behind them, Morticia paused at the top of the stairs. She smiled at the sight of her oldest son wrapped around another.

She hated to interrupt them.

"Children, what are you doing?" She asked, chuckling when Jeongin stepped away from you in a panic.

"Jeongin wants to electrocute Pugsley," Y/N answered.

"Jeongin, we're late for the charity auction," Morticia scolded.

"But, mother, it's Y/N's first time electrocuting someone," Jeongin retorted, using his hand on your hip to pull you towards him. Morticia shook her head.

"Please?" Pugsley begged.

"Oh, all right," She relented. Morticia watched Jeongin place your hand on the first lever and make you pull it down. Sparks flew as the chair shocked Pugsley. You looked behind you at Jeongin to see him smiling.

With his eyes still on the screaming boy, Jeongin whispered, "What is it?"

"You're pretty," Y/N answered before turning back to Pugsley. Jeongin's smile softened just like his eyes as he looked at you.

After the charity auction, Lurch drove everyone home. Fester sat between Morticia and Gomez with the finger trap on his fingers. The kids sat across from them, with Jeongin in the middle. Pugsley and Y/N had fallen asleep with their heads on Jeongin's shoulders. The older Addams boy had his head leaning on your head, attempting to blink the sleep away.

"How do you get it off?" Fester asked. Gomez stares at his brother in surprise as Morticia helps him out of it.

"There's a trick to it," Morticia said, glaring at Fester with suspicion.

When they got home, Gomez ran to the attic while Morticia brought the kids to Pugsley's room to read them a story. Pugsley curled on her right side while Jeongin sat on her left with his back against the wall. You lay across him, your head on Morticia's arm so you could see the book. Jeongin's arm wrapped around your waist to prevent you from falling.

They all looked up when they heard the train whistle.

"What's that?" Y/N asked.

"Fathers playing with his trains," Pugsley explained, nuzzling his mother's side.

"Oh, dear," Morticia whispered, wrapping her arm around Pugsley, attempting to comfort her son.

"He's using the diesel," Pugsley said as the house shook. Everyone crowded together to avoid a stolen stop sign from toppling onto them.

Upstairs, Gomez sent his train under a bridge.

"The covered bridge," Jeongin said, looking up at the ceiling. His hands fiddled with the belt loop of your pants. The train's whistle blew as it made a sharp turn.

"Dead man's curve," Morticia whispered, looking around the room in panic. A loud crash made everyone turn. A block of knives fell off the bookshelf from the shaking.

Once everything had calmed down, Jeongin looked at his mother. "This is about Uncle Fester, isn't it?"

Morticia hummed before looking at the water tube in Pugsley's room. Fester shot past them, his screams muffled by the water and fish.

The next day, Mrs. Craven checked with Fester. She sat next to you on the bed. Fester stood by his dresser, telling you both about Morticia's confrontation.

"The whole bunch knows I'm a fraud," Fester said. Mrs. Craven scoffed in disagreement.

"He's not lying," You said, fiddling with a lighter. "They're always whispering about it."

"Well, then. I will counsel the troubled family and ease their distress," Mrs. Craven grinned, her teeth crooked and stained with coffee.

"What?" Y/N and Fester look at each other before staring back at the older woman with furrowed brows.

"I'm a doctor," She said, her fake German accent thick.

While Mrs. Craven influenced Gomez and Morticia's suspicions, you and Fester had to convince the children. You found the kids sword-fighting in front of the stairs and led them to the library.

Fester pulled out a book and showed it to the kids with a grin. "I'll show ya' different ways to slaughter someone. What do you say?"

The children 'oohed' before running to sit in front of the couch. Fester trailing behind them with the book.

"Uncle Fester, how do you know so much?" Pugsley asked.

"I've been around. I pick things up," Fester answered, flicking through the book.

"In the Bermuda Triangle?" Jeongin asked, glaring at Fester with suspicion. You had to give the teenager his props. That boy's glare was just as terrifying as his mother's.

"Look, children, a new chapter," Fester said, quickly changing the topic.

"Scabs!" They all whispered in awe.

After finishing the chapter, Fester led everyone outside for an "experiment." Mrs. Craven had just finished meeting with the parents, confident that she had changed their minds. She snooped around Fester's room while waiting for him to return.

A booming sound from outside drew her attention to the window. She watched four heads peek out of a ditch. Fester, Y/N, Jeongin, and Pugsley.

"Those blithering idiots!" Mrs. Craven shouted, watching the group run back into the house.

Not a second later, the door opened, and Fester and Y/N walked in. They were smiling and laughing. The happiest the duo had been in a while.

"Sit down," Mrs. Craven commanded, grabbing their arms and shoving them onto the bed before sitting in front of them. "Everyone will be at the children's play tonight, correct?"

"Yes, I've been working with them. It will be fun," Fester answered, jumping up and down. The things on his dresser shook with the thud of his boots.

"Is that what we're here for? Fun!" Mrs. Craven snapped, slapping Fester across the face before gasping and cradling his face. "See what they've driven me to do? I've raised a hand to my child, my reason for living."

Mrs. Craven glared at you before nodding towards the door. Y/N ran out of the room and through the halls before pausing. The hallways all looked the same. You were lost.

"Are you all right?"

You flinched, looking over at a silhouette in the corner. Slowly stepping from the shadows was Jeongin. With his head tilted to the right, his eyes trained on your chest, rising and falling with your heavy breathing. He hummed before grabbing your hand and pulling you with him.

Jeongin ignored you, walking in the opposite direction you had gone. Quickly passing Fester's Room and eventually Jeongin's room, they stopped in front of a closed door. The brunet waved his unoccupied hand at the door as if saying 'voila.'

"Your room," He said, carefully releasing your hand before walking to his room.

The kids stood outside Fester's door. Pugsley pressed his ear against it and heard eerie silence. Pugsley knocked again.

"I said I was busy," Fester shouted.

"You said you would help us with the Shakespeare and the pus," Jeongin said, pressing his ear against the door next to Pugsley.

"I changed my mind. Go away," Fester snapped.

The boys frowned before walking away, tugging you with them. Their parents met them at the stairs. Their smiles fall at the frowns on their children's faces.

"What's wrong?" Morticia asked, hands cupping her children's faces. Jeongin carefully pushed her away from him and stomped down the stairs and to the car. Pugsley followed shortly without answering his mother.

Looking away after Pugsley slammed the door, your eyes met the gleaming eyes of Gomez and Morticia.

"Fester promised he'd attend the play, but he said he doesn't feel well," Y/N explained before rushing down the steps and out the door.

People rushed to get good seats or bring their children backstage. Jeongin led you in by your hand, Pugsley holding onto the back of your shirt. Morticia and Gomez follow with their hands on each child so as not to lose them.

A teacher tapped Morticia's arm, and the family paused. Their heads slowly turn to look at the offending hand.

"Mrs. Addams? I'm Jeongin's teacher, Susan Firkins." The woman smiled, displaying her bright teeth.

"Of course, Mrs. Firkins. Jeongin has told us so much about," Morticia hummed, tilting her head at the woman.

"May I see you for a moment?" Mrs. Firkins asked, looking between Jeongin and Morticia.

"This is a time to celebrate the children. We can speak another time." Morticia held your and Jeongin's shoulders to guide you into the next room. Gomez followed behind her with a dopey smile and Pugsley under his arm.

They found Margaret and Tully with a kid dressed in green. Margaret pinched his cheek as she presented him. "Isn't he adorable? I made this myself."

"It's charming," Morticia chimed, smiling softly at the child. "What is he, a lizard?"

"An elf," Margaret snapped, tilting the child's face to her. She knelt, licking a napkin, and wiped his face. "That's much better. You are precious. I could eat you alive."

"No, Margaret, he's too young," Morticia whispered.

Little kids dressed in bright costumes sang and danced on stage. The other parents watched happily while the Addams Family looked drained of entertainment.

Jeongin and Pugsley were backstage, getting ready. The older boy helping Pugsley fix his makeup as they talk about the new additions to their home.

"So we don't like Uncle Fester?" Pugsley asked, humming when Jeongin nodded in agreement. "What about Y/N? I like them, and I don't want them to leave."

"You like them?" Jeongin repeated.

"I'm going to ask them out after the play," Pugsley teased, checking his face in the vanity mirror.

"We still have empty spots. I will gladly bury you in the backyard," Jeongin threatened as he pointed the sword at Pugsley.

"Boys." A voice whispered. They turned and saw Fester standing behind them. He tossed them swords and a fake arm before running off to find a seat.

He sat next to Gomez, who leaned over to whisper, "I knew you couldn't stay away, old man."

The audience applauded as their children finished their performance. The loud cheers woke you from your nap. You panicked, lifting your head from Morticia's shoulder.

Morticia chuckled, and she patted your thigh. "You woke up just in time.

Jeongin and Pugsley's performance was messy. Their swords clashed before Pugsley sliced Jeongin's arm, and thick red paint spurted out of him.

"A hit! A very palpable hit," Pugsley cheered. Jeongin swung his sword and chopped off Pugsley's arm, spewing more blood out and onto the crowd in the front seats.

The audience coughed and gagged, wiping their faces using each other's clothes. Pugsley sliced Jeongin's neck, and he turned to the crowd, spraying them with more paint.

"Oh, proud death, what feast is toward in thine eternal cell?" Wednesday recited, dropping his sword and falling to his knees. "Sweet oblivion, open your arms."

He began choking before falling to the floor. The audience sat there stunned while you and the Addams family gave a standing ovation as the boys bowed on stage.

Jeongin and your eyes met. You blew a kiss, and he winked in response. Everything would be fine.

Jeongin lay with his arms crossed over his chest. The door's creaking woke Jeongin. Your head poked around the door, and Jeongin sat up.

"What's wrong?"

"I wanted to congratulate you and stuff. You did amazing," You said, standing next to the bed.

"Thank you," He replied, a glimmer in his eyes. Jeongin's voice lowered, "If you're comfortable, may I test something?"

You nod, watching as he smiles before lifting the covers and tugging you under them. It was surprisingly warm. His arms wrapped around you, and his face tucked against your neck.

"What are we doing?" You ask, and you feel Jeongin's lips curve into a smile. He nuzzles further into you, pulling you closer.

"I'm testing something, and you have to stay until morning. Goodnight," Jeongin whispered, his eyes bleary.

"Night, Jeongin."

Jeongin was confident his mother was right.

The sun shines through Jeongin's window, warming the pair in his bed. You both were awake unbeknownst to the other. Arms wrapped around each other, legs tangled under the covers.

Unfortunately, your empty stomach made its presence known with its growling.

"Let's go," Jeongin sighed, helping you out of the bed and down the stairs for breakfast.

His family sat in the same seats as before, with two empty seats remaining. The chair scraped against the floor as Jeongin pulled your chair closer before letting you sit down.

