#air fried dirt

[kedsandtubesocks]

dance away your cowboy blues

Country Singer!Joel Miller x F!Reader

summary: who knew the man with the voice of an angel could break your heart this bad?

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, modern/no outbreak AU & Joel has both his daughters, exes to lovers with eventual husband!Joel, angst followed up by good sweet fluff, concert venue, light drinking mention, Joel being stubborn & bad at feelings, hints of spice, fools in love, reader is addressed as ‘honey, darlin,’ use of song lyrics in fic, Pearl Jam & Taylor Swift song mentions, soft & heartbroken!Joel, lovesick!Joel

word count: 6k

a/n: here we are - the last installment in our ‘Let’s Rodeo’ series & I’m so incredibly grateful to finally make it here, also this is my mini tribute to our boy and his SAG award! The main song Joel sings is this one and I highly recommend! Thank you to my forever babe @the-wild-wolves-around-you for letting me scream about plot holes & aiding my Joel brainrot, @tightjeansjavi for always being down to chat about Joel, and to @lowlights & @ahauntedcowboy for being my ever guiding forces for this series, thank you all… And finally to you reading this, thank you so much ♡

A year ago, Joel broke up with you on a warm early spring morning.

He arrived at your apartment, sat you down and shattered your world. You felt every range of emotion as he simply stood there like a man of steel.

So upset and angry, you wanted to rip your heart out and throw it at him.

Then later that week you found out his record was officially getting picked up and you crumbled.

Ending your relationship simply because he was about to step into true proper fame - you never took Joel to be a man so somberly callous. However, you began wondering if that’s what fame sometimes did to people.

When curiosity gnawed too hard, you’d Google him or even check Spotify. Simply catching glimpses of how big he’s gotten sent you spiraling. Last Thanksgiving, your favorite aunt threatened to lock your phone away when she found you upset in the bathroom after discovering Joel was performing at the Dallas Cowboys holiday game.

From that point on you refused to even check any amount of social media or update on him.

A few clunky first dates and a couple of ghosting experiences later, you’ve now decided to simply work on yourself and embrace the selfcare of being single.

It’s why when your best friend called you earlier today eagerly explaining how her parents had extra tickets to the Rodeo tonight, she playfully teased how she knew you didn’t have anything planned for this Saturday night.

You almost hung up on her, but you excitedly scrambled to get ready.

Now the smell of fried foods, popcorn, and beer cloud the air. The fairgrounds hold a chaotic but controlled lively energy. You never knew so many cowboy hats could exist in one space.

Once you meet up with your best friends' parents, you’re transported to a whole new area you never believed could exist during a rodeo. Lux and cozy, the VIP lounge gleams with its elevated experience. You knew your best friend’s mom worked for the construction company managing the arena. You just didn’t realize how big of a hookup it was. The VIP tickets allowed for full premium dining along with a couple of free drinks.

More importantly - it came with the best concert seats.

“In the dirt” is how they’re described because the tickets are literally stationed on the floor, in the dirt of the rodeo stadium, right by the stage.

Ecstatic and bubby energy now fills you. The food being served is divine and you gladly enjoy the free various drinks.

“So wait, did we figure out who’s performing?” You ask curiously while you lounge taking advantage of the nice seating area.

“Uh, I think my dad said it’s that band named Midland is performing today.” Your friend answers but then is quickly pulled away to meet more of her mom’s coworkers.

You’ve never heard of the band, but for a free concert you’re open to enjoy some live music.

It’s a trait you gained from Joel.

Because of him you grew to love music performances, the energy that comes with hearing the band, being among the hum of the crowd. The trips around Austin seeing not just him perform, but enjoying other concerts with him, let you appreciate and admire live shows.

Waiting for the concert allows you to enjoy some of the actual rodeo event. But the main performance of the evening soon arrives.

“You kids go enjoy! We’re getting a little too old and are just gonna stay back and enjoy the free food.” Your best friend’s mom grins with a wink.

The ticket advertisement wasn’t joking when it said close to the stage. The ground level truly sits on the dirt floor. The arena swallows you whole surrounding you like a strange fishbowl. A small crowd already lines the front railing closest to the stage. However sneakily you find a nice open spot by the side that gives a clear sight to the stage.

Even if you don’t know the band, giddiness bubbles in you electric.

You take in the massive general admission floor section already packed full. The band must be popular. So you take plenty of pictures and happily enjoy the time with your dear friend.

The lights dim and excitement crackles in the air. The stage lights up. The large backdrop screens on the stage flutter to life beginning to showcase different picturesque black and white shots of Texas.

Midland, you remember, is a city in Texas so the images make sense. A low strum of a guitar begins playing. The melody dances soft but in a quick beat, a hypnotic tune trying to rev up the crowd.

The tune brews up its intended magic that you even get swept up in the anticipation. The sound gets faster and the strumming is rather simple but so striking.

Then the music stops. Suddenly the lights of the entire stadium shut off. Wild galvanized screams erupt.

The lights brilliantly dance forth back to light. They all focus now on the performer who, like magic, now appears on the stage with the rest of the band.

And the lead singer is Joel.

Your knees almost give out.

Dressed in the most dangerous plaid green button up, it so simple yet beautifully compliments him. More grays pepper his beard and highlight his tousled curls. The brilliant stage lights bask him in a heavenly glow.

Your soul momentarily leaves your body the minute his voice sings his first note.

Instantly your best friend whips towards you panicked. She rapidly screams asking if you’re okay as she apologizes over and over.

“My dad must have gotten the dates wrong! God I should’ve fucking doubled checked or some shit!” She cries deeply apologetic and hurt.

You earnestly tell her it’s not her fault and it’s alright. It was just an unfortunate mixup.

“Do you wanna leave?” Your friend leans closer to you. Her eyes shine understanding and considerate. “We didn’t pay for these tickets and I promise you my parents will completely understand. We can say fuck it and bounce.”

You haven’t even completely processed it’s Joel. It’s like your brain went cloudy and now blinking out of the fog, your eyes return to the stage.

Joel isn’t an extroverted man. He’s reserved, quietly charming, even holds a gruff but poised grace. But right now, he’s an absolute sun on the stage. He’s radiant, naturally swaying to the music while singing his soul soul.

Maybe it’s the piece of you still horribly in love with him, or just the curiosity to see how this goes, whatever it is - you shake your head no.

“We can stay.”

Your best friend’s eyes go wide as saucers hearing your answer.

“Are you sure?” She presses and you nod your head.

“Yeah, let’s stay. Afterwards we can laugh about how old he’s gotten.” You laugh bitterly about him looking more aged even after a year.

When truthfully the stronger wrinkles around his face, the vibrant grays, all of his aging only intensifies his striking looks.

A canyon wide sized hole rips through your heart.

The song flutters to an end and the crowd claps with a thunderous roar. With a reassuring squeeze to your shoulder your dear friend nods then turns back to the concert.

You pray this isn’t the worst decision you’ve ever made.

Then Joel speaks.

“Howdy everyone,” his voice is still so devilishly thick and smooth as a shot of moonshine. His accent does his home state proud. The crowd absolutely adores him, screaming loud just hearing him speak.

“Thank y'all for comin’ out tonight. I’m Joel Miller and m’here to sing y’all a few songs.” So simple, casually eased, and it’s so Joel.

His gruff southern charm made you fall in love with him so fast and now it’s a unique brand of magic charming everyone under his spell.

Joel strums a few notes, rapidly shifting the tune and transitions into the next song.

You now fully soak in Joel.

He seems otherworldly, a god of music reincarnated as a Texan cowboy. You think back to the days sitting in his living room and listening to him play. You were honored to see that side of him, to hear him strum to life so much magic.

During the holiday’s Joel’s daughters, Ellie and Sarah, would often pester him to sing silly songs. He’d grumpily obliged but you knew he basked in their attention and love.

He loved to sing. You always knew he was destined for the stage like it was woven into his veins.

You still remember the day one of Joel’s acoustic performances blew up online gaining so much attention. The excitement and absolute joy you felt then still lingers in the corners of your heart. Although, those feelings have been gathering cobwebs.

There’s of course a bitterness seeing him, but also, an unbearably small twinkling pride knowing he’s here living his dream. The song finishes and again the stadium rumbles in applause.

“How y’all doin’ tonight?” Joel asks and your heart jumps hearing his voice again.

The crowd cheers back at him.

“Good good, let’s keep it goin’.” He yells back and then strums the guitar sharp.

That’s when the stage slowly starts moving.

It’s slow but with the surprise purpose to look out to the entire crowd. For some reason you almost laugh thinking of that man, who couldn’t even remember how to FaceTime on his ipad, on a full rotating platform.

However, the lyrics start and you realize he’s singing a heartbreak ballad.

If you’re going out with someone new, I’m going out with someone too…I won’t feel sorry for me, I’m getting drunk but I’d much rather be somewhere with you…

It’s hard hearing him now with how exhilarated the crowd screams at the stage moving. But you try to hear how the rest of the song unfolds.

At the chorus, your throat tightens.

I can go out every night of the week, can go home with anybody I meet, but it’s just a temporary high… ‘cause when I close my eyes, I’m somewhere with you

The words sting every inch of you, but you believe it has to be just a simple heartbreak story and isn’t about you, isn’t directed at you. Yet the words feel like sharpened edges of a broken mirror that seem to reflect every moment of your time with him.

Then the stage rotates to your side of the floor.

There’s no way he can see you or will even spot you. There’s a whole crowd stretching before him. You’re just a fish in a sea of fans.

Joel continues strumming, allowing his voice to so beautifully carry the emotion.

The stage, in its slow movement, is now front and center to your line of sight. Some girls at the very direct front of the railing scream and wave frantically at him.

A small smile tugs at Joel’s lips as he waves back. Joel’s eyes scan the rest of the crowd -

And that’s when he spots you.

Quickly, you rationalize he could be staring out behind you at someone else alongside the side railing.

But Joel’s eyes even narrow trying to focus more. Your gaze stays on him, like something inside of you refuses to waiver.

His eyes flicker with realization then turn into full moons.

He knows it’s you.

Joel continues singing the chorus but emotions cloud his face. His brows are furrowed hard, almost confused like he’s trying to really comprehend what’s going on.

You understand. You’d be so confused too if you were in his position. You’re still even baffled as to why you stayed in the first place.

The stage starts shifting back to the main center direction

But Joel cranes his face to the side, refusing to have his eyes leave.

His focus stays on you.

It’s obvious enough that your best friend now shakes your body.

“Is he staring at you?!” She tries to whisper but she ends up partly screaming.

You think maybe it’s a hallucination.

Yet Joel’s deep inky eyes stubbornly stay locked on you as he sings now.

If you see out on the town and it looks like I’m burning it down, you won’t ask and I won’t say… but in my heart I’m always somewhere with you…

Your world twists warped, melting into a sea of so many emotions you can’t stay afloat.

Joel finishes his song and the crowd enthusiastically cheers. Yet, it sounds muffled as a numbness crawls over you like a thick soupy fog.

You should leave. You need to. But you’re here now. And decide to see the end of this. If he’s singing about someone lingering within him, then you might as well make true to those lyrics.

Joel lowers his face for a moment and shakes his head. The mic faintly picks up his cough of a disbelieving laugh and your heart sinks.

“Alright folks, let’s jam.” He announces composed and brings his guitar to life.

He’s beautiful walking around with it. Strums effortlessly until he shifts from one guitar, his classic, to a more sleek all black styled one.

Joel lets the music and band take over while he makes the switch. He also leans in to whisper something to the stage hand.

Then as if nothing, Joel steps back into the limelight and illuminates the stage.

He walks around freely now that the stage stopped rotating. The current song is lively with a great beat and you hate how badly you want to bounce around to its infectious sound and the way Joel’s voice elevates the tune.

Caught up in the melody, you don’t notice until it’s too late. Joel walks over to the side of the stage directly facing you.

The guitar carries a large piece of this song’s bridge allowing his eyes to flicker across the crowd.

Until they return to your gaze. Stuck in his stare, Joel suddenly cocks his chin towards you.

Most of the crowd around you screams at his simple action. Even your best friend yells out a loud ‘holy shit’ but you stay quiet.

Not knowing how to react, all you do is stupidly shrug.

It’s awful, not even the best reaction you can give.

But Joel barks a laugh, a true laugh that thankfully happens at the tail end of the song, but your knees go weak.

You made him laugh.

On stage.

Heartache finds its way back into your system fiercer than ever and it poisonously tastes of adoration as well.

Joel transitions into another song. This time moving around the stage more towards the other side.

Yet, either his eyes flicker back to you, or he ends up walking to your section.

A part of you wonders if he’s doing this now to mock you, almost showing off how good he is knowing you’re here. You don’t believe Joel would be that heartless, but you hate how that option still lingers.

“He’s been walking over here a lot.” Someone even behind you even notices.

“Well he is old.” Someone yells back. “Maybe he’s just trying to keep his joints in shape.”

You almost want to snap back that he’s looking damn good for his age and in good enough shape that he kept you bent like a pretzel for practically a whole weekend, but you swallow back the protective bite.

You simply go back to enjoying the show, and it’s fantastic. You can’t deny that. Joel is a performer, keeps the crowd focused and engaged. He isn’t showy or dramatic but takes control of his presence on stage.

You think of the days seeing him at small bars around town, sitting on a stool playing till his heart's content.

Then he booked Stubb’s in Austin and when you watched him own that stage - you knew this was meant for him.

You’re reminded of that so vividly tonight.

“Alright, gettin’ to the end here.” He announces and the crowd sounds heartbroken.

“I know, i know,” he coos back soft and low. “But just wanted to say y’all have been lovely.”

So many shrill shrieks crack in the room and you almost roll your eyes.

Your best friend snickers beside you. “Gotta give it to him, man can work a room.”

She’s right of course. Though it’s still so surprising for a man grumpily reserved and introverted at times.

“This next one I hope maybe some of y’all will know.”

He strums the cords to Pearl Jam’s ‘Alive.’

What gained Joel traction online was his renditions and covers of various songs. He added his own country twang and twist to all the songs he covered.

Pearl Jam happened to be one of Ellie’s favorite bands. A hollow nostalgia rip through you, thinking of the two girls you miss.

The crowd ignites recognizing the familiar rock ballad now turned into the tune of a country song by Joel’s touch. He owns the solo and his husky voice melts into the lyrics beautifully.

Under your breath you sing along. You used to sing along when you cooked breakfast at his place or during drives with him and the girls.

It’s a beautiful fondness, yet one still barbed and so aching.

The song ends with the intense but small burst of fireworks that has the stadium cheering. You even clap.

“Appreciate y’all.” He addresses the crowd. “That’s a one of my daughter’s favorites so always means a lot when I get to play it.”

A smile you can’t fight tugs at your lips at the mention of Ellie.

“Now my daughters, they’re like night ‘n day.” Joel continues and your heart fills up so overwhelming fast for those girls.

“One of them, like I said, loves some Pearl Jam. Now my other daughter…” Joel pauses.

“She’s a big fan of someone by the name of Taylor Swift.”

The crowd absolutely explodes and you think you even feel the arena shake. Sarah honestly was a big fan and Ellie loved to tease her about it so much.

“Normally for this next and final song, I’d play ‘‘shake it off.’” Joel had a few songs of hers that he covered. That one was a fan favorite.

“But tonight, I'm itchin’ to play somethin’ else.” He continues.

You even perk up curious.

“So let’s end this on a high note, yeah? Sing along if you know this one.” Joel concludes.

Then the drums begin and the song bursts to life.

The stadium swims in a dizzying frantic energy.

The way Joel sings, he’s pouring his heart out. He’s memorizing. Utterly heart wrenching.

This is the finale, the end of this strange unreal dream you’ve wandered into. You wonder if he feels it too.

The song’s chilling bridge comes and Joel walks to stare directly at you.

I thought I had you figured out, can’t breathe whenever you’re gone. Can't turn back now, I'm haunted…

His eyes never leave yours.

The lyrics sear through your heart. You think about screaming the song to back him. He’s the one who left, the one who’s ghost lives among your ribs.

Then Joel hits the final high note, lets his voice carry the powerful finale, and the crowd roars in earth shaking excitement.

It’s magical, magnetic and utterly devastating in both the best and worst ways. Another few sets of indoor fireworks go off and the show ends.

Joel wishes the crowd a beautiful night and you’re left in a tangled web of emotions.

Your best friend immediately turns to see if you’re okay. While the crowd starts leaving, you and her take a moment. Out of the edge of your focus, you notice a crew member of the arena approaching the side of the rail. You don’t think anything of it.

“Excuse me,” until that crew member stands in front of you on the other side of the barrier.

Blinking absolutely confused you turn towards the man.

“I’ve been asked to escort you backstage.” He explains and your best friend gasps.

You wonder if the ground opened below and dropped you into a free fall.

Quickly you stammer out that you couldn’t. There's no way. Maybe the man must’ve mistaken you for someone else.

“Mr. Miller said you’d say something like that.” The crew member says reaching into his pocket to hand you something.

It’s a keychain.

Not just any keychain, but the one you gave Joel.

It’s a cartoon armadillo, dressed up as a cowboy, holding a guitar. When you first saw it you immediately thought of Joel. His daughters got a kick over it, giggled at how cute it was, and your heart had bursted when you saw it constantly among his keys.

Now the worn little cowboy creature sits waiting for you. It’s sweet marble like eyes stare up at you like a day hasn’t gone by since you gave Joel this.

Your best friend gasps, maybe not fully recognizing the keychain but understanding the significance.

You ask the crew member if your friend can maybe accompany you backstage, but he shakes his head a sad no.

“Then I…I can’t.” You shakily breathe out.

“Yes you can!” She interjects. “You gotta at least hear him out!”

You turn to her and find determination fiercely burning in her eyes as she nods.

“But what about you? I don’t want you or your parents waiting around for me.” You urge.

“Don’t worry about me or especially about them!” She reassures, even offering to wait for as long as you need.

You’re grateful, unbearably so and embrace her tight.

“You call me if he gets stupid. I don’t care backstage or not, I’ll go get you.”

You laugh watery at her well meaning threat and thank her. With a quick sweet goodbye, you follow the crew member along the rails until exiting.

The walk out to the backstage area fills you with a hurricane of emotions. What else could Joel say to you? A part of you wonders if he’s going to be cruel about this, having you simply show up to his dressing room just to laugh so arrogant and smug about how wonderfully famous he is now.

No, Joel isn’t that type of man.

Or you hope fame hasn't warped him into that type of man. Arriving at the green room door, your heart races loud in your ears.

The crew member knocks and before you can compose yourself, Joel opens the door.

He’s bathed in the golden amber light of the backstage room. It highlights all those grays again but also illuminates more of the time passed on his face. More winkles line against his eyes and when he fully stares at you, you wonder how different you might look in his eyes.

A jackrabbit like urge rushes over you to maybe flee, call your best friend to come get you.

“Thanks for comin’,” he mutters out. “Was worried ya wouldn’t show.”

You want to bitterly joke that you didn’t want to, but the armadillo keychain you hang onto holds the truth.

The door closes leaving you and Joel alone. Awkward stale air chokes the space.

You simply keep your attention on examining the room. His classic weathered jacket rests thrown over the couch. The rider is stacked with so many classic Joel snacks like his favorite jerky, popcorn, and even a few familiar favorite treats his daughters love.

Then your eyes catch the mug on the counter and you grin softly.

It must be filled with Joel’s classic drink - chamomile and ginger tea with honey for his throat.

“It’s…yeah. That’s it.”

You didn’t even realize you said anything out loud until Joel replies casuing your heart to jump. Finally your eyes find his.

It's a curse that your greatest heartbreak is this handsome. Exhaustion weighs in you and feels ancient, like if you carry the sum of so many lifetimes before.

“So…You wanted to talk to me?” You speak first, trying to keep yourself strong.

“I…uh yeah.” Answering so cryptically, his shoulders deflate. “How ya been?”

“Good.” You answer simple, curt almost.

There’s too many things that could’ve slipped out if you said anything more. Like how you selfishly kept one of his shirts and hate that the smell of him on it has faded like a wistful memory. Or how you can barely listen to Dolly Parton or Johnny Cash anymore because you’re reminded of Joel singing along to their songs.

So you turn the conversation back to him.

You ask how the girls are and Joel perks up, eyes shimmering with fatherly pride.

“Good, yeah they’re good. Uh, Ellie’s playing softball for the school again ‘n Sarah’s busy with student council. They’re still just bossin’ me all around.”

“As usual.”

You both say the same line at the same time and it chokes you up.

Joel inhales and his lips press tight, a hard line. The air tightens. No one says anything and now annoyance, frustration and maybe even a bit of panic claw at you.

“Joel, why am I here?” You ask him again.

Sighing, so weary and tired, he looks down.

Feels like ages pass between you and him. The faint noise of the stadium leaks into the room muffled.

You think of your best friend waiting and of your own heart waiting to end this.

“Look, it was good to see you,” you half lie. “You did great, hope you and the girls take care”

You turn to walk out.

That’s when he blurts out your name and you stop.

“I miss you.” He exhales.

“Miss ya so g’damn much. Every fuckin’ day.” He mutters.

When you turn back around, he stares at you unwavering. You don’t know what to say.

“Seein’ ya out in the crowd…thought m’heart was gonna give out.” He barks a weak laugh.

“Almost stoppin’ the fuckin’ show just to make sure it was you… y’look beautiful as ever.” His eyes haze over slightly, almost nostalgic.

Suddenly a heated spark rips into your chest, jagged edged and angered.

“You broke up with me.” You snap, voice already raw.

“I know,” Joel nods. “Worst damn decision of m’life.”

Your lips tremble. Everything hurts like a live wire is burning up your veins.

“Then why? Why did you do it?” You croak. You want to scream, maybe even storm out and not even give him the chance to speak.

“What? Did Mr. Big Country Star hate having a partner that wasn’t famous too?” Venom leaks bitter and poisonous in your mouth, choking your throat.

“Y’know god damn well that ain’t it.” He snarls back hard.

“No actually I fucking don’t know Joel.” You reply with a fierce bite. “You so conveniently left out any real damn reason why you were breaking up with me.”

“I said our paths were going in separate directions.” He glares hard at you now.

“And that’s about it!” Your voice raises and you hate it.

The tears come quicker than you hoped for and you hate that more.

“No real explanation,” you exhale, wanting to stay as calm as you can. “You couldn’t even give me that…what else am I supposed to think?”

Even dabbing away your tears, your composure is slowly slipping.

“I couldn’t do this to you,” he breathes out and it’s broken. His eyes are shimmering obsidian pools.

“This life, all the fuckin’ mess that comes with dating someone in the limelight, I couldn’t just throw that on ya.” He explains and the truth rings out a quiet hum.

“And you didn’t think to talk to me about this?” You whisper out now hurt. “Joel, I thought we were a team.”

“We are- were.” He slips and corrects himself fast. “I just knew if we fuckin’ talked about it you wouldn’t have understood.”

“Understood what?” You’re frustrated and it leaks into your voice.

“That I didn’t want ya fuckin’ hatin’ me!” He finally screams the weighted truth.

Stunned quiet but still slightly confused, you ask Joel what he means.

Pain travels across Joel’s handsome face as his jaw clenches hard.

“This shit…it takes away a lot.” He croaks out. “Hell I’ve even missed things with the girls. Didn’t want ya sacrificin’ your life or wakin’ up one day and realizin’ how much you’ve lost ‘cause of me…couldn’t let myself do that to you.”

Your chest aches like a rocket got shot into you. You’re angry he took that chance for you to decide, but you understand.

Joel never wants to be the cause of pain to others, especially those he loves.

He agonizes so much over his decisions and how corrupting he believes he is. When in reality every action he takes you know simply stems from his endless deep devotion to keep those he loves safe.

His decision to end your relationship was him, in his own frustrating Joel way, trying to keep you safe. Even if it was from himself.

Your lips tremble and you cuss bitterly hard under your breath.

“You damn stupid man.” You hiccup. “I didn’t…I don’t care what life fame would’ve given me with you. I would never resent you. For better or worse I just wanted a life with you, that’s all I ever wanted.”

Through a few sobs, you wipe the tears fogging up your sight.

Before you can see it happening, strong sturdy arms suddenly wrap around you and shock you breathless. Curled in Joel’s arms, it’s like a sad coming home party and you cry even more.

“M’so sorry, my darlin’.” Joel whispers against your forehead.

“I hate you.” You don’t. Even on your hardest days, you never could.

“I know, hate my fuckin’ ass too.” Joel replies.

His arms squeeze you tighter.

“Never stopped lovin’ you. Never will.” His voice wavers and now your arms wrap around him.

“You left.” You whisper back so small while tears continue to prickle in your eyes.

“I know honeydew, ‘n I’ll never forgive myself for it.” He replies fiercely like a strike of lightning with its bright force. “Been a fuckin’ mess without ya. Tommy would be the first to agree and the girls too.”

You absorb his words, basking in the safe haven that is Joel. Hours, maybe days pass just in his arms.

“Please forgive me, baby.” He whispers hoarse against your head.

You nod a soft yes.

Because even the part of you that wants to yell and stubbornly say no knows the ultimate answer is, and always will be, him.

“Of course…I love you.” You mutter half dazed against his strong chest. “Love of my life.”

Pressed so close to him, you feel how hard he swallows and his arms squeeze you impossibly tighter against you.

He says your name and you hum out a soft noise.

“Marry me.”

