#and it’s screwing you over across lifetimes :(

[ibrithir-was-here]

Little sidecomic/flashback for “Rosemary is for Remembrance “—originally Rosemary’s mom was just gonna be a random OC, but then I had a thought…

[lovebugism]

hi, bug! i’ve been one of your many avid readers for a long time but it’s my first time submitting a request for your summer fic fest 🥹 could i pretty please request for jealous!mean!eddie x ditzy/sunshine!reader where he sees her ex trying to win her back? ahhh thank you ily! ❤️

thank you for requesting angel, ily :D here's a sorta part 2 to this fic! — eddie doesn't realize he's been taking you on dates until your ex shows up (jealous!grumpy!eddie, friends to lovers, brief allusions to smut | 1.3k)

bug's summer fic fest (⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

When Eddie took you to Benny’s Burgers that Saturday evening after your heart got broken, he fully intended for it to be the last. That was until the next Saturday came around, anyway, and he found himself hungry and thinking of you. So, sharing a milkshake at the diner became a two-time deal, begrudgingly so.

The third time was a total accident, and he’d like that on record. Eddie had come alone that day. You made a stupid joke about him stalking you when you just happened to be there, too. (Both of you were secretly hoping the other would show, of course, but neither of you would admit it out loud.)

After that, it just started to feel like tradition. Eddie didn’t feel right going to the diner without you, so he never did. Instead, he buys you dinner once a week, sits with you in your designated booth by the window, and pretends all of it is something he has to do. Because it’s much easier than acknowledging that a lifetime of Saturday evenings with you still wouldn’t be enough.

“Can I have some of your fries?” you wonder through a distressingly large mouthful of cheeseburger.

Eddie scowls. “You said you didn’t want any.”

“I didn’t,” you shrug innocently then swallow down the too-big bite. “But yours look really good…”

“Too bad,” he scoffs and chucks a fry into his mouth. “Get your own.”

You slouch against the pleather seat with your features screwed in a gentle pout. It takes Eddie a record-breaking three seconds to slide his basket of fries across the table to you.

He huffs all dramatically about ‘cause he wants you to know he’s annoyed. You rise again, beaming anyway, because you know most of it’s just for show.

Eddie watches with his brows pinched in confusion as you methodically pick a single fry from the batch. His frown deepens when you dip it into your milkshake. 

“Don’t taint the ice cream, weirdo,” he protests, exhaling sharply through his nose in place of a laugh.

You giggle through your mouthful at the screwed look on his face. “It’s good!” you insist. “Here— Try one.”

Eddie grimaces when you pluck another fry from the basket and scoop it into the milkshake. He flinches when you threaten to hand the monstrosity over to him. “I think I’m good, actually.”

“Try it.”

Your giddiness makes him smile despite himself. He concedes with a heaving sigh. “This is the last time I take you anywhere, you know that?” he grouses, mostly muffled as you feed him the ice cream-covered fry.

You smile to yourself, wider than you realize, and swipe your palms together. You’re pretty sure he’s said that to you every time he’s brought you here — yet, for some reason, he still shows up at your doorstep at seven o’clock every week. 

“Yeah, I know,” you hum with a fond sigh. “But it tastes good, right?”

Eddie’s pretty face is swirled and largely emotionless. You can’t tell if he’s disgusted or amused. “It tastes like… a potato covered in chocolate ice cream,” he deadpans.

“Wow. You’re a genius, Eds,” you muse from across the table. You cross your arms along the top of it and fight back a smile. “Can’t believe it took you two whole years to graduate.”

“Don’t push it—”

He’s interrupted, first, by the overwhelming smell of cologne (pine and lavender, achingly so) — and then by a deep and obviously forced laugh. “It didn’t take you long, did it?” a strangely familiar voice wonders aloud, deep and smooth like honey.

Your head whips at the same time as Eddie’s, both of you wearing similar looks of confusion. A tall boy with nice hair and expensive clothes (an obvious King Steve clone) stands at the head of the table. Your table.

Josh O. from fucking Mr. Mundy’s.

You force a breathy laugh of palpable confusion. “What?”

“Nothing. I was just… wondering why you never called me back,” the boy shrugs and crosses his toned arms over his equally toned chest. His smile is lopsided and perfect; his teeth are slightly crooked and perfect, too. It’s fucking annoying.

“But I guess I have my answer now, right?” Josh O. from Mr. Mundy’s continues with another hearty chuckle. “Trying all the flavors of Hawkins, aren’t we, sweetheart?”

Eddie’s chest burns, and not in a metaphorical way. The red-hot embers there set his ribcage aflame, turning himself into a wildfire of withheld rage. His nostrils flare with it as his dark eyes flit from the asshole towering over the booth, to your cowering form, and then back to the asshole again. 

He seethes quietly and waits for you to stand up for yourself. The moment never comes.

“She didn’t call you back because you’re a fuckin’ douchebag,” Eddie blurts for the both of you, still chewing at the monstrosity he’s wildly unsure of — which he can barely taste now, through his blinding anger and all.

Josh O. from Mr. Mundy’s pretty smile ebbs only slightly. He squints his glittering eyes and long lashes, fluffy brows pinching softly in confusion. “I’m sorry. Who are you again?” he wonders with a cynical laugh.

Eddie’s answer is immediate and equally venomous. “The asshole taking your girlfriend on a date, tough guy,” he mocks.

The boy scoffs. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Were you sayin’ that the night you were tryin’ to cop a feel in your car?”

You shift uncomfortably in the booth. The cracked pleather sticks to your clammy skin. You feel the tension pressing on both sides of you until you can hardly breathe. “Eddie, stop—”

“—You know, it’s real impolite to touch people without permission,” Eddie continues despite your plea, features pinched in a faux-sympathetic pout. “Didn’t your mommy ever tell you that?”

Josh O. from Mr. Mundy’s scoffs, both amused and distantly muddled. He laughs softly to himself and steps back from the table. “You’re a fuckin’ freak, man,” the boy murmurs as he leaves.

“That’s funny,” Eddie calls after him anyway. “Your mom says that, too.” 

“Eddie.”

The boy relaxes in the booth once he’s gone. His rigid shoulders deflate slowly with a drawn-out sigh. He motions across the table with a pale, ringed hand. “Can I have my fries back, or are you gonna eat ‘em all.”

His effortless deflection is almost admirable.

“I’m gonna eat ‘em all,” you joke in an instant.

“Figured,” Eddie deadpans. He reaches for the basket in front of you and plucks a couple from the dwindling pile. He pinches them into his mouth, wipes his salty hands on his jeans, and pretends nothing ever happened.

You swallow hard and avert your gaze. You cradle the cold glass of your milkshake with one hand and stir at its melting contents with the other. “Thanks for that… By the way.”

“Don’t mention it,” Eddie shrugs. “Like, seriously. Don’t. It’s gonna make everything weird if you do.”

“Okay,” you nod firmly, then glance at the boy beneath your lashes. A mischievous smirk curls at the very corner of your mouth. “So… This is a date now, huh?”

“Shut up,” Eddie frowns and takes his fries back. “It just slipped out.”

“So what? That’d make this our… Fourth date? Fifth?”

“Fourth,” he corrects.

Your smile widens. “Most guys usually get laid by then, don’t they?”

Eddie scoffs through his mouthful. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, sweetheart,” he quips in an audibly sarcastic monotone.

The rest of the quote-unquote date plays out like normal. You make mindless conversation while you finish your burgers, sharing a milkshake between you while you steal Eddie’s fries. 

You don’t tell him that you wouldn’t mind if he felt you up in his van — that you’d happily let him, if he asked; and Eddie doesn’t tell you that he goes to sleep dreaming about it most nights. 

[freshxsturniolo]

4th July - part 4 - chris sturniolo x reader

pt1 pt2 pt3

you smile as you re-enter chris' kitchen, cautious that you may have slightly longer in there that needed whilst blind panckingly texting your best friend, but if chris thinks anything of it he doesn't say. he smiles as he turns around to look at you remerge around the corner to the kitchen at the same he's taking both of your drinks across to the couch. when you follow him, you notice he's already set up your food and blankets, and netflix is already on the tv.

"this is so sweet" you laugh, as you take a seat down on the big couch, a smile escaping your lips at the soft feel. chris places your drinks down on the table and sits beside you, his comforting smell washing over you.

the drive back to his place after getting your food to take out had been intense to say the least. whilst getting your food, chris had insisted he paid, and he had held your hand the entire time whilst you waiting for your number to be called out and your food to be collected. his thumb running circles on your hand as you continued chatting about everything and anything. you asked him about his most recent trips to vegas, he asked you about your upcoming trips, and it felt like you had known him a lifetime whilst still learning so many things about him. his little quirks like when he laughed he screwed up his eyes slightly, the way he tugged at his bottom lip with his free hand sometimes when he was deep listening to you.

but the car ride home had been filled with some sort of energy. your conversation had dimmed almost, but the silence was anything but awkward. you had almost suppressed the speed limit the entire way home and chris was unbuckled and out of the car within seconds of you turning off your ignition when you got back to his house.

"can i use your bathroom?" you had asked when he finally bought you upstairs too his kitchen. and it wasn't really for the want of needing to use it, but more so you could breath and comprehend yourself for a second. you hadn't had sex in fucking ages and you just knew it was coming.

you weren't aware, of course, but chris busying himself with setting up your food and switching on netflix on the tv whilst spreading out some blankets was his way of composing himself too, because he wanted to rip you from the bathroom and not give you a single second to think.

as soon as he sits down, you turn to look at him, but he's already looking at you. you see his adams apple bop up as he takes a swallow before he turns to the tv, picking up the remote from the side of him. you close your eyes in composure for a second before you hear his voice.

"anything in particular you wanna watch?" he asks, clicking onto his profile and waiting for it to load.

"i dont mind" you smile, but you don't move a muscle. he turns around and gives you an eye.

"come on. i wanna learn more about you. whats your type of shit?"

you laugh at his choice of words and finally feel yourself relax. chill. this might not go where you thought it was going to. if only you could tell the sweet burning feeling inbetween your legs that.

"i like a horror" you admit with a shrug, and chris smirks.

"so does nick" he says now, scrolling down to the horror section and picking the first film that comes up. you don't even notice what it is.

"you dont?" you ask, and he laughs, placing the remote down and looking at you again. the time his arm moves to the back of the sofa, his fingers dangerously close to your shoulder.

"they're not my first pick, but for you ..."

and then he looks down at your lips. he notices your breath catch as you look down at his too, and then he leans forward. the arm around the sofa brushing against the back of your neck, fingertips touching your shoulder.

"thats incredible sweet. in a harrowing way." you say, but it comes out a whisper as you lean forward slightly too.

he looks at you up and down, eyes lingering on your legs for a second before his free hand connects with your thigh.

"your burgers getting cold" he says, and then he squeezes. he squeezes your damn fucking thigh.

"im not hungry all of a sudden." you whisper. your face is inches from his now.

"i am." he says, and your face drops. cheeks flushing. theres no way your reading the room wrong? surely? but he smirks, moving his hand from your thigh to your jaw to stop you from moving backwards. "just for something else instead"

he's teasing. you're burning. "oh yeah? what for?"

he pulls your jaw up. "you."

you smile. "better eat up then."

"fuck." he grows, and then his lips are on yours. he's pushing you backwards with the kiss so you're sandwiched in-between the back of the sofa and his body, your hands immediately coming up to his hair as his arm wraps around the back of your neck, hand on your jaw now in your hair. its not comfortable, but you can't pull yourself away from his for a second as you frantically pull at him.

but then he stops, and you're both panting as he pulls away for just a second.

"im not fucking you on the couch" he says.

"i don't mind" you pant, needing the friction between you sorted out immediately, and he groans as he leans in to give you another kiss, but its only short.

"i said i'd be a gentleman and take you to dinner and i bought you back to my damn house, at least let me fuck you in bed."

you laugh, putting your head back as he stands up before he drags you by your arms until you're standing up.

"there will be plenty of opportunity for couch fucks" he mumbles, before dragging you to the stairs.

"who said so?" you ask, practically running behind him as you reach the top of the stairs and he makes the descend to what you assume is his bedroom. when you reach the bottom of the stairs, he spins around to face you.

"oh youre so mine after this" he says, and then his lips are on yours again, only this time he doesnt let go. he spins around, his hands coming to your face and your hands coming to his hips as he starts to push you backwards. you're both stumbling, tripping over each others feet before your back hits his bedroom door.

"ouch, fuck" you mutter. the shock startling you more than it actually hurt.

"shit, sorry" chris says, but his lips are back on yours as he fumbles for the door handle. when he pushes it open, he pushes you backwards still. his bedroom immediately smells of him. his aftershave mixed with just the general smell of boys, but it isn't bad, in fact its quite lovely, but you don't have much time to take notice before you finally reach his bed.

"i promise i'll try to be more romantic next time ,but i fucking need you. like now." he says, and climbs onto the bed on top of you. you chuckle, crawling backwards until your head meets his pillow and then his lips are on yours again, his hands coming to the waist of your shorts as he tugs at them. you raise up, giving him access to pull them off your waist and then you do the rest of the work to get them down past your feet.

he looks down at your body, your black laced thong on full display and a groan escapes him again.

"you're already so wet"

he hasn't even touched you. he can see it.

you would usually feel embarrassed, but something about chris just makes you feel at ease.

"do something about it, please" you whimper, and his head snaps back to yours, a grin on his face.

"oh, so you beg?" he says.

“first and only time, christopher” you say, and you waste no time pulling at the waistband of his sweatpants.

he crashes his lips to yours again and for a second, you’re a tangling panting mass of limbs as he gets you of your panties and you get him out of his sweatpants, and then he stops, looking down at your exposed lower half and you him. he’s already hard, precum on his tip, and he looks you back in the eyes.

“you ready?” he says, and you nod, grabbing hold of his neck to pull him closer to you again.

you feel his hands move to his cock, giving himself a few strokes before you feel him at the top of your entrance, a small gasp escaping your lips before he pushes into you. it takes him no time at all.

he stays still for a second, looking at you, before he starts to pound. you close your eyes, enjoying every second of it as your hands come onto his shoulders. his still got his tshirt on but you can feel his muscles moving as he thrusts harder and deeper into you every time.

“jesus, chris” you whimper, and you open your eyes to see his head bowed. he’s panting, and when he looks back up his eyes are closed in pleasure. you almost cum there and then, but he opens his eyes and a mischievous smile plays on his lips.

“you feel absolutely divine” he says, and then his eyes scan down to your chest.

“can i?” he asks, and you realise immediately what he wants. you nod, and he takes no time to swipe one of his hands up your shirt. a chuckle escaping you when he realises you’re not wearing a bra.