The family shared laughs and jokes about the play. The door slammed open, and Dr. Pinder-Schloss entered. Her hair was disheveled, and her clothes were covered in dirt. You and Fester share a panicked look.

"Doctor, you were right. Fester fit right in," Gomez cheered as he patted Fester's arm. He frowned at how tense his brother was.

"Does he really have to go?" Pugsley asked.

"Of course, he does. With his absence comes Y/N's absence. They will not have to look after him anymore, no?" Dr. Pinder-Schloss asked. The glare on her face made it clear it wasn't a question.

Jeongin dropped his fork and gripped your elbow. Sighing softly, Morticia carefully placed her fork down, "We've planned a farewell party with the entire clan invited."

"We're a family again, and we owe it all to you," Dr. Pinder-Schloss," Gomez thanked. They shared pleasantries before having Fester walk her out.

After breakfast, Gomez and Morticia showed everyone the ballroom filled with items covered in white sheets. Fester stepped in after them and gasped in awe.

"Tish? How long has it been since we've waltzed?" Gomez asked, pulling his wife into his arms.

"Hours," Morticia whispered, gazing into her husband's eyes as they began waltzing around the room. The couple danced past Jeongin, and he turned to you, standing beside him.

"Will you attend the party with me?" Jeongin asked.

"Sure," You answered before pausing. "I've never danced before."

Jeongin smiled, holding out his hand for you to take. "Then I'll teach you."

The ballroom was cleaned and decorated, full of dancing couples, including Gomez and Morticia. An orchestra played with a man playing a cobra as a saxophone. A handful of people stood to the side, watching couples dance and waiting their turns.

Jeongin was amongst them, leaning against the wall, looking for you. A tall hunchback figure blocked his view.

"Hey, cousin, great party," He complimented.

"Thank you, Lumpy," Jeongin sighed before peeking around his cousin, and his eyes widened.

Your hair is done with kinks and coils out for everyone to see. A tight black outfit covered your figure, leaving your back and collarbone out. Your makeup was smokey, and your lips looked glossy. You were gorgeous.

Jeongin walked away before his cousin could respond. He held out his hand for yours, kissing the back of it. "Hello, mon cœur."

"You look beautiful. Would you like to dance?" He asked. Your eyes flicker between the dancing couples in panic, and Jeongin frowns. "Remember what I taught you, okay? I'll be with you. Still want to dance?"

You nod, smiling at Jeongin's soft giggle before yelping when he tugs you into his arms by the waist.

"Then let's dance," He grins.

They spun around the dance floor, waltzing between couples and dipping in the middle of the floor before repeating. Slowly lifting you from a dip, Jeongin's hand rubbed the skin of your back.

"Jeongin?" Morticia called.

"Yes, mother?" He replied, leaning your foreheads together.

"Would you run upstairs and check on your uncle, please?"

"Yes, Mother," He repeated, slowly leaning away from you before looping his arm with yours and exiting the ballroom.

Couples are lingering in the hallway and around the stairs. Some wave and speak as you two walk by and up the stairs.

The hallway of bedrooms is quiet, save for the mummers coming from Fester's door, slightly ajar.

Jeongin opened the door, and you both walked inside. The bathroom door, where the muffled voices came from, was open.

"Stop whining. Nobody likes that. It's unattractive," They heard Mrs. Craven say. "You do what you need, and we'll drop Y/N off at the highest bidder."

"Fine, I'll try and reach the vault tonight. Just leave Y/N out of this," Gordon compromised.

"Reach the vault, and I'll leave Y/N with these retched people," Mrs. Craven told him.

"I knew it! You are a fake!" Jeongin shouted, slamming the door open and scaring the two inside the bathroom.

"Come here, little ones." Mrs. Craven smiled, her fake German accent taking over. Jeongin grabbed your arm and ran off.

"Get them!" Mrs. Craven shouted. She yelped when Fester shoved her into the wall to chase after you.

Jeongin pushed into his room before locking the door. He opened a hatch in his room and helped you down before following. Just as he closed the trapdoor, Fester kicked the door in.

"Move quickly," Jeongin ordered. He led you through the tunnels and down a slide where it dropped out the side of the house toward the graveyard.

He brought you to the crypt and hid behind the pillars. He watched you slide to the floor before doing the same.

"I'm not related to Tully. I've never met the man before this week-" You picked at the leaves on the floor next to you. Jeongin's eyes left burns where they trailed your skin. "Dr. Pinder-Schloss's real name is Mrs. Craven. She told me we were breaking in to get something your family stole from her."

Jeongin's silence drew your attention to him, and you frowned. His brows furrowed, and his eyes were glossy with tears.

"You lied to me?" His voice broke.

"What?"

"I thought you liked me. I thought you were genuine, but you're a liar. I let you in, and you lied to me," Jeongin cried as his hand wrapped around your throat. The pressure was hard enough to keep you from moving and sure enough to leave the spot sore.

"No, wait! Everything between us was real! I like you so much. I like being around you. We don't even have to do anything. I just like your presence. You make me feel safe and warm. And-" You rambled, your breaths quick and ragged from the pressure of his hand around your throat. "Just please. Please believe me."

"I forgive you," Jeongin said, releasing your throat and helping you. He sat you on the stone coffin before sitting beside you. "I like being around you too."

You looked at him, and his head turned forward. He shrugged, picking at the eroded stone. "I want to be with you and protect you. I want to be the one you go to when you need comfort or to relax."

"I want to be your safe space." Jeongin frowned in thought before turning to you and grabbing your hands. He leaned his forehead against you. "I promise I won't let anyone hurt you again. Not even me. Don't ever let me grab you like that again."

"Not without your permission, at least," He snickered, eye gleaming with an emotion you couldn't name.

You smiled, cupping his face as he placed his lips on yours. He bit your lip, drawing a groan from you before trailing his lips down your jaw and to your ear.

"Don't leave me, mon cœur," He begged.

"I won't leave," You promised, and he kissed you again.

Tully ran out of the room just as the music started. Mrs. Craven stopped him before he could leave the house.

"Where are you going? There's trouble!" She glared.

Tully waved her off. "On to Plan B."

"But those gremlins-"

"I'm in charge. Give me ten minutes, and I'll be back." Tully assured before running to the neighbor's house.

The music and cheers barely quieted as he left. Tully could only imagine how annoyed the Judge was at the disruption to his sleep.

"What the hell is going on over there?" The Judge demanded.

How would you like to be rid of the Addamses for good?" Tully grinned. The Judge raised a brow of disbelief. "I'm serious."

"What can I do for you?" The Judge asked.

"You're gonna love this."

By the time Tully returned, everything was ending. Margaret left with one of the Addams' cousins while Fester spoke with Mrs. Craven. Morticia and Gomez remained in the ballroom, standing over a tray that had Pugsley curled on top of it.

"Look at him, Gomez. He looks like a little entree," Morticia sighed as she carefully rubbed her son's cheek. The boy huffed and stretched his legs as he sat up.

"Have you seen (Y/N) and your brother?" Gomez asked, running his fingers through his son's hair. He smiled as the boy leaned against his touch.

"Not since before the Mamushka," Pugsley answered.

The couple looked at each other in panic before heading to the backyard with Pugsley, Lurch, and Grandmama following. Gomez opened a map of their property and pointed at different spots for everyone to go to.

"Someone should stay behind in case they come back!" Fester yelled from his window.

"Good man with good thinking," Gomez praised before everyone split and searched for the missing teenagers.

Lurch searched the driveway and the front yard while Pugsley searched the trees surrounding the home. Grandmama and Morticia searched a nearby cave with Thing hopping around in the swamp.

Gordon checked the graveyard before entering the crypt. He smiled, finding you and Jeongin curled together on the stone coffin. He turned at the sound of footsteps and found Lurch walking towards him.

"Grab Y/N, will you," Gordon ordered as he carefully picked up his son and carried him out of the crypt, Lurch following behind with you in his arms.

The family met up in the driveway, where the gate was locked with police tape.

"This is a restraining order," Tully announced, his face contorted in an ugly grin. "It requires you to keep a distance of 1,000 yards away from this house."

"I am restrained from my own house?" Gomez asked, putting Jeongin, who woke from the noise, back down.

"This isn't your house, mustache. It belongs to the oldest living descendant, the elder brother. Fester Addams," Tully explained, his eyes wide with malicious joy. "You're bitter rivals, Gomez. Seeing the twins brought everything back."

His head tilted, eyes bouncing between each member before stopping on you, still held in Lurch's arms. Tully groaned, "I'll be taking Y/N back to the lady now. Hand them over."

Lurch stepped back as the rest of the family blocked Tully from reaching them. Tully huffed, waving them off and walking back to the house.

Morticia stepped forward, her brows raised in confusion. "Why would he bring Y/N to Dr. Pinder-Schloss?"

"Dr. Pinder-Schloss isn't a real doctor. She's a crook trying to steal our family fortune and roped Y/N into helping them," Jeongin explained, covering you with his jacket.

Gomez frowned, "Y/N lied to us."

"They tricked us!" Pugsley shouted, throwing his arms up.

"Deceived us," Morticia said.

"I knew I liked them," Grandmama chuckled as the family smiled at the sleeping teenager in his arms.

"Justice shall prevail, and the courts will decide," Gomez hummed, nodding his head before turning back to the house with a grin. "They say a man who represents himself has a fool for a client. With God as my witness, I am that fool!"

"Therefore, it is with no small amount of personal satisfaction that I declare Fester Addams the legal executor of the Addams estate and rightful owner of all possessions and properties contained therein with one exception," The Judge announced, his barely contained grin took over his face as he picked up a bucket of golf balls.

"Gomez Addams, I believe these are yours.-" He poured the golf balls onto the stand before standing from his seat. "- Y/N is denied emancipation and subjugated under the custody of Abigail Craven."

The family returned home with their heads down and feet dragging across the gravel. You watched from your place between Ms. Craven and Fester as they brought their bags to the car.

Jeongin walked by with a suitcase in one hand and a locked box in the other. He stopped before you, placing the box in your arms before yanking you into his arms for a hug.

"I'll get you out of here," He promised, kissing your cheek before rushing out the door.

"I'll hold you to it," You whispered as you watched the family drive away, leaving a crying gate and a broken heart behind.

The Addams Family sat in a dingy hotel room, Gomez slumped over in his seat with Thing rubbing his head.

"We've been forced from our homes, betrayed by those we trusted, and one of us is being held captive, but we will not submit," Morticia ordered, nodding her head at the group sitting around the table.

"Who recalls the old fable of the tortoise and the hare? The swift yet lazy cottontail and his slow but determined companion. What does the story teach us?"

"Kill the hare! We'll skin it and boil it!" Grandmama grinned.

"Put the tortoise on the highway," Jeongin suggested, shrugging his shoulders.

"During rush hour," Pugsley laughed, throwing his head back.

