#PURPLE HAD A FUCKING TREEHOUSE

[hiimtheproblem87times]

Cancel

i had to cancel half of the AUs,redo the Royal AU and change my Stories bc of the New Ep

[moongumi]

⁀➷ ∵ the soft blue guy

⟶ oc!na'vi x reader

⟶ cw. pure fluffy thirst, short smut, unprotected sex, size kink, SIZE : P na'vis are huge after all, established relationship, interspecies, alien!sex, lots of kissing, lovey dovey + more

⟶ note. hi! this is really short : ) just testing the waters

you never realized how pretty they were. well, from the photographs they just seemed like overly large blue cat people. up close, it's different–like any other species their skin had multiple hues.

soft fingers skim his sharp cheekbones, hues of turquoise and sky blue–darker, richer hued stripes peppered his warm skin. his eyes shut feeling the heat of your touch, and softness continues to linger across his lids–long dark lashes against your fingers. just like his hair.

his noise twitches when you touch it. your lips spread into a cheeky grin and a chuckle leaves your lips. he scrunchies his wide nose bridge shaking his head playfully as if trying to get you off him. "play nice."

"nice? you're making my eyes water with your tiny fingers poking around at it." little strands of hair loosen from his braids from his day out. you scoff, reaching quickly to nip his ears between your fingers.

"ouch." his eyebrows stitched holding onto his pierced ears, littered with hoops all over the cartilage.

you lean towards his face and press your lips against his nose, a gentle kiss that makes his skin brighten and face flush. "hush, you crybaby."

"i am an adult, not a baby."

you lean back onto your palms, "it's just a term, to tease you."

"i do not enjoy your teasing." he nudges into the crook of your shoulder, taking a chomp of your skin, "mate."

"i'm not your mate. you forget."

he breathes, groaning against your skin. "i recall, my love. you refuse to mate with me."

you roll your eyes, drawing his face into your palms, "do you recall what we're doing?" you breath out a moan, feeling him thrust upwards into you.

his lips stretch into a grin, "of course, i enjoy how warm you are." his lips blue, dusted with some purple press a wet kiss on your throat as he sucks on it. you throw your head back, releasing more music to his ears. you're sure this is his favourite position, after all it's uncommon for you to be his height in most situations.

riding him allowed that, and he loved feeling all of you. kissing all of you whilst you did so, he almost rarely allowed you to control the pace of it all–constantly interrupting your rhythm with his hungry ruts. you took too long, as he says.

you roll your hips into him, holding onto his large thighs on your sides as you did. your legs rested on his hips, whilst his entirety punishes your insides. "i still want you to be mine."

"i am yours."

he growls, "i want you to be mine, i want to devote my love to you under eywa."

you know what he means. yet you don't even know if it's possible, it's barely possible to think right now. your mind drunk on his touch and body burning with heated arousal. the angle was almost painful, his cock larger than anything you knew, you recall the first time you took him–he was so proud, pleased you were capable of taking him.

seemed like fucking him inside your makeshift treehouse and home for this mission wasn't enough for him. "my love, eywa is everywhere, is she not?"

his eyes glimmer, you were right. after all, all the sacred lands were destroyed, where would you perform such mating ritual and well, you weren't exactly capable to joining yourself to him in ways the na'vi would.

he loved the way you spoke, so intelligent, so wise. you always knew what to say. his large hand holds your cheek with love, he smiles, "will you be mine?"

he captures your lips. warm and tender it was. he picks up his pace slightly, causing your body to burn. it becomes sloppy, hungry–lips attempting to devour one another. between his heavy strokes and everlasting kiss you manage to catch your breath.

"i've always been yours," you say, breathless–dazed, "now stop asking, and fuck me properly."

he lets out a snort, shaking his head. "my love, your tongue is primitive." he pushes off his butt, pushing you into the soft blankets and cushions splayed across the floor, the bed wasn't big enough to fit him. he angles you, ready to pound, your toes curl feeling him enter so slowly, "but of course, i will fuck you properly."

© moongumi 2022. all rights reserved, do not copy and publish my writing anywhere else.

[nethhiri]

Marooned: Chapter 1

Pairing: Kid x FemReader x Killer

Warnings: reference to suicide, terrible humor

Brief Summary: You have been surviving, not thriving, on an island. Was this divine punishment for the things you had done in life? When you have all but accepted your fate to die alone in this shitty paradise, your ticket to freedom washes up on shore, but is it wise to accept the ride? The real question is: would it mean trouble for you or for THEM?

Happy birthday, Kil! Sorry I made you half-dead in this.

First Light

You had a routine. Somewhat reminiscent of your old life, you woke up at the asscrack of dawn. Where it used to be a wake-up-call, now it was the sun's earliest tendrils prodding you awake. After being here for so long, you became sensitive to the natural rhythm set by sun. At first light, you woke up, and after dusk, you were fast asleep. And between those two mandatory meetings in your schedule, you had quite a few tasks that you'd given yourself, mostly to stay sane. Was it helping? Probably not.

Again, much like your old life, every day starts with a perimeter check. Except in your current life, that meant beach-combing. For others, it was a fun little hobby, but for you, it was your line to the outside. Today should be especially fruitful since there was a big thunderstorm just off the coast. After the last one, you had almost enough materials to start building the next section of your boat. With that promise hanging in the air, you threw on Frankenstein's minidress, your affectionate name for what was essentially an oversize T-shirt crafted from animal skin and the tatters of your original clothing, and carefully slid down the knotted vine connecting your ramshackle treehouse with the jungle floor. The shirt was more to protect you from the sun's rays than to protect your modesty. Who was gonna see you anyway? A whale? 

In the gentle purple-blue light, you found the handle to your sled and started off towards the beach. "It's going to be a really good day, isn't it, Mini?" You looked over into thick underbrush. A breeze rustled the leaves. You laughed, tugging the thing along the dirt. "I thought so." It took some effort to pull the sled to the beach. It was a large animal's ribcage with some kind of fronds lining the outside, to make it slide easier. 

You didn't really have a set time that you adhered to for your first task of the day, but it generally took 2-3 hours (or so you thought, you didn't have a watch) to circumnavigate the island, depending on what there was to find. It was taking longer today, which you had anticipated. And it had indeed been fruitful: A few jars filled with something that looked edible, some wooden planks, some blue and white thing that looked like it could be a weird colander, some buttons, a few scraps of fabric, some rad goggles, and an entire human man.

Wait... a man?  You did a double-take. You initially thought it was part of a crumpled blue sail. Oh shit oh fuck. Your heartbeat escalated. You hadn't considered this scenario. You hadn't seen another human being in... well a long time. What if he's dead?... or worse what if he's alive?  Your thoughts flashed to the gun you had hidden away, one of the few things that washed ashore with you. You didn't even know if it would still fire. And I only have one bullet that I was saving in case.... in case. There was no point standing there to ponder the possibilities. You looked to the treeline, "Standby, Mini." There was no answer. 

Cautiously, you approached the man. Long blonde hair was splayed around him and his clothes, a blue shirt and jeans, were soaked. You inched your big toe towards him. Gently, you poked at him. Nothing. Your body was on edge as you crouched down to inspect him further, placing your fingers on his neck for a pulse and watching to see if his chest rose. You jerked back. Alive! What do I do? He wasn't quite cold but he wasn't as warm as he should be. "And he definitely had a rough night," you said to no one in particular, gingerly taking inventory of scattered wounds marring his tanned skin.

You pushed things around in your sled to make a space for at least his upper half. "Sorry, blondie." There was no way to get him in there easily. You hooked your arms under his and used your legs to pull him into the sled the best you could. It was probably good he was wearing jeans since you were about to drag him through the forest. But you were no idiot. You weren't taking him to your base of operations. First things first, you had to wash him up and fully inspect the damage. You sighed, looking towards the forest again, "I don't mean to be crude, Mini, but I don't know if I even remember what a dick looks like." 

_________________

Next

Don't worry, fellas (gender-neutral). Killer will be okay and Kid is lurking somewhere...

Getting back in the writing game with my first multi-chapter fic (Go big or go home amirite). This story has become my daily intrusive thoughts and I need to get them out. Essentially this is the story of my OC (Ex-Cap't Krait Shenron), but it is made to be enjoyed by all (I hope) and "Reader"-friendly. Some of the more specific details are kept in since it pertains to plot. No posting schedule but I will probably word vomit this entire thing out and then who knows? Maybe I will start taking requests again (sweating).

I will also be uploading to AO3 if you prefer: Here

[r-osehips]

snooped your tags, so: 12 and 16 for the year end book asks? please and thank you!

YESSSS thank you oh my god

12: Any books that disappointed you?

16: What is the most over-hyped book you read this year?

THE FUCKING OVERSTORY. Jesus CHRIST. ok, the descriptions of trees and how they communicate with one another and with the wider ecosystem, those descriptions were beautiful, though sometimes they edged into purple prose. but as soon as this man (author Richard Powers) starts trying to write human beings, it all goes to hell. no one is convincing. every attempt at romance is hamfisted and always heterosexual (except for the two bi women who sordidly had sexual histories with women that they never dared speak of and which the men around them found arousing). the way he describes the character who uses a wheelchair it is some of the most jaw-droppingly ableist language I have read in a modern novel, and also sooo so repetitive and hitting you over the head with the same adjectives every time. and then there's this female character who he has a huge boner for, which, great, i can support that in general, but unforch for him this resulted in weird objectifying language and ridiculous situations, such as, for example, the scene where this girl (who briefly was dead and soaking wet and naked, he described that vividly) -- this girl has been living in a redwood sequoia for months. no shower, no soap, no haircuts, no nothing. she's filthy. and she's, canonically, 200 feet in the air. and this logger who wants to kill the tree, he's shouting up at her and the guy she's with (and they are, i cannot emphasize this enough, 200 feet up). she leans over the railing of the treehouse to yell back at him. he says "WOAH you're GORGEOUS what are you doing up there when you could have any man you wanted!" and she's like "aw ha ha you should see me up close" and it's like. HE CAN'T SEE HER. HE LITERALLY CAN'T SEE HER. YOUR OBSESSION WITH HAVING YOUR MALE PROXIES HIT ON HER AND OBJECTIFY HER HAS LED TO THE DESTRUCTION OF YOUR LAST SHREDS OF PLAUSIBILITY. SOOOO FUCKING STUPID in a good book this would have been ENDEARING but no -- no, not here! because this, despite its countless awards and accolades, IS NOT A GOOD FUCKING BOOK. and yet it is so long. and it drags so much. and for what.

(from this prompt list if anyone wants to ask more)

EDITING TO ADD: WAIT. I forgot the thing I ACTUALLY hated the most about it!!!!!!!!!!!!! which is that. ok. so there's a refrain that happens throughout the book where a mysterious voice inside a character's head intones something like the most miraculous beings in 4 billion years of existence need our help. and the characters understand this to mean that the trees need the help of humans, because, like. deforestation. climate change. rampant destruction of forest ecosystems. etc. and that would be very fitting because the whole premise of the book is about the wonder of trees.

BUT NO. it turns out that the voice was THE TREES TALKING ABOUT HUMANS. as in: the trees are saying that WE need THEIR help and they feel soooooooo bad for us and they're simply begging for us to LET THEM SAVE US because it's ALL ABOUT US and the trees only matter because they're important TO US.

and I just think that if you are good at writing trees and shit at writing humans, and you're trying to write a sweeping novel about the glory and genius of nature, and you purport to be critiquing the destructive self-centeredness of much of modern humanity, then maybe you shouldn't undercut your entire fucking narrative by putting humans at the center of the universe. GOD. it's so stupid.

[vxnillite]

Khro'a birthday drabble!!!

THIS IS FOR @99-kroi !!! The man who sent me down this path of insanity, and I will be eternally grateful for that.

HAPPY 20TH BIRTHDAY DUDE!!! Just want to say that you're an amazing person, a fantastic artist, and a really fun person to talk to! Really, really glad to have met you and to be able to share all this fun sh*t with you! (I'm a writer, why is my vocab so limited)

Also this is not a ship fic, 100% platonic bc Noah and Khro'a are besties 4 life <33 yippee hAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN KROIIIII

(if there are typos, i'll get back to it. i haven't [edit: HELP ME WHY DID THE REST OF THE SENTENCE DELETE ITSELF I MEANT TO SAY I HAVEN'T PROOFREAD THIS LKSDJFKLSJF])

Sunlight filtered through the wooden planks of the treehouse, shining tiny spotlights on an unusually empty bed.

The owner was in the middle of the room, crouched on the floor. Khro'a whistled as he fixed his travel packs. Today was going to be uneventful, but he'd decided to go flying—didn't know where to, exactly. Khro'a would decide on the way.

He'd just tied up the last pack when he heard an ikran cry. Weird—that wasn't his, though. It cried again, sounding much closer to the treehouse this time. Khro'a had a second to recognize that particular call when—

"INCOMING!!"

Something crashed straight into Khro'a. It knocked out almost all the air inside of him, and, had he not been bigger than the intruder, they would've crushed him.

"Ay, puta—you were fucking right under it! Sorry!"

Khro'a felt himself get yanked up onto his feet, then into a tight embrace. From over the person's head, he processed first the rapidly swishing tail, then the triple braids—one black, two an unnatural purple.

Noah was jumping on their toes as they exclaimed, "Happy birthday, Khro'a!!"

Excitement rose like magma in his chest at the realization. Khro'a grinned and hugged them back. "Noah! I thought you wouldn't be back until a few more weeks?"

Noah pulled away to look up at Khro'a, and their arms went from his waist to his hands. "And fucking miss your birthday," they scoffed playfully, "You think I'm gonna be stupid like that? Of course, I was gonna come home early!"

Finally, confusion arose as well, and Khro'a asked, "How is it my birthday—wait, how are you keeping track of this?"

Fangs bared, Noah giggled through their teeth. "Well, it's been exactly one Pandoran year since you got transferred to your Avatar by Eywa. I did the math some time ago, and turns out your terran birthday happens to fall on the same day this year," they explained, "So, technically, two birthdays!"

It took a few seconds for Khro'a to process, and he chuckled as he did. 

Noah cocked their head to the side. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, it's just," he stifled a laugh, "You really counted all that?"

"What, like it's supposed to be hard?"

Khro'a couldn't hold it in anymore, the affectionate laugh he was caging in his chest. "Spoken like a true nerd."

Noah slapped him on the chest. Their lips scrunched into a pout. "Gago, it's simple fucking math!" Then, infected by Khro'a, they started laughing, too. "Of course, I've been counting. It's your birthday, after all. I keep track of everyone else's, too."

Khro'a let his laughter dwindle down first. "So, it's been a year, huh," he mused. Then, he looked back down at Noah. Their bright eyes looked up at him curiously, waiting on his words. He sighed contentedly, "Thank you, Noah."

Noah's lips curled into a softer, still toothy smile. A little chuckle wisped through them as they pulled Khro'a in for another hug. It said everything that couldn't be put into words.

The moment passed in comfortable silence until Noah spoke up. "Oh, also, I stopped by the village, and I told the entire village and the other RDA people. They're all waiting for you at High Camp."

Khro'a sighed, placing a hand on their head. "Of course you did."

"But you seem to have plans." Noah peeked behind him from under his arm. "Going somewhere?"

"Meh, I wasn't really planning on it," Khro'a shrugged, "I was just bored, so it's a 'wherever the wind takes me' kind of plan."

The reaction to that was somewhat violent, as Noah pulled away only to grip Khro'a's arms, eyes glinting with excitement. Their tail was whipping like a tornado behind them. Teeth that bit down on their lower lip caged their words flimsily. Khro'a had a feeling he knew what those were.

"Go on. What is it?"

"Can I come with you," Noah asked giddily, like a child, "It's been months since we went somewhere together!"

"I don't know~ Didn't you say there are people waiting at High Camp?"

"Yes, and we can go after that! C'mon, don't fuck with me, Khro'a."

Some things just never change, he thought. Then, Khro'a smiled. "Alright, but I really had no plans of where to go. Do you?"

"'Wherever the wind takes us' sounds like a good plan. Now, come on! I'll help you with your things."

Khro'a perked up as if a switch had been flipped in his head. "Wait, Noah, you've been travelling all night—have you had any sleep?"

"Shhh! That's not your problem to deal with, okay?"

"That's not my po—Noah!!"

Too late. They grabbed two of the biggest bags in their hand, jumped up onto a large branch—an exposed structural beam of sorts for the treehouse—then flung themselves through the roof chute. They looked down at Khro'a, jerking their head as if to hurry him up. Fortunately, he'd already followed suit.

Khro'a emerged through the chute mere seconds after Noah did, throwing the other two bags onto the roof as he pushed himself up. With his tail, he flipped the chute door shut. Khro'a put his arm out just in time as he saw a familiar stingbat coming to land on him.

"Hey, Kev!" Khro'a chuckled as the stingbat pecked him affectionately. It shrieked as he scritched its neck. He dug a fruit from one of his bags and gave it to Kev. It cawed gratefully as it flew back to hover over its owner.

Then, the two avatars mounted their ikrans, but before they took off—

"Oh, and Khro'a?"

He turned to them innocently. What he saw was a figure cast in the morning light and a delicate smile. Noah's gaze softened as their eyes met.

"Happy birthday ulit." Their eyes smiled, too, pushing a few tears through the corners. "Thanks for everything. I'll never forget any of it."

[dreamsmp-au-ideas]

Sooo sorry if you've done this before, but what about like a Minecraft Storymode AU? Like maybe with Sparklez, Philza, or other people as the Order of the Stone? Maybe Dream as the Admin in season 2?

Oh god. What have you done. You unlocked the inner Storymode in me. Oh god why.

Alright, first things first. We’re going to pick up the plot, put it in a blender, and throw it off the bridge. We going to maintain some plot but we’re going to do stuff a bit better. Why? Because I want good writing and I also may want some extra angst in here.

Onto ideas in bullet points because I can’t think of anything else and I can’t think of things in long sentences now.

-Tommy, Tubbo, Purpled, and Ranboo are the protagonists of the story. They all live in one treehouse and generally get along

-Tommy and Tubbo are childhood friends and built the treehouse and had discs play when they finished making it :]

-Ranboo just showed up one day with no memory on how he got there. Tommy and Tubbo said friend and let him into the treehouse

-Purpled just showed up one day and he has not stopped showing up ever since that meeting

-They all have some sort of thing associated with them, Tommy has the discs, Tubbo has a bee plush from the Captain, Ranboo has his memory book, and Purpled has a gold chain that used to belong to Punz

-Wilbur, Techno, Phil, the Captain, Eret, and Schlatt are all apart of the Order of the Stone. They all split though after an incident that lead to the Captain and Phil disappearing

-Fundy and Niki are the in the role of Lukas but with some changes. Fundy has daddy issues and is bitter towards Wilbur but is friendly to the kids. Niki is friendly but you can tell she doesn’t like Tommy too much

-Wilbur visits the kids a lot as well as try to go and talk to Fundy. He has to make sure that the four of them doesn’t start a fire and he wants to try and fix his relationship with Fundy

-Techno is the Ivor of the story. He unleashes a Wither and somehow a Wither Storm happens and that wasn’t part of the plan. Holy shit

-We going to go get alternate POVs for Tubbo, Tommy, Ranboo, and Purpled. They all have different ways to solve a problem. Tommy is going to steal and use violence, Tubbo is going to do things logically, Ranboo is going to try and appeal to a person emotionally, and Purpled would just bribe them. It’s entertaining

-They all have different goals as well. Tommy wants his family back together and getting along like before, Tubbo wants to find what happened to the Captain, Ranboo wants to know why he’s here and what’s missing in his memory, and Purpled just wants to try and move on from and make his (previously thought) deceased brother proud

-Fundy and Niki has accidentally adopted the kids after Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo dragged them all through the Nether Portal as Wilbur and Purpled stalled the Wither Storm. Whoops all found family

-Eret is in the end and just vibing and trying to find a way to get Phil and the Captain back.

-Schlatt has made a fucking business empire and oh boy is it big.

-Everyone has armor and weapons at the start because Purpled gave it to them as a paranoia thing and to protect themselves. So right off the bat, everyone has iron armor and swords. Mid way they get Diamonds and by the end of season one they all have Netherite

-Tubbo made nukes even before the whole story happened. No one knows why and are all scared of him.

-The old Order of the Stone is actually going to get plot beyond the first season for once and we’re going to go have Techno and Schlatt pretty much be the Ivors of the situation and making them go through character development

-The portal plot is still relevant here and you know what that means! It means that I’m going to go and fucking put so many Tales characters and I’m going to go and put the Badlands and Phil in the PAMA world. Or as it now is known, the Egg world.

