#anyway big rant sorry if you made it this far feel free to drop your thoughts in my inbox

[mydemonsdrivealimo]

please send me some asks of anything art or writing wise you wanna see from the priate au!! im trying to muscle through the last of the second chapter before the end of the month :)

[iid-smile]

can't get rid of me , fushiguro toji

a strong legacy to be left behind , chapter one

the series masterlist. | previous | next

cw: profanity, mentions of pregnancy (pills) but filtered for megumi's sake, mentions of violence in prison, you're broke, smoking cigarettes

author's note: sigh... im out of my fluff era 😞 (sorry guys) kinda wanted to write something that i think would actually happen in some sort of alternate jjk universe and um idk how far to go because this kind of stuff does happen in the manga, but writing it feels illegal??? idk...

"mom?" megumi peeks out from around the corner in the hallway. "who was calling?"

another groan escapes your lips, around the fifth one in the last three minutes, and you silence your phone once again. "your— excuse my language, shitty deadbeat dad keeps wanting to call me." you slap your hand across your forehead and lean back on the couch, a small creak coming from somewhere below. "apparently he's getting aggressive in prison. shut off the house phone, but they still found my number..."

your son comes closer to you, and you scoop him up, placing him by your side. he glances up at you, and you swear your fight or flight instincts nearly kicked in, (not that you'd be able to fight of a guy as big as toji anyways) flinching slightly from his sharp gaze. it sucks how he looks so much like his dad, because you loved megumi so much. but the image of that guy was almost too much to bear, and he's the spitting image.

"shitty?" he repeats. for a well-behaved kid, he really doesn't respect your words.

"don't say that megs, it's bad language." you swear around him all of the time, so what's the point in scolding him? "only your mama can say it."

"don't tell me what to do."

wow. okay. why do you feel threatened by a six year old? "damn, you've got his attitude too." you mutter, but you've only got yourself to blame for that. you knew you were never cut out to be a mother, so your ways of parenting weren't the best.

he snuggles closer to you, and you openly accept, moving your free hand to his hair to rub over it. "why can't i see toji?"

ah, this lovely story again. "because he left me as soon as you were born, love." really, you couldn't and didn't want to stop yourself from wrapping him up in your arms, feeling the need to protect him. "at this point, he's dead to me. seems like he doesn't feel the same though... i'm so sick of his ass." you also knew it wasn't good parenting to rant to your child about adult issues, but you've only got him to talk to.

that hug was out of comfort then. why are you lying to yourself?

he looks up at you with an irritatingly cute but blank face. "why?"

"god, i hate how many questions you ask." you speak under your breath once again, looking up at the ceiling from any sort of help from a higher being. the amount of times you've had to family-friendly-ify things that have happened isn't even funny. you're not naturally rated u for universal. it's more embarrassing when he recites those same stories to his teachers, and you get called into the school for a little talk.

yikes... here we go. "he lied when he said he gave me the right magical candy after we visited the stork. tried to make it drop you off back to where babies are made in heaven, but i wanted it to deliver you to me, whether he liked that or not." the story's got to be a little filtered somehow. you'd rather not get yourself in the principal's office again. "you're my little hero; a miracle to me. i would've given up on myself ages ago. your dad is a bad, bad man."

the type that would kill. if he found where you lived, or perhaps where megumi goes to school...

"and now i'm left broke in an apartment that barely functions, yet i still spoil my little hero." you sing-song, leaning your head back. "and with what money? i'm broke as hell, megs. can't even make both of us breakfast in the morning cuz your elementary school is too damn expensive."

"is this my fault?"

"...no. no, baby, of course not." you furrow your eyebrows more, a small pout in your lips. "if anything, you made my situation a bit more fortunate."

it's a selfish way of thinking, using your child to avoid solving your problems, using your child to wail and complain about how much you hate your life, but you've got nothing to lose. nothing to lose except for the one person you love.

you can feel your phone buzzing again.

"you stay here and watch tv, okay? mama's gonna go to the kitchen and talk to her friend." he seems a bit relieved as you let go of him, and you stand up.

you hear him mutter. "it's only playing the news though..." no shit it only plays the news, you can't afford to get a good television company that has any kids shows. that is, unless you wanna get scammed out of all of your money.

begrudgingly, you make your way to the kitchen, confirm that you closed the door completely, and answer the vibrating device. "hello?" you sigh, placing the device over your ear.

the other person on the call replies quickly. "is this miss—"

"yeah, yeah, it is. what the hell do you want?"

"um... we apologise, but we strongly suggest that you come to the prison building. he—" the guy's voice cracks. must be really nervous. "pardon me. he's been physically assaulting other inmates and guards, he doesn't follow orders, he never leaves his cell unless it's to visit the closed visits room. you know, in hopes that you'll come..."

obsessed much? where was this energy six years ago? "that's got nothing to do with me."

"please, ma'am. he won't listen to anyone, and we are unable to place him into special facilities as he doesn't emit any cursed energy." ah, he's begging? that's a first. you never would've thought you'd hear a person who works at a prison begging.

cursed energy, cursed energy, this talk again and again and again. "urgh..." you take a deep breath. your options are limited, and they won't stop calling until they can get that lunatic to calm down... surprise, surprise, you really don't want to go.

but if you were really uninterested in him, wouldn't you have already spent the bail money that's been sat on the counter for ages, neatly concealed in an envelope? wouldn't you have paid off all of your debts already? "will i— hm..." choose your words carefully, goddamn it. "can i get a reward of some sort if i go? money?"

"yes, yes! please do visit. there's nothing we can legally do to him in check anymore." ...you think this guy sounds a little too eager.

damn toji and his "supernatural powers", or else you wouldn't get yourself into this mess. finally, after your moment of silence, you respond. "okay. i'll visit."

"thank you—!" you cut off the line.

"fucking bastard..." you drop your phone on the counter, running your hands through your hair and over your face. "stressing me out for what? you don't even love me." your words turn into whispers. with haste, you rummage through your back pocket, trying to find those last few cigarettes, but as your hands were occupied, your eyes moved over to the ashtray that was collecting dust on top of the microwave. oh, right... you don't smoke anymore because there's no ventilation indoors.

you'd have to head out if you wanted to, but then megumi would be in the apartment on his own. and nobody can babysit, because you don't have anybody to ask to babysit. great, you can't smoke until monday. it's a friday afternoon. you have two whole days to get through!

you know for a fact your addiction won't hold out for that long.

[toskarin]

so re: urobu chi in madoka we are just replacing the "man/ghost" with a girl with grey hair, right? I buy that.

I think he has strayed away from these basic conventions a lot as of late, but he also has been working a lot less in general. I'm curious if you have a favorite of gen's work or if you feel you haven't absorbed enough of it to have an opinion (or maybe you just don't like any of it). while it does boil down to the basic framework you describe I feel like on the journey to that he explores some pretty interesting ideas. Just as well I also like the different ways he resolves his "everything sucks" narratives. at least I feel by the end usually there is more there than that basic idea but sometimes it takes too long to get there.

As far as zero is concerned, Nasu approved it basically all the way through its release and worked with gen on it so there is that. And when you consider Gen was basically given free reign there's no real reason for him to stick to the original concepts, I don't think (but I understand the argument for him to do just that). I guess my takeaway is if you find them incompatible (zero and stay) then that's fine because they were made by two completely different people, the same way I don't have Aliens in the same headspace as Aliens. They are different things that just happen to have the same characters.

I spent a lot of time just stating my own opinions rather than asking yours, sorry. Whatever you feel about Gen (I'm not a big fan but he's made some stuff I like), it's hard for me to say he did some interesting things that a lot of authors would be too afraid to do (or perhaps simply wouldn't be allowed to by their publishers).

anyway if you can/want to point me to where you've written more about these topics I'd be curious to see it!

I'm gonna apologize in advance because I'm using your ask to write my most comprehensive (and sympathetic) post on Urobuchi so far lmao

I should definitely open by clarifying that when I drop an opinion like that, I'm exaggerating my actual stance because I think it's funny to do it, so I'm not actually as anti-Urobuchi as I come off, it's just that I'm just not especially a fan (and at the end of the day, no matter what I say on here, I'm a pretty big Madoka fan who thinks Saya no Uta is a fantastic piece of horror and likes Nitroplus vns as a whole)

in general, when I sound overly negative about an author, it's usually because I don't feel the need to write out every time I find a piece of media okay or even good, so playing up some stronger opinions for a punchier line is always gonna result in what looks like a paradigm of blind praise and seething hatred. it can come off especially rough when preexisting connotations attach themselves to my rambles and rants

for example, me complaining about the misogynist tendencies of Urobuchi's writing is more of a ribbing than a hard moral judgment on whether it's got merit. I've got no idea what he's like outside of his work, besides that we like a lot of the same movies and he seems to get along with other people I hold in high regard. that's a big part of why I make a point of tending towards more tongue-in-cheek references to his choking fetish as opposed to anything with real substance

all that being said!

even though my stated opinions are oversimplifications of what I actually believe, I'm a little unfair to him, and I'm fully willing to acknowledge that. I disagree heavily with the way Zero was handled, especially in regards to how it handled preexisting characters, and it's one of those few situations where I wonder whether Nasu was actually right to lend so much creative freedom to a partner on a project he was (by all accounts) so closely involved with

Gen has a fantastic sense for horror and despair, and it's solely because he produces stories so close to what I'd consider amazing that I complain about the things holding them back. an example I'll point out is that I've never gone after the low hanging fruit of gun jokes because, while it is a recurring theme in his writing, I genuinely appreciate his fixation on the specifics of firearms

I haven't kept up with Urobuchi's stuff recently, largely because of time constraints, but I really do hope he's been working his way out of the boxes he worked himself into. if he were a purely mediocre writer who made consistently okay work, I don't think I'd have any opinions on him at all, after all

in the end, I really dislike Zero because of both what it tries to be and what it doesn't try to be. if it had been a more boring production, I'd have much less to say about it. I think that's a pretty good encapsulation of my feelings on him. I'm never bored, regardless of whether I'm having a good time

[bittenwritten]

Idle Gossip

[Harley Quinn 2019] Scarecrow x [Villain] reader

*reader is gender neutral* [Reposted from my Wattpad account]

It all started with your invitation to the Penguin’s nephew’s Bar Mitzvah coming through the mail slot. Normally, you’d prefer to keep to yourself and not attend any social gatherings. However, on this occasion you’d had a rough week and a fancy get-together seemed to be just what the doctor ordered, and so you decided to bite the bullet and attend. Unfortunately, what you seemed to completely forget, until the day of the Bar Mitzvah, is that you'd actually have to talk to people. Great.

You decided that cancelling now would just be more hassle than it was worth, and so that is how you ended up sitting round a small table with a few of your fellow Legion of Doom members discussing the recent drama that was the JoQuinn break-up. Other than the Joker blowing up the host of Good Morning Gotham, this was the first time you were hearing about the whole drama, so it was all news to you. Well, I say ‘conversation’, it was more so just Scarecrow gossiping at the group about the whole hullabaloo while everyone else was becoming tired of the non-stop gossip coming out of Jonathan’s mouth. Well, everyone but you. You couldn’t for the life of you explain, but you just seemed to hang onto every single word that came out of his mouth as he rambled on.

 You weren't even really listening to what was being said anymore, you were just so transfixed by the way he spoke, there was some kind of devilish charm to it that made you feel weak in the knees.

 You’d only recently realized your feelings for the twig of a man on a collaborative heist, where you had to suddenly drag him out of Batman's sight and ended up pinning him up against the wall. Neither of you even said anything, you just stared at each other for an uncomfortably long time until Batman walked in and caught the two of you like that. It had to be the most embarrassing point in your career, but there was something about that flustered look on his face that made your heart skip a beat.

Back in the present, Twoface looked like he was about to lose his patience before the door to the atrium swung open. Two figures stood in the doorway, the more extravagant of the two had a massive tiger on a lead in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other. You didn’t even recognise her for a split-second but her pale-white skin was an immediate give away to her identity, it was the Joker’s ex, Harley Quinn. Behind her stood the more intimidating figure of Poison Ivy, she seemed to be more disinterested with the whole thing. Harley took a swing from the bottle and threw it over her shoulder, only to stop dead in her tracks as she looked around in horror, you could only assume she mis-read her invite in regards to what type of party this was. Glancing over to your fellow villains, they seemed to be just as confused as you were.

“Well, this is an interesting development” Scarecrow commented, resting his head in his hand as he leaned forward. “You know...” he started “i bet there’s something going on between those two” he used his free-hand to gesture towards the two.

“Y’know what, I’m starving.” TwoFace quickly stood up “Bane, buddy, how's about you and I go check out the buffet?” 

“Sure, sounds good.” Bane said in his usual upbeat tone.

“Yeah, good idea.” Scarecrow added as he began to stand out of his seat.

“Nah, nah, nah.” TowFace cut him off. “Y’know two’s company but three's a crowd-” he clearly just wanted an excuse to get away from the non-stop gossip that was giving him a head-ache.

“You two just stay put, we’ll be back in a sec” and with that he bee-lined towards the buffet table with Bane following closely behind. Scarecrow slowly sat back down and stared in confusion at the two before turning his attention to you.

“Wonder what got into them” he laughed awkwardly.

“Yeah, I wonder.” you agreed and took a quick sip from your drink.

His expression turned to a more deadpan one. “Well I mean you could at least try to be a bit more subtle with it.” he scoffed.

“Sweetheart, if I was to be subtle about anything, you wouldn’t pick up on a single thing I was implying” you shot back, leaning towards him and taking another swig from your drink.

“Oh, like your obvious attraction to me.” he joked and raised an eyebrow as you spat out your drink in surprise.

“S’cuse me?!” you managed to sputter out once you recovered from your coughing fit.

“Oh give me a break.” he rolled his eyes. “I know I can be a bit oblivious at times but not to this extent.” he said as a smirk formed at the edges of his mouth.

“What are you talking about?” you laughed nervously, trying to relieve some of the sudden tension that had been created. He looked at you like you’d just asked him who Batman was before answering. 

“I mean, you avoiding me recently, your longing stares.” he put a hand on his head in overly dramatic fashion, which admittedly got a slight laugh from you.

“I mean for fucks sake, just now you were making eyes at me throughout the conversation about the break-up.” he added. Your body stiffens and heats up as he finishes his sentence. God, were you that obvious? 

At this point, your face was as red as a tomato and you were stumbling over your words as you failed to come up with a rebuttal. Luckily you were saved from this hell when Bane and TwoFace returned to the table, stopping him from continuing his accusation. You sighed in relief and looked back over to him, he still had that smug smirk on his face that always made your heart flutter. 

“How's the food over there?” you asked.

“Eh, nothing worth spoiling your dinner for.” TwoFace shrugged, sitting back into his seat.

“Uh-oh, who are these trouble-makers?” Harley walked up to the table.

“Nah, I'm just kidding- I know it’s you [name], Scarecrow, TwoFace, other side of TwoFace, Bane-!” you all laughed at her imitation. “I'm gonna’ blow up this Bar Mitzvah” Bane grumbled.

“Quinn, Great ta’ see ya’! Where've ya’ been hiding?” TwoFace asked.

“On your left side where you can’t see shit!”

You all burst into laughter again but this time you couldn’t help but steal another look at Scarecrow. You loved the way he looked when he laughed, from the way his eyes lit up to his dorky smile, you just couldn't get enough of it but you quickly looked away before he could catch your staring.

“So guess who came up with a plan to kill Batman, uh, ya girl-” but before she could continue a looming shape appeared behind her.

“Look who’s trying to run before she can walk”. Well, as if your night couldn’t get any worse, the Joker was here to completely derail it. Great.

The others laughed and you plastered on a fake smile.

“Mazel Tov!” Bane greeted him.

“Jesus”

“Glad you're here, J-man. Pull up a chair, doesn’t bother me-” Harley pulled out the menu.

“So who’s going beef and who’s going chicken?”

“You are going somewhere else-” Joker demanded.

“-because this is the Legion of Doom table! Why don’t you find the crazy bitch table?”

“Spoiler: it’s not a real table” Bane chipped in.

“That was implied-”

“Oh” Bane frowned.

“Who wants to ditch this jester and tear up Gotham with me?!” Harley yelled, which was only met with manic laughter from the Joker.

“Laugh, laugh with me” Joker ordered. You did your best to sound genuine as you forced a laugh, like the others, but you weren't too sure how convincing you sounded.

“Uhh, you know what, who needs ya’ this table is too far away from the dancefloor anyway!” Harley stomped off.

Joker pulled up a seat and sat down.

“Sorry about that folks, women am i right?” None of you really felt comfortable with that last comment.

“Joker, nice to see ya’, didn’t think you’d make it” TwoFace said, greeting him.

“Well, of course, how could i miss such a big event” he grinned, to you it seemed a bit disingenuous but you let it slide.

“Now, what did I miss?”

“Scarecrow was just telling us how Harley dumped ya’.” TwoFace explained.

“Oh really?”

The smug grin on the Joker’s face dropped as he shot a glare at Scarecrow, who was currently sweating bullets.

“Oh I'm sure you're definitely in a position to talk, Crane, seeing as your single ass can’t even get a date, let alone dump one. And for the record, I dumped her.” you could feel the condescending nature of his tone as he spoke. Jonathan looked down at his drink as Joker continued to talk down to him.

You desperately wanted to say something but were snapped out of your thoughts by a loud voice screaming “assholes-”, you all quickly turned to see where the voice came from, only to find it was Harley bitching about you all to Ivy. Joker shot her a smug grin before turning back to the group. He opened his mouth to speak again only to be cut off.

“But they don’t know shit-” Harley screamed again, shaking their table as she slammed her fists onto it. Luckily, this seemed to distract Joker from his rant long enough for him to forget.

“Now, where was I?” 

Thinking quickly you came up with an answer.

“You were talking about dumping Harley.”

“Ah, yes. Can you believe that, the bitch even blew up my hideout out of spite-” he started going on and on about how he was totally the one who ended it. You looked over to Scarecrow as he sighed a breath of relief and mouthed ‘thank you’. You smiled and nodded at him before facing back to the pasty-white madman in front of you. 

By the time Joker had finished his rant, the food had arrived. It was pretty good, but you and Scarecrow were both too busy stealing looks at each other while the other wasn’t looking to enjoy it. 

“Uuh, my chicken’s rubbery.” Joker grumbled.

 “Ooh, your beef looks good” he said as he slid Bane’s plate over to himself.

“Uh, fine” Bane sighed as he reached for the plate of chicken, wanting at least something to eat.

“Ah-“  Joker swatted his hand away. 

“I might finish that.”

“Well, then, what are we doing?-” Bane protested, but was cut off by a voice over the speakers.

“Hey, everybody, let’s give it up for Joshua’s Bar Mitzvah. Huh?” Penguin stood on stage next to his nephew, Joshua.

“It was very special, for me it was when I realized it was my dream to become a crime lord” he wiped a tear from his eye before continuing. 

“So today, I force that dream onto you.” The crowd cheered as he placed a top-hat, that was identical to his, onto Joshua’s head.

You look out of the corner of your eye and catch Scarecrow staring directly at you. Though he was wearing his mask, you could tell he was blushing by the way his eyes darted away from you as he straightened himself the moment your eyes met, only daring to look back at you to see if you were still staring back at him. You flashed him a cheeky grin as you playfully winked at him, you could swear that you saw his heart completely stop beating inside his chest as you did. 

“Okay, Joshua, get ready for your first caper! Good luck fighting off the guards, also known as Gotham Chuckle Hut’s finest improvisers, and stealing that cash-ola, otherwise known as ‘Joshua Bucks’!” The curtains began to open.

“Go Joshua- Oh my God-”

The curtains opened fully to reveal what seemed to be a massacre. The improv troupe lay in pools of their own blood, you could even see the bone fully stick out of one man’s leg for crying out loud! The culprit stood in the doorway of the vault, after somehow getting it open, and was holding some of the ‘Joshua Bucks’. Judging by your table’s reaction, you could tell who it was. Your suspicions were confirmed when the perp spoke up.

“Hey, Joshy, Mazel Tov!” Yeah, it was Harley. You could get a better view of her as she walked closer and picked up one of the men so it looked like he was standing.

There was an audible gasp from the crowd as she dropped him again, further exposing his bones. In contrast, Joker started laughing maniacally and nugded Bane.

“This is fantastic! You’re probably not laughing because this is sort of how you screw up.”

“You ruined the Bar Mitzvah!” Penguin stated as he walked forward as the crowd booed.

“-and crippled an improv troupe!”

“Meh- oh well”

Bane, TwoFace and Bane quickly stood up, but you and Scarecrow were only now snapping fully back into reality.

“If you two could quit your eye-fucking session and hurry up, it would be greatly appreciated-” Joker snapped at you both as he and the others made their way to the vault room, before you could say anything to defend yourselves. You both looked at each other for a split-second but you quickly pushed down your feelings of embarrassment and speeded after them with Jonathan hot on your heels.

“-and that's our show, folks!” Harley announced and took a bow before darting towards the exit.

“I've got this.” Penguin said, cocking his umbrella gun and taking aim.

There was a loud ‘thud’ as Harley fell to the floor as the tranquilizer dart took effect. You all gathered round to see what was happening.

“Say ‘goodnight, Puddin’.” Joker spoke with a smug grin on his face.

“You think… this is gonna’... stop...me?” her words became more slurred as she slipped into unconsciousness. Joker only laughed at ths threat.

“Hah- She even sounds like you!” he laughed as he turned to Bane.

“Oh- I don't think… Do I sound like… You never hear your own voice I guess.” Bane sputtered out, as two of Penguin’s henchmen picked up Harley’s limp body. You all walked out of the vault room and joined the crowd as the music started playing again.

“I’m assuming this is all you’ll be gossiping about for the next year.” you spoke in a hushed tone as you nudged Scarecrow’s arm. He simply rolled his eyes at you, but did nothing to cover up the dorky grin on his face as he did so. 

“Perhaps.” he said, pausing before he continued.

“When I do, would you like me to leave in the part where I repeatedly caught you staring affectionately at me or no?”

“Oh really, ‘cause I could've sworn that I caught you only a couple of minutes ago doing the exact same thing.” you scoffed, leaning towards him.

 You see a hint of momentary panic in his eyes as he tries to conjure up an excuse and push down the feeling of… warmth?- he got in his stomach as he remembered the part where you winked at him, he couldn’t explain it but it felt familiar. Then it hit him like a brick, he knew exactly where he’d felt this before. He’d felt the same weird, warm, fuzzy, confusing feeling when you had him pinned against that old factory wall and were staring into his eyes. He’d rather die than admit it, but you looming above him, the way your chest rose and fell as you panted, the fact that your mouths were so close that if he so much as tilted his head upward your lips would be touching, might have just awoken something in him.

He shook himself out of his thoughts and saw you still waiting for his answer.

“Guilty as charged.” he shrugged and laughed nervously.

Before you could continue, you both noticed four men carrying Harley, who was tied to a chair and just regaining consciousness now.

“Cut the song- No Horah for Harley” Penguin ordered as the men placed the chair down a couple of feet away from him.

“Hey, it's gonna’ take more than a souped-up parasol to keep me from kicking your ass you fat, flightless bird.” Harley snapped.

“The mouth on her!” Penguin turned to Joshua.

“What better way to become a man than by-”

“-Ohh! Than by touching your umbrella? Whoo!” Joshua snatched the umbrella from his hands. 

“Yes! I’ve been waiting for this!” he stated as he pointed it towards Harley

“Any last words before I kill your dumb, blonde, stupid, smelly-”

“-That’s too many adjectives,” Scarecrow whispered. You nodded in agreement.

“-Idiot ass!” Joshua finished.

“Hey, Joshua, make sure you aim it directly at my head ‘cause you don’t want to miss in front of your friends and family-”

“I won’t miss” Joshua stated as his hand began to shake.

“I don’t know.. That trembly finger’s telling a different story-” she taunted.

“I-it’s not trembly, it’s just- I’ve never shot an umbrella before-”

“I bet there’s a lot of things you’ve never done, like: drunk a beer-”

“-I drunk a beer, like all the time. I always drunk beers” his voice became as shaky as his hand as he looked around the room.

“I bet you still believe in Santy Clause.”

“I-i don’t! I’m Jewish and tonight I’m a man!”

“Oh, that’s right, i forgot that I’m talkin’ to a newly grown man- I mean you’ve already finger-banged somebody.” There was a loud gasp from the audience. Well, this got uncomfortable real quick.

“Wait, what?!”

“I mean you have, haven’t you, you didn’t lie about such an important milestone, right?”

“Y-yeah it happened!”

“Are you sure?” Joshua’s body was fully trembling at this point as he looked over to his uncle, who glared back at him, waiting for him to take the shot.

“I-I don’t… I don’t know… it was dark” he stammered .

“It was at camp, at night… it was me and her and it was dark. I definitely did something” 

“Oh, Joshy, do you really think you're ready to kill someone if you’ve never even finger-blasted a girl?”

“You’re right- I’m not ready” he started to sob as he ran into his mother's arms.

“I told you we should’ve gotten him the dollhouse like he asked, Oswald-” she hissed

“It’s not a dollhouse! It’s an army base with sound  effects of real screams, and it’s the only thing I wanted!” his voice broke half way through his sentence.

“Your dead, Quinn” Penguin spat as he aimed his umbrella at her, but then the sound of glass breaking filled the room and a man fell face-first from the ceiling, followed by Poison Ivy lowering herself down from the newly made hole with a vine. Harley greeted her before doing a front flip onto her back which broke the chair, and something else , you assumed by the way she reacted.

“Uuh, i thought that was gonna be way cooler-” she hissed as the Joker walked up to her.

“Harley, you're not a solo-act, you're a sidekick, an afterthought. No one is ever going to take you seriously. Admit you’re nothing without me and you walk away alive. Or you can die!”

“Welp, easy choice.” the weird green man got up from the floor.

“uh , lovely Bar Mitzvah. Mazel, mazel.” he began to walk away.

“Are you leaving?” Ivy asked him.

“Uh, no-”

“I ain’t admitting shit!” Harley hissed as she picked herself up. Joker only sighed.

“Boys?” he called on the four of you, you all grinned and raced to grab your weapons from the table.

“I’ve got TwoFace.” Harley stated.

“I’ve got [name] and Scarecrow.” Ivy confirmed.

“I have-oh wow- oh God- wow.” Kite-Man stared up to see Bane towering over him, who got even bigger when he started pumping venom into himself.

“You- you’re looming! Um, alright, I’ll take, um… if you don’t mind if you could scootch just a little.” he asked, looking past Bane.

“Boom, onsite coordinator. Looking kind of brittle there, won’t see it-” Bane swatted him to the other side of the room before he could finish.

TwoFace opened fire on the two, but Ivy used her vines as a shield for herself and Harley. Within seconds, Harley was flung over the top of the shield and landed behind you and Scarecrow. You both turn around just in time to dodge the first few swings of her bat but as Scarecrow stepped back Harley kicked his gun right out of his hand and yelled for Ivy to pass her TwoFace’s gun. You spun round to see if Jonathan was alright, only to be met with a bat to the back of the head as Harley snuck up behind you, which caused you to fall forwards. You braced yourself for the feeling of your head hitting the hard tiles but were caught on your way down. You looked up to see Scarecrow grabbing you by the arm, you pushed against him and were able to get back on your feet and tossed him his gun. You glanced behind him to see Harley aiming TwoFace’s gun at his back but fired before you could get out a warning. As the bullets punctured the canisters on his back, the force of the fear toxin rushing out sent him flying. You covered your mouth and ran away to avoid the fear toxin that was already causing people to hallucinate, grabbing your gun as you did. Thankfully, Scarecrow landed a couple of feet from where you were and you rushed over to him. You offered him your hand and quickly pulled him up.

Behind you, Harley continued firing from the stolen gun before Penguin was able to shoot it, causing it to explode in Harley’s hand. As she stepped back in shock, she bumped into TwoFace who pulled out two dual handguns. She began to back away to Ivy as you, Scarecrow and Penguin walked up to join TwoFace, weapons drawn.

“Let’s get out of here!” Ivy yelled. Harley looked behind you all only to see Joker filming the whole thing.

“No, let’s fight! Maybe Kite-Man can help!” They glanced over to where Kite-Man was and witnessed as Bane repeatedly punched him in the head while he had him in a choke-hold.

“Bane, quit dicking around with Kite-Man and get those two.”  Joker snapped.

“But he was attacking me-”

“With what, a kite? Just do as I tell you, you dumb, freakish monster!”

“Bane, why are you letting him talk to you like that?” Harley asked.

“In fact, why do any of you let him talk to you like that?” she began to raise her voice as she looked at the four of you. You all lowered your weapons and looked over to where Joker stood.

“He doesn't even have powers-”  you felt your body stiffen as you shifted your gaze down to the floor. 

“His only power is bullying you into doing what he wants. I should know, he did it to me for years.”

“Don’t listen to her! She’s nothing.” Joker protested.

“She makes a good point, I don’t like how you called me a monster” Bane interrupted him.