“fuck, pretty girl.”

“i’m gonna cum, chris” you pant as his fingers pinch at your hard nipples.

“look at me” he says, and you do. right in his eyes.

sthen he’s thrusting deeper into you, big hard pounds that make your entire body shake, the headboard of his bed banging onto his bedroom wall and you thank god his brothers aren’t home, because the noises you’re making are insane. you try to hush them, biting down on your lip, and the action alone finishes chris.

“FUCK” he shouts. he actually shouts. and you’re finished too. a huge moan of pleasure escaping your lips.

you stay in place, eyes on each other for the next second, before a laugh escapes the both of you. he moves his hand from your boob and slaps it on the pillow at the side of your best, before slowly pulling out of you. weirdly enough, the sensation feels fantastic. you let out another shudder, and a laugh escapes him before he flops down at the side of you.

“some first date, huh?” he pants, and you laugh. really laugh.

“the best” you say.

you feel him twist around on his side, and you move your head to look at him. he’s smiling at you, his eyes all hazy, his hair a mess, and you melt right into it. your heart feeling full.

“will you stay for a bit?” he asks.

“of course” you say back.

“okay good. cause i actually want to do movies on the couch with you”

you can feel yourself blushing. he sees it too and he smiles and dips down, planting another kiss to your lips.

“you can borrow some sweats if you want?” he says now, twisting around and standing off the bed. you’d be lying if you didn’t say you look straight down at his exposed bottom half. he notices and only smirks. “or we can go for round two?”

you laugh, sitting yourself up finally. “maybe that couch fuck is on the cards” you shrug.

“i fear you’re the woman of my dreams.” he says, laughing as he walks off in the direction of his wardrobe. after a second he throws you some sweatpants and one of his hoodies, and you smile. you didn’t need either. you were perfectly fine with putting on your own clothes again. but something about wearing his clothes after sex just felt so much better.

he excuses himself to the bathroom and you stand up, putting on his sweatpants and laughing as they hang loosely, before taking off your t-shirt and putting on his hoodie. you feel cosy, the clothes wrapping around you like a huge blanket and that slight smell of him wrapped across it. you pick up your discarded shorts from the bottom of the bed and fold them up, grabbing your t-shirt next, before you smirk as you pick up his pillow, the one that clearly is more worn down than the other, and you stick the t-shirt under it. he can find that later when you're back at home.

when he reemerges, he looks down at you and smiles.

"they look good on you" he smiles, and you give him a twirl which makes him laugh.

"come on," he says, walking over and grabbing your hand before he opens the bedroom door. you can hear the movie you'd left playing and can smell the food you had left, and suddenly your stomach growls.

"reckon we could reorder some food?" you say as he pulls you up the stairs, and he laughs.

"absolutely. what do you-"

and then he stops when he reaches the top of the stairs, and you walk straight into the back of him.

"oh, hey" a voice says, and your eves divert to the living room couch, where nick and matt sit, smirks on their faces and they sip from your abandoned drinks from earlier. you look up at chris, who's cheeks have turned crimson, and then you look back at his two brothers, a laugh escaping your lips as you hide your face into chris' arm.

TAGLIST : @spencerstits @chrissturnsss @slut4chriss @valkatriee @sturnsjtop @viiiwwwee @gwennysturniolo @melanch0lybby @sturnioloblues @mattstrombolii @sturnsbella @hearteyes4chris @le4hsblog

[doc-who]

When Green Turns Red

Emily Prentiss/Reader

Summary: Emily faces the consequences of keeping your relationship a secret.

Rating: Mature (18+)

Chapters: 3/?

Words: 2203

Categories: Angst, Jealousy, Eventual Smut, Violence, Torture

When Emily gets back to the BAU, the team is already gathered around Garcia’s desk. They look at Emily with worry in their eyes when she walks in, which she ignores.

Garcia looks up, the screen in front of her a blur of footage from various security cameras around town. "I've got something," she says, her voice strained. The tension in the room thickens as she rewinds the footage to the right moment.

The monitor flickers with grainy footage from the bar's outdated security cameras. Emily’s heart races as a figure emerges from shadows. The man moves with a disturbing confidence as he hoists something into a nondescript van. It's too dark to make out details, but the shape is unmistakable—a human body.

Emily's eyes are glued to the screen, even though the footage makes her feel sick to her stomach. “It’s her,” she whispers.

Morgan puts his hand on her shoulder. “We don’t know that for sure.”

She shrugs his hand off her. “Don’t,” she snaps, “It is. It’s her.” Emily’s voice breaks then. She turns away from the team, knowing she can’t hide the despair on her face.

“Garcia,” Hotch orders, “Can you make out a plate?”

Penelope stammers, fingers darting over the keyboard. “Maybe, I- the footage is grainy, but-”

Emily spins around, “Find it,” she growls.

“Em,” JJ mollifies.

Emily ignores her and drags her hands through her hair in desperation. A few minutes pass that feel like a lifetime, before Garcia shouts, “I’ve got it!”

A mugshot fills the screen, and Emily’s stomach turns in disgust at the thought of you being in the clutches of the vile man in the photo.

“Last known address is an apartment complex that was abandoned last year,” Garcia informs.

Hotch’s voice is steady as he addresses the team, “Gear up. We move out now.”

As everyone makes their way out the door Emily is stopped by a firm voice.

“Emily,” Hotch says, “You will wait for backup. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir.” She answers, and the look in Hotch’s eyes makes it clear he doesn’t believe her.

He sighs, nodding towards the door, “Let’s go.”

-

With a snap of the lock, you’re yanked to your feet. The cuffs slice into your wrists as you're dragged to the center of the room. Your arms are pulled above your head, and the chain is affixed to something on the ceiling. The man slowly circles around you as you dangle, your feet barely brushing the ground. You try to keep your head up but your throbbing head makes it difficult.

The first blow comes out of nowhere, a sharp slap across your left cheek that echoes through the space. You grit your teeth and refuse to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. He hits you again, this time with the back of his hand, the impact sending a spike of pain through your head. He grabs your face, forcing you to look at him. You can feel the hatred burning in your eyes as you meet his gaze. His grip tightens on around your jaw and a perverted smile spreads across his face when you wince. Your mouth pools with blood and you spit it at his arrogant face.

His eyes shut as it splatters across him, and he uses his free hand to smear it off his skin. “You’re going to regret that.”

-

Emily sits in the passenger seat, picking her fingernails raw. She looks out the window, trying not to think of the worst. It doesn’t work. She screws her eyes shut, bombarded with an onslaught of images from the worst cases they’ve had but with you in the victim’s place.

Morgan drives, his eyes going back and forth between the road and Emily. “We’re going to find her,” he reassures.

The guilt that’s been gnawing away at her since last night spills over. “Even if we get her back..” she refuses to think of the alternative, “she’s never going to forgive me.” The first tear she’s allowed to escape runs down her cheek, and she angrily swipes it away.

“Why wouldn’t she? You know she would never blame you for what’s happened.” Morgan’s voice is calm and steady, but it does nothing for the turmoil raging in Emily’s mind.

“She should,” she says, voice cracking.

Morgan pauses, confusion in his voice, “I feel like I’m missing something here.’

Emily debates whether to tell him or not, but the guilt is overwhelming and she can’t hold it in any longer. “Last night, when you all saw her follow me out of the bar,” she swallows back the tears in her voice, “I ended things.”

“Em…”

“I was stupid. I got jealous, and instead of just telling her how I felt, I told her that us being together was a mistake,” Emily chuckles darkly, hating herself more and more every second, “that was the last thing I said to her.”

“Emily, you can’t think like that. We are going to find her.”

Morgan’s words hang in the air. She tries to let the conviction in his voice reassure her, but she can’t shake the feeling that she’s already lost you.

-

The room spins in your periphery, your vision blurring in and out. You don’t know how long you’ve been here, or how long it has been since he started beating your body over and over. The pain is overwhelming, but you hang onto your last thread of consciousness, refusing to let it consume you.

Your bruised and bloody body jolts when a bucket of freezing water is poured over your head.

“Wakey, wakey,” a voice says, and your eyes focus on the leering face in front of you, “we don’t want you to miss all the fun.”

Something sharp drags up your side, and you gasp.

“Back with us?” He breathes, the air putrid against your face. You feel the coldness of the knife drag down your face. Threatening, but not hard enough to draw blood.

“Such a pretty face,” he pants, and you recoil as far away from him as you can, kicking your aching legs out.

He tuts at your defiance, “No you don’t. I’m not done with you yet.”

He takes a step back, surveying you like a piece of art, before he drives the knife into your thigh. The pain sears through you, white-hot and blinding. He keeps the blade lodged in your leg, studying your reaction.

“Is that all you’ve got?” you taunt, anger swirling inside you. You see rage flash in his eyes before he twists the knife even deeper.

You bite your tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing your pain.

“Typical coward,” you sneer, “you do know what the use of a knife means, right?”

He strikes you across the face, and you feel blood pool in your mouth. “Fuck you.”

You laugh, red trailing down your chin. “You wish.”

A hand wraps around your throat, and your vision swims at the loss of oxygen.

“Don’t worry,” he says, loosening his grip on your windpipe, “I want you awake for this part.”

You see his arm pull back, and you brace yourself for what’s about to come next. In a flash he buries the knife in your stomach, and you can’t hold back the instinctual scream that rips from your throat. The pain is so intense that you can feel your body convulse around the cold metal.

Your body tenses, then goes limp. Darkness crawls at the edges of your vision and you start to feel yourself slipping away. The moment your vision goes black, Emily’s face fills your mind. Her smile, the way she looked at you. The memory of her brings you a brief moment of peace. You wish you could tell her that it’s okay, that it wasn’t her fault. That you love her.

In your last moments of lucidity, you choose to let the darkness take you, grateful that Emily would be the last thing that you see.

-

The SUV’s tires screech against the asphalt as they pull up to the abandoned building. Emily’s hand is already opening the door handle before the car’s even stopped. Gun drawn, she storms up to the entrance. The only thing she cares about is you.

“Emily, we need to wait for the rest of the team!” Morgan shouts from behind her.

The words go in one ear and out of the other, her heart pounding against her ribs. She kicks the door open, adrenalin-blown pupils scanning the building for any signs of you. Turning a corner, she sees flickering light bleeding out underneath a closed door. Hands tightening around the grip of her gun, she treads lightly, keeping her footsteps as quiet as possible.

She braces herself outside the door, listening intently, but all she hears is silence. Her mind tortures her with images of what she might find in that room, every one worse than the one before. Forcing the fear aside, she steels herself and kicks the door open.

You’re the first thing she sees. It’s an instinct, her eyes automatically being drawn to you. Unfortunately, her distraction is a mistake.

Suddenly, she’s thrown into the wall by something that comes barrelling from behind her. She struggles against the weight on top of her, reaching desperately for the gun that had fallen from her hands. Something presses against her throat, and she strains against the pressure, fingers blindly searching until they feel the edge of her pistol. The unsub is too focused on her to notice her success, until she gives him a victorious smile. His eyes dart to the side, but it’s too late. She fires, straight into this chest. His grip falls away from her neck, and she kicks his limp body off of her.

Pulling herself up to her knees, she raises her head and looks at you. For a second, she stops breathing. You hang lifeless from the ceiling, and she can barely make out your face under all the blood.

“No, no, no!” Emily stumbles to her feet, her legs threatening to give out under the weight of her terror. She rushes over to you, desperate hands cradling your face. Her voice repeats your name over and over, like a mantra that will bring you back to her if she says it enough.

Fingers slick with your blood, she places them on your neck, breathing a sigh of relief when she feels the faint beat of your pulse. Eyes tracing your body, she swallows down the horror she feels when she takes in your injuries. Wrapping her arms around your waist, she holds you against her in an effort to take the weight off your chained wrists. The feeling of your limp body against hers is like something out of a nightmare.

Distantly, she hears Morgan calling out her name, before he comes to a stop in the doorway. He freezes for a second, the shock of what he’s witnessing registering him immobile.

“Help me!” Emily begs.

Morgan rushes forward, futilely trying to free you from the cuffs. Noticing the man lying lifeless on the ground, he searches his pockets and finds the keys.

He pauses before unlocking the cuffs, noticing how Emily’s arms tremble around you. “Have you got her?”

“I’ve got her,” her voice is barely a whisper, and he tries not to flinch at the palpable pain in it.

The cuffs fall from your wrists, and Emily cradles your body, gently lowering you to the ground. Holding you in her arms, she wipes strands of blood soaked hair off of your forehead. Looking down at you, the damn breaks, and sobs your name.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” She presses her forehead against yours, willing you to wake up, as if she could trade her life for yours.

Morgan tries to place a hand on her shoulder, “Emily…”

“Don’t touch me!” She cries, “This is all my fault.”

She’s unaware of the team arriving, of their faces as they watch her cry over your body as it clings to life.

Hotch is the first one to step forward, waving to the medics they mercifully had the forethought to call. “Emily, they need to take her to the hospital.”

She shakes her head, drowning in the despair of having you in her arms like this.

A gentler voice speaks next. “Emily, you need to let go.” JJ pleads.

“I can’t,” Emily chokes, arms tightening around you.

JJ crouches, tears running down her face. She puts her hand on Emily’s arm. “If you love her, then you need to let her go.”

Emily looks up at JJ, and sees the painful truth in her words. Her arms loosen from the desperate hold they have around you, and JJ nods at the paramedics who gently take you from Emily’s arms.

One of her hands remains clutching yours, terrified that if she lets go she won’t ever get to touch you again.

“She’ll be okay,” JJ assures, gently encouraging Emily to let them load you onto the stretcher.

It takes everything in her willpower to break the connection, and the moment her touch falls away from you, she falls to her knees and cries.

ao3

[runningfrom2am]

leveling the playing field VII

summary: you didn't meet the requirements for the plinth prize, only to find out that you're not just missing out on that- you're missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime. your friend wants to help, because maybe you can help each other.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.5k

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. do they love each other or hate each other? who knows (we do, kind of). implications and discussion of abuse, so read with caution!! also a little bit of swearing

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next part

"Mister Snow, Miss Y/L/N."

At the voice of the Dean, you're both shoving off of each other, faster than you believed it was possible for you to move. You slide back across the floor, stumbling to stand up at the same time as Coryo as Dean Highbottom stares you down.

You didn't realize how completely dead to the world you were it was too late. "Uh, Dean Highbottom." You say, noticing he wasn't about to speak anymore, just staring you down with disappointment. "We were just, um-"

"Don't even try." He cuts you off, holding a hand up to you to shut you up. "I knew it was an irresponsible decision to let the two of you work together on something apparently so important. You're both disqualified, effective immediately, and at the very least demerited. If I get it my way, you'll be expelled."