-I’m conflicted on whether I should have the Murder Mystery be the Village that went Mad or the Masquerade. Maybe both. Yeah I love Ranbutler, Hubert, James, Robin, Catboy and Helga too much. Oh god.

-The Captain is going to be in the PvP tournament world and oh boy is it going to be intense there. However, they did not predict Purpled and Techno’s competitive ability in Bedwars and more

-I am very tempted to go and have Ranbutler and Hubert become main characters as well in this au. I love them but oh god will they fit in the story?

-The Badlands and Karl however are permanent additions to the team now after the group’s portal adventure

-Ranboo and Purpled are getting centric roles in Season 2

-Dream is less of a dick in here but still is one. He doesn’t manipulate kids but he’s still a dick

-Punz is a mercenary and oh boy Purpled punches him when he finds out that he’s alive

-He is also working for Dream but no one knows that so we’re going to have Purpled drag him along and we get sibling angst and we’re going to have them talk about their problems in the future

-Ranboo on the other hand is going to freak out about the fact that he used to work for Dream. It gives him a whole crisis and everything.

-Quackity was from the business empire Schlatt made and is currently making a name for himself in the political area. He is also going to be apart of the plot as him and Karl went and managed to convince Sapnap and George to turn against Dream

-Jack is also going to be dragged into this because of Fundy and Niki telling him that Tommy isn’t all that bad. Then one adventure later he’s in prison because of Tommy. He’ll warm up to him don’t worry

-Sam is the prison warden but is pretty much doing it against his will. Not fun. He tries to help everyone though

[endlessxdreams]

Beautiful Crime Part 3 WARNING! for Triggers and Mature content!

They hadn’t seen each other for over a week after that fight.

They run into each other in the hallways because Alfea wasn’t that big of a school and the hallways were crossed with each other, making it accesible to students who wanted to go their classrooms that were at the other end of school. 

During some days that they shared a common class, they sat at the edges of the classroom,  none of them even glanced or speak with each other.

Fortunately, Advance Magic & Complex Tactics  and Alchemy  were the only ones they had in common.

Riven had decided to change his major into Alchemy a month ago in order for them to spend some time together outside of their respectful groups.

Those two classes had at least 6 students per year because they were the most difficult subjects at Alfea, so no one ever picked them, preferring to take the least demanding ones combined with their training schedules and the mandatory ones.

The only students that choose AM&C and Alchemy as optional subject were nerds and straight A’s students, because of the higher grade of points they gave them in their report card.

How he managed to do that in the middle of the semester and with Rosalind breathing down their necks, she didn’t have a clue.

But one thing was certain.

Riven was fucking resourceful.

She would give him that!

He reminded her of Odysseus, the main character of Homer’s “Illiad” , the parallels between them could literally  fill a book.

She remembered when she was a little girl.

She loved reading books with her mother in her pink bedroom, on a  white –beige window seat with blue, purple and golden pillows in both corners , watching outside the window frame the treehouse that her father had built when she was 3 years old. Her mother reading to her and mimicking the voices of the animals in her books.

Hugging her in a warm embrace and kissing her on the cheeks every morning.

Tucking her in the bed every single night, with tales and  stories of ancient civilizations,explaining to the little curious and smart girl in front of her, their traditions and their respective histories.

She was obsessed with Greek Philosophy for a while.

She also admired the notable ideas of philosophers such Aristotle, Plato, and Socrates about the circle of life, the birth of the universe and their conception of rhetoric, political philosophy and ethics, although her understanding on all of these beliefs couldn’t be fully comprehended in her small age .  

She loved staying at the tree house in summer nights, reading about them though.

Stocked with snacks, her favourite sweet taste sodas and a flashlight in hand for when it got dark outside at night.

Reading the wonders of the world, accompanied with her red blanket, which she had from the day she was born (It was really faded and was falling apart at the edges due to old age and overindulging of Musa carrying it around EVERYWHERE she went at these point but she was emotionally attached to it and held it dearly, being her most valuable treasure).

A beautiful present from her great grandmother, who gave it to her, disclosing to her that the blanket was a family heirloom and that her great great great grandmother made it herself and it went from mother to child over the centuries. Her grandma and mother both had it in their possession when they were young till they completed the circle respectively  by giving it to the next generation, their own child/children, one day.

Musa touched lighty at her stomach.

She smiled sadly at the image of a mini Musa or a little Riven, in their bed tucked with that red blanket, telling its own story through the decades of extensive use , talking to their parents about their day at school. About who their favorite dinosaur was. What present did they want for Christmas’ Eve.  His/her’s gleaming green eyes and tiny body figure.

She imagined an energetic child, actively running around with a bemused Musa after him/her to tell them to be careful and not to get hurt in the process.

Smiling and laughting with Riven by her side.

A charming smile dancing to his lips.

But all of these ideas were not going to happen.

That beautiful red blanket that was safely tucked into a trunk that came as a storage unit with the family heirloom, sitting at the edge of her old bedroom back to Melody, was never going to be passed on the younger generation.

Her great grandmother’s words rang at her ears “Give it to your child”, tightening her stomach.

An ugly notion came to her mind.

Her baby might not live long enough to inherit it.

With war one step closer to their lives, ready to consume them whole any day now, it wasn’t the appropriate time to think of future scenarios.

The Mind Fairy, adjusted herself at the seat behind her desk that she was sitting for three hours straight now , staring at her book, trying to finish her remaining homework on Alchemy.

Without much success, she might add.

Her mind didn’t cooperate and functioning enough to make it past the second question on page 148.

 ∞

 The next day, she hang out at the cafeteria with the girls. They were making small talk about school subjects, fashion and movies.

It reminded her the good old days.

When they had picnics outside the barrier at Sundays, laughing and telling funny stories.

Fooling around and pretend to play volleyball, when in reality they were just passed the ball around like a couple of fools, screaming squeaky at their own teams (Bloom-Stella-Aisha on the one end, Musa-Terra-Flora at the other end).

They had so much fun and they didn’t treasure it enough.

These beautiful memories of the last time that their only worry , was boy drama and school exams.

They would never have that again! She though bitterly.

These past few months were really rough on all of them.

Both physically and mentally.

The girls hardly could walk straight from the exhaustion that crept in every inch of their tired bodies.

Daily training in Specialism and in Fairy classes and on top of that night missions and homework.

They couldn’t catch a break!

All of them seating at the large bulky table of the cafeteria trying to eat the disgusting breakfast that was served to them, with their “uniform” hanging to their more and more skinnier bodies like mitch matched clothes at a flea market, who at this point looked more like sacks than formal clothes.

A particulary ugly dirty yellow on top and an abject brown cigarette pants that Rosalind decided to be the school’s “formal uniform” outside of training, were Alfea’s new palette scheme  (even Stella with the best style among the girls couldn’t style it properly. She didn’t even had the mental courage to do that).

Things were definitely getting worse.

Not one of them mentioned the war while they chatted about a handsome actor starring at a new TV Show that was broadcasting at Solarian One TV Channel and commenting on his acting performance, making all sort of fangirling remarks,  whilst she could feel their emotions spiked to the roof with fear itself.

  ∞

Later that day, she returned to her Suite, ready to finally sleep after a difficult day.

She got off the hook from Specialism the last couple of days, due to her “being under the weather” as she told the school nurse when they requested a health exam, giving the note to Andreas at third period, who looked at her with a cold, stern look that practically said “You’re useless”.

That way she could explain the pregnancy symptoms for a while and not be around in such close encounterment with Riven. She doubted of course that all of these training and fighting techniques were safe for the baby as well.

She didn’t know what to do at this point.

She was torned.

A maternal instinct inside her, begged her to come clean so the baby will be safe. But the rational part of her brain was telling her to wait and scrabble a plan. A safe plan, where there’s gonna be a win-win situation. Or at least that was what she told to herself.

Stretching her arm in order to open the handle of her bedroom, she stood dead on her feet. In front of her, she saw a demented Riven staring back at her.

∞

The Empath closed the door quietly behind her and found a spot, besides Terra’s bedside table.

None of them spoke.

They were having a staring contest with each other for the longest time, without breaking eye contact once.

Both stubborn to the core.

Finally, Riven broke the silence. Right hand scratching the back of his head.

“I’m not gonna pretend that the fight didn’t happen”.

“Or the things that you told me didn’t make me mad. But…..” he trailed

“Right now, we have bigger issues to solve” pointing at her stomach.

Musa scoffed.

Classic Riven

Sweeping the problems under the rug, like a fucking cat and pretend it never happened!

She didn’t even gave him a glance as she walked towards her bed,  knocking him lightly at the shoulder in the process.

She laid down because of a dizziness feeling she had all day and started from the moment she woke up in the morning. Between classes she tried to steady herself in the walls when no one was looking at her direction, afraid that someone will notice the color drained from her face, leaving behind a pale canvas with two big brown tired eyes.

She  closed her eyes and took three deep breaths, releasing them back .

She could feel Riven looking at her laying figure on the bed.

Worry radiating through him. Burning him whole.

After a while, he laid on the bed with her.

There, they laid side by side, breathing rhythmically.

Musa laid her hand above her belly. Circling it with a little smile on her lips.

Riven put his hand above her own and they continued circling the little bump together with their hands intertwined.

“I had a miscarriage before. I never told anyone about it” the Empath said in a whispery voice, that the Specialist wouldn’t have heard it if he he wasn’t so close to her.

Riven’s hand stopped the motion. Looking frightened at her side profile. His green eyes bulged.

Without even knowing how his brain managed to make out a full sentence, he asked:

“With Sam?”

Musa nodded her head in a response that indicated no.

“Th….There was a guy I was dating when I was fifteen.”

“Heee…ummm…He was my first boyfriend.”

“The condom…. Broke…. and I found out that….II… I was pregnant”.

Riven’s hand tightened around her arm, bringing his body closer to her, cuddling her and putting her head above his chest, where she could hear the beating of his heart.

Musa was trying to block the sadness, the sorrowfulness, the regret and the despair that was emitting from him. His protective alpha male mode was on and he led her even closer to his chest than before, like he was trying to protect her from everything bad that was happening in the world.

“Around the same time my mom got sick and she was treated in the hospital”

“My dad was trying to make sure that everything’s gonna be okay and he will be there for her”

“He was making ends meet. He tried to shield me from all the pain my mom was feeling and he bills packing up in the drawers….but I knew….” She sighted.

“Being a Mind Fairy I could feel EVERYTHING they were feeling….Even though, they smiled at me every time I passed them at the living room or when I was going to school….I could sense their uneasiness”.

“Then, one day, I went to the bathroom and saw a blood stain on my underwear”.

“I was feeling sick all day long that day but I told myself that nothing was wrong….that was it just my body processing the stress and sadness of everything that was going on…”

“I cried myself to sleep that night. Feeling SO sad and guilty! Because a small part of me, felt relief at that….. Can you imagine that?.... Whattt…. kind of person feels good about a miscarriage?”

Now, she was fully crying, nose running and body trembling.

“My mother had just passed away the night before”

She blew her nose loudly and continued. Taking a steady breath trying to calm herself. Riven giving her a box of tissues she kept seated at her nightstand.

“I heard from someone close to me once, that when a loved one dies, his/her soul reincarnates to the next child that will be welcomed to the family”.

“I lost my mother twice that day”.

Riven was trying to comfort her.

Rubbing small circles in her back.

Kissing her on the top of her head and her hair.

Murmuring a lullaby to calm her.

After all her tears were used up, Musa opened her mouth and what came out of it left Riven with a stunned and relieved expression on his face.

“ I want to keep it”.

  Editor’s Notes:

THANK YOU SO MUCH TO EVERYONE WHO REBLOGGED, LIKED, COMMENTED BOTH PRIVATELY AND PUBLICALLY!!! Your love MEANS THE WORLD TO ME AND FUELS ME TO CONTINUE MY STORY!!! ❤❤���❤❤ 😍😍😍🥰🥰🥰🥰

As always, any grammar mistakes are my own and I apologize. English is not my first language.

THE PLAYLIST OF SONGS THAT I LISTENED DURING WRITING THIS.

This chapter LITERALLY KILLED ME! It is longer than what I wrote in the last two parts. It kept adding up and I just couldn’t resist of not include some things. I kept going back and forth of how I would have a good storytelling without being tiring for my readers but at the same time trying to describe as much as possible into words, phrases and sentences that are organic and make sense while I was nervous in the process because I’m writing for the first time.. A BIG VIRTUAL HUG TO ALL OF THE WRITER’S OUT THERE. I FEEL YOU! 🤣🤣🤣🤣

I knew from the beggining, before I even started writing "Beautiful Crime”, that the last scene was going to happen. I had already planned out all these 3 parts in my head. BUT I HAVE NO CLUE HOW THE STORY WILL CONTINUE FROM THIS POINT ON.  Feel free to tell me your thoughs! Would you like a happy or sad ending?What else do you wanna see?

I requested an account on AO3 so my work will be more accessible to new and old readers!

Feedback and constructive critisism is always welcome! Enjoy!

[zukosdumbbitch]

friction

work on ao3

pairing: jet/f reader

warnings: smut, arguing

wordcount: 1873

a/n: im srry but i needed to get this Out of my brain. characters are 18+

-

It was just at the crack of dusk and you were tidying up the room you shared with Jet in the freedom fighters’ scattered treehouse. You were Jet’s age, the two of you barely functioning adults, stubborn, opinionated, and to Jet, devastatingly alluring. He loved the clashing of your personalities, the way you so often disagreed with him and kept him on his toes. He loved his absolute authority in the group, but more than that, he loved a pretty girl deliberately challenging it.

You didn’t mind the arguments as much as you maybe should have. You saw through manipulation like sunlight through a clean window - clearly, immediately, and without doubt. Jet knew better than to mess with your head. And you knew he had a real soft spot for you - despite how much he’d try to hide it around others. You really liked him, even if he was a real pain in the ass sometimes.

Today was one of many designated days Jet and his favorite group of fighters would scout your woods and the neighboring areas. They would come back with food, that they stole, hunted, or plucked from wild plants, or with news about strangers arriving in the area and discussion of whether or not they were a threat. Jet would often return late, having taken it upon himself to do one last sweep of your unofficial territory. Normally you would join him, but you had stayed back to help the younger orphans patch up their clothes or whatever toys they managed to keep.

You carefully put your sewing kit back together, counting all the needles and neatly winding the thread. You closed the small wooden box and noticed a figure appear in your peripherals.

“Hey, baby.” You heard Jet say and you turned to see him leaning in your makeshift doorway, curtain draped behind him.

You went to embrace him and his hands came to rest on your waist. “Any good finds today?” You asked.

“Yeah, Longshot got a nice rabbit. Shot it right in the eye.” Jet pointed to his eye and you made a face. You hated killing animals, but their meat was good food and their fur provided material for blankets and clothes. Jet’s ever present smirk widened teasingly at your reaction. “He’s preparing it with Smellerbee. We’ll have a good breakfast tomorrow. Plus, I got you something.”

You looked at him curiously and he pulled out a glittery silver chain from the pouch hanging on his hip. Hung from it was a round, honey-orange stone with a simple lily carved into its surface, similar to the pai sho tile. “Oooh,” You cooed, taking the necklace into your hands and feeling the smooth stone. “It’s beautiful. Where’d you get this?” You contemplated the material of the stone. Was it amber? Carnelian?

Jet stiffened and said nothing. He found it hard to lie to you. Of course.

“You didn’t jump another innocent person did you?” You asked, desperate for him to say no.

His brows furrowed.

“Jet!” You scolded and he snatched the jewelry from your grasp.

“Smellerbee was right. Shouldn’t have given it to you.” He said bitterly, shouldering past you into the room.

“You can’t keep doing that to people! Did you take all their money and food again? Did you at least let them go without beating them senseless?” You prodded. Your anger boiled in your voice, remembering all the times he returned with food stolen from nomads and the other times that ended in violent confrontation.

“I don’t know why you have to get so upset! They could have been a Fire Nation spy for all you know!” Jet shot back, arms raised.

“Not everyone is a fucking Fire Nation spy, Jet!”

“Yeah, because you would totally know one if you saw one. I very clearly remember having to save your ass after getting kidnapped by a soldier!” He stepped closer, towering over you.

You, however, would not back down. “That doesn’t mean you need to beat up and rob every stranger you see! What is wrong with you?”

“I am trying to protect these kids!” Jet shouted, nostrils flaring.

You were red with anger from his lack of empathy. “At the expense of literally everyone else?” You hollered back.

Suddenly, Jet grabbed your face and smashed his lips to yours. Your fingers knotted into his dark hair. It wasn’t uncommon for your arguments to end like this. It was your way of forgiving one another.

Jet pulled away, teeth pinching your bottom lip and pulling. “You’re the worst.” You groaned and Jet pushed you down to the bed.

“You’re so god damn annoying.” He responded as his lips chased yours and he pulled you in for another searing kiss.

His hands wandered down your backside, grabbing your ass and kneading the soft flesh. You hissed against his lips, hands fumbling with the closure on his pants and untucking his shirt. His tongue lined your mouth, making you shiver as you pushed the makeshift armor from his clothes. He gave your ass a hard smack and you yelped in surprise.

“Why does everything have to be a problem with you?” Jet gruffed against your lips.

“You cause problems, Jet!”

He growled into your jaw and pushed you unto your back. He pushed your knees apart so he could press himself close to you, hips digging into yours. You groaned, tugging on his hair as his lips traced your jaw. His teeth dug into your neck in a hard bite and sucked at your skin, only moving along once he saw deep purple gathering in the indents of his teeth. You squirmed when he found your soft spot, thighs rubbing uncomfortably against his sides and you rolled your hips back against his. Jet was relentless, marking up your neck and collarbones and you impatiently tugged at his shirt and whined.

Jet leaned back on his heels and discarded his shirt and wrist wrappings. You pulled your own shirt over your head and rid of the binder confining your breasts and Jet was upon you once again. He palmed your breasts and his lips trailed down your body. He tugged at your pants and you heard the button snap off.

“You need to stop fucking tearing my clothes!” You seethed.

Jet responded by silencing you with a harsh kiss. He pulled again at your pants and you pushed them down along with your underwear as far as your position would allow. Jet sat up and tore the rest of your clothes from your body and began to make work of his own. You watched him, taking in the lean muscles that rippled under his golden brown skin.

Jet grabbed you under your knees and tugged you forward before taking his erection in his hand and rubbing it across the wetness along your folds. You keened, bucking your hips for more attention and Jet smirked down at you.

“You want it, baby?” He asked, voice husky with lust.

You nodded, grasping his shoulders.

“Beg for it.” Jet commanded.

You groaned. “No.”

Jet growled, smacking your thigh. “Beg or I won’t let you cum for the rest of the month.”

You scoffed at him. “I don’t need you to do that.”

Jet grabbed your face in one hand and pressed his lips back yours in an angry kiss, teeth clashing. He rubbed the tip of his dick slowly against your clit, making your hips roll. “Beg for it.”

“Sounds more like you’re that one that’s begging.” You panted.

Jet grunted in frustration and conceded, slamming into you with one swift thrust of his hips. You mewled loudly and clawed at his shoulders. He gave you no time to catch your breath and held you down by your throat, setting a bruising pace that left your eyes rolling. You hiked your thighs high on his torso and dug your heels into his back.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” Jet moaned. He grabbed under your knee and pressed your thigh next to your chest, allowing him to fuck you deeper. You squirmed under his constraint, whining helplessly as that knot built in your belly. You reached down to rub your aching clit, but Jet caught your wrist. “Nah-uh, baby girl. You’re gonna have to get off on just my dick.”

You had no response, the fast pace of his hips making any words you could form catch in your throat. You clenched around him and raked your nails down his back, digging as hard as you could into his skin and eliciting a groan.

Jet suddenly pulled out and spanked you. “On your stomach, baby.”

You rolled over and Jet quickly possessed your hips, pushing back into you without hesitation. If he was brutal before, now he was just ruthless. “Oh fuck!” You cried, moaning into your pillow.

Jet gathered your wrists against your back and plowed into you. Tears brimmed at your eyes with how good he was making you feel and you pressed your hips back against his thrusts with all the strength that was left in you. You were getting close to your orgasm, that knot winding tighter and tighter as your pussy clenched hard around his cock.

You heard Jet let out a deep moan and that was all it took. You trembled, expletives leaving your mouth as Jet fucked you hard through your orgasm. “Fuck yes, baby girl, cum on my cock.” Jet praised and grabbed your ass with both hands. Your newly freed fists knotted into the sheets as you mewled at the overstimulation, thighs quaking and giving out under you.