“Yeah that was pretty harsh” Scarecrow chipped in and looked to you as you nodded in agreement.

“Oh my God, it’s just an expression-” Joker tried to explain it away before Bane interrupted him.

“Also, let’s talk about dinner-” Bane crossed his arms. “I selected the beef well in advance and you stole it from me, you said you didn’t even want to come to this ‘stupid thing’.”

The crowd gasped.

“My thoughts exactly, this is a monumental night for young Joshua.”

“I’m the Joker, I was joking, okay? Oh my God, I’ll kill her myself.” he said, pulling out his gun and pointing it to Harley’s head, only for Ivy to stand in his way.

“Ivy, if you could just, y’know, just move so I, I can just kill your friend.”

“Absolutely- over my dead body.”

“Uhh- female friendships!” he groaned as he got ready to shoot, but Ivy’s vines suddenly sprouted up behind him and surrounded the three. 

The sudden action caused you to step back and instinctively grab onto Scarecrow’s shoulder, which caused him to freeze momentarily before melting into your touch.

Joker aimed his gun at Ivy’s head but she didn’t move a muscle as her vines closed in on him. High-pitch laughter came from his pocket as his phone rang. He began yelling into the phone about some sort of building issue with his base and ran off, but you weren't really paying attention. You looked down at where your hand was, only to notice a large red stain on his upper-arm, it took you mere seconds to realize that it was blood, his blood even. You assumed he must have knocked into something sharp when he was sent flying a couple of minutes ago. You must have looked fairly shocked, as Jonathan followed your gaze down to the wound and tried to brush your hand away.

“I-I’m fine. -really-” he started, but you only grabbed his arm and noticed a multitude of smaller blood stains all over his right side.

“Jesus, Jon, what did you land on, a pile of cutlery?” you asked, more concerned than anything else.

“Well it might as well have been.” he grumbled, quickly glancing over to the, now, broken table he had landed on.

“Right, well, let’s get you patched up.” you said, lightly tugging on his arm.

“Oh, there’s no need, honestly-” He protested before you cut him off.

“-Jonathan, there is a massive gash on your arm. Now come on, I have a first aid kit at my place.” you began leading him to the main exit.

“A-at your place?” he froze in his tracks.

“Yeah? What’s with the shocked face?” you looked back at him.

“You know I don’t bite, right?” you grinned at him. You said your goodbyes and thanked Mrs. Cobblepot for your invitation before dragging him off despite his insistence that he could just ignore it until the party was over and sort it himself.

“Look, you’ve made it clear that you don’t like it when I help but-”

“That’s not what I meant-”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I… I just didn't want to trouble you, that’s all!” That answer came a little too fast for you to fully believe it but you thought it would be best to drop the subject as it clearly flustered him.

As the two of you walked out into the warm summer night you loosened your grip on his upper-arm and let your hand glide down his arm and wrap around his wrist, not daring to go the full mile and hold his hand, though you could swear you saw a hint of disappointment in his eyes as you did. As the two of you stepped into the parking lot and found your car, Scarecrow cleared his throat.

“[Name]?” he glanced over at you as he got into the passenger's side seat.

“Yeah? What is it?”

“It’s okay if I stay the night, innit’? It’s just that my hideout is on the other side of the city and it’s already really late-”

“Well as long as you don’t mind sleeping on the couch, then sure.” you said as you pulled out of the parking space and onto the main road.

“Cheers, luv.” 

 What followed after that was near miss with an oncoming truck and your face becoming a bright red colour as your brain temporarily short-circuited. You looked over to make sure Jonathan was alright, only to see him gripping onto the seat like his life depended on it. 

“Jesus- if you don’t like me calling you that then you can just say so- Bloody hell!” 

“It’s not that, it’s just-” Your brain was working at 100 mph trying to talk your way out of this because: God- did you love the way he called you that. Unfortunately for you, he quickly caught on and was going to give you hell.

“Oh so you like me calling you ‘luv’, then?” The corners of his mouth curled up into a smirk as he noticed the massive blush on your face. 

“Wh- no- that’s not what I meant!”

“Sure thing, luv.” His smirk had turned into an ear-to-ear grin as he saw your face turn an even darker shade of red. This just elicited a loud, frustrated groan from you.

“I swear to God- do you want me to crash this car!” you snapped at him, smacking your hand off the steering wheel, which was only met with laughter as you yelled a string of expletives.

“You wouldn’t do that.” he stated, still giggling to himself.

“What makes you so sure of that?” You scoffed but you couldn’t deny the way your heart sped up when you saw the dorkiest grin on his face.

“You care about me.” He teased, resting his head on the back of his hands.

“Shut up.” You lightly punch his shoulder.

 You tried to cover up the growing smile on your face with your free hand but failed as Jonathan noticed and pulled your hand down from your face, unintentionally encasing your hand in his. It took you both a while to realize it but once you did his hands immediately shot back to his sides and didn’t look at you for the rest of the car journey instead opting to twiddling his thumbs.

“We’re here.” you called, snapping him out of his daze.

You stepped out of your car and into the apartment block. Seeing as you were both still in costume, you darted for the elevator and hit the button. As the elevator began its ascension you  took this opportunity to take a breather, knowing you would have to leg it to your apartment at the very end of the hallway lest someone see you and call the police. You sighed and leaned against the railing while looking at your reflection in the mirror but you couldn’t help noticing the way Scarecrow straightened the noose around his neck as if it was a tie. For fucks sake, if this keeps up you might just lose it. He met your gaze in the mirror and grinned at you.

“I mean, if you want to watch you can just look at me, it’s less creepy.” he chuckled but suddenly stopped as he winced in pain and grabbed his arm. You straightened yourself and rushed to his side. Luckily, you’d reached your floor and as the doors opened you grabbed Jonathan by the wrist and led to your apartment. You quickly looked around before inserting your key into the door, as you fumbled with the key, Jonathan remained eerily quiet compared to his usual gossipy self. You finally got the door to open and the two of you walked into the empty apartment. You felt about for the lightswitch and eventually found it.

“You go sit down, I’m just going to get the first aid from the bathroom.” you gesture towards the couch and walk off. You rummaged around for a bit, eventually finding it at the very back of the cupboard, you checked it’s contents to make sure you had the right stuff. You made your way into the living room and found Jonathan holding a book you’d left out on the coffee table earlier. He looked up at you and then the first aid kit in your hands.

“Right.” you started, taking out a few bandages. “Show me your arm.” After a few minutes of struggling he managed to roll up his sleeve and outstretched it to you. You gently took his hand and sat down next to him. You, deciding that it was probably best to treat the biggest cut first, took out an antiseptic wipe and lightly dabbed the wound Jonathan winced at this but a soft smile from you seemed to help.

“[name]?” He took a deep breath.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for looking out for me. I know I can be… difficult at times -but I really appreciate you dragging me here instead of leaving me to bleed out at the party.” he laughed nervously and averted his gaze from you.

“You're probably one of the closest friends I’ve ever had.” his voice cracked slightly.

You slightly cringed at the word ‘friends’, well, I suppose you better get comfy in the friend-zone. He swallowed and returned his arm to his side before continuing.

“A-and I’d like to be more than that-” he sputtered, beginning to fiddle with the ends of his noose. 

“You… would?” you looked up at him, your heart feeling like it would burst out of your chest if it beated any faster than it already was.

“Yes.” he grabbed your hands and put them between his.

“I like you- a lot! I like your eyes, your face, the way you always know how to make me laugh” he snapped out of his daze.

“-But, I mean if you don’t feel the same way I completely understand, actually on second thought this was a horrible idea and you probably don’t so I’ll just leave and save you the trouble of kicking me out, like you should-” you could hardly keep up with the word vomit coming out of his mouth as he shot out of his seat.

“I’m sorry, I’ve probably wasted your time ‘cause you probably only see me as a friend and I’ve most likely just ruined our friendship so I’ll just leave and I swear you’ll never have to see me again so-” he made a break for the door but you quickly yanked on his wrist which almost caused him to fall backwards.

 He caught himself just in time but was beginning to wish he’d just fallen to the floor instead as he realized he was using you to support himself and had wrapped his arms around your neck. He tried to push himself away, only for you to snake your arms behind his waist and trap him there. You could practically feel the warm air of his breath on you skin as he panted, you could feel yourself melting into his arms and did not stop him as he squeezed you tight. After a few moments, you managed to sit him back onto the couch.

“I want to be more than friends too.” you spoke softly, not missing the ear-to-ear grin on Jonathan’s face.

You leaned onto him, your head resting on his shoulder, he froze up for a split-second before wrapping one arm around your waist and pulling you closer.

“So, how far off was I?”

“Hmm?” you looked up at him.

“Remember earlier? When I said I saw you giving me looks?”

You gave an exasperated sigh and smirked.

“Was it Bane or TwoFace who had to point it out to you?”

“Both.” he answered with a slight laugh.

“But you’re not denying it!” 

“Why would I, you were doing the exact same thing?” you scoffed, giving him a light punch on the arm.

“Oww- okay, okay, fair point.” he laughed as he pulled you back close to him, brushing a strand of hair out of your eyes and behind your ear.

“Y’know, if you were anyone else I would’ve killed you” you only half-joked, tracing shapes with your fingers onto his chest.

“I know” he laughed, placing a hand under your chin and lightly lifting it so you two were making eye-contact.

“-And that's what I lo-” he cut himself off. “I mean, like about you” he smiled sheepishly.

You only smiled before cupping his face and pulling him closer.

“I love you too, you fucking dork” you chuckled before leaning in and kissing him.

He practically jumped out his skin when you did, but as the realization sunk in he wrapped both arms around you and kissed back, eyes fluttering shut. His lips pressed softly against yours, as one of his hands travelled up your back and cupped the back of your head. The kiss itself was very soft and didn’t last too long, maybe only a couple of seconds, but to you it felt like an eternity. Your lips finally parted when you both were in desperate need for air, but that dazed look on his face made you want to do it all over again.

“You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do that.” you smiled up at him.

“Same here” he added, before quickly pulling you back in for another kiss.

[megan-is-mia]

I need to tell you that you’ve managed to become one of my favorite twst writers in the span of a single evening. I spent the majority of last night reading all of your twst content. As a monster lover, I feel obligated to say thank you for all of the food. There is a fair amount of monster f*cker content in the twst fandom, but most blogs only have a small handful of monster stories. So when I saw the amount of monster content on your blog, I almost wept.

If you’re still taking requests from the monster prompt, how about 21 “Taking you away from the human world was the only way to save you" with the Mer-trio?

(Wow... I did not realize people considered any of my content to be monster-fucker food. Anyways you wrote Mo21 in your request but the prompt you typed was for Mo20 so I did that one. Hopefully you still like it!) 20. “Taking you away from the human world was the only way to save you” (Yandere! Octavinelle Trio x Fem! S/o)

Stormy nights were (Y/n)’s favorite kind of nights, nothing beat being wrapped up in a warm blanket, looking out her window at the rain falling and the occasional flashes of lightning that lit up the skies. The only thing that could even begin to compare to the wonder of stormy nights were the mornings that followed them, when the earth was still wet from the rain and the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon. 

You were sure to find something interesting outside after a storm. However, what (Y/n) found in her pool that following morning more than exceeded her expectations of something interesting. The winds from the storm had dropped debris into her pool making it look more like a sliver of ocean than part of suburbia. She began clearing the tree branches and other chunks of flora when something in the water grabbed her leg. A less brave soul would have called an exterminator or animal control at this point but (Y/n) did not, instead she retreated inside for the time being to start thinking up a plan of action. It wasn’t until night had fallen that she approached the pool again this time armed with a broom and a bag of fish she’d bought at the store the day of the storm. She tentatively poked the water with the broom and nothing happened. Then suddenly a webbed hand darted out of the water and yanked on the broom making (Y/n) drop the fish she was holding into the water as she tumbled into the pool with a gasp. As she sank under the surface she locked eyes with something that flashed her a toothy grin before it grabbed her and swam to the surface with her in its clutches. As she broke the surface of the water she was able to see there were at least two things in the water with her.

“Nee Jade the fish the human brought with her taste awful” the thing not holding (Y/n) said with a whine as it bit off the head of one a fish and swallowed it whole without chewing any further. The girl looked frantically between the two creatures trying to make sure she wasn’t just seeing double in the darkness. Nope, there really were two of them yet they looked eerily similar like twins. “Ehhh Floyd, if they taste so bad why are you still eating them?” the thing holding (Y/n) answered with a tilt of its head as its ear fins twitched with curiosity. The girl had to assume that Jade and Floyd must be the creatures’ names, not yet processing the information that there were literal talking fish-people in her pool. That knowledge would take a few more moments to sink in, at which point (Y/n) let out another gasp.   

“You?! You can talk?!” (Y/n) said her words spluttering out like water out of a clogged faucet. Her sudden words drew a laugh from both mermen and Floyd swam closer as he took another big bite of the fish he’d been chewing on. “Of course we talk shrimpy, what did you expect silly?” he said with a toothy grin even wider than the one Jade had given her when she’d been sinking down to the bottom of the pool. “Give her a little credit, Azul did give her quite a scare earlier when she was trying to remove the gunk and almost forced him out of hiding. I don’t think intelligent life was exactly what she was expecting to find after that” Jade said, his tone a mix of condescension and comforting as he hugged (Y/n) closer to his body. The girl’s mind was ready to short-circuit as a third voice joined the conversation. “I only did that so she’d stop digging around while other humans might be around to get involved” this third voice, the aforementioned Azul she guessed, said with only its head poking out of the water and no visible ear fins to be seen. However when (Y/n) looked down she could see masses of tentacles below Azul as well as the long eel-like tails that made up the bottom halves of both Floyd and Jade’s bodies. “I don’t feel so good” (Y/n) mumbled right before blacking out and going limp in Jade’s arms. When she came too she was lying on her side out of the pool with an eel-merman staring at her impatiently. It took her a moment to identify which one it was by which side his black hair streak fell and she finally said “Floyd?” to which the eel-mer grinned and nodded his head at her as she sat up. “Yep that's me Shrimpy, you gave us all a real scare by passing out like that” Floyd said his tone playfully accusing as (Y/n)’s eyes darted down to check if she’d really seen what she thought she’d seen. Yup, the young man still had an eel tail instead of legs and she hadn’t just imagined all of it. “Heeey my eyes are up here Shrimpy” Floyd said with a pout grabbing (Y/n)’s chin and forcing her to make eye-contact with him. “Sorry! I’m still getting used to the whole, merfolk are real, thing. I just wanted to see if you really did have a tail or not” (Y/n) said not liking the way Floyd’s nails pressed her skin making it clear he could crush her jaw like a grape if he put any pressure on his grip. Luckily her words brought a laugh from the eel-merman and he released her jaw before hauling himself up out of the water to sit next to her. “Wanna feel?” Floyd said, gesturing to himself with a grin. Tentatively (Y/n) nodded as she reached over and gently ran a finger down his tail. “Aww Shrimpy I barely felt that, do it again and put a little more elbow grease into it” the eel-mer said with a whine as he grabbed the girl’s wrist and placed her hand flat against his body. Obediently (Y/n) ran her hand down the male’s skin feeling the slightly slimy yet smooth quality of his tail under her fingertips. “You two look like you’re getting along nicely” Azul commented, swimming over to the pair and surprising (Y/n) out of the stupor she’d fallen under from petting the eel-mer so she almost tumbled back into the pool. The girl only just barely kept her balance this time to the amusement of both mermen. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you…” Azul trailed off, waiting for the young woman to provide her name. “(Y/n), I’m (Y/n)” (Y/n) said quickly. “I know this is an insensitive question but how’d you end up in my pool? I mean I’ve had a few crocodiles thrown in my pool by a particularly bad storm once or twice. That's what I thought I was dealing with before when I brought the fish. Just a few crocodiles, not three mermen and… I’m rambling sorry… This is just weird as hell for me” the girl said looking sheepishly off to the side. “Don’t worry this is an odd situation for us as well” Jade said having swum back over to the group partway through (Y/n)’s rant. “We’re not in the habit of showing up in random human pools, somebody just made a mistake with his potion mixing and accidentally summoned a tsunami that dropped us off here” the eel-mermaid added giving Azul a bit of side-eye, to which the octo-mer grumbled under his breath and pouted. “Regardless we’re kind of stuck here unless we can get the ingredients to make another potion to take us home or we get some outside help to transport us back to the beach and to the ocean” Jade said giving (Y/n) a meaningful look. The girl’s face scrunched up in thought, she didn't know these young men very well and she wasn’t sure she could trust them as far as she could throw them (which wouldn't be far). However, her sense of morality overcame her fear of strangers and she let out a reluctant sigh before speaking. “I’ll help you get back to the sea, I have a car but I don't know if you’ll all fit in it comfortably” (Y/n) said slowly, hoping that her offer might be turned down but that was wishful thinking. The mermen were all more than willing to risk the discomfort of being in her car in exchange for getting home faster. Somehow (Y/n) managed to get all of them into her car (though Floyd was purposely wriggly as a fish on a hook as she tried to set him on the backseat of her car) and began driving out of her quiet neighborhood towards the nearest patch of ocean. During the drive Azul told her about their underwater home, with the occasional comment from the twins, and she had to admit it sounded nice living in the Coral Sea. Eventually, she found a quiet spot of sand by the sea and parked the car before helping the boys out and back into the water. Floyd and Jade went easily enough but Azul seemed to need more help and (Y/n) found herself in waist-deep water before she knew what was happening. All of a sudden the octo-mer’s tentacles were laced around her legs and she was being dragged under as Azul shot forward into deeper water where the eels waited. “Sorry about this Angelfish. I would have preferred that you came to us of your own free will but we just couldn't wait anymore” Azul said, keeping a firm grip on (Y/n) with his tentacles as he swam towards Floyd and Jade who both grinned upon seeing that the octo-mer had been successful in grabbing the girl. Instinctively (Y/n) had tried to hold her breath when she was pulled under only to pass out from oxygen deprivation and wake up breathing water. “What do you think of your new gills? Pretty nice aren’t they?” Azul crooned, his tentacles still wrapped around (Y/n)’s body and tightening when she tried to struggle free of his hold. “Ah, ah, aw Angelfish there’s no need to fight I’m not gonna hurt you” the octopus-merman said in a gently scolding tone before raising his voice to alert the eels that (Y/n) had finally woken up. “Shrimpy’s gills are so cute! I almost wanna pull them and see if she screams” Floyd said excitedly pinching one of the delicate, lacey gill slits that now occupied (Y/n)’s neck. The girl let out a yelp of pain which brought out a laugh from the cruel eel-mer. “Now, now Floyd we can’t go pulling (Y/n)’s gills willy-nilly. Not unless she misbehaves that is” Jade commented running a finger along the other side of the girl’s neck feeling her gills for himself. “We’ve all had our eye on you for a while now Angelfish” Azul said bringing (Y/n)’s attention back on him again as he leaned in to kiss her softly. The feeling of the tweels’ hands over her gills ready to choke her, was the only thing that kept (Y/n) from fighting the kiss from the octo-mer. “The human world… it's just too harsh a place for a sweetheart like you. Taking you away from the human world was the only way to save you” Azul added after a moment. “Plus the fact you’re really cute” Floyd added before smashing his mouth against (Y/n) and biting her lips as he kissed her hungrily. The girl whimpered into his mouth but her protests were all muffled by his tongue against hers until he finally pulled away grinning. “You probably won't see things our way at first but you will” Jade commented before he went in for a kiss softer than his twin’s but still rougher than the octopus’s. “After all we’ll have all the time in the world to change your mind…” THE END

[suganovakawa]

𝐒𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐄 .

PAIRINGS : tooru oikawa x fem! reader , slight hajime iwaizumi x fem! reader

GENRE : angst , romance

WARNINGS : cursing , car accident , recovery from amnesia

SYNOPSIS : tooru doesn’t understand how special you are to him until he comes close to losing you forever . as he struggles to comes to grips with his feelings and balance it with his future , you still have to recover from your own injuries , but without your memories to assist you .

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐗𝐈 < [ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐗𝐈𝐈 ] > 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐗𝐈𝐈𝐈

word count : 1.8k

there shouldn’t be any harm in checking on tooru and his injured knee.

saudade masterlist .

SAUDADE

( 𝐧 . ) a nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that is distant , or that has been loved and then lost ; “ the love that remains ”

⠀everyday was like going in circles and yet never knowing what the destination is supposed to be. each day seemed to be nothing more than a loophole chains of events, only to restart back at square one tomorrow. this investigation of yours was getting nowhere, and your hope of remembering anything was becoming more of a fever dream than an actual possibility.

⠀demanding hajime to tell you everything wouldn't work, he could out-stubborn you at any given time. makki and mattsun were no longer willing to tell you a thing, for fear they'd get the iron fisted beatdown of a century from their third year peer. oikawa didn't seem like much of an option either, especially with hajime's strange request to stay away from him at all times.

⠀with nothing else to think about, your new subject of thought was that fateful conversation in the gym not so long ago. not really a conversation; truly, more like a one sided rant to someone you hardly even knew. as far as you knew, you were probably strangers with tooru oikawa before the accident. iwa still had yet to explain the conflict between him and his fellow volleyball player, and you were honestly believing that he was never planning to.

⠀you had seen him walk in with crutches the following day, absolutely distraught that his injury was that bad. you had seen the brace on his knee as he practiced serving in the gym, but you never knew how bad his knee was until you broke his line of concentration. you couldn't even go and check on him, with iwaizumi sitting right there. no one knew how or why he walked in with crutches, and he never explained why, either. you wanted to stand up on stage and tell everyone yourself to hold yourself accountable for being the cause behind his unfortunate incident.

⠀"i'm staying after school today, hajime." a more spontaneous decision was made minutes before the last bell of the day rang, causing your friend to look at you strangely. he didn't seem suspicious of you, but he certainly had questions.

⠀"do you want me to stay behind with you?" he asked, his lips pursed as you looked at the clock. there was a hope in the back of your mind, a silent plea that he would be there today as well. the odds were low with the circumstances that you had caused yesterday, but there was no harm in trying. if not in the gym, he could possibly spend his time somewhere else?

⠀"no, you can go home." you shook your head as you turned back to him, keeping a straight face as to not sound strange. "you can walk me tomorrow, and we can even go out to eat. my favorite place, of course." you grinned, lightening the mood with a playful punch to his shoulder. "how's that sound?"

⠀chuckling to himself with a shrug, he soon nodded his head. "alright, deal. i'll pay." your eyes widened at his reaction, opening your mouth to retaliate but he shushed you. "i won't take no for an answer, you know how i am."

⠀"yeah, i know." rolling your eyes with a smile of your own, you breathed a sigh of relief. even if things have been strange, hajime was still your friend. you were thankful of how eager he was to help you and stand at your side at the drop of a hat. he was a handful at times, but you were thankful for him. "i'm surprised you're not broke because of me at this point."

⠀"nah. you're pretty satisfied with easy things anyway." you scoffed and turned away, earning a bigger laugh from iwaizumi. "i'm kidding. but i'm still paying tomorrow."

⠀"fine." just as you replied, the bell rang throughout the school, indicating the students that their last class of the day had come to a close. your heart leaped as you stood up, picking up your books and supplies almost too excitedly. you stopped yourself and secretly hoped that he would stay around the school.

⠀"y/n." you felt a hand around your wrist as you left the classroom, turning around to see iwaizumi hesitating to speak further, yet his grip unwavering.

⠀"hajime?"

⠀"i'm sorry." you creased your eyebrows in confusion, watching intently as his eyes refused to look into yours. "i know... i've been a pain your ass. this whole car incident, i can't imagine how frustrating it must be for you." you weren't sure where this was going, so you chose to stay silent. "i just want you to know that i haven't been able to make your life easier, but i promise from now on, it won't be that way."

⠀your jaw clenched. the only thing you wanted to accompany such an apology is an explanation and full story of what you've been wanting since you gathered your senses. "i see," you muttered, nodding your head slowly. "thank you, hajime."

⠀"i'll treat you right, okay? i swear on my life." once he loosened his hold, you pulled your wrist away and nodded again steely, pressing your lips upwards into a soft, half-hearted smile. even with such sincere, sweet words, he still refused to tell you anything. "you can trust me."

⠀"i know, hajime. i trust you." you nodded your head, waving goodbye to him before turning the corner, beginning your search around aoba johsai for the one person you want to talk to. why did you want to talk to him? he looked so uncomfortable with you around, you almost felt guilty for even stepping near him. did you bully him in the past? did you two hate each other in the past?

⠀trying your luck, you braved a deep breath and made your way back into the gym, no plan in mind as you closed your eyes upon reaching the doorway that made way into the large gym, disappointed that you heard no sounds while you blocked your own vision.

⠀you were expecting to be met with a wave of more disappointment, until a startled voice broke the silence. "y/n?"

⠀your eyes shot open in surprise. you almost revealed your relief with a smile. right in front of you stood oikawa, leaning on a crutch supporting his injured knee. he was surprised as you were that you were entering the gym, but expressed it in a different way. "what are you doing here?" he followed up, his arm stiffening to support his weight to stand up straighter.

⠀you didn't realize how awkward this meeting would be until you stood face to face with him right here. there was no point in sugar coating it, you were already there, and he was right in front of you. "i was looking for you," you replied, standing up a little straighter yourself. "i wanted to know how you've been doing. seeing your crutches, you must've been hurt pretty bad." you bowed. "i'm sorry."

⠀"this? it's nothing. i'm on crutches at least once a month." looking back up at him, oikawa shook his head and looked away, using his free hand to scratch the back of his neck. "my knee has been pretty messed up for quite sometime now, it's no big deal. don't blame yourself over it. i was bound to hurt myself again, anyway."

⠀"then why don't you take a break?" it seemed quite obvious to you that the only remedy for these types of injuries was a hiatus and a time period to recuperate to not only heal your injuries, but to give some time to relax as well. "you should prioritize your well being."

⠀you watched the third year tense, his breath caught in his throat as he shook his head immediately, his eyes now going to the ground instead of at you. "i wish it were that easy," he mumbled. "maybe if i had the natural talent to take a breather, i would give myself a break. but i'm not naturally talented. i'm a setback, if anything."

⠀"nonsense!” you shook your head quickly, the words coming out of his mouth sounding like nothing but complete lies. "you're amazing! from what i witnessed yesterday, you're an amazing volleyball player." you paused for a second. "you played with hajime, right? what was your position?"

⠀"setter." the brunet's voice lowered. "actually, i was the captain of the team."

⠀"no way!" your eyes were practically sparkling at this point. "and you dare say you're not naturally gifted?" you placed your hands on your hips in disbelief. "i refuse to believe it."

⠀"oh, you should believe it, alright..." tooru began clenching his jaw, but you were too marveled to notice.

⠀"and i was the manager, so we must've definitely known each other before my accident!" you nodded matter-of-factly to answer your own question. "to think i can't remember anything you did as captain for the team... your teammates were definitely in great hands, i can just feel it! you - "

⠀"for the love of god, could you please get out of the way?" you stopped speaking the moment oikawa raised his voice, taking a step back instinctively. "y/n, i'm trying to get out of the gym, but i can't with you in the way. could you please move?"

⠀your pulse spiked in your system, the humiliation rushing to your cheeks faster than the blink of an eye. your legs moved mechanically to the side, your breathing uneasy as you locked your eyes to the floor, rendered speechless. this feeling was... all too familiar. you didn't like it. just thinking about it made your chest constrict a little bit. was this deja vu?

⠀it couldn't be, not when it was this effective.

⠀you heard oikawa curse under his breath, but you made no effort to look back up as the panic rose in his voice. "shit, y/n, i'm so sorry. i didn't mean to snap at you like that. it's just that i get annoyed when i can't practice, i get impatient. but by no means do i blame you for my knee! you're right, i shouldn't push myself, i should take a breather. i'm sorry, i'm so so sorry."

⠀by the time you looked up, oikawa looked like he was about to gush waterfalls out of his eyes at any given moment; the atmosphere between the two of you flipped completely, and your energy had long depleted. "no, i should be the one to apologize. i got ahead of myself, i didn't let you talk... again." moving your arms to cross awkwardly, the world seemed to mock your stupidity before backing up more from him. "i actually should probably get going now. again, i'm sorry about your knee. i'll probably be apologizing for it until you're off the crutches. see you around."

⠀you gave oikawa no time to reply as you hastily power walked your way out of seijoh, feeling suffocated as you made your way home, the deja vu eating you up as you continued to tread quickly. it couldn't be deja vu, there was no way.

⠀something in his tone of voice triggered something deeper than what your amnesia could cover. you had felt this way before. out of anything you could've recalled first, it was just your luck it had to be this.