Your eyes, which have sort of glazed over, snap open wide.

“What?” You mutter out, maybe think you misheard him.

“Marry me.” Joel repeats himself.

You practically squawk like a confused bird and scramble in his arms.

“Joel Miller, you can’t be serious?!” You shriek through the tears still lingering in your voice.

Your face snaps up to him. His face is composed, almost serene in a way as he look at you with molten eyes.

“Serious as that g’damn ring I bought ya.”

His words are a mumble but so soft and unwavering. Your soul leaves your body like you were thrown into a cold lake.

“You what?” You stammer out.

“Y’heard me.” He nudges his chin to you. “A ring. Bought it after you dropped everything to go take care of the girls when they got sick.”

Too many emotions overwhelm you and the tears return with a vengeance.

Joel, like a steady man in the storm, places his warm hand on your face to gather you back into his embrace. He places the softest kiss to the side of your head.

“We gotta have a chat about discussing your feelings with me more, Miller.” You manage to chide him through your tears.

“I know.” He mutters against your skin while he continues softly kissing you with utter tenderness. “‘N I’m not lettin’ ya go again.”

You squeeze him hard, trying to burn his memory into your arms worried you’re going to wake up and find this is just a heartbroken hallucination.

“Baby,” he begins.

“Hm?”

“Stay with me for the night.” He urges. “The bus got plenty of room-”

“Ooo, is this what you say to all your groupies, Mr. Miller?” You tease with a snort.

“Behave.” His hand playfully squeezes your hip but his underlying somber tone even with his chuckle ignites a familiar heat brewing in you of the times he’s reprimanded you like that before.

“No groupies.” Joel reassures you. “Only you sweetheart, only ever gonna be you.”

His words flutter into your heart and make a nest there.

Gently you draw back to stare at Joel. Your hand moves to his face, aching to just touch him. Even in his arms you’re waiting for him to vanish from your touch as if he’s a figment of your wrecked heart, a ghost of lovers past haunting you now.

But his stubble tickles against your palm. Running warm as usual, his face feels like a soft morning sun. Your thumb strokes his cheek and his eyes close, melting into your hold.

Gently you place a soft kiss against the corner of his lips.

Joel now tilts his head so he can deepen the kiss before you can even draw away.

It’s not a consuming passion that you expected. No frantic fierce clash of lips or an overflow from a year passed between you two.

Instead it’s a soft welcome home. It’s a kiss you’ve given him when he’s come home late or when you leave for work.

Because his blood, his soul, you believe are simply stitched into the very fabric of you. It’s like a piece of you is returning back to you, or maybe back to your other home with him.

“So you gonna stay with me?” He mumbles against your lips.

“I don’t know Miller, you haven’t even offered to sign anything for me. What kind of famous country singer are you?” You smirk against his lips.

He laughs, hearty, a true wild deep one sweeping you into its joy.

“Hell yeah I’ll fuckin’ sign something for ya, our marriage certificate.” He snaps in classic grumpy Joel fashion and you almost think about dragging him to a courthouse.

You text your friend a million apologies and even take pictures of all the signed merch you’re bringing back to her.

Now in the cocoon of Joel’s cozy bed on his tour bus, among the warmth sheets, you hold the ring up in the dim light inspecting it. Because of course your secretly romantic man kept the ring with him.

“You sure you weren’t keeping this around for someone else?” You ask.

“Fuck no.” He growls low. “S’yours…only yours.”

From behind his arms slide around you and you’re encompassed by his swallowing presence. His beard scrapes against your shoulder.

“If ya don’t like it, can get ya another one.” He mutters casually but hesitant softness peeks out from under his gruff tone.

“It’s perfect.” You reassure him.

It’s the ring Joel got you then and it’s the ring you want now and always will. You even tell him that.

The kisses places on your bare shoulder whispers of his devotion.

“Honey.” However, his voice now is hesitant and makes you pause on your ring inspecting.

“I gotta ask…but do ya have my armadillo keychain?” Joel asks with an utter somberness.

You burst out laughing and it shakes your body.

“Honeydew, I’m being serious!” He growls out. “Want that lil’ fella back!”

Wheezing with giggles you lean back against Joel, floating so blissfully floating in renewed adoration.

Twisting in his arms your lips find his.

“Tryin’ to distract me ‘cause you lost him, huh?” He mutters.

You snort, shaking your head.

“No I just love you so much, you dumb cowboy.” You tell him.

“Your dumb cowboy. For better or worse.” He vows, kissing you back firmer now.

“For better or worse,” you nod breathing into him.

In this carved out slightly cramped space it feels holy, sacred, chapel like. You’re even afraid it might be gone tomorrow morning. However, the ring on your finger is the steeled reassurance it isn’t going anywhere.

But, just in case, you gather this glory and Joel into your arms with the promise of never letting go.

[somekindofpoet]

La Petite Mort - T'en Va Pas

Summary: Reader works until she's numb enough to clock out, Lorraine brings her back around

Word Count: 4.1K

Warnings: +18 NSFW, smut, language 

A/N: Thank you @deep-fried-egg for keeping my French straight, you a real one for that. Let me know what you guys want to see next!

LPM Part I LPM Part II LPM Part III LPM Part V LPM Part VI

The sound of gentle snuffling rouses you from your sleep, the early morning sun breaking the horizon creeping into the clearing. You crack your eyes open, and you wake with laughter on your lips as you see CB looking down at you, his mouth rustling over your chest, looking for treats. You push his nose away, pulling a jolly rancher from your pocket, unwrapping it, and giving it to him. Satisfied with your offering, he shuffles off. 

As soon as he’s out of your line of sight, you remember why you’re sleeping in the grass under the open sky. Your sleepy laughter is replaced by a dull ache in your chest, your stomach sinking. Lorraine hadn’t spent the night with you. Your last conversation with her constricts your body, and all you want is for the feeling to go away. 

You sit up, your back damp from the grass you’d slept in. You never moved back onto your sleeping bag after Lorraine vacated it, unable to bear the possibility of her smell lingering there. You sigh, scratch your head, try to enjoy the morning view of the pond.

A thin fog rolls over the water, breaking up as it floats to the bank. Dew clings to the grass and strands of your hair. The air is fresh, crisp, and clean with the start of a new day. The remnants of your fire smoldered under a layer of ash, the smell of burning wood soaking into any fabric it could reach. With the cicadas singing in the trees, you can tell the day is going to be gorgeous. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, stretching your arms over your head. When you open them, the scenery is just as peaceful, but it’s at odds with the feeling in your chest. 

Keeping yourself painfully busy would be the only way to avoid the emotions threatening to overwhelm you. The Days were leaving for a trip to see family out west, so you’d have the ranch to yourself for a few days. You plan to work until your hands bleed or until you don’t feel sick to your stomach. 

With that in mind, you crawl over to your sleeping bag, pull on your boots and haul yourself to your feet. Kick dirt onto the hot coals, smothering it. You put your fingers to your lips and whistle, calling CB to you as you pick up his saddle blanket. He trots over, shaking his body out when he sees the blanket, knowing he’s going to work. You scratch his head and kiss the velvet patch on his nose.

“You’re the best, buddy. Let’s get some work done, hey?”

He drops his head and pushes gently into your chest. You hug him, closing your eyes and breathing in the sweet smell of alfalfa in his hair. You’re grateful for his company; even when you’re spiraling into melancholy, he provides you some comfort. 

CB was gifted to you by the Days, back when your father worked for them. You were ten, and seeing the tiny foal in the barn for the first time is one of your most cherished memories. 

“What’re you gonna call ‘im?” Mr. Day had asked you, a loving smile under his dark mustache.

Your eyes had gone so wide you were surprised they didn’t fall out of your head.

“I get to name him?!” 

He laughed, his hand on your shoulder, “You get to name him, and you get to take care of him. For his whole life. He’s yours.”

Your father had swelled with pride, grinning ear to ear behind you. Lorraine had bustled in, not wanting to miss playing with the newest addition to her family ranch, her excitement for you sweet and reserved. 

You looked to her for advice, “What should I call him?”

Her tiny face lit up, thrilled to be included in the process, “You should call him. Hmm,” she tapped her chin, taking her task very seriously, “Oh, I know! Call him his favorite food!”

Your fathers chuckled in the background, content to let the two of you work through this naming without their assistance.

“Bacon!” You shouted, throwing your hands in the air.

Lorraine giggled, “Horses don’t like bacon, silly. They like carrots.”

You smiled, bashful at your outburst, “Bacon is my favorite food.”

“Why don’t you call him Carrot Bacon?” She suggested, very pleased with herself for the idea.

You nodded, excited to have come to a decision. You walked over to his pen, patted him on the nose.

“Carrot Bacon, you’re mine forever.”

——

You rode CB into the barn, pulling hay out of a stack to give him his breakfast. His water trough was already filled, Mr. Day must have done it before they left that morning. You leave your horse to eat and make your way out to your truck to change your clothes, grateful you’d had the foresight to pack.

When you get there, a note is stuck under your windshield wipers. It’s in Mrs. Day’s slanted cursive.

‘Y/n, we headed out early, didn’t want to bother your beauty rest. Thank you for watching the ranch while we’re out. Left you dinner in the fridge. Coffee is fresh in the pot. Don’t work yourself too hard.’

The note makes you smile wistfully. They knew you too well. You glance up at the house, knowing you’d be camping in the clearing while they were gone. You liked their house well enough, but everything would remind you of the person you were desperately trying not to think of. 

Despite that notion, you do brave the kitchen for a mug of coffee. You take it outside, sit in the deck chair and enjoy it, allowing the morning to pass in the lazy, peaceful ways mornings do. When the coffee is gone and the sun has burned through the mist and dew, you return to the barn to retrieve CB.

On the ride out to the back pasture, you kick him into a gallop, running him hard away from the barn. Your horse was not barn sour. Who you were trying to prove that to was lost on you, but you did it anyway. You enjoyed the adrenaline, the wind rushing past your face, letting CB take his head and open up his full gait. You make it to the pasture in record time, slowing him to a trot as you near the broken fences. 

You slide off his back and pull your tools from the saddle bag, ready to immerse yourself in manual labor. The sun burns at its full strength, high in the sky, beating down on you as you work. You lose yourself in it, focused on the task at hand. It’s tranquil, even if it’s exhausting. You’d rather put your body through the wringer than let your mind wander. 

Hours pass, but they’re lost on you. Your shirt is soaked through with sweat, your water supply running low. You persevere, hell-bent on finishing the job and avoiding yourself for as long as possible. When you do finally tie off the last post, the sun has set into the horizon, the last rays of light trickling out. 

You sigh, sink down to the dirt with the post at your back. You’re so tired you can’t even think about anything other than water and sleep. Mission accomplished in more ways than one. CB approaches you, curious as to why he hasn’t been fed his dinner yet. You nod at him, pulling yourself up.

“Yeah, you’re right, bud. Let’s go back to the house.”

You drag yourself into your saddle, slumping over on his neck. He starts the journey back to where he knows he gets to rest, his steps a little faster than usual. You roll your eyes at him and sit up, letting him trot. Maybe he’s a little barn sour. 

By the time the house is in view, CB is hurrying along, and you allow it because you think you might be dying of thirst. Before you can go inside, you take care of him. Hosing him down and brushing him, then feeding him his dinner in his stall. You’re unsure of the time, but the moon is out, lighting the ranch in a silver glow. There’s no way you’re camping out tonight, avoiding your thoughts be damned. 

You nearly fall into the kitchen, kicking your boots off at the door. You don’t bother with the lights as you turn the sink on as cold as it will go and drink from the tap. You stick your head under the water, letting it run over your hair and down your neck. You’re making a mess, but you’ll clean it up before the Days get back. Right now, you just need water. 

A soft shuffling sound behind you catches your attention, and a quiet, sleep-heavy voice, “Y/n?”

You switch the tap off and turn slowly. Lorraine is in the doorway, bleary-eyed in a small nightgown. You’re so tired, you almost convince yourself you’re dreaming. 

“Come here.” She says, softly.

Still not convinced you’re awake, you make your way to her, your feet heavy and slow. Follow her to her bedroom, close the door. She reaches for you, her hands gentle and unhurried. She pulls your shirt over your head, follows with the rest of your clothes, until you’re stark naked, in a daze. She slips out of her nightgown, and your heart skips a beat. You missed her. 

The sheer immensity of the feeling pushes aside any reservation you might have about being with her. RJ is nowhere near close to the front of your mind. Not when she pulls you down to kiss her for the first time in two days, not when your hands find their way home over her ribs, or when she pulls you into her bed. You missed her so much. 

Had you been less tired, more aware, the thought may have frightened you. That you could miss her this much when she was right in front of you. But now, with her under your body, all you can feel is relief. She quenches your thirst better than water, oxygen is richer in her presence, even the moonlight shines brighter through her bedroom window. 

She kisses you leisurely, her lips on yours calming you and comforting you. Her hands wander, deliberately feeling every piece of your body while you sink into her. 

“I’m all yours,” she whispers when she pulls her lips from yours, and you’re completely lost in her. 

You don’t even think to question her, don’t bother to argue that she was not, in fact, all yours. But in the moment, she is. And you can’t help yourself but venerate her. Your body is still heavy, sluggish, but the more primal parts of you are wide awake now. You lick at her neck, press your lips to her skin, inch your way down to her chest. Kiss her sternum, your hands covering her breasts and squeezing tenderly. 

The soft whimper that leaves her lips drives you further down her body, your destination clear. As much as you want to dive into her, you take your time to cherish every single inch of her, kissing each rib on her left side as you descend. You can’t decide at this point if you’re doing this for her, or for yourself. Committing every freckle, every scar, every mark on her to your memory. In case you never get to kiss them again. 

It’s somber and sweet, the dichotomy of your feelings for this moment. You brush the weight of your heart aside, kissing her thighs instead. She opens her legs further without question, giving you space to settle in. You slide your arms under her thighs, wrap your hands around her hips, press a kiss to the inside of her knee. 

Her hand pushes your hair away from your eyes, she watches you with eager eyes. You give her what she wants. What you want. With your mouth on her, you completely forget your troubles. Any worry is gone from your mind when you dip your tongue inside of her, and she whines, her fingers tightening in your hair. Her body is familiar to you now. You know what she wants, what she likes, what will make her shake. Pleasing her is pleasing yourself, so you waste no more time. 

You drag your tongue up to her clit, and she moans above you, her body responding immediately. You take it slow, not giving her immediate satisfaction, making her whimper and shift under your tongue. If this lasts for the rest of your life, it’ll end too soon. You wrap your lips around her, sucking gently, then alternate with your tongue in flat passes over her. She’s trying to be patient, you can tell, but her writhing and squirming tells you she’s nearly had enough. 

You slide your hands up her body, and to your surprise, she takes one of them and interlaces your fingers together, squeezing. Your eyes travel up to hers, she’s desperate and needy, and you can’t hold out on her any longer. You suck harder, pick up your pace. She unravels around you, her thighs squeezing your ears, her fingers crushing yours. When she falls limp, her legs dropping to your sides, you crawl up her body, your fingers slipping between her legs as you kiss her nipple. 

You push into her slowly, savoring how she feels, the smell of her, the taste. As you curl your fingers, you swirl your tongue around her nipple, and her nails dig into your shoulder. You relish in it, the stinging on your skin and her soft moaning, her breast in your mouth, your fingers working in her, wet and tight. 

She’s pulling at you, breathing labored as you pick up your rhythm, and you greet her at her lips again, kissing her hungrily. Her hands are around your face, her tongue in your mouth, and she won’t let you go. You stay, kiss her with everything that’s in you, tell her how important she is to you, how you feel about her with your tongue on her teeth and your lips dancing with hers. 

Her breathing picks up, and her body tightens, her hands leaving your face to hold you close to her. She pulls you to press your chest into hers, letting her feel more of your weight on her. She lets you leave her lips in favor of gasping, so you go back to her neck, sucking at that spot that gave her goosebumps. Her orgasm is short, breathy, and hard. She can’t move as much with your body on hers, so she grips your back instead, squeezing you as she cums. 

She relaxes, and a sudden fear overcomes you that it’s done. The sense of finality makes you shake. You can’t be done. You push yourself up on your elbows and gaze down at her, trying not to let her see the fear in your eyes.

“Roll over,” you whisper, kissing her collarbone and sitting up to give her space to obey. 

She tilts her head, her brows furrowed, but she trusts you, so she rolls. You leave one leg between hers and kiss the small of her back, making her shiver. She pushes up onto her elbows to look back at you, but you shake your head and move up to kiss her. You pull away and look into her eyes, reassuring her without words. She accepts, and your hand runs up the back of her thigh. 

You dip your fingers between her legs again, blind but knowing where to go. You circle her clit as you start to leave kisses up her spine. You begin your exploration of her again, truly taking in all of her. This time you kiss every rib on her right side and every inch of her spine. She groans into the pillow as you leave her clit to push inside of her again, with more force than before. 

Using the weight of your body, you thrust into her, moving your hips in tandem to push harder. What were once soft, sultry sighs turn into shameless moans, her fingers gripping the cotton sheets near her head. You brush her hair over her shoulder to kiss the back of her neck, over to her jaw, as she turns her head to meet you. You’re full tilt, rocking her body up with every thrust, and her mouth hangs open, not even trying to quiet herself. 

She pushes herself up on one arm, turning to find you, and you kiss her hard, abandoning the tenderness from earlier, becoming desperate. She turns her head away from you, resting her forehead on her arm. You press a kiss to her shoulder, then to her back between her shoulder blades, and she’s hurtling off the edge. Pushing her hips back into you, one of her hands coming back to hold your hip, her other gripping the pillow. With one final push, she collapses, with you close behind. 

She’s gasping, trying to catch her breath, her eyes closed. You press a kiss to her cheekbone and fall over on your back next to her. You know you’ll have to wait for her to come around, and it’ll take especially long after that. She reaches out for you, curling around you as she pants, clinging to your side. You run your nails gently along her back, closing your eyes as you wait for her to recover. 

You’re very nearly asleep when she hums into your collarbone, “I’ve missed you.”

It jerks you awake, and you’re finally reminded of why you should have been apprehensive tonight. You shouldn’t be doing this. You know it, and it’s only clear now that your lust filled haze has settled. She can feel you tense under her and sighs, already knowing where your thoughts had gone. 

“Can we just have this moment, right now, and not think about it?” She mumbles, her voice tight. 

You sigh, rub your eyes, “I’ve missed you too.” 

You can’t hide the sadness in your voice as you say it, and she nuzzles in further to you, squeezing your ribs. Your mind is made up in that moment. If you can’t have this, if this is the last time, you have to leave. You have to run for the hills and never look back, or you’ll be swallowed up by this smothering heartache.

You gulp, “Raine.”

“Mhm?”

“I’m leaving.”

She squeezes you tighter, “Not tonight, okay?”

Your turn and kiss the top of her head, leaving your nose in her hair, your eyes closed tight. She doesn’t have to know. She’ll be okay. 

——

You wake the next morning before sunrise and find the bed empty. Lorraine’s side is cold; she’s been gone for a while. You think maybe it’s for the best, you’ll pack CB up and start driving, and all of this will be like a fever dream. 

You roll out of bed and pull on your clothes, trying to stay quiet in case she’s asleep in another room. Make your way through the house, pull on your boots in the kitchen. The water from the night before has dried, no mess for you to clean up. It seems fitting because the mess around you is nearly suffocating. 

You make your way outside as the sun is beginning to rise and take a long look at the ranch. Why you ever wanted to leave before is lost on you, you loved it here. But now you have to leave, and the fact sits in your gut like a stone. 

You climb into your truck and drive around to your trailer, turning off the engine and sliding out to make your way around to the hitch. Your hands fumble with a task that should have been easy, your fingers trembling as you lock the ball in place. 

Inside the barn, you find CB’s tack and haul it to the trailer, loading it up before you come back for him. You frown when you get to his stall, finding it empty. You know you locked him up last night, so where was he? 

You make your way outside, turning around the side of the barn, scratching your head. The cattle in the pasture lift their heads, watching you with bored eyes. As you round the back of the barn, you find him. He’s in the paddock, grazing with Pearl. Lorraine is sitting on the fence, watching them. Your heart clenches at the sight. You’ll have to say goodbye now. 

Lorraine turns as you approach, her face peaceful. She smiles at you, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, and in that moment, you know she knows. She had understood what you meant. 

“Thought he should get some exercise before you load him up,” she tells you, her voice shaky. 

You close your eyes, take a deep breath, “Thank you.”

She nods and looks back out at the paddock, “You don’t have to leave.”

“I do.”

She turns back to you, chewing her lip, “You don’t.”

You press your fingers to your lips and whistle, calling CB to you as your answer. He lifts his head and finds you, trotting over to the gate. You skip a lead over his ears and open the gate, walking him away from the paddock. 

Lorraine jumps off the fence and jogs to your side, “Where will you go?”

You shrug, trying your damndest not to look down at her. You hook the lead to the side of the trailer and brush past her, climbing inside to make sure everything is set for him. She hovers at the back, unsure of what to do, or what to say. 

As you’re cinching down the saddle on its hook, you hear a car pull into the drive and turn back to Lorraine. She’s leaning around the side, trying to see who it is. You can see her knuckles turn white as she squeezes the trailer door, and you know who it must be. Her hand disappears as she walks toward the new arrival. You shake your head and finish the saddle. You can hear RJ’s voice outside, and your jaw clenches. So much for a clean break. Now you’ll be driving away with a sour taste in your mouth to accompany the heartbreak. 

You climb out of the trailer, and what you find surprises you. Lorraine is shaking her head, and RJ’s hands are on his hips, irritation clear as day on his face. 

“Let’s just go, I have to finish this film, and then we can do whatever you want. Get in the van.”

He catches sight of you, and you can see his jaw flex. He looks back to Lorraine, but her eyes followed his when he looked at you, and now she’s turned toward you. She takes a step in your direction, and you tilt your head, trying to work out what is going on in her mind. 

“Lorraine,” RJ says, his voice low.

She turns back to him, and you nod, understanding now. You take CB’s lead and load him into the trailer, closing the gate behind him. When you come back around, she’s facing you again, standing halfway between you and RJ. Her lip is going to bleed if she keeps biting it. You want to tell her, but think better of it. She turns back to RJ. Takes a step. You start walking toward the truck door, and she turns to you. 

“Come on, Raine, let’s go. Right now.”

She turns back to him, and you’re only a few feet from your door. You risk a glance at her, and she’s watching you. RJ is fuming behind her, his impatience getting the better of him. You shake your head and reach for the door handle, but her hand is on your arm. You turn and look down. Her eyes are wide, and her lip trembles. 

RJ throws his hands up, “I have to go, Lorraine.”

You brush her hair behind her ear and nod, telling her it’s okay. She shakes her head no, leans up on her toes, and kisses you. 

“Don’t go.”

[wolfjackle-creates]

Bring Me Home Arc 2 Part 15

Happy WIP Wednesday! (Ignores the fact that it's almost an hour into Thursday my time.)

Story Summary: Tim and Danny are both neglected by parents who care more about their work than their families. They deal with this by spending too much time online and find each other playing MMORPGs. They keep up their friendship as Tim becomes Robin and Danny becomes Phantom and don't bother keeping secrets from each other.

First, Previous

Word Count: 1.2k

-----

“Shit. Okay. I’ll fly us back. Bye Tim, everyone!” Danny picked up Tucker and flew away, turning invisible before he was more than a few yards away.

Tim sighed as he watched them. “Invisibility would be such a useful power. Paired with intangibility? Do you have any idea how much that’d help us out in Gotham?”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Cassie dismissively. “So what’re we doing for the next few hours?”

Wulf cocked his head and looked at them. Tim waved to him. “Let’s see what we can find out from our maybe-friend here.” Then, to Wulf, he asked, “Walker?”

Wulf’s bemused expression turned angry and he snarled.

Tim laughed and gave a thumbs up to show his agreement. “I’ve”—he pointed at himself—“heard”—this time his ears—“bad”—he scowled—“things about Walker.”

“Malbono,” said Wulf.

Tim grinned. “Very malbono,” he agreed.

Wulf bared his teeth, but this time, Tim thought it was more of a grin.

Cassie sat down on the ground. “So, Wulf and Danny are both targeted by this Walker ghost. How do we keep them safe?”

Tim shrugged. To Wulf, he said, “We”—pointing to him and his friends—“keep you”— pointing to Wulf—“safe. Secure. Protect.” Hopefully at least one of those words would be similar enough to the Esperanto word for the same concept.

“Protekti,” agreed Wulf.

Bart pointed at himself. “One.” Then to Conner, “Two.” Tim was called three and Cassie four. With a stick, he drew a crude figure of Danny’s ghost form, Sam, and Tucker, counting each one to seven. Then he pointed to Wulf. “Eight.” He drew the number in the dirt to reinforce the count. “Walker, how many?” He lifted his hands in an I-don’t-know gesture.

Wulf started with his hands close and slowly spread them wide. “Multaj.”

Tim’s stomach sank at the answer. They’d faced bad odds before, but it was never good.

“What does Walker want?” asked Conner.

But Wulf only looked at him in confusion and none of them could figure out how to ask that in charades.

Cassie grabbed another stick and began drawing. She started with a line and on one side, she had humanoid ghosts with tails instead of legs, on the other side she had stick figures. Then she drew arrows from the ghost side to the human side. Under the arrows, she drew question marks. Looking up, she asked, “How?”