“So good,” You cooed, Jet grabbing your shoulder to pull you back against him.

You let him continue to slam into your tender g-spot, loving every second of your drawn-out high. Jet swore and pulled out to release on your back.

You allowed yourself to go limp against the bed and Jet fell unto his back beside you. You tried to catch your breath.

Jet grabbed a scrap of cloth from the nightstand and threw it at you.

You rolled your eyes as you took it. “Don’t be fucking rude.” You grumbled, though your words had little bite.

Jet sighed. You both laid in silence for a few moments and you found your canteen and took a swig water.

Jet put out his hand. "Let me get that."

You secured the cap and answered, "No."

Jet looked at you incredulously. You stared back and he began to move toward you. You hid the canteen behind you. "Y/N!" He scolded and you giggled as he grasped at it and you held it from his reach.

"Say you'll stop jumping people for no reason." You insisted.

"Baby girl, I can't promise you anything." He swung at your hand, but you managed to keep him from grabbing it.

You frowned at him. He got a hold of your wrist and despite your protests, he took the canteen. "Dick." You pouted.

Jet took a healthy gulp of water and said, "Y'know, all we did was search him and take that pendant. We didn't hurt him."

"Still shouldn't have taken it."

Jet swung an arm around you and pulled you in to kiss your forehead. "Whatever, baby." 

[astringofmadhousefloozies]

Sardines, or Professor Vargas is an Asshole

Another fic from someone who’s only half-read everything. Told in second person, starring a female Yuu.

Content warnings for coarse language, kidnapping, sexual harassment along the lines of Vargas being similar to Gaston, and being deeply, direly self indulgent.

As always, please let me know if you enjoyed it, I live and breathe for positive feedback.

You do not like Professor Vargas, and the feeling is mutual.

It wasn't like the almost amiable vitriol between you and Schonheit, which, while having its ups and downs, was usually at a level of shooting a few insults at each other in between whatever dorm prefect business had you talking to each other, and parting ways with a hair flip on his part and a rude hand guesture on yours. And hell, the other teachers seemed almost fond of you. Trein appreciated you passion for history, even if annoyed at your preference for layman-oriented literature, and would let you sound off about whatever strange bit of lore you'd recently found out, and even once down and listened very patiently as you tried to explain who Emperor Norton was before he said you needed to leave so he could mark papers. Crewel and you had reached an uneasy truce where he did not call you a puppy, and you did not start going "what happens when these go together" in potions class every time he called you that in protest. (You may be a bitch, but he certainly isn't allowed to imply it, even in the most roundabout of ways.)

But Vargas. Vargas hates your soft belly, your unwillingness to push yourself to the point of exhaustion, and most of all, he really, really hates that you're a girl that won't throw herself at his feet. You were trundling along at a swift walking pace on a broom, a mere few feet off the ground, when he stopped yelling at your classmates to pick on you instead.

"Too weak to do better than that?"

"I'm not magic. That I can do this at all is impressive." You're pointedly looking ahead, not looking at him jogging up beside you.

"You can go higher!"

"Professor," you say with barely contained irritation, "I am a beginner, and would much rather have the basics down before I attempt to turn myself into a fine paté from a hundred feet up."

He snorted. "Ashengrotto goes high; you can too."

"Azul's damn near in tears by the time he comes down because he didn't even have legs before a few years ago. He's not a good example."

Vargas, being a wretched asshole who should not be allowed to teach, instead tipped the end of your broom up. Only the broom shot into the air, you merely went ass-over-teakettle onto the grass, and stayed there because if you got up you would attempt to bite his nose clean off.

"Such poor balance! But I can fix that with some private lessons!" Oh, Christ. "You come by here after dark, I know all about teaching a girl how to ride -”

At that, you kicked him in the shin, and while he started back in pain, you shot up and started walking off the field, vibrating with the strength of your disgust.

"You can't hit a teacher! You'll regret this you stupid-" And you've picked up to a jog, because fuck if you were going to listen to that piece of shit try and pick up one of his own fucking students, what the actual fuck.

~*~*~*~

You relayed this whole mess across the supper table, afterwards, and your host was just as grossed out as you were.

"Keep an eye out next class," Azul said to you. "He holds a grudge."

"First hand knowledge?”

His silence was telling.

"You think I could get an exemption? Or like, permission to do a treadmill when everyone's out on a broom?"

"Who do you think you have to ask about all fitness-related things?" Azul had a faraway look that recalled war films. "It's not going to work.”

"What if I start skipping class?"

He gave you a look that could wither an evergreen. "Don't you dare, or he'll start picking on me again."

You shrugged. "Aight. I got three days to figure out what to do, then. You got any ideas?”

He folded his hands and rested his head upon them. "What would you pay?"

"No."

"Come on."

"What do I even have that you want?"

"I can think of a few things. The wave in your hair, or the gleam off your teeth."

"Because you need more curl to your hair."

"Someone might want to contract me for them."

"No. I got three days, Azul, we don't have to resort to your contracts.”

As it turned out, you did not have three days.

~*~*~*~

The next day's gym class was a motley bunch. Idia couldn't miss any more gym days this month, Lilia was doing his stretches, Floyd was... being Floyd, resulting in everyone who wasn't Rook giving him a wide berth, and Leona appeared to be skipping class and was therefore not present for the upcoming bullshit.

"Sorry I'm late!" Cater jogged in, cheery as sunshine though the clouds, and Idia rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't strain. "Laps today?"

"Vargas said we're doing Capture the Flag. Dunno how the teams'll go." Lilia was doing something complicated with his hands as he stretched his arms. "Kingscholar's absent, so they'll be uneven. And," he thumbed over at Rook, who was looking into the forest with the coiled intensity of a greyhound waiting for the rabbit to spring, "he's got an advantage, he knows the woods best."

"Yeah, but I've got unlimited data and a GPS." Cater patted his chest with a smile, the outline if his phone visibly through a pocket.

"Can't count on that for everything."

"Alright students!" yelled Vargas, strolling out of the woods with a bruise purpling one cheek. "Capture the Flag today. Use your brooms to navigate the forest, grab the flag, whoever brings it back gets the flag as a prize."

"It's in the forest, hanging from a pole in a clearing, you cannot miss it! All in white, too..." The professor brought up a little screen, showing off a live feed of his flag.

The flag, of course, was you, trussed up with rope and you legs hanging freely, still in last night's sleep shirt. Your voice came out, tinny from the speakers: "I did not consent to this, asshole."

The students were torn between looking at Vargas in shock, looking at the phone in shock, and muttering between themselves.

"Don't forget to have all the fun you want with the flag before you bring it back to me! When else will you get the chance?"

This just had everyone looking at each other with shifty-eyed suspicion.

"Every man for himself! Go get your prize!"

~*~*~*~

Vargas couldn't rig worth a damn. You're twenty feet in the air with just one rope suspending you, tied at the base with a simple knot. Everything hurt from chafing, you were cold, and you couldn't help but worry over what the hell was going to happen, depending on who found you. Vil still hadn't forgiven you for projecting a gorefest of a film across the walls of Pomefiore, so he might leave you to rot or use the situation to put a particularly vicious curse on you. Idia would probably drop dead of exhaustion after reaching you, leaving you both stuck. Floyd, well. As much as you enjoyed his company, it was like hand feeding a pet tiger; eventually he'll decide your hands tastes better, it's just a matter of when. You're running the numbers on most likely scenarios based on who shows up, when some twigs snap by the meadow's edge and you look towards a small "Hi."

Little ears! Little hands! Little all over, and looking up at you with curiousity as his tail swished. Chen'ya? No, no, other Ch- name. "Cheka! Hi, sweetie, honey, baby, can you get me down?" You'd already been here an hour and your hands were nothing but tingles.

"... Okay! Why're you up there?"

"Bad man," you say as he starts to tug at the rope. "You got it?"

He shook his head. "It's hard."

"Can you go get help, honey? Bring them back to get me down?"

He nodded. This was a big boy job, he could do it. "I'll get Uncle Leona."

Please don't, you thought to yourself, but instead said "Okay, please be quick, Cheka."

He started off towards the school, and you could have sworn he vanished before he actually hit the treeline.

~*~*~*~

He was only gone for a few minutes before you realized that you were starting to move. Turns out Cheka, despite being so small, had pulled enough at the rope before he left that the knot was unraveling.

"Oh shi-" is as far as you got before you're in freefall, and you yelped as you hit the ground feet first, wheezing. Fuck. You can barely move to survey the damage, because a certain asshole had put your hands behind your back, and every move made your ankles wail in pain. The only saving grace was that the ground was soft.

At least someone had landed by you, looking you up and down.

"... Hi, Yuu."

"... Hi, Lil."

Lilia pointed up. "You're supposed to be up there."

"Vargas was too busy trying to get upskirts to secure a fucking knot, apparently." You wince as he worked at the ropes. "My feet?"

"On the right way." You gritted your teeth and hissed as he prodded at them. "Both badly sprained, left worse than right. You're not walking out of here."

"Figured." You sat up and held your arms out. "Come on, old man, you're stronger than you look."

He was, but was too small to leverage you correctly.

"Can't you fly?"

"Yes," He said as he tried to balance you on the broom. 

"Then carry me.”

"You want me to drop you?"

"Nope."

"Do we just wait for the others?"

As if on cue, you heard distant yelling and what was maybe an explosion.  

"Yeah." Lil brightened, and snapped his fingers. "I saw a place, hold on."

Said place was either a nice treehouse or an okay deer blind, wide enough in the floor that you could lay flat out as he surveyed the damage. "This should be a good place."

"What the hell is going on out there?”

"Everyone's looking for you." Lil's settled crosslegged, with an amused smile. "Vargas said you're the prize, so everyone's trying to get here first. Isn't it good I found you? Who knows what they're planning."

You set your arm over your eyes and sighed. "Brave words from someone who's broken into my room more than once."

He shrugged. "You need looking after."

"De-organizing my things isn't looking after, you damned goblin."

He bristled. "I'm not a goblin."

"What is a goblin, Lilia."

"Small little fae who like to cause trouble."

"Exactly."

You couldn't see it, but you could feel the eye-roll.

~*~*~*~

It was five minutes at the most after that before Rook climbed in the door, looking so fresh-faced and joyful to see you it made you want to swat him. "Bonjour, my Trickster! You're living up to your name, hidden away!"

"Salut, Rook." You squinted at him. "You have first aid anything?"

"Hm," He said, prodding at your calf. "I have water, but these need wrapped."

"Give." Lilia took a sip of water before passing it to you. "The uniform denim won't tear easily-”

"Oh, we use this."

"Oh no you do not," You said as you tugged the hem of your sleep shirt from his hand. "No one here gets to see my underwear."

"I don't care about your panties, I care about this," he said as he brushed an ankle, making you jerk back. "It'll get worse if they aren't wrapped. There is fabric to spare.”

You huffed before you told him not to mention it to Vil, and between him and Lilia, you had two wrapped ankles and a dangerously short hemline. At least you'd actually put underwear on before Vargas decided to kidnap you, otherwise this would be a whole other level of distressing.

~*~*~*~

"You have a phone?"

Lilia pulled his from a hidden pocket. "You want to play Sweetie Scrunch?"

"No," You say as you take it from him and start flipping through his contacts. "I'm calling help."

It took him a whole three seconds before he realized who help was. "... Nope, nope, you're not getting Malleus involved, he will eat Vargas alive, we are not causing an international incident."

"Would you rather he find out after? And he knows how to heal." You'd already texted him a brief explanation one handed, the other keeping Lilia away.

"She is not wrong, monsieur... And it would be a delight to see him raise hell."

"See?" You gave Lilia a smile that would be very sweet if it wasn't full of the devil. "C'est bon."

~*~*~*~

Mal hurtled through the window so fast it was a miracle he didn't go clean through the far wall, before he was on top of you, fussing over his precious Child of Man.

"Mal, I am fine, please fix my -"

"Dreadful, simply dreadful." He was already working a prickly green light around your bruises. "And he did that, too?" he growled as he guestured to your ragged hemline."

"No, we did that to wrap my ankles. As much as I'd love to see it, we do not need to turn Vargas into - Mal. Mal. Put your clothing back-" He'd already managed to wrap you up in his green-trimmed uniform coat. "You don't have to do that."

"Yes I do." He already had you cradled in his lap, both arms around you in a vice grip. "You won't heal immediately, I must keep you safe until then.”

Lilia raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. You were about to ask, before a dreadful wheezing started up from outside, and familiar pale hands had the bottom of the doorframe in a vice grip. "Help."

"Shit, Idia! Get him in here before he falls!"

~*~*~*~

Idia looked downright grey in your arms as you tried to get him to drink some water. For someone who had the physical fortitude of an overboiled noodle, he'd pushed himself to his limits looking for you, and then some.

"You're okay? Full health?" Idia sounded horribly raspy, and you fussed over his scrapes as you picked half-charred twigs from his hair. He was too tired to protest you holding onto him in much the same manner Malleus was holding onto you.

"Bout three-quarters. Fifty before Mal got here." Idia's eyes flicked to just behind your left ear before he shrank back.

You turned your head around, and Mal gave you his sweetest you're-my-best-friend smile. You looked back at Idia, who was attempting to shrink into something microscopic, and then back at Mal.

"Play nice. He's my friend too." 

Mal turned his face as innocent as he could muster. "Whatever do you mean, my friend?"

"You know what I mean."

"I do not." He wasn't looking at your face anymore.

"Yes you do. And he's you're friend too-"

Idia raised one hand tentatively. "We only play Dragon-Kun with each other."

You guestured down at Idia, still looking at Mal, looking anywhere but you. "You love your Dragon-kun. And maybe," you say as you nudge Malleus's cheek, "If you made more friends than me, you wouldn't have to be jealous when I have other friends?"

Mal's pupils were so narrow as to be barely visible when he glanced out of the corner of his eye at you, but he nodded, and mumbled a very quiet apology as Idia faintly relaxed.

"Impressive. I haven't been able to do that in years."

"That's because you're his dad."

"Do you think anyone else will show up, my Trickster? It's getting cramped in here."

You looked around and considered. "I mean, probably."

~*~*~*~

"Sevens?"

"Go fish."

"And that's when they added a dance emote, but it cause a glitch so the top half of your body started to spin around while the bottom half went normally, which would be okay, but if you collide with a wall then you clip about a mile above the ground and die from fall damage, and when they went to fix that -"

There were eight people in the treehouse, and no room for more. Mal had you in his lap in a corner. Idia was gesticulating wildly as he talked about what you were sure was this universe's version of Fallout 76, tucked against you at an angle. Floyd insisted on you using his lap as a footrest while he, Lilia and Cater played card games with an ancient deck Lilia had produced from another pocket. (You were not certain that Floyd's guesture was innocent, since he kept poking at your toes until you said you'd take them away if he didn't stop.) Rook was skipping this round to keep an eye out the window. There was maybe a half foot total of floor showing. Despite the magic fired and fists swung earlier, as soon as everyone had realized that no one was running to your rescue simply to perform their own indignities, everyone had relaxed.

Overall, it was very cozy, and as long as you could keep Idia talking instead of realizing he was crammed in a tiny room with a whole bunch of people, you could stay here quite comfortably for ages. Your ankles were currently only sore, with twinges of more, no one was at each other's throats, and as long as no one else fucked shit up, you could wait out Vargas, go home, and think about how in the hell you can report a teacher at this school for harassment.

"Trouble's coming."

Ah, shit.

Trouble, unfortunately, had figured out where they were due to the cluster of broomsticks at the base of the tree, flew to the window, and started spewing bullshit.

"What are you all doing? You abandoned the game," and here he guestured towards you, "and didn't come back with the prize. None of you would know what to do with a girl if she begged you!"

What a piece of shit, and he couldn't even read a room with eight sets of eyes glaring murder at him. He was still talking, but you weren't paying attention. Instead, you drained the last of the water, wiped your mouth on your arm, and took a deep breath.

"Get his ass."

~*~*~*~

Everyone scattered after that, not ready to deal with the consequences of ganging up on their teacher, even if he thoroughly deserved it. Everything will be dealt with tomorrow, when you can put weight on your legs without your knees buckling. Mal was walking you out of the woods personally in a princess carry, when he stopped in place.

"See, she's down, you didn't have to bug me."

You'd completely forgotten that Cheka had gone to bug Leona for help. "It's been hours."

He ignored that. "Draconia. What would your grandma say?"

"Mal-"

"I would hope she would be proud of my helping a friend." He held his head high, and brushed by Leona without another word.

"Bye!"

"Bye Cheka." You waved back at Cheka before the two lions were out of sight.

~*~*~*~

"Mal, you know you could just take me to my dorm, right?"

"Someone should keep an eye on you until you are fully healed," he said as he pulled out a pair of silk pajamas.

"Which you could do at my dorm, instead of." You guestured to the hangings on his bed. "Here."

"It's far more comfortable here than your dorm."

"I'm not kicking you out of your bed, Mal."

"You're not in a state to argue." He set the pajamas beside you, before turning to face the wall.

"About that."

He did not move a muscle.

"I'm surprised you didn't just heal them outright."

Silence.

"I know perfectly well that you can. So why didn't you?"

He still said nothing.

"Be that way, Malleus. But you know that's not okay." You flung the remains of your shirt at him, managing to catch it on one horn. "If you want me to stay over, just say that instead of conspiring to keep me dependent for an evening."

He turned, pulling the cloth from his horns, before his eyes nearly popped from his head and he hurriedly turned back to the wall. "I... am not used to this."

"Neither am I. We're going to have to have a little talk about boundaries and healthy friendships. You can turn around now."

He did, you patted the side of his bed, and he joined you.

"How do you want to do this, Mal."

"I do not."

"Tough titty, said the kitty."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I know I'm the first real friend you've had. I've been on both ends of that. You know what happens when you cling real fucking hard to your friend, and try to isolate them because you don't wanna share?"

His face was a practiced mask of emotionlessness. "What is that?"

"They suffocate, and draw away because the intensity is way too much. And then no one's happy."

Mal frowned, but said nothing.

"I do want to be your friend. I like you. You're funny, you're deeply sincere, and you're still the same person I knew when I just called you Horned Boy. But I will cut this off if you try to isolate me. I do not want to, but I will have to. If you can't play nice with others, you don't get to play with me at all."

He's so clearly trying to hide his distress and irritation, but he could not help a sigh. "You are not wrong, Child of Man. And..." He looked away. "You won't live forever. Or be here forever, at that."

"I will not. You won't either, but like, you'll outlive me. Eggs in one basket, and all. Another reason to attempt to make more friends."

"Hm." He stretched out beside you, staring at the ceiling. "With who should I start? My reputation precedes me."

"Well," you smiled, "If I've learned one thing, forced proximity does wonders with forcing Idia to like you, and he's already somewhat used to you."

He smiled at the ceiling. "I do like him."

"Me too. You'd like his little brother."

"The creation?”

"Yeah. Look, I'll network for you with other people. And I'll make sure to invite you places."

"A promise?"

"Of course. Now, are you going to take me home, or put up with the rumours of keeping me in your room all night after beating up Vargas to get at me?"

"... Oh dear."

"Yeah."

After a moment, "... I am alright with the rumours."

You snorted. "You could just ask for a sleepover next time. Don't wait for an injury."

"I will ask."

"Make sure Sebek doesn't eat me in the morning."

"I would like to see him try." He gripped your closest hand and squeezed it.

"Me too."

You lay there a few moments, scary lonely dragon boy and strange lonely human kid, hand in hand.

"Do you have any tales from your home you could tell me?"

"Mostly ones you already kind of know."

"I would still like to hear."

Even a dragon wants a bedtime story, it seems.