⠀what was your relationship to oikawa before the accident, anyway?

a/n : honestly i have nothing to say, so look out for part 13 soon!

taglist ( closed ) — @ot127 @rena0921 @karlitabi-rrito @psychicpercyjacksonfan @crescentbitch @amelimiles @damnirina @pasta-warlord @blossomingbangtan @clinomanians @i-am-kinda-in-alot-of-fandoms @manq-fandoms @cirtruss @sugar-wara @haikoo @anime-simp @kairostatue @awkwardspontaneity @iwantapoptartqwq @aquariarose @softestdreamer @plantisnotplant @avylee @froppysgirl @that-animebitch @wisepandaslimeland @samanthaa-leanne @dumplingzumispam @0hakaashi @captain-janeway @afterglowkuroo @bellabelieveme @attixca @chickenrest @tycrackculture @ynjimenez @karaseijoh @lavieenblancetnoir @dabilove27 @cuddlesslut @crypto-s @keigosbitch @readeretal @shittykawaa @donghyuckster @adriloen @ella-solei @emiyummy @kukiisan @catyuyuyuu @sillykittt @dolan-mendes @kiritokunuwu @the-third-wall @yammerss @monviemoo

[doctenwho]

Alec’s Emergency Contact

Welcome back! I loved this prompt! It was so cute and I really got carried away writing! I believe I stuck to the main idea, but there’s a lot of fluff in here too, and Alec having a bit of personality because he’s with someone he loves (like with Daisy).

Hopefully I got his character right, since I’ve not posted anything Broadchurch yet, and sometimes it takes me a couple tries to get a character right. A couple small spoilers for season 1 along the way, but nothing too big, I don’t think. Anyways, I hope you like it as much as I liked writing it! 

Warnings: None, I don’t think.

Word Count: 3,722

Summary: Read the prompt :)

(Gif doesn’t belong to me, credit to creator!)

Alec Hardy did not remember a whole lot before he went down. He and Miller were chasing whomever had Danny Latimer’s cellphone, and then, well, he got a bit overexerted? Ran out of steam? Lost his footing?

Alright fine, he nearly died. He worked his heart too hard, and he collapsed on the job. Not only that, he collapsed in front of Miller. Damn Miller. How was he supposed to hide it from her now? He’d done so well at hiding his heart arrhythmia from everyone in Broadchurch, but now Ellie knows, and if Ellie knows, it won’t be long until everyone knows. Especially if it’s something regarding his wellbeing.

Bloody small towns. 

It wasn’t intentional, that much he knew. He really hadn’t been meaning to work himself to the bone just yet, not when there was still so much to be doing for the case. He’d be no use to the case if he were dead, and then no one would get justice and Danny’s killer would walk free, despite his unforgivable deed.

But he also couldn’t just stop because his heart decided it didn’t want to endure the difficulties of being a Detective Inspector. He had promises to keep, to the families of the victims, to the victims themselves—and to himself.

He’d told himself he’d get justice for Danny and his family if it was the last thing he did, which might just be what it comes down to. He’d told himself the same thing about the Sandbrook case, but he’d be damned if another case took a sour turn like Sandbrook had.  

He would get justice for these children. For the three misfortunate kids (and teenager), and the families to lose them far too soon. He owed them that much.

Hardy had blinked his eyes open, only to shut them just as fast. The light streamed into the room, bright and white, and almost blinding. He was reclined in the bed, covered by a blanket and propped up on a pillow or two.

He was no stranger to hospital rooms, in Sandbrook and in Broadchurch, and with this stupid heart arrhythmia, he was sure this wouldn’t be the last time either.

Even if he did try to stay out of stressful situations, and give his heart breaks, it was only getting worse. He’d need the peacemaker to really aid in his wellbeing. But he couldn’t commit to an operation when he was so close to cracking the Danny Latimer case and getting the boy the justice he deserved.  

The room was quiet, a soft beeping of a heart monitor announcing his heart beats, which had thankfully steadied. It wasn’t erratic, or beating out of his chest as it had been during the chase. Small victories he supposed.  

Hardy turned a bit onto his side to look around the room, studying the monitor and it’s reading, as well as the IV drip in his hand. He huffed a quiet breath at the medical equipment before turning on to his other side and almost dropping back onto his back in hazy surprise at hearing an irritated voice huff a rather annoyed, “well, look who’s back in the land of the living.” which was followed by his eyes landing on a very familiar, annoyed, face.

“(Y/N),” Hardy breathed out, trying to prop himself up on his elbows to get a better look at his boyfriend who should currently be home, hours away from Broadchurch, “what... what are you doing here? Why are you in Broadchurch?”

“Well,” you clicked your tongue, arms crossed across your chest, “as it turns out, when a loved one is literally dying, the hospital tends to contact your emergency contact.”

“I wasn’t dying,” Hardy tried to wave it off, rolling his eyes at his boyfriend. He couldn’t help the tug of guilt in his chest though, which in turn, made his heart skip a noticeable beat on the heart monitor. He glanced slowly at the machine, before looking back to his frustrated boyfriend.  

“No, you really were,” (Y/N) frowned, eyes locked on the machine to just give a warning beep, before you were casting your look back on your hospitalized boyfriend, “they told me you were dying.”

“They... they’re not allowed to tell you that.” Alec huffed, pulling himself up. You stood to adjust his pillows so he could sit up a bit more, and Alec didn’t seem bothered by you doing so.  

He wasn’t the fondest of being cared for, but honestly, you didn’t really care about that right now. Not when he looked so pitiful tucked away in a hospital bed after almost dying while chasing a supposed murderer.  

You’d heard the whole story form his new partner, who’d just stepped out to get the two of you coffee, just before Alec finally woke up.

You really needed the coffee since you’d driven almost all night to sit by Alec’s bedside until he woke up so you could scold him properly. 

Ellie clearly had the same idea, since she’d also been up all night with him, and it almost made you smile. Or, it would’ve if Alec hadn’t been in the Intensive Care Unit at your arrival.  

He’d been moved to a regular room shortly after when his heart steadied out, and you couldn’t be more thankful you could sit with him here. 

It was the worst feeling to have a loved one be so close to dying and not be able to see them—or hold their hand, which you hadn’t put down when you’d finally gotten a hold of. At least until Alec showed signs of waking, then you remembered you were cross with him.  

Ellie had been a lovely woman, charming and pleasant since you’d met her in the waiting room. You really weren’t sure how she had managed to put up with Alec, but then again, everyone always wondered how you could do the same thing. 

You’d heard bits and pieces of Ellie Miller from Alec over the phone, but you knew very little. He didn’t share every detail, but he was always happy to rant and grumble about things that annoyed him about people and work, and even Broadchurch as a whole.  

She was a good partner for him if she could manage to put up with him, and you’d expressed how thankful you were that she’d been there for Alec. You couldn’t even imagine if he’d had an arrhythmia when he was by himself.  

“They’re supposed to tell me everything that puts you in the hospital, Alec. Anytime you’re admitted, I should be the first person to know. Just like you’d like to know if I were admitted into the hospital, wouldn’t you?” Alec looked down to his lap, which was confirmation enough.

You rolled your eyes at the man in the bed, annoyed but fond all the same. You wanted to reach for his hand again, now that he was conscious and would squeeze your hand back like he always did, but you were still angry at him, “in fact, I’m a bit pissed off I wasn’t contacted when you fell in the restroom in your hotel room just after you got here. And even if they didn’t tell me, you should’ve rung me. You can’t keep these things a secret from me, not when it’s your health we’re talking about.”

“Hey, that one wasn’t my fault,” Alec frowned. “I was just as surprised as you were, I’m sure. It wasn’t a secret, I just... I don’t want to worry you.”

“I know,” you sighed, leaning back in the chair tiredly, “we’ll still talk about it later. And it’s my job to be worried about you. I only agreed to you coming here alone because you promised to look after yourself if I wasn’t here with you. I know how you feel about small towns and the gossip associated, but I’m not going to stand back and watch you work yourself into an early grave because you don’t want people talking about us.”

“It’s not that I don’t want them talking about us,” he stressed the word, “it’s that I don’t want you being hassled by newspapers for information about cases—and I certainly don’t want them focusing on us when there’s been a child murdered. Not everyone’ll be accepting of us—especially here with all the local chatter and that bloody Broadchurch Echo newspaper.”

He paused for a beat before lifting his attention and giving you a soft glare, “and I’ve been looking after myself,” Alec muttered, offended by the observation. “And if I haven’t, Millhur has been. She brings me tea, and... chips. I’m fine.”

“Of course,” you sniped, “it sure looks like you’ve been watching over yourself, Love.” You gestured easily along the length of Alec, curled up in a hospital bed. The man returned a look of irritation, but it didn’t bother you. “Honestly, you’d probably be far worse off if Ellie hadn’t been keeping an eye on you, which thankfully she has been watching out for your sorry arse.”

“Ellie,” the man wrinkled his nose, narrowing his eyes at your tense figure, “since when have you been buddy-buddy with Millhur?”

“Since the two of us sat up all night together waiting for a certain hospitalized spoon to come to.”

Once again Alec looked offended. Spoon wasn’t exactly an endearing nickname, but you were still upset with him. He was probably just upset that you finally met the Miller he talked almost fondly about, in his grouchy Alec way whenever the two of you spoke on the phone.  

You took a breath, exhaling slowly before launching yourself into another round of telling him off, which he clearly needed to hear, “I just can’t understand why you’d throw yourself into a situation you knew you were in no shape to be handling. Your heart is weak, Alec. You can’t be stressing, or overexerting yourself. You need to be careful, and chasing after a murder in the dead of night is certainly not careful.”

“I was doing my job,” Alec let his head fall back against the pillows propping him up. “I was doing what I’m getting paid to do. I’m doing what’s morally right for the families of the children who were murdered.”

“I know that,” you promised, “but, you’re not the only detective the world, Alec,” you tried to keep yourself from exclaiming, “you may be one of the best, but you’re not the only one. And you certainly won’t be any help when you’re six feet under because you ignored your own needs, and your body’s pleas for you to stop and take it easy for once!”

Alec’s lips curled up into a scowl, but he looked a bit more guilty that he really looked mad. You hated making him feel guilty for helping others, and being a truly amazing detective by bringing in bad guys, but you’d much rather this look guilty than, be attending his funeral because he ignored every word of advice ever given to him.  

It didn’t matter who said it, whether it be you, a doctor, a specialist, Daisy, or even his ex-wife, once he put his mind to something, there was nothing anyone could say to make him stop and reconsider. But you’d known that since way back when, when the two of you had started dating.

“You seriously almost died, Alec.” You sighed, looking down at the floor, “do you know how awful it is to get a call like that in the early hours of the morning? Someone phoning you to tell you that your boyfriend had been rushed to hospital after collapsing at work?”

“I know,” he whispered, reaching a hand out, barely hanging over the edge of the bed, “I know, Love, and I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to. But I couldn’t let him get away; I can’t do that to Danny. This case will not end the same way it did for Pippa and Lisa. I won’t let it—I can’t let it.”

You’d been following the case via news articles and police statements. You were proud of Alec for what he did for a living, despite fearing that it would eventually be the death of him. He really did so much for the victims and their families, more than anyone could know. He always worked so hard to bring in offenders, especially murderers.  

You also knew the details of the Sandbrook case—you knew everything because he’d told you. You probably knew more than most of the officers at Sandbrook, because you believed him wholeheartedly. He was a good, kindhearted man. Just a bit tough on the outside.  

“You can’t help anyone if you’re dead,” you reminded with a sigh, reaching across the gap between his bed and your chair to finally take his hand into your own. It was brutal, but it was the truth. You just hoped it would sink in for Alec.  

Alec squeezed your hand just like you were silently praying he would. It was comforting, quieting your raging emotions if only for a moment. He was okay, he’d survived and he was here talking to you.  

“I hope I’m not stressing you out,” you whispered as you scooted your chair a bit closer to the bed so you weren’t reaching quite as far. “That would be counterproductive.”    

“Nah,” he shook his head, giving you a small smile and bringing your hand to his mouth so he could press a kiss to the back of your hand which was still held tightly in his, “you’ve just been telling me what I needed to hear from someone other than myself. I know all this, but I can’t just stop. Health aside, there’s a family—three families—who have lost their children.”

“But what if I lose you?” you couldn’t help but ask, “or if Daisy loses her father? And what about Ellie? I’m quite sure she’s grown a bit fond of you as well, though I’m not sure how that happened,” you teased lightly. It was just to ease the tension a bit. The man gave you a small, sad smile, before he was looking up to the ceiling thoughtfully.  

“Alright, alright,” he sighed, “I’ll try to be a bit more careful. For Daisy and you... and, well, I suppose for Millhur too. But I will not stop. We’re so close to catching Danny’s killer. I don’t care what anyone has to say, that bastard will not get away with this.”

“You’ll get the sick bastard who did this,” you told him, because it was what he needed to hear. “You and Ellie. The two of you will catch this guy. I know you will, because that’s what you do.”

You paused for a second before turning towards him and frowning, “but for the love of God, don’t kill yourself trying, y’hear?”

“I hear,” Alec laughed. “I’m alright now,” he assured, pulling your hand halfheartedly towards himself. You huffed a small laugh, standing up so you could sit on the side of the bed against the headboard like he was silently requesting you do. Alec smiled at you, shifting closer so he could tuck his head into your side. “I’ll be alright. I’ll be alright, and I’ll catch the bastard to kill Danny Latimer.”

“I expect nothing less,” you snorted, trailing your fingers through his hair now that he was within reach and apparently seeking affection, “now you need to relax for a while if you expect me to let you return to work as fast as I know you’re going to want me too.”

“I should get back today-”

“Absolutely not. You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” you muttered in fond disbelief, “tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. And you’re going to be sticking around Ellie, or so help me, I’ll kill you myself.”

“Yes, fine,” Alec rolled his eyes, “tomorrow, and I’ll stick close to Millhur. Happy then?”

“Immensely,” you deadpanned before grinning at the man cuddled into your side. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

----

To say Ellie was surprised to find out that her boss had such a pleasant boyfriend was a bit of an understatement. She probably shouldn’t have been so surprised at the knowledge that he wasn’t as lonely and miserable in the dating department as she’d thought, since he’d not said a word about himself since arriving.  

He’d only told her about his daughter when Joe had prompted him into it when Hardy had come around their house for dinner. Hell, he’d not even bothered to tell her he had severe heart arrhythmia.  

That wasn’t something someone should keep from their friend.

He really could’ve died, and she was fully prepared to lay into him for keeping that secret the moment he woke up, when (Y/N) had rushed in the doors demanding to know how he was.

Like the polite person she was, Ellie had introduced herself to the mystery man pleading to see her boss, only to find out the jerk had this secret boyfriend he hadn’t bothered mentioning.  

She knew bare minimum of his ex-wife, so it was a bit of a surprise that he had a boyfriend, not that she minded. He could be into anyone he fancied and nothing could change what she thought of him. He’d always be Hardy, a bit of a prick, but one of the best people she’d ever known.

They’d gotten around to talking, waiting into the late hours of the morning before Hardy was moved from Intensive Care and into a regular room, where the two of them were allowed to sit with him.  

Ellie thought it was adorable how (Y/N) pushed his chair up right close to the bed and held her boss’ hand. It was strange to see Hardy like this, to see him have someone who clearly loved and cared for him, holding his hand and sitting without moving for hours.  

She was happy he had someone. She’d never say it out loud, and never to Hardy, but she knew he was too good to be alone. That it wasn’t right that a man like Hardy would be single, even though he was a bit of an odd guy.

(Y/N) seemed like a lovely guy. Doting and caring. He told her stories that she was sure Hardy would’ve lost his mind if he knew she knew them, but (Y/N) didn’t seem bothered at the fact, and instead only shot fond looks at Hardy as he retold the stories.

He didn’t tell her much about Hardy in general—like his daughter or ex, or even mention his illness or anything along the lines, but he had ample stories and fond memories of the two of them he was happy to share.  

Ellie could barely even imagine her Hardy—the Hardy in the bed to be the man in (Y/N)’s stories. But it was adorable and heartwarming all the same. It made her happy that Hardy had someone like (Y/N).

And it made he even happier that (Y/N) was scolding Hardy like she wanted too as well. Not that she meant to eavesdrop outside the door, but it really doesn’t take more than ten minutes to get coffee from the cafeteria in the hospital.  

They were the cutest thing, and she’d be sure to tease Hardy a bunch about his adorable boyfriend when he was feeling better. And she definitely would because it wasn’t every day that an important person from Hardy’s life makes an appearance.  

When the talking inside the room died down to an occasional mumble, Ellie finally rapped her knuckles twice without managing to spill any coffee as a warning before pushing it open with her elbow, two to-go cups of barely warmer than lukewarm coffee in her hands.  

“’ello, Sir,” she grinned, containing the ‘aw’ sitting on the tip of her tongue as she took in her boss cuddled into his boyfriend, “feeling better?”

“I’m fine,” he waved her off with a scowl that was all too familiar at this point. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen the man without a scowl if she were honest. 

He didn’t bother moving away from his boyfriend though, as she feared he would’ve done since he was Hardy, and that alone warmed her heart.

“Well, don’t the two of you look all cozy,” she couldn’t resist teasing. She stepped into the room, handing the second cup of coffee to (Y/N). He took the cup gratefully, grinning widely at the comment before taking a sip of his coffee and leaning back against the pillows.

“Sod off, Millhur,” the man reclined in the bed sighed. He even sounded tired, but she resisted the urge to frown. Frowning wouldn’t help anyone.  

“Of course, Sir.”

“You make her call you sir?” (Y/N) looked down at Hardy with a teasing smile, “why can’t she call you Alec?”

“I don’t like Alec,” Hardy groaned turning his head to bury his face in (Y/N)’s shirt, “never liked Alec, you know that. Don’t like it when you call me Alec either, but can’t very well stop you now can I?”

“I can call you Sir too, if you’d like?”

“Right, I should go then,” Ellie retreated, a bit awkward that (Y/N) was actually teasing her boss. No one she knew (besides herself to a way lesser degree) would ever even think about teasing Alec Hardy. 

Plus, she really didn’t want to see where this teasing ended, not if it could possibly ruin her ever calling Hardy sir again. There were so few names she could actually call him, and she really didn’t want Sir to be ruined for her. “I’ll see you back at work, Sir. In a day or two.”

“A day,” Hardy replied easily. Ellie nodded, not bothering to try and get the man to stay in the hospital any longer. Not when she already knew it was a lost cause, especially if (Y/N) hadn’t been successful, “oh and Millhur?”

Ellie paused, looking back into the room to see he boss’ eyes on her, “if we can keep this between us for now? Not that it’s a secret, just--”

“Of course,” Ellie agreed instantly, “it’s yours to share when you do. I won’t say anything. Even though there’s really nothing to share.”

“Thank you.”

“You... just feel better, alright? We’ve got a killer to catch and I can’t do that without you.”

<><><><>

Thanks so much for the prompt, and for reading! Feel free to send another ask if this wasn’t what you were looking for, but hopefully it is!

Also, let me know if I messed up anywhere with male reader pronouns, I read through a couple times, but they might’ve slipped past me!

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 277: Go Go Child Soldiers

Previously on BnHA: Horikoshi was all “hey guys I’m going to kill off Aizawa” and we were like “no you’re not” and he was like “watch me, I’m really gonna do it!!” and we were all “DO NOT” and he was all “okay okay geez.” I don’t know if he thinks he’s being cute or what, but we will probably have to have a little talk after this. Anyway, so other stuff that happened included the obligatory news copter showing up to record the carnage so that All Might and Eri can watch; Tomura activating some Approximately High End Noumus to serve as cannon fodder to distract all the hero extras; and Gran dropping off Kacchan and Deku a little ways away from the battle and being all “stay here”, which was IMMEDIATELY and PROFOUNDLY ignored as they just FLEW RIGHT BACK OVER TO THE BATTLE anyway to save Aizawa. Yep. Kacchan really wants to lose that quirk.

Today on BnHA: Tomura, Deku, Kacchan, and Endeavor all take turns flinging each other into the ground and launching fire and explosions and stuff, all of which is impressively violent and doesn’t really get anything accomplished. The grown-ups all collectively decide to shrug off Deku and Kacchan joining in on the fight as though they’re teenagers sneaking into an R-rated film as opposed to CHILDREN on a BATTLEFIELD, and I can’t help but feel like this very nonchalant decision will have some serious consequences! Tomura has a moment of self-awareness in which he’s all “is AFO possessing me lol” before deciding “NAH THAT CAN’T POSSIBLY BE TRUE” which, haha, okay. The chapter then ends with Mt. Lady unsettlingly taking on Gigantomachia ALL BY HERSELF??! which seems like a REALLY TERRIBLE IDEA?? and had better not result in anything bad happening to her though or I SWEAR TO GOD.

ooooooooh!

preview of the final battle, anyone? and I feel like this panel is deliberately drawn to resemble All Might and AFO’s iconic battle at Kamino as well, which ramps up the intensity all the more. very nice

and shout out to Aizawa for making this moment possible with his quirk! I have to assume this isn’t something we’re gonna get the chance to see too often moving forward, unless he decides to chaperone all future battles from here on out, which would be good for the kids but also very stressful for me

anyways, so... lol

it really is almost as though Gran asked them this question and then Deku was like “OOH! I KNOW!” and then just leaped into action to demonstrate. “this!! him getting ahold of me, right?? this would be so much worse.” good job Deku

although

he’s not wrong, though. dammit. I mean, I’ve already tacitly endorsed their involvement by approving of them saving Aizawa’s life. you know, for that brief span of time after Aizawa showed up and before we knew how powerful Tomura would still be even without his quirks, I really thought that Aizawa losing his own quirk was all but an inevitability. now, though, it kinda feels like they absolutely wouldn’t stand a chance without him?? hahaha

honestly it’s a little uncomfortable to think about the fact that the Child Soldiers That We All Agree Should Under No Circumstances Be A Part Of This War have so far a) saved Hawks’s life and b) now saved Aizawa’s, and by extension c) saved the entire world. I mean but don’t get me wrong, you still won’t see me writing the HPSC any thank you cards any time soon

anyway now that I’ve said all that, watch Aizawa just immediately lose his fucking quirk right afterwards though. WE’LL SEE

...sigh

why is every last one of the pros so utterly goddamn useless. sorry, was that a bit harsh. I’ll try to phrase it more gently. what I meant to say was, why is every single non-Mirko adult person on this mission about as useful as a RoseArt crayon. why do they all SUCK so HARD. why are they BAD. bad!! they’re just bad!!!

anyways but back to Deku

I’m torn between SOBBING FREELY at this and banging my head against a wall lmao. help please my green son is so loving and brave and so tremendously stupid, just

this is true! and by the way though Deku, just remind me again, I spaced it out just now, what was the reason Tomura was out here to get ambushed by Aizawa and the others in the first place? he was after... something? one for... the road? one for the money? one flew over the cuckoo’s nest?? damn what was it

damn it Aizawa stop dumping your feels in the middle of my sarcastic rants

bro. I know, right?? listen I’m proud of him too don’t get me wrong! the unfortunate thing is though that right now he’s not just your student; he’s also -- and it’s not your fault you don’t know this yet though -- The Thing That Tomura Wants Right Now, On A Silver Platter. so yeah. hence why I am concerned

oop no time to talk though cuz my boys are doing a ~*~COMBO THING~*~ ooooooooh yeahhhhhhh

look at that. “okay Deku you just hold him there and try not to get shot.” truly dazzling teamwork there

LISTEN, YOU!!

THE DISRESPECT?? ooh man and look at his face. this is the happy reunion I’ve been waiting oh my god oh my god

LOL

YEAH HE CAN DO THAT NOW HAHA. while you were off getting all transcendent he was mastering his BLOOP now what huh take that

...sob he’s just yanking Deku along behind him as if he weighs nothing. it’s like that one fancomic of the entire Bakusquad trying to stop an angry Kirishima --

-- HOLY SHIT I SAID “WHOA” ALOUD

MEEP THAT’S CLOSE. whew. okay. breathe. breathe

OH IT’S YOU AGAIN

you guys, is it just me or has this entire battle so far just been one long loop of -> Deku tries to fight Tomura -> Kacchan goes with -> Kacchan almost dies -> an adult intervenes at the last possible second -> Endeavor tries to fight Tomura -> Endeavor almost dies -> Deku tries to fight Tomura -> repeat ad infinitum

anyway so Tomura’s actually going flying into the ground now. that probably came within a hair’s breath of actually nearly almost mildly hurting him! way to go guys keep it up!

and Endeavor’s now echoing a question which many fans have been asking these last few weeks, “where’s Shouto?” where indeed. off somewhere not being a dumbass like these two, one hopes. maybe sticking his arm down some Not Quite High Ends’ throats and making them hibernate

lord help us Tomura’s actually stopped fighting for two seconds to monologue. is this good or bad??

is this a deliberate tactic? are you trying to buy time?? I don’t like this lol. why did they stop fighting you now that they’ve finally almost sort of got an edge on you

wow we’re really just... letting the kids fight, huh

just letting them be right there in formation with Endeavor. no one stops to think “are there any actual adult people we could try and swap out in place of these two high school freshmen?” because they already know the answer is “no there are not” SIGH

EVEN AIZAWA OMG

AND WHAT HAPPENS AFTER THAT?? “la la la we’re not gonna think about it.” goddammit I liked it when you guys were at least trying to pretend like the sixteen-year-olds shouldn’t be here fdslkfjlk

anyway. for what it’s worth, at least we’ve got the only three people in the world who ever tried to surpass All Might standing up here ready to take on the guy whose strength and toughness is approximately the same as his. that’s something. I guess this really is our best shot

YES WE GET IT

“I GUESS IT CAN’T BE HELPED” should be the goddamn chapter title. either that or “SHRUG, CHILD SOLDIERS, I GUESS!!!”

anyway so he’s telling Deku and Kacchan not to ask for direction in one breath, and then giving them orders right away with the next

djsalfkj. welp. you heard him Kacchan. guard Deku no matter what. this will definitely end well

KLDSKFLKSHG MEANWHILE!!!

DON’T MIND HIM HE’S JUST POSSESSED BY A LITTLE BIT OF AFO-SOUL. NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT

oh man he actually looks freaked out??!

like he has no idea what happened just now. I’m sorry, up until this point were you thinking that having echo-y “wooooo... One for All... go get it~~” voices inside your head was perfectly normal?? lol boy he’s been playing you this whole time and he’s still playing you. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU IGNORE YOUR DEAD FAMILY’S EERIE DREAM WARNINGS. YOU GET POSSESSED

meanwhile!! both Deku and Tomura reacting at the same time! DO YOU BELIEVE ME THAT THEY SHARE A MENTAL LINK YET. hmm hmm hmm anyway

so now Tomura is straight up in denial!

sadly I’m growing more and more convinced that he’s wrong on all three accounts there. you may think it’s your power and your body...

and wait though, because this is the first time that the idea of him not being in control of his body has actually been brought up, isn’t it? so that’s a nice big red flag there! up until now the argument could be made that even if AFO’s will is manipulating Tomura from behind the scenes and influencing his decisions, there was nothing to indicate that AFO could potentially take over his entire body. but now that Tomura has brought it up as a possibility -- even if he’s in denial about it -- I’d say it’s not only possible, but extremely likely! so that’s a nice big thing looming on the horizon there

and it also in turn gives us a potential solution to the question of “how can this battle possibly end without all of the heroes dying and/or Tomura losing?” because one has to assume that Aizawa’s quirk is going to be taken out of the picture at some point, whether it’s because of him blinking at the wrong time or being shot with a bullet or what. at which point Tomura would basically become unstoppable again and be free to just destroy everything like he wants. but now this introduces the possibility of him potentially taking himself out of the picture for the time being. like if he realizes that he’s in danger of being outright possessed, I could see him leaving them for now and running off to go wage mental war with himself for a while, giving the heroes some time to regroup and lick their wounds. so that’s interesting to think about

holy shit!!

okay so just a couple of things I want to take note of here before we read on

“I don’t want to become like you” -- I think we can take this as confirmation that Tomura will fight against AFO if and when he realizes he’s being manipulated. his loyalty to him isn’t completely blind. so that could have some potentially huge implications moving forward

this image of Tomura being on the inside of AFO’s body, in what looks to be the same mental landscape from chapter 270, though. ...yeah. just who is really in charge, here

anyway so his next thought on page 11 is “I want to be even greater than you”, echoing Deku (and Kacchan’s) desire to be even greater than All Might, which is yet another nice parallel between them

and he’s basically telling the AFO voice inside him to shut up now, as if it will actually listen

yep. you want to go after One for All for your own deeply personal reasons. not following your master’s whims at all, nope. you are your own man

so now finally Gran is getting in on the action!

no idea why he want after the arm though. as if a broken arm ever stopped anyone in this fucking manga

OOOH NANA NAME DROP

???? um??? your dead grandma??? remember???!! don’t tell me you don’t at least recognize your own fucking last name there?? that is significant and don’t try to tell me otherwise! and in a chapter about you being rebellious and trying to defy AFO’s will, besides!!

holy shit

1. THE GRAN/TOSHINORI FATHER/SON FEELS I WASN’T READY!!, and 2. HOLY SHIT THIS OLD MAN IS RIPPED, THOUGH

AND HERE COMES ENDEAVOR NOW TO RUIN EVERYTHING SOMEHOW, PROBABLY

I DON’T KNOW WHAT THAT FACE MEANS BUT IT SURE AS HELL ISN’T A GOOD FACE I CAN TELL YOU THAT

OH NO SOMEHOW DEKU GOT INVOLVED AGAIN LOL

DIDN’T I TELL YOU IT WAS A NEVERENDING LOOP OF A FIGHT. SO NEXT UP IS KACCHAN JOINING IN AND THEN ALMOST DYING AGAIN

OH MY GOD

NEVER. ENDING. LOOP oh god oh god. next time don’t loudly shout “HE’S JUST THE BAIT” before launching your surprise attack you dingus!!