Wulf bared his teeth again and pointed at himself. “Wulf.” He flexed his hand showing off his claws. Conner tensed at the action, but Wulf ignored him. Instead, he drew his hand down the air. Tim felt like he could hear tearing, but it was as if the sound originated in his brain, bypassing his ears entirely.

In the path of Wulf’s claws was a glowing green portal. Another gesture and it disappeared.

Tim stared in wonder. “So, if you’re here and with us, Walker can’t send any more ghosts to Amity. That makes things so much easier.”

Wulf only grinned at him.

Bart poked Tim’s side. “Think he needs to eat?”

Tim laughed. “You’re just hungry yourself. He’s already dead.”

Bart shrugged. “We haven’t had lunch yet.”

“I’m with Bart,” said Cassie. “I’m getting hungry. And it’d be rude to not offer anything to him. Bart, get us stuff from that burger place Danny took us to. And grab extra in case our new friend wants anything.”

Tim rummaged around in his bag and pulled out two hundred dollars cash. All three of his friends had metabolisms to match their powers. “Here, get as much as you want. Simple cheeseburger and fries for me.”

The others gave their orders and Bart was off.

The rest of the afternoon was spent mostly hanging out in the woods with Wulf. When Bart had offered him a burger, he’d sniffed it before pulling a face and giving it back. Bart just shrugged and ate it himself.

“Shouldn’t you be doing homework?” Conner asked Tim after a while. They’d run through most of the questions they could ask via pantomime and Bart and Cassie had taken to pointing at things and asking what they were called in Esperanto. “Bruce won’t be happy with you.”

Tim sighed. “No, you’re right. If we can’t research in the library, I should do something productive.”

Though it only took an hour and a half of going through his schoolwork for Tim to want to tear his own hair out. He slammed his book shut, making four pairs of eyes instantly fly to him.

“I can’t do this anymore! I can’t wait until I don’t need to be in school anymore. Who wants to spar with me?”

Conner stepped forward. “I’ll take the first round.”

“Great. I’m going to use the staff Danny gave me. I want to practice with it more.”

Wulf watched them as they sparred. Tim held his own against Conner, though ultimately the half-Kryptonian won. Cassie beat him next.

Bart sat the spars out because he won every time if allowed to fight. But he made a very good referee.

Tim and Cassie were having their third match of the day when Danny, Sam, and Tucker rejoined them.

Tim was breathing hard as he blocked another blow from Cassie with his staff. “Hey, Danny,” he said. Then he did a twist he’d learned from Dick coupled with a move he’d learned from Lady Shiva and Cassie was flat on her back. Tim grinned as he offered her a hand to help her up. “Looks like I win the last match of the day.”

“Well I won our two previous ones,” retorted Cassie as she took his hand.

Sam let out a whistle. “Damn, that was impressive. Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

“B sent me to Europe for several months to train from a bunch of different masters when I forced him to take me on.”

“Must’ve been good teachers if you can hold your own as a regular human against metas.”

Tim nodded and moved so he could nudge Danny. “I’ve been trying to convince this one to join me for a few weekends so I could get him some training, but he’d rather rely on luck and his powers.”

Danny rolled his eyes and scoffed. “You know that’s not what it is. I’m just afraid that if I leave any more often than I have to, something will happen!”

“Sure, sure,” said Tim. “But now that your parents know me and I can see just how bad it is, I’ll be coming to you to train you. No getting out of it now!”

Danny just groaned.

Tucker grinned. “Let me know when you come, and I’ll fit your training sessions into Danny’s schedule.”

“Absolutely.”

Sam pointed her thumb at Wulf. “So, how’re we gonna sneak a giant ghost through town and into my house anyway?”

Danny shrugged. “I figured he and I could fly there invisibly. I’ll drop my invisibility and enter through the door so your parents or grandma see me enter, and Wulf will drop it once we’re in private.”

“Fine, fine. Come on, then.”

-----

Next

In the show, there was a time skip between when Danny caught up with Wulf during his school lunch period and the four (Danny, Sam, Tucker, Wulf) all cramming into Tucker's bedroom that night. So I have no idea if Danny returned to school or not. And if he did, what did Wulf do all afternoon and evening? How did they meet up again? Or am I right and Danny skipped?

Good thing we have other people here to help out this time and it doesn't matter!

I no longer do tag lists for this fic, but please checkout the Subscription Post if you want notifications when this updates.

[darkacua]

Weird headcanons of the guys that are just hanging around in my head:

Yuu

They can be very good on instruments, but they sound like a dying animal begging for God's mercy when they sing. Sadly for our freshman group, they love to go to karaoke.

They can't ride skates. You won't find someone with worse balance than them.

There is an eternal discussion about whether he is a girl disguised as a boy or just a very effeminate boy. Ruggie has a lot of money attached to Yuu being a boy and constantly begs him to tell him that's the truth.

Grimm

He is allergic to peaches, they discovered it when they put him on a diet for having gained 4 kilos in a week. Use this as an excuse for not eating healthy.

Somehow, he's good at origami. He surprises many with his paper cranes.

Riddle

He wears braces, hardly anyone notices them because he rarely smiles in front of someone he doesn't consider his friend.

He likes to make collages with papers that are no longer of use to him or someone else. Her favorite is one of a rose that she made from history notes for a subject that was taken out of the syllabus.

Trey

Can't weave even if his life depends on it. He tried, thought it would be cute to make some place mats to put his baked goods on, but failed miserably.

He tends to hum a lot when he's baking. Has a specific tune for each dessert he makes.

Cater

He usually wakes up on the opposite side from which he falls asleep. He moves and kicks so much that it's impossible to share a bed with him without getting hurt.

Hates talking to his sisters on the phone because they always end up complaining about their exes.

Ace

He has the palate of a 5-year-old. If there are no burgers and fries or nuggets on the menu, he simply won't eat anything.

Can't whistle. He would say yes, but if you ask him for a demo he will fake an urgency and run off.

Deuce

He called Professor Trein dad on one occasion. Trein didn't say anything for a good 5 minutes and poor Deuce wanted to jump out of the window in embarrassment.

It is the teachers' favorite. He's not the smartest, but he's one of the few students who really tries to pay attention in class.

He cried like a baby the first night at NRC over the fact that he left his mother home alone. He didn't calm down until I called him around 3 in the morning.

Leona

He has slammed himself into a glass door at least 2 times for being more asleep than awake while skipping class.

Although he does not like vegetables or greens, he is a keen lover of fruits in any type of presentation. He almost bites Ruggie when he tried to steal his mango milkshake.

Ruggie

Have had lice more times than he can remember. You know he got them again when he completely shaves his head.

The first time he ate at NRC he cried. He cried because for the first time in a long time he wasn't hungry after eating and because it was unfair that his grandmother couldn't enjoy that privilege.

Jack

Didn't believe Ace about Riddle's rages until he saw them for the first time. Now he fears him as much as he respects him.

Firmly believes that if he doesn't exercise for a day, all his performance will go down the drain. He tried to go to training once with a bent ankle.

Azul

It's a mama's boy. They talk to each other every day and even have video calls scheduled on the weekends for her mother to give him business advice, sometimes his stepfather participates.

He had a lot of trouble adjusting to the surface air. Occasionally he still has trouble breathing, especially in places with a lot of dust or dirt in the air.

Jade

Has costumes of all kinds in his closet, from the most common to the most extravagant and bizarre one can imagine. He has used each of them on at least one occasion and won't tell anyone why or where.

He likes to talk to Silver about the mushrooms that can be found in the forest, he treasures one that was given to him by one of Silver's rabbit friends.

Floyd

It is lightweight. One drink of alcohol and he's dead to the world.

He joined all the clubs (excluding Jade and Malleus) for at least a week. He got bored with everyone and is only in Basketball because he was given the ultimatum that he will no longer be allowed to join anyone else if he gets out of it.

Kalim

All of his siblings are from different mothers and many of them do not officially consider themselves to be members of the Al-Asim family. He completely ignores this and treats all of them the same.

On one occasion a business associate of his father called one of his sisters a whore and Kalim almost beat the man to death. It was the first and last time anyone saw him get into a physical altercation with such intensity. He has also thrown out many party guests for such comments towards his siblings and their respective mothers.

His hair color is the cause of Marie Antoinette syndrome.

Jamil

Because of him there is a massive fumigation in Scarabia once every two months.

Secretly hates Vil's food so much that he gave him a recipe book along with a set of spices.

He has a large scar on the palm of his hand from an assassination attempt.

Vil

He sets aside a couple of hours a week for his “stress deportation” session, taking pictures of the people who have pissed him off that week and throwing darts at them.

Vil indeed knows his mother. He met her at the age of 15 and she tried to emotionally blackmail Vil for money, his father placed a restraining order after that day towards the woman.

Rook

He loves his family more than anyone can imagine. Once one of his younger brothers came back pretty beaten up by a bully and Rook went to said bully's house to "talk" to him. The boy and his family moved within a week.

Will go out with anyone who asks him to, his motto is that anyone can be the ideal. Whether the relationship lasts more than a week is another story.

His family nicknamed him “Macaron le glouton” because more than once he was caught eating the cookies and cakes they had stored in the middle of the night.

Epel

He has a recurring dream in which he is on a raft along with a zebra, an astronaut, and a ballet dancer. He always wakes up scared and without understanding the dream.

He firmly believes that it shouldn't look bad to hit an old man, if you make fun of him he'll punch you in the house he doesn't care how old you are.

Idia

Tried to crash some women-only event for some kind of collectible figurine. He was discovered instantly and kicked out.

He's totally gone on a personal hunger strike because some anime/manga doesn't have the ending he wants. Ortho always ends up breaking down the door to force him to eat.

Once a girl he met online confessed to him and asked him to be her boyfriend. He instantly blocked it because he thought it was a scam.

Ortho

He has at least three certificates and trophies as a winner of cosplay contests. They are contests that he did not sign up for and he was not wearing a cosplay.

Once tried to eat something out of curiosity as to what the act of chewing and swallowing would be like. It took 4 days to get all the food residue out of his system and gears.

Malleus

Its body is covered in dark green scales, almost reaching black. They don't sting or anything, but sometimes they get caught in his clothes and it's hard to get them off without hurting him.

It has eaten 3 cell phones. This was a method of revenge against Lilia.

Lilia

He often has a nightmare in which Silver's biological family shows up to take him away, leaving him completely alone in his cabin. He always ends up sneaking into his son's room to calm his nerves when he wakes up from this nightmare.

More than once he has bumped into random women who end up slapping him even if he doesn't talk to them. Whenever this happens, he reminds the Diasomnia group that they should end their love affairs correctly and not make careless promises about getting married.

Silver

Another guy who wears braces. Sebek's father put them on because his mouth looked like a shark's with how crowded his teeth were. He always receives a star sticker on his visits for being a very calm patient.

He has calluses on his hands from his practice with the sword.

He has so little interaction with women that prior to joining NRC his only female acquaintances were Mrs. Zigbolt and Sebek's sister. So at the first event where girls showed up at school he just didn't know how to interact with any of them.

Sebek

As a baby he had a wooden stick which he bit when his teeth barely came out. He has it in storage and still uses it when he is stressed.

His appetite isn't hereditary or something fairies have, he's just a glutton and has a fast metabolism.

His horse threw him many times because he scared him with his screams.

He'll never admit it but Riddle terrifies him when he has a fit of rage. This fear only increased when the latter had to be electrocuted TWICE in order to kidnap him in chapter 6.

Español bajo el corte

Headcanons extraños de los chicos que solo estan por ahi dando vueltas en mi cabeza:

Yuu

Puede ser muy bueno con los instrumentos, pero suena como un animal moribundo rogando por la misericordia de Dios cuando canta. Tristemente para nuestro grupo de primer año, le encanta ir al karaoke.

No pueden andar en patines. No encontrarás a alguien con peor equilibrio que ellos.

Hay una discusión eterna sobre si el una chica disfrazada de chico o solo un chico muy afeminado. Ruggie tiene mucho dinero puesto en que Yuu es un chico y le ruega constantemente que diga que esa es la verdad.

Grimm

Es alérgico a los duraznos, lo descubrieron cuando lo pusieron a dieta por haber subido 4 kilos en una semana. Usa esto como excusa para no comer saludable.

De alguna forma, es bueno con el origami. Sorprende a muchos con sus grullas de papel.

Riddle

Usa frenos, casi nadie los nota porque rara vez sonríe frente a alguien que no considere su amigo.

Le gusta hacer collages con papeles que ya no son de ayuda para él o para alguien más. Su favorito es uno de una rosa que hizo con los apuntes de historia de un tema que fue sacado del plan de estudios.

Trey

No puede tejer aunque su vida dependa de ello. Lo intentó, pensó que sería lindo hacer unos manteles en los que poner sus productos horneados, falló miserablemente.

Suele tararear mucho cuando está horneando. Tiene una melodía específica para cada postre que hace.

Cater

Suele despertar del lado contrario al que se duerme. Se mueve y patalea tanto que es imposible compartir una cama con él sin salir herido.

Detesta hablar con sus hermanas por teléfono porque siempre terminan quejándose de sus ex parejas.

Ace

Tiene el paladar de un niño de 5 años. Si en el menú no hay hamburguesas con papas o nuggets el simplemente no comerá nada.

No puede silbar. Él diría que sí, pero si le pides una demostración fingirá una urgencia y saldrá corriendo.

Deuce

Llamó al profesor Trein papá en una ocasión. Trein no dijo nada por unos  buenos 5 minutos y el pobre de Deuce quería saltar de la ventana por la vergüenza.

Es el favorito de los profesores. No es el más listo, pero es uno de los pocos alumnos que realmente intentan prestar atención a las clases.

Lloro como un bebe la primera noche en NRC por el hecho de que dejó a su madre sola en casa. No se calmó hasta que le marcó alrededor de las 3 de la mañana.

Leona

Se ha estampado al menos 2 veces con una puerta de cristal por estar más dormido que despierto mientras se saltaba las clases.

Si bien no le gustan los vegetales o verduras, es un amante vivido de las frutas en cualquier tipo de presentación. Casi muerde a Ruggie cuando este intentó robarse su batido de mango.

Ruggie

Ha tenido piojos más veces de las que puede recordar. Sabes que volvió a tenerlos cuando se rapa por completo la cabeza.

La primera vez que comió en NRC lloró. Lloro porque por primera vez en mucho tiempo no se quedó con hambre después de comer y por lo injusto que era que su abuela no pudiera disfrutar de ese privilegio. 

Jack

No le creía a Ace acerca de los ataques de ira de Riddle hasta que los vio por primera vez. Ahora le teme tanto como lo respeta.

Cree firmemente que si no hace ejercicio un día todo su rendimiento se irá al caño. Intento ir a entrenar una vez con un tobillo doblado.

Azul

Es un niño de mamá. Se hablan todos los días e incluso tienen videollamadas programadas los fines de semana para que su madre le de consejos de negocios, a veces su padrastro participa.

Tuvo muchos problemas para adaptarse al aire de la superficie. De vez en cuando aún tiene problemas para respirar, sobre todo en lugares con mucho polvo o tierra en el aire.

Jade

Tiene disfraces de todo tipo en su armario, desde los más comunes hasta los más extravagantes y extraños que uno se pueda imaginar. Ha usado cada uno de ellos en al menos una ocasión y no le dirá a nadie porque o en donde.

Le gusta hablar con Silver sobre los hongos que se pueden encontrar en el bosque, atesora uno que le dio uno de los conejos amigos de Silver

Floyd

Es de peso ligero. Un trago de alcohol y está muerto para el mundo.

Se unió a todos los clubes (excluyendo los de Jade y Malleus) por lo menos una semana. Se aburrió de todos y solo está en el de Basquetbol porque le dieron el ultimatum de que ya no se le permitirá unirse a ningún otro si se salía de este.

Kalim

Todos sus hermanos son de diferentes madres y muchos de ellos no se consideran oficialmente como miembros de la familia Al-Asim. Él ignora por completo esto y los trata a todos por igual.

En una ocasión un socio de negocios de su padre llamó a una de sus hermanas puta y Kalim casi mata al hombre a golpes. Fue la primera y última vez que alguien lo vio entrar en un altercado físico con tanta intensidad. También ha echado a muchas invitadas de reuniones por ese tipo de comentarios hacia sus hermanos y sus respectivas madres.

Su color de cabello es causa del síndrome de Maria Antonieta.

Jamil

Por él hay una fumigación masiva en Scarabia una vez cada dos meses.

Odio secretamente tanto la comida de Vil que le regaló un libro de recetas junto con un conjunto de especias.

Tiene una gran cicatriz en la palma de la mano de un intento de asesinato.

Vil

Tiene apartado un par de horas a la semana para su sesión de “expulsión de estrés”, toma fotografías de las personas que lo han hecho enojar esa semana y les lanza dardos. 

Vil de hecho si conoce a su madre. La conoció a los 15 años y está trató de chantajear emocionalmente a Vil por dinero, su padre puso una orden restrictiva después de ese día hacia la mujer.

Rook

Ama a su familia más de lo que alguien se pueda imaginar. Una vez uno de sus hermanos menores regresó bastante golpeado por un matón y Rook fue hasta la casa de dicho matón para “hablar” con él. El chico y su familia se mudaron a la semana.

Saldrá con cualquier persona que se lo pida, su lema es que cualquier persona puede ser la ideal. Que la relación dure más de una semana es otra historia.

Su familia lo apodo “Macaron le glouton” porque más de una vez lo atraparon comiéndose las galletas y pasteles que tenían resguardados en medio de la madrugada.

Epel

Tiene un sueño recurrente en el que él está en una balsa junto con una cebra, un astronauta y una bailarina de ballet. Siempre se despierta asustado y sin entender el sueño.

Cree firmemente que no no debería de verse mal golpear a un anciano, si te burlas de él te dará un puñetazo en la casa no le importa tu edad.

Idia

Ha intentado colarse en algún evento solo de mujeres por algún tipo de figurilla coleccionable. Fue descubierto al instante y echado a patadas.

Totalmente se ha puesto en una huelga personal de hambre porque algún anime/manga no tiene el final que él quiere. Ortho siempre termina rompiendo la puerta para obligarlo a comer.

Una vez una chica que conoció online se le confesó y le pidió que fuera su novio. Él la bloqueó al instante porque creyó que era una estafa.

Ortho

Tiene al menos tres certificados y trofeos como ganador de concursos de cosplay. Son concursos a los que no se inscribió y no llevaba un cosplay.

Una vez intento comer algo por la mera curiosidad de como sería el acto de masticar y tragar la comida. Tardaron 4 días en quitar todos los residuos de comida de su sistema y engranajes.

Malleus

Su cuerpo esta cubierto en escamas de un verde oscuro, casi llegando al negro. No le pican ni nada, pero a veces se atoran en la ropa y es difícil de soltarlas sin lastimarlo.

Se ha comido 3 celulares. Esto fue un método de venganza contra Lilia.

Lilia

Suele tener una pesadilla en la que la familia biológica de Silver aparece para llevárselo dejándolo completamente solo en su cabaña. Siempre termina colándose en la habitación de su hijo para calmar sus nervios cuando despierta de esta pesadilla.

Más de una vez se ha topado con mujeres al azar y estas terminan dándole una bofetada incluso si no habla con ellas. Siempre que esto pasa le recuerda al grupo de Disomnia que deben terminar de forma correcta sus relaciones amorosas y no hacer promesas sobre casarse despreocupadamente.

Silver

Otro chico que usa frenos. El padre de Sebek se los puso ya que su boca parecía la de un tiburón con lo encimados que estaban sus dientes. Siempre recibe un sticker de estrella en sus visitas por ser un paciente muy tranquilo.

Tiene callos en las manos por su práctica con la espada.

Tiene tan poco interacción con las mujeres que antes de entrar a NRC sus unicos conocidos del sexo femenino eran la Señora Zigbolt y la hermana de Sebek. Así que en el primer evento en el que se presentaron chicas a la escuela él solo no supo cómo interactuar con ninguna de ellas.

Sebek

De bebe tenía un palo de madera el cual mordía cuando sus dientes apenas salían. Lo tiene guardado y aun lo usa cuando está estresado.

Su apetito no es nada hereditario o algo que las hadas tengas, él solo es glotón y de metabolismo rápido.

Su caballo lo tiró muchas veces porque lo asustó con sus gritos.

No lo admitirá nunca pero Riddle lo aterra cuando tiene un ataque de ira. Este miedo sólo  incrementó cuando este último tuvo que ser electrocutado DOS VECES para poder secuestrarlo en el capítulo 6.

[tekia]

Sun Blind

I commissioned @meredithmcclaren! She was a pleasure to work with and produces some of my favorite art! (I got my character drawn by @meredithmcclaren!!!!! omg how cool is that??(◕ᗜ◕))

Najma closed her eyes and steadied her breathing.

In the shade offered by the balcony above her, she stamped her feet and stretched her arms, twisting her back and bending her knees. She had ran around the arena twice before arriving at the entrance, and her skin was pleasantly flushed, her body loose. Her bare toes dug into the dry dirt under her feet, the bite of the marble stone walkway bisecting her foot, cold and rough compared to the fine grain of the dirt in the arena.

Cheers and cries of merchants filled the air around her as the people gathered in the stands awaited the show. Children laughed at the antics of the fools now dancing for their entertainment. Drunkards shouted for more wine and beer. Somewhere, one woman’s boisterous laugh carried over the rest. Horns trumpeted in the distance as a foot race concluded, and a cheer went up as the victor celebrated.

Najma tried to ignore it all as she shook out her arms. She bounced on the balls of her feet, balanced delicately on that edge of marble.

“Najma,” her brother called softly from just beside her, and her eyes popped open.

“What are you doing here?”

Zilan smiled slightly, his dark hair blowing in his face as a breeze picked up, carrying with it the scents of fried foods, unwashed bodies, and animal. Najma shivered at the scent of angry bull.

“I’ve come to wish you luck.” He held out a length of ribbon, brightly dyed and thin. She peered at it happily until he motioned for her to turn. She presented her back to him and felt him tying the ribbon into her tightly bound hair. The tips of the ribbon only just brushed her shoulders once he was done.

“I love the color,” she said, picking up the end and eyeing it. It wasn’t an expensive ribbon, but Zilan surely knew how likely she was to ruin it today, perhaps even lose it. But it was the thought that counted.

Red for luck.

She turned back to him, smiling up at him.

He had always been taller than her, as far back as her first memories, when he held her clutched in his arms, his heart pounding loudly against her ear as she cried for their parents. It had been so cold back then, in the dark and rain.

She shivered again, and he reached out and rubbed his hands down her arms. “You’re ready for this.”

“Mn,” she agreed. “I know I am.” Her heart was pounding as loud as his had on the night they lost their home, for a reason so far removed that she couldn’t hold the sadness in her heart.

She knew the sadness of their loss was never far from her brother’s thoughts, something that kept him going in troubled times, but he tried for her. He smiled at her confidence and nodded.

“I’ll be watching from up there,” he said, pointing above their heads. She bit her lip.

Up there, the rich could afford seats under a shade and servants to bring them food from the market without them having to brave the crush. She and Zilan were certainly not wealthy enough to place among them.

Their parents had been simple folk, weavers by trade, dead these past eleven years. They had escaped the raging waves of the untamed river that had swollen with freezing waters into the city with only the clothes on their backs with the other displaced peoples of the flood. Just a pair of orphans among the dozens of others, lost into the crowd of poor and hungry.

Zilan had been old enough to become an apprentice, and clever enough to hide his sister in his little room permitted to him by his master that they had survived, but Najma had to wonder how much of their luck was due to hard work and how much of it was due to Zilan’s loose morals.

She had seen him come home far too often beaten and bloodied.

He patted her shoulder and shook his head. “Just focus on your performance today.”

She nodded. “Be careful up there with the lofty types, hum? They’re far more dangerous than any thief with a knife in the dark alley.”

“And you beware of the horn!” He pinched her cheek like she was still a child. Whinging like a child, she pulled away, batting at his hand.

“I know Sap well! He will not harm me!”

Laughing and shaking his head, Zilan left to take his seat as horns within the arena sounded. Najma returned to her preparations, stretching and bouncing on her toes.

She wore little clothes, so as not to have anything that might catch and pull. She had bits of cloth wrapped around the length of her feet, leaving her heel and toes free. Her hair had been pulled up, secured with pins and ribbons. Beside her, two other young women also prepared for their own performances. Dressed similarly, the three of them were a little troupe of dancers that knew no rivals in the city.

The oldest of them was Selika, dark and tall. She was well muscled and limber, and had been dancing their dance since she was a child, as her father had been a master in his own time. Najma was only two years younger than her, and the third girl was much younger, coming only up to Najma’s shoulder, and Najma wasn’t tall at all.

Salima had been sold to Selika’s father as a serving maid when her mother died and her father found he didn’t have it in him to care about a girl child that couldn’t work the fields. Selika’s father was a decent man that raised Salima as his own, giving her his family name, and teaching her alongside Selika. When Najma appeared to watch the girls practice, the man had easily drew her into the lessons until she was a part of the little troupe as if she were their sister, too.

He had died two years ago, a cough that wouldn’t go away, so Selika had taken over the training, while their cousin, Atam, insisted on taking over the business end of her father’s business.

He wasn’t as decent. Salima now lived with Najma, and Selika hoarded away as much money as she could, out of his hands.