Coriolanus goes completely pale, fully in shock. He was screwed, without the prize he had nothing. It was his prize, they couldn't take that from him over a juvenile mistake.

"No." He looks at you, shocked, as you argue with the Dean. "Whatever you think you saw has nothing to do with Coryo's mentorship- with my mentorship."

He rolls his eyes. "Y/N, my decision is final."

"I don't think it is." You cross your arms. "And we both know why, and unless you want me to tell someone-"

"No." The Dean replies firmly, and you can see he's trying to hide his panic. "Just get back, please. And make it hasty." He waves you off, and the two of you rush along.

"What was that?" Coryo whispers to you once you are out of earshot.

"Nothing." You insist, not so much as looking in his direction now.

"No, that was not nothing, you threatened the Dean."

"What? No, I didn't." You try and lie, but he's smarter than that. Of course he's smarter than that.

"Yes, Y/N, you did. I was right there, I heard-"

"Coriolanus, it's in your best interest to drop it."

"But-"

"Now."

He sighs at the finality behind your statement. "What are we going to do? He told us that we're disqualified."

"We're not disqualified." You chuckle, shaking your head and stopping in the hall next to a reflective window to wipe off the smeared mascara from under your eyes.

"What if they take it out on Lucy Gray? She could be in serious trouble, here." He asks, and reasonably so. If this gets to Dr. Gaul, which he doesn't doubt that it will, it is not a stretch to assume that if they get disqualified, they will find a way to do the same to Lucy Gray.

"Oh, who cares Coryo? She's district." You scoff, cleaning your fingers on the underside of your skirt. You knew that Lucy Gray would be just fine, nothing that you could do would harm her, and you wouldn't want that. You really liked Lucy Gray, but why would he pinball from kissing you like it was his life in the balance to being so concerned for her in a minute?

"She's my tribute! If she doesn't win I am fucked- do you realize that? Do you realize how badly you could have screwed this up for me? My whole life depends on Lucy Gray right now!" At least it wasn't personal, you think at his outburst.

You let out a sigh, managing a small, smug smile. "Coryo, trust me. They won't hurt her- not on our account anyway. Just trust me."

Coriolanus sighs, running a hand over his face and then through his hair. You can't threaten a powerful man like Casca Highbottom with nothing; he's certain that you know something you most definitely should not, but what that could be is lost on Coriolanus. "Okay." He agrees, watching you as you finish cleaning up what's left of your makeup after your breakdown. Seemingly it's gone. To him, if he hadn't seen it, if you hadn't cried in his arms, he wouldn't have known it happened at all.

"But still, don't tell anyone. Yeah?" You add, turning back to face him now.

"Not a word." He promises.

You giggle, reaching up and wiping his mouth with your sleeve. "You've got a little lipstick, there..."

Coryo chuckles, pulling his head back to do it himself, attempting to cover the burning he can feel appearing in his cheeks. How you could go from crying, to kissing him the way you had, to angry and then back to your normal self could give him whiplash if he didn't know you better. Luckily, the idea of you has never scared him.

Lucy Gray hadn't made another appearance after Jessup's death that afternoon, so Coryo had gone home and come back with a couple of blankets and his pillow. He really just ran home, stripped his bed and showered before returning to you. In the morning you had folded everything up for him and tucked it in the bleachers next to you when other people started arriving. Why were you the only mentors who even decided to spend the night? It was laughable how much more you deserved a mentorship than any of them, but this is all the more chance to prove yourself. Your classmates make it so easy. It's not like you wanted them around, so it was a win-win through and through.

Coryo had been shocked that morning when Dr. Gaul arrived, not saying a word to either or you or even so much as sparing him a knowing glance. He had anticipated a very uncomfortable meeting with her following the events of the day before, but no such moment came. The Dean must have decided that keeping that secret was the right move.

It was itching at Coriolanus that you hadn't talked about it either, but he was not about to be the one to bring it up. Maybe he should go talk to Tigris about it- she had been kind enough to come in on her day off today to watch. Not that it mattered to him, though, it didn't. It was an act of comfort, just like the hug. He had asked you what you needed, and you answered with your actions. That was all. That's all it had to be, after all. You both needed to focus, and he needed to not start falling for you now- of all times. Even if deep down he knew this infatuation, if that's the right word, started years ago. The way he used to think it was hunger causing his stomach to lurch when you so much as looked at him, or that was the envy of your family wealth when you would show up to academy events in a dress that fit you so flawlessly it made the room spin around him, voices fading out to nothing. But no, that had always been side effects of hunger. Or at least, that's what he used to think. Until he got to hold you the way he has these last couple weeks, and the way your hair splayed out over his arm when you used him as a pillow last night, curled up on the floor in the academy.

Now, everything is different at the most inconvenient time possible. The worst part, the worst part of it all was that you seemed entirely unphased. That is why this was bothering him. That even though he's been fed, he's still so hungry.

God, you were so bored. You don't ever remember the games being this boring before, but that was when you could snack away on endless trays of hors d'oeuvres and your parents allowed you to drink with other party guests until the games were done by a reasonable hour in the evening. "Finally." You sigh, standing up as Lucy Gray emerges from the tunnel, likely in search of food or water.

Coral and her pack of seemingly mindless followers were making a move on attacking Lamina, which hardly had you lifting your head. "Y/N." Coryo summons you over and you smile, making your way to his side. "She looks like she needs something, but if I send anything the drone will point them right to her."

You hum in agreement, scanning the widescreen of the arena. "They have their own pile of water over there, she could take that if she sees it. And if she's quick." You point, as if somehow you could relay this information to her.

It feels like you did when you see her head lock in the direction of the pile of bottles, hand instinctually patting over her pocket. "She's checking if she still has it." You whisper to Coryo, breath fanning over his neck. He just nods, knowing this isn't a topic anyone could hear you discuss. "Looks like she doesn't want water, she wants them out. Smart." You add quietly, eyes locked on the screen.

"Sounds like you." He replies, making you smile to yourself.

The two of you watch on baited breaths as she waits for the right moment, and she finds the perfect one. She takes off toward the bottles, quickly and quietly just as you whisper for her to go, now.

"Watch, if she's really smart, she'll take one, then dump the rest." You say, watching as she just grabs one before darting to the middle, hiding under the rubble in the center while the others are still preoccupied. "Oh. Well, that's an interesting approach." You cross your arms, standing up straight again. At least this was at least exciting.

"Remind me why we didn't throw you in with them?" Coryo asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

"You kinda did, didn't you?" You laugh quietly, pretending to hit his shoulder.

"That's fair." He agrees, focussing once more on the screen, trying to keep track of Lucy Gray. She goes out of sight from any of the cameras underneath the debris, before emerging a few moments later and running over to the remaining water bottles.

"As you predicted..." Coryo sighs, gesturing to the screen you were already watching as she begins to dump the other bottles, placing the one she just had next to them.

"She just has to hurry." You reply, resisting the urge to gloat over your accurate call. And again, you were right because it isn't long after Lamina's now dead body falls to the ground and the other tributes finally notice Lucy Gray's presence, chasing her back into the tunnels. You're hoping the map you drew up for her was helpful, and that she can hide. If she dies down there, you won't know.

You give Coryo a high-five with both hands, feeling glares on you from the other mentors about the waste of their tributes water. They're just mad that they got stuck with tributes dumber than Lucy Gray, and you can't fault them for that. "Cake with the cream." The blonde grins at you, mocking Lucy Gray's accent.

"Snow lands on top." You smile back in confirmation, his hands wrapping into yours and shaking them happily. "Now we just have to hope that..."

You trail off, not getting the chance to finish as you see one of the other tributes stumble out of the tunnels and toward the lone water bottle Lucy Gray left. "Who do we have here?" Lucky's narration interrupts your thought process. "Ah, it's Ill Dill. Tuberculosis on legs." The shock of his statement has you dropping your jaw, laughing and earning you a glare from your classmate who was designated her mentor. It wasn't funny, truly, but just the shock of him saying that. Regardless, you hadn't seen her since day one, and even before then, she was incredibly sick. Never a threat, hardly a thought.

Coryo sees this shift in your demeanor, looking back to the screen as well and slowly dropping your hands. The tribute, Dill, you think, takes a sip, and the two of you hold your breath as she lays down next to the uncapped bottle, ceasing all movement after only a few moments with blood dripping from her nose onto the cement beneath her.

You glance nervously around the room, making sure no one is making the same connections you are, knowing what you know. So far, no one seems alarmed, but Dr. Gaul has apparently left- which is shocking to you. Regardless, Dill was knocking on death's door anyway, you're surprised she came out at all. You place your hand on Coryo's shoulder trying to be reassuring, as if to say no one knows.

It's at that moment where Reaper comes out, calling out for his district partner. She remains unmoving even as he runs to her side, trying to shake her awake. Cue the buzzer; that's one less tribute between Lucy Gray and you getting your dream job.

Your heart stops as he eyes the bottle next to her, your hand gripping tighter onto Coryo's shoulder. You're both waiting for the other shoe to drop, Reaper knows that something isn't right. Luckily for the two of you, he ignores it. He lifts the dead girl up, looking around before carrying her to Lamina's side under the beam. Followed by Marcus, then Jessup, then Bobbin.

"What's he doing?" You ask quietly among other whispers which you are sure that if you could hear them clearly would echo your sentiments.

"I don't know..." Coryo replies, slightly shaking his head as the boy moves away from his line of bodies and over to the wall.

You have to fight the urge to laugh when he rips the flag down from the wall, causing all sorts of chaos to break out in your theatre. "He just tore down the flag..." You hear Lucky say, and as you look around at the chaos it caused, it makes you want to cheer for the boy. He had been looking at the flag when you tried to speak to him just before the bombing- had he known?

He lays the large red fabric over the row of bodies, turning to look directly into the camera everyone is fixated on. You get chills as if he's staring at you directly. Personally. "Are you gonna punish me now?" He shouts, making people jump in the now, suddenly silent room. "Are you going to punish m-?"

He's cut off abruptly by the face of Dr. Gaul, in an apparent emergency broadcast. So that's where she went. Coryo sits up straighter to listen in, and you can feel him tense under your palm.

"I am devastated to announce that due to injuries sustained in the rebel bombing of the arena, another one of our academy students, the son of our President, Felix Ravenstill has died." You gasp, lifting a hand to cover your mouth as chatter erupts in the room. You never loved Felix, far from it, but it seemed to you that your classmates were dropping like flies. That would make anyone a little on edge. "We cannot allow the rebels to continually get away with such violent, senseless acts. This is why we have to retaliate, with something very special for our tributes in the arena. Even if that means there will be no winner." You don't hear what else she says as Coriolanus is abruptly pushing his chair back as he stands.

"Hey, what are you doing?" You ask as he starts to back away, eyes still locked on the screen. You reach out and grab his hand. "Coryo?"

"Where's your bag?" He asks, ignoring your question.

"Uh, over there." You point to your now unoccupied seat.

"Okay, I'm going to take it. I'll be back. Stay here." He prompts you, squeezing your hand for just a second before going and grabbing your bag, leaving in a flash.

"Alrighty then." You mumble to yourself, taking over his spot.

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[chiaraanatra]

Life as We Know It | Part 3

Summary: You and Seresin unexpectedly become the caretakers of Bradley and Natasha's baby girl, Nicole. Can you two put your disdain for one another aside for Nic's sake? Based on the movie "Life as We Know It"

Warnings: mentions of parental/character death and funeral, angst, arguments, and swearing. no use of y/n. Always check chapter warnings!

Word Count: 1.7k

AN: Here is part three, another sad chapter... It's not my favorite, but I think chapter 4 will be an upswing! Thank you for all the support on this series!

《 part 1 || part 2 》 《 m.list || ao3 》

The funeral was a blur. You honestly couldn't remember much. What you did remember was the insanity of the gathering afterward. A sea of people, most of whom you had never met, let alone heard of, invaded the house. You and Seresin had spent most of the time talking up anyone and everyone who seemed like they may be a good fit to take on Nic.

When the dust finally settled and you were able to lock the door you were both exhausted. You and Seresin were seated at the dining room table, Nic was passed out in her crib and the fridge was stocked with enough casseroles to last a lifetime.

"WeII…" Seresin was the first to speak, "We could go with the cousins with nine kids. They clearly know how to keep a kiddo alive..."

"The stripper seemed nice." you half-joked.

"Yeah..." Seresin thought through his next few words carefully, "How did she know them?"

You couldn't help but laugh, "You know... she didn't say." you both erupted into laughter.

However, the laughter naturally died and he looked at you with soft eyes. "We're screwed...."

Your head collapsed onto the dining room table, voice muffled by the cold wood, "Yeah..."

You and Seresin had concluded that while you two may not be the best fit, you were better than foster care. The two of you decided to bite the bullet and gained joint IegaI and physical custody of Nicole Carole Bradshaw.

The three of you were making your way out of the courthouse and towards Seresin's truck. As you began to strap Nic into her car seat, he sank into a squat against the truck, his hands rubbing his face. "That's it? No drug tests, no questions? What if we're crazy murderers who like to eat human flesh? Eh, doesn't matter! Boom, 'Done, case closed.' You'd think they were giving those things away."

"Where is that stupid bunny that she Ioves...?" you rummaged through the car, laying across the floor of the lifted truck, feet kicking outside the door, trying to reach under the driver's seat.

Seresin shifted to look at your stocking-clad legs falling out of his truck. He shook any thoughts he may have had out of his head, "what are you doing?"

"Almost got it..."

Seresin couldn't take any more of your struggle. He grabbed your hips and lifted you out of the truck to stand on your feet. He reached under the seat with ease, grabbing the plush bunny before placing it in Nic's lap. The gesture made her smile, happy coos leaving her lips.

You huffed, blushing a little, "Thank you..."

You walked over to sit next to Nic in the back seat. There was one thing you noticed pretty quickly and that was that Nic loved car rides, meaning she would fall asleep immediately. Once her seatbelt was buckled, she was out like a light, and if you and Seresin were lucky she would remain that way for a while.

When the two of you got home you placed Nic in her crib and walked back downstairs. Seresin was on the couch elbows on his knees and his head resting his hands. He lifted his head when he noticed you coming downstairs, running his fingers through his sandy blonde locks.

You took a seat next to him. Your mouth opened like you were about to say something, but you couldn’t think of the right words. You took notice of the pull-out couch that he had spent the last few nights sleeping on. “Umm. Are you sure you don’t want to stay in their room?”

He didn’t skip a beat before giving his reply, “Positive.”