"Yes. Poison us. Strangle us. Break our bones. We will come back for more. Why?"

"Because we like it," Grandmama said, wiggling in her seat.

"Because we're down an Addams," Pugsley corrected. Everyone quiets when reminded of you, still trapped with Mrs. Craven.

Mrs. Craven and Gordon sat at the table of the Addams home, eating lunch. You remained in your room fiddling with the boxy Jeongin gave you.

"After lunch, we'll try to open the vault again," Mrs. Craven announced, scooping a forkful of noodles into her mouth. "We have this cozy little nest while we wait."

"Yes, mother," Fester mumbled as he played with his food.

Mrs. Craven frowned at him before smiling in an attempt to assure him. "Y/N will come around. They'll realize we did this for the better of us."

"Yes, Mother," Fester repeated and Mrs. Craven frowned again.

You remained in your room, fiddling with the locked box. You had searched Jeongin's old room and Pugsley's for the key but came up empty. You even used one of Mrs. Craven's hairpins in the slot, but the lock broke it.

The door opened, and Tully walked in with a bowl of noodles and sauce. He placed them on the table beside her, doing a double take at the box in her arms before walking back out.

She could see Fester peaking at her from over Tully's shoulder just before the door closed again.

"Make things right, Fester," You whispered, looking up at the ceiling.

Shortly after sunset, someone knocked on the door and Tully rushed to open it. Morticia greeted him before stepping past him and into the house for Fester. Instead, she was strapped to a torture table.

"All right, Gordon, let's get started," Mrs. Craven ordered, ignoring Morticia's rambling. None of them noticed Thing hopping onto the windowsill.

"The vault, Mrs. Addams, any thoughts?" Mrs. Craven asked.

"None whatsoever," Morticia grinned.

"Tully, take over," Mrs. Craven demanded, shoving Tully toward the control panel of the torture device. He turned it, forcing the handles to pull at Morticia and stretch her out.

"Again."

Tully tightened it, both he and Gordon flinching when Morticia groaned.

"You've done this before," She smiled, breathless. Thing hopped from the windowsill and ran off.

Thing arrived at the hotel and knocked until Fester let him in. They sat at the table with the hand rapidly signing to Gomez.

"Will you slow down? It's terrible when you stutter!" Gomez shouted. Thing slammed on the table before grabbing a pen and trying to write. He chucked the pen to the side. The pen had no ink.

He grabbed a spoon and tapped his message in Morse code. Gomez stood, his chair falling back, with determination.

"Is mother in trouble?" Jeongin asked, rubbing his eyes as he walked over.

"Yes, and I'm going to save her," Gomez answered before walking to the door. He stopped at the footsteps following him. "It's too dangerous, son."

"Y/N is still trapped in that house with them. I promised I would get them out." Jeongin glared at his father before walking past him and out the door.

"Ah, young love," Gomez sighed before following his son.

"Is this gonna smell?" Tully complained, watching Mrs. Craven stick a fire poker in the lit fireplace.

"Tully Alford. A charlatan, a deadbeat, and a parasite. Gomez adored you," Morticia said.

"Morticia, please," Fester begged.

"Dear Fester, which is the real you? The loathsome, underhanded monster you've become? Or the loathsome, underhanded monster we came to love?" Morticia asked, turning her nose up at Fester. He huffed, waving his arms in panic.

Though your socks quieted your footsteps, Mrs. Craven still heard you and shoved you into a chair. Helping Tully tie you down, Mrs. Craven interrupted Fester from speaking.

"Gordon, I have a thought, just a notion. Why don't you do this?" Mrs. Craven shoved the handle of the red-hot fire poker into Fester's hands.

"Maybe a few pokes with that will get Mrs. Addams talking," Mrs. Craven grinned, gesturing for Fester to burn you with the tool.

"No, wait!" Morticia shouted, tugging at her binds as her eyes snapped to you. She watched, helplessly, as you tried to wiggle away from Mrs. Craven.

Just as Fester went to hit Mrs. Craven with the pokey, Gomez crashed through the window and into the room. Jeongin climbed in after his father and spotted you, tied to a chair in the corner. He rushed to you as Thing tossed Gomez a sword.

Before Gomez could move, Tully swung his sword at him. The two of them began sword fighting while Jeongin helped remove your gag.

"Are you hurt, mon cœur?" He asked, tugging at the rope tied around your ankles. He smiled as you nodded in response before pressing a long kiss to your lips.

Gomez swiped the sword out of Tully's hand and held both of them to his neck. Jeongin finished untying you before helping you up.

A gun clicking forced everyone's attention to the side, and Mrs. Craving pointed it at Gomez. "Let him up."

Gomez slowly removed the swords from Tully's neck as Mrs. Craven ordered, "Take him to the vault. If you're not back in one hour, I displace her."

She pointed the gun at Morticia, who was still tied to the torture table. Gomez grumbled as he walked over to the bookshelf, and Fester huffed.

"Mother, you can't!"

"Shut it, Gordon. You're nothing but a useless sniveling baby! I should have left you where I found you!" Mrs. Craven yelled, and Fester's face soured before turning to Gomez.

"No tricks, Gomez! That's the wrong book." Fester grinned as he picked up a book titled Hurricane Irene. While Fester turned to Mrs. Craven and Tully, Gomez untied his wife.

"Put that book down, Gordon. You don't understand what it can do. It's not just literature," Tully warned. Gordon opened and closed the book. A small, powerful gust of wind knocked the gun from Mrs. Craven's hand.

"You keep that book closed, Gordon. Listen to Mother," Mrs. Craven ordered as she stepped back. Gomez guided you, Morticia, and Jeongin to the bookshelf before helping everyone into the vault.

"You were a terrible mother! I said it!" Gomez cheered before opening the book.

The wind blew through the room, bringing rain and lightning. The hurricane pulled the remaining three into the hair and around the room, the book flying out of Fester's hands.

Tully and Mrs. Craven were thrown out the window just as Fester grabbed the book. Lightning struck him in the head before he closed the book, and he collapsed.

Tully and Mrs. Craven landed in open coffins, tombstones with their names before them.

Pugsley slammed the lids before grabbing a shovel to start burying them. Next to him was Jeongin with his arms around you.

"I'm sure they've learned their lesson," He grinned, tightening his grip around you.

SEVERAL MONTH LATER

Gomez and Morticia were decorating the last room for Halloween. The boys raced down the stairs with Pugsley beating Jeongin. The youngest wore a dark grey oversized coat hanging off him with his hair tucked into a wig cap, courtesy of you.

"Hello, old man," Gomez joked as he patted his son's bald head. Pugsley was dressed as Fester. You and Jeongin walked up, you in a vampire costume and Jeongin without one.

"Trick or treat," Margaret cheered, dressed as a fairy. Cousin It followed her with his long hair covering his face and sweeping the floor behind him, dressed as a cowboy.

"Hello, you two. I almost didn't recognize you," Morticia greeted.

"Isn't he handsome? Everyone keeps asking where he bought his costume."

"it is a wonderful hat," Gomez complimented.

"Where's your costume?" Margaret asked Jeongin.

He looked down at his outfit before raising a brow at her. "This is my costume. I'm a homicidal maniac. They look just like everyone else."

Margaret nodded before Morticia guided everyone to the living room. Lurch painted a portrait of Fester and Pugsley while Jeongin helped you carve a pumpkin.

"Good thing that lightning knocked some sense into you," Grandmama grinned as Pugsley handed Fester a lightbulb. It asked something in gibberish.

"Dr. Pinder-Schloss really did find Fester tangled in a tuna net 25 years ago," Gomez nodded. "With amnesia."

"From the Bermuda Triangle, like I said," Jeongin huffed. It spoke again.

"Very true. Stranger things have happened," Morticia repeated.

After Lurch finished the portrait, Fester shouted, "Time for a game! We'll play Wake the Dead!"

"A lovely choice, old man," Gomez exclaimed. "Out to the cemetery, everyone!"

"How do we play?" Margaret asked, helping Grandmama outside.

"Did you bring a shovel?"

Pugsley ran into your side, wrapping his arms around you in a hug as he looked up at you. "Can you be on my team, Y/N?"

"No," Jeongin answered as he shoved Pugsley off you before pulling you to the cemetery. After getting off the floor, Pugsley ran after you with Fester following.

Gomez and Morticia stood in the doorway watching everyone dig out graves. After a moment, Morticia held up a baby onesie she was knitting in the living.

"Cara mia, is it true?" Gomez asked.

"Oui, mon amour," She whispered, and Gomez dipped her into a kiss.

You and Jeongin were sitting on a stone bench away from the group. The same box from before, now unlocked and in your hands. Jeongin watched you open it before gasping.

A ring.

"It's a promise ring. A promise to never leave each other," Jeongin said, a glint in his eyes as he slid the ring on your finger. "I love you, mon cœur."

He grabbed your chin, smiling as you whispered a response before pulling you into a kiss.

"I love you too, my dearest."

©️DEANAMEANTAE2024

[actuallysolace]

RANDOM WILL SOLACE HCS / TIDBITS:

• he / they . transgender male :-)

• AuDHD, This is a hill I am willing to die on

• Considered Extroverted, in the way he likes talking to people (certified yapper) but doesn’t actually have many close friends.

shout out to lou ellen & cecil

also Clarisse & Annabeth they’re his cooler older friends who he has on speed dial “just in case”

in case of what? “back-up”

also no friends outside of camp

• But he does know everyone at camp. Been there a solid 5 (?) years, year round. Working at the infirmary leads to you meeting everyone eventually.

• Super close with his mom but doesn’t know his family on her side. They cut contact with Naomi after she got pregnant.

“My mom is basically like my best friend, and I wouldn’t trade that for the world.” -TSATS

• Fidgets a lot Whether they’re nervous or bored or not feeling any particular emotion or hyper or worried or focusing

Leg bouncing, Adjusting position constantly, Crossing & Uncrossing legs, Drumming fingers, Rocking, etc

“He bounced his right leg up and down as he glanced around the train carriage. Nico reached over and placed his hand on the bobbing thigh” -TSATS

• MOTION SICKNESS.

AIRSICK, SEASICK, CARSICK, GENERAL MOVING VEHICLE SICKNESS.

“As for Will, he was not doing as well. He had a white-knuckle grip on the door, his eyes were wide with terror, and he was obviously trying to get a handle on his breathing.” -TSATS

• See, they like travel but he just…loathes….the…travel…part…

• On the contrary Nico is entirely immune to the horrors of travel related sickness.

He's used to feeling worst effects that Shadow Travel can do so everything else sorta pales in comparison.

Nico di Angelo is the kinda guy to be sent to burn at the stake and go “I’ve been through worse, probably.”

• Speaking of Shadow Travel, Will doesn’t do well with it the 1st or 2nd or 3rd or 4th or 5th time. He doesn’t do well the 6th and onward either but eventually he gets the hang of surviving it. Eventually. At shorter distances. They’re making progress. Slowly.