Salima jumped into the air, touching the tips of her fingers to her toes in the air, and a few children spotted her, cheering at the display of skill. Salima landed, her arms thrown up into the air, posed just right, back arched, feet planted. A louder cheer went up.

Two fools came running back toward them.

“Let’s go,” Selika said, then ran out into the arena. Najma followed, and she could feel Salima behind her.

Two steps out of the shade, the sun bore down on them and sweat beaded on her brow, but she ignored it all in favor of leaping into the air, her hands landing with a dull thud in the dirt. She shoved back to her feet, into another flip, and a third, hands nearly touching her heels with every flip.

She caught glimpses of Selika doing a similar trick, higher into the air than herself. Then she stopped just in time for Najma to flip onto her shoulders. She caught her balance and held her pose as Salima lightly skipped onto her back. She touched a hand to Najma’s shoulder, and Najma gripped her leg and lifted her into the air.

Salima waved to the crowd, drawing more cheers, before Najma dropped her leg and caught her by her arm pits and then let her to the ground. Selika threw her into the air, and Najma twisted into a spiral before landing sideways in her arms.

“Good,” Selika commented before setting her on her feet. Najma nodded to her before bouncing back into motion, kicking up into the air to the cheers around them.

Flip. Flip. Flip. Twist. Land and tumble under Salima’s flip. Climb Selika’s knee and flip. Catch Salima and throw. Pose. And breathe.

She looked over the crowd, but there were so many people she couldn’t quite tell one face from another, and the balcony was facing the sun.

Who had decided to make them face the sun?

She glanced at Selika and saw that she was also worried about the sun. Under the balcony, Najma could just make out the shape of Atam as he opened Sap’s pin, but the bull that exited wasn’t Sap.

He was an unfamiliar bull, and Najma stiffed as fear coursed down her spine. The bull scuffed the ground, his snorts sending up a plum of dust.

“That’s not Sap!” Salima cried, her voice high with terror.

“Salima,” Selika snapped. “You stay out of his sight.”

“But-”

“But nothing. You stay out of his sight. Keep the crowd entertained and distracted with your flips and tumbles.”

“Yes, xwişk.”

“Najma-”

“Let me do it.”

“You-”

“He’s too short for you. You’ll get injured if he tosses his head. I can do it.”

Selika sighed. “Okay. I’ll dance.”

Grimly nodding her head. Najma ran forward. She knew Selika would be running just beside her. Salima would be sure to flip around to the back of the bull where he couldn’t see her and would hopefully forget about her.

The first pass the two girls dodged his wide horns as he charged, and each flipped in a different direction as the bull turned to face them again.

From around her waist, Najma tugged free the red pennant that would draw the bull’s attention to her alone. With the dust and dirt in the air, the red wasn’t as vibrant as in the fields just outside the city, but the size and fluttering nature of the fabric was enough to keep him distracted.

Selika kept pace with her as she raced toward the bull again, but once more they diverged when the bull swung wildly. Too dangerous to trust.

Panting, Najma knew that they’d couldn’t keep it up. Two flips was the standard. Najma daren’t go for more. Sap would have tolerated it, but this unknown bull was dangerous. Where did he even come from?

The third pass arrived and the bull lowered his head just right. Najma felt Selika break off as she caught the bull by the horns and threw herself into the air, feet over her head, body twisting as the bull tossed his head, shoving her farther up into the air. Silently cursing, she released the horns and touched her feet to his spine before quickly skipping off into a second flip.

That wasn’t elegant or smooth, she thought as she landed on her knee, quickly tumbling to her feet and dodging out of the raging beast’s path. Selika distracted the bull only momentarily before he was once more charging at Najma.

He was too close. The sun was directly in her eyes.

Huffing, Najma nodded to herself and met him head on again. He swung his head the wrong direction, and, had she time, she would have broke off, but they were too close. She heard Salima cry out.

Launching herself into the air, she landed on her hands on the bull’s shoulders, felt his horn brush her thigh, but shoved off just as quickly and landed on the ground, knees bent to absorb the impact.

There was blood dripping down her inner thigh, but it was done.

She did a back flip in place then looked to the bull.

She had dropped the red pennant on the last jump, and the bull had mauled it into the dirt. Selika was flipping off to one side, headed toward the shelter of the balcony. Salima was already in the shade behind the stone guard that surrounded the arena.

Najma quickly made her way out of the arena amid the cheers. Panting, she stopped beside Salima. “Are you alright?”

“Mn, he didn’t come near me.”

She reached out and patted her hair. “Good. That was dangerous.”

“You still did it.”

She nodded. “It was too late for all of us to back out. Never jump over an unknown bull, Salima. You saw how he tossed me the first time and then gouged me the second?”

Salima looked down at the blood on her leg. “That looks painful.”

“If it was painful, she wouldn’t have done it,” Selika’s cousin sneered, snapping a rope in his hands. “What a pathetic display.”

Selika stepped between them, glaring at her cousin. “Where is Sap?”

Atam shrugged. “I sold him. He cost too much to feed.”

“What?!” The three girls shouted in unison. Najma and Salima gaped at Atam while Selika fought to keep the rage out of her voice.

“How dare you? He was my bull!”

Atam waved a hand and turned away. “And the money I got for him will pay your rent.”

“In my father’s house?”

“And for your upkeep,” he went on, ignoring her. “Next time, I expect to see a better show.” He snapped at the arena. “And get that bull back into the pin so I can return him to his owner.”

He left them, and Najma could only reach out and rest a hand on Selika’s shoulder.

Salima leaned against her own shoulder. “How are we supposed to get him back in the pin?”

Selika shook her head, looking lost and afraid. Najma didn’t know what to say, and when she turned to wrap her arm around Salima, she spotted her brother standing farther inside the shelter, his arms over his chest and glaring at Atam as the man walked away.

She shivered at the hatred and anger in his eyes. She hadn’t seen that look since the day they discovered that the district governor had been the one to order the dam upriver from their family’s village to be destroyed.

That governor was now dead through unknown causes.

She met Zilan’s eye and shook her head. His eyes narrowed then he moved away, disappearing into the shadows, out of her sight.

[theharrowing]

Carnival of Terror 🎪 1: Right place at the right time

The carnival is in town, and it is unlike anything you have ever experienced. Will you make it out alive?

🎪 Yoongi x Female Reader

🎪 word count: 6.1k

🎪 choose your own adventure, lovers and friends to ???, carnival and circus au, dead dove, horror, possible minor & major character injury & death, supernatural elements & magic realism, nsfw, 21+

🎪 warnings: dramarama within the friend group; general sense of the vibes being off; description of clowns, jesters & acrobats; hypnosis without consent.

🎪 note: all of the above details and warnings are subject to change as the story progresses & the readers vote. check the master post for an updated version of the details.

🎪 beta read by @neoneunnajimin & @sailoryooons. additional shout out to @sweetestofchaos & @echotoyou & @here4kpopfics for being brainstorm pals!

🎪 posted sept. 2023 | read on ao3

INDEX | NEXT

As you peer out across the massive gravel lot and take in just how isolated this place is, you feel deeply unsettled down to your bones. So when two large hands crash onto your shoulders and squeeze, you jump, unable to hold in a squeal. Dulcet, amused laughter dances in the air, and you turn to watch your friends Jimin, Taehyung, and Jeongguk step off the shuttle to the gravel and dirt road. 

“Not funny,” you grumble, doing your best to look back and glare at Yoongi, whose palms continue to linger on your shoulders, gently rubbing small circles over your back. 

“Come on,” Yoongi mutters playfully. “It was a little funny.”

Off in the distance, in the dead center of the enormous, otherwise empty lot, are large red and white circus tents surrounded by what appear to be various carnival rides and attractions, fenced in by a sprawling, winding metal gate. A plume of fire shoots out of what appears to be the center of the tents, followed by distant screams and cheers, and you instinctively pull your shoulders to your ears. 

“This place creeps me the fuck out,” you grumble under your breath. 

“Well, if you hate it, you can blame Jeongguk,” Yoongi unhelpfully supplies, to which Jeongguk quickly snaps, “Oh, fuck off, hyung.”

Since the moment you got onto the shuttle this morning, Yoongi and Jeongguk have been at odds. And although it seems playful on Yoongi's end, there appears to be a genuine animosity coming from Jeongguk that you do not have the context for. You are also not attempting to mediate between bickering friends on a day like today, and you hope that once you are within the carnival grounds and distracted by fun, games, fried food, and beer, everyone will get along. 

As your group congregates on the gravel path, you feel a little silly for deciding to come dressed similarly, all wearing various shades of blue. It seemed like a fun idea this morning, but as you glance at all your friends, you realize that the five of you look like a pack of blueberries left to sit out in the sun. At least it is a stunning color on all of you. 

Both Yoongi and Jeongguk have shorter dark brown hair with their bangs parted delicately on their foreheads, and they are outfitted in deeper shades of blue, both long-sleeve button-ups. Yoongi's shirt has pale blue horizontal stripes on the front with solid sleeves, tucked into skinny black jeans. He wears long silver earrings that make his already soft, pretty face – his pouty doll lips and button nose – seem more delicate. 

Jeongguk's shirt is solid greenish-blue and loose-fitting, untucked over skinny black jeans, and he wears a black, emerald, and white striped satin scarf loosely tied beneath his lapels. Despite his sour attitude toward Yoongi, he still has a youthful glow behind his round, curious eyes, and his sharp, but pouty lips are almost always upturned into a hint of a smile. 

Jimin and Taehyung – the two who are so close everyone refers to them as the soulmates of the group – are in brighter tones. Jimin wears a loose, long-sleeve, flowy blue button-up tucked into tight black slacks. His hair is short and dark brown, unstyled over his forehead, and his features are an astounding blend of pillow soft and razor-sharp, with dark eyes that alternate between piercing your soul and warming your heart. 

Taehyung – always a bit of an oddball – wears an unbuttoned, long-sleeve baby blue jacket over a white long-sleeve button-up shirt with a blue windowpane pattern and matching loose-fitting slacks. He is equally stunning with deep brown eyes and rectangular lips that always seem to frown ever so slightly. His dark brown hair is beginning to grow into a soft mullet that hangs just above his eyes in the front, and below his ears in the back. 

Your deep blue satin long-sleeve button-up is tucked into tight, stretchy black slacks. Unlike all the men, who wear a variation of black leather boots – aside from Taehyung, whose boots are white – you have on a pair of solid black sneakers. The only jewelry you wear is a tiny silver chain with a silver sunflower pendant – a gift Yoongi gave you for your recent birthday – and your makeup is minimal, just a little to bring out your eyes. The top two buttons of your shirt are undone with a mesh bra underneath that gives absolutely no support but makes your tits look amazing. 

Yoongi's hand brushes over the small of your back, and you take a fortifying breath. With the shuttle pulling away and everyone who rode out to the carnival grounds meandering toward the entrance, you concede that your group may as well head in that direction, as well. 

"What time does the shuttle return?" you ask, pulling your phone from your pocket to glance at the time. Your gaze flits to the to top of the screen, where it is clear you will likely have no service out here, causing you to sigh. It is currently 12:13 PM.

"Midnight," Taehyung responds softly, walking a few paces ahead. 

Midnight. Just great. You knew, going into this, that it was going to be a long day, but now you are unsure whether there will be enough for the five of you to do during the next nearly-twelve-hours. 

"No service, no way home, in the middle of nowhere," you grumble, shoving your phone back into your pocket. "Lovely."

To your right, past Yoongi and a few paces ahead, you notice Jeongguk frowning. He opens his mouth to respond, but must decide not to, because he has nothing to say. This whole thing was his idea, and at the time it seemed fun, and you know that you should probably lay off a little before you hurt the poor guy's feelings. 

"Ah, cheer up!" Yoongi says, squeezing your hip. "We'll find some alcohol in there and loosen up. You'll have a good time, I promise. Besides, the more you complain, the more it will make our little Ggukie sad."

Jeongguk scoffs and rolls his eyes. 

"But he's so cute when he pouts," Jimin teases over his right shoulder, voice deep and playful.

"Shut up," Jeongguk mutters, though there is a hint of a smile.

Taehyung looks over his right shoulder, past Jimin, and grins, voice even deeper and cotton-soft as he says, "It's true."

Your laughter is quiet and fleeting, but it works its way through your chest, making you feel lighter. Perhaps it is the nature of carnivals and circuses that always fill you with anxious trepidation, and that is why you feel unshakably unsettled – as if something foreboding looms thick and oppressive around you. After all, there is a theme of illusion and trickery in these types of events, and the possibility leaves you more nervous than excited.

Gravel crunches underfoot, and the closer you get to the carnival grounds, the more it seems to grow into something gargantuan. Along the outside of the metal gate are large posters of two men – the brothers who run the show. You have seen their handsome faces plastered all over the advertisements, but seeing them in larger-than-life-sized posters is somewhat intimidating. 

They both wear deep red ringleader suits with white undershirts and matching red slacks, and across the tops of each poster are the words The Kim Brothers' Carnival Bizarre. One man – the leader of the show, Kim Namjoon – stands with his arms crossed over his chest, while the other – Kim Seokjin – has open arms and a wide, welcoming smile on his handsome face. 

"Do you really think those two run this show?" Jimin asks. He has stopped in front of Namjoon and stares up at his poster with his hands on his hips. "How is someone this sexy in charge of a traveling circus? Aren't these things, like…I don't know…dirty?"

"They probably stay in hotels," Taehyung mutters under his breath. "But the rest of the workers might sleep in tents or something. I don't know."

"It's one night only," Jeongguk adds. "So it's possible that they all pack up and go somewhere with clean water to sleep for the night."

You begin to grumble, "Isn't that expensive," under your breath, but trail off as you take in the sights all around you. 

Sure, there seems to be a lot to maintain for something like this, and there must be a great number of employees to feed, but events like this always cost an exorbitant amount to attend. The ticket alone was expensive enough that you had to budget for a couple weeks leading up to today. Factor in the large crowds of people and all the concessions, games, and rides, and you can understand how these two brothers could be walking away with a nice stack of money. 

"You'd be surprised," Yoongi responds, but does not explain himself; probably he knows that he has no need to – that you are likely to sort out the details as you stare past the metal gates and into the sprawling space. 

There is a tall man dressed in all black who stands beside the entrance, and Jeongguk approaches with a pep in his step, taking out his cell phone. You wonder whether Jeongguk has service or if he had the foresight to screencap the barcode that gains the five of you entrance. Either way, the man uses a device to scan his screen, and a loud beep is followed by a buzzing sound, as a hip-high metal gate swings open, and the five of you walk inside. 

Jeongguk leads, followed by Jimin, Taehyung, you, and Yoongi. Once the metal gate creaks shut behind you, Yoongi's arms drape over your shoulders. He mutters, "We are trapped inside," then groans a deep, "oooohhhhhh," right behind your ear that gives you chills, both because the atmosphere of this place – even in the hot, afternoon sun – is fucking creepy, and because Yoongi's deep voice and warm breath on your neck always spark something carnal and needy inside you. 

"What should we do first?" Jeongguk asks, turning to you with wide eager eyes before his gaze falls to Yoongi's arms dangling over your shoulders, causing him to turn to the others. 

"Beer," Yoongi grumbles at the same time Jimin shouts, "Food!" and Taehyung offers, "Find a ticket booth?"

You chuckle and wiggle away from Yoongi's hold – a task which he does not make easy. "Food and drinks?" you recommend, while glancing around. "Maybe we'll spot a ticket booth along the way?"

Now that you are inside the carnival grounds, the layout of the place is clearer, but also much more intimidating. Three massive circus tents are in the center, and surrounding them are various game booths and rides. There seem to be funhouse attractions and larger game booths under tent awnings along the edge of the grounds, near the tall metal fences, and smaller concession stands in the center of the wide gravel path. One building nearby says Tunnel of Love, and another says Hall of Mirrors, and you cannot help but roll your eyes over how trite it all feels. 

There also seems to be a sort of fog clouding your mind, making it difficult for you to focus on any one thing for too long before wanting to turn your attention elsewhere, and you blame it on nerves.

"I think I see a food truck this way," Taehyung offers, pointing off to the left, near the hall of mirrors. 

As soon as food is mentioned, you swear the smell of deep-fried batter hits your nose, and you find yourself instinctively turning in that direction. It has been hours since you have eaten, and suddenly, you feel ravenous.

Taehyung and Jimin take the lead, and you begin to walk forward, out of the carnival entrance and into the space that this event occupies. Music plays – horns blaring and keys chiming at a quick, exciting tempo. You pause as you step forward, body and mind suddenly confused. Was there music playing before? Had you not noticed it? 

This particular event is marketed as not being safe for children, and as you look around, all you see are adults. But the concessions, games, and rides are all those that you would expect to find at a circus or county fair swarming with kids, and you are surprised to walk past booths and find adults excitedly pointing to which large stuffed animals they would like to cash in their winnings for. 

"Checking out the prizes?" Yoongi asks close enough to your ear to make you flinch. 

"No," you mutter, turning your gaze away. 

You had been looking at the rows of plushies, but playing fair games is not your style, and you do not want to be burdened with carrying something around for the duration of the day. A laugh follows a hand rubbing over your lower back, and you let your eyes flutter closed for just a moment as you take a fortifying breath. 

"Why are you so jumpy?" Yoongi asks. 

"I don't know," you respond, allowing your gaze to dance over shooting games and feats of strength. Each individual booth has its own raucous sounds and music, with someone dressed as an old-timey hobo shouting to their customers. "I just feel overwhelmed."

"You seemed keen on the idea of a carnival all week."

Yoongi is best when he is like this: soft-spoken and concerned. No quips meant to jab at his friends, nor undertones to make the little hairs on your neck stand tall. You lean toward his body heat and allow him to squeeze you in a side hug before you continue to walk forward with the group. 

"I was," you say as your gaze falls to the gravel and dirt path under your feet. The smell of food is much stronger, and you take a deep inhale through your nose, letting the heavy, semi-sweet aroma fill your lungs. "There's just something so foreboding about going to the absolute middle of nowhere, with no way home. I understand not wanting to deal with having a lot full of cars, but it just seems strange to force everyone here by shuttle. What if something happens, and we're all trapped here?"

You know that you sound paranoid, and you are actually a bit shocked when Yoongi does not tease you for it. 

"I'm sure nothing will happen," he responds calmly. "I'm sure these traveling shows are prepared for the worst. There were medical tents advertised on a map near the entrance, so if we need any kind of first aid, they have us covered."

You do not recall seeing a map by the entrance, but you are also not at your most observant. Thankfully, there is always someone in your group who is on top of things, and that someone is usually Yoongi, and often Taehyung.

As you look up, you see a large food truck smack dab in the center of the wide gravel path, surrounded by people standing in line and waiting for their orders. You feel an instant sense of disappointment and impatience, which you blame partially on your need to eat something. 

Jimin is first to begin skipping over to the end of the line, and you follow behind, lacking his enthusiasm. The truck is massive compared to ones you are used to, and you hope that with all the extra space, there are plenty of employees inside to make orders come out quickly. 

Your antsiness must show, because Jeongguk – who had also skipped excitedly to the line – leans toward you to say, "We can grab you guys something if you would rather walk around. We don't all have to wait in this line."

"It's fine," you respond, but the tone of your voice suggests that it is anything but fine. 

"Come on," Yoongi says, yanking you away from the line, toward a booth several feet away. "We can play this little rubber ducky game in the shade while they wait for food in the hot sun.”

A smile creeps over your face, and you nod, allowing Yoongi to drag you off to the shade, under a large tent awning with a small game booth inside. As soon as you are out of the sun, your shoulders relax, and you feel a lot better. 

"It doesn't take five of us to order, anyway," Yoongi says softly. "And I finally get a chance to have you all to myself."

Again, with the inviting tone, which you struggle to ignore now that the others are no longer within earshot. You turn your head but keep your eyes on the kiddie pool of multicolored rubber duckies floating in a slow circle as you say, "You had me all to yourself last night," in a low, teasing tone.

"And this morning," Yoongi responds, leaning close, causing your heart to flutter and your thighs to briefly clench.

Your cheeks warm, and you nibble on your lip, watching as the rubber ducks move round and round, determined not to look at Yoongi and allow him to see the effect he is having on you. There is a pastel pink one that catches your eye, and you reach for it as soon as Yoongi hands over some notes of money. 

Written on the bottom of the duck is the number seven, and you turn it to face the person standing behind the counter, who takes it from your hand to inspect. The attendee is a tall, thin man dressed head to toe in black, with a piercing on the bridge of his nose. He wears smudged black eyeliner, and when he smiles at you, his long, sharp features turn soft and pretty. 

"Seven, hmm…" the attendee says as he tilts his head and widens his eyes. "Not many know to reach for a seven. Those prizes are special, so you have to choose wisely."

"Special, huh?" you ask, feeling excitement build, unable to fathom what could possibly be special about a cheap carnival trinket. 

The man turns to his left and walks over to a shelf to your right that you walk around to see into. As soon as you round the corner, you feel the urge to laugh; the trinkets are the same as those in the front shelf, and there hardly seems to be anything special about them. 

"These are different from those?" you ask, pointing between the shelves with a playful tone. 

The attendee hums, "Mmhmm," watching you with a curious, excited expression. 

Sitting in little plastic bins are paper finger traps, plastic kazoos, large jawbreaker candies, little metal whistles, mirrors with paintings of tigers and dragons on them, and little yellow bird keychain plushies. Nothing particularly grabs your attention, yet you find yourself struggling to make a choice. 

Jawbreakers were a favorite of yours growing up, but they get sticky too fast. And although you like the novelty of the painted mirrors, you do not want to carry one around all day. So, you point to the keychain plushies from above, and say, "I'll take one of these."

The man slides open a glass door and reaches into the case. He retrieves the exact plushie below where you point, and places it gently in front of you. 

"I hope this trinket brings you luck," he says with a grin, and you find your gaze flitting nervously between the man and the toy before grabbing it and giving it a gentle squeeze. The yellow fur of the bird is soft in your hold, and it reminds you of a tiny duckling. 

"Sick!" Yoongi exclaims from your left, making you chuckle. He reaches for the toy, and you hand it over, turning to watch him inspect the small yellow bird between his long fingers. "You should wear it on your belt loop," he says, and before you have a chance to agree or not, he opens the little metal fastener that it dangles from and clips it onto your left hip.

"Perfect," you say with a smile as you inspect your new toy. Warmth spreads, and you feel a little more relaxed about this whole thing; maybe the carnival is not so bad, and happiness can be collected and appreciated, one adorable plushie at a time. 

"Thank you for playing," the man behind the counter says, and you glance up as he winks and walks off, leaving a different attendant to watch over the game. 

"Thank you," you mutter under your breath because it feels like the polite thing to do, then you turn to exit the stall and return to your friends, who are much further in line. 

Yoongi slings an arm over your shoulder, causing you to blaze hot in the afternoon sun, but you enjoy his warmth as he steers you near the front of the line. 

"We're thinking about getting a pizza to share and some corn dogs," Jimin says without greeting you, and you nod, approving of their choices. 

"They have beer, wine, and fruity seltzers," Taehyung adds. "Personally, I think we should get two pitchers of beer."

Yoongi squeezes your shoulder and slides his hand away to reach for his wallet. "Sounds good to me," he says, pulling out some cash.

Jeongguk stands behind the soulmates with his eyes on your bird plushie. Then his gaze snaps to yours, and he roves his eyes around as if feeling awkward about being caught staring. "It's cute," he mutters, eyes falling to your trinket once more. 

"Apparently, it will bring her good luck," Yoongi teases, giving your arm a nudge with his elbow, which annoys you enough to shove him away with an elbow of your own. 

Past the food truck line, there is a large open space with picnic tables, and you nod to it with your chin, leaning to Yoongi as you ask, "Should we go find a spot to sit?"

"Preferably with shade!" Jimin chimes in, and you nod; shade is a must.

"We'll be right over here," you say as you point, and the others mutter their approval and approach the counter to give their order. 

To get to the open area, you have to pass through the food line, which is rather crowded, and you mutter, "Excuse me," and "Sorry," as you squeeze past people. And although most tables in the shade are taken, there is one at the far end, below a large tree, and you move a little faster in its direction to secure it before anyone else has a chance to. 

As you approach the table, you find your attention stolen by the tree. Up close, it is massive, looming high with twisted branches that appear sharp, like talons upon which large green leaves dangle. 

"Creepy," Yoongi grumbles, and you nod, uttering a quiet, "Uh-huh."

"I'm impressed there's a tree like this out here," he continues as he rounds the table to sit with his back to it. You opt to take the seat across from him. "This place is pretty barren."

As you look past the metal gate to your left, you see what Yoongi means. There are grassy areas here and there, and in the far distance, there are shrubs and eventually trees. But, as far as you can tell, this giant one stands on its own. A chill runs down your spine; creepy, indeed. 

The rest of the group joins, with Jeongguk gripping the handles of two pitchers of beer in one hand and carrying a stack of clear plastic cups in the other, followed by Taehyung holding a pizza box, and Jimin holding a cardboard tray of corn dogs. Taehyung and Jimin sit on Yoongi's side of the table, and Jeongguk sits to your right. 

"What's up with the tree?" Jeongguk asks as he begins to pour beer into each plastic cup. 

Taehyung looks over his shoulder, then grumbles, "It's kind of scary," sporting a disapproving frown.

With a sigh, Jimin looks over his shoulder, then he straightens out, rolling his eyes. "It's just a tree. Thanks for finding us a spot in the shade!"