HOLY MOLY

OKAY BUT

I don’t know about you but I am hella impressed that he managed a blast like that without blowing his own fucking arm off

with the exception of that one time he got all excited and tried to vaporize Todoroki during the sports festival, we have almost never seen Katsuki go all out against anyone, and the possibility that we might be about to see it now is THRILLING. I AM THRILLED

NOW WE’RE CUTTING TO ENDEAVOR AND HE’S FLASHING BACK TO THE SHORT SPEECH ALL MIGHT GAVE HIM WAY BACK WHEN ABOUT THEM BEING DIFFERENT AND ABOUT HOW ENDEAVOR SHOULD FIND HIS OWN PATH RATHER THAN TRYING TO BE THE SAME KIND OF SYMBOL AS ALL MIGHT. AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THIS IS OR WHY IT’S BEING BROUGHT UP NOW BUT OH GOLLY!

(ETA: I guess it might be because Endeavor -- unlike All Might -- isn’t facing Tomura alone but is working together with the kids to do this combo? like it’s a teamwork thing? I don’t really know lol I’ll think on it some more.)

LOL WHAT

WHAT IS HAPPENING. lol everything is either being exploded or on fire

KFFLSLLK “MEANWHILE”?????

OH NO OH GOD

SIGHING OUT LOUD AGAIN!! not because I’m disappointed to cut away from the Kacchan Loses His Quirk Battle (in due time!!), but because this means that yet again I’m going to have to spend a chapter worrying about Horikoshi killing off one of the TWELVE remaining living female pro hero characters he has, of which one is a healer, another is retired and working as a secretary, yet another only seems to do TV commercials, yet another another currently has... I want to say two limbs?? but I’m not even sure anymore, and lastly two more yet anothers are currently WHEREABOUTS UNKNOWN and MAY ALREADY BE DEAD. so if you’re counting, that’s a full HALF of what was already maybe only a fifth of the total pro hero population in general

all of which is to say that IF YOU SO MUCH AS LAY A FINGER ON MT. LADY I WILL FUCKING END YOU HORIKOSHI. we are NOT HAVING THAT. you hear me?? YOU CAN’T SPEND ALL OF YOUR FREE TIME DRAWING MIRKO ALL OVER THE PLACE AND BEING ALL “I FUCKING LOVE GIRL POWER” ONLY TO GO AND BE ALL “OH BUT I KILLED MT. LADY THOUGH WHOOPS”!! DO YOU HEAR ME?? THIS AIN’T IT

sigh. and yet why do I have a very bad feeling about this. hopefully I’m just overreacting. please don’t sully this amazing arc!! MANGA GODS, I OFFER YOU THIS PRAYER

[queenpersephonesgarden]

together through the dark (dawn is still a long way off)

Dream SMP, Rated G, 3.4k, chapter 1 of ??

Summary: Fundy's family is messed up and painfully complicated as it is, with betrayal and heartbreak and death separating them on too many sides of too many wars to count. He should be grateful the attempt to revive his father failed, that Wilbur isn't here to make things worse.

But he isn't. And that pitiful heart might just be their undoing.

Or: Phil tried and failed twice to bring Wilbur back himself. Fundy succeeded without even wanting to try.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Accidental Resurrection, therapy arc let's go, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, it's gonna take a bit for Phil and Tommy to get involved in this ngl, if the CCs ever have a problem with this let me know and it'll be gone, bro do you ever start writing a fic only for canon to start stealing your ideas, Canon-typical swearing, Brief description of injury, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit are Not Biological Siblings, but that doesn't mean Found Family doesn't exist, They/Them Pronouns for Eret (Video Blogging RPF)

Can be read on AO3 (link will be in the notes)

The moon and the first of the stars had begun to peek over the horizon by the time they’d finally admitted defeat.

The mismatched crowd that had gathered for the spectacle of an attempted resurrection had begun the long trek down the Prime Path back to the Greater SMP, chatter finally respectfully subdued where before it had been badly contained manic chaos throughout the entire afternoon. Everyone seemed to have noticed the somber mood that had engulfed Philza, and had reined themselves in appropriately.

Fundy had lagged further and further behind, jittery with some unexplainable emotion.

It had failed.

The resurrection had been a waste of time all along, so-

He should be happy, right?

He was. He was glad Wilbur wasn’t coming back. He was glad to be spared from his father’s tumultuous presence for another day.

Hell, he was relieved.

… right?

But – But walking back, watching Ghostbur smile and murmur something comforting to the silly little sheep trailing beside him, seeing Philza’s melancholic smile, feeling the weight of Tommy’s pointed silence – it’s all suffocating.

If he follows for one more step, he’s going to end up saying or doing something he’ll regret.

No one notices when he stops tagging along – which is just typical, a nasty little part of his brain thinks – no one at all.

No one except for Eret, who darts a glance over their shoulder and almost doubles back, expression plainly worried.

Fundy quickly shook his head and shrugged, reluctant to disrupt the dejected parade and draw attention to himself.

Eret, Prime bless them, seems to understand without a word. They smile, nod, and carry on after the others.

Their door will be open later for him, he knew. If he came back soon enough, he’d even have someone available to rant to if need be.

Just the knowledge of that is a huge relief to Fundy. Eret always seems to get him when he’s in these moods, and even when they don’t, they’re always at least willing to listen.

Which is more than could be said for the rest of Fundy’s family.

And that wonderful thought is an excellent segue way into an immediate downward spiral. Fundy shakes himself hard to rid himself of the impulse to follow that down the rabbit hole. He predictably fails miserably.

Focus, dammit.

Except what else is there to focus on? The botched attempt to bring his crazy dad back to life?

Oh, hey, that’s not good for his mental health either. Great.

Fundy spins right around and starts stomping back up the Path without a single care how immature it might seem or who might see it, headed straight back where they’d come from.

He walks steadily across the glass carefully immortalizing the greatest disaster that had befallen the SMP so far, making sure not to look down for longer than a few seconds. He makes it back to the bizarre little revival shrine in record time without a host of noisy spectators slowing him down, just in time to avoid the slight drizzle the cloudy sky had been threatening the entire latter half of the afternoon.

He steps very carefully onto the blue and yellow brickwork, eyes trailing over the uncomfortably familiar little offerings placed all over like the world’s worst interior design project, before he reaches the middle and has to bite down hard on his cheek to prevent the litany of swear words wanting to escape his mouth.

Philza hung the sword on the wall, before he left.

Just- just put it up there, like it’s no big deal, like it’s a fucking prop, like it isn’t the sword he used to stab his son, Fundy’s father.

Nope. Nope, nope, Fundy isn’t okay with this.

He grabs the handle and pulls it down, and that’s as far as his planning goes. He’s left standing there like a fool holding his father’s murder weapon, heavily debating the pros and cons of either putting it down on the floor so it at least doesn’t look like a reward, or giving up entirely on composure and screaming and throwing it down into the ugly scar in the earth outside. Let it rot in the bedrock with the rest of his father’s legacy where Fundy will never have to look at it again.

But before he can decide which is the option less likely to leave him crying his eyes out to Eret later tonight, a gentle voice echoes behind him. “What are you doing, Fundy?”

Fundy straightens involuntarily upon recognizing that voice, and turns automatically. “Wil- er, Ghostbur?” He almost moves to hide the hideous thing behind his back, but Ghostbur is already floating there staring and that really would be the end of his dignity, so he just lets it hang awkwardly from one hand. “Why are you here? Did you follow me?”

Never mind the tiny stupid feeling in his chest, fluttering in excitement at being noticed.

Ghostbur hummed curiously, carefully shaking water droplets from the rain off of his steaming hands. “Hmm? Oh, no. I mean, I noticed you were gone and all, but I didn’t know you’d be here. I just came back myself, that’s all.”

Hope squashed. Fundy nodded with a hum of his own, face carefully neutral.

“So what are you doing?” Ghostbur repeated, and suddenly having an audience just makes Fundy feel very, very stupid.

His ears flattened against his skull as he stuttered a reply, “W-well, you know, I just thought, well I mean it seemed, it was just, I. Uh.”

Ghostbur tilted his head innocently. Fundy wanted to sink into the bricks under his feet.

Fundy holds out his free hand and gestured emphatically. “What are you doing here?”

Master of changing the subject, he is.

Luckily, with Ghostbur, it doesn’t really matter how dumb the change of subject is, he just rolls right along with it. “Oh, well, Phil and Tommy both went back through the Nether Portal to head home, so I didn’t really know who to follow. They were both a bit sad, so I gave them some blue, but Phil still looked upset so I- I thought maybe I’d come back here one more time, just to see if I could remember anything else that might help.”

Fundy didn’t even bother trying to disguise the bitterness in his voice when he snorted. “Well, that was a nice thought, but I doubt any memories you have of this room could make Phil less upset.”

Ghostbur smiled emptily, pulling a bit of blue out of one pocket to cup in both hands, and immediately Fundy feels awful. Being sassy to Ghostbur never feels satisfying or rebellious, just cruel.

Grimacing, Fundy glared down at his own bit of blue, too large and shaped like the world’s ugliest sword, tamping down on equally ugly feelings in his chest. “But you can do whatever you want, I won’t stop you. I’m just, glad you’re not planning to go through with an unannounced midnight resurrection to surprise us all in the morning with, or something.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

Fundy blinked and looked back up. “Huh?”

Ghostbur shrugged and smiled nervously. “Oh, you know. Things change, given time. Places, people… decisions… you know? People change their minds all the time! Especially when it’s a really important or dangerous decision! And it usually works out just fine!”

It took a second for his meaning to get through. When it finally did, Fundy suddenly felt rather cold

“So, wait. You’re saying you… don’t want to be revived anymore?”

Ghostbur worried his tiny bit of blue between his fingers, shoulders slowly inching up towards his ears. “N- well- I don’t- I don’t think so? No, I don’t think so, Fundy. I’m sorry.”

Sorry? Really?

“Why would you need to be sorry?” Fundy asked, voice a bit too loud even in his own ears.

Ghostbur grew even more tense, his hands kneading the blue even faster as he ducked his head. “I just- well, I know Phil was disappointed, even when he didn’t say anything. He gets this look on his face when he- Anyway, Tommy was, was saying some things about Wilbur, and- that place I fell into was just awf- And, and I just- I just thought that-”

The ghost’s stammering became more and more incomprehensible, slowly fading out in that way it usually did when Ghostbur was starting to forget something.

Watching his expression become quietly distressed was painful in more ways than one, so Fundy cut him off. “It’s okay Ghostbur, you don’t gotta explain yourself if it hurts.”

If anything, his attempt at consolation only made Ghostbur more upset, dammit. “But that’s just it, Fundy! If, if it hurts for me, it must hurt so much more for everyone else!” He cradled his head in his hands like it hurt.

“Everyone was so excited today, everyone was working together, even after you and Phil had that falling out-”

Fundy flinched. He wouldn’t exactly describe being banished at sword point from Philza’s Arctic base without even a chance to try and explain himself as a simple ‘falling out’-

“-you still both came and no one was arguing and, and Eret was going to apologize and finally talk things over with Wilbur, and it was perfect but-”

Ghostbur’s face was wretched as his hands dropped, the picture of abject misery. “But it didn’t work, and that place was so empty, and I- I just don’t think I can do it, Fundy. I don’t want to go back there. I’m so so sorry.”

Fundy swallowed hard.

“That’s fine, Ghostbur,” and fuck, why was his throat so tight, why were his eyes stinging, “Nobody’s gonna force you if you don’t want to.”

The little ghost looks so pathetically grateful in that moment that Fundy has to turn away, has to look anywhere else lest something mortifying comes out of his mouth.

But his brain is a dirty traitor, so his eyes land back on the shitty sword, and all he can do is try to process.

Should he be angry to hear that?

Should he be relieved to hear that?

Fundy isn’t sure. He never really knows how he should feel, when Ghostbur is around.

On one hand, that’s his father, and a good day with his father back when he was alive was a day where talking to him – or arguing with him, more often than not – didn’t make Fundy angry enough that he couldn’t think straight for an hour.

On the other hand, Ghostbur can’t remember many of those days, good or bad. From what he’s said in the past, his memories of Fundy are all the scattered bright spots of their lives together; the day Fundy was born, the day they chose his name, their days in L’Manburg, little snippets here and there of jokes and teasing that had still been lighthearted, before a war and a presidency and a betrayal made all of their casual jabs carry jagged edges they hadn’t before.

Ghostbur is kind, and cheerful, and always wonderfully, terribly happy whenever Fundy is around to visit and talk to. A stark contrast to Fundy’s memories of the last few months of his father’s life, where the man was sullen, snappish, giddy and half-crazed one moment, menacingly calm and collected the next.

It’s an incredibly disquieting thing to think about, so Fundy doesn’t very often. Now, of course, he can’t help it; standing here, in this macabre, borderline cartoonish little shrine filled with all of the things that slowly drove the man into the grave, it’s impossible not to think of all the things that make the ghost of him so much better. And so much worse.

Because Ghostbur isn’t his father, and that is equally both a blessing and a curse.

Every conversation he has with Ghostbur just leaves Fundy feeling frustrated and a bit guilty, the two emotions spinning a waltz right in the middle of his guts until they’re twisted into knots.

Ghostbur’s entire existence is frustrating, but even in Fundy’s worst moods, he’s never wished ill on him.

In the end, all of these feelings of betrayal and heartbreak and anger are all Fundy’s alone to remember.

And that’s totally fine.

Yep.

Ghostbur was never actually involved with any of Fundy’s worst memories, so it wasn’t his job to try and fix anything between them.

It’s just on Fundy to deal with it.

And he can definitely do that.

Definitely.

Just, maybe some other time or somewhere else, far away from the stone that had once been stained with his father’s blood, with his literal murder weapon not in his hands.

Staring down at it right now is not doing Fundy’s emotional state any favors, thanks.

He breathes out unsteadily, holding the damn thing out horizontally with both hands, rather tempted to do- something unpleasant to it.

“Fundy?” Ghostbur asks from too close and very far away, voice echoing with confusion and worry. “Are you okay?”

But Fundy isn’t really listening.

He doesn’t want to accuse Ghostbur of anything when he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling. Arguing with Phil accomplishes diddly-fucking-squat.

But maybe-

He’s not really sure what he intends to do in the moment his grip tightens – the loud, stupid traitor part of his brain that always insists he yells louder during an argument to get his point across (as if anyone would actually listen) is clamoring for him to snap it over his knee like a twig, never mind how impossible that is with literal diamond – but it doesn’t really matter.

He is abruptly reminded why it is a rather bad idea to grab a sword by the blade end without reinforced gloves.

“Ah! Hell!”

Fundy curses vehemently under his breath, relaxing his grip quickly before he can do something even more stupid.

And then-

“Oh.”

He says it so softly.

Not scared, or sad, or panicked.

Ghostbur approaches and sees blood welling in between Fundy’s fingers, and he blinks like he just took a wrong step in a dark tunnel, and finally realized which way home was.

Blood drips down Fundy’s fingers and on to the sword, carving a path down where his father was run through, and drip-drops onto the ground still stained blue with evidence of a failed resurrection.

“Oh,” Ghostbur repeats quietly, and blinks out of existence.

“Wha-?!” Fundy jolts in surprise, which, ow, fuck, nearly slices his damn fingers off. He flings his empty hand further away from the diamond blade’s razor edge-

-just in time for Ghostbur to flicker back into view.

“Jesus Chr- dude! Hasn’t Tommy ever told you not to go invisible without warning like that?!” Fundy has to remind himself not to yell, because the ghost of his father he might be, he doesn’t actually want to start a fight right now.

Ghostbur doesn’t start stammering apologies immediately, doesn’t rush forward with a little bit of blue bandage to help Fundy feel better, doesn’t mumble in worry about forgetting something again because someone got hurt.

Maybe any of those should have been the first clue.

But Fundy doesn’t notice those clues right away, grimacing down at his bloody hand and looking for somewhere to put the damn sword that isn’t on the rack like some terrible trophy or on top of a stack of dynamite (why would they choose dynamite of all things to symbolize his father his traitor brain demands, why did Philza allow that, he should know better than anyone that guitars and books and warm sweaters would have done the trick of luring Wilbur in, that they had always made dad happiest back when he was younger and happier and not clawing at the walls of a tunnel and threatening to blow up the home he’d founded and built for himself and his friends and Fundy-).

“What?”

Fundy half spins, still looking for a suitable place to put the stupid fucking sword, looks up-

- sees a tall silhouette and his vision blurs for just a second; he blinks hard, shakes his head-

- does a double-take and freezes.

At the first glance, he was exactly the same as he was before; bright yellow sweater stained blue in a gruesome approximation of the fatal wound that took his last life over plain black pants, hair hidden by a beanie older than Fundy has even been alive, pale like snow with circles dark enough to be bruises underneath his eyes.

He was the same as he always is, except not anymore, because Fundy can actually see him. And he’s standing.

Not see through him. Not at a dull, washed out copy of the man that made a rather poor show of raising him. Not floating just slightly above the ground like he should be.

That’s not Ghostbur at all.

Fundy sees Wilbur, eyes wide and face entirely slack with shock, with skin flushed just slightly with color rather than lifelessly white.

He’s standing right there where Ghostbur used to be, not transparent, not desaturated,  not- not dead.

Is he dead? He should be. Why is he not-?

For one silent moment the world stands frozen on the edge of a knife, the two locked in a disbelieving staring contest.

Fundy blinks first. The man that should be a ghost is still not see-through, and full of more color than he should be.

The world has utterly ceased to make any sense.

Fundy’s fingers went numb.

Metal clanged unnoticed as that awful, ugly sword bounced off a brewing stand and hit the ground, splashing unremarkably into a puddle of mud.

Dead silence is left in its wake, broken only by the patter of rain that is suddenly so very far away.

Wilbur swayed a little on his feet. His face slowly contorted, warping Ghostbur’s final expression of gentle surprise into quiet, pained horror. His hands rose to press shaking fingers against his middle, where the appalling reminder of his violent end had always freely dribbled blue down his front like paint.

Fundy gaped back in response, ears ringing, heart pounding too fast and painful in his ribs, black spots eating at the corners of his vision- what is- why-

A slow, startled inhale became a choked, ragged gasp.

The specter that might have been a man stumbled.

Hurt and betrayal, anger and hatred; it all tumbled right out of Fundy’s spinning head.

One unsteady step forward-

- Wilbur’s knees buckled-

-and Fundy ran.

-.-.-

Miles and miles away in a place too dark too small too quiet, the walls glittered sickly in the light of magma sluggishly dripping over the only exit; a sticky, uncomfortable heat flooded the room only to be sucked away by the volcanic glass encasing it.

The room was utterly barren except for two things; a chest, and the resident seated upon it.

A lone young man sat hunched forward in the not-light of the lava-reflecting obsidian and stared blankly at the dark, dark walls around him.

Too still.

Too stiff.

Too quiet, quiet, quiet for far, far too long; all day, every day, ever since his favorite visitor had escaped and he’d been left all alone with nothing to play with again.

If someone were to look in at him, they might not even think he was breathing. Perhaps they would question, then, what the point was of such an elaborate cell for nothing more than a corpse.

But then-

-cold diamond slice through skin, warm blood drip-drip down, death become life again-

a movement, finally.

The young man’s blond head jerked upright, like a shock, like it was the first time in a long time that he had blinked awake.

His hungry green gaze swept his cell and fixed on the death trap that should have been a door, beyond even that, past weeping obsidian walls and wide empty fields, past the broad stretch of a long, long road to a country now lay in ruin, to a room of broken walls painted with the hope and suffering of the fathers and sons of one particular family.

For the first time in weeks, the young man’s eyes came to life with something beyond sheer boredom.

For the first time in an age, the god hidden under his skin did the same.

Dream and the shadow that shared his name stared wordlessly at the strange family reunion for one long heartbeat, then two.

Neither blinked.

They just tilted their head, curiosity personified; the closest either would come to admitting some semblance of surprise.

“Huh.”

[thefanficmonster]

My Warrior

Daniel x Taylor (The Dark Pictures Anthology: Little Hope)

Warnings: !Spoilers!, Swearing

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Summary: They have all made it out of there. They’re safe from the real horrors, but the scenes that have been imbedded into their minds keep haunting them. They are left with scars to their subconscious as well as scars on their skin. Marks to remind them of what they went through. What they survived. Taylor can’t stand them - the burn marks on her skin and the scars that night left on her. She’s struggling way more than she’d like to admit. But there’s someone who sees through her toughness.

Requested by @chairtiger Hello there my chaotic co-cult leader! Sorry to be posting your request so late 👉👈 hope you understand and forgive me for the long wait. I had a blast writing the fic and I hope you enjoy reading it. Anyway...SHIP DAYLOR FOR CLEAR SKIN EVERYONE...Love, Vy ❤

“Fucking hell, this is torture.“ Taylor groans as she runs a make-up wipe over her foundation-covered, bruised skin. Underneath all those layers of foundations are the marks she’s been so desperate to hide - the reminders of that night. That monstrosity that wanted her dead and wasn’t gonna stop at anything to make that happen.

But it didn’t happen She tells herself, I’m here, aren’t I?

She’s happy to have gotten out of there with her life as well as all her friends, but the feeling of the constant presence of that night’s memories weighing on her mind, and thanks to the marks on her skin as well, she has a hard time accepting that she was indeed lucky. Some fucking luck. If she were lucky she wouldn’t have even ended up in that predicament. But she did and it has taken a bite out of her sanity and will haunt her for good, physically and mentally. No doubt about it.

The first place they all went to after their return was a hospital. Scrapes and bruises and some open wounds along with Andrew’s concussion were the main of the physical injuries. No broken bones or anything permanent, thank God. 

Well, almost nothing permanent. 

Taylor had seen the looks the nurses and the doctor gave her when they saw the state of her skin - much like the others she had bruises and scratches here and there, the most serious of which still had dried blood on them. However, unlike the rest of the group, she’d be left with the burn marks for as long as the memories - forever. Of course, that’s not what the doctor told her, not directly, at least. He said to give them time and some treatment that wasn’t completely sure to work. She knew what that meant - “Be ready to spend the rest of your life like this or in covering it up.”

It’s been one month since that horrible night. One month of treatment for her skin. Lotions, creams, cleansers, foundation. Nothing has worked. She spends an hour going through the process of covering the marks up and an hour taking all that foundation off. No one has commented on them which may be either because she covers them well enough or they simply don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable. She doesn’t care what others think of them, people’s opinions never bother her on any ground. The war she has with these burn marks is personal and has all to do with an event she wants to let go of and move on from. As if her nightmares aren’t enough, she also has to deal with flashbacks every time she looks in the mirror.

She hasn’t expressed her frustration to anyone. She has managed to hide it as well as the bruises themselves. It’s Taylor after all, she’s good at putting on an act so no one can read her. But, because it is indeed her, she’s not used to keeping her anger in. She feels like a ticking timed bomb. A bubble with tender, delicate walls that could burst at any moment. And God help the person who she bursts in front of. She’s never held her composure this long, she doesn’t know what will even happen if she lets go.

Now, looking in the mirror, about to take off her foundation and apply the new lotion the doctor prescribed her, she feels as fragile as ever. She’s feeling the lack of sleep more than ever as well as the pain of her tensed muscles that never seem to relax anymore. She doesn’t feel mentally prepared to go through the process of taking off the cover-up. She never feels ready, it always takes a toll on her on mentally, emotionally and even physically. She always feels so tired afterwards, so drained. Maybe because she always expects to see a difference when the foundation comes off. There never is, nothing but disappointment.

Today has been extra hard for her. Her mind has never been hazier from the lack of sleep. Her thoughts are all over the place, none of them clear. Her body’s almost shutting down. She feels like a ghost of herself. Like the real her is in a different location. Probably still stuck in Little Hope.

The foundation’s off, the same sight meets her, mocking her from the mirror. And that’s the snapping point she’s been dreading for a month now. She reaches for the new lotion she picked up on her way home.

“Useless piece of shit!“ she chucks it to the other end of the bathroom. The bottle is unharmed, it just hits the tiled floor with a loud thud. She however is in pieces, also dropping on the ground, her back against the wall, her knees tucked close to her chest, hiding her face between them, sobbing her heart out. It’s certainly a freeing feeling, but it only exhausts her more.

“Hey T...Taylor, what’s wrong?“ She hears the familiar voice and goes silent but does not dare lift her head, especially not now that her cover-up is off her, the burn marks on display. She remains sitting on the ground, face hidden from his sight.

Daniel feels her heart sink at the sight of the most important person in his life being at a low point like this one. He feels guilty for not taking action sooner. He saw the signs, the red flags in the form of fake empty smile, lack of sarcasm, colorless cheeks, eyebags, red eyes. Lack of Taylor, she was nowhere to be seen. She was far from the person he’s used to knowing and seeing every day. Knowing her, he expected prying to be a bad move but now he wishes he’d done it sooner. On time. Before she could crash like this.

“Do you know how to knock?” Her weak attempt at putting her tough act back on slips through the cracks in her voice.

Daniel is by her side asap, kneeling on the ground in front of her. “T, come on, don’t do this. Look at me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

She knows better than to hide from Daniel. He know her too well. She trusts him too much. So, despite her previous determination not to let him in on the fact that she’s now a product of that night, she raises her head, resting her chin on her knee, still avoiding his gaze though. He doesn’t bat an eye though. 

Can he really not see what’s bothering me? It’s very fucking obvious

“I- I just feel like I can’t do this, you know. I can’t be fine like the rest of you. You’ve all moved on. And here I am with nightmares like a preschooler and these ugly things all over my skin. That night will permanently hold onto me, Daniel. I can never let it go if I’m reminded of it every time I look in the mirror.“ Her gaze travels to the lotion bottle on the an arm’s reach away. “I can empty as many of these bottles as I feel like, they never help. The doctor says they maybe would, big emphasis on the ‘maybe’ but, spoiler alert: they never do. I wish they’d stop stringing me along, every failed attempt is a hard-to-swallow disappointment.“ She chuckles humorlessly when Daniel takes the bottle from her, “And then there’s always the casually mentioned risk of it making them worse rather than better. You know, casually. Like, yeah this will either help you or fuck you up even worse.“ She ends the rant with a sigh, almost feeling like herself again.

Daniel sees it too, the fire in her eyes is fighting to light again. She’s so angry and yet she can’t express it to anyone. Anyone by him apparently. 

“So, you’re not gonna give it a shot?“ She shakes her head, “But what if it helps?“

“What if it makes it worse?“ She automatically replies, hugging her knees closer

“Let it be your last go. If it doesn’t do anything, or God forbid makes things worse, it’s on me. I owe you whatever you want. I know that’s nothing in comparison to what you’ll be dealing with, but...“ Sensing a speech is on its way, Taylor holds her hand up, shaking her head.

“Alright, spare me Mr. I-Don’t-Take-Medicine-Unless-I’m-On-My-Death-Bed. Give me the lotion.“

He shakes his head, stands up and takes hold of the hand she has outstretched instead. “Nah-ah, let me help.” The skeptical and downright humoring look she gives him when she stands to her feet almost makes him frown. “What? I’m not clueless, T. I know a think or two about skin care. You think this all came naturally?” He motions at himself cockily, stealing a genuine laugh from her.

“I knew nature couldn’t fuck up that badly. I suspected you had something to do with it.“ She narrows her eyes, meeting his also narrow-eyed gaze, both in on the fact that the other is messing around.

“Your skin is at my mercy. I wouldn’t talk smack if I were you.“ He playfully warns her, waving the lotion bottle in front of her.

She rolls her eyes, “Yeah whatever you say, tough guy.“ She opens a drawer under the sink and throws him a box of cotton pads.

Not wasting any time in fear she might change her mind, Daniel takes one pad out and puts a few drops of the lotion on it. He hesitantly brings it closer to the skin on the side of her neck while she stands as still as a statue, not breathing either. Despite all the bold talk, he’s still nervous. He really hopes this miracle liquid of chemicals works, solely because it will make Taylor happy. And to him, her happiness is all that matters.

She shudders when the cold, damp cotton pad makes contact with her skin and he immediately feels the need to apologize. Instead, however, he goes on to tell her exactly what’s on his mind, cause he knows there’ll never be a better time.