Nico has spun this into a multifaceted exercise.

He must practice shadow travel safely

He doesn’t need supervision for it but will allow some for the sake of Will’s peace of mind.

Speaking of Will, the supervision is Will.

Also he must test out the limits of his powers which includes traveling to other cities / states / countries.

But….He needs proper rest and recovery…..

The fact they landed in Paris for a whole week once was certainly not a planned vacation What are you talking about.

Completely Random Totally Unplanned Date Trips are actually proven to be quite beneficial to one’s mental and physical health actually. - Dionysus (Who Doubles as Nico’s Therapist and Lawyer) talking to Chiron, probably.

He’s rooting for his nepo babies, who are not babies and also not his.

Also with those 2 gone the chances of the camp descending into chaos rises at least 23%.

Mr. D’s got a bet going on with Mr. A.

“How long until they try to overthrow Chiron”

[13as07]

It Hurts

(Itachi Uchahi)

[Art work is not mine! Credit to Hikaru Meo]

Requested by: Myself

[Idea inspired by I'm Yours sung by Isabel LaRosa]

Word Count: 3,304

Warnings and/or Pre-Notes:

I'll fight to my grave that Uchihas go through withdrawals if they're away from the people/person they love for too long

Also, angst. Sorry, not sorry. Suffer and cry like I did while writing it :)

———————————————————————

     "Hey," a voice calls softly before a finger is tapped against my forehead.

     "Hey," I call back, tearing my eyes out of my textbook to look at the poker. Standing in front of me is Itachi, who's not looking too hot. He's pale, paler than normal, and decorated in sweat droplets. "You don't look too good."

     "I'm fine," he mumbles, eyes glancing around the school grounds.

     "Your suspension over?" He hums a yes, eyes flickering to me before he goes back to the scenery. "Are you still grounded?" Another hummed yes. "For how long?"

     "I don't know," he mutters, shifting his weight around.

     His face flashes with pain, visible for only a second, before he's stone-faced again. "You seem sick, maybe you should go home and rest."

     "I'm fine," Itachi repeats, eyes landing on me again, but this time they stay put.

     "No, you're not. You look like you're dying."

     "I'm not dying, Little Crow." My face scrunches at the nickname. I don't like when Itachi uses it, it makes me feel like he's degrading me or has an inside joke that I'm not in on. "I'm just in a bit of pain. It'll subside."

     "Why are you in pain?" I yelp, my words soaked in worry. Because of my worry, I'm on my feet, sliding my hands over my best friend in search of any injuries. "I thought you didn't start duty for another two weeks?" Panic soon fills my words as well, another unwanted emotion filling me because of my unwanted best friend.

     Throughout our school years, Itachi has been attached to my hip and unwilling to be unattached. Over the three years, I've accepted it. There's no point in fighting an uphill battle, even if the hill is an unemotional, stone-faced, Uchiha protege.

     "I don't."

     "You don't what?" I hiss, patting him down again.

     "I don't start for another two weeks," Itachi explains, his hands catching my wrists.

     "Then why are you in pain? Did you pick another fight?" I question, anger quickly replacing my worry. The last thing Itachi needs is to be picking more fights, especially with the start of his Shinobi career just fourteen days away.

"No, can't you just drop it?" Itachi huffs, his hands sliding down to cup my elbows.

"Headstrong, ego-driven shinobis are usually the firsts to die in battle," I respond, mimicking his huffiness. "Why are you hurting?"

Itachi's eyes fall closed, soft breaths being inhaled and held before exhaling, his attempt to stay patient with me. "You."

"Me?!" I screech, about ready to throw down with Mr 'Amazing'.

"Yes. Well, no, but also yes. Just drop it," his face heats up, pink dusting his sheet-white skin as his nose scrunches up. Mr. 'Amazing' is experiencing some big-boy emotions, ones he doesn't know how to deal with. "It's complicated," Itachi tries again after another round of calming breaths.

"Then explain it to me, or are you too high and mighty for me now?"

His face scrunches up at my question, but I'm not sure if it's from anger or sadness. "You are incredibly naive."

"And you're too big for your britches."

Itachi's face relaxes again at my insult. He all of a sudden seems better, some of the sweat subsiding and his skin getting just a hint of color back sometime during our discussion. "You're so pretty it hurts."

"I knew that-" I cut myself off once Itachi's answer fills my mind. The words tumble around, not being able to process correctly. "I don't... what did you say?"

     "I said," Itachi starts, shifting closer to me. His eyes almost glow as he stares into mine, his hands tight but soft to keep me in place, and his nose barely touching mine. "You're so pretty it hurts."

     "How... how does that..." A rare smile cracks across his face, hiding his stress lines the slightest.

"I don't know. My mother said that... well... if someone from my clan cares about... if we're away from someone... it's kind of like getting withdrawals." My chest warms from Itachi's stuttering, his words sticking in his throat as he tries to explain.

"So what you're saying is that you're an addict and I'm your drug," I tease, pulling away from my emotionally stunted friend. "What a little addict."

"That is not what I'm saying. I'm not an addict - Little Crow," Itachi races out, huffing and puffing as he walks after me.

     "How do you plan to survive once you're an active-duty Shinobi? What are you going to do? Make yourself little fixes to take with you, little addict?" I continue to tease, walking down the familiar path towards my home.

     "I don't know. It'll be fine. Can you stop wording it like that? What if someone eavesdrops? They're going to think I'm a drug addict." It's entertaining seeing how upset Itachi is about this. It's a nice reminder that he's not as old as he acts.

     "It's quite the ego boost to know I'm your addiction, Tachi."

     "Little Crow!" He hisses again, eyes jumping around to the people filling the busy streets of the village.

��    "Hey, maybe now that you'll be too busy for me, I'll become the addiction of a different Uchahi."

     "No," he yells, his hand shooting forward to grab ahold of my shirt collar. "Absolutely not," he repeats softer this time, tugging me backward, my back colliding with his chest.

Itachi feels hot, his body heat sizzling through his shirt. "I was just kidding," I tell him, leaning my head back to look at the angry future chief. "I'm yours." Once the words are out, his body heat noticeably drops, shifting him back to the normal cold-to-the-touch temperature I'm used to.

———————————

The knocking on my window echoes through my ears, temporarily silencing my heartbeat that's been pounding there. Another knock rings out before two glowing circles appear on the other side of the glass. The familiar red I've grown accustomed to suddenly scares me.

Silently, Itachi slides my window open, climbing through it for the millionth time of our lives. The sight of him makes me panic, all the whispers about tonight booming in my head.

     "Did you-"

     "Ya," the answer is short, but so loud at the same time. So many emotions push through with it, most noticeably sadness.

     My heart pings, but only for a second. The need to comfort Itachi washes away when my eyes catch sight of the blood smeared on his cheek. Panic quickly rises again as I look over him. More blood smears cover his Anbu uniform.

     "I think you should-"

     "Just let me hold you. Just... please." His request tugs at my heart again, chasing away any sane response I can come up with.

     When I don't say no, Itachi slowly moves towards me, very obviously leaving his katana against the wall. His arms fall into place, wrapping around my sides and knotting themselves behind my back. I'm gently pressed into his chest, my face buried into the material of his uniform. It reeks of blood and misery, leaving a bad taste in my mouth.

     "It hurts," he whispers, voice creaking and chest jumping with a silent sob.

     "What hurts?" I ask gently, clinging to his sides as much as he's clinging to mine.

     "You." The word hangs in the air as Itachi buries his face into my hair, soft sobs being whispered into it. "You're so pretty it hurts," he tells me for the hundredth time. The words fill me with love, the same way they have since we were eight. It's a bittersweet moment, Itachi's undying love poking through all the distraction and murder he's caused tonight.

     "Why does it hurt, Tachi? You just saw me this morning."

     His fingers ghost through my hair, his head shifting to my neck and gently pressing his nose against my skin. "We won't... Little Crow... you... can't be mine anymore... it'll eat you alive."

     My hands gently rub his sides, my tears threatening to spill out with the truth. The truth I've been avoiding all night long. "Stop worrying yourself. I'm yours," I whisper, trying my best to keep my voice even and my tears from flowing. "I'll always be yours."

     A gentle kiss is pressed to my forehead. When Itachi's lips leave my skin, he's gone completely. No sign of him anywhere to be seen.

     A knock fills the room again, this time coming from the door. "Anbu Black Ops. Open up."

———————————

     "Welcome home." The greeting comes once my front door is opened, startling me.

     "Who's there?" I call trying to keep the fear out of my voice as I glance around the dark space.

     The red glowing eyes of my dreams soon fill the darkness, bringing a drop of peace to the wave of panic. "It's just me, Little Crow. There's no need to panic." Tears prickle my eyes at the nickname. The past year of emotions wash over me; anger, sadness, fear, longing, and love, all hit me at once.

     Itachi moves slowly through my home, making his way toward the front door and in turn, me. He stops in front of me, feverish heat rolling off of him and colliding with me. "I've missed you," he whispers, dipping his head down. Our noses brush, the skin of his feeling like flames of a fire.

     "I missed you too," I murmur, my eyes locked on his even though I know that's the last thing I should do. "What, um... what are you doing here?"

     He shifts again, lips brushing against mine as he speaks. "I wanted to remind the council I'm still around. I don't need them messing with Sasuke... or you."

     "Oh."

     A soft kiss is pressed to my lips, both mending the last year and breaking my heart even more. I reach out, my hands clinging to his clothing as our lips dance together.

     When we pull apart, Itachi's eyes scan over me, taking in the minor and major changes from the past fifteen months. My hands slide against his chest. Sweat has soaked through his shirt, leaving him drenched.

     "You're so pretty it hurt," he mutters, head falling to be pressed into my neck as his hands grip my waist. Despite the time apart, Itachi's love still seeps through his words. His longing for me is evident in his voice. "Make me stop hurting. Please."

     "How do I do that, Tach? Stop being so pretty?" I can feel the smile being pressed into my skin, a silent curse falling from me because of the darkness coating the room.

     "You're mine." He mumbles, lips brushing against my neck, working their way down.

     "I'm yours," I echo, letting the lava of Itachi's skin burn into my hands as I slide them up to cup his face.

     "Let me make you mine, please," he asks, head shifting so I can hold it better. His sharingans glow so beautifully in the pitch black, the sight quickly burning away any fear I have of them.

     "Itachi."

     His hands slide from my sides as he falls to his knees. They land behind my thighs, clinging to me as his head nestles into my stomach. I let my hands drop down too, burring them into his crow-colored hair. "Please?" Itachi continues to beg, pressing careful kisses into my torso.

     "Be gentle."

     "I will."

———————————

     Itachi clings to my legs, gentle praises and pleads fall from him. "Just this once," he tries again, his lips trailing up my thighs. "Please?"

     "I don't like going on your... outings with you."