Although the food is definitely not peak quality, it hits the spot. That, plus the beer, has you feeling full and a bit dizzy, and you anchor your palm to the wooden seat and lean slightly to your right, toward Jeongguk. The wind carries hints of his floral, musky scent, which you have always found to be pleasant. 

"What should we do first?" Yoongi asks, and you turn to your right to look around, catching Jeongguk's eye, instead. 

"I like the hall of mirrors," Jeongguk says, looking down at your hand that rests inches from him, then up at the others. 

"Tunnel of love," Jimin sing-songs playfully. 

Taehyung looks at his phone, then says, "There's an illusion show at 1:30 that we should see."

"That sounds cool," Yoongi says as he tilts his head, looking at you, then at Jeongguk, and back. "What about you?"

You shrug, unsure what you would like to do. 

"I suppose we should try to see the scheduled shows," you reason. "Then we can decide what to do in between."

It is close enough to 1:30 that the five of you down the rest of the beer and stand from the table with tandem groans. Stretching feels good, and you lift your arms over your head and yawn. Taehyung gathers the trash on top of the pizza box, and Jeongguk picks up the pitchers, following Taehyung toward a large waste receptacle, on top of which is a space for the pitchers. 

"I think the show is under the largest tent," Taehyung says as your group exits the space and walks toward the red and white striped tents. 

"This place is huge," Yoongi says as his fingers find yours, tickling enough to make you jerk your hand away before allowing him to grab and hold it. 

"Good thing we coordinated," Jimin chirps happily, looking down at his blue shirt, then at Taehyung's light blue jacket. "Don't need any of us getting lost."

The carnival space truly is massive, and as you approach the large tents, you feel somewhat overwhelmed. The two smaller ones are about as tall as a small house, and the large one is at least twice its size. Just walking in a circle around the carnival grounds must take quite a while, and you begin to wonder if you will even get to see everything there is to see before midnight. 

Beside the entrance of the tent is the man who ran the rubber duck game, only this time, he is head to toe in white. His long-sleeved shirt crosses over his torso and tucks into loose-fitting pants, and he wears chunky white boots and a hat with long white ears that hang to his hips. Although he does not appear to recognize you, you smile widely anyway. 

"Here for the illusions show?" the man asks, and you nod, saying, "There's five of us."

The man lifts his hands and holds out a stack of black cards adorned with a gold leaf design of a skull pierced through with a dagger. "You must pick a card," he says, eyes drifting over your group. 

You swallow thickly and reach for one of the center cards, taking it by the corner between your thumb and index finger and gently tugging, then you flip it over to reveal the image of a skeleton dressed in a black robe. It holds a sword in one hand and a gold cup in the other, and around it are various symbols, including a glowing infinity sign above its head. The Magician is written along the bottom in gold, and you rub your thumb over the slightly raised text. 

One by one, your friends all pick cards. Yoongi laughs as he reads, "The Fool," aloud, and you lean in to see a similar robed skeleton figure on his, depicted carrying a basket. 

Taehyung frowns as he reads, "Death," showing the same cloaked skeleton with its hands crossed over its chest, and Jimin's eyes light up as he says, "The Hanged Person," revealing the familiar skeleton hanging by its ankles from a rope. The only card that differs in theme is Jeongguk's, which depicts a crumbling tower being struck by lightning. 

The man in white reaches out, taking Jeongguk's card first. "The Tower," he says, "upheaval, sudden change, and chaos. Very good – embrace that. And yours," he takes Jimin's card. "Ah, The Hanged Person. Surrender, letting go, and new perspectives. A fine card; full of promise. Let's see, here," he says, reaching for Taehyung's card, glancing up at your frowning friend with a sympathetic smile. "Don't let Death scare you. They symbolize endings, transition, and transformation, which can seem intimidating, but these things are vital for the human experience."

Taehyung hums under his breath and shoves his hands into his pockets as the man in white steps closer, reaching for Yoongi's card. "The Fool," he says, glancing up with a grin. "Innocence, new beginnings, and spontaneity. Is this true?"

Yoongi blinks, then shrugs, and says, "I suppose so."

The man hums and says, "Jumping into new things may be fun, but try not to dive head-first too often. You never know what could be lurking in the depths."

With an amused scoff, Yoongi responds, "Alright."

"And you, my dear, what have we here?" the man asks, reaching toward your hands. 

"The magician," you mutter, handing the card over.

"The magician," the man responds with a wide smile, studying your face. His eyes fall to your hands, then past them to the bird plushie on your side. "Cute," he says, cocking his head to the side, and you watch him, feeling puzzled; how could he have already forgotten about you winning the trinket less than an hour ago? Have so many people played the rubber duck game?

"Power, manipulation, and action," the man says, lifting his wide, coal-smudged eyes to yours. "How does it make you feel?"

"Uh, w-well, I suppose—" you stammer, attempting to find the words. Then you mutter, "I don't know. I guess I don't feel anything."

The man hums, says, "You will," and winks before turning toward the entrance to the tent. 

As the man lifts the tent flap, he looks over your shoulder and shouts, "Last call for the illusions show! Line starts here!"

"Jack!" a voice calls from within the tent, and the man in white turns to look over his shoulder, into the darkness. He converses with whoever caught his attention, but you cannot see who that person is. 

When the man in white – presumably named Jack – turns back, he catches your eye and says, "We have five remaining VIP spots. Come this way and follow Seokjin hyung."

You hesitate to step forward when a man in a blood-red suit comes stepping into view, who you recognize instantly as Kim Seokjin, one of the two brothers who run the event. Seokjin is somehow more stunning in person, with his dark hair swept off his forehead, revealing a piercing gaze and welcoming smile. And when he stands tall and gestures with his hand, saying, "Come this way!" his presence is commanding.

You follow, stepping into the dimly lit tent as Seokjin leads you around to the right, past tall wooden bleachers atop which people are chattering and finding their seats. "Just a little further," he says over his shoulder, leading you deeper into the space.

Coming out from between bleachers ahead is a glowing gold light, and Seokjin leads you toward it, then takes a left, into it. You squint as soon as you turn, hit by bright spotlights that are bursting from the center of the ring, and then Seokjin stops and holds his hand out to the right, to the first wooden row, which is empty. 

"Here you are!" Seokjin calls. "Enjoy the show!"

"Why were we given VIP?" Yoongi calls over your shoulder, to which Seokjin grins. 

"Right place at the right time…" He responds, drawing out the last word while studying your group. "And a good combination of cards."

"Oh," you respond as Taehyung and Jimin pass you to take their seats. Jeongguk is next, and you step forward to sit beside him, assuming he may not want to be stuck next to Yoongi. 

"Thank you!" you call just as Seokjin turns away, waving his hand in the air behind himself. 

From somewhere inside the ring, there is a large burst of music – horns and keys – that makes you startle, and you laugh to yourself, feeling silly for being so jumpy. Clowns and acrobats come flipping and twirling through the gap in between bleachers beside you as the loud music builds, becoming a quick, chaotic symphony. 

The performers line the ring, dancing and twisting, jumping and cartwheeling, cheering and singing. It is so loud and so frenzied, you have a hard time trying to find a spot to focus on, watching them move in small individual circles while traversing around the ring in greater circles, making you dizzy and somewhat disoriented.

"Come one, come all!" a loud, deep, welcoming voice booms over the noise. "Welcome to Carnival Bizarre! The greatest show in the world!"

When the other Kim brother you recognize from the posters – Namjoon – suddenly appears in the center of the ring in a burst of smoke, you feel surprised and a bit confused. The performers circle around him, and he holds his arms high, blood-red suit bright under the shine of the many spotlights.

Although you cannot perfectly see him from this distance, you imagine that he is not only smiling, but that he is staring directly at you. A chill shimmies down your spine, and you want to look away, but you find that you cannot; your eyes are fixed on the magnanimous man in the swelling center of the encircling chaos. 

Held in Namjoon's hand is a cane, the top end of which is glowing bright like fire, and you watch as he twirls and points with it, following its path at the music crescendos, feeling a heavy weight in your chest that threatens to overwhelm, if only you could tear your eyes away and allow yourself to think clearly. 

And then the music stops, and the lights shift off, save for a bright white spotlight that glows on Namjoon. He opens his empty hand, and something that looks like a burst of orange, glittering fire rises from his palms, shimmering in the air as it lifts up, up, up, to the top of the tent, so high above that you lose sight of it. 

Vaguely, it feels as if tears are running from your eyes, staining your cheeks in warm streaks, but you cannot lift your hands to check, nor can you blink. You sit stunned and stiff as a board, staring up into the dark tent, waiting to be told where to look next. 

Jack, the man in white, appears before you. His fingertips touching your chin shakes you from your reverie, and you gasp as you meet his eyes. Something is happening on the floor of the ring – slow, sultry music you don't remember hearing a moment ago seems to be accompanying several performers, but it is hard to make out much past Jack standing in the way. 

"Heads or tails," Jack says with a smile, and before you can respond, he flips a coin, sending it high into the air. "Heads, you see all; tails, you only remember what feels good."

You tilt your head back to watch the coin, barely aware of the fact that nobody else seems to be seeing it. It is almost as if Yoongi and Jeongguk are sitting with their heads slumped forward, but you cannot tear your eyes away from the ascending coin to check.

"Heads or tails?" Jack asks, and you open your mouth to respond, barely registering the word that comes from between your quivering lips. 

With a quick snap of his arm, Jack reaches high and snatches the coin from the air, then he crouches low before you, taps his fingers to your chin, and says, "Very good, ducky; you may sink, now. See you soon."

You mutter a soft, "Very good," as your head slumps forward, the music quietly swells to a stop, and everything fades to black. 

Tell me what you've come for What is it you adore Won't you tell me? What would you cry for Swallow your pride for? What would you, oh, go wild for?

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INDEX | NEXT

Carnival of Terror is a Goosebumps-inspired fic, copyright theharrowing 2023. no translations or reposting allowed!

[soullumii]

carnival lights | joel miller x f!reader

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you take joel to the yearly summer carnival.

warnings/tags: pure fluff, little bit of sexual humor, fake gun use! (water guns), carnival fun, no outbreak!joel, soft!joel, modern au, food, implied age gap (reader is in her 20s, joel is in his 40s), pet names (peach, darlin', sweetheart, baby), established relationship. (can be read as part of the stranded universe!), NO USE OF Y/N

word count: 3.5k

a/n: something cute while i work on stranded part 2. there's no plot, just vibes

taglist: @hecatombix @thatmemechick @sexygaypalpatine

“I can’t believe you dragged me out to this mess,” Joel grumbles. 

Warm summer air settles over the both of you as screams from excited kids and terrified people on rollercoasters echo around you in the night. Joel’s scowl is illuminated by flashing lights from various pop-up mirror mazes, haphazardly put together ferris wheels, and scandalously painted funhouses.

Seriously, though, why does the children’s funhouse have a mural of a Parisian can-can dancer plastered on the front of it, her fish-netted vagina visible from quite literally any angle within this carnival?

It’s so incredibly ridiculous, and you absolutely love it. You just love carnivals—always have. 

Even if they’re probably a safety hazard, even if the creepy clowns wandering about scared you a lot as a kid, and even if the sweet aroma of funnel cakes and fried Oreos and cotton candy mixes with the skunky smell of cheap weed. It brings back memories. And yeah, it might give you a headache after a few minutes, but it’s everything you adore, even if you’re in your late twenties now. 

“It’s fun, Joel. Have you ever heard of fun?” You tease, dragging him along the dirt path littered with cigarette butts and mystery liquids. You get a whiff of hot dog.

Joel must get it too, because his nose scrunches and he steps aside a dubious pile of something inscrutable. “My definition of fun ain’t exactly this.”

“Look! That looks fun!” You point excitedly toward a ride called “The Zipper” rising high in the sky, its metal capsules filled with adrenaline junkies swinging back and forth as the entire ride spins on an axis.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel swears under his breath.

“What? Don’t you want to ride it?” 

When you glance over at him, he’s looking particularly green, though you can’t exactly tell if that’s from the spinning cups next to you flashing green and white or if he’s truly feeling unwell.

“Are you okay?” You ask, sincerity coating your words as you turn to him. 

“I’m fine,” he shakes his head. “I just—you should’ve taken Ellie and Sarah with you. I’m not any fun at these kinds of things.”

“Joel…” you say, a teasing smile growing as your hand lands on his arm. “Are you scared?” 

He scowls, but hesitates in his answer, gaze darting away from you. “No.”

Liar. “Joel, it's okay if you’re scared,” you say. “We don’t have to ride any rides. I wanted to come with you just to spend time with you.”

His gaze softens and he sighs. “I know, peach. I wanna spend time with you, too. And for the record, I’m not scared, I’m just concerned about… my back.”

“Riiight,” you smirk. “Let’s go find something to do that won’t hurt your back then.”

You find a funnel cake stand charging $15 per cake. Joel grumbles about how ridiculous, and frankly, illegal it is that they’re charging so much for what is basically a scribble of fried dough as he pulls out his wallet.

“It's about the culture of it all, Joel,” you declare as you take a bite of doughy and powdered sugar goodness. “It’s just what carnival goers do. It’s only once a year, they can make the sacrifice.” You tear off a piece of it and give it to him. 

“I guess seein’ Sarah smile after eatin’ fried oreos was worth it," he relents as he takes the cake and plops it into his mouth, humming gratefully and yes! you’re starting to wear him down! 

“Exactly.”

After you both finish your funnel cake among a screaming swath of kids, you drag him toward the farm animals. This, he has to like. 

You enter into the tent, Joel’s hand tucked in yours, and the smell of manure and dirt immediately choke the both of you, the scent trapped in by the heat and the plastic material of the tarp. Joel somehow seems to look even worse than he did when you mentioned the Zipper.

“These poor animals,” he whispers, eyes wide as he takes in the fences sectioning off llamas and sheep and highland cattle. “They should be out wanderin’ in a field.”

“They do, Joel,” you insist, squeezing his hand. “It’s just for tonight. Come on, let’s go pet one.”

After a snot-nosed child stumbles away from the sheep pen, Joel makes his way over. He frowns down at them, reaching a hand in through the fence to pet them. The sheep inch forward, pressing their wet noses into his palm, and he strokes their soft wool lovingly. Your heart flutters at the sight.

And then you hear him whispering to them: “I’ll get you out of here.”

Before Joel can do something drastic, like wrench open the fence on pure strength alone (which you know he is absolutely capable of), you drag him out of the tent. Your spirits are extinguished, the night feeling more and more like a failure. You have to get him to have fun, somehow.

“Those poor animals,” he says again, shakes his head as you draw him toward the game booths.

“They’ll be okay, Joel,” you reassure gently, rubbing his shoulder blades. 

He just shakes his head again, and your heart fractures. You plaster on a smile and set him in front of a booth with two plastic water guns tethered to a ledge, at the far end of the booth are targets bobbing up and down, moving along a track.

“Let’s play this!” You say, handing the teenage booth manager a dollar bill. He chews his gum apathetically, and pulls the lever to start up the game. 

This piques Joel’s interest and he watches you grab the pistol-shaped water gun, aiming it at a target, your eye winking as you train your gaze on a target. 

“No, no, I can’t let you shoot like that,” he says, grabbing the pistol. He maneuvers your hands, “Left squeezes on the right, darlin’.” He then adjusts your arms and tries to grab the pistol from you, but it's sturdy in your new grasp, not going anywhere.

“There,” he says, proud, and grabs the other gun, pointing it at the first target. “Good luck, peach. You're gonna need it.”

“We’ll see about that,” you tease. You have no idea what you’re getting into.

“Start,” the booth manager monotonously drawls.

Before you can even pull the trigger, three of Joel’s targets are down, and he is cackling as he obliterates the others on his side. Your jaw drops, eyes widening.

Because, what the hell?

You scramble to catch up, pressing the trigger rapidly at your own targets, but only a few hits land. By the time the bored teenager calls ‘game’, Joel’s got his arms over his chest, watching you with a satisfied smile as you try in vain to shoot the last three targets on your side.

You turn to him in shock, but your bones feel light, your pulse beating rapidly because at least he’s finally having fun. And, admittedly, his skill is attractive.

“You should see your face right now,” he laughs.

“You won this,” the teenager drones, holding out a big fluffy teddy bear, half the size of Joel. 

“I’m keepin’ this,” Joel says, grabbing the bear and holding it close. He looks ridiculous, holding that giant teddy bear in his corded arms, peppered locks falling over his forehead. Ridiculously handsome. Ridiculously cute. You've got to keep this going.

“What? Seriously? You’re not going to give your girlfriend the bear you won?” You pout. He just smiles wider. 

“Darlin’, you’ve gotta earn this. Your shootin’ was pathetic.” He grabs another dollar from his wallet and hands it to the red-headed teen. “Another one, kid.”

Instead of grabbing his own pistol when the game starts up again, Joel comes in close around your back, warm chest pressing against your shoulder blades as his hands skim down your arms. He lays a chaste kiss on the side of your throat and your heart beats rapidly like a bird’s, warmth settling within you, a flush dusting your cheeks at his proximity. 

His broad palms land on yours, and he adjusts your hold again like he did last time. “This was good. Your aim, on the other hand…”

“I’ve never shot a fucking gun before, Joel,” you defend.

“This is a water gun, peach.” You grumble as he drags your arms up, sets them in a position that is honestly not very comfortable, but you can see how it might be easier for aiming. 

“Aim that ‘lil notch at the top of the gun in the middle of your target.” You follow his instruction dutifully. “Good, now shoot.”

It’s all in good fun, the gun light and cheap in your hand, but you treat it as if you truly are about to shoot a real gun, if only because your competitive nature likes to take over. You take a deep breath and let it out, then pull the trigger. The target goes down swiftly.

Joel pulls back, grinning down at you. “Nice job, peach.”

You preen at his praise.

“Alright, now hit the next one.” 

You do just that. He holds his hand up for a high five and you slam your palm onto his, laughing giddily. "I'm so fucking good at this!"

He hisses, shaking his stinging hand out, “Why do you always high five so hard?”

“The game’s almost done,” the teenager warns.

You turn and deflate at the sight of ten targets still standing, confidence leaving your body in one fell swoop. You have about twenty seconds to shoot the last targets, and you wilt, knowing that’s absolutely not going to happen. You gaze sadly at the stuffed whale hanging from the awning. 

Joel, noticing your disappointment, grabs his own pistol and fires off at his targets, each painted bullseye flinging back as the water hits it, the targets dropping one by one in quick succession. Even the moving ones he finds easily, spraying them with firm focus, eyebrows furrowed over his hard eyes. 

He finishes with five seconds to spare, and a smirk on his lips. He makes a show to pretend to blow smoke away from the water gun’s barrel, and you can't help but laugh. You never see him this goofy, and it makes your body tingle with happiness.

The booth manager rolls his eyes and gets the whale down, handing it to Joel. You give him the biggest puppy eyes you can manage, lips puckered in a pout, and you can see the moment it hits him right in the heart, his smile growing soft, the way he looks away from you, turning to try and hide it. But he can’t, and you tremble at the sight feeling so full, so warm. 

“Come on, Joel. I’m never going to be as good as you–which by the way, where the fuck did you learn to do that?” You say, grabbing the tail of the whale and tugging. 

"Growin' up on a farm, darlin'. Tommy was always wantin' to shoot the ducks."

"Ah, so you're a master at duck hunting, huh?"

He shrugs. "You could say that."

He tugs the whale away from your grasp, gesturing to the booth. "Alright, one more game. Come on baby, you can do it."

You groan, and he hands another dollar over. The kid looks even more bored. Maybe even annoyed at this point. You don't blame him. You grab the pistol, and get to shooting, not without spraying some water at Joel first. He doesn’t even flinch.

Five targets later (you never could get the full ten), you're whooping and hollering as the kid hands you a fluffy monkey plushie.

"There we go!" Joel praises. “Nice goin’ peach!”

You do a little happy dance, not caring if you look ridiculous, and Joel tucks you into his side, throwing another dollar bill at the apathetic teen.

“For your patience,” he says. You giggle loudly into your palm.

“I don’t get paid enough to be here,” the kid mumbles as Joel tugs you away and back through the carnival.

You look up at him, taking in his carefree expression, the content smile on his face, and the way the lights flash off his eyes, making them sparkle. His strong arm is wrapped around your waist, your cheek pressed into his shoulder.

“Finally having fun?”

He looks down at you, eyebrow quirking. “What’d’ya mean? I’ve been havin’ fun this whole time.”

You stop, pulling back to really look at him, blinking in disbelief. “What? But you’ve seemed so… upset. The rollercoasters, the funnel cake...the animals."

Joel’s smile slips, and a clear sincerity takes hold in his eyes. “Darlin’ none of that matters to me. Just bein’ with you is enough to make anythin’ fun.”

“Oh,” is all you can say, nerves thrumming, mind racing.

“I’m sorry I made you feel otherwise, I'm not very good with emotions," he says, threading his fingers with yours, and your heart stutters. You knew that. He’s always been a closed book, and even if he does decide to be more open, it can be hard to truly decipher how he feels. Though he’s always quick to assure you that you mean everything to him.

“I’ll ride a damn rollercoaster with you anytime if you really want me to.”

This is why you love him so damn much.

You beam, though it turns teasing, “Thanks, Joel, but I don’t want to hurt you.” You poke his lower back.

Joel chuckles. “My back is fine. I’m just scared.”

“Oh really? Finally admitting it, Miller?“

"You know I struggle with admitting my flaws, darlin'."

"Right, because you hardly have any."

"Exactly."

"Well, anyway, I have an idea."

"Do ya now?”

You drag him toward the giant ferris wheel stretching high into the sky, the neon lights climbing its spokes flashing excitedly, drawing the carnival goers in.

You settle in a seat with Joel next to you, though because of the long line, you're forced to be seated with another couple across the way. An older couple, with matching t-shirts and candy necklaces.

"Hey there!" The woman chirps. "What a lovely night, ain't it?"

Joel nods awkwardly, "Sure is."

"It's beautiful," you add.

It truly is, a gentle breeze stirs the warm air, driving away mosquitos and the Texan humidity. The navy sky is clear, only a few fluffy clouds sprinkled about. You’d spend the entire night out here if you could.

"I'm Sharon, my husband Burt and I have been comin' to this carnival for the past fifty years," she says, gesturing to the man in overalls beside her.

"That's amazing," you say honestly. "I’d like to have a tradition like that, too.”

You tell her your and Joel’s names, ignoring the latter’s pleading glance at you by smiling at Sharon and Burt and complimenting their matching shirts.

Burt's says: Nothing Sense We're and hers says: Makes When Apart.

You despise the shirts deeply, but you might as well be friendly to the people you'll be stuck with for the next fifteen minutes.

"Thanks darlin'! Are you two a couple?"

You take Joel's hand, "Yep! Finally reeled this slippery fish in."

"Jesus Christ," Joel grumbles under his breath. You try not to laugh.

"Older men, so evasive, am I right?" Sharon whispers, a hand coming up to shield her mouth from her husband, as if he can't hear her in this tiny space.

"I hear you, sister.”

Joel rubs his thumb and forefinger against his temple.

"Well, enjoy your ride," she beams. "Just beware, my hubby gets gassy when we get halfway up."

You choke on a shocked laugh, your palm slapping over your lips. You lean into Joel, eyes wide, who looks green once again.

"Oh my god," you hiss to him.

"Now look what you've done. We're 'bout to get chloroformed by farts."

You can’t hide your laugh this time, “Joel!"

The ferris wheel jerks, and Joel's hand tightens around yours as it begins to ascend. You notice the tick in his jaw, the way his gaze pointedly darts from the spokes of the wheel to the pole in the center of the seat and back.

"Are you scared of ferris wheels too?" You ask.

"No," he hisses. "I'm scared of state carnival ferris wheels. They set this piece of shit up in three days. How can you even trust it?"

"I just like to think about possible ways I'd survive it."

"Yeah, like what? Grabbing onto the pole and just hanging there 'til they get ya?"

"Exactly, see, it'll be fine."

"That's if the whole thing doesn't detach."

"I think it's more likely we'll die from suffocating by old man farts than this thing detaching."

That gets a laugh out of Joel, and his gaze finally finds the land stretching out beneath you as the ferris wheel rises. The moon hangs high above the clouds, bright and full, and stars dot the dark sky like jewels sewn on a blanket. The breeze ruffles his hair, and you wish to run your hands through it.

"This is nice," he says. "I'm glad I came out here with you."

"You didn't have much of a choice, but I'm glad you're enjoying it."

You hear the man across from you pass gas, and you hide a grimace.

Joel leans in to whisper in your ear, his breath ghosting over your sensitive skin making you shiver. "This would be pretty romantic if it weren't for Mr. and Mrs. Clause over there."

"Watch it, you'll be approaching that age soon."

"I've got at least twenty years, peach. Maybe you'll be sick of me by then."

"Oh no," you shake your head, looking earnestly into his eyes. "I'll gratefully smell your farts 'til the end, Joel."

"You're messed up," he grimaces.

You just smile at him, and he grins back, his arm slung over the back of the seat, his thumb massaging your neck, and you melt into him, content to watch the world shrink as you near the top.

Eventually the ferris wheel comes to a stop at the top, and you gaze out across the dark world, head resting on Joel's shoulder. He pulls you in close.

"It's time for the kiss!" Sharon exclaims, grabbing Burt's fraying overalls and tugging him in to plant a kiss right on his lips. He melts right into her, and in mere seconds, you and Joel are witness to a geriatric couple making out.