“What you call a reminder of that night, the horrors we endured, I see it differently...“ he trails off, looking at her reflection in the mirror out of the corner of his eye. “I see it as proof that we’re stronger than we know. And you, T...are the strongest of us all. Any of these scars could have been a lethal would but here you are, alive. And no, I’m not trying to say you’re lucky. None of us are. Lord knows what kind of fucked up luck we posses, but it ain’t right. No, you are brave. You went through it and fought to leave the battle with scars instead of dropping to the ground with a wound that is irredeemable. You’re a warrior, Taylor.” He pauses for a second and so do the movements of his hand. He hesitantly inhales before saying the last sentence he’s been holding back, “My warrior.” 

Taylor tilts her head to look at him, genuine surprise and warmth in her eyes. She’s baffled. Pleasantly caught off-guard by words she never thought she’d hear, let alone trust. She covers all this up with a smirk. Classic Taylor. “You weren’t really a pansy back there either, Dan.” She gently bumps his shoulder with hers.

His eyes narrow again. “I hate that nickn-“ It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t get to finish his sentence cause her lips are already on his, preventing him from ranting about...whatever he was about to go off about.

You know what they say: If you don’t finish saying it, it was never meant to be said in the first place. 

@artlovingbre  @megandaisy9  @sparrow-gg​

[imjusthereforbatfam]

Never-Ending Encore, ch 7.

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Chapter Summary: Very Drinks Café. That’s the name of the café. I’m literally not even joking. Anyway, would you like a slice of unresolved childhood trauma with that stalker mix-up?

Warnings: minor swearing, extremely minor mention of su*cide (like, you might even miss it), panic attack

Note: Ede is pronounced “EE-d”, like “need” or “greed”, and Edie is pronounced “EE-Dee”, like “needy” or “greedy.”

---

Being a professional actor was a more tiring and time-consuming line of work than Eden had originally thought. She was so accustomed to her old community theater’s three hours of practice three times a week that she’d expected something similar when she arrived in Gotham. Landing her first “real” gig was a wake-up call. Six 8-hour days in a row taught her just how much time and energy professionals put into their craft.

In Gotham’s theater world, Monday was considered the weekend. There were no performances for audiences to view and no practices for cast members to attend, so Sundays were often filled with tired actors excited to go for drinks or eager to sleep in.

This particular Sunday, Eden was brimming with energy. So much so she actually volunteered to take someone’s place on the daily mid-afternoon caffeine run. The director, Daphne, gave Eden a half-amused smile as she put in the usual order on her phone then sent the small group on their way.

“Somebody’s chipper today,” Aaron grumbled, still sour about not being able to convince anyone to take his turn.

Eden ignored his mood. “Yep! A sort-of friend of mine might be coming over tonight and I’m excited to see him.”

Veronica glanced over her huge sunglasses with an approving smirk. “Oooo, yeah?”

Even when it wasn’t her turn on the caffeine run, Veronica, one of the show’s leads, almost always joined the group. She had a very particular drink from a very particular café in the area she adored, and she would always lead the group there before grabbing everyone else’s drinks at Stardunks. She always bought the other runners something for their trouble too, which was probably the politest thing Eden had seen in Gotham.

“Good for you, Edie,” Veronica went on. “I didn’t take you for the friends-with-benefits type.”

“Friends with—?” Her brain froze. It lumbered over itself, trying to comprehend the idea of Red Hood – big, strong, muscles-for-days Red Hood –, the infamous vigilante, being friends with benefits… With her.

Her face exploded with color.

“Ohnononono! I mean, I meant like, meaning we aren’t exactly friends yet, is what I meant! Like we’re almost friends but not exactly, like— I mean— You know— Not— Not that there’s anything wrong with being friends with benefits, of course! Of course not! Who doesn’t like a good benefit— friend— thing?”

Aaron let out a low, dry “Woooow” and Veronica made an unimpressed face, the girl not caring at all for Eden’s fumbling. Knowing this, Eden’s face grew hotter and her words came out higher and faster.

“It’s just that I, you know, I personally— I mean, the guy’s sweet-as-pie and funny-as-heck but I don’t really know him that well and, you know, it just seems like a bit of a personal thing to jump into, and I’m really not all that—”

“Oh my god, it’s fine, Eden!” Veronica finally shouted with a roll of her eyes. “You’re not in Alabama or Indiana or whatever backwater state you’re from—”

Eden nearly lost her footing, her body stumbling as her brain stumbled over the insult. Veronica, now tuned into her phone, didn’t notice.

“—I was just trying to be supportive. No need to be a spaz about it.”

Eden gaped at Veronica, still not quite believing her ears. But disbelief didn’t stop her blood from boiling.

“Excuse—”

“Anyway!” Aaron said quickly, grabbing Veronica’s attention. “Have you seen pictures of the dress they’re putting you in for the ball scenes yet?”

“Have you? Ugh, it looks atrocious. Can you believe they want me to wear that shade of yellow? Like, seriously? I’m supposed to be the most beautiful sister, not the one who looks like she’s covered in mustard!”

Eden glared at Aaron from behind Veronica’s ranting head. He caught it and threw a warning look back, shaking his head minutely. Fuming, Eden sharpened her gaze then turned away, ignoring the both of them as best she could.

Veronica was a bit spoiled. The way she spoke about the vacations across Europe and the galas she and her father attended up and down the Northeastern coastline made it impossible to miss. Even so, Eden usually thought she was nice enough.

She was incredibly friendly for a Gothamite – especially a wealthy one – but she often tossed out carelessly ignorant comments that left Eden balking. It didn’t help that no one in the cast ever really corrected her, either. Even the director, though firm, was careful when critiquing Veronica.

Eden didn’t understand why they did it, but she didn’t care for it at all. It left a burning itch under her skin in desperate need of a scratch. But every time she went to, someone else interrupted her or stole Veronica’s attention away and gave her a warning look. It was infuriating.

As they approached the fancy café, Café Très Boissons written in thin white print across the window, someone’s phone started to buzz.

“I have to take this,” Veronica announced, shoving her purse into Eden’s hands.

Eden, not paying attention, nearly dropped it. “Whoa! Wha—”

“Go in and ask for my usual drink and whatever you two want. Use the pink card, yeah?”

“Huh?”

She put the phone to her ear. “Hi, Daddy, how was your flight?” She made a shooing motion at Eden then turned to focus on her phone call. Eden gaped at her, but she didn’t notice.

Aaron, who didn’t seem offended at all, nudged Eden and headed toward the door. She looked between him, the purse, and the infuriatingly oblivious young woman who’d handed it to her, before shaking her head and following him in.

She’d been to Café Très Boissons once before, about a week ago with Veronica and another cast member when it had officially been her turn on the caffeine run. Letting the door close behind her, she found the place just as unpleasant as the last time.

Everything was too… crisp. Too light and bright and minimalist. It was like stepping out of real-life and into a far-too-expensive décor magazine. The air was stiff, too. Suffocating, even. How anybody was supposed to relax in a place like this, Eden didn’t know.

The other patrons weren’t very welcoming either. They all dressed in smart, sleek clothing and held themselves like incredibly important people, all too busy with incredibly important things to pay anyone else any mind. Those who did happen to notice Eden and Aaron – who looked distinctly “artsy” amongst the ironed slacks and sleek skirts – quickly dismissed them.

The only ones who didn’t match the rest of the crowd – in both attire and actions – was a group of young men tucked into one of the corner booths. Eden could immediately guess which of them had suggested the spot, as he was the only one who roughly fit the dress code and seemed to be enjoying himself. (The pre-teen next to him fit it perfectly, wearing the same fitted attire as everyone else, but he had a distinctly unimpressed frown fixed to his face.)

The other two with him were easily Eden’s favorite people in the place. Amongst all the prim and pomp of everyone and everything else around them, those two were wearing hoodies.

The tired-looking teen in the black Superman hoodie still sat up nicely and gave some regard to where he was, but the one in red did not give into the café’s demands of refinement in the slightest. In fact, the way he was lounging in his seat with his arms crossed and hood drawn up, he almost looked ready to take a nap. His resolve to not give a damn was nothing if not admirable.

“Hi, Veronica!” the barista chirped, startling Eden both with the name and how happy he sounded to see her in this unfriendly place. “I already started your usual but what else can I…” He blinked at her. “Oh, whoops,” his tone, though still professional, dropped. “Sorry, miss, I thought you were somebody else.”

“Uh, that’s alright. I’m actually ordering for a Veronica who comes in here every day, so…”

“Veronica Bradford?”

Eden nodded slowly, then turned to Aaron to be sure.

“Yeah, that’s her,” he confirmed. “And I’ll have the same, but with the blueberry whip and no caramel.”

The barista nodded, writing that down, then turned to Eden, who was awkwardly fishing through Veronica’s big white purse to find the girl’s wallet.

“And you, miss?” he prompted.

“Oh, uh, do you have sweet tea?”

“We have tea and sweeteners we can add? Sugar and sugar-free options.”

“No, that’s— I’m good actually, thank you.”

“Are you sure? We have plenty to choose from.”

“No, that’s alright. Thank you.”

“Just get what we’re getting,” Aaron pressed. “It’s not bad, and you’re not paying for it anyway.”

“Neither are you,” she reminded him.

He shrugged.

“They are really good, miss,” the barista added. “It��s not tea but it is a sweet latte. It’s one of my favorites to recommend.”

“Oh, alright,” she sighed a little. “I guess I’ll take one, too.”

She went back to digging through the purse. When she finally found Veronica’s wallet, she almost blanched at the luxury brand name printed clearly across the front. Carefully, she opened it and delicately handed the barista the pink credit card. Aaron took over from there and left a huge tip that almost made Eden faint.

She stared at the receipt, blindly following him to a table. The three-digit number stared back.

“You’re giving her this,” she said suddenly, shoving the thin paper at him. “I don’t want nothing to do with that.”

“Oh, calm down, Eden. Her daddy dearest is so rich she won’t even bat an eyelash.”

Eden carefully set the purse onto their table, noticed the same brand name in rose gold on its front, and gently pushed it away from her. “I feel like a thief.”

Aaron scoffed, pulling out his phone. “With that bag? You look the part.”

“Ha ha, very funny.”

After a moment, she straightened and lifted herself up to see out the front window. From their high table near the corner, she could just catch the top of Veronica’s head. It moved in such a way that clearly meant she was still on the phone.

“Do I really look like her?” she asked in a small voice, sitting back down. “Like Veronica?”

Even if she wasn’t currently happy with the woman, Eden couldn’t deny she was a little flattered to have been mistaken for her. Veronica was undeniably pretty; beautiful in the way rich folks could easily afford to be. Like every inch of her was perfectly tailored to meet the highest of society’s standards.

“Hmm.” Aaron briefly glanced up from his phone. “I guess I can see it. You could easily be her double for some, like, security reason.”

Eden snorted. “Well if I was, I might just call out sick with the way she was talking to me earlier.”

“Oh, don’t let her get to you,” he said waving a hand. “That wasn’t too bad. She orders everyone around like that every once and a while.”

“That’s not what I was talking about, but that’s definitely rude, too.”

He raised a brow.

“Whatever backwater state I’m from?”

It took him a moment, then, “Oh. Yeah.” He went back to his phone. “Don’t take it personally. She’s just a spoiled little heiress.”

“She basically called me a moron from a state full of morons. How am I not supposed to take that personally? And then she just threw out different states like everyone south of New Jersey is a moron.”

Aaron shrugged, not really caring. “Veronica says things without thinking all the time. She’s nice enough most of the time, right? She’s still buying you a drink.”

“I really don’t give a damn that she’s buying me a drink,” Eden threw back. “She upset me, and she should know it and apologize. Nobody says anything when she does something wrong, and I’m sick of it. I hate how everybody walks on eggshells with her just ‘cause she’s rich.”

“Listen, Eden.” He sounded tired. “You can do whatever the hell you want but I’m trying to give you a heads-up. You’re not from around here and this is, what, your first show with Veronica?”

She nodded.

“Well, the reason nobody says anything,” he said copying her accent (and earning a glare), “isn’t because she’s rich. It’s because if you get on her bad side, you get on her dad’s bad side. And William Bradford pours a lot of money into Gotham’s theater scene. Understand?”

Eden blinked at him. There were a few old, well-to-do families that lived near her hometown who liked to have their fingers in a lot of pies – the Henriksens especially so – so she understood what he was saying perfectly. But still, she couldn’t quite believe her ears.

 Pulling that kind of nonsense in theater? And in Gotham City of all places? Wasn’t there something a little more… underworld-y that Mr. Bradford could focus on?

 “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope,” Aaron said popping the p. “Happened to one of Veronica’s best friends— ex-best friends, Christina. They had a huge falling out and Christina couldn’t get a single call-back for over a year. She ended up moving to New York to try finding work there, and I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how cut-throat their theater scene is.”

Eden frowned at the table, then looked up at him again. “Well, that’s a best friend she got in a fight with. I’m nobody to her. If I’m polite about what’s bothering me, she won’t have any reason to ask her daddy to do something like that to me.”

“That’s just it though!” he said leaning over the table, lowering his voice. “Veronica didn’t ask her dad to do it. She didn’t have a clue what was happening with Christina! Just like she doesn’t have a clue why she keeps getting a lead role in every show she auditions for!”

“It’s… not because she’s a good actress?”

Aaron gave her an annoyed, unbelieving look. “Would you have cast her as Jane?”

“Well—” Eden sat up straight. “Well, I mean… Maybe not me personally, but— I mean, she is very pretty, and Jane is canonically the prettiest girl in town, and— and she’s certainly not a bad actress, I mean…”

“No, she’s not,” he agreed. “But she’s definitely not lead-role material. Daphne’s lucky she wanted to play Jane and not Elizabeth. Can you imagine her playing Elizabeth?” Aaron made a scandalized face and obnoxiously rolled his eyes at the thought.

Eden, unable to deny how awful Veronica would likely be in the role but also unwilling to say such a thing aloud, stumbled over a response until a barista called out Veronica’s name.

Eager to take the escape, she hopped out of her chair. “I’ll get that and you guard the purse.”

Aaron just hummed and picked up his phone again.

On her way to the counter, Eden spared a glance at the nearby corner booth, the one with the boys in the hoodies. The four of them were having a lively conversation and she enjoyed the small snippets of back and forth she could catch.

The one in the red hoodie no longer looked ready to take a nap but was instead hunched over the table, his jaw resting in his hand as he made small jabs at the people around him. The younger two snapped back quickly, and the smiling, eldest-looking one laughed while still trying to keep the peace.

The way they were digging at each other reminded Eden of her own “brothers”. She couldn’t help but smile. She sighed, unintentionally loud, missing her loveable idiots.

The one in the red hoodie lifted his head toward the sound but, thanks to the hood covering half his face, Eden was able to turn away before he caught her eavesdropping.

The barista waiting with the drinks gave her a wide smile. “Hi, Veronica! We’re still making your last drink but—” She cocked her head suddenly and squinted. “Wait…”

“No, I’m not Veronica,” Eden said with an amused smile. “But I am here for her drinks.”

“Oh.” The girl laughed at herself. “Sorry about that. The last one’s just going to be another minute.”

Eden nodded, picking up the two that were ready. “Thank you.”

As she returned to her and Aaron’s table, she glanced toward the boys again. This time, the smiling eldest was grinning and whispering something towards red hoodie boy, who was looking in the opposite direction and not-so-subtly flipping him off. The teen in the Superman hoodie accidentally locked eyes with her and the both of them quickly looked away.

Eden then noticed a man in the opposite corner of the café watching her. When she looked at him, he jerked his head away and quickly took a sip from his cup. Eden slowed her walk and furrowed her brows, a tightness forming in her gut.

“Yaaasss,” Aaron called, stealing her attention as he reached for his drink. “Give me that Rich Bitch Latte.”

“Is that what you call it?”

He shrugged, taking a sip. “Mine has blueberry whip cream. If that doesn’t scream rich bitch, what does?”

Eden made a slight face. Blueberry whip cream didn't seem all that luxurious to her – it certainly wasn’t hard to make – but even if it was, she couldn't imagine it tasted good with a latte.

“That barista mixed me up for Veronica too,” she said after a moment.

Aaron snorted. “Maybe you should be her double. You’d get paid good money for it, I’m sure.”

Eden hummed. She turned her attention back to the curious man in the opposite corner.

At first glance, he fit the establishment fine. He wore a simple grey suit and a hat and was now totally engrossed with his phone. But the suit was a little too non-descript and untidy, and the hat a bit beat-up. Not to mention, slouching in his seat like he was, he didn’t match the prim, properness of most of the other patrons.

Though… maybe she was being unfair to him. After all, she’d praised the guy in the red hoodie for the same thing, hadn’t she?

She glanced to the booth of boys again. The one in the red hoodie must have been looking at her because his head moved the second hers did. Eden didn’t get a tight, sinking sensation in her stomach when he did, though. Nor had she when she locked eyes with the teenager.

She turned back to the older man, still fidgeting with his phone. What was the difference between them? Maybe it was weirder because he was older. The other guys were closer to her age and therefore… what, safer?

Eden huffed at herself. Age wasn’t an indication of danger, she knew that. The people who came to the farm looking for safety were hiding from men of all ages. (They were almost always hiding from men.) From young men full of piss and vinegar and a sense of superiority; old men with strings to pull and favors they could call in; men of any age with a brutal mean streak that came from years of privilege, or hardship…

So it wasn’t their age. And none of them were dressed “appropriately” for the cafe – though the hoodie boys even less so – so it wasn’t that either. Maybe it was how stiffly and forcibly the man had reacted when Eden noticed him staring. Though that, too, didn’t necessarily mean any—

“Veronica Bradford!” the barista called again, breaking Eden’s thoughts.

On her second trip back to the table, Eden watched the man from the corner of her eye. It seemed like he was looking at her again too, adding to her concern. He moved his hands a bit and then—

Eden stopped. She turned to stare directly at the man, who hurried to shift his torso so his phone was no longer pointing at her. She scowled. She knew exactly what he was now. But what in the world was a scout doing here of all places?

A scout – as Mama always called them – could be anybody. A private investigator or a random person off the street; it didn’t matter. Their job was simple: find their mark and get proof of where and when they were and who they were with.

But… who was this guy’s mark? It couldn’t be Eden. He was taking her picture, sure, but… The only people who might be looking for her were her parents, and neither of them would have recruited someone so… obvious.

Still, she reported it to Aaron as she sat down. “There’s a man taking pictures,” she told him gravely.

He glanced up at her, giving her a weird look. “O…kay? Everyone takes pictures here. It’s a wannabe Snapstagram influencer’s wet dream.”

“I meant,” she said frowning, “he’s taking pictures of me.”

“Huh? Who?” He looked around without a hint of subtlety.

Eden smacked her head with her hand. She could’ve kicked him. Of course, it was her own fault for thinking he would understand. Aaron wasn’t one of her “cousins” or semi-siblings. He was just some guy from Gotham who knew nothing about life on Paradise Farm.

“Would you stop!?” she hissed, trying to hide her face from the scout. “He’s behind you, in the corner booth by the windows. Grey suit, brown hat— Don’t be obvious.”

Aaron, bless him, finally caught on. He turned his head slowly from one end of the café to the other. He stared at the man a few beats too long then turned back to her.

“Are you sure? He just looks like his phone’s giving him trouble.”

Eden shook her head. “I caught him doing it, so now he’s nervous. He was just staring at me the first time I got up, but the second time he had his phone pointed at me and everything.”

He looked over his shoulder at the scout, then back again. “Maybe he’s paparazzi,” he offered. “The baristas all thought you were Veronica. Maybe he does, too.”

Eden blinked at him. She hadn’t thought of that. Despite not being anywhere near the farm, the idea the man could be anything but a scout hadn’t even crossed her mind. But it made some sense… After all, who would he even be scouting? Nobody here was in hiding.

“She has paparazzi?”

“Local heiress constantly landing lead roles who models on the side?” Aaron shrugged.  “She’s not headline news or anything, but she pops up in local shit every once and a while.”

Eden frowned at her drink. She glanced over at the man again, taking a sip of her latte. “And are paparazzi people always so nervous when they get caught?”

“Do I look like I know the answer to that?”

“You’ve been around Veronica longer than I have,” she insisted. “You’d know better than I would.”

“I guess,” he huffed, rolling his eyes. He thought about it a moment. “I don’t know. She doesn’t usually notice them, but I guess some of them get a little embarrassed when other people do. But, like, it’s their job. They can’t exactly be bashful about it or they won’t get paid.”

She nodded thoughtfully and took another sip, reluctant to admit it tasted extremely good.

Her eyes slid over to the man once more. Then she stopped and glared. Loudly, she slammed her cup onto the table — startling Aaron and catching other patrons’ attention as well. Including the man, who’d been pointing his phone at her again.

He scrambled to put it away, stood, and started grabbing his things.

“I think you scared him, Veronica,” Aaron muttered sarcastically.

“Good.” She leaned back in her chair and took a celebratory drink, not taking her eyes off the man. “Paparazzi, huh?”

“Well, what else would he be?” Aaron asked, rolling his eyes again. “A stalker? The guy doesn't exactly scream danger. Anyway, he’s leaving now so it doesn’t—”

Eden jerked up in her seat. “Uh-oh.”

The real Veronica stepped through the door. Looking around, she spotted Aaron and Eden near the back corner, smiled, and started walking toward them. A flabbergasted expression crossed the man’s face when she passed him by.

“Uh-oh.”

The oblivious heiress didn’t notice him stop walking or the way he was watching her. But Eden did. And she knew that look in his eye.

“Oh, no.”

The scout had found his mark.

Eden didn’t think about it. One second she was sitting in her chair – buzzing with wild, nervous energy – the next she was grabbing Veronica’s drink and taking long strides across the café’s shining floors. She grinned playfully at the unsuspecting girl.

Veronica’s smile didn’t fall, but her brows furrowed slightly as Eden approached. “Hey, sorry about that. Daddy always calls me when he gets to a new hotel.”

“Oh, no problem, Eden!” Eden said handing Veronica her drink.

Veronica took it, went to speak, then seemed to short-circuit — suddenly blinking and staring at her in a baffled way. Eden took the moment to link their arms and move her away from the scout, who seemed stuck in place.

“Actually, my daddy does the same,” she said in the same, polished Rich-Girl-Gothamite accent she’d used before. “We’re super close. Oh, and tell me if you like the drink, yeah? It’s my favorite. I get it every day.”

Veronica glanced down at her drink, then up at Eden, totally lost.

As they approached the table, Eden did a quick sweep of their surroundings and was glad they were sitting where they were. Their table was near the side exit and all the nearby tables were empty, save the now silent booth of boys.

Though none of them were looking in her direction, Eden couldn’t help quirking a brow in theirs, wondering what had dulled their lively spirits.

“So… what’s going on exactly?” Veronica asked in a nervous pitch as they reached Aaron.

“Eden thinks she has a stalker,” he explained.

“No,” Eden corrected in her own voice. “I think Veronica has a scout— stalker— whatever thing. And they think Veronica is me.”

“They…” Veronica looked between the two of them, then laughed nervously. “Oh, Edie, that’s… I seriously doubt anyone would think you were me.”

“Two of the baristas thought I was you.”

“Brayden thought she was you,” Aaron confirmed.

Veronica’s mouth fell open. She stared at the guy behind the register in disbelief before turning it on Eden. Eden just grinned and moved her head to the side like she’d heard something funny.

There, in the corner of her eyes, she could see the man inching back to his corner booth. Watching them.

“Oh my god, Edie!” she said loud and clear in her Veronica voice, setting the real Veronica into a seat facing away from the man. “You are just too cute!”

“Wait.” Veronica leaned over, talking low. “Why are you talking like a normal person now?”

A flash of anger broke Eden’s character. “Excuse me?”

“Why are you talking like a normal person now?” she repeated, apparently unaware of her offense. “And why are you calling me Eden?”

Eden took a deep breath, trying to regain her cool. “I’m not talking like a ‘normal person’,” she explained slowly, being sure to sit up straight and hold her head in the proud, haughty way the rest of the patrons did. “I’m talking like you. And I’m calling you Eden so that scout-stalker guy leaves you alone.”

“She’s being your double,” Aaron said with a grin. Eden glared at him. “Am I wrong?”

She looked away. “No,” she grumbled.

He nodded, satisfied.

Veronica looked between the two of them, not getting it, then turned back to Eden. “Why are you doing this exactly? Are you expecting me to pay you for it?”

“What? No! I’m helping you because you're in trouble, obviously.”

The other two stared at her. Somehow that simple concept seemed foreign to them.

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “Don’t you two act like you’ve never helped anybody out before just to be nice. I know this is Gotham but come on now. Not everybody in this city can be that heartless.”

“Oh, you sweet summer child,” Aaron cooed, resting a hand over his heart. Eden glared at him.

Veronica tried to say something, stopped, then tried again. “But… why? It’s not your problem, so…”

“So what? That guy’s trouble.” Eden tilted her head. “Do you… want some scout-stalker taking your picture? Knowing where you’ve been and when you go?”

“No, but… Are you sure he’s trouble?” she asked. “Maybe he’s just, I don’t know, some weirdo who likes taking pictures of pretty girls.”

“Could be.” Eden shrugged. “But I seriously doubt it, the way he’s been acting. It’s just sorta… obvious he’s here for you.”

“Obvious?” She made a face and started looking around the café – thankfully never over her shoulder – trying to find the trouble herself. “I don’t see anyone making it obvious.”

“You’re just not used to it.”

“And you are?”

Eden opened her mouth and shut it. She shuffled in her seat, not really sure how to explain it. Back home, she’d never had to explain it. Everybody just knew. And not just her small town. The whole county knew.

They knew Paradise Farm and its famous little bakery. They knew Mama and Eden and her mismatched group of semi-siblings (or of them, at least). They knew if you needed a place to go, Paradise Farm had its doors open, and “cousins” were always welcome.

Some who came, came for simple reasons. Wandering free spirits who enjoyed earning their stay and living more-or-less off the land, people who needed a little space after an argument, a partygoer looking for a safe place to sober up before heading home; simple things like that.

But sometimes it was more. Sometimes the reasons were complicated. Kids who’d been kicked out of their homes, kids trying to escape their homes, abused spouses who just wanted to disappear, people who couldn’t go to the law because an officer or a judge was a part of the problem; the kinds of folks who had nowhere else to go, no one left to turn to. The kind who needed help.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Aaron lowered his voice and moved closer, his eyes sparkling. “Are you, like… some kind of small-time hero? Is that why you moved to Gotham? To like, meet Batman and become a vigilante?”

Eden recoiled at the notion. “No! No, no, I’m—!” She chomped down on the words trying to fly out of her mouth, trying to control herself. “I’m not— I don’t— Don’t get me wrong, I like helping people and stuff,” she said fiddling with the table’s edge, very aware of Aaron’s eager, penetrating expression. “But I’m not like— I’m not a, a—” she couldn’t even say the word. Not when it was being tied to her.

Still, Aaron just nodded along. Looking for all the world like an unmasked hero was sitting in front of him and begging him to keep their secret. Eden’s hands started to shake. It was like talking to her father all over again.

“Really, Aaron. I’m… I’m not,” she said, trying to be firm. “I couldn’t do the things they do.”

“You could try,” he insisted, sounding just like him.

Eden went numb.

She couldn’t. She really, really couldn’t. She knew because she had tried. She’d tried, and tried, and tried so many times. But no matter how many times she tried, no matter how many times Frank had told her it was her purpose, her destiny, her responsibility, she just plain couldn’t.

When Mama found out, she was furious. Not with Eden. But with Frank. It was too much for a kid to handle, especially one like Eden, she’d said. She never wanted her daughter to endure that kind of sacrifice and pain—

Oh, the pain! Every time – every goddamn time – there was always so much pain!

Not that she had any right to complain, as Frank would remind her. She was a metahuman; her body always healed.

And it did.

It healed, and healed, and healed. Erasing every bullet, every blade, every hand that ever left its mark on her; stealing away every scar she might’ve earned, every wound she might’ve carried. It healed, and healed, and healed. So perfectly, so flawlessly, so unnaturally — and it never stopped.

Even when she died, it didn’t stop. It didn’t matter if someone killed her themselves or if she took on someone else’s death. Even if it was by her own hand, it didn’t stop. She always came back. Her body always healed. The universe always demanded an encore.

It never, ever, ever stopped.

“Are you okay, Ed— I mean, Veronica?” Veronica said obviously, garnering some of Eden’s attention. “You look a little sick.”

“She’s just freaking out ‘cause I figured out she’s not the everyday normal person she pretends to be,” Aaron said smugly.

Eden still couldn’t speak.

Veronica smacked him. “Don’t be an idiot, Aaron. You’re freaking her out because you’re insisting there’s something remarkable about her when there isn’t at all! E— Veronica is completely normal and average in every possible way.”

Eden winced at the unintended insult. Aaron made a slight face too, but, of course, Veronica didn’t notice.

“Anyway, Veronica,” she continued, turning back to her. “You’ve done this sort of thing before, yeah? What do we do now?”

Eden blinked a few times, still pulling herself out of her spiral, then glanced over at the scout. “Well… Normally I’d try to get a picture of the person, but…”

“But?” Aaron asked eagerly.

She froze again. She took a long, deep breath. “Well… since I made such a fuss catching him in the act earlier, I don’t think we’ll see him again.”