     "I know."

     His kisses waiver as his eyes crawl up to my face. "It hurts when you're not with me."

     "I know."

     His hands shift, balling up the fabric of my dress. "You'll have a nice time. I promise. Please." The words are coated in desperation, just as much desperation as his hands that are going white from him clinging to me. "It'll be like a vacation."

     "Normal people don't murder someone on their vacation."

     A sharp breath is sucked in by Itachi, the oxygen stifling his whine. Tears start forming in his eyes as he looks up at me, the dark shading of his eye color slowly shifting to the bleeding red of his sharingans. "You're so pretty it hurts. It hurts so much when I'm away. I can't survive four weeks without you. Please my Little Crow."

     "You survived a year without me. A month will be like nothing."

     Tears streak down his cheeks, hands shifting to grip my hips instead of the fabric of my clothes. "Please? You're mine, aren't you? Pretty please?" The words are broken up by sobs, tugging my heart into reluctantly giving in.

     "Yes, I'm yours," I mumble, sliding my hands through his hair to flatten out the loose strands.

     Itachi knows what he's doing, he knows I'm still uneasy from the last time he was gone for an extended amount of time. I swore he was going to die from longing. His fever was high, higher than it had ever been, and took longer than normal to level back out.

     The longing for his brother is finally starting to catch up to him. Why should I put him through more longing just for my comfort?

———————————

“I’m dying.”

“I know.”

The words stab my heart, even though I knew they were coming soon. I know Itachi has been coughing up blood. I know Sasuke’s life mission is to kill his brother. I know our time is limited, has been limited from the beginning. It doesn’t make it any easier.

The familiar trail of kisses is pressed against my skin. Starting at my knee, trialing up my thigh, crossing my hip, and curving over my stomach before trialing back down my other leg.

The familiar feeling of his fingers clinging to me promises to leave small bruises on the back of my legs.

The newest familiar feeling of blood trickling from Itachi leaves the sticky and warm sensation of fresh blood against my skin. All the familiar feelings that’ll never happen again.

“Don’t hate Sasuke,” he whispers against my skin, starting his second lap of kisses.

“I won’t,” my promise is followed by tears prickling my eyes, threatening to spill over.

“You’re so pretty it hurts. It hurts so much,” Itachi says, spilling out his version of ‘I love you’.

“I know.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his warm breath coating my skin, making it tingle with need. Need to make Sasuke forgive his brother, need to make time slow down, need to fix the illness that’ll take Itachi away from me even if his brother doesn’t.

“For what?” I ask, tingling my fingers in his hair for the last time. The last time I’ll see Itachi on his knees yearning for me. The last time he’ll kiss me. The last time I’ll see his chest pumping with life.

“All of it. For making you mine, for forcing you into a life of regret.”

“I don’t regret my life with you,” my honesty makes tears fall from both of us. Mine coats my cheeks as Itachi’s mixes with the smears of blood on my thighs, making it smear even more.

“My Little Crow?” I hum a yes, not believing I can speak without sobbing. “Promise me you’ll move on. That you’ll find someone else to spend your life with.”

“I can’t do that, Tach. I’m yours. Only yours. Always have been, always will be.” My answer tears my heart apart even more, partly because it’s true and partly because I know I’ll never get to say it to him again.

“I love you,” he mumbles, another kiss being pressed into my stomach.

“I love you too.”

———————————

“Hello,” a voice rings out, making more sadness soak into my heart.

“Hello,” I answer back, keeping my eyes locked forward. They trial over Itachi’s clan symbol painted into the wall above his memorial. Once I’m done doing that for the tenth time today, I let them drop down to his death platter.

Sasuke shifts behind me, moving to stand next to me instead. “I was wondering who kept leaving flowers.”

“Is that why you set the trap?” I ask, shrugging towards the now dismembered trapped that awaited me for my visit today.

“Ya.” Sasuke sinks to the soil, sitting next to me.

I spare him a glance, a mistake on my end. Even as a boy, he looked so much like his brother. It would be almost impossible to tell the brothers apart if it wasn’t for Itachi’s stress lines. Now… now all I see is Itachi when I look at him.

Before I can stop it, tears spill over, coating my cheeks like they have for the past handful of years.

“Please don’t cry,” he whispers, eyes landing on me. Sasuke sucks in a breath and holds it, calming himself down the same way his brother used to. “I remember you… a lot,” he mutters, his own eyes bouncing around the grave site.

“Ya?” I tease, my voice still shaky. “I’m not surprised. Ita… I was with you as much as he was,” I continue, shrugging towards the grave. “Before everything, at least.”

“I assumed you were dead.”

“I’m sure most people do.”

Silence falls between us, a heavy sad but mutually understanding silence. Though, it doesn’t last long. “I remember what my brother would say to you, every time he saw you. Every time.”

“‘You’re so pretty it hurts’,” I quote, fresh tears coating my eyes.

“I thought he was crazy saying it. How could someone be pretty enough that it hurt to be away? I thought he was dumb.”

I chuckle at Sasuke’s confusion, a piece of my heart falling back into place.

“Well, I get what he’s saying now. There’s this girl and… I understand what he meant now.”

I look at Sasuke again, shoving down the heartache that comes with it. His face is scrunched up, his nose curling the same way Itachi’s would when he was struggling with emotional situations.

“We’re getting married… Sakura and me and… um… she asked what family I wanted to invite.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugs, turning his attention back to me. His sharingans glow with the familiar red I’m used to. They’re so different from his brother’s. “She didn’t mean anything by it. Sakura doesn’t always use her head before she talks.” Sasuke smiles softly to himself, causing me to smile too.

Another piece of my heart clicks into place.

“I don’t have any family… obviously,” the sad word is followed by his eyes widening, another trait the brothers both inherited from their father. “But I have you.”

“Me?”

Sasuke shrugs again, eyes jumping away from me. “It’s safe to say you’re my sister-in-law. That makes you my last family member. You are, right?”

“Ya, I’m yours,” I answer, my eyes falling on Itachi’s grave when the last two words stumble out of me. “Your family,” I correct, bittersweet emotions filling my chest.

Sasuke sighs, his body language relaxing a bit. “Apparently there’s this ‘mother-son’ dance thing. It’s the same as a ‘father-daughter’ dance I guess. I don’t… ya.”

“Ya,” I echo, the weight of Itachi’s actions hanging over us.

“I would like you to be there and… maybe dance with me,” the awkward words are followed by a cough. “I would like you to come back to the village too. So we can… so that I’m… so you aren’t… ya.”

“As you wish,” I whisper, burning Itachi’s memorial into memory. Sasuke doesn’t have to say it. I know what he means, what he wants. He wants to have and be reminded of good memories of his brother, for me - the last good piece of Itachi - to not wither away.

“Thank you.”

The soft words, the gentle conversation has started threading my heart back together.

[slasherstories123]

heyy, if you're still doing stuff, I was wondering if you could do hcs for if Jason's s/o died in the river (maybe being killed by campers who didn't like them for dating jason) an then they came back to life- (somehow, y'know the camp is cursed)-and became a murderer like Jason but still loved him. I just randomly had the idea!

Jason’s reaction to you coming back to life

Tagslist: @dootys @callmemeelah @mehidktbh @slash3rl0v3r @the-anxious-youth @mrs-heelshire @alexxavicry @vexeliers-breakroom @naxxsstuff @beel-mcburger @emychan @charliedawn @sleepypersonblog @slasherscrybaby @kawaistrawberry21 @bunnysenpai31

When he saw you die, that man was devastated. He blamed himself for it and it made him even more angry knowing that he lost the only person besides his mother who truly loved him despite him being a killer and his deformity’s

He became more aggressive and angrier than anything, not showing campers or trespassers any mercy when he kills them. Each kill was brutal, even putting more traps out just to catch them.

His hands would always hurt due to how hard he gripped that machete, but he did it for you. He’s avenging your death just like how he did for his mother. But what he didn’t expect was to run into you as he was killing a trespasser.

As he was killing a man he heard a female scream, finding it weird since he didn’t hear her step or get caught in any of his traps so he followed her screams, seeing you there with one of his old weapons, his axe. Swinging forward and cut her back to where it was nothing but blood gushing out. Picking her up with great strength and throwing her down a hill that had rocks and sticks, practically killing her on the way down.

Your chest was moving at a rapid pace, eyes filled with nothing but rage. You noticed someone staring at you, looking over and seeing Jason. You dropped the axe, seeing your boyfriend rushing over to you and hugging you tightly.

If he could cry, he could, but his body trembled, you hugged him back, feeling safe again despite being like him now. “Hello to you too Jace…”

Your voice was raspy, but he still understood you, you still looked terrible, nearly looking like him but your skin wasn’t… rotten. Like his was.

He was so happy to have you back to him, but now that you’re a killer, he promised himself and to you that he’ll have your back when it comes to killing.

Jason taught you more skills and how to be stealthy like him, at first he didn’t like you killing, but you insisted too many times to where he accepted it. After a while, he started to be glad that he never said no to you.

[stillfrownyclownlol]

Hiding in the bathroom from a man rn lmao

Aidlyn headcanons because...please? Please? They make me sick /positive

These aren't all fluffy or whatever because they traumatized af and relationships like that are...difficult... but not impossible.

-he's 8-ish months older than her and like, 20ish cms taller (sorry I don't know how American feet work lol 😭)

-He hyperfixated on the relationship lmao.

-Clingy...they BOTH are. In different ways I mean but. They are both clingy. They're scared the other is gonna die when they aren't around lol 🙃 Aiden is ofc very touchy and grabby, he just has to FEEL that she's with him. Also type of guy to call at 2am "hey bby u good?". Ash gets antsy if she hasn't seen or heard from him in a while (a while means like 2 hours) especially since he like spam texts her every 5 seconds. But he also hyperfixates or disassociates for a while and will forget 🤡 like she will yell at him about why he didn't call her for 17 hours and he'll just be like "um sorry. I was. Staring at a wall."

-he has a lot of weird/cringy ass pet names for her that makes her want to slap him; probably calls her Bae or whatever. Ash nicknames for Aiden: Idiot, stupid, dumbass, public safety hazard...called him "dear" like once just to try it and hated it. "Mr. Durable" if she wants to annoy him.

-worlds worst pick up lines. Ash NEVER understands them.

-he loves surprises! Surprise him! He wants to surprise Ash too! She kinda hates this. They decided to "compromise": he will tell her beforehand that there is a "surprise" and gives her little clues/puzzles so she can figure out whatever it is. He has like 0 patience tho so he always helps her figure them out 🤡 Ash likes watching him get excited about the puzzles and doing them together more than the surprise half of the time.

-Him infodumping is like white noise so she can sleep lol.