"Ain't this somethin'," Joel says.

"Oh. My. God."

Sharon pulls back after a good thirty seconds, and turns to you and Joel. "Alright! Your turn!"

"Oh no, that's okay," you say, waving your hand. Joel is private in his affections, though his little show at the target booth earlier might say otherwise. Generally, he prefers keeping you to himself.

But tonight, he's full of surprises.

"C'mon, peach. Let's do it. Let’s give these kind folks a show, like they did for us."

"Yes! He gets it!" Sharon bounces excitedly. "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

You've been wanting to kiss him all night, so you're really not against it. Though, it's still weird, and you give Joel a pained look.

"I'll give you the whale for this," he promises.

"And the bear," you argue.

"Fine. And the bear."

You grin, and then his hand is at the back of your neck, pulling you in, his nose brushing your cheek as he slots your lips together. He tastes like funnel cake and cotton candy and you honestly don't want this night to end.

Your eyes flutter shut as he adjusts you to deepen the kiss, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip. Your hands plant on his chest, nails digging into the fabric stretching over his firm pecs.

"Woo! Yeah! Kiss her hard! Kiss her really good.”

Your lip is still caught between his teeth when Joel slowly pulls away, eyes trained angrily on Sharon and Burt. He clears his throat as leans back in his seat, and you avoid eye contact with the very strange couple across from you. Joel's hand is hot on your exposed thigh, and now you really wish you weren't fifty feet in the air stuck with some very questionable folks.

Finally, five minutes later you touch the ground again.

"Y'all have fun now!" Sharon squeaks and steers Burt toward the cowboy-themed carousel.

"Have a good night you two," Joel says, faintly as they beeline away from you, almost like you were the weird ones.

He hands you the whale but holds the bear for you as you make your way back to Joel's pickup.

"Well, that was something," you say.

"I don't think I'll get that image out of my head. Or the smell," Joel's nose scrunches.

You stop, turning toward him. "I'm sorry about this. I thought it would be fun. We'd play games and share a romantic kiss on the ferris wheel and feed the animals-"

The words fade as Joel's palm settles on your cheek, his thumb running across your bottom lip, his other hand landing on your waist. "Darlin', we did all of that."

"Yeah, but it all sucked. I can't shoot for shit. And you don't like the animals being all cooped up, and then Sharon and Burt practically eating each other in front of us, then getting turned on by our kissing? You don't think I saw Burt's hard-on?"

His eyes widen in disgusted shock. "His what?"

Your eyes well up. "I’m sorry, Joel."

He shakes his head, pulling you into his chest. "Peach, I had a great time. I love doing whatever you love. I love you, okay? So next year, you can drag me out here again and we can be Sharon and Burt's spank bank material and I'll enjoy it just as much as I did today."

Your laugh is watery against his chest, and he tilts your chin up to softly press his lips against yours again, this time shielded from the hungry gaze of strange old people. He thumbs away your tears.

"By the way," he whispers against your lips. "I liked watchin' you fail at shootin'. It's cute."

You glare half-heartedly at him, pushing him off of you and rounding to the passenger side of the truck. "I always knew you were into humiliation."

"Maybe we should try it, just to know for sure," he smirks, leaning against the door frame, towering over you.

You look him up and down, eyeing the muscles of his forearms and the way his t-shirt stretches across his broad chest. Your voice comes out lower than you expect it to.

“Get in the damn truck, Miller."

"Yes ma'am."

[gimmethatagustd]

what the fire gave us (teaser) | jjk

You were born with a Gift that the world wanted to turn into a weapon. All Jungkook wanted to do was show you that you could find love, even in the dark.

↳ pairing: shadow elemental!jungkook x water elemental!(f)reader

↳ rating/genre: BTS | 18+ | dystopian | supernatural | friends to lovers | angst | smut | fluff

↳ teaser wc/date: 916 | may 2023

↳ teaser warnings: hobi and jk get in a physical fight but it's playful

↳ notes: i'll post the fic this weekend! it's part of the spring offering collab, so pls check out the other works~ this is very different than what i've written so far. i hope you all enjoy it! let me know if you like it, and i look forward to sharing the whole thing with you soon 💜

↳ masterlist

↳ what was jai listening to? cyberpunk - ateez

As Hoseok bounds toward you and Namjoon, a dark tornado spins beside him. When he gets closer, you can see that Hoseok occasionally blows a small gust of air toward the tornado. It appears to be made of smoke, a gradient of grays and blacks. 

“Look at this,” your friend announces with a mischievous grin. “Me and JK learned a new trick.” 

With a quick snap of Hoseok’s fingers, you and Namjoon watch in patient silence as the tornado begins to slow its speed. Almost gently, the smoke curls tighter and tighter, until the darkness turns into a solid mass. 

Jungkook stumbles a few times as he attempts to get his footing. His limbs continue to propel his body into a small spin. 

Hoseok quickly reaches out to grab the younger boy. Secure hands squeeze his shoulders, and then it’s only Jungkook’s head lolling about on his head. 

“Cool, right?” Jungkook’s voice is gruff, but his lips curl into a weak smile. 

Namjoon lets out a long sigh. “You look like you’re going to be sick.” 

Although Namjoon is right, Jungkook does look like the effort of his little party trick took a toll on his body, you can’t help but match his smile. Especially when his eyes flick toward yours. You told his gaze for half a second before Jungkook is quickly looking away again. His cheeks flush pink, but you’re sure it’s from the exertion of all that spinning. 

“I think it’s really cool,” you praise the two while elbowing Namjoon in the ribs. With a grumble, your sparring partner returns to his previous stance a few feet away from you. 

“We should go again. Just for a little while longer.” 

Every muscle in your body feels stiff when you turn away from Hoseok and Jungkook. 

“I hurt all over, Joonie.” 

“Let her rest!” Hoseok adds to your whining. “All we ever do is practice fighting.” 

“Sparring.” 

Hoseok waves a dismissive hand at the younger man. “Whatever you want to call it. I find it to be fri-” 

You stifle a laugh by pressing the back of your hand to your mouth as Hoseok is tackled to the ground by Jungkook. The two men roll around, all arms and legs, kicking up dead grass and dirt. There’s a lot of howling and teasing laughter that rings through the open air. 

It isn’t until Jungkook is launched into the sky by a gust of wind you all know comes from Hoseok and lands rather roughly on his back that the playful fight ceases. How Jungkook lands knocks all the air out of his chest, but he laughs once his lungs start working again. 

“Ridiculous, all of you.” Hoseok brushes grass from his clothes. It’s futile; they’re dirty and ragged anyway. Try as you and Namjoon might to use your Gifts to clean the clothes, water does little when there’s no soap. 

“I let you win,” Jungkook teases. Still, he stands a bit further from Hoseok than he had previously. Not far enough for anyone to notice, aside from you. You notice, although you don’t mean to. It’s hard not to when Jungkook keeps stealing glances, only to look away when you try to return his gaze. 

“You did not.” 

“Did, too.” His insistence makes you giggle. 

“And how did that work out for you? Hmm? How does your back feel? I know you landed on that rock.” 

“I-It, it doesn’t hurt.” Jungkook glances your way. His cheeks are still pink. “Would take more than that to hurt me.” 

“Jungkook is impossible to beat.” 

You startle at the gentle voice, spinning on your heels to see Yoongi approaching the group. He’s got a leather satchel strapped across his chest and resting at his hip. It bulges with what you assume are plants and fruits scavenged from the woods. 

“Boy Scouts,” is what Yoongi offered when you asked how he knew so much about surviving in nature. It was peculiar; nothing about Yoongi seemed like the type. He’s tougher, more steel than wood or earth. A bulletproof shield, you think. Broad and strong. 

“Impossible?” 

 Your question is meant to be a tease, but Yoongi’s face remains stoic. Such a serious look only reveals itself when he’s assuming his position as the leader of your misfit group. It would be extremely attractive if it didn’t scare you.   

“How can you fight shadows?” Yoongi deadpans. He stares into your eyes long enough to make your face feel hot, but you don’t look away. 

“I…” 

Yoongi hums at your lack of an answer. Suddenly, you feel unbelievably small. 

“It’s not impossible,” Jungkook whispers. His head hangs low, long bangs hiding his face. The rest of his hair is tied into a bun at the nape of his neck. “I’m just as beatable as you, hyung.” 

Something about Yoongi’s expression softens at the honorific. Formalities died long ago, along with many other traditions that once made Korea what it was. Many things died during the war, both tangible and cultural - lives and ways of being. Now, the Republic is something you know your friends no longer recognize. Although it is not your home country, your heart aches for what it once was - something you will never have the privilege to experience because you arrived during the Restoration of the Republic - a fallacy of an era since the country was never restored to how it was. 

Perhaps that is best. It is easier to mourn the loss of something you never knew.

all rights reserved © gimmethatagustd on tumblr & AO3

do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my work

[it-was-funeral-grey]

Celestia-sent (Al Haitham x F!Reader)

Prequel Part 1 Part 2

Summary: There's a weird guy lying outside your house.

Warnings: Vulgarities, food (stew) , mentions of injuries , crying, reader mistakes al haitham as a old guy lmao, reader lives in vimara village, spoliers for al haitham's lore,

Word count: <1.7k words

Inspired by: -

Author's note: it was kinda therapeutic to write al haitham's part- the first half. not sure why. it just felt so easy. i miss my grandma. i should visit her once i feel better.

Please give criticism! Also, if i missed any warnings, do tell me so i can add them!

He's just lying there, faced down. His grey hair sticks out painfully against the brown dirt path, and you fight the urge to squat down to take a closer look. It's a shade of grey you have never seen before. It kinda looks like the moon.

Another old drunkard, you think. There's been many of them recently in Vimara village. Ever since the scandal in the Akademiya three months ago, Port Ormos had crashed. The whole port is a mess- what once was Sumeru's most efficient had become disorganised and stagnant overnight. Now, it's akin to a ghost town- especially after the mass layoff of port employees.

Trading has halted completely, the Wikala Funduq citing 'awaiting instructions from Akademiya higher ups'. But so far, no one from the Akademiya has come down to remedy the situation and help revitalise Port Ormos.

As a result, private traders can't do business, and trading companies can't do business, so no one is making money anymore. Traders from Inazuma and Snezhnaya had stopped docking in Sumeru. In a couple more months, Port Ormos would lose its position as the central trading hub of Teyvat. Sumeru will lose a terrifying portion of its national income. It will only get worse from there.

Vimara village was outraged at the mass layoff. Most port employees lived there, after all. In an instant, families lost all sources of income. The village community had tried to help each other, sharing food and whatever they could with each other. But this was only a temporary solution. The stress of unemployment is beginning to weigh heavy on many, which is why many have taken to drinking recently.

Which is why you aren't surprised that a guy's passed out on the ground. What was surprising is that you had never seen this dude before.

He's wearing expensive clothes, you note. He's definitely not from the village. Clad in green, he'd almost look like a plant if not for his grey hair. There's a cape hanging off his back, and on a shoulder is what you think is a vision.

Damn, you wonder. What kind of guy is this?

Curiosity gets the better of you. Squatting down next to the old guy's side, you lay your groceries down. Strangely, you don't smell any alcohol on him. So, not a drunkard?

"Hey, uh… sir?" you shake his shoulder, brushing your fingers over his vision. It's cool to the touch, the green orb emitting a gentle glow amidst the fading daylight. "Wakey wakey, mister?"

The man doesn't wake. You sigh. What are you going to do? It's almost nighttime. You can't just leave him here. I mean, you could, but still…

There's a pleasant aroma in the air, accompanied by the sound of sizzling oil. Onions, Harra spice… stir-fried with snapdragon leaves?

It reminds Al Haitham of his grandmother's cooking. Maybe she's making dinner now. He's pretty hungry.

Huh. Now that he thinks of it, it has been a long time since he's had dinner with her. When was the last time he even spoke to her? Or visited her?

He has so much to tell her.

He has to tell her about his job as a Scribe. Well, for now, he's the ACTING Grand Sage. Not for long, though. He'll make sure of that.

He's got to tell her about the stunt he pulled to save Lesser Lord Kusanali. She'd enjoy that tale. Probably scold him for being so reckless as well, though.

Yeah, he'll do that. Maybe he'll ask for a second serving of rice too. He's really, really hungry.

Then, he'll ask for advice on how to handle the whole shitshow that he has been assigned to run. She'll know what to do. She always does. She'll teach him how to manage the infinite number of impossible tasks thrown his way.

She'll comfort him. She'll tell him that in no time, he'll be back to his usual job: stress-free and not responsible for saving the nation from a crisis that may result in future generations growing up in poverty and political instability.

She'll hear him out as he rants about the mess Azar and those fuckers ("Language, Al Haitham!") had left him. And how everyone was so reliant on the Akasha terminals and the sages' leadership that when all that disappeared, they were clueless. They can't function anymore. Systems fall apart. People stop working. And because of that, he has to do everything on his own, and he's so tired and-

The sizzling sound has stopped. Is it dinner time already?

But he doesn't want to get up. Not now. Just ten more minutes, please?

There's a faint scraping sound. A spatula against a wok. If he tries hard enough, he can hear a plopping sound. So, it's a stew. He hopes it's Sabz Meat stew. That's his favourite.

How long has it been since he had a homemade meal?

Footsteps. Ok, no ten minutes, then. He'll get up.

Wincing, he sits up. His whole body aches. His knees feel sore. That's weird. He hadn't fallen or hit anything, but he feels bruises forming all over his arms and legs.

Trying to adjust to the bright light, Al Haitham slowly opens his eyes. He's in a small living room. Huh, he doesn't remember his grandmother moving. She never had this couch he was resting on either. Or the wooden coffee table in front. Or that many Liyue magazines.

"Ah, you're awake!"

That's not his grandmother's voice. Wait, what did her voice sound like again?

Al Haitham whips his head towards the voice so fast he pulls a neck muscle. Groaning, he reaches for his neck, massaging it before attempting to turn around, slowly this time.

"Hey, relax!"

There's a soft click from behind, and then frantic footsteps. Someone runs around the couch.

It's a woman. Not his grandmother.

Oh.

Oh yeah. Of course, it isn't her.

"Are you feeling alright?"

Hah, what was he doing, dreaming? Someone like him? Dreaming?

"Uh…sir?"

Of course, it isn't her. The dead can't come back to life. He's alone now. He has been for the past decade.

"…sir?"

He'll always be alone. Now, and for the foreseeable future. If he can even ensure that Sumeru still has one.

There's a hot sensation on his face, snapping him out of his thoughts. It's the woman again. This time with a bowl in her hand, holding it right in front of him.

He'd recognise that aroma anywhere. It's Sabz Meat stew.

"Um, I'm not sure what's going on," she says, placing the bowl into his hands. "But why don't you eat first?"

She pulls the coffee table closer towards him and walks back behind the couch to retrieve cutlery from the kitchen and a plate of rice. Laying them on the coffee table, she then sits on the floor, watching him.

"I didn't add lemons, but I can get you some if you want?" she asks when he doesn't move.

A minute passes. Al Haitham can't move. He can't, and he honestly doesn't want to.

What's the point of moving? Everything moves too fast. He'll never catch up. There's too much. There will always be proposals he can't clear in time. A question he can't answers right now. A policy he needs time to understand. Time that he doesn't have. Time that Sumeru can't afford to lose. He'll always be behind. And because of that, Sumeru will fall behind. Because of him.

It's almost funny. Before all this, he had never worried about being behind. He barely worried about anything.

"Come on," she prompts, taking a spoonful of rice and handing it to him when he still doesn't move. "Eat. You'll feel better after you eat."

Al Haitham doesn't have the energy to resist or deny her. Taking the spoon, he dips it into the bowl, letting the rice soak up some of the stew before lifting it to his mouth.

And suddenly, he's 19 again. He's in the dining room, having dinner with his grandmother again. She's lecturing him about spending too much time alone at home. Again.

"You may not understand now, Al Haitham. But there are people out there- good people. People willing to listen, be patient with you, and shoulder burdens with you. Comfort you."

Al Haitham reaches over to scoop another spoonful of rice. His eyes feel funny. So does his nose.

"You are never alone, child. I just want you to know that. "

Am I really?

Then just send one person, please. I'm waiting.

I've been waiting for a long time now.

"And one day, you may find someone that you can bare your soul to-you do have a soul, child. Everyone has one- no, yours isn't as dark as that 'black coffee'."

His vision is blurry now. With hydro. How strange. He chomps down another spoonful of stew. It's delicious. He hasn't had comfort food like this in a long, long time.

Just one sign. Please. I can't do this anymore.

"But until then, grandma is here to stick by you, hm? Until you stop being stubborn and go make friends!" 

The woman shifts in her seat on the floor. In his peripheral, he sees her reach over to a box, pulling out tissues.

She moves closer to him, a little bit hesitantly. But when she realises that he isn't moving away, she gently dabs his eyes with the tissue.

"There, there?" she comforts awkwardly. She then reaches over to pat his back. "It's gonna be ok. Just let it out."

And that's all it takes. It's so weird. Hydro Tears begin to flow freely. He chokes back a sniffle.

She doesn't stop patting his back. The weight of her palm is comforting- almost grounding.

He cries. In the presence of an absolute stranger, he cries ten years worth of tears in a night.

Later on, as he drifts off back into the realm of sleep to the rhythmic pats on his back, Al Haitham wonders if this is what his grandmother meant.

Maybe there really are people that are willing to stand by someone like him.

Join the Taglist!

[catella-ars]

Scribbled some more Incorrect Redacted Quotes because they give me life. A few from this one https://cat-arsenal.tumblr.com/post/667577127321927680/damn-polycule

Lasko: How’s the prettiest person here? Ricky: I don’t know. How is he~? Lasko: Oh, I-I-- Gavin: I’m doing great.

Lasko: You really dropped everything a-and came all this way f-for me? How did you even get here so fast? Gavin: Several traffic violations. Ricky: Three counts of resisting arrest. Huxley: Thirteen cans of energy drinks. Damien: Also, that’s not our car.

~Air Fried Dirt Grocery Group Chat (Personal Fave)~ Damien: Please bring home PURIFIED water with NO minerals added for taste. Lasko: We got spring water. Damien: NO Huxley: With EXTRA minerals Lasko: It’s like licking a stalactite. Damien: DON’T COME HOME Huxley: Mmm cave water

[tenderjock]

The rebels have just finished liberating a moon when the festival breaks out.

Imperial forces have been occupying this little rock since before the end of his war, so at least 20 standard, for the sole reason that it is the only inhabitable place where tyria, a rich, nontoxic purple dye, was mined. Cody, shaking violet mud off of his boots, privately thinks that the Coruscant is getting a bit uppity, if it thinks that colonizing an entire moon over some paint is worth the strain on their resources.

And the rebellion put quite a strain on it, these last seven days of siege. The color better come out of beskar, is all he's saying.

Kenobi did well. She's still learning - but strategy comes easy to her, as does battle. Cody's not surprised, given who her parents were. She takes well to war. It's a fact that she should never have had to learn.

The locals fed them, first during week of siege and now, again, ladling big pots of spiced grains and balls of fried dough. Kenobi comes skipping up to him, two bowls in her hands.

"Try this one, General," she orders. Cody, bucket tucked to his side, obeys.

It's a pastry of some sort, crunchy on the outside and soft in the center, soaked in a floral sugar syrup.

"Well?" Kenobi demands. Her dark eyes are big and intense. A lock of hair has come free of the two buns she has pinned over her ears; Cody tucks it back in place with a finger that's only a little sticky.

"Good," he says. She beams.

Music starts up, making them both look around. There's a big circle forming, the locals starting to dance rhythmically with their arms linked together. Kenobi passes her bowl over to Cody and joins in, waving for him to follow. He ignores the girl and eats another ball of dough off of her plate instead.

It only takes Kenobi one go round the circle before she's got the dance down. Other rebs are joining in as well, and someone passes around a bottle that Cody pretends not to see until it's right under his nose and he can take a swig.

Suddenly, the drumbeat stops. Cody jerks up out of the half-slouch he had allowed himself to slump into. The air was thick with breathless suspense, everyone frozen where they stood, arms in the air or legs crouched. A high, sinuous cry rose above the crowd and the music came back, double-time.

The paint throwing started then, too. He hadn't quite seen where it had started, but handfuls of purple dye are being flung, in the air, in people's faces, on their shirts, in laughing mouths. The orderly dance begins to break down, as locals and rebels alike scramble to grab handfuls of dirt for the impromptu celebration.

Cody takes one last swing of the bottle. He catches a glimpse of Kenobi's white vest being smeared mauve and her faux-outraged gasp. It was time to wade in and grab that girl before she got her silly self trampled. He tugs his bucket back on.

It was easier said than done. Everywhere he steps is a foot waiting to be squashed and everywhere he turns was an gleeful, amethyst face that was not Kenobi. He manages to get himself to the center of the crowd, jostled by bodies, searching for a dark head about half a foot lower than everyone else, and he can't find her.

He swallows hard. It's not the worst situation he's ever been in, but Cody doesn't like not having eyes on that girl. She can't even find him right now, all up in his beskar as he is, and it's just as he's thinking that that a solid, if tiny, weight crashes into the small of his back.

"General!" Leia yells. The ridiculous creature is smeared with purple mud from the roots of her hair to the toes of her desert boots. "There you are! Like a hole in the center of the galaxy!" She's drunk - not on liquor, although Cody suspects she's had more than a few sips, but on Force-energy. She gets this way sometimes, sensitive thing that she is.

"C'mon, Kenob'ika," he murmurs, barely audible over the noise of the crowd. He tugs one of her buns. "Let's get you sitting down."

The two of them stumble out of the mosh pit and settle off to the side. Cody just sits her down on the ground. She leans happily on his pauldron.

"It's gonna take you forever to clean the armor," she says, warm and a little sleepy. He grunts.

"You did good today," he says. Kenobi hums.

"It's nice when we don't have to kill anyone," she says. Her eyes are slipping shut. "I wish all the fights could be like that."

Cody doesn't say anything. He watches her, feeling something twist in his old, beat-up chest.

"General?" she asks, yawning a little. "Don't you wish all the fights could be like that?"

"Yeah, Kenobi," he says. The vocoder takes the roughness of his voice away and replaces it with the roughness of the vocoder. "Yeah, I do."

It's like that, his Kenobi sleeping on his shoulder, that Cody watches the festival swell and shrink and fade into the dawn sky.

[money-and-dandellions]

Of cold nights, slushies and how good it is to breathe; one-shot about Sunflower Siblings.

Less than 30. Sunset is less than thirty minutes away, and the sun has already gone behind the clouds. As if it hadn't spent the whole day there.

In addition to how lazy the sun really was, other thoughts flashed through Lester's head; most often they were lyrics from songs that, with annoying buzzing in his head, played on a loop for a few hours straight.

"...It seems to me that when I die,

these words will be written on my stone...

And I'll be gone, gone tonight

The ground beneath my feet is open wide.

The story of my life..."

The finger while not thinking much about the recent events, tapped out the rhythm of the song, words of which had glued to the skull.

Speaking of skulls, then it's better not to think about them at all, because he has managed to see of too many skinless heads in the last two weeks. This experience is finished for at least three eternities. No exaggeration.

Lester swerved to the right, trying not to hiss at the sharp surge of pain in his right temple. The black-blue dots continued to dance in his view.

Well, at least they weren't tap dancing. He hoped so.

"...There'll be nothing left for me to yearn.

Think of me and burn..."

'Burn what?'

There was no such event as highly-pitched scream, thank you very much.

Meg's eyes, somehow reflecting the rapidly decreasing in availability sunlight, were shining with candle-yellow which did not go along at all with her red, dimmed by a light layer of dirt, tip-tops. Her hair were as wet as the top of her bright green dress, lovingly handed by Ms. Sally Jackson.

Despite that the rain had stopped more than an hour ago, no one would say it if only looking at his master's clothes. Weren't she asleep, like, just now?

'Why would—' A pause. They will, for sure, discuss all the ups and downs of Bastille but Lester doesn't recall what was the last time he have seen the [liquid poison] fluorescent lights of any convenient shop, so—

'Were are going to be in Arkansas in an hour, near some gas station - in 10 or so, because the road is wet, who thought it would be a good idea to... Anyway, in 10 or so minutes. Any wishes?'

'A blue slushie and fries. With salt.' Meg answered, kicking the tips of her legs together with a soft bup.

A slushie and fries it is.

And aspirin, before Lester's brain will wave a white neckerchief, wishing all the best.

———— ———— ———— ————

As it was said before, the liquid poison of lightning bulbs is the least expected thing to happen to anyone, who is crossing the United States of America, even in a company of girl with unicorn-obsession. Even, if you were a god.

Alas, the gas station's advertisment was not so merciful to every unlucky person that ever visited it would it be a mortal, demigod, or a monster.

It would be unpleasant if it would be merciful to monsters.

Sitting on the hood of the car, Meg McCaffrey was very much pleased with apple-strawberry flavour of brain-eating (okay, not the best choice of words) cheap freezer also known as a slushie. Kicking the air, she looked almost peaceful, even counting the pinkish cut on her cheek, which, of course, was already healing.

The clouds were not so peaceful. The dark-gray, wet and multiple layered mass of water looked too intimidating for simple liquid.

Everything started to have a significantly huge amount of ozone smell in it. Choking, cold and crystallized pieces of something sharp scratched Lester's chest, tightening it.