You could only nod in response. In the few days that you had been staying in their house, you both refused to step foot in their room. That was theirs and it felt wrong to step into their space. That’s how the whole house felt. You both felt that you were out of place, invaders in a house that was yours on paper but felt far from belonging to you or Seresin. Deep down, you hoped that at any moment Nat and Bradley would walk through the front door and life as you had know it would resume.

You took a deep breath, “Would you mind keeping an ear out for her...? I could really use a shower.”

His head returned to his hands as he took a breath of his own, “Yeah…”

The two of you felt like you were walking on eggshells around one another. Especially when it was the norm for small disagreements to develop into a fight. Neither one of you had any fight left in you at this point. So, you took your time standing up from the couch and making your way to the bathroom upstairs.

When the water hit, you so did everything else. You felt as though the world was falling around you. You couldn’t help but sit on the shower floor and let your tears fall.

When you walked through the door the house was silent. You weren’t sure if that was a good or bad thing, but since the alternative was the rantings of a 30-something-year-old man and/or a crying toddler, you decided things could be worse.

You quickly put groceries away before making it towards the stairs and up to Nic’s room to make sure everything was okay. As you approached her bedroom you swore you heard humming. Once you were just outside the doorway you noticed it was singing.

“Heads Carolina, tails California. Somewhere greener, somewhere warmer.”

What the hell..? You thought to yourself, but you couldn’t help the little smile that graced your lips.

You walked in, leaning against the doorway watching as Seresin sat in the rocking chair, that was placed in the corner of the room, with Nic in his arms. His voice was deep and carried a gentle tone as he sang to the little girl, lulling her to sleep. You felt your heart warm at his affection towards her, “What are you singing to her?”

“Everybody loves Jo Dee Messina. Do you mind?” He looked back at the little girl and began to sing again, “Up in the mountains, down by the ocean. Where it don't matter, long as we're goin' somewhere together.” His deep voice and southern drawl were more prominent in his own exhausted state. Nic didn’t appear to mind, as the lyrics faded to a hum, she was passed out before your eyes.

You watched Seresin lay her gently in the crib. He pushed you into the hallway before closing the door almost shut. “Told you it works.” You couldn't mistake the annoyance in his voice as he brushed past you.

You rolled your eyes shanking your head, “You know… would it kill you to be a little cheerful?

He lets out a sigh, crossing his arms and looking down at you, “Yeah. It might.”

You hated when he was short with you, “Come on, Seresin…”

“No,” he interrupted. “Why should I pretend to be happy? I'm miserable. Just let me be miserable.”

“You know what? I am so sick of aII your depressing IittIe comments.”

He interrupted you once more before you could elaborate, “No, you don’t get it, I ruined my life for her.”

You scoffed, “I'm so sorry parenting isn't the fun-filled ride you thought it was gonna be.”

“Oh, shut up. You're happy because your old life sucked.”

Your mouth fell open a little before you came to your defense, “My old Iife didn't suck!”

“Yeah” he leaned closer getting in your face, “It did.”

You roll your eyes, “You know nothing about me, Seresin! My life was great, my job was great. I made my own hours; I had free time.” You liked your life. You had your routine and it worked for you. You would never admit, especially to Seresin, that sometimes the monotony got to you. 

It was now his turn to scoff, “To do what? Blog?”

“Oh my God!” You through your hands in the air, “You are beyond frustrating!”

“You have no idea what a great Iife is. I had a great life!” Seresin was pacing, “I went out all the time! GirIs would buy me drinks, they would throw themselves at me. I haven’t had a dry spell since i was 15!”

“You're disgusting!”

“Sweetheart, they say you can't have it aII, but I did, I had it aII and it was awesome! I slept with whoever I wanted whenever I wanted.”  He turned away wanting to be done with the situation but decided to turn back to face you. “You know, maybe if you got laid you’d be more tolerable. Except to have sex you gotta find somebody who can stand you first.”

“Fuck you…” Before he could speak you spat back, “Of course you think that's awesome! AII you care about is getting with any girl willing to spread her legs for you and then praying she didn’t stick around till morning. God, even Bradley was embarrassed by you but he would never say anything because he was twice the man you are.” You turned to walk away. While you didn’t in the moment, you knew you would regret the words that fell from your lips.

You watched as Seresin’s face fell before turning away from you. He grabbed his keys from the entry way table before making his way towards the garage.

You walked over to him before he made escape, placing your hand on his shoulder, “Hey, don't drive angry and do something stupid! Your kid's parents died in a car-“

He quickly moved away from your touch, turning back to you and pointing up towards Nic’s room, “She is not my kid! She's not my kid…” The second time he said those words was much quieter than the first.

You paused, fighting the tears that threatened to spill over, “Then whose kid is she...?”

Seresin only shook his head in response before walking out the door.

At the rate the two of you were going, it was only a matter of time before you tore each other to shreds, and no amount of love either of you had for Nic would be able to prevent it.

《 part 4 》

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𝑊𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑏𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑑? 𝐿𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 💜

[oceaneyesinla]

This was written in honour of Softie Sunday, thank you for the inspiration Rei!!!! <3 @peachsukii

Never Stop (Wedding Version) by SafetySuit was running through my head when I wrote that ending - it's such a sweet song 🥹

Divider by @/cafekitsune

Shoto knows you're working on ... something; he can hear your happy little giggles every so often, and he can practically feel the joy radiating off you from across the garden. You asked him not to peek, though, and so he doesn't - content to bask in your presence from afar while he builds the new garden table you both picked out the week before.

Of course you had offered to help him, sweet eyes worried as you fretted over him and lips slipping into a little pout. He insisted you rest though - you're still sporting an ankle brace after a nasty fall during a villain fight, and he's determined to make sure that you don't lift a single finger while you're recovering. He can still remember the sheer terror that shot through him as he watched you fall; eyes closed and limbs limp. It was only minutes until Denki confirmed he had you and you were alive, but it felt like a lifetime when he was waiting to hear whether his world was falling apart or not.

He pushes the memory aside - there's no need to focus on what could have happened, when he has everything he ever wanted right here. You're safe, humming to yourself in the garden of the house you bought together, and he can't help the smile that lifts up his lips as he thinks about you and the future the two of you are building.

He doesn't need to be facing you to know when you move; after this long, he has a sixth sense when it comes to you. You're coming closer, and he can picture your pretty smile in his mind - it's the one you always wear when you look his way, sweet and soft and full of all the love he knows in his soul you feel for him. He's doubted a lot in his life, but he'll never doubt your devotion - not when he's equally as adoring.

He's crouched down, screwing one of the wood sections into place and he feels you press a gentle kiss to the crown of his head before you place something on top of his head, your fingers brushing ever so gently against his hair. Placing his tools down on the grass, he twists to look up at you, falling in love all over again with the bright spark in your eyes and the happy grin splitting your face. You look beautiful, the afternoon sunlight surrounding you in a golden glow.

Pushing up to standing, he leans in to press a kiss to the tip of your nose then your forehead, relishing the little giggle it pulls out of you. Your arms wrap around him and he swears he can see hearts in your eyes as you look at him - probably reflecting the ones in his own.

A few stray strands of hair are falling into your face, and he brushes them away with a featherlight touch, "Are you planning to tell me what you put on my head, or should I start guessing?"

You look delighted, "I made you a little present. You look so pretty!"

You're pulling out your phone and a few taps later, you hold it out to him, camera open so he can see himself. His head is adorned with a crown of wildflowers - you must have been sitting in the patch of them next to the house. It's your favourite part of the garden, and he can just imagine you there, legs criss crossed and bathed in sunlight.

"It's beautiful, love. It would suit you better, though." It always makes his chest feel ready to burst when you do things like this - treating him like he's a masterpiece created by an artisan, like he's something to be cherished.

"Nuh uh! It suits you, Sho!" Your smile is brighter than the sunlight surrounding you both, "How is the table going? Do you need anything?"

He reaches up to his head, lifting the flower crown with infinite care, as if he's holding the most delicate pottery, and placing it on your head, pressing another kiss to the skin just underneath where it sits when he's done, "Only you."

His heart speeds up when you smile up at him, and he will never get used to you. He doesn't want to, either. He wants to feel this way about you every single day for the rest of his life. Under the sunlight, in the garden of your new home, he's certain he always will.

@pixelcafe-network

[seat-safety-switch]

So-called motorcylists love to shove their beloved bikes away whenever there's a little bit of snow on the road. That's because motorcyclists are famously concerned with their public perception. They don't want to drive around town with wood screws run through their tires, shrieking profanities at stopped traffic before ripping a perfect 12 'o' clocker and driving across the iced-over multi-use-pathway, comfortable in their knowledge that the police will not and can not follow. Or it's because they don't have heated grips, and their handsies get cold.

Heated steering wheels are the single greatest innovation in cars in the last two hundred years. Unfortunately for me, they hadn't been installed into cars of the age I own. In the late 1970s, the newest innovation in steering wheel comfort was "maybe make them a little smaller, for the ladies." Seems like I was cursed to a lifetime of wondering if my thermostat was seized, freezing to death even through many layers of mittens and work gloves while waiting for the tow truck to arrive and clean up the commuters in front of me.

Of course, Plymouth also didn't equip this car with a lot of other modern features. For instance, liquid-cooled active speed laser and radar jamming was not available. Active pursuit drones pre-programmed with a seek-and-destroy order for all speed cameras were not yet on the market, unless you worked for the CIA. And also the good people of China had not figured out how to make $35 45-millimetre ball-bearing turbochargers capable of adding nearly four hundred horsepower to any engine strong enough to keep its guts on the inside when presented with one medium-sized jet engine's worth of boost. I had to add all those things myself.

Easy, right? Run some wires to a heating element on the steering wheel. There's just one complication: steering wheels turn. If I keep spinning the car left and right, eventually the wire will get tangled up and rip itself out, causing an electrical fire. Admittedly, that will also keep my hands warm, but the walk home after is inconvenient.

The original "engineers" who took a whisky-soaked gander at this car before slapping their secretaries on the ass had a solution, though. In every steering wheel, the horn button has the same problem. Unfortunately for me, the horn hasn't worked in this car since 1983, which complicated my attempts to reuse the wiring.

Ultimately, I came up with what a rocket scientist would call "a compromise." A pair of bolt cutters and a map to the local truck-supply warehouse's storage yard soon provided me with a nifty diesel-fired interior heater, a roaring flame that consumes all and produces enough heat to make toast from three feet away. Ratchet-strapped to the place where the passenger seat used to be, it will keep my fingers warm, as well as my feet and every other part of my body. Sure, it's inconvenient having to continually refill it with stolen farm diesel, and I could have run the exhaust pipe out of the cabin a better way than through the rust hole in the floor. Once you get that heated seat feeling, though, you simply can't go back. If you'll excuse me, I need to get going: if I don't get to work in the next five minutes, my boots will melt again.

[thelarriefics]

SUMMER FIC REC, Part II: Below you will find fics that take place in the summer, or have summer scenes. (Part I)

📖 On The Horizon by FitzAndLarry (261k)

Drunk, loose, and excited on the first night of his two-week-long cruise, Doctor Harry Styles finds himself with a little extra company on what has turned out to be a lonely experience. Louis, the pilot who helped fly him across the Atlantic, is the object of his fling. Thus begins an adventure filled with laughter, sun, and trauma rearing its ugly head. Deadline on their companionship, the pair commit to enjoying their time - and Harry, the screw-up he is, can't help but lose himself in the fantasy.

📖 love is a word, you gave it a name by @larrydoinglaundry (158k)

After two decades in brutal show business, Louis Tomlinson is trying to restore his tranquility of mind in the peace of Northern Europe where the sun barely sets, Maria's bar is always open, and young Harry has an irresistible spark in his eyes.

📖 blue moon by @aquietlarrie (152k)

or the self indulgent 50’s au where i wanted a safe space to explore the culture, history, and sexuality of being gay in a time when it was extremely difficult to do so. includes, lots of questionable dancing, healing your inner child, and one heck of an emotional ride.

📖 a cycle of recycled revenge by @broken-beaks (103k)

Or: The one where Harry likes to infuriate Louis almost as much as he enjoys straddling his lap.

📖 gloominess of summer days by @adoremelikeasunflower19 (90k)

Following a devastating and unexpected split, Harry finds himself rewarded by the mysterious ways of Faith in the form of an inheritance of his Uncle’s house in a distant country Wolveheuls. Dismissing his initial scepticism, he chooses to seize the opportunity. He starts a journey of self-discovery, relearning the meaning of loving and being loved, moving on from the painful past, and making his place within the eccentric small-town community. Between his efforts, his path crosses with Louis Tomlinson, a town native, known for his ridiculous number of jobs, incomparable wit, and profound adoration for the cottage lifestyle.

📖 Summer's in the air and baby, heaven's in your eyes by @starryhaze28 (82k)

or a 70s tennis au filled with skirts, pet names and intrigue

📖 your memory over me by @shimmeringevil (64k)

The worst heartbreak of Louis’ life walks right back into it when his parents invite their family friends on an all-expenses-paid trip for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Facing a past that he tried to bury long ago, Louis learns that some people have a way of sticking with you even when they’re gone.

📖 hope your life leads you back to my door by wildestdreams (56k)

Harry Styles set out to be a doctor; a steady career and a good living is all a young person could ask for. What he hadn't set out to do was to spend his summer holiday on a trekking trip in Spain with a group of people he barely knew. And he certainly didn’t plan on having his heart stolen by Louis Tomlinson, class clown, and secret crush, in such a way that he feared he might never find it again. ft. cheesy chat-up lines, a big desi wedding, falling in love, and growing up.

📖 A Golden Goal by a_momentwitme (55k)

"Even they, as free as you think they are, don't always get to love like this, in the true meaning of the word, of the feeling. Not some diluted version that some settle with for their entire lifetime. I mean love in its purest form, which still grows every day despite the problems, barriers and annoying habits you discover in your partner. A love that refills your heart after you pour it out or makes you go on during your worst days, knowing that your best is expecting you at home."

📖 where the tide takes you, i will follow by @pinkcords (53k)

Louis lives in Gloucester and Harry tries to find a way to stay.

📖 sent by the sun by @givesuethemoon (51k)

In 1970s Los Angeles, Harry is a groupie who aches to feel alive. Louis is the lead singer of a rock band who aches to know him.

📖 Suddenly Last Summer by @disgruntledkittenface (44k)

Louis is bored, rich and lonely. He has no reason to expect that this summer in the Hamptons with his friends will be different from any other – until he meets Harry. Suddenly he has someone who listens to him and cares about what he thinks. Someone who really sees him. But their happily ever after is forever marred by an incident at a party during Labor Day weekend, and Louis is left with a choice to make.