-they try to do things the other likes since Ash thinks this is important for a "healthy relationship". Almost died when they went to an indoor rock climbing place 💀 but she got to see Aiden in a leotard when they did ballet together so it was a fair trade (blackmail)

-he is her hypeman at ballet recitals, will probably cheer when she comes on stage and has a sign and everything, the rest of the gang (and Ash) is just like "...we don't know this guy"

-she wishes he took care of himself more. Sends him stuff like "did you drink any water today", "Ben told me you're gonna skateboard down the hill please dont", or "IF YOU SET YOUR BOOKS ON FIRE IM GONNA CALL THE POLICE" <3

-sometimes if she's sad she just kinda. Falls on his back. Like a koala or smth. She has that "I literally cannot do anything" sort of depression (which to be fair Aiden also has sometimes). Aiden carries her around.

-when nobody's looking she kisses his cheek, cuz she knows his face is usually sore from smiling so much.

-pretty low key on her part, but Aiden is so obvious everybody knows 💀 She doesn't like PDA (more so the fact that people stare) but Aiden will usually put his arm around her shoulders or waist/give her a smooch (not on the mouth) <3 it's honestly not that different from how he was when they were just friends ngl 🤡

-he says "I love you" easily, because it genuinely is the easiest thing in the world for him. He has 0 doubts about how he feels for her. Ash doesn't say it a lot cuz she feels weird saying it, so she does her best to show it in other ways.

-he gets jealous easily *siiiiigh* It's cuz he's insecure!!! Help him! 😭 He doesn't get annoyed with her because like. Ash pays about as much attention to other guys (I mean besides Tyler, Ben and Logan) as she does to dust. But he will death glare at any guy they don't know that's staring at her 💀

-kinda codependent... *looks at the floor* they are working on it. Sometimes Aiden feels like he's only alive for her. (I- Look at episode 61- IVE BEEN IN HIS POSITION. AIDEN BABY THIS AINT HEALTHY)

-absolute dork. Draws "A.C. + A.B." in a little heart in his note margins because he's goofy like that.

-he fell first she fell harder NO I will not be taking any criticism for this.

Anyways it's raining outside so I'll just post this now

[isa-ghost]

Would go crazy over any q!phil hc's, but may I request some about phil's harem I mean qsmp server polycule?

OHOHOHOHO YOU'RE INDULGING MY STUPID SILLY HAREM. YESSS.

Previous qPhil Headcanons

SO ANYWAY. QPHIL AND HIS INNATE TALENT FOR PULLING BAD BITCHES ON ACCIDENT.

Reiterating initial mentions of this for context:

--He's married to the Goddess of Death (Kristin) and Missa (a reaper). He's also fuckbuddies with Fit (no one can look at their interactions & tell me there's no homo there) and Etoiles. Strictly fuckbuddies; Fit has something blooming with Pac, and Etoiles is aromantic. --Everyone who Knows(tm) about the polycule has turned calling it a harem into an inside joke they only reference when Phil either isn't around or isn't paying attention enough to be like WHAT. --In fact, it's unfolded into a sort of joke folklore around Phil made up by the islanders closest to him that he has this inexplicable charm to him that makes any man-attracted person weak in the knees. (Baghera totally started it. Cellbit, Foolish, & Fit perpetuated it & it spread from there) --All this fruity silliness in mind, I have no fucking clue what queer label I'd slap on Phil, if one at all. Part of me wants to claim him as pansexual bc I'm Pansexual So Therefore So Is My Cubito + the way he'd explain how he experiences romantic & sexual attraction is exactly what I described *my* exp as in high school and my friend was like "yeah that's pansexual." But I also feel like Phil's the kind of guy to purposely not define his sexuality & remain an enigma both as a "mind your business" & a "It's Funny To Not Elaborate" thing. (As of rn I'm rolling with "he's pansexual but in a font you've never seen before")

S O

Obv Mrs. Goddess of Death Kristin came first, she's been with him since long before Quesadilla Island. Strangely enough, she can't recall too much prior to the island just like Phil, but there's no way the Feds know she exists let alone know how to fuck up the memory of a deity. But yeah, she was his first & is his ONLY romantic dynamic within his weird polycule

She's an avid fan of Phil being his best unintentional whore self with them nice ass shoulders on display all the time and that accidental man magnet charm. Loves watching him pull bitches nonstop without even realizing. And loves watching him be a total fruity dork with his besties. She knows if Phil was forced to choose ONE person out of the polycule to be monogamous with forever, he'd pick her. She's not worried at all about his yaoi island adventures

Next came Fit. Hough, what a man. They WERE, until recently, strictly fwb. They fucked nasty behind that gym and I'll die on that hill. The way they talk to each other sometimes? Big boy?? FitMC people are watching?? They fucked behind that gym. Their fwb was called off as soon as Fit got serious with Pac though. Phil was totally chill with it & actively encouraged it. He loves seeing Fit so invested in the romance he's got blooming. They're still more than friends, not lovers, but a secret third thing, the sexual aspect was just removed from the equation. Truly the most QPR of the polycule

Then came Missa. Oh Missa. Their dynamic IS platonic like Phil has stated & restated countless times, but Missa has a (not yet brought to Phil's attention) massive romantic crush on him. He hasn't spoken up yet to keep their relationship from getting rocky at all. But tbh that prob won't happen. They're platonic in the Kiss The Homies way. So what if they make out sometimes and are husbands? So what if they go on adventures that could be considered dates by some? They aren't a romantic relationship, even if Missa secretly kinda wants to be.

And finally, aromantic king Etoiles joined the fray. He and Phil started out as friends and that has Barely changed if at all, but sparring matches get a little too homoerotic sometimes and neither of them can resist the other when they're popping off extra hard. Things have. Escalated a few times. If yknow what I mean. Of all Phil's harem members polycule partners, he & Etoiles have absolutely ZERO emotional investment in the Spicy(tm) things they do together. It's simply a very intimate way of showing each other their respect & admiration for the other. What they have going on is a "*spanks you* good game, let's hit the showers team" kinda deal. They're the type of mfs to finish in bed then shake hands like "gg." Casual sex is >>>> to these two, but it happens waaay less between them than it did Phil & Fit, Fitza was habitual. Codebreakers is a once in a while thing

Btw once Fitpac gets more stable together and whatnot, Fitza could potentially reignite with Pac's consent. That's the key to healthy poly, all parties are informed & consenting. Pac would be like. An honorary harem member. He & Phil would have absolutely 0 intimate relations, they're strictly friends in the most basic sense of the word. They just also fuck the same guy (& would totally talk about it together if alone)

Phil sometimes tries to gauge if Missa only likes men or if he likes women too. If he does, he's going to ask if he'd like to hear about his lord & savior, Big Woman(tm).

Etoiles has 100% asked Phil who fucks the best out of the polycule bc like everything else, it's a competition & he Must win, he Must have the best dick game. This amuses Phil very much

*incoherent but clearly passionate noises about how Phil hasn't done anything spicy with any of the polycule in a hot second because of Ender King Situation stress*

GOD he wants to open up to them about it so bad. Like yeah he did w Fit that one time but he didn't go into detail and hasn't said anything since and bc Phil is an idiot that feels guilty easily, he doesn't want to tell Fit more atm bc he doesn't want to dampen Fit's high spirits or take away his time with Pac

OK BUT CONSIDER: POLYCULE GROUP EFFORT TO GET THROUGH TO ENDER KING POSSESSED PHIL AND HELP HIM FIGHT OFF EK'S INFLUENCE. OUGH.

Phil attracted all four partners with his raw skill and talent btw. If you even care. Literally was just going about his business being himself and it bagged him three dudes in addition to the literal goddess he already had

Although his feelings are platonic, Phil is attracted to Missa because Missa is a) the other father of his children and b) such a genuine and sweet person. And funny, even if a lot of the times the reason he's funny is bc he's like 2 seconds from having a stroke over whatever shit he missed hitting the fan this time

Phil is attracted to Fit bc. Well. That's FitMC of 2b2t, baby. Raw skill and talent sees raw skill and talent. Fellow anarchist. Also muscles. And that razor sharp stare. Fit's just dreamy as hell ok, let a man drool a little

Phil is attracted to Etoiles the same way he's attracted to Fit, HOWEVER, the reasoning is different. Etoiles has raw skill and talent, but it's the way he wields it and demonstrates it that makes Phil wanna act up. Also Etoiles is fucking hilarious. Who can resist a good sense of humor? Those dramatics make Phil swoon

[steviewashere]

Words to Keep Us Moving (Chapter 1 of 6)

Rating: Mature CW: Implied/Referenced Non-Canon Character Death, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Animal Death—CANNOT EMPHASIZE THAT ONE ENOUGH, A DOG LITERALLY DIES HEED CAREFULLY Tags: Canon Divergence, Post-Season 4, Apocalypse AU, Vecna Apocalypse, Eddie Munson Lives, Steve Harrington Character Study, 5+1 Things, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Journal Entires, Amputee Steve Harrington, Disabled Steve Harrington, Worried Eddie Munson, Protective Eddie Munson, Protective Steve Harrington, Stubborn Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Getting Together, Steve Harrington Takes Care of Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Other Tags to be Added

This is a 5+1 fic, but only the first chapter so far. Five journal entries during the apocalypse/moments during the apocalypse, and one entry after the apocalypse. Please heed all content warnings, I am begging you.

Also on AO3 (because this is wicked long for a first chapter)

📝———————📝 The First Journal Entry: April 16th, 1986

I don’t know what I’m doing with this. I’m not much for writing. Fuck, I couldn’t even write an essay for my senior paper. Nancy had to coach me through eighty percent of it. But I’ll go insane if I don’t speak. And I’m being careful with my voice for now. Those demogorgon things are blind, but aware. They can sense the heat of our bodies, the sounds of our movement, the smell of our fear and our blood.

Many people I’ve had to rescue have ultimately faded into nothing. They scream and they cry and they shake. They get too close, they stray too far. They reek of sweat. Even though I tried to get them away, to get them back towards the safe houses, they weren’t savable. I tried, though. Believe me, please, I tried.

Hawkins may not be salvageable. I don’t think this town is meant for saving. We try anyway. There’s the safe houses, like I mentioned. One bordering the exit sign, that’s where they put the women and children. They being the feds, by the way. Didn’t make that clear, should do that by now. Anyway. There’s the safe house across from old Forest Hills; the victims from the sinkhole crevice tearing through the trailer park go there. And then the final safe house is Hawkins High.

Some of our group is between Hopper’s cabin and my house. Everybody is safe there. Eddie’s no longer in hiding, but he still sleeps down the hall from me. Max is out of the hospital, her old bed now taken up by an elderly woman; the woman will probably die—a demogorgon got her with its claws—and Max is with El. The Wheelers are with their parents in the exit sign safe house, same with Henderson and his mom, the Sinclairs are there, too, and Mrs. Hargrove. Jon and Will are here with Hopper, El, Max, and Joyce. I wish we could take Max back to her mother, but she’s under constant supervision—El believes her newfound blindness is connected to Vecna. Wayne is no longer at the high school, he’s been forcefully relocated to old Forest Hills, but he’s welcome around here any time. Robin’s with her parents at the high school; that’s where Vickie is, so that’s where she’ll be.