[cloveroctobers]

YASMIN DOUGLAS—

IG info/Bio: @/imyasmin_d | 11.6k followers | hello & ahlan 🎶

23-24 years old depending on her birthday (I’m thinking too much about timelines since i know some shows aren’t live and if they filmed it prior & it’s just being shown to us now...then there’s the boat party that comes in after, you get what I’m saying right? No? Okay)

Moroccan heritage

she was born in fes along with her baba

Father works in the carpet & rug manufacturing industry and worked in his father’s business from the young age of 16

her mother is from Essaouira & has often stated that she couldn’t stand Yasmin’s father the first time they met but she wouldn’t want to travel through this life with anyone else

Her father and mother came from two different lifestyles. All he knew how to do was hard work yet he had a sarcastic but playful side to him whereas her mom came from a family that was more financially stable & she was free to do whatever! mainly hanging at the beach with her friends without a care in the world, she was privileged and a little uppity while her father’s life seemed to be planned out from the day of his birth

Yet they still fell in love and decided to leave Morocco months after they got married at 21 & 24 & not too long after they had yas they left for England

She was raised in Kent, England

The Atmosphere led to her boho lifestyle...being exposed to castles, gardens, and underground tunnels from time to time shaped her into what she felt she was meant to be. She loved her second home

they call her “yazzy”

Parents follow islam...Which Yasmin respects but is not strongly devoted to

Can speak & write in Arabic but seems to do better in writing

Her paternal grandparents fault her parents for not teaching her to excel at both & feel that if they weren’t in such a rush to leave home she would speak Arabic better

Which made Yasmin feel like shit. Her paternal grandparents were strict on keeping their customs alive whereas her maternal grandparents were carefree as long as they got to see their granddaughter alive & well that was good enough for them

Idk maybe a only child or has a older brother? I don’t feel like she comes from a big family sibling wise

her mother made her a stuffed purple sheep that she took everywhere with her as a kid & continues to keep close to her. Y’all had imaginary friends? Well Yasmin had a real friend she could see & squeeze the life out that didn’t require talking and hugging the air, but that’s fine do u

100% collects beanie babies until this day but lil yamb is the number one princess in her household

As her significant other you have to be okay with lil yamb sleeping in between y’all that’s just the way it is

These stuffed babies are her comfort when no else can be

she’s a singer/songwriter. Went to uni for it & finished a semester early

Went through multiple hell experiences when it came to interning & temping while still in school & after

Let’s just say she wasn’t down to f*ck her way to the top

this made her anxiety act up, these people made her feel like she wouldn’t be good enough to show the world her craft & it’s didn’t have to be the world, just someone who would listen

But she couldn’t give up, there was nothing else she saw herself doing. She knew this is what she was meant to do but she couldn’t lie and say that her insecurities didn’t get the best of her most days

Although the cons seemed to out way the Pros some days, she kept at it & found herself a solid team that knew what she was about and understood her soul

Was definitely the student who loved all her English classes & when she spoke up everyone found it shocking since she preferred to just write everything out rather than “participate in group discussions”

I feel like her singing voice sounds similar to Jessica mauboy’s (if you don’t know who that is & you’re a fan of r&b/pop check her out or if you’re just curious that works too lol)

Knows her music notes like the back of her hand, duh!

Fav color is royal blue, especially on her eyelids & nails

Occasionally sleeps in rollers to keep her hair wavy

Needs her space when it comes to disagreements, they stress her out & she panics a bit when things go wrong so she feels like she needs to leave the situation rather than talk it out right then and there

She’ll talk when she’s ready, she just needs someone that’s a little patient with her that’s all

Words of affirmation is her love language? When she figures out how to balance her love life with her work life that is. When she’s feeling confident she’s smooth with words but when she needs to show you how much you mean to her & she really takes the time to think it out & feel her emotions, she’s writing you a song or you’re the inspiration to it or a poem, leaving you little love notes on blue post-it’s around the house, will write 50 reasons why she loves you on Valentine’s Day, and will say so when it’s just the two of you in your own comfort

Isn’t too crazy about public displays of affection but will deff hold your hand if that’s something you or she wanted in that moment

I think she’s fluid

Hasn’t been in many relationships. Sure she goes on tour every other year and gets to meet many people but they’re not solid relationships, they’re hookups and she hasn’t done many of those either

Had maybe one or two solid relationships: a androgynous woman that uses she/they pronouns & was in a rock band & a cis male she met at a tattoo parlor his step-brother owned (he kinda favored seb but we’re not going to speak on that)

I believe she wants to get married someday but isn’t so keen on the idea of kids. The furthest she’ll go is adopting a couple of animals. She’ll be a pet mom! I feel like she’ll be anxious looking after the life of a human being when it’s extremely hard to do so not only for herself and the love of her life & you want to add kids to the mix?! Fucking hell! but that could change? Who knows what life can throw at u

Has a hedgehog named Sonia that she drops off at her parents for their weekly sleepovers

Loves lace—mostly bralettes & crotchet clothing

I see her as a corduroy girl too. She has at least some rusty brown low-rise corduroy pants or/and a jacket

owns a crotchet kit, she’s bloody good at it too

Loved pink & purple (still likes them, they’re her 2nd & 3rd fav colors) so much as a kid that she tried to dye her hair half & half while her parents went out on their date night...it was also the weekend before school pictures :)

Says she got her inspiration from starfire & raven. She was only 13 at the time & had braces. Her father approved saying she’s a kid and she should be allowed to express herself. He only said that because his own parents barely let him & his brothers have their own fun

Her mother thought it was atrocious and did her best to get it out with the help of her other hair stylists friends (her mother worked in plenty of beauty shops once she got to England, until she decided to convert their basement into her own shop) who she invited over to see what her daughter had done but when you use certain permanent dyes...

It didn’t completely damage yasmin’s hair plus it was just hair, Yasmin didn’t see the big deal. She thought she looked splendid

Anyway, massive fan of ballroom dancing

She’s got a great ear to begin with so it was extremely fun twirling around while wearing pretty ballroom gowns

Took boring etiquette classes as a form of punishment? After the whole teen Titans inspiration thing “went wrong”

Enjoys western films

yes she owns a cowgirl hat & some boots too so sue her, she likes what she likes

Knows how to lasso but hates doing it to animals but she’ll do it to you :) (*gags* lmao why???)

Also loves visiting western towns & learning some history or at least experiencing what it was like

Type of significant other that will do her best to persuade you to stay in a treehouse airbnb, a cabin, the fucking Idaho potato, or camping out in her Volkswagen van in the middle of nowhere!

Has faux cow rugs, wicker baskets, wicker chairs in her flat, hangs some plants in glass jars & bottles all over her house

Her flat is very bright & vibrant: white, mocha brown, tan, yellows, & pastel purple

When it comes to decision making, she’ll make them pretty quick but only if it comes to choosing desserts

nobody is touching her mom’s meskouta orange cake WITH syrup

the dessert eater that always picks the one that has a surprise inside, meaning it has to ooze out with SOMETHING to make it 10x more satisfying

Leaning towards Buddhism, had studied some of their beliefs and found it resonates with her spirit

Fan of neon lights, probably has a few neon signs in her flat preferably on her brick wall in the loo, “to give u comfort as you go!” “that...actually makes sense.” Tai commented as he rubbed his chin coming to terms with yasmin’s reply. While Iona scowls, “no, no it doesn’t. I feel as if it’s an invasion of my bits!” “...Sorry you feel that way.”

tai & ciaran are automatically deemed as her brothers since she came into the villa with them. She had time to connect with them unlike anyone else. It was just the way the stars wrote their story and it showed outside of the villa too. they often crash at her place all the time when they’re in town & vacation all the time together when their schedules line up + it never feels like she’s third wheeling

“TaiTower” & “BB-Ci” are their names in her phone, Tai picked his own name while the “bb” stands for “best buds” for ciaran —which is a joke since he drunkly called himself so + he loves everyone when he’s drunk

You can always count on her to belt the lyrics to a Chaka Khan, TLC, or paula abdul joint when she’s drunk lol

As for the girls? She’s close with miki 😒 they just seem to be on the same wavelength when it comes to the pressure of the media since they have some sort of fame which increased with them being on the Telly. They bond over that & from there they’ve built a solid friendship

She could also be friends with AJ too (if you didn’t get swiped from her that is lmao!) they’re sorta opposites with aj being high energy/active while Yasmin is more mellow & “mysterious” but seem to connect in different ways: their sexual indentities, insecurities/anxieties, having something to be passionate about but at the same time maybe not? She might lean towards elladine or Genevieve if she had to make a choice?

Aquarius sun + cancer moon

so she’s still 23 y’all, I got it! I can’t do math sorry

“Freddie Mercury was probably my dad in my past life.”

Can play the banjo, guitar, & oud

Participates in hot yoga weekly

If she’s not with mc in the end and continues dating around if anyone from season two: LUCAS, Kassam, Gary, Rocco, maybe Blake? I originally thought Elisa but she’s probably too much for yas let’s be honest here lol they’d be better off as friends

Omg I forgot marisol! Imagine that?! Whew!!!

Season three: maybe Lily? But what if? Me being the slightly messy bitch that I am? Something happening with her & AJ. Now that?! Would be some chaotic shit “from the outside looks of it” name the irrelevant person behind the quote...now!

I’d like to see her interact with allerga but there could be something with her & cherry. I’m thinking cherry, Yasmin, & priya would bond well but we’re not here to talk about that

Getting rid of the physical aspect I genuinely think she’d do well with marisol, Lucas, or kassam. They’d mesh well I think in a relationship

She’s a body shimmer girl for sure!

Loves silk or satin robes

she’s a shortie, 5’2 to 5’5

Is learning Spanish

Loves arcade games, come see her in pinball & Pac-Man!

Quarantine life did not change her lifestyle much, but it did slightly mess with her mental health :/

loves the fall time, feels like she can slow down some and really spend time with family and friends

I feel like she has one best friend outside of the villa & that’s good enough for her!

They met their first year in uni & been close ever since

She doesn’t speak to the temporary friends she grew up with anymore & is often confused why they feel the need to keep up with her in the media which added more annoying worries to her heart but whatever right? Keep your eyes on the horizon

celebs she finds/found attractive: Aaliyah—especially when she played in queen of the damned, Kehlani, Zazie Beetz, Fivel & Booboo Stewart, Lakeith stanfield, Leah Lewis, Sofia Carson, Ryan gosling, & Nick Jonas

She listens to: jade bird, Yebba, Elli Ingram, Wafia, Zeina, Summer walker, Tanerèlle, Mariah the scientist, Teyana Taylor, Tove Lo, lady Gaga, Ra Ra Riot, Empire of the sun, & smallpools

Anthem? Diana Gordon — Rollin’

[sasster]

If you had to group your trolls together by caste (and anons) which group do you think would get along the most? The least? (and why, if you wanna say?) Are there any two trolls who would never interact in canon that you think would have an interesting or funny dynamic if they did?

Okay I definitely know for a fact that the ones that would get along the least would be the purple bloods because first of all I have so fucking many of those bitches. Like there was a time when I had like 14 fantrolls and 9 of them were purple bloods, like I just can’t help myself.

That being said they’re all... Like on the one hand you have the ones like Persep and Kerrim and then on the other hand you have the ones like Styx and Thanat so it would really boil down to a clown stomping contest really. Some would just be roped in with the clowns just ‘cause they don’t have backbones (see: Pallis and Areios) and some of them just wanna see how much violence they can insight (see: Oirami and maybe Parcae)

I guess the ones that would get along the most are the anons. They’re kinda just vibing and doing their own thing. The only super violent anon I have is Oirami, and he’d go to the purples just to start infighting and that would leave the rest of the anons to live in peace I guess.

I think if Baylei ever Kerrim it would be the funniest shit because Baylei would beat the hell out of Kerrim before he could finish making fun of him for living in a treehouse.

[mythrilhusk]

Korosensei Never Dies -Chapter 9

Words: 2,140 Ao3 Version Chapter 8 (Last)

TW: threats of violence, heavy (but short) discussions of death/murder

Quackity scowls blearily at the returning heroes. He and the other Ducklings were up the whole damn night trying to work out infiltration plans after Bad gave them the location of the laboratory and then peaced out with his team of scammers. Bad won't be returning again, but thanks to him, the Ducklings missed the whole rescue mission.

It's summer vacation, so everyone ought to be home anyway, but Philza promised to teach them fighting, and by the goddamned stars, Quackity is determined to make the old man follow through. 

Philza steps tiredly into the classroom. His bloodshot, baggy eyes go wide in surprise as he sees all the students gathered there. Quackity salutes him with a smirk. Ranboo hides in the shadows of the door, watching Phil with worried sulkiness. 

"Kids, I need a favor." Philza collapses into a chair, hiding his face. "I know you want him dead. But- please. Wait a bit." He hesitates and then continues in a ragged voice, "Purpled hit him with a neutralizing agent. He- he can die, again. I'm begging you all, please don't tell anyone or try to kill him until our time is up." 

"Why should we??" Quackity demands, realizing immediately with a confusing mixture of delight and horror that Technoblade has been rendered vulnerable. Does this mean their plan to sneak into the lab is pointless now? "I don't know." Philza hiccups. He's crying. The tears burn a hole through Quackity's delight. "I don't know, dammit. Please, just wait to kill him at the end of the year. No, better, kill both of us then, I've done the same terrible things as he has! I should be punished too, goddammit, why is he the one to suffer for both our crimes??" 

"I'll wait." Quackity leans back. "I'll fucking wait till time's up, but that doesn't mean I'm giving up my revenge." 

"I'll wait too!" Tommy cries. "I'm the fucking king of procrastination!" 

Sapnap and the Ducklings follow Quackity's example. The others follow Tommy's example. Together, the class proclaims their willingness to postpone Techno's death. 

Philza rubs his eyes and takes the handkerchief Tommy stole from Wilbur to offer him. "Thank you, kids." 

"We still get fighting lessons, right?" Quackity asks with a scowl.

"Yes, of course you do. You've all earned them." Philza smiles tremulously. "Ranboo, Techno, you can come out." 

Ranboo steps into the light, blatantly normal-seeming, so unlike the nightmare Tommy and Charlie described. He hovers beside Technoblade as the former terrorist limps through the room to reach his desk. He seems so small and frail without the mutation-induced strength. He looks so weak. Quackity could put a bullet through his head right now and he wouldn't be able to dodge or absorb it. 

But Quackity sees Philza watching Techno with worried, fond eyes. He thinks of Sapnap. Of Techno eating the goddamn grenade to save Sapnap. 

Quackity decides he can wait. If he kills Technoblade right away, after all, Philza won't give anybody fighting lessons. 

And if Philza doesn't give them fighting lessons, then who the fuck is going to wreak vengeance on whatever motherfucking scientists created the mutants?

++++

Niki and Jack watch through binoculars as their enemies spar with each other in the clearing outside the remote school building designated for Class 3-E. "Dang." Jack says. "They're not bad." 

"They can't fight a bomb." Niki grins. 

"Much less ten." Jack matches Niki's toothy smile. 

"Did you get the supplies?" 

"Yes, ma'am." 

"Good work, Jack." Niki drops lightly from the tree. "We can proceed with the operation Smithereens in a week." 

"Awesome." Jack chuckles darkly. "Do we really want to give them that much time, though?" 

"We need to get them acclimated to the bait, first." Niki taps her fingers to her lips. "This will go wonderfully, Jack, don't worry. That loser class won't be a threat much longer." 

++++

"Sir, Purpled is dead." HBomb reports, wincing nervously in apprehension. 

"The fuck he is, I told that bitch to get me Technoblade, and by god, he'd better do it!" Schlatt tips a whiskey bottle into his mouth, gulping the burning liquid down. He lowers it and peers at HBomb. "Unless somebody fucked up again." 

"He must have, sir." HBomb grasps the lifeline eagerly. "The neutralizing agent was nowhere near his body." 

"What?" Schlatt says calmly, his tone barely warning of the torrent of rage he's about to unleash upon the poor unwitting HBomb. "Where the fuck is it, then?" 

"Our clean-up team found the crushed casing nearby!" HBomb continues to dig his grave. "So-" 

"So he found it, and destroyed it." Schlatt snarls. 

HBomb nods quickly. "Y-yes, but-"

"Do you know how long it took to make enough neutralizer for one dart??" 

"Months, sir, but-"

"And you're telling me Purpled fucked up badly enough that somehow that goddamn mutant knew about the dart and destroyed it." 

"Well- see, we have reason to believe Dream is involved!" 

"Damn it!" Schlatt bellows and smashes the whiskey bottle on the table. His hand starts to bleed and sting from the shards. "HBomb." He growls, trying to pretend he's still in control; he needs to still be in control. "Why the fuck is that motherfucking spider involved?? I gave him a mutant already, why the hell does he want to steal mine??" 

"I thought you'd want his help!" HBomb squeals. "So I let him know we're trying to hunt Technoblade down!" 

"Fuck this, fuck you, you motherfucking imbecile, you complete and utter moron, why the fUCK WOULD YOU BETRAY ME LIKE THIS??" Schlatt roars. 

HBomb cowers, hiding ineffectively behind his broom. "I- I'm sorry, sir, but I thought-"

"Well, there's the fucking problem, yeah, bitch?? You thought. I do the thinking here." Schlatt reaches for his gun. "You want to know what I'm thinking, HBomb? Do you want to know what I'm thinking of, right fucking now??" 

"Pl-please-" HBomb whimpers, staring into the barrel as it aims between his eyes. 

"I'm thinking you're fucking useless to me, HBomb. And you know what happens to useless whiny bitches like you, right?" 

"Please don't kill me!" HBomb sobs. 

"Ahh, whatever." Schlatt lowers the gun, too furious to admit he can't bring himself to actually pull the trigger and become a murderer. "Leave my sight and don't fucking show your ugly mug for a week." 

HBomb scurries away, leaving Schlatt to bind his bloody hand, alone in the sterile laboratory. 

++++

Getting beaten up would have been bearable. Being bullied mercilessly would have been completely deserved. But being completely and utterly ignored for days on end breaks Eret like a goddamn crusher.

The more he thinks back on her actions, the guiltier she feels. During the sparring classes, they copy Philza's moves alone, behind everyone else working with partners. When the class decides to camp in the forest for the rest of summer vacation, Eret sets up his tent several meters away from the rest. She stands back and watches their former friends banter and laugh as they raise their own tents. 

"Hey."

Eret almost jumps at the low voice of Ranboo addressing her. Turning, he faces the mutant, clenching her hands to hide the trembling. "Yeah?" 

Ranboo steps up next to them, gazing into the smoking campfire amidst the scattered tents. "Why are you scared of me?" 

"You- you already know why." Eret stares at his hands. Out, out, damned spot.

"Um. I don't really remember, but yeah, okay." Ranboo sighs. "I- I don't think I'm sorry." 

"Neither am I, apparently." Bitterly laughing, Eret grips her chest as the sharp pain of grief blossoms. 

"I think you are." 

"What do you know??" Eret lashes out, shoving Ranboo. "If everything had gone according to plan, it would all be fine!" 

"But you still wouldn't have any friends." Ranboo replies calmly. 

It hurts that he's right. Eret knows he's right. They turn away, hunched and close to tears. "Why am I scared of you?" She mutters in a low, desperate voice. "Because I know. I saw what you are. I know you- you killed Purpled." 

Ranboo frowns. "Techno killed him." He says it so casually. Techno. As though the bastard wasn't a mass-murderer and terrorist, bestowing violence in the name of anarchy and blood. "What do you think I am?" 

"A monster." Eret snaps, rounding on Ranboo, who backpedals with surprised fear in his eyes. "You're a monster. You might not remember. Your friends might pretend to forget. But I know." 

Ranboo gathers his composure and stands his ground, forcing Eret back a step. "If I'm a monster, and I protected my friends... what does that make you?" He turns on his heel and storms away into the trees. 

Shattered and lost, Eret can only watch him disappear. 

++++

Karl slips a briefcase under the table to his contact, who takes it and gives it a little shake. His contact then slides a folder over the table. Karl snatches it and stuffs it in his backpack. The two remain in silence for a moment longer. Karl leaves first. 

Once out of the main school's cafe, he runs all the way through the woods to the Ducklings' treehouse. Echoing footsteps crack twigs behind him as he reaches the gang's base. 

"Hey, what's that?" Fundy doesn't even bother trying to hide anymore as Karl climbs into the treehouse. 

Karl pulls the ladder up. "None of your business." 

"C'mon, we're in the same class!" 

"You're not a Duckling." 

"I can help!! Pleassse?" Fundy begs. 

"Who the fuck is bugging you, Karl??" Quackity sticks his head out the window. "Fundy?? Get the hell outta here." 

"That was HBomb you were talking to!" Fundy cries desperately. Karl groans and hides his face in his hoodie. "I know that guy! I used to work for him!" 

"Where?" Quackity asks. 

"Some laboratory in the capital!" Fundy cries. "I was shadowing him for a potential internship!" 

"Let the ladder down." Quackity orders. Karl sighs as he obeys. 

"Fine, but I don't trust you." 

"You don't have to." Fundy gives a smug smile as he leaps up the ladder. 

Karl enters the treehouse and sets the blueprints down on the table. Sapnap and Foolish stop painting Connor's hair and gather around with Quackity and Fundy. 