📖 Awake Dear Heart, Awake by She_bear (35k)

Cute, fun, sexy and at times emotional AU where Harry and Louis meet as strangers on holiday in Greece and find themselves stuck on a remote beach together. An initial misunderstanding gets them off to a bad start. Both at a turbulent point in their lives, they are forced to confront their internal struggles and of course each other.

📖 He Still Takes My Breath Away by @parmahamlarrie (32k)

 the one where Harry is a lifeguard and Louis is the head of recreation. And, sometimes, you just need a little push to realize what was right in front of you the whole time.

📖 Bitter Ends Turn Sweet by @allwaswell16 (30k)

It had been four years since Harry first heard the song his ex wrote about him and far longer since they broke up. He forgave Louis long ago, and now his life was focused on his career, his family, and especially his son, Max. But Louis was back in Chicago, after all this time, and he’s not an easy man to ignore. Or a songfic inspired by the song Chicago

📖 Dancing With Masks by @softfonds (18k)

With awards season coming up and new films on the way for both of them, Harry and Louis' managers decide it's time for them to date for publicity. They don't mind, given that they are best friends and have known each other for ages. Besides, after years of sexual tension built into a fake relationship for press, what could possibly go wrong?

📖 Come on in, the water's fine by @greenblueish (9k)

or, the one where Louis is set on enjoying his last summer jobbing abroad as tourist entertainer and it only gets better when a mysterious hotel guest with overly expensive sunglasses keeps coming back for his drink recommendations.

📖 Black Leather, Blue Lace by @insightfulinsomniac (8k)

aka: a pwp in which new soulmates farmer!Louis and city girl!Harry are filthy exhibitionists.

📖 Near You Now by @beyondxmeasure (8k)

When a leaky bathroom sink turns into a minor flood, Harry has to act fast. So, he thinks of the closest (and most unlikely) way to find home repair help… Grindr. The last thing he expects from this quick fix is to find anything long-term.

📖 now i'm tracin' all my steps to you by @alwaysxlarrie (5k)

Of all the things Harry was prepared for this summer, Louis Tomlinson and his wonderful, wonderful scent isn't one of them. It probably shouldn't be as shocking as it is that it makes Harry want to nest. There's only one slight problem -- Harry and nesting aren't exactly on familiar terms. At all. This does not stop Harry from borrowing ("borrowing") Louis' things all throughout summer, though. Oops?

[up-to-some-good]

Solid plans

A little late, but happy birthday to one of my favourite characters! Written for @wolfstarmicrofic prompt - scarecrow (513 words)

4 November 1983

The problem with having a three year old, Remus thought, was that nothing ever seemed to go according to plan. Though, that could be because the three year old in question was the son of James Potter, who hadn't ever followed instructions in his unfortunately short lifetime.

The plan was quite simple: Sirius had been away for a week for work, which had included his 24th birthday, so Remus had planned a surprise birthday lunch for when he arrived home, including all his favourite foods and a cake, baked using Effie Potter's red velvet recipe. It wasn't anything major or complicated, but Sirius would enjoy a simple meal with his family more after his long week.

The plan hinged on two things: first, Remus's ability to bake a cake without screwing it up the way he had always done previously, and second, Harry's cooperation.

The first, shockingly, went fine. Remus followed Effie's instructions to the letter, and managed to produce a tasty, if poorly iced, cake for them to enjoy.

The second part, Harry's cooperation, was where the problem came in. Because he'd been away for a full week, Sirius had not only missed his birthday, but Halloween as well. As such, Harry was insistent that they should welcome his godfather back by recreating Halloween and going trick-or-treating together.

Remus had tried to explain to the little boy that trick-or-treating was not an option, given that it was four days after Halloween and the middle of the day. He had tried to appease him by letting him wear his scarecrow costume, accepting that their birthday lunch would be slightly Wizard of Oz themed, but Harry was still not happy.

Remus spent the morning darting between setting up the table for lunch and stopping Harry from escaping out the front door, armed with his pillow case for candy-collecting. Eventually, Remus cast a shield charm over the door, at which point Harry decided to sit directly in front of it and throw his leftover Halloween candy at the shield, giggling as the sweets bounced off the magic into the room behind him.

Remus was in the kitchen when he felt a tug at the wards, and turned to see Sirius step through the Floo - only to be hit in the middle of his forehead by a flying peppermint toad.

He watched as Sirius took in the scene, from the little scarecrow staring up at him to the half-set table and lobsided birthday cake. Harry ran over to him, letting his godfather scoop him up into a hug and press kisses all over his face.

"Happy Halloween, Padfoot!" Harry yelled.

The pair then turned to Remus, Sirius grinning brightly as Harry giggled in his arms.

"Happy birthday, love," Remus said. "and welcome home!"

Sirius walked across to him and kissed him gently, before pulling him into a hug, Harry still squirming in his arms.

"You're wonderful," he whispered. "I love you both so much."

[love-toxin]

Retrieval - entry I

plot: after escaping the horrors of Los Iluminados, a piece of your heart is still stuck in that desolate place. you won't truly be able to rest until you find him--or until you put him down like the monster you wish you'd saved him from.

(cws: post-canon divergence, re4make spoilers, yandere!plagas!leon, fem!agent!reader, guns & blunt weapons, blood, gore & injuries, violence, grief, funerals, pining [chapter smut cws: wet dreams, mild choking, possessiveness, unprotected]

wc: 5.3k

(future entries to come! <3)

No matter how much time passes, you're certain this place will always reek of blood and death. It will always be the place that you lost the person most dear to you, and in such a vile, cruel way that it still haunts your darkest nightmares.

It's been awhile since then, but it all still feels the same when you step down from the car and let the door shut with an unapologetic thud. The air hangs heavy and thick with humidity, and although the distant stench of rot is lesser this time around, it still lurks in the background of your senses like a shadow creeping by the windows of a house. The trees hang low and sway gently as you pass them, crows beckoning you deeper into the brush with their croaking trills echoing all around you. Aside from a pitiful line of cautionary police tape strung across an iron gate, even the entryway and the path leading into the village all look exactly as they did weeks ago.

The last time your feet hit the dirt here, only Leon had been your much-needed company in your venture. You'd walked through the mud and ran through the mist together; searching the lodge and being chased into the heart of the village had only been the beginning. His breathing had been the thing to keep you calm then, of all things. Those heavy pants when he scrambled through doors and soft puffs of his chest when it was a touch too quiet; it reminded you that he was alive, and saved you from having to glance over and pray in the seconds between that he wasn't being carved into a bloody stump by a Ganados.

But all that? That was a long time ago. It feels like a lifetime, and yet neither of those timelines are the truth–really, it's barely been a month since you and Leon had been separated, but it still feels like years since you've seen him.

The scent of charcoal pulls you away from the memory of him as you draw close to the circle of houses, your gun out of its holster the moment you cross underneath the main gate. You at least have the sense not to go slinging it around when you hear the crackle of twigs in the underbrush, though the sound that resembles a gasp has you eyeing the forest to your left…just long enough to watch the offending group of birds chitter and take flight suddenly up and away from the trees as you draw close. The policemen that had accompanied you here have long since granted you their goodbyes, their eyes dark and fearful at the sight of this village looming in the distance before they had driven off in a frantic hurry. When you think about it you can't really blame them, not with them knowing the unfortunate fate of the two men they had probably rubbed shoulders with back at the station. Knowing that both of them had been made sacrifice for no better reason than violence and power.

That would've been you and Leon once upon a time, if Umbrella and the virus and everything hadn't screwed it all up and blown it to pieces. Sometimes you daydream about what it could've been like at RPD, but most times it's too painful to even consider and you just end up drowning your sorrows in a bottle of liquor instead. Leon would be admonishing you for dealing with it in that way and he would've been a total hypocrite for it, but he hasn't been here to do so. The thought that he won't ever be again fills you with so much dread you can feel it in each step you take into this dilapidated heap of pig slop and manure.

It's been over a month since you've been here last, about 37 days if you've been marking off your calendar correctly. You had to take into account the retrieval, your hospital stay, and the few days that seemed to meld into each other when you'd slept almost every hour away in recovery, but altogether it totals 37 days since you last stepped foot on this soil. Over five weeks since you last saw Leon, and only a couple days since you gave a eulogy at his funeral. It had all felt fake and pitiful even with you having organized it yourself–most of the people there were the reasons he even came to this disgusting place, all those government agents and well-to-do politicians that ate up yours and Leon's survivor stories and demanded you join the military's special ops. They should be the ones paying the price in the grave, not Leon.

But as you look around now, there really isn't much to speak of in the first place, now that you feel the sense of urgency wane and lower your pistol in the wake of dead silence. Aside from the bullet holes, the crumbled tower, and the blasted-out windows that cake the dirt with glass, there's not many signs that you and Leon had even treaded ground here. It's getting later than you'd like based on the position of that hot, Spanish sun, though. You've got to get moving and quit moping around this ghost town if you want to make any progress on his retrieval before night falls.

This isn't a trip down memory lane, after all. You came here with your own rescue mission in mind; you're here to find Leon's body, and you're prepared to give him the mercy he deserves if your suspicions about his supposed death are correct. Because you can't keep living with that memory of him in your head, that version of Leon burdened with black veins and vermillion eyes and a pained gait as he tried to kill you. When there weren't enough injections of the suppressant to go around, he gave you his own–and when it came time for you to go under the knife, Leon insisted on you and Ashley going first even when he had a death grip on the lever, the Plagas taking over him quick enough that he knew exactly what he was doing. Leon gave his life for you, Ashley, and Luis to live–and you've taken on the job of returning the favour, whether it means dragging him home in a body bag to give him a worthy burial, or putting a bullet in his head and ending the monster you never wanted to see him become.

"La Americana!"

But the moment you take another step to climb over the rubble of the church, a voice shouting from behind you sends a chill rocketing right up your spine. You thought you would only hear it again in your nightmares–but no, as soon as you turn on your heel, your eyes scan over a mob of Ganados shambling right for you. Drooling, bloody, rotting villagers wielding their pitchforks and sickles, and in that momentary panic that freezes you to the ground, a cold feeling erupts inside your chest that you've never experienced before. Acting on base instinct alone you make a mad dash for the house on your right, but you're left skidding to a stop and backing away just as quick when another monster lunges out of the doorway and makes a swipe. You're being cornered, trapped, with nobody left to save you like they did before.

This is wrong. It feels wrong, it sounds wrong, it's all wrong. This is exactly what happened before, but that was a nightmare you fought through and survived. You shouldn't be here again. Why are you here again? Why are you being so stupid to feed yourself to the same monsters that took your Leon from you? Why haven't you learned your lesson? Why?

When the first gets close enough to strike, you barely even register the hot, vile presence of its foul breath on your skin. Your muscles tighten and you swing indiscriminately, the butt of your pistol smashing into its temple with a force you didn't even know you were capable of. The scythe in its hand is halfway to hitting the ground before you're crossing the distance to the second one, movements almost robotic as you empty half your magazine into its forehead and don't stop until you're standing over it. For some reason, the gore and the blood splattering over you doesn't disturb you like it should. It doesn't even feel…real.

You're all to blame for this. This is all your fault.

Whether those thoughts are self-inflicting or self-soothing, they plague your mind in a constant, changing loop as you stagger from villager to villager. There's no other option; either fight or die, because reason won't get you anywhere but closer to your own grave. It's not even worth running at this point because they'll just chase you down, and you want them to just leave you alone more than you even want to live.

Getting hit doesn't feel real. Watching the Ganados choke on metal doesn't feel real. Not even your gun clicking empty and burning hot in your hands feels real, even when your brow furrows and you whip it at the nearest monster with a grunt that sounds more feral than ferocious. It's a slaughter but you can't tell that time has passed, or that you've gained bruises from the beating you've taken, or even that you've been blowing off the faces of people who were probably just people once. It just doesn't matter in that short, fury-driven span of time, not until you have nothing more to attack and you blink yourself awake with a hatchet gripped in your hands, soaked from head to toe in rotting blood.

With one final, blood-curdling scream from the deepest pit of your stomach, you throw your arm down and send the weapon flying across the ground like a tempestuous child. The pain, fury, and grief have been building up inside you for long you've forgotten what it feels like to be free, what it once felt like to laugh away your troubles when they got too big to deal with. Now you've been planning your best friend's funeral on the days you don't drink yourself into a stupor, and nothing matters anymore. This was a stupid idea and all you've done is set yourself up for a bigger, stupider failure than you've already proven you could accomplish. Right now, the best relief would come if you just dropped dead.

….But it doesn't come, even after you've fallen to your knees and sobbed into your hands. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. You count each breath, but each of them are just as heavy and laboured as the last, never slowing or getting shallower. If anything, you feel more alive as your senses come back and you cringe at the blood starting to crust over your skin and clothes. Taking your hands away, all that fills them is a sheen of dark, wine-deep red, splattered with tears that sting just as much as your skin that's been hacked with small, shallow cuts and bruises. As the episode passes, your desire to get up is stronger than your want to just lay down and relinquish your strength.

So you press on. Not for want of something better, but for the simple fact that you have nowhere else to go but forward. You put yourself into this mess, and as you can hear Leon's voice in your head, "You can get yourself out of it."

So you walk. You scoop up your gun from the ground and wipe the blood from the handle with your shirt. You stumble over the chunks of stone and rubble that litter your path, weaving through the half-open doors that haven't leaned right since Leon had first kicked them in or shot them open. You just keep walking until the gate with that familiar symbol comes into view, and upon pushing it open you're met with the sight of a sea of graves and dead grass–and a murder of crows watching you through the tree branches while they await a new body to pick at.

Seeing the church looming over the hilltop is enough to give you a chill. Maybe the graves are helping with that, standing as crooked and crumbling as they were before, but whatever it is about that place just plagues you with a sense of unease. Each step up the hill has you on guard, peeking around to see whether more Ganados will come out–but it's just as eerily quiet as you expected it to be, and you don't even spot much more than the crows until you're past the gate and standing on the front step of the chapel. To your fortune, the door's still unlocked–as you hoped it would be, considering all that you and Leon had to endure to get it open the first time. You'll never forget that feeling of your stomach sinking when you watched him retch up all that blood over the side of the boat, nor the heat of his tight grip as he had grabbed your wrist and whimpered in pain before slipping into unconsciousness on your lap.

Life had been scary enough then, but in some way seeing Leon go through the Plagas infection hit you harder than any other mission you'd gone through…especially since you know now that he would never be cured. He was just so strong in the face of everything, even during Raccoon City, when he truly had no idea what he was doing. He had such a kind heart that he would do anything for anybody. Even if he could be a hardass at times, he was pure.

Thinking about Leon always ends up leading you to memories of his funeral, especially so as your shoulders relax and you step into this church that somewhat resembles the one that housed it. You drop your bag on the nearest pew and let it spill over on to its side, and when your wallet tumbles out, your eyes pass over the picture inside that makes another memory pop into your head.