I haven’t seen my parents since before the earthquake. They were out of town on a business trip. Mom went with Dad because she still doesn’t trust him alone. They called me the day Dustin brought me along to find Eddie. Told me they were on their way home, were driving back from the airport. I can hear back the message on the answering machine, as long as I keep the generator up and running.

Mom told me she loves me in it.

I can’t help but think that they should’ve been back by now. I’ve checked with the soldiers on the edge, see if they saw a black Lincoln come through. Told me no. Told me they found remains of a car; a black car. I stopped checking after that. Couldn’t stomach the meaning behind that.

Our town is in ruin. I’m not alone, I have to remind myself. I’ll go out on monster hunting duty tonight, first time on my own. We’ll see how that goes.

I have to go, I can hear Eddie rousing. Time to check his wounds. Make sure he has his dose of antibiotics. See if he needs Tylenol; opioid free now…yay!

———— Steve closes the soft leather cover of his journal. He found it among the rubble of the bookstore in town. He’d been advised by Hopper to start writing because apparently his low morale “affects the monster hunting” and if he didn’t get it under control, he’d be reassigned to radio duty. Where Eddie is now.

Speaking of, Steve stands from his cramped desk and walks the short distance to the first guest bedroom on his floor. Knocks gently on the wood and enters without any other preamble.

Sitting in the spare desk is Eddie, hair ruffled and clothes messily strewn across his body. He spares Steve a glance over his shoulder. The bandage on his cheek is beginning to peel and Steve knows it’ll be a bitch to change; he always feels bad when he has to rip it off, it tugs at the raw skin and the little bit of facial hair Eddie’s still able to grow. Remembers, though, the joke Eddie had made about his situation: “Look, I’m freaking Two-Face from the comics! Think he grows half a beard, too?” He had to bite his tongue. Almost reprimanded the poor guy.

He blinks and Eddie’s still staring at him.

“How’s it goin’, Stevie?” Eddie murmurs. His voice has taken on an even deeper rasp than before. The demobats had taken a liking to his chest and the base of his throat, but Steve had been able to keep those wounds from being life ending. “You were pretty quiet in there.”

“Well, you know we have to be somewhat quiet,” Steve mock-whispers, “thought I’d use the…solitude to focus on getting in a journal entry.”

Eddie hums. “Glad you’re getting started on that. Don’t wanna be removed from surveying duty, yeah? You’d be stuck in here with dear old me. And let me tell you, sitting around and checking the stations is booorrring.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, well, this is where you remain until you’re healed.” He steps further into the bedroom, clicking the door closed softly behind him. Settles on the guest bed on the right of the desk. Roams his eyes around the walls. “I’m doing alright, though. A little nervous if I’m being honest. About going out there alone. What if I don’t hear—“

“They’re letting you go out there alone?” Eddie squawks. “They should be sending out one of those adults, not you! You’re just a kid, Steve.”

Taken aback, not one to usually be concerned about, Steve crosses his arms over his chest and scoffs.

“It’s not like I have anything else waiting back for me, right?” Steve bites. “It’s my duty and I plan on going through and taking care of said duty. And if something happens, I’ll radio back. You’ll hear me. Someone’ll come running. I’ll be fine.”

Eddie eyes him for a moment. His big, brown eyes impossibly wider. A little wet. His face is pinched, frowning. There’s a moment where he opens his mouth to protest something Steve said, hesitating strongly, but he literally bites his tongue. Croaks, “And if you don’t radio?”

“I’ll radio,” Steve insists.

“Will you? Because the last time you were on duty and that happened—“ He waves a hand at Steve’s missing left wrist. “—You didn’t say anything until you got back. You’re fucking lucky Claudia was over here with Dustin. Else you wouldn’t have any sort of nurse or doctor available to sew you back—“

“I’ll be fine,” he harshly interrupts. He sighs, drops his arms, and swallows hard. Then, he blinks and looks back, leans into Eddie’s space. Brings a tentative hand to trace the edge of his facial bandage. “Have your hands been shaking?”

“Don’t switch the conversation—“

“Have your hands been shaking?” Steve repeats firmer.

Eddie sighs through his nose. Sharp. Annoyed. “Yes, Steve, but I can do this on my own. You don’t need to—“

“Just let me change it before I go, okay? Give me a little peace of mind before I head out.” He pets his hand down to the underside of Eddie’s jaw, to the side of his neck. His pulse welcomingly slow.

Their eyes lock. Eddie’s concerned, too much for Steve’s liking.

Though, finally, “Okay,” Eddie murmurs, “but you have to promise that you’ll be careful, you’ll be safe.”

“Eddie, I already—“

“Promise, Steve. You have to keep your head on your shoulders. You have to report to us if you’re in danger. You have to come back.”

“I will,” Steve promises, whispers immediately, “I will from here on out.”

And with that, Eddie opens one of the desk drawers, pulls out a package of gauze and bandage, and offers it out for Steve to take. He leaves the room briefly to wash his hands, returning with damp fingers. It was a quick, yet intimate procedure. Peeling away the wrappers. Laying down the gauze—right after a cleaning. Taping it all down, sticking it to Eddie’s sensitive, raw skin.

When he pulls back, finished, Steve’s stomach jumps with a new level of unease.

It was done. He could go.

He has to go.

“Jacket,” Eddie murmurs, his hands holding out for Steve’s. He takes them, of course he does. Voice still low, he continues, “Don’t make the mistake I did. Stay safe.”

Steve squeezes Eddie’s hands, nods, and stands from the bed.

He looks back at Eddie before leaving the bedroom, but not without a steel ball weighing low in his stomach. There is a wildfire in Eddie’s eyes. And the beginnings of burns along Steve’s ribcage. He knows, whatever is going to happen, that his promise wasn’t just words.

It was a testament.

A confession.

He descends the staircase, grabs his jacket by the front door, zips it all the way up to the base of his neck, and leaves with his baseball bat and car keys.

———— The two way radio is heavy on his front left pocket. Sagging down the waistband of his jeans. There’s an empty chunk of his jacket sleeve that dangles down and rustles against it, he stops all movement to tie it up.

He was assigned to the scrapyard. Hopper’s orders.

Oddly enough, it was the only location in Hawkins to have very rare activity. Despite the history he shares with the place. But he knows what to do. There’s a jerry can of gasoline and a bottle of vodka in his trunk, a packet of matches in his jacket, and the weight of his splintering baseball bat in his grip. He’s silent as he walks through the bits and pieces of junk. Carefully dragging his feet over the loose soil, cautious about accidentally kicking a chunk of metal.

It’s so quiet, he can hear the wheeze of his breath. As he takes another step, standing parallel to 1984, there’s a sound that echoes through the breeze. A singular pained whimper. At first, he believes it to be a figment of his imagination. Nobody else should be out here. There’s cracks in the ground and fiery red sky oozing through the trees. A shimmer of early evening light and a plume of wind-wild smoke.

He hears it again, though.

This time, however, it’s followed by the rumble of a low growl. Unlike the chittering of a demo-creature. This sound belongs to something like a domesticated animal.

A dog, he recognizes, A dog.

Before he follows the sound, he turns back to where he discreetly parked his car: behind the concave of that rusted bus. Wriggles with the trunk until it just barely creeks above his head. Snatches up the vodka and the gasoline, tucks his baseball bat into his left armpit, and he shuffles back towards the source of the noise, the dog.

It follows out to some various, tumbleweed-esque bushes. He hides behind the nearest junk car, eyes narrowed above the hood. It’s a brown, thin-skinned, almost just bones puppy. Probably around six months or so. A mutt—some sort of lab mix. The eyes are wide, teary, dark brown, and frightened.

The dog cowers against a bush. And right in front of it is a small pack of demodogs. Three of them. Wide mouthed and snarling. There’s large globs of saliva leaking from its lower jaw, or what would be a lower jaw to a human. They’re not very big, roughly around the same size of this puppy, but they are muscular, leathery, and hungry.

He’s not sure what exactly his game plan is. But he knows he has to do something before this dog is consumed for all it is—all it isn’t.

Around him, he spots an empty, glass bottle. As quietly as he can, eyes pointed at the hard soil under his feet, he lays out his equipment. Sits down with his legs straight out in front of him. Ears alert for the dog—whimpers raising in volume, growling trailing off into an absolute nothingness. He sets the bottle upright onto the ground, squeezed together by his knees. Bites down on the twist cap of the vodka, rips it off with his teeth, and shakily pours the contents into the glass. Though, he realizes he doesn’t have a rag to put in the bottle’s opening.

Being careful once more, Steve fidgets with the tied wrist of his jacket. And begins, quietly on top of the whimpers, to tear away at the fabric. Until, finally, he’s got a scrap to stuff limply into the bottle. He wets the sleeve with a bit of the vodka. Then, he lights a singular match.

He places the wood end of the match between his lips, stands from behind the car with the bottle in his one hand, lights the jacket sleeve. And with as much force as he can, he chucks the glass at the demodogs.

It’s fast to occur. The dry bushes go up in bright orange flames. Red sky becoming one with the glow. From the barely interrupted silence, screeches and chittering and snarling erupt. The fire dances in the dog’s eyes. Demodogs melting, dropping to the side, falling silent and smoking.

Steve spots it, then. The wound on the dog’s gaunt side. Fresh blood, crusted brown stains around the edge of this bite, entire chunks of skin and muscle gone.

He realizes, when the silence surrounds him again sans the crackle of going out flames, that it was all no use. There was no point. It couldn’t be saved. He drops his arms to his sides. And watches the flames die out right in front of his eyes. The dry grass now brittle and black. The dog just as brittle, near death.

A glance around shows no other demo-creature. Hastily, he crosses to the bushels, yet slowly, he approaches the fading, cowering puppy. Crouches to be on the same level.

Clicking his tongue and snapping his fingers, he calls out. “C’mere, baby,” he coos, “c’mere, puppy.” However, it’s too weak to move. Too weak to run. So it just stares at him. Wide brown eyes and puzzled absent eyebrows. Fast, rattling breaths through its nose—ones that come from an organ deep exhaustion.

Startlingly, it reminds him of Eddie. He nearly throws up at the realization. Instead, however, he finishes his approach and settles close to the dog’s head. Gently, he lifts it into his criss-cross lap. The dog barely weighs anything between his legs. Its eyes drooping, exhausted. Its fur is greasy, and the skin dry under his good hand. But he doesn’t mind. All he does is comfort it, pet the curve of its skull, thumbs at the base of its ears, traces the wet edges of its nose. The only sound it makes is a gentle, giving-in wheeze of breath.

And as Steve runs his hand one more time over its skull, the dog passes on.