The laboratory blueprints spread across the table, promising revenge. Karl looks up and sees the hungry fire in Quackity's eyes. He looks to the side and meets the molten steel in Sapnap's gaze. 

Quackity draws his dagger and sets the point on the blueprints. "Whoever the fuck's been experimenting on people, let's fucking find them and end their pathetic lives." 

++++

Technoblade slashes the saplings with a rapier, taking out his frustrated fury on the innocent young trees, ignoring the twinges of pain. He shouldn't be this weak. 

Even before Schlatt started experimenting on him, he was stronger than this. He was powerful. The best fighter, the best tactician, the best at strategy. Now his body is frail and hurts merely to move. 

He tries to snarl, but his breath catches in his throat, fear slithering roots into his chest. Irrational. He's being irrational. Technoblade isn't afraid of anything. 

Except perhaps the pale blue of scrubs, the glint of scalpels, the searing agony- No! Technoblade scowls and tries to shove the flashes of terror and hunger and bitter, helpless rage away. 

Philza approaches him with a cup of tea. Technoblade flinches away, unable to look at the man he failed, the friend he abandoned. "Techno?" Philza sets the tea down on a fallen tree and presses a hand to Technoblade's shoulder. 

"Who am I, Phil?" Technoblade begs. Weak. The old Technoblade would never beg, would never cry. 

"You're my friend." Philza answers. 

"Why aren't I dead?" 

"The kids agreed to keep it a secret and wait until the year is up." 

"Phil. It's not going to last forever, Phil, you need to kill me soon. I can feel the damn resonancy in my chest. I don't know how long you have, but you need to kill me before I destroy the world." 

"Techno." Philza's voice shakes. "No. Techno, we'll find something."

"Find what?? It hurts, Phil. It hurts to move, it hurts to talk... I've killed so many people, Phil, I deserve this, I deserve to die! Kill me, please. The kids are too innocent. They don't need to be turned into murderers like me." He thinks of Quackity, the blazing fire. He thinks of Ranboo, the gentle nightmare. Of Tommy, the merciless sunshine. Each and every student. They deserve better. 

"Technoblade." Philza grips Techno's chin and brushes back his hair. "I deserve death as much as you. But I'm going to keep living. There's still people we need to kill, Techno, there's still governments to dismantle! We can't end now! We'll find a cure. A real cure. I promise." 

"I don't want you to die." 

"Ditto, mate." Philza embraces Techno gently. Techno wraps his arms around his friend, afraid to let go.

[lovely-van]

beige - van mccann

You know you're beautiful But that ain't half the gold treasure in your soul that you got 'Cause I want it all With your fingers in my mouth, I fail to see your faults So please don't let me fall So please don't let me fall...  

- Beige by Yoke Lore

word count: 12k+ (yes i know but i’m not sorry)

notes: oh my god okay i love this story so much. based on a request where you and van are friends that fall in love but both don’t think the other feels the same way. not based technically on the song beige by yoke lore but i really love the song and it’s very cute and the meaning behind it is fucking amazing (definitely look it up on genius.com). anyway i really hope you like it and lmk what you think! enjoy :))

• • •

You met Van when you were nine. 

Of course, back then, he still went by Ryan. 

He was kicking a football around in his front lawn, right across the street from your own house. You were on the sidewalk in front of your house, scribbling designs on the concrete with chalk when you noticed him. 

You’d only moved in a few weeks earlier and hadn’t realized that you had a neighbor your own age. You giggled as he nearly tripped over the ball, trying to do some fancy trick. He huffed, trying to do the trick again and failing. “You’re not very good at that, y’know.”

His head shot up at the sound of your voice, looking around in confusion. His eyes locked on you and he shrugged. “I’m trying to learn!” he shouted from across the street.  

You stood up, wiping some chalk dust from your overalls and skipped across the street. “Here, it’s not that hard. I’ll help you.” He watched, his young face concentrated, as you showed him how to bounce the ball back and forth on your knees.

After a few minutes of trying it himself, he did it successfully. A grin spread across his face, cheeks flushed and dimples showing. “Wow, thanks,” he said. “My name’s Ryan. What’s yours?”

That was how it all started. 

You and Van soon became best friends. You spent everyday together, exploring your neighborhood, climbing trees, coming up with all kinds of games that stretched every part of your imagination. He attended a different school, public versus your private school that your mother insisted you go to. But you didn’t mind because as soon as he got home, he’d come running to your front door and knock on it, waiting there with the same cheesy grin every time. 

You made other friends throughout the years, some girls from school and he had friends from his own class but you were always each other’s closest friends. In the summer, you’d grab sleeping bags and flashlights and lay under the stars in his backyard. You’d talk for hours about what you wanted to be when you were older, how you couldn’t wait until you were big enough to drive a car or have your own house. 

•

You were eleven when you realized how special Van was. 

It was a sunny afternoon on a Saturday and you and Van were climbing trees in his backyard. It was late autumn, so the air was crisp and all the leaves had fully changed colors, ready to shrivel up and float down to the grass below at any moment. 

“Alright, just grab that branch right there,” he said, pointing to a tree branch a few inches above you. He was already much higher than you and guiding you to get to where he was. You dug your feet into the branch you were standing on to make sure it was sturdy, and you reached up, fingers just grasping the bark-

And then you were falling, falling and before you could even comprehend it, you hit the ground. You landed directly on your right leg and you screamed, the pain overwhelming you immediately.  

Van flew down the tree, jumping the last few feet. “Oh my God, are you okay?”

You shook your head quickly, biting your lip as hard as you could to try and hold back the tears that were stinging your eyes. 

“Okay, don’t worry I’m gonna go get someone. It’s gonna be okay,” he said quickly, rubbing your back and then sprinting toward his house.

Turns out you’d broken your leg in two places. You had to wear a cast for at least six weeks and you were extremely bummed that you couldn’t play the rest of your fall football season. You and Van were even on the same team, always carpooling to games together and messing around during tournaments. 

The day after you got your cast, you heard a knock on your bedroom door. You were lying in bed reading a book, feeling sorry for yourself when you saw Van peep his head in. “Hi,” he said with a small smile. 

“Oh, hi. What are you doing here? Don’t you have practice?” you asked as he sat down on the bed next to you. 

He shrugged. “I quit.”

“You quit? Why?” 

“I didn’t want to play without you.” 

•

You were thirteen when you shared your first kiss. 

You were both in your old treehouse, watching the sunset through the window. 

“Van?” you repeated, pondering it. He nodded, leaning his head back on the wood, a dreamy smile on his face. “How come?”

“Ryan’s so boring. I wanna be like Van Morrison, a rockstar and all that. So, Van, which is short for Evan - it totally works.” 

You nodded, your lips curling up into a smile. The sky was turning a purple-orange hazy color, your absolute favorite. You loved sunsets more than just about anything. If you were doing homework or watching TV or something, Van would toss rocks at your window, just like in the movies, to make sure you didn’t miss it. You’d always go outside and watch the sunset with him, usually from your backyard or even his roof if you were feeling brave enough.  

“Yeah, I like it. Very cool.” It fit the aesthetic that Van had been shaping for himself recently. Since becoming an official teenager, Van had taken it upon himself to descend fully into his ‘angsty’ phase. Well, as angsty as someone with the happy go-lucky demeanor that he held could be. 

He started wearing all black and jumpers with rips in them and buying only vinyls. He’d drag you to the local record store, sifting through them for hours and buying whatever he could with the money he’d earned from cutting lawns. You didn’t mind, though You loved the relaxed aura of the store, the faint noise of whatever Mr. Brown, the owner, was currently listening to in the background. You’d flip through records, listening to Van babble on about whatever new band he’d taken a liking to, fingers running over the worn cases. It was therapeutic, almost. 

“D’you think it’s weird that neither of us has had our first kiss yet?” He asked, turning and looking at you, eyebrows furrowed. 

You leaned forward, resting your crossed arms on your knees. “Um, I dunno. I hadn’t really thought about it. Do you think it’s weird?” 

Van shrugged, carving something into the wood floor with the pocketknife his father had given him for his last birthday. “Well, Joey and Simon both had theirs last year. And Henry Williams has kissed like, three girls. I feel like we’re the only ones who haven’t done it.”

His gaze was trained on whatever design he was making, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. You scanned over his face, the freckles dusting his cheeks, the scar in his eyebrow he’d gotten from a football match last year that was finally healing. He glanced up after a moment and locked eyes with you, waiting for your response. 

“I mean, I guess,” you replied. “A few of my friends have had theirs too, but they all had boyfriends. I don’t like any boys at my school,” you said, shaking your head, cringing at the thought. 

“Yeah, me either.”

“You don’t like any boys at your school?” you teased. 

Van laughed, kicking your foot lightly with his. “C’mon, you know what I mean. I don’t really like any girls right now and I feel lame without kissing anyone.” You paused, waiting to see what he was getting at it. “Sooo,” he said dramatically, dropping his pocket knife on the wood floor and mirroring your position, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his forearms on them. “Why don’t we just kiss?”

You wrinkled your nose. “What? Gross.”

He rolled his eyes, scooting closer to you so your knees were touching. “C’mon, let’s just do it to get it over with. We’re best friends so it doesn’t really matter.” His lips were curled up at the ends, hair wild as usual and you actually debated it. He was your best friend after all, and you figured it would be better than kissing some random boy during a game of spin the bottle or something. You were going to be in year nine soon, for God’s sake. 

“Okay, fine. But promise not to let things get weird between us after?” He nodded quickly, reaching his pinkie finger out.

“Promise,” he said, curling your finger around his. 

“Alright, then. What do we do?”

He shifted so he was cross legged and you did the same, both of your bare knees pressed up against each other. The sun was just barely above the horizon, only visible to you in the reflection of his eyes. “Uh... I think we just do it,” he said, not sounding too convincing. 

You swallowed as he wet his lips and leaned in, only a few inches away from you. You could see every detail of his face, every little scratch and imperfection of teenage skin. For the first time, you realized maybe he was kind of cute, like your mother always said. “It’s those little dimples he has,” she always said with a wide smile. This was coming from the woman who was convinced that you two would fall in love and get married someday. Yeah, right. 

He stared back at you, blinking slowly and licked his lips again. You would’ve felt uncomfortable normally, if it had been anyone else this close to you but, well, it was Van. 

“Close your eyes,” he whispered, his breath fanning across your lips. 

You took one last look at him and shut your eyes, your stomach doing jumps like you were about to board a roller coaster. He cleared his throat and you felt him shift and then his lips were on yours. He just kind of kept them there, neither of you moving, unsure of what to do. It felt weird and different and you were a little surprised at how soft his lips were. Did everyone’s feel like this? This is what people in movies feel like when they have their big first kiss, right as the music swells? It didn’t seem right. 

After a few seconds, you both pulled away and opened your eyes, blinking the blurriness away. You looked at the sharpness of his nose and the curl of his eyelashes and realized he still looked like the same old Van to you. 

“Huh,” he said after a moment, scooching back to his original spot against the wall of the treehouse. By now, his face was bathed in deep red shadows that were sure to turn to blue any moment once the stubborn sun descended past the tree line. 

“Huh,” you repeated, bringing your fingers to your mouth, running them over your bottom lip. “That was...”

“Weird?” he finished.

You shrugged. “No, just like, kind of boring, I guess. I don’t really get the big deal.” 

Van scratched the back of his neck, eyebrows furrowed. “Maybe we did it wrong?”

You laughed softly at first and then started laughed even harder, stuck in a fit of giggles. “What?” he asked with a grin, which just made you laugh harder. He started laughing with you, warm and loud, just like always. You howled with laughter, both nearly rolling around on the floor of the treehouse. You laughed for so long that by the time you were done, you forgot why you started in the first place. 

•

Age fourteen came with the band. 

You weren’t really sure how it started or why even, but suddenly Van was playing with one of his friend’s older brothers in their basement. He invited you to come along most times, rambling on about how excited he was about a new song they were learning or how good he was getting with guitar. 

You’d taught him to play originally, lending him the few notes your dad had taught you when you were small. He was entranced immediately, making you guide his fingers to every note you knew on the guitar that he’d saved up for for a year. And then he ran with it, learning every variation of every chord possible and spending nearly every waking minute playing in the basement of the B&B - much to his parents dismay. They scolded him and told him it was driving customers away which is probably how he ended up jamming with Billy, slowly learning a few of The Strokes’ easier songs. 

You loved tagging along to watch him play, even though all he and Billy did was strum on their guitars and sing in the basement that had really, really shitty acoustics. You knew Van was a good singer - he always had been, even though he was in the midst of puberty and was experiencing the dreaded voice cracks and hormones that came along with it. And he absolutely loved music. Listening to him sing was your favorite part of the day. You’d lean back on the couch, listening to the way his accent slipped away a little as he sang, stumbling over words and combining bits and pieces of various songs together. You knew music and you knew that he was good. 

“You’ve got quite beautiful eyes, y’know,” Van said one night, hours after his voice had given out from singing the same song over and over again in Billy’s basement. 

You elbowed Van in the ribs, nearly knocking him over. “Shut up, would ya? Brown eyes are ugly and you know it.”

You stared up at the sky, entranced by the constellations and bright stars that were out. You were both sitting cross-legged on the grass in a field a few minutes outside of your neighborhood, far enough that the lights from the houses couldn’t reach it. 

“No, ‘m telling you, yours are all big and soft and… warm, like honey.” You turned to look at him slowly, at the crooked grin on his face. You rolled your eyes, turning your gaze back on the stars. You wondered how they all fit up there in that big sky. It didn’t even seem possible, like they could fall out of it at any second and come crashing down to Earth. 

“Says the one with blue eyes. I’ve always wanted blue eyes,” you said with a dreamy sigh.

Van shook his head and laughed softly, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. 

You looked at him, blinking, and joined in laughing with him. “What?” you asked in between giggles. 

Van shrugged, only laughing harder, which made you laugh harder, too.

“I think… I think I’m just high,” Van said with a wide smile on his face. You nodded, tilting your head back and laughing again, the air visible from your mouth in the cold.

“Me too,” You said after a moment with a giggle. “Guess it worked?”

You and Van started smoking fairly regularly after that, usually leeching off of Billy or trading him with stolen cigarettes that your father rolled himself. You’d usually settle for Billy’s basement, passing around a joint or a bowl and listening as they played the songs that Van had slowly started writing, your brain fuzzy and soaking in every bit of it. 

•

Age sixteen came with first loves. 

“Mate, you know Abby Newman?” Billy asked one night, smacking Van on the chest lightly. He blinked, eyes half shut and red around the edges. 

“Hm, she’s a year ‘bove me, I think, so year younger than you, yeah?”

Billy smirked, taking a long hit of the joint in his hands. “Heard that she fancies you.” 

You snorted and Van shot you a dirty look, shoving you lightly. “Fuck off, would ya?” he said with a laugh, then turned back to Billy. “Abby Newman, huh?”

This is what kickstarted Van’s girl crazed phase. Through his delightful charm (or so he said), he managed to score a date with Abby. Within a few weeks, they were real-life boyfriend and girlfriend, holding hands at the diner you always went to, Abby finding a spot on Billy’s couch to listen to them practice, Van telling you about how they’d gone to second base - gross. 

At first, you were a little annoyed with Abby, her extra fragrant floral perfume and thick eyeliner being just a bit much but you learned to like her. Just as you were starting to consider her one of your own close friends, she and Van broke up. He wrote a sad song about her of course, actually probably 20 songs, but within a few weeks, he had a new girl in his lyrics. 

He never dated girls for longer than a month, if that, and you were never really sure why they broke up but it made for good song content, Van pouring his emotions out into his at first cheesy but then actually decent songs. 

While Van was experiencing the whirlwind that was adolescent females, you were finding your own first love in Matt. 

Matt was a year above you, seventeen and had this smile that dove you nuts. You’d go to his football games, cheering him on from the stands, Van usually by your side scribbling in his notebook or underneath the bleachers smoking a cigarette. 

You adored Matt. He was just so cool, always working on this old car that he already knew how to drive even though he didn’t even have his license yet, and giving you mix CDs with sappy love songs that you’d fall asleep listening to every night. 

Van wasn’t a huge fan of him but you figured he was just being his usual over protective self. You forced him to put on a smile and play nice, which he did for the most part. 

Matt bought you popcorn and paid for your movie tickets, held your hand tightly during the scary parts, took you to the beach when it got a little warmer, gave you goodnight kisses at your door that left you dizzy. 

You were sixteen and in love. Or you thought you were, at least. 

“Van,” you whispered into the phone, hand covering your mouth as you walked down the street on shaky legs. 

“Hey, what is it, love? You okay?” he answered quickly, voice thick from smoking or drinking. It was the night of your school’s formal and although he didn’t attend it, Van was probably winding down from the afterparty that one of your classmates had thrown - the party you should’ve just gone to after the dance. 

Instead, you were walking down a road you didn’t even recognize, in the dress you’d been dreaming about wearing for months, tears streaming down your face. 

“Yeah, I-” your voice cracked and you let out a sob. You crouched down in the street, head on your knees and cried, snot dripping from your nose. 

“Love,” Van whispered, his heart breaking for you. “Where are you?” 

You ended up in Van’s bed, curled up under his covers, wearing a pair of his joggers and your favorite sweatshirt that you always tried to steal from him. He placed a cup of tea down for you on his bedside table with just a bit of milk, exactly how you liked it, and sat on the edge of the bed. “You wanna talk about it?” he asked softly. 

You wiped some tears with the sleeve of his sweatshirt and took a shaky breath. “Um... I guess.” He reached out and grabbed your hand, the familiar feeling of his calloused fingers against yours relaxing you a little. “So basically... Matt and I had been planning on, um, having sex for the first time tonight, after the dance. Cliche, I know,” you sniffled, glancing you at Van. You’d expected him to shake his head or at least give you a disappointed look but his soft expression hadn’t changed. “And well, his parents were gone for the weekend... so we went to his house after the dance. And we were, like kissing and stuff and I realized that I just wasn’t ready, y’know? Like I just didn’t wanna do it then. So I told him that and he got really mad, telling me that he’d been waiting for this for months and how could I just decide all of the sudden I didn’t want to?” 

Van’s hand tightened around yours and you glanced up to see his jaw clenched. You took another shaky breath. “So... then I felt really bad and ended up just doing it.” Vans eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. 

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” he muttered, shaking his head. 

You dropped your chin to your chest, closing your eyes. “There’s more,” you whispered. “After we were done, he, um, broke up with me and basically said he was just waiting for this so he could finally dump me.” Van pulled his hand away from you and you glanced up to see him pacing around his room. 

“Oh my god,” he mumbled to himself. “Oh my fucking God. What a piece of shit. Who the fuck does he think he is, doing that to you? To you of all people?” he voice cracked at the end of the sentence and he paused, running a hand down his face. “I’m gonna fucking murder him,” he said, reaching for his boots by the door. 

“Van, stop. Please,” you whispered, pulling your knees tighter to your chest. He paused immediately and looked down at you, face softening slightly. 

“But he can’t fucking do that. Do you know how messed up that is? I literally wanna go rip his fucking head off,” he hissed. You shook your head and when he saw your lip tremble, he dropped his boot and sat down on the bed next to you carefully. “Oh, Y/N,” he whispered, wrapping an arm around you. 

You bit your lip and leaned on his chest, a sob escaping your mouth when he pulled you close to him. You cried, full on, a waterfall of tears into his chest as he stroked your hair and rubbed your back gently, keeping you tucked into him. He shushed you softly, almost rocking you like a baby as you cried and cried on him.

After you had no tears left in you, you sniffled and cleared your throat. You were both lying down now, both of Vans arms around your waist and your head in his chest, arm across his stomach. “Uh, sorry about that,” you said with a soft laugh. 

He stroked his thumb across your arm. “Don’t ever apologize for that, yeah? I’m here for you, always. If you need to cry on me, I’ll gladly wipe your tears away,” he murmured in your ear. “But I still wanna fuckin’ kill him.”

You chuckled, burying your head into his chest. “I know. But please don’t, I don’t want you going to jail on my behalf.”

“I’ll do it. I’d do anything for you,” he whispered. You closed your eyes, breathing him in. He smelled a little different than usual, his cologne and cigarette smoke mixed with alcohol and weed from the party. But it comforted you nonetheless, because it was Van. “I love you,” he said, dropping a kiss on your forehead. 

“Love you too,” you replied softly, falling asleep as you thanked God for giving you Van as a best friend. 

•

You were seventeen when you started to get jealous. 

It was well known by you and your friends that Van was, well, a ladies man. He dated a lot of girls. He was always loyal to them of course, he’d never cheat, but his relationships were always short-lived and dramatic. He still paid more attention to you than any of his girlfriends, but one night when you texted him to come watch a movie, you were disappointed by his response.