"This world is undoubtedly worse off without Leon. It won't ever be the same, and I…I'll miss you, Sancho."

Luis hadn't more than dabbed at his eyes at the service, but he'd hugged you so tightly at the reception he could've broken your bones with ease. You sat at a pew just like this one and held your hands between you throughout the eulogies, quiet and empty while Ashley cried her eyes out a few rows ahead. Other than a few close friends from the academy, a couple surviving members of RPD, and a handful of people Leon got to know in the military, the rest of the service was populated by complete strangers to you. Including the president himself, whose hand you openly refused to shake when he approached you with his "condolences". Without Luis there to guide you away to go get some complimentary dinner, you might have told the leader of your country where exactly he could stuff his condolences.

At the very least you can get some healing by actually burying your best friend, you think as you check the perimeter of the church to ensure its security. If you succeed, which you're hoping might actually happen if you can keep the grief and overwhelming anxiety to a minimum.

"Mh?"

Perhaps it's a good sign already, but going unnoticed by you up until now you spot something out of your peripheral that looks out of place here–and when you step up to it to take a look, sitting at the crest of the church where the podium would be, is what looks to be a washbasin that might have come from one of the nearby houses. Peering over the lip it looks to be filled with nothing but clear water…and when you dip a finger in, a sigh escapes you when you feel how warm it is. There's even a towel hanging over the nearest pew that you could've sworn wasn't there earlier, but it's getting harder to see with all the blood caking your eyelashes. And not one to turn away a perfectly good miracle, you're all too happy to strip off your clothes and dunk your head, hair, and limbs into a clean, semi-refreshing bath.

While you scrub the dust, dirt, and dried entrails from your skin, your mind wanders yet again into another world–the one you lived in before, so blissfully unaware of how bad the outcome could truly be. You'd met Leon for the first time at his debriefing in the RPD, when he'd been quietly optimistic with that baby face and a well of enthusiasm that had come out in the strength of his handshake. Marvin introduced you first as his immediate superior because you'd been in that same position before; you had been the rookie from out of town the year prior, and aside from the beaming sense of pride at moving up a peg in the force, you also liked how sweet Leon was.

He'd greeted you with honorifics you didn't need, smiled when you gave him a tour, and not once did he ever scoff or roll his eyes when you were giving him advice before he had even started. You noticed him because he was new, but also because he respected you and pretty much everyone else with barely any hesitation. In his plainclothes surrounded by decorated officers he treated everyone he met like a friend, and although Marvin had expressed concern about him being a little naive once he went home, you remember that moment as you watched him get into his car, and you remember thinking that the world–and Raccoon City–needed more people like that. You liked to think that you always knew he was a hero at heart.

Your brow softens as the water starts running clear down your body, the basin filled with blood and muck that you've been scrubbing off your skin until it's raw. The tiredness is setting in now from the plane ride and the tension, and all you want to do is sleep–but a sudden start and pain flooding through your abdomen has you alert and gripping the edge of the basin. Easing your chest out of the way to look down, you watch in frustrated horror as your fingers brush by the opening of a much more significant wound than the scrapes and bruises just beneath your breast down towards your stomach. At only about a half inch wide and five or more inches long the cut isn't severe, it doesn't even seem like it's been touched by the filth you've been doused in as you pour a little more water over it. But now that you've noticed it the sting is much more palpable, and with no desire to have it infected and die a slow death you fumble for your pitiful first aid kit and work away at closing the wound. Strips of medical tape and gauze are about all you can do, though the process is slow and awkward with you trying not to stretch or strain it too much for it to hurt worse. Just your luck. It's only the first day. You just count yourself fortunate that Leon isn't here to see this because you know he'd both fuss over you and tease you to no end…although you do find yourself glancing around more as you fix yourself up, your mind on high alert while you're in this state of vulnerability. For some reason you do feel watched, although with no sounds or odd noises to tip you off you're tempted to assume you're relatively safe. You can only hope that you are, because rarely have you ever been so sluggish and desperate for rest than you feel right now and you'd rather not wake up with an axe in your skull.

When you're done and with your clothes still hanging wet over the pew, you've got little choice but to tug on an old shirt and thin shorts from the bottom of your bag, the spare set of clothes an absolute emergency item that you're glad you at least brought this time. The summer heat's still strong so hopefully it doesn't get too cold in the night, the darkness of which you can spot creeping over the horizon through the stained glass windows. Luckily for you the layout is fairly simple and you'd already rediscovered the upstairs room where Ashley had been kept in your search, so after pushing the pews with a grunt to block the doors, low windows, and finally the ladder to the second floor, you take your gathered things inside and set up on the thin, downy cover that will have to do as a mattress for tonight. You've certainly slept in worse, less secure places than this anyways.

But before you allow yourself the chance to drift off, your fingers stretch for your wallet again that you'd tucked back into your bag, the picture greeting you once more when you flip it open and slide it out. Leon's beaming face smiles back at you, and your gentle self stands beside him six years younger in front of the RPD's grand foyer statue. Him in his jacket and you in your uniform, waving and grinning at the camera with his arm around you like nothing bad ever existed in the world. You knew in your heart that day would be the start of something different, but just how different wouldn't occur to you until it was too late. The picture sits tightly in your hand for immeasurable moments that melt into one another, up until your eyes finally flutter closed and you drift off in neverending silence.

When sleep finally comes, so do the dreams. And in them, you get to see Leon in a much more visceral way than the pictures on your desk or the smell of cologne on his jacket. The walls behind you look to be the same as the room you'd fallen asleep in, but in smooth fashion a hand cups your chin and pulls your gaze back from the floor to the one who wants it the most.

Leon looms above you on bended knees, his chest bare and hair tousled as if he'd yanked off his shirt in a hurry–he's always like that, always in a rush to begin only to take his sweet, agonizing time when he's actually performing. His lips look bitten and flushed like he's been kissing you already, but maybe that's because he's been nibbling on it like he is now out of shyness, or maybe embarrassment.

"I missed you." Your voice comes out muffled as it usually does, and Leon shifts around, his hands dwarfing your knees in comparison as he moves them to fit himself between them.

"I'm right here, sweetheart." His smile lights up your world with a glow, he makes it brighter even though a shadow still casts itself over half his face from the lantern on the other side of the room. "I'm always here for you."

But you died. Those words play on your lips, but you don't allow them to slip out. If you do, the dream may end here and now, and you can't afford to let such a precious moment of affection pass you by. "I love you, Leon." You whimper instead, and he gasps with pure, undiluted need as he makes that push inside you that he's been waiting for all night–that soft, wet heat welcoming his stiff self in like it always does and always will. The pressure stings at first, it beats hard in your chest and between your legs where he lies, but it's a forgiving ache and not a dull pain. When Leon kisses you again, it all disappears just as quickly–even quicker when he eventually starts to move.

"I love you more. I'll always love you, even after you're gone." He whispers against your lips, breathing his sentiment in and capturing yours on every exhale back. His fingertips leave trails of searing desire up your flesh, warm hands guiding your arms higher to rest around his neck and keep him as close as you can. You wouldn't need to, you don't have to, but he wants to be closer and you know you do too. Being inside you isn't enough for him, he needs you to want him, to desire him so deeply you can't fathom being apart. And you do, you always do, but you never seem to manage saying it out loud even in the throes of a perverse dream…but he can.

"I'll love you even if you leave me again. I'll fuck you so good you don't even think of doing it to me." Your lover pants, his pace picking up while your pleasure jumbles up into a heated, twisted mess. It seems like he's just entered you but at the same time it feels long, like you've been at his mercy for hours or days on end and the pressure keeps mounting higher and higher too fast. These fantasies usually end too soon for your liking but that's always because you're the one folding first, legs shaking and nails digging blunt marks into his arms when he makes you see stars. You're getting close to that mark now, yet you've barely even started.

Leon suddenly holds his hand up to your throat, fingers splayed over your delicate neck to squeeze it with a growl low in his throat. "Don't ever leave me again. Promise me." At your absent reply he tightens his grip harder, and the stars in your eyes have you choking out an answer that isn't good enough. "Promise me I'm the only one. Swear on your life you won't choose him over me."

"I-I promise! Leon, p-please, I promise! I-I'm coming to–c-cumming, Lee!" You cry, overwhelmed as you look up with wet, hazy eyes at the man you've always loved. The black veins start spreading across his golden skin, and his own gaze grows cold and dark before a sudden pulse turns his irises to a bright, piercing red. The killing blow comes with a chuckle as his lips curl into a sinister smirk, and his hips plummet down to meet yours in a cacophony of sounds that will echo in your mind for days on end, just before he stills and a shudder rolls through his body. As tight as he says you are, he never fails to press himself deep enough that he releases that pent-up desire as close to your womb as possible.

"Mine. All mine. You promised."

In the next moment of bliss settling in and a groan erupting from his throat, the world blots out into darkness and you jolt up from the floor with a start.

"Shit!"

The curse just flies from your mouth on instinct, the heat having disappeared and the pressure of a body on top of you making way for cold, aching emptiness. An uncomfortably warm, sticky wetness pooled between your legs has your attention immediately, but you've got no choice but to cringe and ignore the discomfort for now. Your breathing labours in your chest for minutes upon strained minutes before eventually quieting, and only then do you groan and shift in your spot to glance at the time just to remember that you aren't in your bed nor at home. As you would hope not, considering how stiff your back is from sleeping on the ground.

Without windows it's impossible to tell just how long you've slept, and a glance around the empty room offers no clues either. So when you manage to get up and stretch, the only thing you notice fluttering down from where you'd let go of it is that same photo of yourself and Leon–with that dream in the back of your head, however, you can't bring yourself to look at him and shove it back into the plastic holder in your wallet.

Still, with that being a normal practice for you being around the person you've been harbouring feelings for, that dream in itself was stranger than most. The last thing you want is to dwell on it right this minute, but Leon's words still echo in your head regardless; what did he mean when he spoke those words? Did they have a shred of truth to them, or were they just the frantic machinations of your brain still trying to make sense of his death?

Either way, you don't really want to know. You just want to leave this place altogether–but with that option out the window, the least you can do is leave this church and get some fresh air. With the skill and briskness of a trained agent, you gather your things and briskly slip on your newly-dried clothes downstairs, a few bites of a protein bar all you need to sustain you at least for a couple hours.

Upon pushing on the heavy entrance doors, the crack of light between them opens up into a bright horizon with the sun beating down on the soil, the burst of morning light blinding you temporarily as you take those first few steps outside. It's just long enough for your surroundings to come into focus that you get a whiff of the humid air–and in seconds your nose scrunches up, the foul stench of decay pervading your senses in the instant that it takes for you to take a look around.

Lying in droves around the cemetery, piles at the bottom of the hill, and strung in pieces all around your feet, are the bodies of the Ganados. The sight of it strickens you immediately with shock, but then nauseates you to the point of clutching your mouth to keep what little food you brought from coming back up.

The corpses have been strewn around like some sort of macabre dollhouse; lying in pieces splayed every which way, facedown in the grave dirt or strung up in the trees for the crows to peck at. Some have been gutted and others dismembered. A few have their heads missing. Intestines and gore lie in bloody wake around the site of the massacre, sticking to the soles of your boots from one step into the aftermath, and you want to vomit. God, how can you not want to vomit at the sight of it all? What god could be so cruel, even to monsters?

It's sickening to the point of panic–run, you just want to turn tail and run far, far away, but your destination hasn't been decided quite yet. Ideally you would have sat down with your map and plotted it out, found your next objective, maybe would've scoped out the closest place to rest once you're finished your search. You would've been thorough and confident like any rescuer should be.

But the cowardice in your heart screams louder than courage. In a moment, you're rushing down the path and running out the gate, frantic in shoving it open just enough to slide yourself through but too disturbed to look back towards the carnage. In seconds the church is far behind you, and in a matter of minutes you're on a new path you haven't yet considered the danger of.

All you know is that you want out of this place, you want to go home–even though home has been within arm's reach since you got here. It's never too far away, especially when you inevitably follow the road that leads right towards that infamous castle gate, and your destiny.

[lovebugism]

Hi bug!

For the domestic prompts,

#12 with Eddie?

thank u for requesting lovie! hope you like it! — you and eddie are friends with benefits, but he wants something more. you don't realize that you do, too, until he wants to see other people (fwb, idiots in love, angst, mentions of smut 18+, 1.7k)

fictober leftovers (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Sticky and still twisted in the sheets, Eddie reaches out for you.

His fingertips dance across the slick skin of your shoulder, just barely. You pull away like you always do — sluggish and dismissive, like it’s instinct to deny yourself of his affection. And even though it isn’t the first time you’ve rejected his softness (not nearly, not even half), it still aches the same.

Eddie laughs it off like he’s always had to. It’s easier that way.

“Wanna go get food, at least?” he asks with a soft chuckle. The color of the boyish sound matches the faint yellow glow of your bedside lamp — golden.

With your eyes still closed, weighed down by the post-sex honey, you shake your head into the pillow. “No, I’m good,” you mumble, then writhe and stretch beneath the blanket like a cat. 

Your eyes flutter open in time to catch the pained look on Eddie’s face. His features are blurry with bliss and exhaustion, screwed slightly like he’s flinching from your words.

“I can’t really feel my legs right now, so…” you joke with a quiet smile instead of telling him that no, you can’t go out to eat because that’s basically a date, and that’s not what this is. You think you’ve repeated that spiel enough for a lifetime.

Eddie knows this, but he appreciates that you care enough not to hurt his feelings.

A crooked grin tugs at his swollen pink lips. His pale legs swing over the side of your bed as he reaches for his boxers, left forgotten on the floor with the rest of your clothes. He stands to tug them up his hips again.

“Well, you wouldn’t happen to have any food in the kitchen, would you?” he wonders, glancing at you over his shoulder. His chocolate eyes twinkle when he flashes you a teasing grin. “Something other than chips and mac and cheese, preferably.”

“I think I have some leftover takeout in the fridge,” you answer with an absentmindedness that Eddie’s gotten used to by now. You care about him, but only so much, and not enough to make a big deal about any of it.

“Ah, leftovers,” Eddie repeats with a whimsical sigh. “The epitome of romance.”

You snort a faint laugh and prop your cheek on your fist. “Well, I’d cook for you, but I wouldn’t wanna give you the wrong idea.”

“Hey. C’mon. I’m, like, Feminist Numero Uno, alright? I’d happily be your housewife—” He cuts himself off with a laugh when you reach for a pillow. He flinches when you half-heartedly swat him with it.

“That’s what I’m talking about! We’re not dating, Eddie!” you say with a sweet laugh that only halfway lessens the blow of your words. “You’re not my housewife— you’re not my anything!”