He pouted. “Really? You think a stalker’s going to give up just like that?”

“No, he—” Eden huffed and shook her head. “He’s not the real problem. He’s just some guy who’s supposed to be taking Veronica’s pictures. Maybe figuring out her routine or whatever. But he got caught twice, so whoever sent him probably won’t send him again unless they’re desperate. Or stupid, I suppose. Either way, I doubt taking his picture would really help much. Though I guess it could help us figure out who hired him in the first place, but I don’t really know who I’d send it to here—”

She stopped her rambling, noticing the open-mouthed, wide-eyed way her companions were staring at her.

“Oh— I— Uh—" She quickly took a sip of her nearly forgotten latte, trying to hide behind the cup. “Sorry,” she murmured.

Aaron shook himself, almost violently, out of his stupor. “Oh, okay, yeah, you just know all this crap and you’re not a vigilante or something?”

“I’m not,” she grumbled. “My mama taught me what to watch out for, so I do.”

“So your mom’s the vigilante?”

“My—" Eden blinked and shook her head fervently, trying to follow his logic. "What?”

Not that she’d admit it to a pair of acquaintances, but anyone who her mama – like, really knew her, not the role she played – knew Louanne Smith was more likely to be on a most-wanted list than be considered a vigilante. Though Red Hood was probably on a few wanted lists himself, now that she thought about it, and her mama certainly broke the law not turning over certain people to the sheriff, so maybe she would be considered a vigilante?

“Ugh, ignore him, Edi— Veronica,” Veronica said rolling her eyes. “Aaron has a total hard-on for Gotham’s bats. He loves the way they break the law and—"

“What is wrong with breaking the law if it means helping people?” he burst in.

“We have laws for a reason, Aaron,” Veronica insisted. “I can admit Gotham’s vigilantes help the little people here and there—” Eden bristled at her tone “—but in the grand scheme of things—” 

“In the grand scheme of things, they help people. End of story.” Veronica shot him a dirty look, but he made no move to try and placate her. This, apparently, was a hill worth dying on. “End of story,” he said again.

“Oh, yeah right, like you really care. Everyone knows you’re just in love with Red Hood’s thighs.”

“I can care about what the vigilantes do for this city and still appreciate how sexy they are,” Aaron said proudly. “Red Hood’s jacked and has the thighs of a god and I’m not ashamed to admit I would tap that in an instant.”

Eden made an involuntary high-pitched sound. She stared dead at the table, trying not to think about Red Hood as her face grew piping hot and she curled in on herself.

“Besides, you’re one to talk,” Aaron continued, either ignoring or not noticing Eden’s discomfort. “You always go on and on about how hot Nightwing’s ass is!”

“Which it is, but that’s not the point! They might be hot but vigilantes are the reason we have so many crazy supervillains in this city!”

“Those hot vigilantes are the only reason we have any sort of justice in this city!”

Hiding her burning face in her hands, Eden just shook her head, trying to phase out of existence as they went back and forth on their stances of law, order, and whether or not Batman was a dilf.

Eventually, she peeked through her fingers and found the scout watching them with an uncertain look on his face. His phone was still in his hand, however, close to his chest and pointed in her direction, so they weren’t out of the woods yet.

Eden groaned and ran her fingers through her hair as she dropped her head. Then she popped back up, her expression taut, like an heiress who’d been ignored for far too long.

“Ex—cuse—me!” she said clapping her hands, forcing the bickering to finally stop. She gave them a tight smile, speaking lowly in her own voice. “Y’all can have this… discussion some other time – preferably when I’m not here – but right now, we’re in the middle of something.” She stood from her seat. “So I’m gonna need you two to stop. Now.”

The guilty party shared a look then muttered an annoyed agreeance.

“Thank you,” she said with a nod. “Now then.” She grabbed Veronica’s big white purse and confidently slung it over her shoulder. “Are we ready to go?” she asked loud and clear in her Veronica voice, gesturing to the side door. “I’m sure Daphne and the rest of the cast are waiting for us.”

“Sure thing, Veronica,” Aaron said a little louder than usual. “Lead the way.”

Eden smiled and linked arms with the real Veronica, constantly shifting to keep the girl’s face hidden from the scout as much as possible. As they exited the café, she pointed to something down the street, giving Veronica an excuse to keep her head turned.

Eden on the other hand tried to catch a glimpse of the scout from the corner of her eye. Instead, she ended up latching on to the group of boys one last time.

A few of them looked uncomfortable but all four were quiet, each seemingly lost in their own thoughts. But Eden could tell that wasn’t right. Even if they didn’t seem focused on anything in particular, she knew they were. It was almost like she could see that they were… were… She didn’t know what to call it. Ready? On? Something like that. But why? What for?

The guy in the red hoodie shifted back, leaning lazily against the booth cushions. His hood stayed in place despite his head tipping up toward the ceiling. Though unable to see his eyes, Eden had the sudden sense that he was watching her.

Should she be nervous? Had she set too much of her attention on the man on the other side of the café? Should she have been watching these boys as well? She didn’t feel like she needed to worry about them. Had she made a mistake?

She walked arm-in-arm with Veronica until they reached the end of the block and crossed the street. There, she released the girl and spun around, scanning the stream of people for the face of the scout, or perhaps even one of the boys.

She suddenly wished she had snuck a picture. Maybe back home it wouldn’t be such a big deal, but this was Gotham. And Veronica was a high-profile local. As much as Eden preferred giving people the benefit of the doubt, this wasn’t a safe situation to assume anything but the worst.

Not seeing anyone from the café, she sighed and rejoined Veronica and Aaron, who were giving her nervous looks. She smiled at them.

“All good.” She took the purse from her shoulder and handed it back to Veronica. “You might want to consider having someone else get your latte for a while. Maybe an assistant or something? And maybe some kind of security for yourself. Just to be safe.”

Veronica nodded mutely, then muttered out a small thank you before taking Eden’s arm again. She held it tightly, with a concerned look on her face, so Eden didn’t complain. Every few blocks they would stop or slow down and she would check the crowd around them for caution’s sake.

The walk to Stardunks and back to the practice hall was fairly quiet, giving Eden plenty of time to think. Mainly she wondered if she should bring up the day’s events to Red Hood. It wasn’t anything vigilante-worthy, not yet anyway, but Veronica’s status certainly made it a possibility. And Eden stepping in as her double probably counted as doing something stupid, which, even though he'd been joking, he’d asked her not to do.

In fact, when they stepped into the practice hall and Veronica started telling everyone what had happened and how Eden had “saved” her, and Aaron reiterated her “vigilante-like knowledge”, and a number of people started looking at her with a curious sort of twinkle in their eyes, the stuttering, blushing Eden was quite certain she’d done something very, very stupid indeed.

---

Next chapter

[musekicker]

Run away Blitz au nightmare drabble part 2.

Once again, warning for implication of abuse mentioned in this drabble.

Blitz pulled away from Stolas's embrace, nearly tripping over his own feet as he did. 

Turning to look, he saw Stolas looked the same as ever. His expression even seemed familiar to Blitz. That calm look paired with the expression that told Blitz that he found most of what Blitz had to say amusing. A look Blitz had come to hate.

For a long moment Blitz said nothing, thoughts screeching to a halt at the sight of Stolas. Then, a thought occurred to him.

"Oh, I get what this is. More anxiety nightmare bullshit." Blitz said.

"Is that what I am?" Stolas asked.

"Yeah." Blitz said, feeling a little lighter from relief. "Yeah that's all you are. "And since you're not really Stolas, I'm going to say all the shit I want to say to that asshole that I never got to say." 

Stolas smirked a little. Still looking like he was amused when Blitz was being serious, even in his nightmares. Of course.

"Your little happy family act is such a fucking joke. You and Stella are always yelling and fighting. And your poor daughter hates you too. I mean, who wouldn't? You're so fucking self absorbed that I'm surprised that you knew I was gone." Blitz snapped.

Blitz started to pace as he continued his rant.

"I'm done indulging your whims, and I'm done letting you treat me like I can't be or do anything then be a toy for you!"

Blitz stopped, turning to face Stolas head on.

"You can just go and rot!" Blitz yelled.

Blitz stopped, panting for breath after all that. Stolas calmly spoke up.

"Is that all of it?" Stolas asked.

"Yeah, that's all of it. You can just disappear now." Blitz said.

Stolas did not disappear. He was still there, as solid looking as ever.

"Now that you're done with your little rant, I have things to say." Stolas said.

"What? You should be gone now. This is how this works right? I stand up to my fears and poof you're gone." Blitz said.

"And what makes you think I'm just a part of your nightmare?" Stolas asked.

Only now did Blitz realize the truth. His eyes went wide and he pointed at Stolas.

"You're not here. You can't be! This isn't a power of yours!" Blitz cried.

Stolas smiled ever so calmly and as if there was no problem. Like he was suppose to be there.

"You are right. I do not have that power. But I do know those who do have that power. And they were only too happy to help me get into your dreams and be able to speak to you this way." Stolas said.

"Shit, shit, get out of my head!" Blitz cried.

"Not until I find out where you are so I can bring you home." Stolas said.

Blitz snarled, backing away from Stolas.

"No, no way. I'm not ever going back." Blitz said.

Stolas stayed where he was standing, tilting his head ever so slightly.

"But why?" Stolas asked.

Blitz continued to snarl, tail swishing with his anger.

"I already told you! I will not be your toy ever again!" Blitz snapped.

"But you were so very good at it." Stolas said. "I dare say it was your best and only real skill." 

"Shows what you fucking know." Blitz said. "I've been doing great without you! And Striker is-"

Stolas's eyes seemed to glow a little more at the name. Blitz realized his mistake before he could go further.

"Fuck." Blitz said.

"Striker hmm? Now I have a name. A tiny bit of progress." Stolas said. "And a example of how much of a hazard you are to this Striker friend of yours. I've only been here ten minutes and I have a name. Who knows what I'll get the more we talk."

"I won't say anything more until I wake up." Blitz said.

Stolas smiled.

"Oh Blitzy, you're not going to wake up until I let you wake up. " Stolas said.

Something about the way Stolas said that convinced Blitz that what Stolas was saying was the truth.

"Then I'll-" Blitz said.

"You'll WHAT, Blitzy?" Stolas said, all four eyes glowing just a bit. "Fight me? You don't know how to do that. You're not made for it."

"You don't know shit about me!" Blitz yelled.

Blitz started to storm over to Stolas, fully intent on punching him. Even if this was just in a dream it would feel great to do so over and over again. Then he found his feet could not move.

"What-"

"Not even strong enough to fight me in your own dream. So helpless." Stolas said.

Stolas walked over to Blitz, who was pulling at a leg with both arm, as if that would get it to move. There was no moving his legs, and soon Stolas was behind Blitz again, arms wrapped around him once more.

"Not that I mind how helpless you are." Stolas said.

"I'm not.. i'm not-" Blitz said.

Carefully nuzzling the side of Blitz's face, Stolas continued to talk.

"There is no shame in admitting that you aren't made for the world outside the palace. No shame in going back." Stolas said. "And I promise if you come back, I won't hurt this Striker for their part in this."

Fear was starting to cloud Blitz's judgment just a bit. Enough that he was considering the idea for a split second.

It was tempting to give in to this deal that would protect his new friends.

Tempting to give in to the familiar touch from Stolas that he was use to. What was the harm of-

No.. no!

What was he thinking? 

Blitz wasn't sure if it had been all him or some sort of magic going on. Whatever it was, he had broken free from it's influence. 

"No! I'm not going back!" Blitz snapped, trying to pull away. "I don't want to come back!"

Now Stolas frowned and grabbed a hold of Blitz's arm before he could pull away completely. 

"You don't have a choice." Stolas snarled, turning Blitz around and taking in Blitz's terrified expression.

Stolas's grip on his arms got tight. Painfully so. Blitz yelped.

"You belong to me. And you will-"

A sudden banging noise echoed throughout the dream scape, and just like that Blitz was awake.

At first Blitz was looking around so frantically he didn't quite take in his surroundings. Once he calmed down just a bit, that helped by no signs of Stolas, he saw that he was still on the couch in the apartment. Striker was not far away from the couch, facing away from Blitz with his gun in his hand.

Robo Fizz was nearby as well, something in his mouth that he was shaking like a dog with a toy.

"What the fuck is going on?" Blitz asked.

Striker looked back, relief on his face as he saw Blitz sit up.

"Thank fuck you're awake!" Striker said.

"Yeah.. yeah, thank fuck. Stolas he... he was talking to me in my dream. He said he trapped me in there and was trying to-"

Blitz stopped, seeing blood on his arm. Right around one of the areas Stolas had been holding him.

"Why am I bleeding?" Blitz asked, trying not to sound hysterical. 

Robo Fizz dropped the thing he had been shaking to answer Blitz.

"I bit you." Robo Fizz said.

"You bit me?" Blitz said, feeling relief but also confusion.

"It was the first thing I thought of doing when I was trying to wake you up." Robo Fizz said.

As much as Blitz was worried about what kind of diseases he could catch from being bitten by a mouthful of metal teeth that very much were not kept clean there was the more pressing issue of the thing Robo Fizz had dropped to the floor.

Blitz got up from the couch to join Striker and Robo Fizz with looking at what Robo Fizz had been shaking.

A closer look revealed it was a animal of some sort animal. The creature resembled a bat in body shape. The eyes however gave it away as something more. They were like mirrors. Looking down at it the trio could see their reflections in those eyes. 

Striker poked at the dead creature again with the barrel of his gun. It did not stir, truly dead.

"What is this thing suppose to be anyways?" Blitz asked.

"Probably some magic bullshit. I was trying to wake you up, and when I did I saw it flapping around and well.. when it died you woke up so I assume it was connected to that." Striker said.

Blitz backed away from the dead creature a bit, a little more wary of it.

"We should burn it." Robo Fizz said.

Striker nodded.

"A good suggestion." Striker said.

"I'll get some matches." Robo Fizz said.

Robo Fizz cart wheeled his way out of the room to go the the kitchen.

"I don't think we should let him do the honors of burning this thing. I feel like Fizz and matches is a bad idea." Striker said.

"Uh huh.." Blitz said.

He still was trying to recover from what had happened. The fact that Stolas had gone this far to try and find him was a frightening thing. Blitz couldn't help but feel his stomach squirm from the thought of how if he had been kept in that nightmare too long, that Stolas for sure would had gotten the information he wanted.

"You okay?" Striker asked.

"Been better." Blitz grumbled. "Only had a encounter with the guy who treated me like a toy and wants to bring me back into that life. He got your name by the way. I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"It's fine." Striker said, shrugging. "He's got my name, big fucking deal. I'm not scared." 

"I think you should be." Blitz said, in a moment of allowing himself to be vulnerable. 

Striker looked to Blitz, before putting a hand on Blitz's shoulder.

"He's not going to get you. I won't let that happen." Striker said.

Blitz managed a weak smile at that.

"Hey!" Robo Fizz said, coming back from the kitchen. "I couldn't find matches. So I got the flame thrower!"

"We have a flame thrower?" Blitz asked.

"...we have a flame thrower apparently." Striker said. "That I need to take away from Fizz before he set fire to the place."

[exquisitley-obsessed]

I’m Right Here (part 1?)

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: Arthur’s torn up over Mary, and his old friend and fellow gang member y/n drags his pitiful ass on a hunting trip; little do they know, they’re the ones about to be hunted.

Word Count: 3588

Pairings: Arthur Morgan x Reader (some Arthur and Mary angst)

Warnings: Hunting, guns, etc.

A/N: Currently playing RDR2 so please no spoilers <3 Literally took five minutes for me to fall in love with this damn fool and so felt like I needed to write something angsty for him. There’ll probably be a part two to this. (Also this made me seriously realise I cannot spell ‘Arthur’ for the life of me)

REQUESTS OPEN <3

MASTERLIST

“Well he aint in a good mood.”

Abigail was standing near her tent blowing gently on her boiling coffee as she watched Arthur swing into camp, readily jumping off his horse and loosely throwing the reigns towards the hitching post.

“No, he don’t,” Y/n answered. She was sitting with Jack in her lap, watching as Arthur made his way to his tent, cursing venomously under his breath. “I overheard Dutch mention something about Mary being in Valentine - that she wanted to see him.” Y/n shared the gossip with her long-time best friend and fellow gang member.

“Really?” Abigail’s head snapped to y/n as she busied herself with Jack’s excited giggling and blubbering. “She’s got some nerve.”

“Ha!” Y/n chuckled to herself as she bounced Jack about, “You can say that again.”

“It aint a secret that none of us like her,”

“Yeah, someone that even Hosea isn’t a fan of…now that’s an accomplishment.”

“He knows how to pick ‘em,”

“Sure does,” y/n sighed, throwing a glance at Morgan. Watching Arthur and Mary run back and forth to one another was like watching a dog chase its tail – futile, funny and somewhat depressing. With there being such a tight knit in the Van Der Linde gang, Mary had always felt alien and other – like she was a piece that didn’t quite fit in a rather strange and elaborate puzzle. Y/n’s bitterness towards the woman had only grown as she watched Arthur yo-yo between complete euphoria one night to a mild mental break the next; ultimately, it hurt watching him day in and day out tie himself to the train tracks and look with woozy, loving eyes at the incoming train.

“When was the last time you talked to him?” Abigail attempted to ask inconspicuously, dipping her nose into her mug as she took a swig. Y/n eyed her, Abigail had made it somewhat obviously clear she believed there to be something more between Arthur and y/n; y/n couldn’t figure out if she was amused or conflicted.

“Not since before this Blackwater mess…not a proper conversation like we used to have.” Y/n’s attention now back on the bubbling child pulling at her braid.

“Not had the chance?”

“Well, no.” She didn’t look at Abigail, “Everything blew up and…Dutch aint been letting me out on any of missions recently so I can’t talk to him then. Not with how badly things went for me in Blackwater.” Y/n was talking about her bandaged right arm, still pink and puckering from that night. When the pandemonium erupted on the waters, y/n found herself caught in a minor explosion when some TNT barrels were caught in the crossfire. The result was a degree of burns lashed across most of her right arm. Dutch, seeing her like a daughter, reacted in a rather extreme and protective manner – extreme by y/n’s standards at least.

“It’s a goddamn joke you know, I have to prove myself to be twice as better just to be even considered to go on missions. They all treat me like I’m gone break or something – I been shooting longer than most of them too.” Abigail nodded along hazily; the gang was somewhat used to y/n’s frequent outbursts and rants, having never been one much for holding her tongue. However, they couldn’t blame here; it was just a result of her start in life.

“Now’s a good time y/n - go take him hunting or something,” Abigail was still peering at Arthur over her mug.

“Hunting?”

“Yeah, you can get some fresh air, help him clear his head and also bring back something Pearson could turn edible.”

“Dutch aint letting me leave camp right now-”

“Oh, come on! You know he’d let you go if Arthur was with you”

“Abi-”

“Don’t fight me on this y/n. He’s hurting, it’s obvious, you’re the only one he’s ever…you know…” Y/n raised a brow at Abigail who simply looked away; she couldn’t figure out what she hated more, the assumptions or the fact that y/n’s heart twinged slightly at the thought of going hunting with Arthur, it being just like old times.

“Fine,” Y/n huffed scooping Jack up under the arm, “Here’s your son back.” Jack’s chubby little fingers reached out for his momma as his aunt handed him over, “But I’m doing this for you.”

“And Arthur,”

“And Arthur.” Letting out a sigh, y/n made her way over to the closed flaps of Arthur’s tent, picking up her hunting jacket along the way. Pausing, she took a breath, before rapping her knuckles across the wooden frame of his camp. “Arthur it’s me.” A pause, a small rustle from within and then he was there, looking down at y/n with a raised brow.

“Miss y/n,” He tried out the words in his mouth, as if her name was a question in itself, “What you doing here?”

“Oh, so I can’t just come and see Mr Morgan whenever I please…is there a queue I need to join?” She feigned looking around.

“Oh, don’t give me that – you know you aint come knocking on my tent for weeks now.”

“Well Arthur, I don’t know if you remember but there was that whole business of Blackwater that somewhat got in the way of our nightly strolls.” Arthur pulled back a little, his brows knitting as he frowned down at her.

“What’s going on y/n? What you want?”

“You really think every time I come see you I want something…I mean, actually now that you say-”

“Y/n-”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding, Morgan! Come on,” She smirked up at him, he shook and lowered his head, his russet hat covering his face leaving only his strong set jaw and bristly beard visible in the candlelight. A grin had melted into his cheeks and y/n couldn’t help but feel a soft flutter in her gut, he was heartbroken over Mary and yet she could still make him to smile. “I was actually letting you know that I’m going hunting, I thought you might wanna join y’know, ride out like old times,”

“Dutch letting you go?” He asked, leaning against the wagon. She rolled her eyes.

“Oh please; Dutch this, Dutch that. Can’t a girl just live?”

“I don’t know y/n, you banged yourself up real good at Blackwater if I remember correctly,” He nodded at her mummified arm.

“I’m fine, besides, it aint my shooting arm,”

“Y/n…” He sighed.

“Come on…fine. If I can convince Dutch to let me go, will you join me? We’ll take the camp and really do it like old times, stay out all night and catch birds as the sun rises.” Arthur gave her a look as if he was on the fence, but that usually already meant he was coming. Y/n didn’t even wait for a response, just smiled real wide and started walking backwards toward Dutch, “Saddle up and meet me by the horses in 10.” Arthur just shook his head and batted her away, disappearing back inside.

Turning around, y/n tiptoed her way past Dutch’s own quarters, peeking in slightly she caught the sight of him in deep discussion with Hosea. Well, there’s no point in disturbing what seems like such an important conversation. Instead, y/n chose to make her way back to Abigail where she could quickly grab a few things before setting off.

“So, you going then?” Abigail grinned up at her, already knowing the answer.

“Yup,”

“Oh good,” Abigail clapped her hands together. Y/n simply rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “You tell Dutch?”

“Um, not quite,”

“What do you mean?” Abigail raised a brow, always the ever-worried mother.

“Come on Abigail, you know Dutch won’t let me out, especially not for a whole night.”

“Course he will, you’re with Arthur,”

“No Abi, I don’t think he will,” Y/n paused her packing and met Abigail’s stare.

“What do you mean?” Her tone was tense.

“Look, Dutch has been treating me real weird since Blackwater, he won’t let me out of his sight. He won’t even let me do watch, no, I stay here in camp where he can see me and do chores. Which would be fine, but we all know that I’m much better out there, in the big wide world.” Y/n returned to packing, “He’s just got spooked from Blackwater a lil and you know how he sees me, he raised me and all.”

“So…what’s your plan?”

“Well…I guess I don’t have one.” Abigail let out a frustrated huff, “Look, don’t be mad! It aint your fault and I can handle Dutch when I get back. I thought tonight I’d focus on Arthur, wasn’t that your plan, come on now Abi.” Abigail simply responded with one of her infamous motherly glares, hands on hips and everything.

“Okay, but it’s getting dark so you best head off now before you loose your way, and y/n…” Bag now packed, y/n was half way out of the tent when she stopped, “Be careful…”

Y/n grinned back.

“Always am.”

 ***

“So, where you wanna go?”

Arthur and y/n had ridden their way out into the fields, far away from any signs of life or civilisation. Free at last. “Since you’re in such a sour mood I’ll let you choose.” Arthur sent her a glare.

“You know, you talking about how sour my mood is…aint making it any less sour.”

“Why are you in a sour mood anyways?” Y/n peeked at him from the corner of her eyes. Their horses had slowed into a rhythmic trot as the flowers and fields passed them by.

“Mary.” It was a gruff, clipped response; but it was enough. Arthur never needed to elaborate on his problems with Mary, it was common knowledge amongst the gang. Hell, it was obvious from day one what was going to eventually happen between the two. “Here, let’s stop here.”

“I’m sorry to hear bout it,” Y/n pulled her horse to a steady stop as they strolled onto a circular ledge, looking out on a cliff drop and the rolling hills that followed, the greenery not stopping until it blurred into the horizon.

“Are you?” Arthur said after a moment, his eyes busy assessing the terrain.

“Arthur,” Y/n snapped to him as if he had hit her, “You know I do.” The two stared at each other, a standoff, then he seemed to soften a little.

“Yeah, yeah I know you do y/n don’t worry. Don’t know what got into me. She’s messing with my head is all.”

“You can say that again,” y/n turned back to her horse, unpacking all the bits and bobs. She began to get a fire going, the crackling flames warming her back as she moved to stand near the ledge, looking out at all the little people and all their little lives.

“Wait stay still a second,” Arthur called out to y/n who of course, didn’t.

“What you doing?” She questioned walking over to him as he fumbled about in his satchel.

“I said stay still woman…almost got it…here.” He pulled out a small, metal box with a look of triumph. “Now,” He instructed holding it up to his face, “Go back to where you were standing.”

“Okay,” Y/n agreed cautiously, walking backwards a few paces, “Here? Wait…you’re not taking a photo of me are you Arthur?”

“What?” He asked, looking up and shrugging his shoulders as if there were no problem.

“Oh Arthur, I don’t want no photos of me taken,”

“Why?”

“Because…” She trailed off. It had been so long since someone had offered to take a photo of her. When it happened, she had venomously refused, spitting out something about keeping her identity secret. But now, looking at Arthur’s innocent smile as he gestured toward the camera, all ideas of protesting against the photo seemed futile. “Oh, all right then, but if I look real bad promise me we’ll burn it on the fire.”

Arthur said nothing, simply smiled wide before holding the camera up to his face once more. Suddenly, she felt incredibly self-conscious of her appearance, her hair was lazily knotted in a braid to keep it away from her face, she was wearing her old work pants and one of John’s old shirts that he had grown out of. She wondered if he thought she was pretty, she wondered if that’s why he wanted a photo of her – she pushed those thoughts away and swallowed. A quick flash, mechanic clunk and it was over.

“Lemme see, lemme see!” Y/n bounded over to Arthur, reaching out for the camera but Arthur swept it out of her grasp holding it high above her head.

“Just wait woman! God…gotta let it develop first then you can see, and then burn it,”

“I was kidding Arthur! You want a photo of me so bad I’ll let you have one – but it’s the only one you getting so you better cherish it.”

“Oh, I will,” He sighed, turning back to the camp and the fire, “I will.” He muttered once more under his breath, his eyes glossy and happy as he carefully rested the camera near his bag.

“Come on, we best settle down,” Y/n sighed, her fingers resting near her gun. The two hunched down together near the edge of the cliff, their feet sloping down with the ground as they watched the last few hours of light spill across the landscape.

“Well if we’re going about this the old way,” Arthur grunted after a moment, before twisting round and grabbing a box from behind him, swinging it around y/n’s eyes widened as she realised what Arthur had snuck off camp.

“Uncle’s secret stash of whiskey,” Y/n stared wide eyed at the crate, “Arthur you didn’t!” She half gasped, half grinned.

“You said it would be just like old times,” He hazily smiled at her, pulling out a bottle and squeezing off the cap. He then looked around, conflicted, “Uh, I didn’t think to grab any cups.”

“Oh, it don’t matter Morgan,” Y/n grinned, grabbing the bottle and taking a swig straight from the lip, “If we’re really doing it like old times, it won’t matter.”

Arthur looked at y/n then, really looked at her. The time of his life when she wasn’t in it had always felt hazy, it had always appeared to him that she had simply just been there, like Hosea and Dutch, even John. Dutch had bundled her home after finding her on the street, she had tried and almost successfully robbed him as he headed back home. She was young, too young to have been living life like that and yet, weren’t they all. He remembered shooting lessons with her John and Dutch as Hosea dipped in and out with scattered pieces and parts of plans.

There had been a time when he was sweet on her. Really sweet on her. They were young, growing up in a wild world where it felt like anything could happen. He never told her, life just seemed to get in the way and, after a while, he just figured she wasn’t into him like that. Maybe there was a part of him that would always be sweet on her, like the way he could never seem to shake away Mary. No, that’s not right. Mary and y/n were different, always had been different and always would be. But then again, what did Arthur Morgan know about love, about women?

“I…have this theory,” She turned to him suddenly, shattering apart his worried thoughts and replacing them with a warm glow.

“Theory? What you doing getting all philosophical on me?” The corner of his eyes crinkled as he grinned back.

“I aint getting philosophical Arthur, it’s just an idea-”

“Okay, okay,” He held up his hands in defence, “What’s this big idea, hm?”

“So…with this Mary business…I think that all she done this past while is talk about how you aint ever gone change, and my theory is that…that aint fair,”

“How come?”

“Because her asking you to give up this life, is exactly like you asking her to give hers; and…I don’t think love should be like that.” The liquor was loosening her tongue, making her slosh a little with her words, “I don’t think you should have to change yourself for love.”

“But aint that the point?” Arthur pondered after a beat, “That love changes you, makes you a better man and what not.” Y/n’s nose crinkled.