To: vannn

heyyy come watch 500 days of summer w me plz i need a rom com and snuggles

To: my bestest friend

sorry love i got a date w sophie tonight her parents are gone for the weekend ;) tomorrow? xx

You looked at your phone for a moment, color rushing to your cheeks as you snapped it shut. It’s not like this was anything new - Van hadn’t done anything wrong, he was just spending time with his girlfriend. But it bothered you for some reason.  

The next day, when Van did actually come over to watch a movie as promised, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes when he started talking about Sophie. 

“Yeah, I dunno she’s nice and dead cute, honestly, but she is a little insane,” he said, shoving a handful of popcorn in his mouth. 

Your skin was probably green with envy when he mentioned something about her being good in bed. “Van, I don’t wanna hear that,” you replied, tossing a piece of popcorn at him. 

He turned his head and stuck his bottom lip out in a pout, looking at you with raised eyebrows. “Aw, someone a little jealous that I’m spending time with another girl?” he teased, eating the popcorn that had landed in his lap. 

You scoffed, shaking your head. “No.” 

Van chuckled and leaned toward you, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. “It’s okay, babe, you’ll always be my number one.” 

•

You were eighteen when you realized you were in love with him. 

It was your birthday and you were at a small pub watching him perform. You were leaning against the back wall, a beer in your hand as you watched. Van and Billy had found a bassist a while back and recently had even found a decent drummer. And they were good. 

You smiled as he thrashed around on stage, nearly knocking his microphone over and putting on a hell of a good show for the small crowd of people. They’d grown a bit of a following over the years and you could tell something big was coming for them soon. 

“I just wanna give a shout to someone very special to me.” You looked up at Van who was staring right back at you, a huge grin spread across his face as he spoke into the microphone at the finality of their last song. “This girl’s been there for me since the beginning, through all my shit. She’s the best friend I could ever ask for and I dunno what I did to deserve her. So happy birthday, Y/N. And thanks for everything.” 

Color sprung to your cheeks as everyone turned and looked at you, clapping and shouting happy birthday wishes. One of Van’s guy friends who you’d gotten to know pretty well, elbowed you in the side and shot you a wide smile. “Didn’t know it was your birthday. How old are you, then?”

But you didn’t respond because you hadn’t even picked up on what he was saying. You were still staring at Van, watching as he started packing things up on stage. 

Everything around you went quiet. You watched as he tilted his head back and laughed loudly at something Bob said and it sounded like goddamn angels singing to you. 

Holy shit. I’m in love with him, you thought. I’m fucking in love with him. How did I not realize this earlier?

It was like everything else in the background faded to black and white but he was in color, his blue eyes shining brightly as he approached you, brown hair darkened with sweat. He said something to you and you had to blink a few times, bringing your focus back.

“Sorry, what?” 

He laughed, shaking his head at you. “I asked if you wanted to get out of here, go for a drive, or somethin’. I gotta give you your birthday present,” he said with a mischievous smile. 

So there you were in the passenger seat of his dad’s car, windows rolled down, arm hanging out and cutting through the wind as you drove over a bridge, music blaring, and fuck, you were in love with Van. 

The lights from the city were bright and shining in the rear view mirror as the two of you sped away, leaving everything behind you. You stuck your head out of the window, feeling the wind on your face, a little buzzed from the beer you had been drinking earlier and a little high from the joint you’d smoked a few minutes prior and you threw your head back and whooped, unable to hold in your joy. 

Van was looking over at you, one hand on the steering wheel and a wide smile on his face. “What?” he questioned you with a laugh. 

You shook your head, unable to explain how you were feeling at that moment. You felt so full and warm and just downright fucking happy. Happier than you’d felt in a while. “I’m just… happy,” you said back, sticking your arm back out the window and letting your hair whip around in the wind. 

Van laughed, rolling his own window down and screaming along to the music with you.

He pulled over eventually, onto a side road in the middle of nowhere but left the car running. He turned the music down a little and cleared his throat. You watched as he rubbed his hands down his jeans, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile. “What’s up?” you asked, rolling the window up and tilting your head towards him. “Ooh, do I get my present now?”

A laugh escaped him as he nodded. “Yeah, guess so. Or I could make you wait even longer.” 

You frowned, crossing your arms dramatically. “But Vaaan,” you whined, “it’s almost midnight. Then my birthday’s gonna be over.” 

His eyes shone in the darkness of the car, the moonlight washing over his features gently. “Alright, alright, quit your whining. Give me a second.” Van slipped out of the car and went around to the trunk and came back with a small box wrapped in newspaper. He held it in his hands for a moment as he sat in the driver’s seat, the windows around you fogging up just a bit from your breath. 

You waited patiently, heart beating a little faster. He licked his lips before he spoke, turning his head to look at you. “So I’ve been, uh… pretty bummed lately because you’re leaving soon. I was trying to think of a way to convince you to stay here with me and just become a roadie or something but I realized that there was no way I’d let you do that,” he said with a soft laugh. “You’re so fucking smart and I just… I know you’re gonna do big things at Oxford and after, too. It sucks that we’re gonna be apart but I’m hoping I can come visit.” He looked at you expectantly, eyes wide as if you were going to object to this. 

You nodded quickly. “Of course, yeah.” 

He smiled and looked out the window for a second, turning the present around in his hands. “Good, yeah. God, this is fucking awful,” he said after a moment, eyes going to his lap. “‘M gonna miss you so much. I mean… my best friend isn’t gonna be 10 steps from my front door anymore.” You bit your lip hard, blinking fast. You weren’t one to cry over just anything but you could feel tears stinging your eyes. And you weren’t ready to leave Van in a few days at all.

You’d applied to Oxford on a whim, fully expecting to end up at one of the smaller universities near your hometown that would be within driving distance so you could still live at home.

When you got your acceptance letter, you were shocked. Van hadn’t been surprised at all, saying he knew all along that you’d get in. It took you up until the last day possible to make the decision. Ultimately, you knew you’d hate yourself if you didn’t pick Oxford. And Van would probably resent you for life if you stayed living at home. Plus, he’d dropped out of school a while ago anyway and who knew what he’d be doing once Catfish got signed. 

He laughed softly, clearing his throat. “But anyway, I’m so happy for ya. I’m not happy about us being three and a half hours away from each other... but I’ll live. And I guess I should finally give this to you, yeah?”

He handed the present over across the console, your fingers brushing as you took it from him. “I can see you wrapped it yourself,” you said with a chuckle, inspecting the newspaper. 

Van rolled his eyes playfully. “Alright, shut up and open it.”

You tore the paper carefully, holding your breath as you pulled the paper back to reveal a small box. You lifted the top off and peered inside to see a CD case. You pulled it out and examined the front to see a handwritten tracklist - Van’s messy script, specifically, but there were no artists listed. “Oh, you made me a mix?” you asked softly, beaming at him. 

He shook his head slightly. “Well, not exactly. Um, they’re all my songs.” You gasped, looking back at the tracks. 

“That’s amazing,” you murmured. 

“And uh, well, they’re all songs about you.” You paused, making sure you heard him correctly, and turned back to look at him. He was staring right back at you, bottom lip tugged between his teeth.

“Songs about me?” you whispered. “I didn’t know you wrote about me.”

He laughed softly, pointing at the top of the list of songs. “Of course I do. How could I not? They’re kind of… in chronological order too, like from when I first met you to now.” You pulled the CD case to your chest, leaning over and wrapping your free arm around Van’s neck. 

“Oh my God, thank you,” you mumbled as he tucked his arm around your waist, his chin on top of your head. 

“There’s more, y’know,” he said as you pulled away, pointing at the box. You lifted some tissue paper to reveal a thick stack of notebook paper that was folded together carefully in a square. When you pulled it out, something fell out of the paper. 

“Shit,” you muttered as you lifted your legs off the seat, trying to find it. You switched a light on inside the car and spread your fingers across the fabric of the seat until you felt something cold. You grabbed it carefully, placing it in your palm and you gasped upon realization. “Van,” you whispered. 

It was his father’s necklace, the one he’d worn ever since you were both small. He’d started wearing it when he was only about seven or eight, he told you. You’d never seen him without it. 

You looked over at him and sure enough, the small chain that usually adorned his neck was gone. He licked his lips, eyes scanning your face. “I… I can’t take this from you,” you said, reaching for his hand to give the necklace back to him. 

He held his hands up in defense and shook his head. “I want you to have it. So you don’t forget about me,” he said quietly. 

Your chest tightened. Forget about Van? That would be impossible. You’d spent your life watching him grow up, been there for each other through every heartbreak, every family problem, every low moment. You were in love with him, for God’s sake. How could you not be? He was the funniest, most thoughtful, kindest person you’d ever met. And he thought you’d forget about him?

“I could never forget about you,” you whispered, voice cracking. Your eyes started watering again and you looked at your lap, turning over the delicate gold chain in your hands. 

“Let me put it on you.” You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat as you handed it to him carefully and turned to face your window. He leaned over the console and brushed your hair to the side, his hands against your neck eliciting goosebumps from your skin. He unclasped it and wrapped it around your neck slowly, his fingertips nearly leaving burn marks wherever they touched. He ran a hand down your hair, smoothing it carefully and hovering there for a moment before leaning back in his seat. “Looks better on you,” he said with a small smile.

The feeling in the pit of your stomach had not dissipated. You felt incredibly nervous but also still at ease and you were trying to figure out how that was even possible. But it was because you were alone in a car in the middle of nowhere with Van, your best friend of almost a decade who you were also utterly in love with, staring at him with only the soft hum of The Shins in the background. “Also, that’s um, a letter I wrote you,” he said softly, looking at the folded up paper in your hands. You started to unfold the paper until he interrupted you. “No, no, could you just wait to read it? Like, until you get to Oxford?”

You felt dizzy at this point, only moments away from having to press your forehead against the car window and catch your breath. What was in the letter?

“Uh, yeah, sure,” you whispered, tucking the note into the pocket of your jacket. “Van, I… thank you so much. You don’t know how much all of this means to me,” you said. He was pleased by your reaction, a small smile stuck on his lips as he stared at you. 

“Of course. You deserve it,” Van responded softly. “Come ‘ere.”

You leaned forward again and wrapped both of your arms around his middle tightly, tucking your head into his chest. He slid both his arms around your neck, one going to the back of your head and holding you tightly. You sat there like that for a while, feeling how warm he was against you, breathing in his scent that never seemed to change, the cologne he’d stolen from his father when he was younger with the addition of cigarette smoke in the last couple of years. He felt so solid and safe and at that moment, you realized that leaving for Oxford was probably going to be the hardest thing you’d done so far in your life. Van stroked your hair gently, holding you so tight to him, not caring about the awkward position you were in over the center console or that The Shins CD was starting over for the third time. 

You pulled away after a few minutes, forehead pressed to his. It was so dark you couldn’t see anything but the lightness of his eyes. I’m in love with you, you wanted to say. I’m so fucking in love with you it hurts. I want to wake up to you in my bed every morning and I want to dance around the kitchen with you in the middle of the night and I want to have babies with you and grow old together. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to say any of these things. You were leaving in less than a week and then you’d be across the country from him. You didn’t want to risk losing him or fucking things up before you left. You’d just realized how you felt about him and you were pretty sure that he didn’t feel the same way about you but you’d rather just live not knowing for sure - it was less painful that way. You wanted to remember him exactly this way - warm and happy and just Van. 

“I love you,” you whispered, “and I’m gonna miss you so fucking much. But you’ll always be my best friend, y’know?” 

•

It was near the end of your first term when Van finally came to visit you. 

It was a Friday afternoon and you had your nose in a book, studying for an exam you had coming up when your phone rang. 

You flipped it open and grinned. “Van!” you yelled excitedly, slamming your book shut and jumping out of your desk chair. 

He chuckled through the phone at your excitement. “Hi, love. I think I’m here but ‘m not quite sure where to go, honestly. Can ya come find me?”

There he was, a backpack slung over one shoulder, sunglasses on his face, wearing a huge smile. You sprinted toward him and nearly knocked him over with a hug, wrapping your arms around him tightly. 

“Hi,” you said when you pulled away, beaming. 

“Hi,” he replied, giving you that infamous crooked grin. 

“So this is my friend Hallie’s room and my other friend Olivia’s room is right there and, oh that’s Charlie’s at the end of the hall,” you said, speeding down the hallway, Van trailing behind you. He seemed to be in awe of everything, mouth hung open and staring at every room you passed. “And this is my room.” You shut the door behind you and leaned against the wall, watching as he inspected the small room. “Like it?” you asked nervously.

He turned and looked at you, a smile spread across his face. “This is amazing,” he said. “This whole place is so fuckin’ cool and all of your pictures in here and your records, wow,” he murmured, scanning over the hundreds of pictures you’d taped to your walls. Of course, he was in most of them. You beamed at him, plopping down on your bed as he looked out your window, admiring the view of the city outside. 

“So did ya miss me?” he asked, sitting down next to you, bumping your shoulder with his. 

“No, I’ve been just great without you,” you said with a laugh. “Yes, of course I missed you! It’s been, like…”

“Three months?” he finished for you. 

You sighed, scanning over his face. It had been only three months but it felt like so much longer. He looked older to you, his hair a little longer and some stubble growing in. His eyes still had the same twinkle and you couldn’t help but lean forward and hug him again tightly. 

“Three months too long,” you mumbled into his chest as he chuckled, hugging you back and rubbing his hand down your back.

“I know, darlin’. But what do you have planned for me this weekend? Gotta get the whole university experience, yeah?”

Naturally, you took him to a party later that night. It wasn’t overly huge or anything, just a casual thing that your friend Hallie’s older sister was throwing at her house a few blocks away from where you lived. 

Van was thriving in the party atmosphere, of course. Girls were eyeing him up left and right, offering him drinks and touching his shoulder. He was eating it up, not used to so much attention. He was telling a group of people about the band and how they’d recently won a music competition and they were all close to drooling. 

“Your boyfriend’s so cool,” someone next to you said. You turned and looked, seeing it was a girl who lived down the hall from you but whose name you could never remember. Van looked at you through the crowd of people, shooting you a wink as you shook your head and laughed at him. 

“I know right?” you replied, not even bothering to correct her. 

“I love college. I love it!” Van shouted to no one in particular a few hours later as the two of you stumbled down the street, his arm slung around your shoulder and yours around his waist. 

You giggled, holding him tightly to make sure you didn’t trip over anything. “Van, be quiet,” you shushed as you guided him up the stairs and down the hall to your room. You rolled your eyes, laughing as he said ‘hello’ to a few people in your hall and pushed him into your room. He collapsed on your bed, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. “I’m serious. I love this place. I could never leave,” he said, eyes wide. 

You sat down on the edge of the bed next to him, patting his chest. “I know. I love it, too.” 

Soon you were curled up in your tiny bed, limbs tangled together and fighting over blankets like you were sixteen again. His arm was around you, thumb stroking over your shoulder. “So you got a boyfriend?” he asked teasingly. 

“Ha no, no time for that yet. I’ve been so busy with school I can’t even think about finding a boyfriend,” you replied with a laugh. “What about you? How’s the girl situation?”

Van shrugged gently. “Eh, dunno. I’ve been seeing this girl Lily for a bit but I don’t really think it’ll go anywhere. She’s a bit full on.”

You’d become pretty good at hiding your jealousy, pushing it down inside of you and putting on a smile. You knew that his relationships never lasted and you really had no right to be jealous anyway but the thought of him doing anything with another girl made you sick to your stomach. 

You chatted for a while, voices hushed and words getting more drawn out until you could tell he was asleep. You laid there, head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat and listening to him breathe and you were just so fucking thankful that he was real and he was alive and here in your room. 

As you laid pressed up against him, not ready to fall asleep just yet, you thought of the letter he’d written you before you left for school. 

It took you until your third night at Oxford to read it, as you’d been so busy with unpacking and making new friends you didn’t have time. 

You’d flipped the lamp on next to your bed and unfolded the paper carefully. You read it slowly, taking in every word, every metaphor, every long description and then read it again. He really did have a way with words. You cried, of course, because it was fucking beautiful. He wrote about what your friendship meant to him and how he was so thankful he’d gotten to watch you grow over the years into the person you were now. He mentioned little details about you that you’d never even noticed and wrote about some of the bigger things you’d experienced together and what it was like from his perspective. 

The final paragraph is what really sent you over the edge. 

And now, you’re going off to do such fucking wonderful things. I can’t believe I’ve been lucky enough to know you. Just the other day I was talking to Larry about you, and how I was going to miss you and everything and he said to me “Mate, she’s special. People like that don’t come around in life twice.” And he was right. I might end up traveling around the world with the band, visiting different countries and meeting thousands of people. But none of them will compare to you. To your heart, your kindness, your passion to change the world. So I guess, I just want to thank you for being you and thank God for putting you in my life. I don’t know what I did to deserve you. 

You’re the best friend I ever could’ve asked for. I love you and I always will. 

Love, Van xx

•

You were twenty when you met Ethan. 

It was the beginning of your third year at Oxford and he was in your Calculus class. He introduced himself on the first day and whispered jokes to you about the lecturer throughout the whole class, making you burst out laughing at one point and get scolded by the girl sitting next to you. 

He followed you out of the lecture hall, asking you to coffee right away. While you were drinking coffee, he asked you to come to a party with him later that night. At the party, he asked you to dinner the next night. 

Within weeks you were inseparable. Ethan was witty and bright and kept you on your toes at all times. You studied together almost every night and it especially helped that he was a genius when it came to math. 

“So you’re just using Green’s Theorem to set up a double integral to find the area of this region,” he’d say. 

“I have to use whose what to find where?” 

He’d roll his eyes and laugh, then explain the whole thing to you again. 

You went to parties together and out to clubs sometimes, spending all night laughing and dancing together. You called your mother, giddy about your new romance and you could tell she was uncertain about Ethan. “Sweetie, are you sure about him? I mean he sounds nice and all, but… what about a certain someone back home?” 

You’d never officially told your mother about your secret love for Van but of course she knew. Ever since you were little, she constantly told you that you and Van would be perfect together and would end up married with kids someday. And when she started to pick up on your real feelings for him, that maybe you did want to be more than friends, you could tell your mother really, really wanted something to finally happen between you and Van. “Mum,” you’d scolded her over the phone, “you need to drop that, okay? I like Ethan. He’s gonna be good for me.”

When first term was over, Ethan invited you to come to his family’s house for the holidays and spend Christmas with him. You declined politely, as you hadn’t seen your parents in ages and desperately wanted to go home for a bit, enjoy the cold weather from the comfort of your childhood home. In the last few weeks, Ethan had become a little full on, as well, so you were glad to get some space from him. And maybe there were other reasons, too. 

As you rode the train home, looking out at the snow falling through the frozen window, you thought about Van. 

You hadn’t seen him in months. Catfish had recently gotten signed and they were busy recording their first EP so you rarely saw him last summer before you had to return to Oxford. You talked on the phone occasionally, but you were both so busy that you had little time to call each other. 

And fuck, did you miss him. 

Your heart ached for him when you arrived home, his house looking the exact same. You pictured him running across the street to beg you to come play hide and seek in the woods nearby or to convince you to go swimming in the lake a few blocks away. When your parents took you out to dinner, all you could see was him. Him sitting at the booth you always used to share when you had late night munchies, him waiting for the bus down the road before school, him knocking over that stop sign when he was first learning to drive. 

You thought about calling him but every time you clicked on his contact name, you couldn’t bring yourself to go through with it. What if things had changed between you? What if he was too busy with the band? 

You’d been home for three days when you heard a noise at your window. You paused, trying to figure out if you imagined it and shrugged, turning back to the book you were reading. After a moment, you heard the noise again. You folded over the corner of the page you were on and set the book down on your bedside table. You shuffled over to your window and jumped when you heard the tap again, then pulled your shades back. Through the frost, you could make out the figure of a person on the ground below. You carefully slid the window open and stuck your head out, rubbing your arms from the cold. 

“Hey!” 

It was Van, throwing rocks at your window, a smile on his face, just like when you were young.

Your heart swelled. “You wanna let me in? It’s cold as fuck out here!”

Van rubbed his hands together and blew on them, trying to warm himself up as you set a cup of tea next to him on your nightstand. “Thanks, love,” he said with a warm smile. 

“So how’ve you been? Can’t believe you guys finally have a record deal and everything. I mean you’ve been working for this for so long,” you said, pulling a blanket over both of you.