Like rings of lubricous, narrow as cut dried wax, scales that would not stop and would be very much satisfied with crushing him until the last, shaky breath—

'It's cold.'

'What..?'

'I'm freezing, let's get in the car, dummy.'

Yes, breathing is good.

———— ———— ———— ————

Five minutes, ten fries and one boring song listened after, the sun had fully sat, shining at last in the front window of the car. For the next eight or so hours, headlights are going to be Lester's best accomplices.

Meg, her fingers suspiciously shiny, put knees to her chest, head - onto the cold window. Her glasses shifted a little, sliding more onto her right eye.

From time to time, taking his eyes off the road, Lester casted a glance at her, trying to figure out if his young friend is indeed asleep.

Judging by how strong was her grip onto recently bought blanket, she was not.

In twenty or so minutes, the girl shifted, wrapping herself further in the soft cloth.

'I'll go sleep.' The mumble was almost barely audible, but it was still there.

'Have a good night.'

'Don't tell me what to do, du—' She yawned, interrupting her own speech.

"All this time I was finding myself, and I

Didn't know I was lost.

I tried carrying the weight of the world

But I only have two hands..."

'You too.'

Lester smiles tiredly, staring at the infinite dark road ahead.

It's going to be a long night.

[heartfullofleeches]

DreamLand

Undead/Immortal Yandere + G.N Reader

I'll be with you in my dreams.

[Mentions of suffocation and death]

A ragged breath tears through the coffin's walls.

The wheeze draws out with no relief. Without any air, the time they're able to stay awake grows less each time. The corpse convulses; newly developed fingernails weakly scratching at the wooden ceiling. Won't be long before they join the poles of wasted keratin surrounding the body's head. The stench from their battered hands and the pain of losing each nail inch throughout their entirecbody and rack at the shambles or their brain. The ability to register both senses tells them that this particular spell of consciousness will last longer than usual. Only one thing left to do now.

"H...he-lp."

Their voice is stripped raw; cords torn from the hours of screaming and wasting precious air days ago. Why are they still trying? Going by the linear marks on the walls, they've been trapped here for almost two weeks - reliving an endless cycle of dying and being reborn from the first night their heart stopped. This wasn't the first time they died, but it was the most painful and the highest amount doing in one time period. The hunger and lack of breathing room made the corpse delirious and begging for an end, but it would not drive the final nail in their phorical coffin.

They shove at the ceiling. It gives way partially to allow a mound of dirt to fall inside the coffin. The box was unfortunately of lesser quality, but that didn't make getting out any easier; especially when they exhausted most of their energy in the futile struggle for air. Hopefully next time their brain would have enough recovery time to avoid another freakout.

The corpse's arms suddenly feel like a stack of bricks have replaced their bones. Their head swims and vision grows dotty as their heartbeat slowly fades to termination. The spots distort their eyesight until nothing remains beyond darkness. In those last second of clarity, the bloodstains on the coffin's lid almost look like stars.

"I'm so sorry....."

Twinkling lights kiss the night sky; the absence of light pollution bringing out the remarkable hidden beauty of the outer world. Two rocking chairs sit on the patio of a lake house, a table fitted with board games and a picture of a couple between them. The two look so happy together. Kay rocks backwards in their chair as the backdoor opens.

"We didn't have any lemons left, so I had to make the popsicles with everything but. Hope it isn't too bad."

Their spouse sets the tray they brought on the table. Lime flavored soda and homemade popsicles still in the mold. Kay pops one of the ice sticks free and gives it a taste. They missed the pucker from the sourness, but the refreshing sweetness of the treat was more than they needed to know peace. They place it inside their cup and wait for their partner to sit down to take their hand.

"They're still amazing. Thank you, Y/n."

You smile, pressing the pads of your fingers against the tip of their nails. "Welcome back."

Kay leans in and kisses your brow. They're still shy about kissing your lips after all the time you've spent together. It's hard not to be. They try to keep their eyes closed, growing antsy for taking them off your beautiful for too long which leads them into opening them right before your lips meet and them getting too flustered to commit. You return the kiss with one to their cheek.

"The neighbors across the pond brought over some of the fish they caught again. I was thinking we fry it tonight."

Kay grins, predicting your reply ahead of speaking. "We always have it fried, Y/n."

"But that's your favorite way to eat it."

They rest their head on your shoulder. This moment was one straight out of a fairytale. Kay surely would've lost their mind by now had you not appeared in their delusions that fateful day. The time you spent together lost some notably when they woke, but it was the one thing keeping them going no matter how much they remembered. A dream they never wished to wake from.

"I'd love for you to finally teach me how to filet them, but it's best for you to leave now, isn't it?

Kay pulls their eyes from your face. They look down at the third item appeared on the tray. A knife. They squeeze you tight.

"I don't want to wake up. Not yet."

"You have to, Kay. You can make this dream a reality once you wake. Don't you want that?"

Kay claws at the back of your shirt. "But what if the real you hates me? What if what's left of the world is a nightmare."

Kay can feel your smile on their skin as you kiss their forehead. Its warm. A consoling, infectious warmth like a dying star taking its last breath and wiping everything out with it. It hurts, they can't breath.

"You have to believe in yourself. Show them the you you've shown me. Take all the pain you've ever bared and pour it into the love you have for them.

"I do... I do...."

"Then let go. I'll always be here if you need me."

Kay loosens their grip. They take one last look at your face. That perfect features that have kept defeat at bay - and makes their choice.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Kay grabs their cup and downs the drink, popsicle stick hitting the back of their throat. You laugh and pulls the stick from their mouth, finishing the snack off with a kiss. That much dessert after swallowing so much sugar rots their teeth to the roots. The bittersweet flavor they craved minutes ago comes as you drive the knife straight through their heart.

-

Kay wakes up yet again to a boarded ceiling. They're calm this time; blended fruits on the tip of their tongue and warm lips ghosting their skin. They push against the roof. Their arms feel like splinters, but they fight through that pain. You're on the other side - waiting. The only reason their cursed body still walks the earth. Everything for you. All for you.

It caves in more.

"Did you see that?"

Kay's head crashes against the floor. One last dream before all their fantasies become a reality.

[anticiiiipation]

Fruit & Time (Daryl x Reader)

In which (Y/n) is a pre-apocalypse pop-star dealing with the consequences of her social influence on those she meets. But what happens when she meets someone who has no idea who the hell she even is?

At first, the cold was a welcomed change from what had been torturing you for months, the humid air and destructive heat of the south. But the change of weather brought much more pain to you than relief.

For months, you had been spending your nights in the trees, fending for yourself deep in the forest. It was the easiest way to stay away from the dead, but more importantly, people. It was a hard lifestyle to adjust to, but worth it. Plus, you weren’t half bad at staying alive. Maybe a little bad at staying sane, but you kept most of it together all things considered. You had a system.

You would rise with the sun, untying yourself from the branch you’d made your bed and drop your backpack from whichever tree you had chosen the night before. You’d use your rope and rock climbing harness to lower yourself down the tree. (Both supplies you found in an abandoned nature retreat a few months back)

You’d then, if you were lucky, go find the nearest running water and freshen up as well as try to purify (as best you could) as much water as you could carry. And the rest of your day was spent scavenging through the woods for something to eat. Your favorite was acorns, or mushrooms. You only liked mushrooms if they were cooked though.

Sometimes you could dry out and fry some mushrooms and store them for later too. Like a little treat for later.

In all honesty, you didn’t find it to be the most exciting life, especially when you had to kill the already dead. But it was life now. Everything and everyone you knew from before was gone.

You sighed, looking up at a tall tree that shot straight up twenty feet.

You had found your bed for the night…

Tying one side of your rope to your harness, and the other side to one of the harness clips, you casted your arm back, aiming for one of the higher branches.

With a weak grunt, you threw the hunk of metal up..

And completely missed the branch.

In fact, the clip went up fifteen feet, then directly down over your big, vulnerable head.

You yelped and covered yourself, prematurely wincing as you awaited impact.

The clip made a thud as it landed in the dirt right next to you.

You sighed with relief, picking it up and trying again.

This time, the rope swung over the branch and you lowered it down from the other side, snapping the murderous clip into your harness.

You pulled, testing the weight of the branch. It didn’t budge and you smiled triumphantly.

Then you began the worst part of your day. Climbing the tree.

It didn’t take that long, honestly. But you wouldn’t call have called yourself a star athlete even before everything happened. At least some things really don’t change.

You used your lackluster upper body strength and the rope to reach a low hanging branch and managed to pull yourself up the rest of the way. Skillfully, you slithered your way to the desired branch and pulled your rope up.

The sun began setting and the cold was already setting in. God, this weather was an issue..

You reached around and pulled the ratty blanket? It was better described as a depressed piece of cloth. Regardless, you pulled it from your backpack, shrugging it over your shoulders.

Your feet swung in the wind, numbed by miles of walking and the beginnings of winter. You shuffled, wondering if sitting on tree branches every night was changing the shape of your butt. You frowned. You hoped not. You liked your butt..

As a treat, you even busted out your fried mushrooms and snacked on them like they were the worlds worst french fries.

Your snack was cut short when a herd of the dead began to stumble through the trees.

They were going west, and you watched their heads from above as they stumbled past you.

You were headed east. It was the only goal you had.

Its what you had agreed on…

You were high enough to avoid catching any of their attention, so you just watched and plugged your nose. It was like people-watching, but now it was a little more sad. Instead of looking at the woman with blue hair and wondering about her life, you look at her corpse stumble past and wonder how she ended up how she is.

Still, it wasn’t boring. "Morbidly fascinating" is what Daniel would call it. God, that pretentious dork would rant about the dead like he was the professor of it. After everything, losing his mom, his brother, and all of our friends, he would still talk about everything he could with the passion of the sun.

You wiped the sweat from your face, eyeing every movement surrounding your group as you moved through the empty streets of some abandoned So-Cal suburb.

"It’ll be a few more years of this at most." Daniel spoke generally to anyone listening.

"How’s that?" Bea humored him. You rolled your eyes.

"Well, these things are rotting, right? They have a shelf life then. An expiration date. Given a few years, at least in the hot places around the world, they’ll all be nothing but bones."

"Wow.." Bea awed. "How do you know this stuff?"

"Common sense?" You teased, a bit annoyed by Bea’s gawking. Daniel frowned at you. "He only sounds smart cause of that accent." You "whispered" at Bea. The brit in question scoffed.

"You don't think I’m smart?!" Daniel put his hand on his heart.

You gave him an exaggerated sympathetic smile. "Of course not, sweetie."

He grinned for a second, then scowled once he realized what you really meant.

He pulled you by your hips, stopping as the group continued forward.

His hand traveled up your arm and found your hand as he rested his head over your shoulder.

"If I’m the idiot, then you’re an imbecile." He pulled your hand in front of your face, the shiny engagement ring shimmering in your face.

You scoffed and leaned your head back on his chest. "Your defense is that I’m even dumber for wanting to marry you?" You asked.

"Yes, absolutely." He argued.

"Then that makes you the one who asked to marry an imbecile, making you, officially, a moron." You turned and poked his chest.

"Ooh, then you agreed to marry a moron!"

"I absolutely did."

He beamed like he was the sun itself and leaned down to kiss you.

You had to push him away after he kept leaning into you to the point that your back was bending.

"We have to catch up, you big moron." You teased.

"That’s not fair." He argued.

"What? We agreed you’re a moron, didn’t we?"

"See, no. You created a paradox when you said-"

"Daniel?"

"Yes?"

"Let’s go."

"Yes ma’am."

You wiped at tear from your face, deciding that the moon was a much better point of focus. Daniel was growing more distant in your memory as of late. You decided forgetting made you much sadder than constantly thinking about him. About losing him..

The wind blew and felt as if it froze the tear on your cheek.

You had maybe a month before it would be too cold to keep sleeping in trees. Then what? Any town or building you could find is an open invitation for people. You didn’t want to risk it. For you, being around anyone was like playing Russian roulette.

You wondered if there were any caves around, but scoffed once you realized in your eight months of traveling you hadn’t seen a single cave.

And then that made you wonder about bears. You wondered if there were bears around. And you wondered what it would take to tame a bear. You’d probably need to tame a baby, but that means you’d have to kill it’s mom. You frowned. That seems cruel. Plus, would the baby even trust you if you killed it’s mom in front of it? And how could you even kill a-

There was a noise you could only describe as.. sharp? that startled you, making you freeze and tuck your legs back.

Shuffling then came from the bush right in front of you, and about ten of the dead stumbled towards the noise from either side.

You had your back firmly against the trunk of the tree, trying to squint through the darkness, the full moon giving you a sliver of assistance.

Another sharp whizzing sound came, and a clearly living person emerged from ahead of you, large, shadow-concealed weapon extended as more of the dead staggered towards them.

You let out a sharp breath as the figure dropped the weapon and pulled out a knife, dropping the dead like flies.

To your left, you spotted at least five more of the things staggering through the trees, completely out of the person’s line of sight.

It was some sort of complex, instinctual force within you, throwing the open end of your rope down and clicking your flashlight on.

You illuminated the figure, a man with a crossbow, and he looked up to you with wide eyes.

"HEY!" You called, shining the light on the rope below.

He looked down at it then back up at you, and as more of the dead staggered into sight, he had no choice but to pull himself up the tree, swinging his feet over the lowest branch just before he was about to be made into a dead person’s dinner.

He began moving higher, and you kept your light trained on him, hand obviously shaking with uncertainty and fear.

The man noticed your fear and stopped climbing, situated on one of the lower branches.

The dead piled at the bottom of the tree, clawing at the bark from all sides.

"Are you okay..?" You said with a hoarse voice from months of not speaking.

He was breathing heavily, looking down at the small group.

He looked up towards you and squinted, light shining directly in his face.

"I’m fine.. thanks." He said, voice even more gravely than yours.

"Yeah.. no prob." You cleared your throat.

"Can you turn that thing off?" He asked, noticeably trying to be more polite than he was probably feeling.

You gulped, hesitant.

"That’s just gonna bring more of em here." He warned.

You knew he was right but it was still nerve wracking. You’d be plunged into darkness with a strange southern man without anywhere to go.

A reluctant click came, and you were casted in complete darkness for a moment.

You were frozen with fear as you waited for your eyes to adjust to the darkness. You didn’t really know what to expect. Your mind conjured up a huge monster lurching towards you, as if the world wasn’t scary enough already.

When your eyes finally did adjust to the darkness, he was in the exact same position, looking just as concerned as you.

You were too scared to consider it, but he was trying to see the mysterious, light shrouded figure who had saved him. Your breath began to steady as you watched him, unmoving. The sound of growls and gurgles on the ground was the only thing that let you know that the world wasn’t frozen.

You were able to clock the fear in his own eyes as the moon moved past the canopy of leaves above.

"I’m (Y/n)." You said, making an attempt at a polite smile instead of wide eyes and deathly silence.

"How’d you end up’ up here?" He asked after a second.

"Oh, I chose to be up here." You explained.

"It’s cold." He stated.

You shrugged. He saw the action as you were completely made of shadow, moon directly behind you, casting a glow around your mysterious form. It was almost ethereal looking, but your nervous voice made the scene more comical than anything.

"Are you alone?" You asked him, breaking through the silence.

"I have a group. A community."

You didn’t want to pry about any of that so you opted for silence again.

"You alone?" He asked, looking around the empty forest.

"No." You answered quickly, pitch rising. "I.. my fiancé is with me."

His head moved. He was looking around.

"He’s not here now. He’s getting supplies." You lied. "But he’ll be back.. and don’t try anything cause he knows how to hunt and he’ll find you." You were being cowardly, you knew that, but in a situation like this, better to lie then end up dead.

"What-? I ain’t-" he was taken aback. "You’re fine. I jus’ wanna know if I was gonna get jumped."

You squinted as the moon disappeared behind the trees next to you, casted into darkness with the stranger once again.

"If someone does, they’re not with me." I assured him.

I saw the shadow of his shoulders fall a little. Just a little though.

"What’s your name?" You asked.

Silence followed for a minute.

"Daryl."

You nodded, forgetting he couldn’t see you.

"How’d you get pinned like that?" You pried.

"I was drivin’ n a walker was in the middle of the road. Couldn’t see it until I had to swerve into a tree and ended up out here.." Daryl explained, almost sounding angry or ashamed.

"You were out driving alone?" You asked.

He hesitated. "Yeah.. I’m out here by myself."

Your heart sank, ashamed by your lie when he was so obviously willing to tell you the truth.

"Hungry?" You asked, shame manifesting.

"Nah." He said. "..thanks, though.."

"Mm." You nodded, pulling your mushrooms back out and quietly eating.

"Your fiancé, he comin’ back now?"

"Why??" You hounded, mouth full.

"Does he have a way to know what he’s gonna come back to?" He looked at the slowly dispersing herd below.

"He’s gonna be fine." You said with an unintentional bitterness.

"Right.." the man didn’t want to cause an issue.

You pulled your blanket tighter, pit in your stomach sinking even further.

"You two, when he gets back, n’ if you’re interested, might be able to come back with me."

"To your community?" Yoh asked.

"Mm. You’d both have to answer some questions first, but we’ve got almost forty people and it’s a big place."

"I can’t." You said quickly. "We can’t."

"Why’s that?" He challenged.

You didn’t answer, hoping he’d drop it.

"You’re alone out here." He accused. "That right?"

You huffed. "I told you-"

"I don’t believe that."

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

"I’m fine out here by myself." You admitted.

"We’ve got more than enough room. It’s getting too cold to sleep in trees." He reasoned.

"Thanks, really, but I can’t." You told him sympathetically.

"How many walkers have you killed?" He asked, ignoring what you had said in its entirety. Though at the time, you thought that he had just dropped it.

"Maybe a hundred? Why?" You asked.

"How many people have you killed?" He asked.

You shuffled uncomfortably for a second.

"Three."

"Why?"

"Two of them, they were both bit. Had to.." you picked at the bark in front of you. "One of them cause he deserved it." Your chest rose with anger.

"What’s that mean?" He pried.

"Someone who hurts women." You stated simply. He understood instantly and you could tell.

"You sure bout stayin out here?" He asked.

You blinked back your tears. "I’m sure."

"Right." He said, barely a whisper.

The night grew quieter and your eyelids became heavy after a while. Even as you dozed off you knew how dumb it was to sleep in front of this stranger.

Maybe it was the months of isolation, but you didn’t feel as if you were in danger and without intention, you slipped into a cold sleep.

When Ao3 eventually comes back, you can find 40+ more chapters of this there :,)

[deadboyfriendd]

The Flea and The Acrobat | E.M.

Summary: 1986 was something that seemed like ancient history to you, something that only existed in the world of your parents' nostalgia and preserved in movies and music- so what happens when you slip through a fray in the tightrope?

Warnings: Time Traveler!AU, Eddie doesn't die, Max lives, Will, El, and Johnathan are still in Hawkins after post-season-4 events, S4 spoilers, drugs (marijuana), depictions of blood and gore, bodily injury, mentions of trauma, some things in the show have been changed to accommodate this storyline but I tried to keep it as close as I possibly could, a little bit of fluff, not beta read

18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: 5.6K

Author's Note: This goes along with my TT!AU Headcanons I had a few people ask for a fic so I delivered. I have SO MCUH MORE that I could write for this reader! and this AU, so if there's any engagement I most likely will write more. Enjoy babes <3 Flea

You can’t fathom how you ended up here, nor could you fathom where in the hell you were. It was familiar, yet entirely unhuman. Particles floated through the air in an anti-gravitational flurry, swirling around as you waved your hand through them. There was an immense lack of light here, as if the sun no longer existed- the warmth in the atmosphere sucked through a vacuum seal and was replaced with ice. The nearly unnoticeable hum of the earth had been replaced with a groan, sending the chilled, damp air shooting through your coccyx and ending at your atlas cervical vertebra. You shivered, drawing your hands over your arms frantically- trying to alleviate the goosebumps that raised there.  

You had no cell service here. Actually, your phone in its entirety seemed to be fried. At this point, your brain has only created two options: sit here and freeze to death or find a way out of here. With death not necessarily being on your agenda for that day, you pushed yourself up on your hands and started walking, legs creating a ghostly swirl of fog sound your ankles as you disrupted its settlement beneath you. Despite your lack of notice, you cursed yourself for not bringing a sweater. 

The smell of mildew was prominent in this place, yet it became more apparent the closer you drew to the nearest dwelling outside of your current forest residence. A foreign sound reverberated off of the modest dwellings and you could barely make out the name on the crooked sign: Forest Hills Trailer Park. This earth’s groan became slowly drowned out by another noise- bulbous and muffled, but distinctly human. 

You carefully shuffled your feet across the dirt pathings, not wanting to trip but also trying to listen for the noise. The last trailer was the loudest, your ears ringing- mimicking the screeching alarm of a metal detector. Light pulsed out from behind the curtains and from under the door like a heartbeat- a disgustingly wet squelch succeeding in a gross rhythm. You prayed to whatever god existed in this place that it wasn’t sentient. 

The bulbous hum that drew you in became more distinct, noises became sharper and you could almost make out words once your cautiously pushed the thin trailer door open, foot making a muffled thump as it tapped against the carpet. 

The sight before you was a scene of grotesque morosity- something that Guericalt himself couldn’t begin to dream up. A fleshy gash spanned across the length of the ceiling, pulsating and slick with a mucous membrane that you didn’t even want to begin to guess about. It was the only sense of warmth in this entire plane of existence, heat radiating off of it like a life form, creating a terrarium of spores and vegetation in the trailer dwelling surrounding it. A light radiated from the other side of the membrane, veins casting a shadow from it like a candled egg. 

You don’t know what came over you, but despite your better judgment, you found a large enough piece of splintered two-by-four, dragged the least wobbly remnants of a barstool over towards the opening, and began to stab through the membrane. The pull was immediate and harsh, sucking you upward into a flip and slamming you back down on the ground with a hollowed-out thud. You couldn’t fully assess the severity of your wounds this minute. The only thing you could focus on was the white light in your ears and the blown-out haze covering your ear drums. Within the few seconds it took for your ears to come through, your eardrums were fully able to register the screaming coming from your left, yet you couldn’t yet decipher if it was your own. 

Once the spaghetti of your brain untangled itself from the blow of the fall, you realized that the screaming was, in fact, a mixture of two voices. From your corner, you could make out another figure across the room, huddled as far as they could possibly get away from the gash. You realized then that you had probably been screaming at each other, in turn, scaring each other more. Once you finally gained the common sense to close your mouth, you looked around, assessing the immediate danger you could potentially be in. You could tell that at one point, this place was probably occupied and maybe even cozy, but definitely not anymore. It was barely a structure. 

The boy in the corner was staring at you intensely, like you could probably kill him. You were probably looking at him the same way. 

Words goddamn it. You told yourself, trying to force your lips apart and your larynx to create any sort of sound. A tremor racked through your body, and your voice cracked as you managed a poorly strung-together sentence. 

“Where the fuck am I?” 

It came out like a whisper, tears you didn’t even realize were there sliding past the ducts and creating a trail through the mucous and dirt caking your face. Your body trembled unwillingly despite the warmth in the air. 

Eddie was apprehensive to even begin speaking, his brief encounters with the upside down enough to send someone to therapy for a lifetime. But there’s one thing he did know: those things that tried to kill him had no remorse. None of them cried, and none of them tremored. And none of them looked so… human. 

“Hawkins, Indiana.” He forced out, his whisper barely matching the decibels of your own pathetic sentence just a few seconds before. Once he was certain that you weren’t an immediate danger to him, he mustered the courage to speak again. 

“You’re bleeding.” He said, waving his hand in homage to your own. 

You looked down at your hand, feeling a pang in your stomach at the amount of blood pouring from your hand and your wrist- still not yet able to feel it from the pure adrenaline running through your system. You winced slightly, holding the outside of your wrist with your other hand and clutching the wound to your chest. You used your wounded hand to wipe the tears pooling in your eyes. 

He realized that you were just as terrified at him as he was of you when you drew your knees to your chest in a protective manner as he unfolded his own body and started to lean towards you. 

He put his hands out in a defensive gesture- in an I’m not going to hurt you gesture. He lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper, trying not to startle you- or himself- for that matter. 

“Can I come closer?” 

You nodded your head slowly, watching him with intense, wide eyes as he crept towards you cautiously, hands still out in front of him. 

“Can I see?” 

He reaches his hand out towards you, just extending it out slightly further than it already was and turning his palm outward towards you. His hand had a slight tremble to it, but he didn’t touch you. He didn’t dare. 

“Can I touch you?” 

You looked at each other with wide eyes, and you nodded slightly, reaching the hand that you guarded so heavily out to his. His palm was warm, welcoming against your cold, wet skin. You winced as he graced his fingers across your wrist and palm- a nasty gash spread through the skin where a nail from the two-by-four had torn through it in the fall. He never took his eyes off you- still not trusting you completely. Blood still oozed from the wound, with some coagulating and mixing with the inter-dimensional mucous that coated you. You looked up, trying to see his face, and his eyes left the gash on your wrist to peer at you through his bangs.

“I know someone who can fix this.” He said to you, gripping your wrist, softly. 

“Do you trust me?” He asked, meeting your eyes once more. 

You had no other option, so you nodded, hesitantly, still confused and unable to find your voice. You felt him pull on your wrist, the semblance of him helping you up. You used your other wrist to push yourself up, folding your legs underneath you while he pulled on your other arm. He settled his hands on your waist, steadying you as you wobbled your way out of the trailer and to the rickety old van in front of you. 