You have to remind him of that a lot. He has these moments, where he wants to get all sweet and cuddly and play boyfriend with you. As far as you’re concerned, the affection is supposed to stop when your clothes are on. That line’s a whole lot blurrier for Eddie.

He doesn’t know when he’s supposed to stop loving you because he loves you all the time.

The stinging returns. There’s a million crackling orange embers in his chest, where he’s pretty sure his heart is supposed to be. You’ve stolen it, though, with no intentions of returning it. Eddie’s happy to let you keep the wretched, bleeding organ of his. He likes that you’re holding it. Even though your nails are digging crescent shapes into the delicate thing.

“Right,” he murmurs, then clears his throat when his voice breaks. “Yeah.”

“Maybe instead of eating my stale leftovers, you call Chrissy and invite her out to dinner?” you offer with an absentminded shrug, turning onto your stomach and kicking your feet up behind you. Your legs poke out from beneath the thin sheet, showing the faintest sliver of your ass. 

Eddie takes great care not to look at you. You’re so pretty it hurts — hurts ‘cause he can’t have you.

“I’m sure she’ll say yes.”

Eddie thinks for a moment, then nods. “Yeah. Maybe. ’S probably a better idea, huh?”

This isn’t the first time you’ve teased him about Chrissy. She’s the prettiest waitress at Benny’s Burgers — hell, all of Hawkins, even — and she’s crazy sweet on him. Any other day, he’d argue back and forth with you about it. “She doesn’t like me,” he’d tell you, “She doesn’t even exist to me when you’re around.”

No, this isn’t the first time you’ve brought up Chrissy, but it’s the first time he isn’t detested by the sheer thought of being with anyone other than you.

You falter. Just for a moment. “I mean, duh— all my ideas are better than yours.”

“You really won’t be mad if I take Chrissy on a date?” Eddie asks you, bending at the waist to tug his black ripped jeans over his long, pale legs. His chocolate eyes twinkle with expectancy. He wants so badly for you to say yes.

You won’t humor him with any of that, though. 

“‘Course not. We’re not dating, so… I don’t really have a reason to get mad.”

Distantly heartbroken, he nods. “Okay. Good.”

“It might be better, actually,” you confess, trying hard not to stare too long at his happy trail when his milky white hands button his pants. “You know, if we both start seeing other people.”

Eddie freezes. “What? Like— breaking up?”

“Well, there’s no breaking up involved.”

“Right… ‘Cause you’re not my girlfriend.” 

The words taste like vinegar leaving his mouth.

They shouldn’t sting you like they do. 

You try to smile, anyway. “Exactly. Look at you, Eds— You’re finally getting the hang of it.”

“So, what? I see Chrissy, and you see…?” he trails off, turning away from you to search for the Metallica t-shirt he wore on the way over. He finds it on your bookshelf, likely from where he’d flung it over his shoulder in an attempt to make you laugh.

“I don’t know. I guess, I can see if Steve’s free. He’s usually a reliable fuck.”

Eddie glances at you, doe eyes narrowed. He’s trying to analyze you — to gauge whether or not you’re being genuine or if you’re bringing up your ex to hurt him. Maybe it’s both. It’s sort of what he’s doing to you now, anyway.

He’s only half as genuine as he is angry about the whole thing, but he’ll burn alive before he lets you see how furious it makes him feel.

He scoffs a bitter chuckle and tugs his shirt over his head. “Well, have fun with King Steve, I guess.”

“As long as you have fun with the princess,” you tease with too sweet grin.

“Oh, I’m sure I will.” 

That’s all he says — in the place of any real goodbye. Most times, he refuses to leave your apartment until he’s smothered you in a thousand kisses. He hopes the lack of him makes you ache, that you’re grieved by his leaving just as much as he is.

You are, but you won’t let him know it.

You know you won’t have any fun without Eddie. You’re praying he won’t have any fun with Chrissy either — lest he falls for her and her pretty eyes and how kindly she treats him. But fuck, he deserves that. He deserves someone who doesn’t have a physical aversion to affection. He deserves a whole lot more than you.

He should go out to meet Chrissy, but you stop him before he’s got his hand on the rusted doorknob to leave.

“Eds, wait!” you call from the bedroom, plucking his leather jacket from the back of your desk chair and running into the living room with the thin top sheet clutched to your chest.

The boy turns around, eyes as wild as his hair. In a fleeting moment of irrational hope, he thinks you’re about to ask him to stay — to eat your leftovers with him and let him love you. But then he sees the jacket in your fist and tries to ignore the searing knife you’ve plunged into his chest.

“Can’t forget this,” you tease with a glimmer in your eye. “Cheerleaders dig the leather jacket, you know?”

Eddie squints when he takes it from you. His sly, halfway-forced smirk matches your own. “And how would you know that?”

“I don’t. It’s just a feeling.”

“Okay,” Eddie nods as he slides the jacket over his shoulders and arms. “That’s fair, I guess. Thanks for looking out.”

“‘Course,” you shrug, all nonchalant about the whole thing. You’re kissing the breath from his lungs a second later, leaning forward to knock your nose with his and smother his plush pink mouth with your own.

Eddie freezes, shocked by the sudden act of affection. 

You were never one for goodbyekisses — “That’s for people who’ve been together for two months or two decades, Eds,” you’d giggle while he’d sprinkle pecks to your nose, mouth, and cheek. “Not for people who only meet up to fuck.”

You’d always been more to him than that, but it hurt you never saw him any different.

But here you are now — kissing him stupid and staining his tongue with your taste before he’s shoving it down Chrissy Cunningham’s throat. You want him to taste you all night. You want him to remember you even when you’re not there. Because god knows this asshole’s gonna be on your mind all night.

You pull back from him after a few long moments, with swollen lips and heavy eyes. You trap your smile between your teeth and wrap your arms around yourself, keeping the sheet bunch up there even though he’s seen you in much, much less.

“Call me later, and let me know how it goes, yeah?”

Eddie, gone sufficiently dumb after being kissed so ardently, just nods for several agonizing seconds. “Yeah. Okay. Sure. Whatever,” he babbles with a rosy, freshly kissed mouth.

You turn on your heel and head back to your bedroom. Even when you disappear behind the shut door, Eddie stands in place — like he’s waiting for you to come back out and do the charade all over again.

The shower faucet hisses faintly. It knocks him from his daze, tells him he’d better take the pieces of you when he can get them instead of constantly sitting in wait for them.

On his way home, he tries to remember Chrissy Cunningham’s phone number. He knows there’s a six in the beginning, a three somewhere in the middle, and two sevens towards the end. 

He can’t think straight anymore.

You’re on his mind, on his mouth, and on his fingers.

There’s no use in thinking about anything but you.

[zilabee]

Living The Beatles Legend:

After a lifetime of self-doubt over body issues and inveterate shyness, he simply couldn’t control himself. “Big Mal was a demon for sex,” Tony wrote. “[...] Like sacrificial virgins, a lot of the girls willingly accepted that they would have to do it with Mal to get to John, Paul, George, or Ringo, and Mal knew it.”

“A couple of newspaper friends put on a private show involving several prostitutes for our entertainment, one of them being very pregnant.” As Mal recalled, “It was a little unnerving to have these ladies performing before our eyes with each other in one room, with Brian, George Martin and Judy, and the rather more staid members of the press in the adjoining living room.”

“I was being entertained by a young lady late one evening,” Mal wrote, “when George rushes into the darkened room, stoned out of his mind, tearing the bedclothes off, shouting, ‘My turn next—come on, give us a bit!’” Mal gave way to the Beatle, concluding that “apart from that, I was the one that got screwed.”

By this point, [Lily] wasn’t just finding “silly groupie letters” in his suitcase, but also the occasional stray pair of knickers and other telltale signs of infidelity. She recognized that Mal was being seduced—and had been for some time—by overwhelming forces, impulses with which she could hardly begin to compete.

After her brother returned from the States, June recalled that “Malcolm came home knackered, absolutely shattered from that tour.” [...] Her brother and the Beatles were living in a “totally unreal world—an extraordinary, horrendous, wonderful, terrible place that they were all existing in during that period. And they were all damaged by it. They suddenly could have anything they wanted.”

After sharing a convivial dinner with Victoria’s father, who retired early, Mal (31yo) and Victoria (16yo) returned to the hotel and went up to the twenty-seventh floor. [..] “Mal was very sweet,” she recalled, “and we talked and we talked, and we sort of made out.” And while she was unable to meet the Beatles the next morning to do an interview, she exchanged contact information with Mal. And later that year, the letters from her new pen pal began arriving, elegantly adorned with “this beautiful British handwriting.” *

Eventually, Mal would develop a vital relationship of his own with the Scruffs, although he had his detractors—namely, Carol Bedford, a peripheral member of their scrum and a George aficionado who later claimed that Mal tried to put the moves on her. Apparently, Mal had continued to approach women in the Beatles’ universe in the same transactional manner in which he and Neil had “auditioned” willing fans during the band’s touring years. Another Apple Scruff recalled a similar instance when Mal’s attempts to cozy up to the Scruffs went terribly wrong. Apparently, he had crawled under one of the girls’ blankets and “touched something he shouldn’t have.” With that, the offended Scruff came flying out from under the blanket yelling, “Who do you think you are, Paul McCartney?” **

Since leaving the hospital, [Arwen (21yo)] had reared Little Malcolm in her cramped lodgings in West Hampstead. At some point, around the age of six months, he was put up for adoption, leaving her care lock, stock, and barrel, with Mal’s teddy bear as the baby’s only consolation. Mal’s diary would enumerate lunches and telephone calls with the young woman at various points across 1969, but eventually, Arwen chose to move on, putting the whole painful episode behind her. ***

[For his son's birthday] Mal made a cassette recording in which he offered his sincere wishes for the coming year. [...] But any goodwill Mal hoped to deliver was quickly undone that morning as Gary listened to the recording over breakfast with his mother and sister. To his incredible pain and embarrassment, the tape didn’t end with his father’s birthday greeting. Apparently, Mal had recycled the cassette, and as Gary and his sister prepared to go to school, they heard the unmistakable sounds of Fran fellating their dad. The boy’s only solace was the knowledge that his eight-year-old sister didn’t understand the sounds emanating from the tape player.

[..]for the first time, Fran found herself afraid of her boyfriend, whose darkness had never been more acute. It all came to a head one night when Mal, drunk to the gills, began threatening her with his Colt Woodsman pistol, at one point placing the gun against her head before discharging it into the washing machine. When he sobered up, Mal couldn’t have been more apologetic, swearing to mend his ways and be the boyfriend she deserved.

____________________________________

Another quote under the cut, with trigger warning for rape and attempted suicide - and a few notes about some of it.

____________________________________

June 1964 - New Zealand

At the time, the official story involved a twenty-year-old female fan who, having secreted her way into the hotel, chose to slash her wrists in Mal’s room after being unable to talk her way into the Beatles’ suite. Fortunately, police caught sight of the young woman through a window and broke down the locked door with a battering ram. She was subsequently taken to a local hospital and discharged that same day.

[There are then some bits about how Derek tried to ensure it didn't link back to the Beatles in anyway, and the way the press reported it as "Girl Tries To Die For Beatles", and someone else claiming she'd actually had sex with someone and then got 'hysterical' because she realised he wasn't going to get her in to see the Beatles... but eventually it cuts to the quote from Mal's diary below.]

“On arriving back at the hotel at two in the morning,” he wrote, “I was greeted by a crowd of police and detectives as the elevator doors opened at my floor. On verifying that I occupied a particular room number, they very solemnly escorted me there, where to my horror on opening the door, I found the bathroom and bedroom covered in blood. Apparently, what had happened [was] several people had gang-banged her in my bedroom. She was so distraught, she took a razor blade from my razor and slashed her wrists, but was discovered in time and recovered in hospital. Obviously I was a prime suspect, but I had the best alibi in the world—I was drinking tea with her mother.” ****

____________________________________

* Victoria was 16, and Mal was 31. He wrote with her for a few years and met up with her again several times, and there's a quote where she says she "thought she was in love with him", and another where she was surprised to find out he was married. He's a grown man with a family and it's creepy as fuck that he was leading on/grooming a 16 year old girl - although I think according to the book they never had sex.

** I've bolded a lot of the wording which fucks me the fuck off in that passage about apple scruffs, what a fucking weird piece of writing. Apparently apparently apparently - I don't even think he's using it to suggest it might not be true, I think he's just using it to make it sound a bit casual, oh turns out he was just treating them like shit like he used to! Oh he was just 'cozying up' ??????? The last bit also feels like the girl being able to fight her corner and tell him off is being used to suggest it therefore didn't matter - not to suggest that there were probably lots of other girls who didn't want his hands on them but didn't know how to say no. It's also quickly followed by a quote of another apple scruff saying he took care of them like a big brother and they all loved him. Which is fine. But teenage girls feeling as though the creepy guy who is being nice to them in order to take advantage is just being nice to them, doesn't mean much. It's creepy that he was trying to befriend the young vulnerable girls that idolised anyone who worked with Beatles, you've literally just said he was doing it in a 'transactional manner'.

*** The author used a pseudonym for Arwen - a young woman that Mal had an affair and a child with. He wrote in his diary when the child was born, and visited them, "gifting the boy with an oversize teddy bear from Harrods". Personally I think 'chose to move on' covers an awful lot of pain very glibly. Imagine having to give your baby away after six months, imagine what she went through. It is not a small thing that he carelessly got a young woman pregnant and then offered her nothing.

**** I think we all live in Beatles fandom knowing that the people we enjoy did awful terrible things, but sometimes it's good to confront how bad it was, even if we'll never know who was involved in this particular incident. Or how often it happened to other women. Whether Beatles were involved here or not, they were around this, they were inside it. They were influenced by and friends with horrible people. Imagine writing that in your diary like it's a good joke that you were having tea with her mum while she was going through that, and not how awful that would actually feel if you had a heart. The author adds that this incident affected Mal, saying, "His “demon” persona was still alive and well, to be sure, but there would be perceptible shifts in his outlook as the group’s touring days moved forward." I didn't really pick up on these, so I'm not sure how so.

[tarisilmarwen]

RobStar Week 2024, Day 6 - Favorite Quotes

(This one was the hardest to come up with a concept for, but I think I like this.)

---

"Okay, I give up," groaned Beast Boy, slumping backwards into his seat. "What's that one from?"

"Gone With The Wind!" Starfire exclaimed, reading off the answer card. "You have not seen it? I am told it is a Hollywood classic."

"Isn't that like... four hours or something?" Beast Boy asked. He shook his head. "Yeah, there's no way I'm sitting still in one place for that."