“Fuck, I know right? It’s been insane, just absolutely mad. I mean to hear my own songs actually recorded, not just on the shitty mic I have in my room? It’s fucking amazing,” Van replied, shaking his head in amazement. 

He shot into stories about their manager and the stress over which songs would go on the B side and you could tell he fucking loved it. His eyes were shining so bright, hands waving around as he spoke, a wide smile never leaving his face. Van was absolutely in love - in love with music and his band, and you realized you were in love, too. 

But not with music - you were in love with him still. 

“You glad to be home? It’s not quite as exciting as Oxford, eh?” he asked, taking a sip of his tea. 

You laughed softly, shrugging. “Maybe not as exciting but I like coming back here, especially since it’s almost Christmas. I love seeing mum and dad and it makes me… nostalgic you know. Reminds me of being little and running around with you,” you said, bumping his shoulder with yours. 

He nodded in agreement, lips curling up in a smile. “Can you believe we’re twenty now? Christ, I feel so fucking old,” he said with a laugh. 

“Oh, I know right. I feel like school is just flying by and I dunno, I have no fucking clue what I want to do when it’s over,” you replied, sighing. 

“You’ll figure it out. You always do. You’re dead smart and so passionate about so many things that I can’t imagine you’ll have any trouble finding a job after you graduate,” Van said softly. 

You looked over at him, biting your lip and wanting to cry a little. He always knew what to say. You’d been so stressed over the last year about your grades and about potentially going to medical school but you weren’t even sure if you wanted to, that Van saying this made you feel infinitely better. 

“Thanks, Van. I’ve missed you so much, y’know.”

He wrapped an arm around you, bringing you close to him and dropping a kiss on your forehead. “I missed you, too, love. It’s been hard without you.” 

You took a little satisfaction in knowing that he missed you as much as you missed him. You had your doubts of course, him being a big rock star now and you feared that maybe things had changed since you’d last seen him. 

“I was worried you’d forget about me,” you said softly, looking up at him. He blinked a few times, eyebrows furrowed. 

He shook his head and whispered, “I could never forget about you.” His flickered down to your neck and the gold chain you hadn’t taken off in years. 

You bit your lip, unable to contain the smile on your face. 

“You wanna go for a walk?” he asked after a moment. 

So though it was freezing and flurries were coming down, you found yourself walking the same streets you’d biked around on when you were young. 

You had your face buried in a scarf, hands shoved in your pockets because of course you’d forgotten your mittens, as you walked down the street with Van. 

It was dark out now, so the sky was hazy and everything was quiet from the snow. You were shivering and looked over at Van to see if he was the same, but he looked fine, no scarf, no mittens, no hat and just a light jacket on. “Aren’t you cold?” you asked, teeth chattering. 

He turned and looked at you with an eyebrow raised. “Not really. You?” You turned off the road you’d been walking on and wordlessly entered a park that you’d played at countless times. Visions of young Van sliding down the slide or swinging as high as he could flashed through your head. 

You nodded quickly, pulling your hands out of your pockets to rub them together. Van led you to a bench and sat. “Here,” he said, reaching out for your hands. You sat next to him, pressed up against each other, and he took your hands in his much larger ones, rubbing some warmth into them. He brought your hands to his mouth, blowing hot air on them. Your heart started to race and you felt like a teenager again. 

“Better?” he asked, pulling your hands away from his mouth but not letting go, resting them on his lap. 

You nodded, lips curled up in a smile. The tip of his nose was a little red and he looked adorable. 

“So your mum told me the other day that you’ve got a new boyfriend.” Oh, fuck. Since being home and especially being with Van, you’d kind of forgotten about Ethan. 

“Oh, yeah, Ethan. We’ve been together for just a couple months,” you said with a small smile. Van nodded but didn’t return your smile, turning and looking across the park, snowflakes falling and nestling onto his hair. He looked older, circles visible under his eyes probably from long nights spent perfecting songs and early mornings at the recording studio. You were positive he’d grown since you last saw him - he’d seemed like a giant when you’d been walking together. “But I dunno, I don’t really know if he’s the one, y’know?” 

When Van turned back to you, he looked nine years old again. Small and vulnerable and clueless about the world. 

He looked down at his lap, at your intertwined fingers, and licked his lips before his eyes flicked back up to yours. “Y/N… Can I tell you something?”

Your breath hitched in your throat before you nodded slowly. Van cleared his throat and turned your hand over, running his thumb along all the lines. He scratched your palm gently, just like he knew you liked, before intertwining your fingers again. “Uh, wow, I have no idea where to even start. I’ve had this planned in my head for fucking years and now it’s real and I… I don’t even know what to say,” he muttered, eyes wide as they stared into yours. 

“What do you mean?”

He laughed softly, his thumb stroking over the back of your hand. He brought your hand up to his mouth again and kissed your knuckles gently. 

“I’m in love with you.” Your ears were ringing and you blinked slowly, wanting to pinch yourself in the leg to make sure you weren’t dreaming. “I’m so fucking in love with you. And I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to say it because God, I’ve known it since I was fifteen and you fell asleep on my shoulder in Bobby’s basement one time but I was always too scared to tell you. Scared because I knew you didn’t feel the same way and I was worried you’d get weird around me which is fucking dumb because, well, you’re you and you’re the best person I know so it would’ve been fine,” he said with a soft laugh. “I wanted to tell you before you went off to Oxford, too, but I knew it was a bad idea because we were gonna be so far apart and I didn’t want it to ruin our friendship or anything, y’know? But now I hear that you have a boyfriend and I probably shouldn’t even be telling you because that’s kind of a shitty thing to do, but I dunno. I couldn’t keep it in anymore,” he finished, shrugging like he’d just said something completely minuscule to you. 

He reached up and rubbed his thumb under your eye and you didn’t even realize you’d started crying. 

Van was in love with you. He was in love with you and had been for years. All those years that you thought he didn’t feel the same, that he was just a really good friend. After you’d read his letter when you first started at Oxford, feeling a little crushed that he hadn’t confessed his love for you, you were positive that you’d never be more than friends. 

Van, your best friend of eleven years, the boy who’d grown into a man in front of your very eyes, was in love with you too. 

You couldn’t believe it. 

“Oh my God,” you mumbled. “Oh my God. This is real?” He nodded, his face full of confusion. 

You’d spent years dreaming of this. Lying on your bed at Oxford, staring at the ceiling, willing there to be some way the universe could work its magic and make Van love you back. Apparently, the universe listens. 

“Van... I’m in love with you, too.” He sighed gently, eyes locked on yours. “I have been forever. And I didn’t wanna tell you either because I thought you didn’t feel the same way,” you said with a small laugh of disbelief. “Fuck, I can’t believe this is actually happening. I spent so much time wishing you’d feel the same way as me but I honestly thought you never would. And God, I wanted to tell you so bad but I was just so scared. You’re really in love with me?” you whispered, biting your lip. 

He nodded, bringing his finger to your chin and tilting your face to look up at him. You could see every detail of his face in the soft lighting, the freckles that dusted across his nose, the ever so faint scar from that football match so long ago, the curl of his eyelashes. You thought of when you were thirteen and you had stared at him before having your first ever kiss, how much he looked like that young boy right now.

“Of course I’m in love with you. It’s always been you,” he whispered, his thumb stroking across your cheek. Your heart was beating so fast you were worried it would pop out of your chest. 

You sighed softly, scanning over Van’s face, the snowflakes that had accumulated on his hair, the sparkle in his eyes, the redness of his cheeks. He was in love with you. 

“Think we can try that whole kissing thing again?” he asked after a moment, with a small smile. “Might be better now than it was when we were kids.” 

You laughed, nodding as he leaned forward and rested his forehead on yours. You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close to you to make sure he was real and that this was actually happening. 

“I love you,” Van whispered, his breath ghosting across your lips, the edges of his eyes crinkled because of how hard he was smiling. 

And yeah, it was safe to say this kiss was better than the one you’d shared at age thirteen. 

•

You were twenty four when you got married. 

It was a nice autumn day, a slight chill in the air but the sun was still shining bright. 

As you waited for your cue to walk down the aisle, your heart beating faster than you knew possible, you thought of the last time you’d seen Van. It was yesterday morning, when you woke up to him pressing soft kisses on your cheeks, your nose, your forehead. 

“Van, what are you doing?” you’d groaned, not wanting to wake up. 

He scattered a few more kisses down your face and then giggled - giggled - against your neck as he brought his fingers to your sides, tickling you gently. “Van!” you squealed, opening your eyes to see him hovering above you with that crooked grin. 

“I needed to wake you up,” he said. 

You looked up at him, blinking the blurriness away, at his messy hair and sleepy eyes. It had to have been early still, dawn lighting streaming in through your window onto his face. “Why?” you asked with another groan. 

“Because I looove you and we have so much shit going on today and then we don’t get to be together tonight so I wanna enjoy the time we have this morning,” he replied softly. 

You brought your hand up to his cheek, stroking your thumb across a dimple and pulled his mouth to yours. He smiled even wider into the kiss, morning breath and teeth clinking together and all. 

You loved Van a little extra in the mornings. He was even more affectionate than usual, running his hands over every part of your body, wanting to be the little spoon, begging you to stay in bed for just a little longer. 

He snuggled on top of you, arms around your waist and head nuzzled into your neck as you scratched his scalp gently. “We’re getting married tomorrow,” he mumbled. 

You sighed softly, lips curling up in a smile. “I know. God, I’m so excited.” 

He pulled away slightly, resting his forehead on yours. You couldn’t see anything but the lightness of his eyes. “Me too,” he whispered. “Been waiting for this for a long fuckin’ time.” He kissed you gently, then rested his head on your chest, your hands going back up to tangle through his hair. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you, so fucking much.” 

As you rounded the corner, you took one last deep breath and looked up. Everyone was standing, staring at you with wide smiles and hands pressed to their hearts. The music was playing softly in the background, white twinkling lights everywhere, the flowers absolutely perfect. You were thankful your father was leading you, his arm tightly around yours because otherwise, you probably would have stopped dead in your tracks while walking down the aisle when you saw Van. 

He was waiting at the altar, looking fucking amazing in his black suit, and he was crying. Tears were streaming down his face and his hand was covering his mouth as he shook his head in awe. 

Your dad kissed your cheek and whispered that he loved you and took his seat next to your mum in the crowd.

When you reached Van, you grabbed his hands tightly, grinning at him as his eyes looked you up and down and then straight into your own eyes. His face was wet with tears and his lip was nearly bleeding from biting it so hard. 

“Hi,” you whispered, tears stinging at your own eyes. 

He laughed softly, shaking his head again in disbelief. “Hi. God, you look fucking beautiful.” 

•

You were twenty seven when you had your first child. 

You’d woken up in the middle of the night, eyes widening immediately as you shook Van awake. He had just gotten back from a short tour the night before, and he’d been absolutely exhausted. But he knew you were due soon and there was no way he was missing the birth of his first kid. 

“Hm?” he mumbled, not waking up. 

“Van,” you hissed, shaking his shoulder again. “It’s happening.” 

He opened his eyes and blinked, looking up at you. You nodded quickly, trying hard not to freak out too much. “Oh my God,” he said, shooting up and stumbling out of bed to find the bag you’d packed a while ago. “Oh my God, fuck, oh my God.”

The whole drive to the hospital, Van checked in on you constantly, making sure you weren’t in too much pain, driving as fast as possible, squeezing your hand tight. He had a playlist on his phone for this very moment - because honestly, he had a playlist for everything - and he put it on, trying to keep you relaxed as it played softly in the background. “We’re gonna have a fucking baby,” he muttered, glancing over at you in the passenger seat and laughing softly. “Christ.” You laughed too and then started to cry of course, because your hormones were a fucking disaster. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay, love. You can do this, yeah? Never been anything you can’t do.”

“She’s fucking beautiful,” Van whispered, tears running down his face as you laid in the hospital bed together later, both of you holding your new baby girl. You were exhausted and in a lot of pain, your face sticky with sweat but you didn’t care. You nodded, resting your head on Van’s shoulder as you started crying with him. “Looks just like you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

“We’re parents, Van,” you said after a moment. “Holy fuck, are we ready for this?”

Van snorted, shrugging gently. “Probably not but we’ll figure it out, yeah? We always figure it out.” You sighed happily, leaning up and pressing a kiss on his lips. 

“God, I love you,” you whispered, dropping your head back to his shoulder. “Now, what are we gonna name her?”

•

You were thirty-three when you realized your mother had been right all along. 

It was a cold, snowy day in the middle of December. You were cozy in bed, still half asleep, Van’s arm tight around you as you laid on his chest, blankets pulled up over you. 

You were about to fall fully back asleep when you heard your door swing open. You heard some whispering and soft giggles and suddenly, you and Van were being attacked. 

“Wake up, wake up, wake up!” Van groaned loudly as you opened your eyes, seeing your two children jumping up and down on your bed. They giggled, launching themselves on top of you and hugging you. “Wake up, please!” they begged, Mary sitting on Van’s chest and Leo bouncing up and down on top of you. 

You rubbed your eyes, laughing softly at them. “What are you two doing?” you groaned, pulling Leo down into a hug. 

Leo laughed as he hugged you back, burying his face in your neck. “We wanna go play in the snow, please, please?” he begged in his small voice. 

Van mumbled something incoherent as Mary poked his cheek. “Daddy, wake up,” she said with a giggle. You glanced over to see Van with his arms covering his face, clearly not ready to be awake. 

“I don’t think Daddy is ready to wake up,” you said with a laugh, reaching up to press a kiss to Leo’s nose. Leo squirmed off of you and joined in the assault on Van, pulling his hands off his face and pressing his forehead to Van’s. 

“Daddy, pleeease,” he whined, giggling. Van groaned loudly again, before opening his eyes and immediately wrapping his arms around Mary and Leo, pulling them both onto his chest. 

“You’re killing me,” he mumbled, voice scratchy. “Daddy needs to sleep.” 

You laughed, squeezing up tight to your family and resting your head on Van’s shoulder. “Daddy does need his sleep. Especially after last night,” you said with a smirk. Van chuckled as Mary started tugging on his hair and Leo wiggled to get out of his grip. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Van started to tickle both of them, making them scream with laughter as they squirmed around your bed, limbs flying everywhere as they tried to escape him. 

“Okay, okay, we’ll have breakfast and then we can go outside. You can go watch some TV while I get your Daddy up,” you said with a laugh as Mary and Leo jumped off the bed, racing into the living room. 

Van chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you onto his chest. “They’re mad,” he said, shaking his head.

“They are, yeah,” you replied with a soft laugh. “But I love ‘em.”

“Love ‘em to pieces.” Van ran his hand down your arm slowly, before reaching his hand down to your jaw and tilting your face up to look at him. His eyes were sleepy still, his hair a mess. “And I love you, Mrs. McCann,” he whispered. 

You smiled back up at him, feeling giddy as ever as he leaned down and kissed you slowly, smiling against your lips. You pulled away after a moment and stared into his eyes, wondering how the hell you got this lucky. “I love you more.” 

Turns out your mother was right all along about the whole marrying Van and having babies with him. 

You never would’ve imagined this at nine when you met him for the first time or at thirteen when you had your first kiss or even when you were eighteen and you realized you were in love with him. It seemed too good to be true.

But it was real. Van was real and you loved him more and more every day, still asking yourself how someone as perfect as him could exist. Van, who had become the best father in the world, crying to you at night sometimes because he loved his children so much and was worried about what the world would do to them. Van, who dedicated every album to you and had to call you every night while he was on tour because he couldn’t sleep without hearing your voice. Van, who made sure to send you flowers at work once a month, who you got to spend the rest of your life with, who left a note on your bedside table with a different reason why he loved you every single morning. 

And God, did you love him too.  

• • •  

[gdotsand]

The Fastest Way Back Home - Prologue

Pairing - Bucky Barnes x Reader (Post Infinity War) 

Summary - A collection of memories sprinkled along the road to regain what she lost. 

Word Count -1,400 (ish) 

Playlist Link - Link (will be updated as more chapters are added) 

Warnings - Sadness. Angst. Bad jokes regarding muffins. 

A/N -  I really wanted my first published Bucky series to be happy, I really did. I fought my brain so hard but this was the first work in progress it allowed me to finish for him. I’m sorry in advance? I honestly get physical chest pains from writing this story because it also makes me sad but I will promise you happy endings and it wont (hopefully) all make you wanna curl into a ball and listen to sad songs. Likes, reblogs and feedback is always appreciated. Also big shoutout to Lara (it wont let me tag you), thank you for encouraging me to post this finally and listen to my ramblings. You’re the real MVP. Thank you - G.Sand 

Present 

He'd always said that the water calmed him, the darkness lapping against the small dock. One of the main reasons he'd thrust a pros and cons list into her hand the night after viewing the house. Top of the list, the water.

There were many other things on the list, a tree that seemed like it had grown specifically for a treehouse to be constructed against the thick branches.

A living room big enough if they pushed back the furniture he would be able to twirl her around barefoot as the record player in the corner softly played old country vinyls her grandfather left her when he passed.

A wrap around porch, sure it needed some work, some of the slats have fallen though, but he promised to replace them, whitewash them and share lazy Sunday afternoons drinking fresh lemonade and watching the sun disappear beyond the horizon.

It felt like a life time ago, sometimes, most of the time it felt like a fever dream. Calloused fingers against her jaw line, the slipping of a golden band onto her finger, her doing the same for him. Bright smiles and her mother softly wiping the tears from her cheeks. Promises of forever and always, promises of a future beyond the hurt and loss that lingered deep within his bones.

Promises of all perfect and beautiful things that would now never come true. Promises of a life away from bloodshed and fear. Away from anger and torment. Everything turned to dust that day, breathy whispers at some ungodly hour, promises, commands, vows, everything including the man she loved turned to dust, and she had no idea.

Sometimes she could pretend, pretend he was on a regular mission, or he'd gone out to a meeting or to the store. Because he was ever present in her home, their home.  The photos that adorn the walls, his jacket is still on the hook by the door, weapons safe still locked. It can only be opened by a retinal scan that now didn't exist in the world. Tony he said he can override it, find a way to disable his own systems but she declined. What was the point anymore? What was the point in anything anymore?

So she looks out at the water. Watches as the sun starts to set, another day has been added to the tally marks somewhere etched into the walls of her brain. Filed away, so she wouldn't be able to recall an exact number if asked, but still enough to keep a permanent hole in her chest since that day. Its been almost five years, and Betsy is bordering on her birthday, and she wants, she prays that she can believe that Betsy is a happy child but it always feels like something is missing. Its in the depths of her eyes, in the dark curls that sit on top of her head a question that will forever go unanswered, at least not completely. Because no sweetheart your daddy isn't coming home and no bugs he was never home to begin with. Not really, not with both of his girls. So she take things day by day and who can blame her? Honestly what else do people expect. Not that theres many people left to judge her that is. So to hell with it.

If he was here, he'd tell her to buck up. She knows that, but even Tony dare not make that joke. He'd tell her that everything happens for a reason and that everything will work out in the end. But thats Bucky all over, and Bucky isn't here.

The light shifts into something reminiscent of artwork purple and oranges splayed across the horizon, and a smooth pebble is thrown into the icy darkness, it skips across the water at speed and disturbs the darkness, but eventually like everything else the ripples dissipate into nothingness again.

"See kiddo, it's all in the wrist" Tony says, and Betsy listens, she idolises her uncle Tony more than he can know however it's not lost on anyone else. Eager to please Betsy takes the second stone from his outstretched palm, skims it across the surface of the water and it bounces once, twice, three times before eventually sinks, and Betsy squeals as she hoisted into the air in celebration. Y/n could listen to the sound of her laugh till her dying day and never get bored of hearing that little girl enjoy the freedom of happiness, but y/n? She allows herself a smile and turns back to the water, because you know, it always said it calmed him.

Steve approaches slowly behind, careful not to make her jump in the process, spends a good minute or two just watching her. She's never been the same since the snap, okay, no one has been the same since the snap but out of everyone, he thinks that maybe y/n had it the worst. And sure he may be being an overdramatic asshole as Buck might have said once upon a time but Buck's not here to reprimand him. Even if he can hear his taunt somewhere far away, carried on the winds that come from wherever he is.

"He was right you know"

Steve hums at her as a response, an explanation waiting on the other-side of her tongue that for some reason needs to know that Steve is listening before y/n continues.

"It's pretty fucking calming when you think about it"

He hums again, but it's more of an amused tone.

"I came to talk to you specifically before we do this" he says, always a man to get right to the point is Steve Rogers, there is no proverbial bush and he'll be damned if he beats around it.