He made sure you were seated and stable before reaching over you towards the console, pulling out an absolutely ancient walkie-talkie. 

“Frodo. God- Pick up Frodo!” He screeched into the receiver, getting feedback from an nearly pre-pubescent voice on the other end. 

“What Bilbo, What?” The voice sounded nearly frantic, like it scrambled to grab its own walkie from wherever it fed to. 

“We’ve got a real situation, here, buddy. Meet me at the dungeon, now.” He said, before throwing it back into the console and running around to the other side.

He started the van, engine coming to life with a sputtering roar. 

“Y/N, by the way.” You muttered, finally finding your voice, fluttering your eyes over to him and finally getting a look. This guy was really into the 80s resurgence, you thought to yourself, only giggling in your brain slightly. He did a double take to look back at you, the cogs in his head turning as he processed what you just said. 

“Uh.. Eddie.” He said back, turning his face back to the road. 

It was a short drive to the other end of the trailer park, one short enough that you probably could have walked if you were in better condition. He shut the van off quickly, before rushing to the other side to help you out into the newer trailer- the less destroyed trailer. 

The two of your got in just fine, Eddie allowing you to lean up against the counter next to the sink while he rummaged around in a few cabinets, clearly panicking as his makeshift medical supplies tumbled out of his arms. 

“Hand.” He ordered, dumping everything on the counter with a symphony of crashing, you just shaking your head in return. 

“I’ve got it.” you replied, grunting as you grabbed the handle of tequila, flicking the screw-cap off and taking a pull before dumping it over your wrist in the sink, creating a soup of dried blood, mucous, and whatever particulates had followed you into this world. Once you got a clear look at the cut, you realized it wasn’t enough to need stitches, instead, grabbing the crusty bottle of gorilla glue beside you and pressing the skin together at the edges, creating a rough, ruched seam of skin. Eddie looks at you with a grimace- mirroring your own look of anguish as you messily wrap it with one hand.

The door to the trailer flies open, hitting the wall behind it as a gaggle of young teenagers pile through the door- a tall, messy-haired boy toppling through behind them like a caricature depiction of an overwhelmed dog-walker. In the same way that the six children (you counted) and their keeper piled through the door, their questions began to shoot off in a rapid fire succession like bullets on the beaches of Normandy. 

“Who is she?” 

“You said the Upside Down?” 

“How did she get there?” 

“Everyone shut up!” Eddie rattled off, causing an immediate blanket of silence and stillness to settle over the circus- creating a tension that could be sliced through with dental floss. 

“I was at the old trailer, seeing what else I could salvage and she came out of the gate.” He said, a troubled look settling over his face like they had done this before. The other bigger boy came over, settling a hand over his shoulder as his eyes glassed over. It seemed to reel him back in a bit. 

“Okay, big guy, now we need to know where she came from.” The smaller, curly-haired boy said cautiously, taking a step towards him. 

“You don’t have to talk about me like I’m not here” You spoke, finally, making them all jump. They stared at you silently for a moment, like you had two heads. 

“This one talks.” The gangly, dark-haired boy spoke, more towards the rest of the group that to you. 

“This one?” You asked, interjectedly, sort of offended by the reference. 

“When El found us, she couldn’t talk a lot.” He replied back, gesturing towards one of the girls in the party. Not wanting to dwell too much on that fact, you continued. 

“Well I talk just fine.” 

“Then I’d assume you wouldn’t mind answering my question.” Said the curly-haired one, getting a little too big for his britches. 

“Well, I leaned back against a tree and I thought I missed and slipped and then I ended up there.” You shuddered, running your hands up and down your biceps like you were still trying to wipe the particulates off of yourself. 

“The Upside Down.” The aforementioned girl said, barely above a whisper, her eyes glazing over in the same way Eddie’s did prior. 

“The where?” You questioned back, furrowing your brow. 

“Was it dark? Cold? Floaty shit and weird groaning? Didn’t really seem like earth? Like here but-” 

“Different.” You finished for him, everyone intensely staring at you now. 

“But that still doesn’t explain how you ended up in that gate.” Piped the older boy, finally, looking towards you with a furrowed brow and a sympathetic stare- but you couldn’t quite tell who it was for. 

“Well, seeing as my only options were to freeze to death, brave whatever was out there, or start walking, I chose to make like a banana and split. I walked until I heard something that sounded at least halfway safe and it sucked me through that hole.” You explained, holding up your wrist as evidence that it did, in fact happen. 

“And that’s when she shot through the gate” Eddie interjected, finally saying something after his long bout of silence. 

All hell broke loose, the younger teens all turning to face each other and argue back and forth. It was nearly impossible to get a coherent string of words out of anything happening within that conversation. It was overwhelming, to say the least. Just as bad as Wall Street except way less international exchange of goods and monies and way more things that you didn’t understand. 

“Listen-” You started, causing everyone else to flinch back into silence again, “-can I use someone’s phone? Something happened and mine’s, like frie-” 

You began to pull your cell out of your back pocket, the screen flickering on at the movement but still glitching out. Everyone gasped and took a step back from it, the older boy clutching the shoulder of the young interrogator. This sent them into another Wall Street flurry of stock-and-bond panic. 

“What the hell is that?”

“I knew we couldn’t trust her.” 

“She’s a spy!” 

Their questions and insults rattled off like bullets, you constantly having to bob and weave to avoid getting struck by one. You furrowed your brow again. What fourteen year-old didn’t have a phone? 

“What are you guys? Like, some weird offshoot of Amish? Is this one of those weird cults that lives off the grid? It’s a phone!” You said, like it was obvious, waving it around a little. This caused all of them to duck and flinch away from it like a bomb. 

“No… This is a phone.” The interrogator said, taking a few steps over to the wall and pulling the landline off of the receiver, a long, curly cord swinging and twisting violently with it. 

“She’s fucking with us, she probably came from the lab!” The gangly one shot at you, pointing a harsh finger in your direction. 

“What lab?” You asked, returning the energy.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what lab.” 

“I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.” 

“Tell us the truth right now, spy-”

“Shut up. My name is Y/N, Y/L/N, I am from Hawkins, Indiana, and I graduated from Hawkins High School in 2019! I grew up in-” 

There was another collective chorus of gasps before, yet another, deafening silence settled over the room. Sixteen eyes bore holes through your skin like burning ants through a magnifying glass as you stared back. 

“Say that again.” The oldest boy said, coming up and gently placing broad hands over the caps of your shoulders, looking you in the eyes intensely. 

“My name is-” You began, promptly being cut off. 

“No not that! Your graduating class.” He said back to you, carefully this time.

“What does that have to do with anything?” You asked, confused expressions clearly registering across your face. 

“Just say it!” The interrogator spit towards you, breaking through the room's silence like a rock through stained glass. It made your ears ring.

“Two thousand and nineteen.” You started again, just above a whisper. 

Silent panic ensued. They all looked at each other and you went silent, piecing it together. The silence spun around at a rapid pace like electrons, bouncing off of each other and transferring energy between valence bonds. You could almost pinpoint the exact moment each one of them came to the same conclusion independently. 

“What year is it?” You asked, a few decibels louder than before. 

They continue to stare. At you. At each other. At Eddie.

“I said, ‘What fucking year is it?’” You said again, through grit teeth. Still quiet, but much more forceful. 

“I think you might want to sit down first.” The curly-haired boy said calmly, placing his hands on your upper biceps just like his older counterpart had done. It was much more gentle this time, like someone breaking some terrible, awful news. 

“Just tell me the fucking year.” You pleaded, voice cracking slightly behind it. 

“1986.” He said back to you, with sad eyes. 

Radio silence came from you as you tried to process this new development. You had been sent through the wringer today, shot through a dimension and a half, and a new time zone. You were hurt, you were covered in slime, and you didn’t know anyone here. Not to mention that they all thought you were an alien. And finally, the biggest, shittiest cherry on top of this biggest, shittest mountain, is that, out of every single time that you could have traveled back to- the universe decided on the eighties?

“Like Madonna, The Breakfast Club, leg warmers, 1986?” You asked, thinking aloud. Your eyes were still fixed forward in a trance. 

Dustin nods, not really understanding what you mean but scared to say anything else for how tight you were gripping his forearms. 

“What the fuck.”

+

Once they group was able to reel you back in from that far-away place, they established a few important things: The first being their names. You learned that the keeper of the group had been Steve. He was their resident chauffeur. The curly-haired interrogator and gangly one had been Dustin and Mike. You also learned Lucas, Max, and Will, though, you couldn’t quite pinpoint what exactly to call the other girl. You learned that there were others in the group too, older siblings that were closer to you in age- and adults who hopefully knew how to handle this. 

You also learned that this was nothing new to them. 

They sat you down and gave you a rundown from the very beginning, about the other dimension and how they thought they had lost Will. The funeral, the lab, the telekinesis that resulted in migraines and nosebleeds. They recounted the lab and the things that had happened there, monsters you couldn’t fathom, Russian conspiracies that you couldn;t believe actually existed out of your textbook passages about the cold war. It was a whirlwind of science and legalities and technicalities and things that shouldn’t exist but do- like some sick, twisted Flash Gordon. 

They told you about the friends they had lost. 

And finally, they derived a theory. Sitting sprawled across the linoleum floor of the kitchen, notebook and sharpie marker in-hand, Dustin drew a line. 

“This is the plane between two dimensions,” he explained, 

“and we-,” he gestured to the group, all also sitting huddled around the page on the floor, “are here.” 

He drew a series of primitive stick figures walking along the line. 

“You need to think of it like an acrobat walking a tightrope.” Will started, looking up at you from just beneath your shoulder. 

“When you think of a rope, you need to see how tightly bound the fibers are. We contain too much matter and, simply put, too big to pass cleanly through the fibers of the rope. So instead, we can only move in a linear fashion, back and forth along this line.” 

They looked up at you, making sure you were following along. Dustin uncapped his sharpie with his mouth, starting again through sharpie cap-muffled words. 

“But something small, like a flea, can pass between the fibers and travel in multiple directions along the rope.” He said to you, looking up once more. 

“Okay, so what’s your angle here?” You asked, not quite understanding yet.

“There’s something seriously messed up with our rope. It’s fraying in weird places, letting our acrobats fall and slip through, along with some of the fleas.” He said, stopping for a brief second before starting again. 

“That hole that you went through, we call it a gate. It’s a tear in the space-time continuum, something like a black hole. A fray in our rope- if you will. It was caused by an interdimensional being- a flea- that was powerful enough to open it. Last year, when Eddie and Steve and Nancy and Robin had to go down there, something weird happened.” Dustin continued. 

“Yeah- a lot of weird shit happened. We got attacked by bats and we had to talk to Dustin with the lights a-and…” Eddie started frantically, trailing off once Steve brought a hand back up to his shoulder before he could have a full freak-out. 

“When we were down there,” Steve started, much more collected than Eddie, “Everything is a mirror image down there. We went to the Wheeler’s house to try to see if we could get some supplies and… stuff was different. It was the same house but, like, a time capsule from three years before?” He explained to you, looking to Dustin for further explanation. 

“So what I think happened, is you fell into that time-loop. That fray from forty years from now shot you back to that bubble, and you ended up in its mirror image. Here.” 

They gave you some time to process it all, deciding that it was late and that they needed to be home. They made a plan to rendezvous with the rest of the team in the morning, and that, since Eddie had found you, he was saddled with babysitting you. 

+

“Can I please use your shower?” You asked Eddie, timidly, once you were alone. You were so caught up in getting an explanation for what happened that you failed to notice the thin layers of mucous and inter-dimensional grime coagulating in a crust covering your skin. 

“Uh.. yeah, let me grab you some clothes.” He said, smoothing his hands over his face in the most stressed out way possible. 

He took you down the shallow hall, pushing open the bathroom door and leaving to rummage through his own personal dwelling. You got the shower on quickly, turning the setting to near-boiling and letting the steam quickly tumble out of the confines of the curtain. You stripped your shirt, the back of it peeling off your skin- stuck to you with ectoplasm. 

Eddie walked in through the door as your shirt made a wet splat across the floor. He looked at you with wide eyes, face turning a deep shade of maroon when you turned around. 

You looked at him funny, considering you were still decent. 

“What? Girl next door doesn’t go for runs in sports bras?” You asked him, trying to lighten the mood. He just shook his head, not getting the joke. 

“Oh, come on, it’s the 1986 not 1924. Don’t act like you’ve never seen a sports bra before.” 

He didn’t seem to laugh at that one either. Tough crowd. 

“I’ll just- uh- be out here, you can hand me your clothes from the door and I’ll throw them in the wash. I don’t really know what whatever shit you’re coated in will do to the floors.” He said, turning around and shutting the door quickly. 

You finished peeling your clothes off of yourself, wrapping your bra and underwear up in your shirt before handing it to him through a cracked door. You may have been immodest but you weren’t a complete animal. 

“I’ll be in my room when you’re done. There should be a towel under the sin-”

“Uh- Eddie?” You asked him, a little too quickly, cutting him off in the process. Your voice sounded scared and timid. His tone softened immediately. 

“Yeah?” He asked back, hand freezing on yours for just a second. 

“C-Can you stay with me. Like just outside the door or something? A lot of shit has happened today and I’m just kinda scared a-and-” You rambled, but he cut you off.

“Hey, hey, hey. Yeah, I get it. I can stay.” He said back to you, “I’ll just be right here. Guarding the door.” He sighed, leaning against the door frame. 

You mustered a quiet thank you before closing the door. You could hear his back slide down the door as he settled on the floor in front of the door. It might not have been much, but his back against the door felt like a brick wall. 

+

Eddie let you steal some of his clothes, considering you had nothing but the clothes on your back when you arrived here. He assured you that Robin and Nancy had been notified and would be donating to the cause, and that you wouldn’t be stuck in boy clothes forever. 

“That’s good,” you giggled, pulling the hem of the shirt out to see the Black Sabbath logo cracking across the front of it, the once black shirt worn down to a faded gray, “because Ozzy ages like milk, for future reference.” You said, cheekily, giggling as he looked at you with surprise. 

“He’s still alive?” He asked you, not letting you answer before rapid-firing another question, “And you like metal?”

You laugh again. 

“Yes, but he’s hanging on by a thread. All that shit catches up eventually. I’m sure without Sharon, he wouldn’t be able to function.” You explained to him, “-and yes, I am into metal, but if we’re talking about this era I’m more of a Mötorhead girl myself.” 

He turned around, to rummage through the one organized thing in the entire room: his cassette stand. He pulled out a dusty Mötorhead cassette with a soft aha!, popping it in and coming to sit next to you as the music began to roll. 

You sat in silence, head in your hands, clearly stressed despite the music blaring in your ears. You rubbed the front of your cheekbones, drawing your hands back to stretch the skin of your face over your temples and then dragged them back along into your hair.

He dropped down on the edge of the bed, looking over at you. It didn’t feel that long ago when he sat in the same position at Skull Rock, alone. He was still just coming to terms with all of this stuff, and still, he found his mind reeling back into that dark place sometimes. His scars went way deeper than his skin, which was mangled beneath his clothes as well. You still had open wounds, both physically and metaphorically. He wondered if your eyes would glaze over, too. He knew how you were feeling, but questioned how you hadn't had a complete breakdown after today. 

But even with the bags under your eyes, you were still pretty. So, so, pretty. 

“It’s a lot. I know.” He finally piped up, perhaps a little too loud. You quickly drew yourself up from your own hands to look at him, skeptically. 

“I just… I don’t know. I didn’t even know this shit existed until I was sitting in it.” You said to him. It was then that he realized you had been silently crying. Not loud, just tears coming out of your eyes. Your voice sounded overwhelmed and nasal. 

“Tell me about it,” He chuckled, but there wasn’t an ounce of humor in it, “The uh- well- My introduction to this shit was watching a girl die.” 

His statement was blunt, and cold. His mind began to reel, and it terrified you. You didn’t press further. 

“How long were you down there for?” He asked you, attempting to reel himself back before he floated off into space- unable to be pulled back in. 

“A couple hours I think?” You said to him, wiping your eyes with the backs of your sleeves.

“God, I couldn’t imagine. That’s all we were down there for when we got attacked.”

“I’m glad I didn’t stick around long enough to see what that place had to offer me.” you joked, but it was still humorless.

You both stared off in the same direction for a second, purposefully letting the conversation fizzle into nothingness. It was still too fresh for you and it was still too painful for him. It was a good few minutes before he spoke again. 

“I think I have something that’ll help, y’know.” He said to you, ever so delicately, he brought his hand up to your shoulder and let it hover there- deciding if touch was what you needed or not at the moment. 

“And what is that?” You questioned, turning your face towards him- head still resting in hands and elbows sitting atop your knees. 

“Do you partake?” He asked, dipping his head down to meet your eye-level and making a small gesture with his hands- holding an air-joint. 

“Everyone does in my time, it’s legal now.” You told him, half smile curling at the corners of your lips. 

“Well I’ll be damned, but I bet you’re not getting it at my discounted price- the discount being free.” He mirrored your smile- his escaped the confines of his pretty mouth just a little bit further than yours had. He reached down under his bed, just next to his bedside table, and pulled out a box. Inside was an entire artillery of all things dank. 

“Oh good God, no, it's eighty bucks a cart at my dispensary.” You groaned, burying your face in your hands. He gave you a confused look, shifting his gaze from the grinder and then back over to you. 

“Cart? Never heard of it.” He questioned, thinking Rick had been holding out of him. If there was new tech in marijuana, Rick would be the one to know. 

“I guess those are a pretty recent thing. Now, they extract a concentrate from the cannabis itself and you smoke it that way, kinda. No more smell and no more rolling.” You explained, mimicking the action of rolling with your hands, as he was actually completing the action. 

“That’s some high-tech shit. Like The Jetsons.” He chuckled, handing you the joint and his lighter to do the honors. 

“One of the many luxuries of modern life, my friend.” You said, words escaping around the joint between your lips and rolling out in the first intense puff of smoke. 

“Are we?” He asked, taking the joint as you passed it to him. 

“Are we what? Friends?” You asked him back, looking him up and down. 

“Yeah.”

“Well… I guess we’re gonna have to be if we’re gonna figure this shit out.” 

+

“Classic rock? Is that what they’re calling it?” He laughed out loud, clutching his stomach as he leaned back against the wall. 

“So I’ve heard. You guys are older than shit ‘round my parts.” You laughed equally as hard. 

“I guess it all comes back around, we talked shit about Elvis and you guys talk shit about Crüe.” He tried to rationalize, turning his head to meet your eyes. 

“Crüe isn’t even metal, though. They’re calling it glam rock now” You said back, raising your eyebrows and looking for his reaction. 

“Well if you don’t consider Crüe metal, then what is metal by your standards?” He quizzed. Now both of you were leaning back against the wall, legs splayed out on the bed in front of you. He turned his head to meet your eyes, looking down at you. 

“Try cannibal corpse” You giggled softly, the effects of the comedown starting to hit you. You rested your head against his shoulder, and he allowed his to rest on top of yours. 

“I don’t think they exist yet, but in a few years, get ready to party.” You giggled again softly.

“What should I look for?” He asked, “I’ll keep my eye out.” 

“Their first album was Eaten Back to Life. It comes out in ‘90. There’s some pretty solid ones on there. But you need to wait until ‘92 for The Tomb of the Mutilated, all of their best songs are on it.” He let you ramble on, waiting for silence from you before answering. 

“Sounds metal.” He said, back, smelling the smell of his own shampoo on your half-damp hair. He thought it smelled better on you. 

There was a lull in the conversation, breaths becoming deeper with the fatigue of the drugs and the long day. You sat, eyes fluttering shut, sleepily, but not sleepy enough to reach out and grab his hand. Your own fingers snaked up his wrist and wriggled their way through the canyon of his palm and in between his fingers, mimicking the way his did when he analyzed your cut. He rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb for a bit. 

“Hey, Eddie?” 

“Yeah?”

“I think I’m gonna make ‘86 my bitch.” 

[callipraxia]

An Irregular Interlude

I wanted to make some, like, vaguely intelligent-sounding further commentary on the bits of the Hirsch interview that I found especially interesting today...but my brain is completely fried after work and I can't do word stuff all that well. Certainly not up to the standard I'd like, anyway. So instead, you're going to, if so inclined, get to see the interview-inspired scenes from Weirdmageddon: The Musical! that my brain spontaneously produced while I was trying to come up with actual commentary....

"He’s like- he’s like [handwave] “Ford’s gonna- Ford’s gonna be back. Ohh, [air quotes] we had such a big fight, Ford’s sooo mad at me,” oh, you know, “our will-they-won’t-they-take-over-the-universe relationship, like, he’s gonna- he’s gonna march off in a huff, and he’ll be back, ‘cause we’re- is Ford gonna find anyone else in the multiverse that strokes his ego as well as me?” Is there anybody else in the universe that’s gonna make Ford feel as important as Bill? No, of course not, Ford needs validation, and so Bill knows Ford’s gonna be back eventually. 

This quote set me on a loopy train of thought that I found amusing in a warped way, and it only makes sense if, for whatever reason, you're familiar with a piece of musical theater about a pair of historical murderers, but...if you do, by some chance, know of the song "Everybody Wants Richard” from Stephen Dolginoff’s Thrill Me, it...probably isn't hard to see how I read the above interview quote and instead of intelligent thoughts, I instead promptly pictured Bill singing some weird parody version called "Everybody Wants Stanford." For those unfamiliar with it, here's some actual lyrics from the original song:

"Tell me, who can you have conversations with - share your twisted observations with? Who else has a roughly similar view, if not me? You've played around with lots of losers who ended up as cheats and users, but who's been on the sidelines waiting for you, if not me?

Oh, I've come to find, everybody wants Richard, but they don't know your mind the way that I do. I see straight through anyone who needs Richard, they make me sick, they're good for just a kick, they won't stick the way that I do!

When you cut off all our contact, how it hurt! But I know you like to make me feel like dirt. But now you're back, and you know I'm beside you, your oldest, closest friend...

*skip a bunch to the end of the song*

"The others are wrong, they don't have a clue, or know the real you. Yes, everybody wants Richard - but not the way that I do! Admit that you've missed me, too!"

Now just imagine Bill's grating voice singing that, and with the camera cutting to a captive Stan and Fiddleford at "lots of losers," possibly with Bill attempting to literally kick one of them after declaring they make him sick. Also possibly with Ford objecting that "uh - that's what you like to do to me - " at the bit about "I know you like to make me feel like dirt," while Bill just blatantly ignores him in favor of continuing to attempt to manipulate him in rhyme. Where the original singer merely comes off as desperate when he complains that "they won't stick the way that I do," though, that becomes a borderline threat when you imagine it's Bill saying it, and then whole thing falls apart and the original lines stop making any sense in this context when the titular Richard, who thinks he is the Bill in his messed up relationship, anyway, replies to that last line I quoted in the italicized portion:

"I've only missed the worship."

...Yeah, very Bill-like line, that one. Not sure anyone else in the show could really pull that one off. Makes no sense for Ford to reply to...literally anything Bill could say that I can think of with that one, at least unless we're in an AU where Bill had at one point in the past given him power, anyway. But now, if you were, say, really tired, and start turning different stanzas into some kind of weird song battle (a bit like Epic Rap Battles of History, but with song parodies instead of raps) for Ford's loyalties in the Fearamid between Bill and Fiddleford, though....this time I did situation-ify the lyrics, so forgive me where the rhymes don't quite work:

*bridge music plays, then the camera cuts to Fiddleford:*

" - yeeer, when y'threw me out the lab, that did hurt! But I know you likes t'make me feel like dirt." *Ford looks like he wants to object to that line again, but then thinks the better of it and just intently stares at his shoes* “But now you're back! and you know I'm beside you, your oldest, closest friend - who's sick of being lied to!

Tell me, who's 'is demon that was your priority? I've got word on good authority! How can you assume - " *spits tobacco contemptuously in Bill's direction* - "that thingummajiggy's worthy of...bein' friends with you? It ain't me! As fer secrets - you've got plenty others -" *glances sideways at Stan, who looks deeply unamused* " - I hadn't prev'losly known that you even had no brothers - but who else ever tried so hard to please you? Only me! Oh, dag blast! everybody wants Stanford, but they don't know your past the way that I do...

...and God knows why I think you're so appealing, or why you had to be so double-crossing, double-dealing! But...it's been so long - not sure why I’m sayin’ this inna song - but point is, that pointy idjit is wrong, he ain't gotta clue, I know the real you...

*camera cuts to Stan, apparently under the impression he might contribute a verse. Stan starts speaking normally instead, completely deadpan:*

"...yep, you're on your own, bro, this is freaking weird, I'm out, I have and I want absolutely nothing to do with this - "

*Stan is seized by whatever force has somehow made this mess into really bad musical theater in the murky corridors of Calli's sleep-deprived brain, only he's getting his lyrics from a completely different song, one originally sung by Iago from the Aladdin trilogy:*

" - I've had it! I hate to be dramatic, but it's time for me to fly the coop! Terrific! Fine! I'm drawing the line, before I end up looking like a dupe! I was a fool to bring you onto this show - now I'm cutting ya loose, pal, have fun with these bozos!" *jerks thumb in the direction of Fiddleford and Bill, who both look indignant.* "Hasta la vista, c'est la vie, hope all goes well! I'm looking out for me..."

...I really, really, really need some sleep.