“Sure but…there’s a difference between growing with someone compared to changing who you are just so you don’t give them a bad reputation when you walk down the street together,” Arthur reared back a little but ultimately understood there was no malice behind her words, it was just the ugly truth. “I feel like,” She continued, now on a roll, “Mary aint in love with you…or maybe she was at one point but now it’s…I don’t know, hell, the only time I ever met the woman she barely said two words to me.” A soft chuckle, “But…I feel like she’s in love with this version of you, in her head. There’s a reason everyone back at camp, especially the girls, don’t like her Arthur. It’s because she aint like us, she aint ever had to worry about when her next meal gone be or if she’ll get the privilege of sleeping in a bed that night or…”

Arthur’s eyes were steady on the sunset, watching as it swam down over the horizon, disappearing into an inky, spotted night. The sky was surprisingly dull for a sunset, no explosion of colours as the sun sunk lower, no ecstasy of oranges and pinks – just an ever-expanding dull grey hue.

“I don’t like saying it Arthur,” y/n was still going, “Because I know you love her and I know an ounce of love is more than any of us deserve – but please…stop hurting yourself over her, I can’t take it anymore.” Arthur turned his head slightly to the side, peeking at y/n; he wasn’t necessarily upset by what she was saying, just numb to it. I mean, if he didn’t have Mary, then what did he have?

Silence blanketed them as the sun and its warmth slipped over the edge of the world, leaving the cold to creep in from all sides; only battled by the spluttering warmth of the fire. Arthur looked at her, really looked at her.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop loving her y/n.” A pause. He waited for her reaction.

“I know.” She did, and her heart ached for it.

***

The mood and pace picked up from then on. With the world at rest around them, being out in the open night with a crate of whiskey and a wheezing fire – it was enough to feel like they were the only ones who were truly alive. Perhaps, in that moment, they were. Old friends who knew each other better than they knew themselves. A conversation concocted with a mix of reminiscing of the past, laughing about the present, and theorising about the future.

Arthur told y/n that she was going to be married before she knew it. Y/n politely told Arthur that the only instance in which she would ever marry would be for money. Arthur laughed and commented on how it was money that was ruining his relationship, not building it.

They talked about Dutch, about how much they had grown from being scared kids with guns too big for their hands. And all of a sudden, Mary felt a million miles away - Mary didn’t even feel important anymore.

They drank themselves silly, forgetting about the whole point of their little getaway in the first place. Eventually, they curled up against the shrubbery, lying on their backs and looking up at the bottomless sky above them. Not even talking, just enjoying for a moment how the world was spinning underneath them.

***

When Arthur awoke the first thing he noticed was the dryness of his throat. Wincing, he coughed some of the dust out of his lungs as he sat up and then lay back down again, the weight of his head pulling him back.

“God damn.” He grunted – how much had he drank? Still, standing up he shook the dust off him, he knew he had gone through worse, an infamous night with Lenny ringing a bell. The sun was high in the sky meaning that he had slept through all, if not most, of the morning. Sighing he looked around for y/n. And looked again. Something wasn’t right.

She wasn’t there; not curled up next to him, not draped across the sleeping rolls, not near the horses – nowhere. She was gone. An ugly, familiar knot twisted its way into Arthur’s gut. Trying to douse the fire inside of him he calmed himself with the idea that she could have just gone for a walk or pulled through on the hunting after all – but her horse was still there.

“Oh no…no…no.” He choked standing up. He couldn’t lose her, not now. His fears climaxed, his whole world skidding to a stop as he noticed a note made from rich paper taped to the whiskey box.

Arthur Morgan,

You don’t seem to want to talk about Dutch. Maybe your friend will.

-        P

Numb, he went completely numb. But that feeling didn’t compare to when he had eventually stumbled back into camp, the note limb by his side as looked up and saw an irate Dutch waiting for him, his eyes black.

“Where, the hell, is she Morgan?”

next part

[izupie]

I’ve been writing a Reddie fantasy creature /  AU but I’ve got so far with it and I’m running out of steam, so instead of forcing it and not enjoying it, I’m just going to post what I’ve got so far ! I really enjoyed writing what I did though. One day I hope I’ll finish it and post it on AO3, but I might just stick it in a collection of unfinished stories at some point~

The idea was inspired by a prompt on Instagram and the old wives tale that cats can see ghosts - they say that when cats are looking really intensely at seemingly nothing, they’re really seeing a ghost. So each of the Losers would be a different fantasy creature, with Eddie being a cat that was a witch’s familiar, (but when they leave their witch they’re cursed with a human form to show that they’ve broken their commitment) and Richie’s a ghost that only he can see and touch. (He’s really just Actual Richie caught in the Deadlights, crossing partially over into another universe for a little while, which is why he’s all ghostly, but he has no memory of the world he’s come from, feels like the others are strangely familiar, and he can’t leave Mike’s bar.)

It was really self-indulgent (as all my AUs are) ahaha

--------

Eddie heaved a sigh as he all but fell onto the bar stool. It was a testament to how far he’d walked in the last few days, and how sick he was of camping, that he didn’t even care that the stool creaked noisily at his weight, and that his travelling cloak seemed to stick to the wood as he shuffled to try and make himself more comfortable. (To no success.) (No, his ass wasn’t bony, he was just going to blame it all on the terrible design of flat, hard seats that do nothing for either comfort or alignment of the spine.)

There was a man behind the bar, wiping a metal flagon with a rag, and Eddie desperately tried to not think of the rapid multiplication of bacteria within damp cloth. The bartender had long elven ears, dark skin, and an easy smile that he flashed at Eddie as he made his way over. His expression was open and friendly, and he said, “What can I get for you, traveller?”, in a deep, melodic tone of voice that made Eddie immediately want to offload his whole life story instead of what he wanted to drink. He thankfully managed to keep a lid on his lifetime of trauma and mistreatment and instead replied, “Glass of milk, thanks,” in what he hoped was the confidence of someone used to sitting in bars and ordering drinks and definitely wasn’t travelling alone for the first time in their life.

If he expected a reaction to ordering a glass of milk from a bar, he didn’t receive any, and the bartender just smiled and nodded. “Coming right up,” he said in his honey-smooth voice as he turned away.

Eddie pulled down the hood of his travelling cloak and sighed in relief as his pointed cat ears sprang free from beneath the material. He rummaged within the leather bag around his hip for a small bottle and pulled out the tiny cork with a satisfying pop. There wasn’t much of the potion left, he thought reticently, and the only witch he knew he’d left a long way back from here... But he had to keep his hands clean. Eddie frowned and his tail swished as he poured a few drops of the bright blue liquid onto his hands, then rubbed them vigorously before he stoppered the bottle once more and stowed it away again. The bartender still hadn’t returned yet, and nobody else seemed to be paying him any attention, so he licked his palms and drew them down the velvety soft fur on both of his ears. That felt better.

There were only five other customers that Eddie could see – all playing a game of cards around a large table in the corner of the room. The building wasn’t especially big, so he could hear snippets of their good-natured heckling to each other from his seat, with one voice significantly louder than the others. Eddie placed his elbows on the counter as he tried to get a better look at them – but he felt something wet and cold seep through the thin fabric of his cloak as soon as his elbow touched the surface, and he snatched his arm back with a soft hiss, flattening his ears and nearly losing his balance on the stool. He glared down at the wood, as if it had personally offended him, and then returned his attention to the others.

Only four of the five were sitting at the table with a hand of cards. Nearest to Eddie was a Satyr, judging by the dark brown furred goat legs and the two shining, curved horns on his head. He had neatly trimmed facial hair and wore an openly worried expression (he didn’t seem particularly good at bluffing). Next to him was a man sitting ramrod straight in his chair (good posture, Eddie noted) with sandy brown curly hair, looking shrewdly over his glasses at the rest of the group. Every so often two huge tawny coloured feathery wings would twitch behind him where they were folded in against his back. A woman next to him winked at the Satyr as she said something that Eddie didn’t catch, while her bright red hair flashed like a flame as she tilted her head back and laughed, revealing two long fangs. The only other male at the table gestured for quiet and examined his cards more carefully. He also had two horns on his head, protruding just under his greying hairline, but they were obsidian black, long and thin, and matched the thick scaly tail swishing back and forth across the floorboards while he thought. Eddie blinked in surprise. It was the strangest group he’d ever seen.

The only other person there chattered excitedly behind the Dragon and interrupted Eddie’s observations. He whistled loudly.

“Oh, Big Bill’s got an amazing hand. Nobody fall for his bluffs, he’s lying through his teeth. Guys, c’mon!” The guy gestured violently toward ‘Big Bill’s’ cards and moved around the table, peering closely at the others’ hands. “Stanley. Stanley. Do not let Bill walk out of this place with all this money again. For me.”

Eddie couldn’t believe that this guy was providing such an obnoxiously loud running commentary on the game, and yet nobody was reacting. He moved around the table and practically leant his chin on the Vampire’s shoulder as he loudly read out her hand, but she didn’t even blink. He stood back to his full height (Eddie realised that he was tall) and folded his arms across his chest (tall and broad) and he heaved a huge sigh as he watched the others. (Tall and broad and sad.) Only then did Eddie notice how strange his clothing was – he’d never seen a shirt that shade of bright blue before. And there were small pink birds patterned all over it too. His black hair was messy and unkempt, and he had such strange looking glasses on. Maybe he was from a different Kingdom?

The dragon slammed his hand down with a raucous cheer and Eddie’s attention returned to the game. The others threw their cards onto the table with groans of disappointment.

“I fucking told you all! Jesus. I can’t believe you fell for Bill’s bluffing again. Or maybe you’re all just bad at cards,” the strange man mused, “we all know Benny Boy can’t keep a straight face to save his life…” He continued ranting whilst the others chatted amongst themselves and threw down bags of coins that the dragon scooped towards himself.

“Sorry to keep you.” The bartender’s sudden return shocked Eddie enough to make him jump. His ears flattened against his skull and he willed the fur on his tail to lie flat again before anyone in the room noticed it bushed up. Eddie knew he was scowling, but the bartender just smiled pleasantly and placed a glass of white liquid in front of him. “Fresh milk,” he announced.

Eddie looked down at the milk, back up at the bartender’s smile, and considered the amount of time he’d been gone for. “Fresh… as in… fresh milk?”

“Can’t get any fresher.”

Eddie gagged and pushed the glass away. “Pass.”

The bartender laughed heartily. “I’m kidding. I don’t keep milk in the bar, but my cabin’s not far from here and I grabbed some out of the larder. It’s fresh, but it’s been sterilized, don’t worry.” There was a bright gleam to his eyes that melted away most of Eddie’s irritation, but his tail (no longer looking like he got struck by lightning) still swished a little angrily behind him.

He took a tentative sip, spurred on by thirst and an innate feeling that this elf was trustworthy, and sighed with relief at the cold creamy taste that slid deliciously down his throat. He grabbed a few coins out of his leather bag and placed them on the bar, making sure his fingers didn’t touch any of the mystery liquid that he’d accidentally dipped his elbow in before.

“Thanks,” he said.

“You’re welcome, traveller. Hey, what’s your name anyway? Mine’s Mike.”

Eddie narrowed his eyes, took another sip of milk, and finally replied, “Eddie.”

“Well met, Eddie. Feel free to stay as long as you want, Maturin only knows I don’t get many visitors.” Mike went to move away but Eddie stopped him with a jerk of his head in the direction of the group in the corner.

“Hey, uh- interesting group over there.”

Mike smiled again, but this time it really tugged at the corners of his eyes. “They’re my favourite group of people in the whole of The Eight Kingdoms,” was all he said, as they rose from the table and made their way over. Which left Eddie just as clueless as before since his poor attempt at prompting hadn’t worked.

Mike laughed as they all took seats at the bar. “Don’t tell me, Bill won again.”

“Of course!” Bill crowed, his scaly black tail lifting into the air behind him. “If anyone can b-bl-bluff their way out of anything, it’s a writer. There was that whole m-m-murder mystery I wrote last year, set around a card game. I’ve been on a winning streak since th-then.”

“Ever humble, Big Bill!” The strangely dressed guy in the glasses laughed. “Yikes, man.”

“That means drinks are on Bill today,” the Vampire said, seemingly ignoring that comment, as she tapped the bar beside Eddie excitedly. “You want another, stranger? Bill’s paying with our hard-earned coin that he swindled from us.” She grinned and her fangs glinted in the candlelight.

“Uh…” Eddie started, unsure about the sudden acknowledgement of his presence.

“Sorry,” the Satyr said gently, in a pleasantly raspy kind of voice, “we get like this when we’re together.”

“Or some of us do anyway,” the man with the feathery wings added. The soft sound of rustling feathers followed his every movement as he took off his gold framed glasses. With his glasses off it made him look younger somehow, though his bird-like eyes were still piercing as he regarded Eddie with a slightly tilted head like a bird.

“I’m Ben,” the Satyr went on.

“-Sweet, sensitive Benny-Boy,” the glasses guy sighed.

“That’s Stan…”

“-My man, Stan the Man. Even if he could hear my jokes, he still wouldn’t laugh at them-”

“This is Bev…”

“-Nobody has the right to be this hot and not have a pulse-”

“And Bill.”

“-Good at everything in that kinda way that makes everyone want to follow everything he says, but also in the kinda way that makes me want to punch him in the face just a little bit.”

Eddie snorted an unexpected laugh and quickly tried to pass it off as a cough.

“Sorry- my name’s Eddie.”

At the chorus of ‘nice to meet you’s and ‘well met’s from the group Eddie was vaguely aware that the other man hadn’t been introduced at all, and that still nobody had reacted to any of his comments. Eddie couldn’t stop his eyes from glancing over, but he was already looking back, so their gazes locked for a second. Warmth sprang to his cheeks at the realisation he’d been caught. He pretended to cough again as he pointedly kept his eyes away, squirming in his seat with his embarrassment, and tried not to think about the confused expression he’d seen on the other man’s face as their eyes had met.

He focused on the realisation that none of them had drawn any attention to his cat ears. Although he’d already started figuring out that most of what Myra told him had been lies, it still stung to have it confirmed almost daily by every new experience. It was a sad, twisted truth that his own witch had been deliberately lying to him his whole life about everything.

He took another sip of milk and placed the glass back on the bar as he couldn’t help but let his attention wander back to the man from before, while the others all chattered and ordered drinks off Mike. His magnified dark eyes were opened wide behind his glasses as their gazes met again. Hadn’t he looked away at all? What was he staring at? His ears? Eddie’s tail twitched in a show of his irritation, wondering if he should take back everything he’d just been thinking. What was this guy’s deal? Well, if he was going to stare, so was he. Eddie defiantly lifted his chin and looked straight at him, willing him to make a comment. But the guy glanced around, as if checking there was nobody else around him that Eddie could be looking at. His eyes were still opened wide and his breathing sped up as he raised a slow and shaky hand to point to himself, raising his eyebrows as if to say, ‘…me?’. Eddie’s ears twitched and his own eyebrows pulled together sharply, as if to reply, ‘uh, yeah, who else?’.

“You can…” the guy started, then swallowed loudly and took a deep breath. “You can see me?”

Eddie felt something cold settle low in his gut, understanding beginning to finally dawn on him. “No,” he snapped.

“Holy fuck! You can see me!”

“No!” Eddie yelled loudly, jumping off the stool and hissing. “No, I can’t!”

“Yes you can! Yes you can! Holy shit! Fuck!”

“Eddie?” Mike asked gently. “Are you okay?”

The others looked at him warily, while Richie moved closer – seemingly caught somewhere between awe and relief.

“No- Yes! - I mean…”

Bill held his palms up as if calming a wild animal. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Eddie sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’ve gotta be kidding me that this is the one thing she didn’t lie about… how was I supposed to know… never thought I’d meet…”

“My name’s Richie!” the guy nearly yelled, excitement bursting out of his voice. “Richie Tozier. Hey look, you’ve gotta help me. This is insane,” he laughed wetly, and Eddie realised he was crying. “I can’t believe you can see me. I’ve waited so long to have somebody fucking, just, reply to me, man.”

(Can ghosts cry? Apparently so.)

“Eddie?” Mike repeated, as unaware as the others at the second half of the conversation that was going on.

The mood of the room had completely changed; the others were looking at him like Myra had always told him they would. A hot spike of shame ran through him and Eddie hissed softly at them, his ears lying flat. “I’m not bad luck.”

Bev shook her head, her expression sad. “Nobody said you are, honey, just calm down and tell us what’s going on.”

“You can see him, can’t you?” Stan spoke softly, but it cut through the chaos.

“Stan?! What the fuck, you can see me too?” Richie whirled on him and pointed an accusatory finger.

“You can see him too?” Eddie echoed.

“No. But I had my suspicions. Just, a voice I could hear sometimes. A glimpse of someone out of the corner of my eyes.” Stan ruffled his wings and folded his arms. “I figured this bar was haunted.”

“And you never said anything?” Richie wiped at his face. “I’ve been going crazy talking to everyone with absolutely nothing back this whole time and you knew I was here?”

“Wait, haunted? There’s someone else in the room?” Ben looked alarmed.

“Can someone explain what’s going on?” Mike looked between Eddie and Stan.

Eddie sighed and resisted the urge to massage his temples. “Cats can see ghosts,” he explained in a strained voice.

“Eddie here just became my new best friend, that’s what’s going on.” Richie sidled up to Eddie’s side so swiftly he didn’t have time to react before he had slung an arm over his shoulder.

Eddie hissed and ducked away but Richie was beaming. “You can feel me too?! Get back here! Hug me!”

“Not if you were the only ghost in the whole of the Eight Kingdoms!”

“So, there is a ghost?” Bill prompted.

“Can’t believe my bar’s haunted,” Mike mumbled.

[rhysismydaddy]

My Little Brawler - Feysand Headcannon 2

I’ll just go ahead and preface this by saying it’s long as SHIT. I went a little crazy. But here’s the second headcannon for Feysand. Thank you for the love on the last one! Next one out tomorrow. 

Synopsis: Feyre Archeron is a 31 year old researcher who has devoted her entire life to her work. Her dating history is a mess, from an ex-husband to one night stands. A serious relationship? Hell no. 

Rhysand Turner is a Virginia-born quarterback living it up in a football-crazy city. He doesn’t date and sticks to dumb blondes who look good on his arm and think how far he can throw a football is better than sex. Marriage? Not in a million years. 

________________________________________________________________

Feyre swung the lab door closed, locked it behind her, and headed toward the hospital exit. 

“Calling it a night?” Howie, the night-shift security guard asked from behind his desk. 

She glanced at her watch and winced. “More like a morning now, but yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

He laughed and went back to his crossword puzzle. Nothing interesting happened in the hospital this late at night outside of the ER, so Howie was basically only there for her. Feyre frequently was the last staff member to leave the place, something her coworkers never understood. 

She came in early, left late, and worked holidays. To say she was married to her job would be an understatement. 

Grabbing her keys and walking out to her car, she had to admit they had a point. She’d given up her entire life for her work, but she had no regrets. 

She’d made countless breakthroughs in nuclear medicine and had changed the face of chemotherapy and radiation. It payed off every day when she heard from the oncologists that one of their patients was cancer free. 

As she drove to her townhouse--only four minutes from the hospital--she wondered if it was strange she preferred to be alone.

Then she remembered how she’d ended up when she committed herself to a relationship and shook her head. If you can’t trust the man you’re married to, who can you trust? No one. 

She didn’t miss being married. At all. She didn’t miss having to come home from a long day at work and muster up the energy to talk about whatever was bothering him. 

She did miss sex, though. She never went out, never invited anyone over. It’d been so long since she’d been with a man, she was pretty sure she had cobwebs down there.

Ignoring that thought, Feyre walked through her front door, threw her keys on the kitchen table, and went to bed. She had to be in the hospital in four hours if she wanted to get ahead of her schedule. 

_________________________________

Rhysand jogged off the field, grinning at the look on his coach’s face. 

“If you’re in love with me, I don’t want to know,” he joked. 

Coach Matthews was at least five inches shorter than Rhys, but he reached up and smacked the back of his head anyway. He wasn’t actually mad, though. There were about three people in the world who could get away with talking trash to Adrian Matthews, and Rhys happened to be one of them. 

“Shut up, smartass. I’m just excited. If you play like this tomorrow, we’ll wi-”

Rhys cut him off. “Don’t jinx me.”

A raised eyebrow. “After all this time, you’re superstitious?”

“It could be my last game,” he said, ignoring the look on the man’s face. “I don’t need any bad luck.”

He’d never admit it, but losing tomorrow’s game was easily the scariest thing in Rhys’s life. 

Talent wise, there was no one better than him. He wasn’t cocky, but he knew it. He had better stats, better knowledge of the game, better everything. 

But, according to sports, Rhys was old as dirt. 

No matter how good you are, football isn’t a lifetime sport. Even though thirty-eight would be young to almost anyone’s standards, network channels and reporters were all wondering how long he would push on. 

The guys he was competing against were all in their twenties, young and fresh and without back pain. And knee pain. And-

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself, idiot. No matter what happens tomorrow, you’ve had the most impressive career as a NFL quarterback in history. So get your head out of your old ass and play the game you know how to play.” 

Rhys just laughed. “My old ass? What about you? When did you even sneak out of the retirement home?”

Before Matthews could attempt to kick his ass, a beefy hand smacked into Rhys’s back and Cassian--the other person allowed to talk shit to coach--said, “Oh, I see. You made a few good passes out there and now you’re over here drinking water and gossiping with coach like a couple old ladies. Cute.”

“Both of you, get your asses home and in bed,” the coach ordered, rolling his eyes. “I cannot believe I let myself draft two hard-headed, pain in the ass hillbillies,” he muttered, walking toward the other players. 

“He’s just mad because he’s in love with you,” Cassian said, throwing a thick arm around Rhysand’s shoulders, and dragging him to the locker room.  

Rhys pushed him off and laughed. “That’s exactly what I said.”

“So about tomorrow-”

“I swear to god if you mention the game one more time, I’ll tell everyone you wear women’s underwear when you play,” Rhys threatened, then ducked to avoid the helmet flying towards his head. 

“Shut the fuck up, man! That was one time! And I wouldn’t have done it, but you made me watch Bull Durham and it seemed like a decent idea at the time. And I wasn’t even gonna talk about the game.”

Rhysand raised an eyebrow. If Cassian wasn’t talking about football, he was droning on about women, booze, or hunting. Sometimes a mixture. Before he could continue, Rhys made a bet it was women on his best friend’s mind this time.

“Anyway, me and Az were thinking we could go somewhere new tomorrow night. Regardless of how the score turns out.” 

That caught his attention. The three of them had been friends since high school and had all played together till Azriel blew his knee out two years ago. They all lived in the same apartment complex still and got together almost every weekend. In all their time of friendship, they’d maybe gone to five bars. Once Cassian found a place and racked up enough of a tab, he stayed until they wouldn’t let him through the door anymore. 

“Where?”

“There’s bar about twenty minutes from here. Az apparently knows the owner or something.” It made sense. After his injury, Azriel had gone into broadcasting and had made a ton of connections in the PR world. 

“I don’t want to go anywhere crow-”

Cass cut him off. “He said it’s a small bar. No crowds.”

The one negative aspect of his life was the never-leaving pack of fans and paparazzi following him around. After the game tomorrow, it’d be hectic. He didn’t want to deal with that if they won, let alone if they lost. 

Rhys shrugged. “Fine by me. Either way, I’ll be needing a lot of booze.”

“You’re so fucking dramatic man,” Cassian laughed. “It’s just a game.”

Rolling his eyes, “It’s the Super Bowl, idiot. It’s not just a game.”

“Okay,” his best friend and defensive tight end said lightly. “It’s a big game.”

As he thought about how a loss tomorrow could be the end of his career, Rhys could only nod and agree. 

________________________________

Feyre walked through the front doors of the cancer wing and halted. John Weatherly, the Chief of Staff of the hospital--and not to mention a huge pain in her ass--stood at the threshold. 

“You look annoyed,” she stated, ready for whatever lecture he was about to give her. 

After all the time she’d worked for him, she’d never really gotten past her dislike of her boss. Or his misogynistic rants. Or the fact that he smelled like cigarettes. They worked in the cancer wing of the hospital, for crying out loud. And he had the nerve to smoke a cigarette every chance he got. 

“I am,” he said, equally as blunt. “Are you aware you’ve worked at least 120 hours a week for the past two months?”

“Considering I log my own hours, yes.”

“That is a huge waste-”

“Are you aware that I’ve published three research articles during the past two months? Generating publicity, not to mention patients, for the hospital?”

“Considering I’m not an idiot, yes,” John snapped sourly. “But this isn’t about me. The board is implementing a new rule this week. No more work weeks over 100 hours.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but he held up a hand in annoyance. “Don’t bother. I already tried to tell them you practically live here. It’s not flexible for anyone.”

Feyre allowed herself to steam for a few moments before muttering, “Fine.” She tried to walk around him to the lab, but he stepped in her path. 

“Since you’ve already worked over the limit, you’ll have to go home. Come back Tuesday.” 

“Tuesday?!” she practically shouted. “Why not tomorrow? The time cards reset every week.”

“You’ve worked 115 hours this week. They told me to tell you specifically that if you want to continue to receive a paycheck from them, you will come back Tuesday.”

“This is so-”

“Have a nice two days off, Dr. Archeron.”

She couldn’t not work for two days. “What am I supposed to do all day? Just let me go get my paperwork, and I’ll work from home.”

“Feyre, I have specific orders from the hospital’s board to have the security guard escort you out if you try to go in the lab.”

Her mouth dropped open, but before she could tell him how ridiculous this was, he said, “Go home. Sleep. Watch the game.”

“Game? What game?”

It was his John’s turn to look shocked. “The Super Bowl is tonight. Did you really not know?”

“No, of course not. I don’t care about football.”

Her boss was silent, stuttered a few words, then said, “How do you not like football? You live in Boston! Rhysand Turner is practically a celebrity around here.”

She didn’t know why any medical professional would encourage grown men to smash into each other for sport, but kept that to herself. “Who is Rhysand Turner, exactly?”

“For a genius, you’re such an idiot,” he said bitterly. “He’s the quarterback about to win us the Super Bowl tonight. You should watch the game in your time off. Speaking of, leave. Now.”

“But-”

“Nope. Now.” 

The urge to call him a jackass was so strong, she left before it slipped out. How ridiculous was this? She worked her ass off every day researching nuclear chemistry and the effects of chemotherapy in the body. It was important. Her work changed lives. 

And they were telling her to go home and twiddle her thumbs. Or watch football. 

She drove home angrily, wondering what on earth she would do with 48 hours of uninterrupted free time. 

After finishing two loads of laundry, scrubbing her entire bathroom and kitchen, and grocery shopping, Feyre was bored. She tried to sit down and watch TV, but there was nothing on that interested her. 

She flipped to the news, thinking she’d distract herself with politics. But no, everyone was talking about the game. Apparently, John was right. No one cared about anything except football today. 

An idea popped in her head, and she smiled and picked up the phone. 

“Finally!” her best friend shouted happily as she answered on the first ring. “I’ve been waiting for you to call; I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Hi, Mor,” she laughed. “I’m sorry it’s been so long. Work is-”

“-crazy, I know,” she finished her sentence. “What’s up?”

Trying not to sound bitter, Feyre said, “Well, I actually have today and tomorrow off, so I was wondering what you were doing tonight.”

A pause.

“You know I own a bar, right?” Mor asked, as if Feyre were dense. 

“Yes, of course.”

Another pause, then, “And you know it’s Super Bowl Sunday, right? It’s a busy night for us. Well, as busy as a tiny ass bar in the suburbs can be.”

Feyre laughed. “Oh, no worries, I’ll see you some other-”

“Wait! Why don’t you come?” 

“Oh... uh...” How could she get out of this? Fake illness?

A knowing town crept into Mor’s voice as she said, “Don’t even think about telling me you’re sick, bitch. You already said you don’t have anything to do tonight. Or tomorrow. Which means you can get drunk! Ooh, or laid!”

Feyre sighed. “Mor, I don’t want to watch a football game. And I definitely don’t want to get drunk.”

She could tell her friend was smiling as she said, “Just laid, then.”

Feyre rolled her eyes and stayed silent, trying not to think about how true that statement was. 

“Fine. Come at like 11. It’ll be pretty empty by then. But you’re definitely drinking.”

She debated arguing, but Mor would likely show up and drag her out herself if she tried. “Fine. One drink.”

____________________________________________

Rhys couldn’t stop smiling as he drove himself and Cassian through the city in his truck. 

“You know you’re a millionaire, right, Rhysie?” his best friend asked with a laugh. 

He just rolled his eyes, having heard this argument at least 20 times. “Don’t hate on the truck. I’ve had her since senior year.”

“It’s rusting. You’re a millionaire. Buy a new one.”

“Nope.”

Cassian groaned. “Why not?”

“She’s been with me through every win, every loss, everything. You know I lost my-”

“Stop! You already told me, and I almost throw up every time I get in this ass-mobile.” 

Rhys laughed and punched his shoulder, then said thoughtfully, “You know, I think it was right where you’re sitting.”

Cassian swore and scooted as close as he could get to the door. 

“Don’t worry, you can get out. We’re here.” 