"Well I assumed you didn't come here just for my muffins Steve"

"You're a married woman can we not talk about your muffins"

"Ah, no one is talking about my muffins these days" and then earns her a chuckle at least. She's always had a way with words like that, always been the one to crack the jokes. First to make light of a situation that really doesn't need it.

"We can get him back, well" he swallows but continues "we can get all of them back, but we're going to bring him back y/n"  

Y/N rolls her eyes and takes a couple of steps off the dock towards the house, "Don't make promises that you can't cash Rogers i'm not in the mood" she throws over her shoulder. It only takes half as many steps for Steve to catch up and stop her with a hand on her shoulder. There are already tears in her eyes, and it's a knee jerk reaction. Because she remembers the day that Steve had made that promise to her before, years ago.

5 Years Ago 

The house was too quiet, the kind of quiet that strikes fear like a match in the pit of your stomach. The hollow feeling that just something, somewhere isn’t right. There are no books to read, no work to be done, no shows to watch and no mindless task that she can do that will keep her brain from thinking the inevitable. It’s always the case yet it never gets any easier.

Washing done, book shelves back into the correct organisation system. Dinner being planned in her subconscious because she has to keep that hope, that preyer that there will be dinner. There will be another set of feet under the table, a light too minimal conversation to be had and a head on the pillow next to hers at the end of the day.

But then there’s gravel crunching under tires, there’s one, two, three car doors being slammed and three pairs of out of sync footsteps growing closer to the front door. Three sets of footsteps isn’t good. She knows this. She knows as she crosses to the front door, pulls it open and meets the eyes of his best friend. Although she had known that at some point, this day might come, it makes the horror no less scary. It doesn’t make the gravel any less sharp on her knees as her breaths come quicker and Steve arms aren’t quick enough to react. To catch her before she falls.

She can see it reflected in the gaze of Nat that he’s not coming home, that something terrible, something unimaginable has happened.

Steve swallows around the lump in his throat that he prayed wouldn’t be there by the time he got out of the car.

“We’ll get him back Y\N. We’re going to bring him back”

[the-abominable-hulk]

dont think about tfw 2.0 cuddling on the couch together, reading jack bedtime stories and making his room more teenager like -- what the heck would jack want in his room anyway??? not led light -- but soft string lights, thats for sure

@specialagentrin

Personally for the cuddling thing I like the idea that Sam and Cas on one side of the couch, no issues getting comfortable/ cozy with one another (I’m constantly a sastiel stannie on main— oops) and Jack’s in the middle, and Dean’s on his other side; Dean’s not a cuddler by any means but if the kid falls asleep on his shoulder he’s not going to wake him up, yknow? And even though the whole movie thing and all being cuddled up is cheesy to Dean he has to admit that it’s nice to see the people he cares about most comfortable/so relaxed

Tbh I love the idea of Jack having like pink/purple soft string lights in his room

Dean: “that’s girly”

Jack, who barely understands the intricacies of gender/gender roles: ???

(Sidenote: totally valid Jack,,, fuck gender roles)

I could see Jack maybe wanting some sort of photo frame with him + his dads (+maybe one with Kevin and Claire too if we’re talking about the same au as the treehouse thing)

Maybe a Star Wars poster!

Alsoalso I really like the headcanon that Jack collects bottles/ other random things that are cool to him (but literally just a regular bottle to other people) because he’s never seen them before, so maybe something with them? Maybe he has a shelf with random bottles/other ordinary items he thought was really cool and wanted to hold onto ((like there’s a yoohoo bottle— he found one purple hoop earring in the dirt on a hunt— some little kid left behind a small dog stuffed animal at a restaurant and he kept it— maybe coins that have cool designs?)) but anyways Sam has to start doing the parent thing of always keeping hand sanitizer because Jack is constantly grabbing things off of the ground

Okay and maaaybe he has the alphabet on his wall like his mother had in his nursery because it makes Jack feel close to her 🥺

Thank you for the ask! 💙 what do you imagine him having?

[grell-writes-stuff]

A Self-Indulgent Second Chapter

Acknowledge me! First Chapter Here

Words: 3588

Genre: Young Adult/Paranormal

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

I wake up reluctantly to Ivy poking my face at two o’clock in the morning. She’s already back in leggings and a hoodie, and contains an unwarranted amount of pep for such an early hour. I rub my eyes, grab my own sweatshirt to fight off the chill of the middle of the night, and rise.

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

“That’s what you’re wearing?” Her damning gaze judges my pajamas.

“Ivy, I need you to understand that I’m not putting in more effort than the bare minimum in order to go sit around in a graveyard with you at three a.m.”

Her eyes roll, but she ultimately drops it, and we’re out my bedroom window, walking along the roof over the back porch, and carefully scaling down the trellis at the side of the house. We cut across the unfenced yards of our neighbours. The last house at the corner before we make it to the sidewalk is Ivy’s. We walk under the big beech and shabby treehouse that we used to play in and that is most certainly a deathtrap. It’s intentionally a deathtrap. Ivy literally read the OSHA guidelines to see how many petty requirements she could ignore in one project. Her dad was building it though, so there’s not too many infractions, but I still almost broke multiple extremities on multiple occasions.

The streets of Kinross eventually lead us to Riverview Cemetery, the massive graveyard bordered by the woods near the edge of town just where the houses and other outskirts buildings begin to spread further apart. I know for a fact that the fence out front only extends about halfway around the whole place to decorate the side of the road, so it’s easy to break in, however it still takes me two full minutes to talk Ivy into taking that route and out of her idea to scale the locked, iron gate looming in the darkness. Chances are she’d scurry up it like Spiderman and I’d impale myself on one of the points at the top. We hike through the trees and sneak inside where the stone wall begins to crumble.

“All right,” Ivy huffs triumphantly. “Now we just have to find her.”

“Find her? You said you knew where she was.”

“Yes, I do. In the historical section…somewhere.”

“Ivy!”

“What?”

I’m happy it’s dark so she can’t see my exasperation because I’d get a lecture on optimism otherwise. I slip on what I think it a neutral-feeling face, and pull my phone out for a second. I blink away the blinding brightness while I check. “Okay, well, if you actually want to be at her grave at three, you’ve got, like, under ten minutes.”

That seems to be enough for her because Ivy begins to march ahead between the headstones. I shove my phone in the pocket of my hoodie and trail her with an air of reluctance and a want to get this over with and take my money from her bad bet.

Both Ivy and I come to Riverview what I would consider a normal amount and, more importantly, exclusively – until now – when it is light out. I probably come more than she does though. Ivy will stop by every few years to say hello to her Grandpa Gil who died before she was even born, but my dad and I come twice a year for my mom: once on her birthday, and once on the anniversary of her death. She passed away when I was really little, so I don’t remember her, but everyone who knew her made sure I learned what kind of person she was through stories and stuff. My dad couldn’t speak more highly of her, but his retellings always hold a tinge of hasty justification for their whole relationship because my mom was gay, and so is my dad. Growing up, they’d always been best friends, and so the other person seemed as perfect as could be for a lie that would turn out to be mutual in the end. They only both came out to each other after my mom got sick, and by then they were a few years in to a marriage that was domestically comfortable, but nothing more, and had already had me. I don’t really feel so sentimental when anyone mentions the absence of my mom because I was really young. I end up sadder that she was taken while trapped in the lie of heteronormative narrative and never had the chance to experience the kind of love she wanted to have beyond the platonic and familial feelings she shared with my dad and I.

Ivy and I walk past the sections we’re familiar with toward the back of the graveyard where the stretch of ancient headstones begins. Kinross was founded way back when America was just a group of colonies and Massachusetts was dotted with clumps of communities built by pilgrims and Puritans. They needed a place to put their dead people, and so Riverview was established a couple miles from the Hollins River which runs on the edge of town. Only groundskeepers come back this way as far as I know since the names on most of the rocks have faded into obscurity, and the only ones that are remotely recognizable belong to the people we learn about in school for a week leading up to Founder’s Day.

I slip my phone out again and check the time. “Five minutes.”

“I know, I know. Shut up. She’s around here somewhere.”

“Couldn’t you have just Googled a map of the plots? You read the most obscure documents for fun, but fact-checking this–”

“One lapse in good planning, and I get lectured.”

“Ivy.”

“Okay, okay! This way.”

I’m pretty sure she just picks a random direction. She yanks her phone from the waist of her leggings and the beam of the flashlight cuts through the darkness and starts inspecting epitaphs. I leave her to it, and she doesn’t complain because she must have guessed I wouldn’t be willing to help her when I didn’t want to be here in the first place. I periodically take my phone out to glance at it and count down her time limit in my head when, suddenly, Ivy says:

“Oh, fuck yes.”

I look up and follow her light as it points toward one of the larger monuments, a giant, grey mausoleum with cracks and crumbles and a chained, iron gate as it’s front door. It’s flanked on all sides by overgrowth and tall flowering plants that look rich and purple in the peripheral of the beam. She raises her phone so it illuminates the name carved just below the peak of the roof: Ann-Marie Kelly.

“Okay, Ivy,” I start before I have to take a pause. I feel her gaze land on me while I inhale. “I don’t mean to discredit your apparently strong belief in witches, but would they give an actual accused witch an entire, enormous mausoleum like this if anyone actually believed she was magically terrorizing Kinross?”

“Oh, Sid, she had allies. Have you really not heard this story?”

“No, Ivy. I really don’t care about what was going on in Kinross in seventeen-whatever.”

“Sixteen-whatever,” she corrects before she slides her phone back into her pocket and struts up to the tomb.

I groan loud enough for her to hear it and follow, but I barely make it onto the concrete step just outside the door before Ivy’s foot connects with the gate and makes the chains rattle.

“Oh, my God, Ivy.”

She ignores me and kicks again. “Wake up, Annie! Sid’s gonna owe me money!”

“Ivy, stop.”

“Okay, but one more.” I don’t have a chance to object because she quickly lines herself up and swings her leg, and delivers one massive blow directly to the center of the barrier and –

The chains and padlock clatter onto the stone at our feet, and we both jump at the sudden noise. Our eyes are both wide, but in very different ways. I’m shocked. As old as this building seems to be, I did not expect that.

“Holy shit. Completely rusted through,” Ivy observes with glee. From the corner of my eye I catch a particular sparkle of something that I don’t like a split second before she suggests, “Dude, we’re going in.”

“No, we are not.”

She’s already pulling open the gate, and the sound it makes reverberates through the silent night, the squeal of something dying in agony. While I’m recovering from the assault to my ears, she’s stepped inside the structure and disappeared into the blackness. I call her name, but there isn’t a response, and when I try again, there’s a pause and a begging, “Sid, come on!”

I hesitate for a moment, like I’m sure anybody standing outside of a mausoleum at three in the morning would, before I trail her in. Then something clamps around my arm, and a noise catches in my throat while I leap out of my skin.

“Jesus, Sid! It’s just me!” Ivy turns her phone’s flashlight back on and we can see each other yet again, her smug, me only slightly less terrified than I was a beat ago.

“Don’t do that!”

“Sorry.” She sounds only half-sorry as she releases my arm, and then she sits on the filthy, hard floor right in front of a big, long box, the sight of which forms a pit in my stomach. She sets her phone before her, face down so the flashlight beams up at the ceiling, and reaches to pat the spot across from her. “Sit. I’ll tell you the age-old tale of Ann Kelly, Kinross’ first and last witch.”

“Ivy, I will pay you if we can leave right now.”

“No, sit.”

I put everything inside of my lungs into my sigh before I sit and kick up dust and cough. I pull my inhaler from my sweatpants’ pocket to take a puff so I can ensure I don’t suffocate on the grime in this horrible place, while Ivy launches into her story with a shit-eating grin and exaggerated, formal diction.

“In fair Kinross of the sixteen-nineties where everyone was farming, religious, and paranoid is where we lay our scene. In the other corners of our state, pointed fingers were frantically flying to women of questionable affairs in order to defame them with accusations of witchcraft, and Ann Kelly was no exception. She was accused by some guy of blasphemy, of murder, and of bewitching her young niece who was visiting town. She was ultimately arrested and brought to trial.

“The trial lasted I-don’t-know-how-long, with a verdict of guilty-as-hell, and Ann Kelly was sentenced to be hung. Perhaps, dear Sid, perhaps, as you suggest, she was just some unfortunate woman, but on the day of Ann Kelly’s execution, when the rope was placed around her at the gallows erected in town square, when she was asked to say her final words before the platform dropped, her neck snapped, and she slowly and painfully died, Ann Kelly secured her title as ‘The Witch of Kinross.’ For, you see, Ann Kelly, in front of eye witnesses and all the divine people watching Upstairs, placed a curse upon the executioner” – she slips into a gravelly, spooky voice – “‘An eye for an eye, a claw for a claw, thou accuseth a false Devil, thou art the beast he hath saw–!’”

“Are you done?” I interrupt her theatrics.

Her voice turns to normal again with the volume cranked up. “Blah, blah, blah, they hung her. But her niece contacted her brother and nephew. They came down to Kinross and Ann Kelly’s husband and brother murdered the executioner as revenge. I mean, it wasn’t well-thought-out revenge because then they were hanged, but yeah. That’s the Ann Kelly story.”

“Awesome. Great. So worth breaking into a graveyard at three in the–”

Bang!

The tomb seems to shudder with the noise, the sound of something rock-solid slamming against the back wall, resonating through the floor beneath us and travelling up my spine as a striking chill. My mouth hangs wide open, stopped mid-thought, and Ivy’s brows abruptly rise and then knit together. For a long time, it’s completely silent in the cold darkness inside the mausoleum and we sit like statues.

When I can speak again, I only just stop myself from using one of Ivy’s favourite swears, and find a substitute. “Ivy, what the hell?!”

She looks up at me like soon-to-be roadkill.

For a moment, I can’t keep the anger and accusation out of my voice, masking the constricting grip clamping around my heart and throat. “Who’s out there?! Who’d you get to help prank me?! Someone from the soccer team? Julia? Abby?”

I cut off my demands when I really see her face angled by the shadows. Her lips are hanging parted and mouth the word “no” like she can’t get it out. Her eyes are twinkling with worry emphasized by her crumpled brows. Fear. The quiet stretches between us for a too-long pause this time. Only our tandem, careful breaths echo in the chamber as we wait for…for something.

Snap!

The small crunch of a twig, soft as it travels through the open doorway from the direction of the east wall of the mausoleum. It reverberates up my spine like it’s tangible. A branch could break beneath anything, but after the loud hammer to the side of the structure… My gut churns with an uneasy vibe. Ivy vocalizes her own unwanted feeling to herself before turning to me again.

“Run for it?” Ivy’s voice is tiny enclosed by the darkness.

“Brisk walk?” I suggest.

“You have your inhaler,” she states pointedly, getting up. “We run.”

I curse under my breath, but give in because she’s right. If we get caught after breaking into somebody’s grave, our parents find out, and we are in an unfathomable amount of trouble. Ivy pushes past me with a quickened stride that I match until we’ve both stepped off the concrete slab just outside the door and into the overgrown grass and purple flowers. Then we’re scrambling into a run toward the night, dashing ahead in a straight line to dodge the headstones sticking out of the ground like blunt fingertips ready to grab us. Two sets of footsteps violently stomp on the earth…until we break into the treeline, and the third joins the noise of our escape and my desperate pants rising in volume.

My chest has been lit on fire. I gasp, “Ivy!”

“Don’t use names!” she yells back to me. “Just keep going! Just keep going!”

I try, and I push myself like I’ve never had to before, placing one foot before the other, taking in what air I can and holding it so I have something in my screaming lungs at least for a moment. But my feet are starting to stumble and my clenched hands begin trembling because I can’t breathe. My heart is overclocking from exertion and panic. I fall behind Ivy, the silhouette of her auburn ponytail disappearing into the blackness ahead while a pain flares in my side.

I yank my inhaler from my pocket again and take a puff, but it’s impossible to hold it in long enough while running and suffocating at the same time. My steps have to slow down more and more so I can actually let my crap lungs jumpstart again. What I’m doing can just barely be defined as jogging, and even that’s pushing it. My chest wants to explode!

Slam!

Gasp!

My shoulder hits the earth hard and the air escapes from me instantly in one forced exhale. Something heavy lands on top of me, pinning me down, and I want to yell at Ivy and threaten that she’d better stop this stupid prank or else, but I can’t speak with empty lungs.

But neither can I scream with empty lungs, and yet I manage to because I am offered no other choice. The skin of my thigh breaks open. Sharp hands support themselves on my chest for just a moment, though I only barely register their weight before it leaves all together. My leg feels like it took fourteen different knives to it, and it’s wet and hot. I scream more.

I keep gasping in what I can and it just comes out as weak noises of pain – agony – shooting up my body. I feel my heartbeat pulsing in the wound. And through it all, I hear from the trees, “Sid! Sid!”

Ivy.

She catches up with her voice calling my name, and her feet trample through the brambles, but…but from the opposite direction my attacker had flown in. A light blinds me for a second while she drops down onto her knees at my side and I hear her tone quivering as she uses her favourite swears over and over again. My eyes follow her flashlight.

There are uneven tears in my pants, the fabric already soaked through in a deep red. Blood. My own blackening blood pouring out of me. Immediately, my stomach lurches, and I have just enough time to get myself up on my elbows, and turn away from Ivy before everything inside of me comes up. I can not handle blood. Any blood. But my blood is so much worse. My stomach convulses and my throat burns.

“Sid? Sid, it’s okay. It’s okay. Just…just don’t think about it. It’s okay.” Ivy’s speaking so fast, and it sounds like she’s trying to convince herself and not me. She shrugs off her hoodie. I’m just getting back my breaths after losing my dinner on the forest floor, but they’re all shaky.

Ivy attempts to bend my leg at the knee, but I yelp when the sting abruptly travels from my leg through the rest of me like a bullet train. She hums something softly, but I have a moment of seeing stars, and everything sounds garbled. Then there’s pressure on my thigh. She’s tied her sweater around it as a makeshift tourniquet.

“Come on,” she says quickly. “We have to get out of here. We need to leave.”

Before I can protest, she grabs my arm and throws it over her shoulders before managing to haul me up to my one leg. I can’t bring myself to say much because that image is burned into my brain, and my raw throat tastes bile down at the base already. I can’t look down. Ivy is seven inches shorter than me – she is down and I tower above her – and she somehow has it in herself to be my support. I wince trying to put any pressure on that limb because the result is blinding pain.

“Stay with me, Sid,” she coaxes, and I find her repeating that as she limps me out of the woods. She doesn’t stop talking, or saying those things to me. The trees all look like blurs and dancing, random lines, but Ivy is something I can grasp. When I feel like I’m about to trip and fall off of the face of the earth, Ivy is what grounds me to reality.

 ***

Ivy announces there’s no way I’m climbing through my bedroom window, and I don’t have to be a genius to agree with her. She hobbles me up onto the porch, we use the spare key, and we try to hop upstairs as quiet as we possibly can so we don’t wake my dad. Ivy sits me on my bed and disappears to grab something more reliable than her sweater which I am certain is absolutely ruined now – I don’t have the stomach to check, or anything left in my stomach to throw back up if I check.

When she comes back with a wet cloth, she cleans my wound while my eyes stay firmly fixed on my ceiling. I decide to screw it and liberally use Ivy’s entire dictionary of swears as whispers, grunts, and groans each time the sting intensifies.

“It looks really, really bad, Sid,” she tells me. “It’s like something big bit you. You need a doctor, like, right now.”

“No!” – a muttered curse injects itself between my thoughts – “No doctors, Ivy. Your parents and my dad will be pissed.”

“Your dad will be more pissed at me if you die.”

I catch her gaze and ignore everything in my peripheral. I think we’re giving each other the same look on our tear-streaked faces: eyes that are shiny, lips in straight lines threatening to turn down at any moment. We hold that for a few seconds, neither of us saying anything because she’s right – she is – but I tell myself the opposite. I tell myself that “It can’t be that bad.”

“Ivy–”

“Will you stop being such a man?!” she demands with some fire in her tone. There’s a pause, and then she pulls the washcloth away. “Fine, okay. We’ll give it a week, but that’s it. If it still looks… One week. I mean it.”

I relent and breathe, “Okay.”

She nods and grabs the spool of bandages she managed to dig out. She proceeds to wrap them tight around my thigh while I hiss complaints, fingernails digging into my sheets. She secures it and sniffs something away, like trying to banish this night from her memory.

“You know, if you go rabid, I’ll have to be the one to shoot you,” she jokes flatly, even though neither of us have the energy to appreciate it.