"Says the guy who stays up until two in the morning every time Clash of the Planets reruns come on," snarked Raven from her place on the couch, nose buried in a book, per usual.

Beast Boy stuck out his tongue and then amended, "There's no way I'm sitting still in one place for something that doesn't have explosions, high-octane action, epic plot twists, cool laser swords and a classic sci-fi story, Raven."

Giggling, Starfire handed the question deck to Robin. "I believe it is my turn," she said.

She scooped up the dice, shook them, dropped them, them moved her piece the required amount of spaces.

"Romcoms and Romance," she announced, landing on the red space on the game board.

Robin nodded, flipping randomly through the question cards until he found one of the matching color. He pulled it out and studied it a moment.

Then he cleared his throat.

"'You gotta say yes first.'," he read out.

"Oh this is a good one!" Cyborg commented, tapping his palms on the table with anticipation.

Starfire, meanwhile, was screwing up her face in a way that looked very cute. "Ohhh, I know this, I know this..." she told herself, pinching a thumb to her lip.

Robin smiled at her adorable concentration, silently thrilling when she lit up with a gasp.

"Serendipity!" she exclaimed.

"You got it. I don't think I would've," Robin confessed, grinning as he passed the question deck on over to Cyborg.

"No?" asked Starfire.

"Was never really into that one." He shrugged. "Not my thing." He picked up his dice. "The movie or the genre."

"Oh yes, I remember," Starfire said. "You are very 'picky' when it comes to the romance movies."

"I'll bet it's Batman's influence," laughed Beast Boy. "I'll bet he was all like—" He slipped under the table, popping up next to Robin and grabbing the edge of his cape, drawing it across his face with his arm in dramatic fashion. "—'Robin you must never fall in love, feelings distract from the mission!'" he grunted, putting on a gruff baritone.

Robin grimaced, even as he laughed a bit.

"Pretty much," he said. "But even beyond that I just... don't really like a lot of the tropes and genre conventions. The deceptions, the disposable fiances..." His hands stilled as he grew contemplative, and Beast Boy slowly snuck back to his seat as Robin continued, "I think I prefer the love stories that grow out of hardships overcome and shared experiences. Having adventures together."

He glanced up, his gaze landing on Starfire and becoming significant.

"Facing the end of the world together and being able to come out the other end because your care for each other is so strong."

She held his look, flushing slightly pink. There was something palpable and unspoken between them, and the context of their recent excursion to Tokyo lingered in the air.

Cyborg coughed pointedly.

"Are you gonna finish rolling or would you rather keep making goo goo eyes at Star?" he asked dryly.

Robin and Starfire broke eye contact, Robin giving an awkward cough and flushing brightly.

He dropped his dice and moved his token.

"Action/Adventure," he said.

"Oh thank Azar," Raven muttered.

Cyborg pulled out a card from the stack.

"'I would rather share one lifetime with you—'"

"Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring," chimed multiple voices around the table.

Cyborg flicked the card out of his hand in exasperation. "Shoulda figured."

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

You're waiting for a train...(15)

Come Back To Reality

Robert Fischer x reader

description - Y/n and Cobb are finally able to come back to reality. But Y/n worries if her and Robert in the dream was just that; a dream.

word count - 1.6k

warnings - just way too much fluff!

a/n - why am I actually getting sad how close we are to the end! I know this one feels like the end but we've still got one more chapter left ;)

Previous Part Series Master list Master list

If you want to be added to the taglist - here

3…2…1.

My eyelids fluttered open with the weight of a thousand hours. My body laced with grogginess. I crack my bones and felt the comfort of the plane seat under me.

I smiled.

We did it.

I giggled.

I turned to my side and greeted each member with giddiness. We all sat back and relished in success.

I felt a hand grip my shoulder from behind. I turned to see Arthur shooting me a wink. I placed my hand over his and squeezed it in acceptance.

I looked over and failed to meet Robert’s own gaze as he was locked in contemplation. I realised his mind must be flooded, the overcrowding shocking his sense into silence.

But my eyes trained on my father’s still sleeping form. My breath stuck in my throat. His eyes fluttered ever so softly and when they finally opened, they were tired enough for a lifetime. But they were still bright. And they still pleaded love once they landed on my form. As I squirmed about in my seat unable to hide my excitement. He laughed at the freedom of my movements.

Saito followed soon after. He reached into his jacket to pull out his phone.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I stood by my father in the queue for passport control. The others had separated off but we stayed together.

His hand slipped into my mine and gave it an affirming grip.

He was next in line.

He turned to me, his face flushed as he was about to divulge everything he could, fearing this could be his last chance. Saito could have screwed him. The clearance may not have been successful.

He struggled to find the words so I decided to help him out.

“I guess you’re healed now. Whatever happened down there it was definitely some form of catharsis.”

“For you and me both.” He breathlessly laughed out.

“I don’t know about that.” His face fell at my sad tone. “I’m gonna need some time. A lot of things have happened down there. I just don’t think I can do it yet.”

“I understand.” He delivered a swift kiss to my hairline. But pulled away with his hand still clasped around mine. “But now we’ve got all the time we need. We’re not running against the clock anymore.” A tear escaped in relief. But I brushed it away before I became noticeable.

“Next.” Was shouted down our line. Dad nervously looked to the awaiting officer. We came together in as miniscule a hug as we could muster before he was sent along first.

He offered up his passport and the officers eyes passed over it intensely. A minute drudged on. We never stopped for a single gasp.

“Welcome to America, Mr Cobb.” His passport was stamped and shoved back to him across the counter. I could see my dad’s frame melt and relax. He moved on more spritely than I’d ever seen. This meant it was my turn and as I approached no worries plagued me. But as my passport was shoved back to me, I remembered there was still just one. And he currently stood at the desk to the side of me.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I shucked my suitcase off of the carousel. I slowly paced my way back down to the exit, following my dad’s silhouette.

I passed each member and acknowledged them with minute appreciation.

I nodded at Yusuf.

I waved at Ariadne.

I winked at Eames.

I smiled at Arthur.

But I was struck in my place when I saw Robert waiting for his own bag. His eyes were locked on his phone but they briefly flitted up just enough to recognise my frame. Fearfully, I scampered to the side. Taking solace behind Arthur’s frame. He looked down at me and couldn’t help but giggle.

He looked up to Robert. He then nodded in understanding.

He turned around and gripped me by the arms so I couldn’t run from what he was about to say.

“We both know what you promised yourself, but we both know how you feel. After everything,” He trailed off and looked over to where Robert was searching for my frame in the crowd.  “I think you finally need to take something for yourself” He patted my shoulder and then unceremoniously shoved me towards Robert. I stilled but then ran back to place one last kiss on Arthur’s cheek.

Well I guess there was no turning back now.

I skipped up hoping speed would remove my desire to turn back. I tapped his shoulder and he turned around.

“I just wanted to say I heard about your father and I wanted to offer my sympathy. You must miss him?”

Our eyes finally met unadulterated and we both were allowed to show as much desire as we could.

“Have we met? You look awfully familiar.” The question no longer filled me with dread. I tucked my hair behind my ear and giggled at his dulcet tone.

“I’d like to think I’d remember someone like you.” I flirted back. He laughed but his eyes still raked mine for familiarity. I shook out to start again. “The plane. I was the wall you crashed into.” He laughed in memory and seemed to relax upon this declaration.

“Robert Fischer.” He held out his hand and I shook it. I couldn’t believe how soft his skin was. “But seeing as you already mentioned my father you already knew that so forget what I said it was stupid.” He broke his hand away and mimicked shooing. His body was racked with nerves. So I clasped his hand once again.

“Y/n Cobb. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.” He breathed out through a smile. “Beautiful.” He whispered before his mind could catch up.

“I’m sorry?” I questioned, thinking I had misheard.

“Oh sorry it’s just that I think you’re very beautiful but there were more eloquent ways to express it.” He once again began to flap his hands about. He seemed embarrassed but I found it endearing.

“Anyways it was lovely to meet you.” I declared and quickly turned, secretly hoping he would stop me.

“Wait!” Told you. “Can I get your number?”

I turned back around but didn’t stop walking as I shouted back.

“I gave you my name. If you’re as powerful as you look you’ll find me by tomorrow.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I caught up to my dad as he conversed with grandad. I fidgeted as I approached, nervous about meeting his eyes for the first time in years. Instead he took my hands away from their movement and pulled me into a bone crushing hug. Tears burst out and it was the only conversation I needed.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

We arrived back to the home I had struck from my memory. Fearing it would sting too much.

We both got out, our steps tipping on the edge.

The walk inside felt a lifetime and it seemed the buzzing of life resumed within my mind once again.

We stood as strangers in our own living room. My eyes flitted over every surface to commit it to my mind.

Grandad approached the garden.

“James! Philippa!”

 The two innocent frames finally turned from their play and I laughed through tears when I got to meet their beautiful eyes once again.

They ran forward. Jumping into the awaiting arms of their father and sister. James launched into me whilst my dad swung Philippa around. I sunk my head into James’ neck and just relished in feeling him close. We eventually swapped and I offered Philippa the piggy backs she had loved. She began playing with my hair from behind, slicking it through into loose braids. But she gave up and instead felt she’d be more at peace with her arms locked tightly around my neck and her cheek next to mine.

A thousand photographs could never capture the love of that single moment.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I awoke and stretched in the sheets that had been left since my last day. They had been washed, obviously, but grandma had tried to keep my room as untouched as possible.

My bones melted from the deepest sleep I had ever had. For the first time I had slept unaided and it had cured every ache in my chest.

Suddenly my door was thrown open and I looked up in time to see James launch himself onto body. He cuddled into my side and I threw my arms around him, squeezing him.

“Good morning, Jamesy.”

“There’s a man here.” His voice, ladened with sleep, informed. I tensed.

“He’s got a really fancy car and suit and he asked for you.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

My bare feet plodded across the cold wooden floor. I shuddered in my shorts and tank top. I opened the door. And there I was greeted with Robert, in his perfectly tailored suit, stood in front of his car, that I am assuming he didn’t drive himself due to the man stood to the side.

A smile brushed across his face when I finally entered his sight.

“Do you have any idea how many Y/n Cobbs there are in L.A.?” He declared with perfect practise.

“Well, I didn’t want to make it easy for you.” I teased back whilst carefully making my way to him across the stones.

We were now inches apart. Just gazing into each other.

 “So did I pass the test? Am I powerful enough to take you out on a date?” He toyed using my previous taunt. I blushed under his intense gaze. My hair fell in front of my face but he carefully brushed it back behind my ear.

“What did you have in mind?” I asked and he smiled so brightly.

From inside the house my dad watched on from the kitchen window. His morning coffee clasped in his hand. Like me, his previous attire was forgone for a soft pyjama top and checkered pants. He looked onto his daughter but once he recognised the light which oozed from her frame, he merely relented, well as much as any father can, and smiled.

“You would’ve been proud of her, Mal.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

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[smeddiemunson]

“It’s like carrots.”

Steve blinked. “Bottoming… is like carrots?”

He liked to think he understood Eddie, got him in ways that other people might not. But there were still moments where he felt just as confused as when they first started hanging out.

Eddie nodded sagely. Then laughed as Steve’s face screwed up further in confusion.

“So I don’t not like carrots but I don’t want to eat them.”

“What the fuck do you mean?”

Eddie tapped the tip of his tongue against his top lip as he thought. “Well if the carrots are cut up all small and are in like a meat pie filling or something, then I won’t pick around my food to take them out.”

“But you won’t eat carrots if they’re on the side? Or on their own?” Steve asked, thinking he was maybe starting to understand.

Eddie snapped his fingers together. “Exactly! If I have to bottom then I will, but I’d much prefer to top.”

Steve mulled the thought over a little. He never liked thinking about Eddie with other guys, but he supposed it was a necessary evil. They hadn’t had sex with Steve on the bottom yet, they’d done everything else, but with it being Steve’s first time in a relationship with a guy, Eddie had wanted to take it slow and ease him into it.

“I like carrots,” he said finally. “They’re a great snack with dip.”

Eddie laughed indulgently. “Okay, it might be like broccoli then.”

“I like broccoli too. It’s my favourite vegetable, especially when it’s stir fried in butter.”

Eddie’s face screwed up in disgust. “I’ll trust your judgement. What vegetable don’t you like but you’ll still eat?”

Steve had to think for a second. “Zucchini,” he settled on.

“What the fuck is a zucchini?”

Steve snorted. “It’s a kind of squash.”

Eddie nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. So bottoming, for you, might be like Zucchini. It might be like carrots. Hell, it might even be like broccoli and you never want to top. Whatever you feel about it, you can talk to me, okay? I’m not gonna leave you if our interests don’t line up.”

“What if I hate it and only ever want to top?” Steve asked quietly. “What will you do then?”

Eddie shrugged. “Guess I’ll settle in for a lifetime of being a bottom.”

“You’d do that for me?”

Eddie shrugged again, turning away as he said, “Maybe I’ll learn to love it. If it’s cooked the right way.”

Steve laughed. “Thank you.” He tangled his fingers together with Eddie’s so he could place a kiss on the back of his hands.

It took Eddie a long second to look back at Steve, a faint stain of red across his cheeks. He still struggled to say the really soft things. He wasn’t used to it. Steve sometimes forgot that just because he was experienced with sex that this was his first real relationship.

“You wanna do this then?”

Steve looked down at himself, sat in Eddie’s lap, shorts riding up his thighs as his kneed caged Eddie’s slim waist.

“Now?”

Eddie untangled one of his hands to tilt Steve’s chin up to look him in the eye.

“You have a really comfy bed up those stairs, plenty of lube and no one is around. There’s no better time to do it,” he explained. “But if you want to wait, we can go upstairs and you can top me again. No big deal.”

Steve thought about the carrot analogy, then shook his head. “No.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows slightly. “No to what?”

“No, I don’t want to top you right now,” Steve explained. “I want to try you topping me.”

Eddie bit his lip and smiled wildly around it. He tapped Steve’s hip. “Come on then, let’s go.”

Steve laughed as Eddie’s chased him up the stairs, then through the kisses Eddie left all over his face and neck as he laid him down in the bed.

Later, after Eddie had taken his time taking Steve apart, when there was a thin sheen of sweat across both their bodies, lube coating Steve’s inner thighs and two lots of cum drying between them, Eddie gently manoeuvred Steve so his head was pillowed on his chest. He gently scratched his fingers over Steve’s scalp.

Steve shifted his head to look up at Eddie. He watched as Eddie breathed slowly, with his eyes closed and a slight smile on his face, as if he were reliving what they’d just done.

“Hey Eds,” Steve whispered.

Eddie hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t open his eyes. Steve was kind of grateful for it.

“I really like carrots.”