A quiet, ordinary thing. Its eyes going far. Chest caving with its last breath. Not another sound. Not another movement. An ordinary death with an ugly, unusual circumstance.

His lap pools with warm blood. It’ll congeal, stain, never rid. But he doesn’t care, for once. Instead, he lifts the dog over his shoulder, stands on trembling legs, and finds an unoccupied, untainted spot of grass. He lays the dog down into the overgrown weeds. And digs, uncoordinated and sloppy, into the oddly warm, consistently dry dirt. The soil gives way in clumps. Chunks of it getting stuck underneath his fingernails. Palm collecting the dirt into each of the fine lines of his palm.

It’s not a great hole. Only about a foot deep—too shallow. But he rolls the dog into the well he created. Closes its eyes with his one hand. And covers the body back up. Resting, now, on his dirtied knees in the aftermath of destruction. The smell of burnt flesh and dead grass filling his nostrils. Looking around at the scenery: scraps of rusted metal, yellow weeds, demo-corpses, and an ashen circle where rotting meat lays.

He’s not sure how long he sits there. How long he lays his palm over the textured mound of dirt in front of him. How long he grieves a dog he had no connection to. But when he gets up, dusk is settling in. And he figures, with no other activity and nothing else to look out for, he’ll head back.

He grabs the two way from his pocket. Switches to Eddie’s channel. Presses down on the talk button. Speaks low and nasally, “This is Steve. Report to Chief that there were three demodogs. None of them were fully grown; all small, hungry, bloodthirsty. I lit them up. Over.”

“Hear you, Steve. Report on supplies? Over.”

“Half of a bottle of vodka. Gasoline can full. I have a full pack of matches, except for one. But I think it would be a good idea if we collected empty glass bottles and rags. Over.”

The radio reads silent for a lull of two minutes.

Eddie speaks again, softly,“Come home. Over and out.”

———— His front door was already unlocked by the time Steve came through.

It should’ve startled him, really, it should’ve. Though, with the flash of that dog behind his eyelids and the odd fatigue that overcame his limbs, he barely even cared. But the lights throughout the first floor were dim. And the noise of the radio in Eddie’s room floated down the stairs like an early autumn breeze. It was almost sweet, when he eventually came across Eddie in the kitchen, but his stomach was nearing sour.

“I made dinner,” Eddie murmurs as a greeting. He’s standing at the stove, back towards Steve. “The rations that Wayne dropped off earlier had some stale bread and a jar of minced garlic. Thought I’d just make some shitty garlic bread with whatever spaghetti stuff I found in your pantry.” He looks up from the stovetop, then. His hair is sitting atop his head in a barely neat bun, but it’s enough. And he has Steve’s mom’s apron tied around him—covering a plain black t-shirt and a pair of red basketball shorts Steve had loaned him at the start of his stay. Eddie’s eyes widen when he takes Steve in, though.

There are no more words. Eddie’s mouth is open, dried up. And Steve doesn’t know if he can speak—not without tears, at least.

Finally, ever observant, Eddie gestures loosely to Steve’s clothes. “You’re sleeve…you’re pants…”

Steve has to swallow harshly. His right hand is clenched tight to his thigh, and if he still had the other one, he’s sure it would shake noticeably. But he stays rigid to the entryway. Thinking long of the dog. Of its last expression.

Of Eddie’s expression now.

He figures it odd, to be so hung up on this mutt’s face. The haunting that places itself in the small spaces between his ribs. Every single time he’s involved himself with these day-to-day nightmares, he hardly ever considered mortality. Unless it leant itself in the face of everybody else, in which he constantly and greatly considered life or death. In which he knew that it would be him under the knife; never one of the kids, never Nancy or Robin, not Eddie now, not even Jonathan. There were also several moments where he blearily considered morality—the hard set lines of its face and the ugly snarl to its lips. He always thought of himself last in these things, almost like he was repenting—if he put himself in the shoes of his younger self, starchy clothes, and a thick youth’s bible in his hands. Bad things mean bad results, he always considered.

But the dog had no common understanding of morality, let alone mortality. It probably dragged its heels when being pulled along its leash, being led somewhere it never wanted to go. It probably had a family who adored it to the moon and back. It probably was told it was good every minute of its sheltered life, fed dog bones, held close in the darkest point of evenings, and scratched soundly and contentedly between its ears.

And on top of that, he can’t stop ruminating over the striking resemblance the puppy held to Eddie’s own tired, desperate, dying face. His big button eyes and the blood across his body. The open wounds and the dried tears on his cheeks. There are two questions in his hands: Had the dog considered running away, or did it know that the demodogs was its fate? If so, did it die selflessly, or did it die to escape something greater?

He wonders if Eddie answered those questions before facing the demobats.

Eddie’s in his kitchen though, wooden spoon at his side, trembling to take a step forward.

At last, Steve croaks, “I buried a dog today.” He unfurls his fist and reaches out his shaking, dirty hand.

“Steve,” Eddie breathes.

“It—The demodogs were hunting it, Eds. I…I had to save it. I had to save the dog. I don’t know why, but I just…I had to. I set them on fire,” he explains, loose lipped and tumbling, “even when the fire died, the dog was still scared. I came close to it. And it wouldn’t run. I wanted it to run away. I wanted it to get to safety, but I noticed while the demodogs literally—“ Steve inhales, a hiccup, a gasp. “—A huge gaping bite on its left side. I could see its ribs. I could see where the blood began to dry up. So I put it in my lap. I pet it. It died.”

The spoon is settled softly on the granite counter behind Eddie. He approaches Steve slowly. Arms out, fingers spread wide. Steps into Steve’s orbit, but lays his palms on his shoulders, the trembling aching joints. Eddie’s thumbs begin working away at the tension. Before he can say anything, Steve speaks again.

“I buried it as far down as I could dig. And I just sat there, unsure of what to do.” His eyes burn and his throat stings. He shakes in his rigidness. So Eddie leads them to the dining area, settles Steve into a chair, leaves momentarily, and approaches again, now with a warm, wet rag in his hands.

Steve’s dirtied palm sits skyward in his lap. Eddie picks it up deftly, running the soft, worn side of the rag over his palm. The water probably won’t do all it needs to, the tap was apple juice colored, pipes having burst or flooded with sewer in the earthquake. They should use a ration of bottled water, but that would be a waste, Steve considers. So he lets Eddie work. Silently, gently.

He does it methodically. Working harder in the fine lines of Steve’s palm. Digging the cloth into the underside of each fingernail. Going by with another pass, crumbling the stubborn clumps. His breath deepens, sighing through his work. “I’m sorry you had to do that, Steve,” Eddie breathes. “Somebody should’ve been there—“

“The dog made me think of you,” Steve chokes out. He swallows back a pained whimper. Eddie halts all his movements and looks up startled. His wide eyes not scared, but too similar. “How you looked when…I just couldn’t leave it there to die.” And at that, Steve finally lets the tears spill over. He doesn’t make a sound, biting down on his tongue to make himself as silent as possible. But he shakes from shoulders to knees. Sipping air through his nose.

Steadfastly, Eddie maneuvers them so that Steve is burrowed deep into his chest, right ear over Eddie’s heart, nose smushed underneath his clavicle. Eddie strokes a hand down his back, wraps another around Steve’s forearm, above his absent wrist. Shushes him with whispers; the syrupy soft ones, the ones meant to soothe, but otherwise a babble of nothing. Of “You’re okay,” and “I’m okay,” and “You did okay.”

It works, eventually. Steve wrung out. Eddie shaken to his core.

They pull back from each other. The rag is run softly over the tear tracks on Steve’s face, cutting through a sheen of light dirt he didn’t know was there. Eddie murmurs, close to Steve’s tendered eyes and chewed lips, “Eat some dinner, okay? I’m going to put a call over the radio. And when I come back down, I’ll clean up and we’ll lay in your bed, alright?” Steve minutely nods and lets Eddie get him some food, mourning the touch he gave almost immediately.

And when Eddie’s upstairs, he hears, drifted from the opening of the guest room, “No more putting Steve on duty alone. That’s final. Over and out.”

The chattering static of the radio cuts out after that. Steve realizes he meant what he said. They’ll go to bed. Bodies close. Warmer, ever warmer.

But that dog will still be dead and buried.

📝———————📝 Taglist is open for this fic!! (Comment to be added <3)

[saltygilmores]

A List Of My Favorite Gilmore Girls AU's, Conspiracy Theories and Ridiculous Headcanons

There are definitely more... as I think of them I'll keep adding to it. But these are the biggies and some of my favorites. 13. Jess eventually gains custody of Doula and she avoids ending up in the cult, and she changes her name to something way less stupid. 12 Jess and Lane have an awkward fling as an act of rebellion to piss off Mrs. Kim (I can't see any long term compatability here) and because Jess is like eh why not, pissing off one Stars Hollow mom just wasn’t enough for Jess (2024 update: Madeline, Louise, and Lindsay have all been added to the bang roster 😋) 11. There is an alternate universe where Jess ends up enrolled at Chilton because his mother conned some rich fucker into marrying her and he used his money and influence to bribe Headmaster Charleston into letting him in. Even if Luke had the money he would never have enough pull to make it happen. 10. Rory was actually a hero for sleeping with Dean and breaking up Dean's marriage so Lindsey could escape 9 Luke, Jess, and/ or Rory finally snap one day after they can't take any more bullshit and go on a rampage around Stars Hollow slaughtering the many people who have wronged them (the Blood In The Hollow triology) 8. Taylor Doose is pocketing all the money made from the festivals in Stars Hollow and he has no intention of fixing The Bridge or putting that money towards other charitable causes 7.In season 4 when Jess is living in New York and Luke insinuates Jess is a drug dealer he's right #HeyTawd 6. Luke serves cheap ordinary supermarket coffee (oh wait, that one is actually TRUE, Mr. Folgers can. I've seen you). 5. There's a vortex/black hole in California sucking in the unsuspecting men of Stars Hollow (Dave Rygalski. Jess. Max. Even Christopher, apparently ) called the Male Gilmore Girls Character California Wormhole, it swallowed Dave Rygalksi permanently because It loved him so much, but it spit everyone else back out eventually 4. Jess erased Shane after the Dance Marathon and threw her body in the lake and the swan that beaked him was a reincarnation of Shane out for revenge 3. Jess' novels become unexpected worldwide best sellers, turned into movies, turned him into a household name, earned him legions of fans and book groupies, making him a millionaire, causing our reluctant and modest blorbo to face the pressures of fame, press, wealth and attention 2. During the Truncheon years and beyond Jess Mariano blossoms sexually and becomes a raging manwhore the likes of which Philadelphia has never seen, he has a Myspace page and a very busy flip phone and two roommates who never get any sleep 1. Lorelai and Dean are having a torrid love affair, and I call it The Dala (The Dean and Lorelai Affair) I will die on this hill, this is my Death Hill.