As soon as he put the truck in park, Cassian jumped out of the cab and wiped the seat of his jeans off with his hand, making Rhys laugh. 

He climbed out of the truck, his body still lined with adrenaline. He’d played his ass off, crushed the opponent, and carried his team to victory. 

He supposed he had Cassian to thank, too, considering he’d also played his ass off and kept Rhys from getting pummeled. 

Their success was echoing through the city on excited whispers. Both of them had already turned their phones off they were getting so many calls from team managers. 

They walked into the wonderfully slow bar, nodded to the few people still around who luckily didn’t ask for pictures, and went to find Azriel. 

He was sitting at the bar, chatting to the bartender. Even though the bartender was hands-down one of the most attractive women he’d ever seen, it was the woman near Azriel that gave Rhys pause. 

Cassian saw the look on his face, smirked, and nodded toward the empty chair between Az and the girl. 

A good end to a good night.

He winked, then slid in the chair, nodded to Az--who rolled his eyes--, and turned to the woman. 

She had clear blue-gray eyes, dark blonde hair, and full lips. She was... exotic. Different. 

He smiled confidently and said, “Hey. How you doing?” 

It was a simple line, but one that worked countless times when paired with a southern accent. 

He couldn’t tell if the look on her face was amusement or shock. “Where the hell are you from?”

That reaction was one he was used to, so he grinned and said, “Virginia.”

“What are you doing in Boston, then?”

He couldn’t stop his eyebrows from pulling together. She was in a sports bar, where his face had just been plastered on every TV for four hours, but she didn’t know who he was? “Work,” he said simply. 

Rhys could feel his best friends’ eyes on him, but he ignored them. “So, what’s your-”

The girl turned to the bartender, ignoring him completely, and said, “Mor, I’m going to make a call.” She cut her eyes toward the men around her and murmured, “Watch my drink.”

Every single one of their eyebrows shot up. Did they look that much like criminals? Sure, they wore a lot of black, but every one of them were multi-millionaires. Did he come off like a date-raper or something?

The bartender, Mor apparently, rolled her eyes and said, “Don’t take it personally. Even balls to the wall drunk, she’s cautious.”

Rhys could tell there was more to that story but shrugged and asked for a beer. 

Mor slid it across the counter and smiled knowingly. “She’s pretty, right?”

He just turned to Azriel and asked, “How have you been, man? Did you report the game?”

“Yeah, they had me follow your stats the whole time. Boring shit,” he replied, laughing. 

“I bet you could hardly talk fast enough.”

“Cocky bastard,” Cassian muttered. 

Azriel nodded to the bartender and said, “This is Mor, by the way. I’ve known her since I left the NFL. Mor, this--as I’m sure you know--is Rhysand and Cassian, although I call them Dumbass 1 and 2.”

“You’re a funny, funny man,” Rhys muttered. 

Mor’s friend came back and slid into her seat. Mor put another drink on the counter. The woman raised an eyebrow. “I said one drink, Morrigan.”

“Morrigan? Jesus, you’re already drunk aren’t you?” 

Before she could respond, Az said, “Mor, perhaps you’d like to introduce the guys to your friend?”

She smiled and said, “Guys, this is Feyre Archeron, my very best friend who loves me so much she’ll stay and have another drink.”

“Since you’re buying,” Feyre said sweetly, picking the drink up. “And because I know you’ll make me feel bad about leaving so soon.”

Cassian asked, his accent even thicker than Rhys’s, “Why the bad mood, gorgeous?”

She turned and leveled a look at him. “I’d rather be doing something else.”

Rhys rolled his eyes as his best friend leaned down towards the woman and smiled slowly. “Well, you should’ve told me sooner. I’d be glad to do something else with you, baby.”

Azriel and Rhys both looked at each other and shook their heads. Cassian flirted with everyone. It drove them insane, but it was at least predictable. 

The woman unlucky enough to have his current affections set her drink down with a little too much aggression, making Rhys chuckle. “What’s your name?”

“Cassian,” he replied confidently. 

“Cassian, believe me when I tell you I have absolutely no interest in having sex with you. Leave me alone and go shook a chicken or something.” 

The look on Cassian’s face was priceless, and Rhys bit his lip to keep his laugh in. Like Rhys, he was used to women being very... open to his suggestions. 

Before Cass could even retort, the woman looked to her friend and asked, “Who the hell are these guys? Your friends?”

Mor pointed to Azriel and responded, “He is my friend. Those two rednecks,” she jerked her head toward Rhys and Cassian, “I don’t vouch for.”

Rhys put a hand to his chest in mock hurt. “We’re Azriel’s friends, which makes us pre-vouched.” He turned to Feyre and smiled. “You single?” 

________________________________________

“No,” Feyre said at the exact same time Mor yelled, “Yes!”

The man next to her smiled smugly. “Since you’re single, let me buy you another drink.” She opened her mouth, but he said quickly, “Say yes. It’s just one drink, darling.”

His accent was so ridiculous, it sounded like he should be riding on the back of a horse in cowboy boots and a hat. 

“I said I’d have one drink,” she stated to Mor. “I’ve had two. I’m going home.”

“Of course you are.” Her best friend sighed dramatically. “You don’t care about me at all, do you? I haven’t seen you in a month, and you come to my bar and stay for all of ten minutes-”

“Mor-”

“Then try to leave, and I probably won’t see you for another-”

Feyre gave in with a huff. “Oh, my god, fine! I’ll stay. You’re so damn dramatic.” 

Her best friend jumped up and down like a toddler, clapping her hands stupidly. 

“Now I don’t have an excuse, do I?” She tried not to roll her eyes at how big Rhysand’s smile grin grew.

“Don’t get so excited. I’m just using you for liquor.”

“Fine by me,” he replied smoothly. “I’m trying to get you drunk.”

Despite herself, she laughed. She wasn’t used to such honesty. She definitely wasn’t going home with the guy, but she couldn’t deny how insanely attractive he was to her. The kind of attractive that drove women crazy. 

He was so tall, he towered over her even sitting down. He had dark hair, tan skin, and the most unique shade of eye color. They seemed almost purple and practically glowed as they raked over her. 

She turned to Mor and gestured for another drink. “You associate yourself with the strangest people.”

Mor just shrugged. 

“So, what do all do for work?” she asked the men around her, trying to make conversation. 

Rhys quickly said, “We’re- uh- in sports.”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he didn’t give her a chance to ask any more questions. “What about you?”

She saw Mor roll her eyes, but she kept it simple as she said, “I’m a scientist.”

“That explains it,” Cassian said with a laugh. 

This man had a special talent for pushing peoples’ buttons, it seemed. 

She turned to him and narrowed her eyes. “I’m going to go ahead and guess that you ‘being in sports’ means you’re a football player, since everyone in this city is so obsessed with the sport. And you know what? Between the constant head trauma and the accent...” She looked him up and down with narrowed eyes, then said sweetly, “It explains a lot.”

Rhysand launched into a coughing fit. She saw Azriel glance towards Mor, but her best friend just shrugged and said, “Not a big football fan.”

“We can tell,” Cassian muttered. 

“What kind of scientist are you?” Rhys asked, ignoring his friend. 

Mor sighed, but Feyre said, “It’s complicated, but I’m basically a nuclear chemistry-”

“It is boring as hell, I assure you all,” Mor cut in. 

Feyre rolled her eyes and sipped her drink. 

Mor got a strange look on her face, bent down, and grabbed a bottle of tequila. “Who wants a shot?” 

All three men at the bar raised their hand. Feyre just rolled her eyes.  Looks like it was going to be a long night.

_____________________________________

As Feyre got up to use the bathroom, ignoring all of their taunts about having a small bladder, the bartender looked at Rhys and waggled her eyebrows. 

“What?”

“Oh, we’re going to act like you weren’t just eyeing my best-friend’s ass?” She laughed, then said, “Feyre.”

“What about Feyre?” he said, keeping his voice neutral. 

He liked her, sure. Over the past couple hours, she’d loosened up around him. She was... funny. And smart. And sarcastic. 

And yeah, she was beautiful as all hell. He’d love to take her home, but... he wasn’t a relationship guy. Football took all of his time, and he traveled practically every weekend. The women he slept with were all young and didn’t care about anything other than his latest game. 

Feyre was different. 

“You like her, don’t you?” The bartender was nosy, that was for sure. 

“She’s... serious.” 

Mor raised her eyebrows, clearly waiting for him to continue, so he said, “I don’t date. And Feyre is... serious. She probably wants a relationship and marriage and all sorts of shit-”

“You know,” Mor interrupted, “I thought people were crazy for saying a southern accent makes people stupid. But you have got to be one of the biggest idiots I’ve ever met if you think that girl wants a relationship.”

“What?” 

“She works over fifteen hours a day. Spends all her time in a hospital with nerds looking in a microscope. She wants nothing to do with a relationship, let alone marriage. Trust me.”

“Oh.” 

The woman rolled her eyes and nodded to where Feyre was walking back to them. 

Before she made it to the bar, he turned to Cassian and said quietly, “Get a ride back with Az.”

“Gladly. I hate that truck.”

He glanced toward Feyre and muttered, “Now, idiot.”

Cassian, brilliant actor he was, yawned obnoxiously and said, “Well. I’m gonna hit the hay.” He winked at Feyre. “It was nice meeting you, honey. Call me if you ever need some southern hospitality.”

She shook her head but a smile ghosted on her lips. 

“I’ll refrain from the innuendo, but it was nice meeting you, too,” Azriel said to Feyre.

Mor followed the two of them toward the exit to say goodbye.

“You’ve had too much to drink to drive home,” Rhys stated as soon as they were alone. Feyre laughed, clearly onto his game. 

He rose and extended a hand. “Come on. I’ll drive you back. I only had one drink.”

“Is this your version of southern hospitality?” she asked.

“Maybe.”

She seemed to consider this, then murmured, “It’s very different from Cassian’s.” 

Rhys smiled. “I’d be happy to show you that version. Let me drive you home.”

“I live close to here,” she laughed. “I’m walking.”

He tried not to be too disappointed. The odds of her taking him home were slim anyway-

She slid off the stool and put a hand on his arm. “But Boston can be a dangerous city. Come with?”

_____________________________________________________

Rhysand got up from his seat and threw an arm around her shoulders. “Lead the way, darling.”

“You really have to stop calling me that. You sound ridiculous.”

She didn’t really mean it, though. His accent was... different. Sexy. He was sexy. Something he was most definitely aware of, but Feyre currently didn’t care. 

Cobwebs. 

He was funny and seemed nice enough and... 

She ignored Mor’s knowing smile as they left, telling her she’d call her later.

“I have a feeling you’ll be busy,” she said knowingly. 

She ignored that, too. 

As they started the short walk toward Feyre’s townhouse, his arm still slung across her shoulders, she asked, “So, did you win tonight?”

She could feel his chest rumble as he laughed. “Yeah, we won.”

“And you played the...”

“Steelers.”

“Right. Congratulations, then.”

He seemed to think her lack of football-knowledge was amusing. “Why the hell do you live in Boston?” he asked with a smile.

She froze. 

“What do you mean?” she said, trying to be casual. 

She led them around a corner that led to her block. 

“You hate football. You don’t like crowds. You could probably work anywhere. Why not live somewhere else?” 

They walked up to her house, and she answered simply, “I moved here to do my PhD at Harvard, and they offered me a job. Made sense.” 

“And do you like it here?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

She smiled, unlocked her door, and replied, “Ask me in an hour.”

He mirrored her grin, then pushed her by the shoulders through the door. “Give me two, and it’ll be your favorite place in the world.” 

Feyre laughed, locked the door, then turned to him. Leaning against the door, she looked him up and down and muttered, “Clocks ticking, Rhysand.”

________________________________________________________

As Rhys opened his eyes, he was wonderfully aware of the weight atop him. 

The naked weight.

Blowing Feyre’s hair out of his face, he smiled as she murmured something in her sleep. She was probably tired. 

They hadn’t gotten much sleep. 

Given how cautious she was when they’d first met, he’d half expected her to kick him out pretty early. Needless to say, he’d been pleasantly surprised. 

When the feeling of her on top of him grew to be too tempting, he ran his fingers through her hair and murmured her name.

She shook her head, making him grin. 

His fingers drifted over her back and he loved the way she felt in his arms. After a minute, she turned her head, chin resting on his chest, and looked up at him. 

“Good morning,” she said simply. 

He just pulled her up to him, pressing his lips to hers. She smiled against him, legs coming up to straddle his waist. 

Rhys took in their position and smiled, leaning up to kiss his way up her neck. His lips brushed her ear as he whispered, “Cowgirl’s your favorite position isn’t it? And you say I’m country.” 

He snickered, proud of his joke, then practically choked on the sound as she slid herself onto him. “Shit, Feyre.”

"No more jokes, Rhysand?” she murmured, rocking her hips slowly. 

“Just Rhys,” he panted. He leaned forward to take one of her breasts into his mouth, and she gasped, the sound music to his ears. 

“Rhys,” she moaned, fingers digging into his back. 

“Yes, Feyre?” He gripped her hips to keep her still as he asked, “Do you need something?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he tried not to grin. 

“I said ‘Good morning.’ Don’t make me liar.” 

This woman would be the death of him. He laughed and released her hips, reveling in how she responded to every movement, every touch. 

She picked up the pace, and Rhys just sat there with his teeth gritted and tried not to ruin the moment for both of them. 

He could tell when she was close, her legs tightening around him, voice shaking as she called out his name. He pulled her hair, kissing up her exposed neck and across her jaw to her ear. 

“Come for me, Feyre darling,” he whispered, pulling on the shell with his teeth. 

She moaned, falling apart in his arms, and Rhys had to use sheer will to wait until she was done to finish. 

This woman... was the definition of seduction. Even after a whole night together, he couldn’t get enough. 

As they came down together, he looked at her and smirked. “Good morning.”

She smiled and kissed him, biting his lips gently. Even though he’d just had her, his body was ready for more. 

He was about to flip them over when she ruined the moment and said, “You have to leave.”

She climbed off him, and he watched with amusement as she sprung from the bed, ripped the sheet off of him, and started pacing around the room. 

She found his pants at him and threw them at him. “I’m serious, Rhys. I have to... do stuff.”

He ignored the clothes on his chest. They were both completely naked, and if he had anything to say about it, they’d stay that way for a while. “Like what? You told Mor you have the day off.” 

“I do, but-”

“Then come here.”

She crossed her arms. “Rhysand.”

He sat up and extended a hand. “Just shut up and come here. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” 

_________________________________________________________

Oh, I’m sure you will, Feyre thought as she rolled her eyes and took his hand. 

Then gasped as he used the other hand to rip the sheet off her and throw her on her bed. 

She barely had time to process before he was on top of her, pressing kisses across her chest, down her stomach. Further. 

Sweet Jesus, she thought. The man hadn’t let her sleep more than two hours last night. Not that she was complaining. The cobwebs were completely gone, that was for sure. 

A moan escaped her lips as his teeth scraped her thigh, and he chuckled. She was about to flick his shoulder, but then his lips slid higher, and every thought emptied our of her head. 

She couldn’t keep herself still as he kissed her, so he held her hips with both hands. 

Hers found themselves in his hair and she pulled as he ran his tongue up her center. 

“Rhys, baby,” she panted. She didn’t care how she sounded. Didn’t care about anything but the sight of his head buried between her legs. 

She didn’t know if it was because she was out of practice or because he was some sort of sex god, but she was already close. Again.

By the time she came, her entire body was limp with pleasure and she was close to seeing stars. 

When she opened her eyes, he was above her, smirking like a cat. 

He leaned down to kiss her, but she flicked his nose in annoyance. 

“If you try and fuck me again before I get some food, I’ll strangle you.” 

Ignoring the warning, he buried his head in her neck and tugged on her earlobe with his teeth. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Feyre darling.”

She laughed against her better judgement, but pushed his shoulders until he let her up. If she didn’t eat something, she might pass out when they went again. 

She grabbed his t-shirt from last night and threw it on as she walked to her kitchen. It came down to practically her knees, making her look ridiculous, but she didn’t care. It was soft and big and smelled like him. 

“Pancakes?” she asked, turning around to catch him looking at her in amusement. At what she was wearing. 

She raised an eyebrow, daring him to say something. 

“Pancakes would be great.”

Feyre ignored the look in his eyes and started cooking. And kept ignoring it as he watched. 

Every time she looked at him, he looked like he was five seconds away from throwing her over his shoulder and dragging her back to bed. 

The idea of messing with him a little more was too tempting to ignore. 

“Close your eyes,” she ordered secretively, reaching into her fridge. 

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but gave in when she raised her eyebrows. 

She used a finger to tip his head backward, then whispered, “Open your mouth.”

His lips curved into a smile, then opened. She took the can of Ready Whip and sprayed some whip cream in his mouth, laughing as his purple eyes shot open, full of amusement. 

“Cute,” he muttered, swallowing the whip cream. 

She leaned in and licked some of the remainder off his bottom lip. He froze, then reached for her. Before he could get those arms around her, she walked to the stove and took the pancakes off. 

Sliding an unhealthy amount toward him, she said, “Eat your breakfast, dear.”

Rhys gave her an annoyingly perfect smile and devoured the food. She looked at him as he ate, wondering how he looked like a Greek god when he ate like... that. 

He looked up as he finished and laughed at the look on her face. “Baby, don’t invite a football player over if you don’t expect him to eat all your food.”

She took their plates and stuck them in the sink. When she turned around, he immediately strode over and grabbed her face, pulling her lips to his. 

He kissed her thoroughly, then pulled back far enough to say, “Meet me in your bedroom.” Another kiss. “And Feyre? Bring that whip cream.”

__________________________________________________________

By the time Rhysand left, Feyre could hardly stand up. She had no idea how she was going to make it through her shift tomorrow, given that she was so exhausted she could sleep probably for a day straight. 

That’s when she realized that for the first time in her career, she didn’t want to go to work. She wanted to call Rhysand and tell him to come back. 

That’s not an option.

A relationship was out of the question. It’d be cruel to him to invite him back, knowing it would never go anywhere. For all she knew, he was trying to settle down. With a nice girl who’d give up her life to have his babies and be a football wife. 

Hell no. 

As she got out of the shower, giggling at how shaky her legs were, she told herself to forget him. 

But when the phone rang, she was surprisingly disappointed when she looked at the caller id and saw it wasn’t him. 

As soon as she picked up, Mor practically yelled, “How was it?!”

“How was what, Mor?”

“The sex last night, idiot. Was it good? I bet it was good. You don’t look like that and not have a seriously huge-”

“Mor! Calm down.”

She could tell her best friend was enjoying this way too much. “I’ll calm down when you tell me. Everything.”

Feyre laughed, then gave in and asked, “What do you want to know?”

“How long did he stay? Oh, you made him walk back to his truck in the middle of the night, didn’t you? Mean woman.” 

When she didn’t respond, Mor pushed, “Unless you didn’t. When did he leave, Feyre? Hm?”

“An hour ago,” she admitted. 

The howl that Mor let out was practically inhuman. “Oh my god! You nasty bitch! Or, wait. Is he the nasty bitch?”

Feyre laughed. “You have no idea.”

“I cannot believe you let him stay all day. He must be good. He’s good isn’t he?”

She didn’t have to think back to remember the answer to that question. “You have no idea,” she repeated. 

Mor laughed. “I’m so happy for you. Are you seeing him again?”

“No, probably not.”

She stopped laughing. “And why the hell not?”

“I don’t date. It wouldn’t be fair to him to keep sleeping with him and lead him on-”

“You’re both idiots.”

That stopped her. “What?”

Mor sighed on the other end of the call. “He doesn’t date. At all. He’s seen with 20 year old blondes who probably don’t know their head from their ass. You don’t have to worry about him trying to tie you down.”

“Oh,” she said stupidly. 

Of course he wasn’t the dating type. He was a professional athlete. Women probably threw themselves at him. 

“For someone so smart, you really are an idiot.”

“You have a point. Look, I have to go. I’ll call you later.” It was only eight PM, but she could hardly keep her eyes open. 

“Worn out, aren’t you?” Mor asked in a knowing voice.

“Good night, Morrigan.”

____________________________________________________________

Rhys wasn’t surprised to see Azriel and Cassian in his apartment when he got back the next day. 

“You dirty dog,” Cassian said smugly, throwing a pillow at his head.

Rhys smiled and told him to shut his fat mouth. “What are you idiots doing here? Get evicted?”

“Waiting on your ass,” Azriel said. “We’re going out.”

“Not everyone got laid last night,” Cassian said sourly. “Ruined a good win.”

Az and Rhys both ignored him. “Wanna come?” 

“I’m gonna crash, actually. I have an early meeting tomorrow with coach.” It was an excuse; he’d barely made it home without falling asleep at the wheel. 

“Mmhm, an early meeting with coach,” Cassian said knowingly. “More like a late night with a pretty blonde.”

Rhysand just winked and said, “We made sure to avoid your seat in the truck.”

“Disgusting,” his best friend said bitterly as the pair walked toward the door. “I hate that truck.” 

As soon as the door swung close behind them, Rhys showered and passed out. 

_______________________________________________________

Three days later, Rhys was watching highlights from the game when his phone rang. He smiled as he saw the caller ID. 

“Unless the hospital is calling to tell me I’m dying,” he said as he picked up, “I’m going to assume this is Miss Feyre Archeron.”

“Wow, an athlete with a brain,” the sarcasm flowed through the line clearly.  

“I’m a package deal, baby. So, what’s up?” If this was a booty call, he’d make her say it. He’d definitely give in, but he’d make her ask first. 

“I don’t date,” she blurted suddenly. 

He paused, then said, “Me either.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t know what to say, so he just mimicked, “Okay.”

“Then come over.” 

Rhysand smiled, looking at his watch. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

_____________________________________________________

Two months later, they’d spent practically every night together. Either he’d stay at her house and get kicked out at the ass crack of dawn when she left for work, or she’d stay with him and he’d wake up alone.

On the rare days her boss forbade her from working, they’d spend all day together, running errands, cooking, fooling around. Hell, she’d even come to one of his football practices. “Out of pure boredom,” she’d claimed. 

He’d never tell her, but seeing her had become the best part of his day.

Sure, he’d resigned his contract for the next year to keep his dream job, but even that paled in comparison to her coming over. He’d started to depend on her. He’d started to care about her. 

Only Cassian--who gave him shit about it daily--knew. And had been told to keep his mouth shut about it. 

Because he knew that as soon as he told Feyre, she’d bolt. He just had no idea why. 

Sure, he’d said he didn’t date. He was thirty-eight and had a terrible relationship track record, having only had a handful of serious ones. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try, right? 

He’d never felt like this before... never been so desperate to spend time with someone. And it wasn’t just the sex like he’d thought for the first few weeks. 

Because even when they weren’t having sex, he wanted to be around her. Wanted to hear her laugh, the one she let out when he surprised her or she made fun of his accent. Wanted to see her smile. Wanted to see her asleep in his bed, wearing his t-shirt. 

He wanted her. 

Ridiculous.

The first woman to openly not want a relationship with him, he can’t get out of his mind. 

Snapping out of his thoughts, he noticed her staring up at him. “What?” he asked, worried everything he’d been thinking was written on his face.

“Nothing,” she said for the fifth time, stifling a giggle. 

He rolled his eyes. “Just say it.” 

“I cannot believe Dirty Dancing is your favorite movie!” She exploded, gesturing to the screen as if he were blind. “You’re a football player.” 

“Which means I can’t have a good taste in movies?”

She shrugged. “It’s just not what I was expecting when you suggested we watch a movie. I figured you just wanted to come out here and have sex again.”

He grinned. “I did that for your sake. I figured if we stayed in bed any longer, you wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

With her head on a pillow in his lap, she looked completely adorable as she looked up and stuck her tongue out at him. “How considerate.” 

“Southern hospitality knows no limits.” 

As they watched the movie, Rhys couldn’t help but sneak glances at her. She was... distracting. The ocean eyes, full mouth, and delicate features were pretty much a constant distraction for him. 

When the final scene started playing out, Rhys grinned like an idiot and said, “Dance with me, Feyre Archeron.”

“What?”

“Come on. I wanna show you something.” He took her hand, hauled her off the couch, and took her to the biggest open space in his apartment. 

He put his hands on her shoulders and told her to stay put, then walked to the other side of the room. 

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she said immediately, realizing what he had planned. “Absolutely not.”

Rhysand laughed and said, “Run and jump.”

“Hell no! You’ll drop me.” She crossed her arms and stayed put.

He rolled his eyes. “I promise I won’t drop you. You’re about a hundred pounds soaking wet.” 

“No.”

“Chicken.”

“Excuse me?” she asked incredulously. “You seriously think that’s going to work on me?”

“Yep.”

“You’re right,” she admitted, barely giving him any time to prepare as she ran toward him, yelped, and jumped.

His hands wrapped around her waist as he lifted her up above his shoulders. She hollered like a wounded cat, but she stayed in the air and lifted her legs as he spun her around slowly. 

She giggled as he held her up, and the sound was so adorable that as he let her down, he slowly dipped her. Her hair brushed the floor as he held her, wrapped his arms around her, and pressed a kiss to her lips. 

He could tell she was surprised when she froze, but then she melted into him. 

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him close and opened her mouth for him. It was like it was the first time they’d kissed, and he couldn’t get enough. He kissed her like his life depended on it, and she responded to every movement. She sighed into his mouth and he drank the sound in. 

When he finally brought her back up and pulled away, she had tears in her eyes. 

“What?” he asked, concerned. 

Feyre’s brow was creased as she brought a hand to her mouth. “I have to go,” she whispered. 

“Feyre.”

She paced around his apartment, picking up her clothes and throwing them on as she went. “I have an early morning tomorrow.”

“You always have an early morning. What’s wrong?”

She pulled her boots on, zipped her jacket, and smiled tightly. “Nothing’s wrong. I’ll... see you later.” 

He didn’t have time to say anything before she sped out the door. 

Shit.

______________________________________________________

“He kissed me,” she said as soon as Mor answered the phone.

A pause. “He hasn’t kissed you before?” 

Feyre sped down the road to her house, explaining, “Of course he’s kissed me. But this was different. He dipped me, Mor. Like actual dipping. And he kissed me. Not to get in my pants, but just because. Like he couldn’t stop himself.”

“Oh. You think he has feelings for you?” 

“I don’t know, but I don’t want to find out.” This was the last thing she needed. The past month had been good. So good. 

But it had to end. She didn’t want a relationship... even if the idea of never seeing him again hurt so much she couldn’t breathe. 

He’d become someone to her in the two months they’d spent together. And even though it’d hurt like hell, she had to cut it off. Before it got worse. 

“Feyre-”

“Don’t ‘Feyre’ me. I’m fine.”

Her best friend didn’t let up. “No, you’re not. Ever since Tamlin, ever since that night, you haven’t been fine.”

“Stop talking. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“Mor-”

“He hurt you, and now you don’t trust men. You got freaked out tonight because this thing with Rhysand could be real, and you’re scared. You’re scared if you let yourself love him, he’ll hurt you.”

Feyre suddenly yelled, “Wouldn’t you be?”

The line went silent, so she continued, “Yeah, I’m fucked up because of my marriage. It’s pretty easy to figure out. But wouldn’t you be? I was with Tamlin for eight years! Did you know that after hearing your worthless and pathetic and that you deserve what happens to you for so long, you start to believe it? So unless you’ve dealt with that for eight years and been trapped in a marriage to someone like that for eight years, don’t you dare bring it up to me. I have to go.”

She didn’t give Mor a chance to respond as she hung up. 

She pulled into her driveway, took a deep breath and told herself the tears flowing down her cheeks were from her fight with Mor. 

_______________________________________________________

“We’re closed,” Mor yelled as Rhys walked in the bar, then looked up and froze. “Oh.”

“Tell me, Mor. Tell me what happened to her.” He knew there was a reason she’d been freaked out after he kissed her. He just didn’t know what it was. 

“To who?”

He came and sat in one of the bar stools, leveling a look at her. “To Feyre. Why did me kissing her send her running for the hills? I know she told you. She hasn’t answered my calls in six days.”

She shrugged, trying to make herself look casual. “Maybe she’s just not into you.”

“She’s into me.”

Mor snapped, “Maybe she’s not.”

His eyes softened, and she knew he saw it for the lie it was. “What happened to her?”

He could tell she was struggling with not telling him. She might not. But he wanted to fight for her. Wanted to make her happy. He just had to know how. 

She took a deep breath and said, “Feyre and I used to live in New York, you know. That’s where we’re from. And Feyre was married.”

He nodded for her to continue.

“They got married young, and he... changed. He... just.. he was so angry. All the time.” She took a shaky breath. 

“At first, I didn’t notice it. I didn’t see that anything was wrong. But one night, about five years into their marriage, I went to their apartment for dinner, and I saw that she had makeup on her cheek. Not a lot, but... like she was covering something up.” A tear that rolled down her cheek. 

“And he saw. That bastard saw me notice it.” She wiped her cheeks, trying to compose herself. “And I didn’t see her for three years. He wouldn’t let her go anywhere besides work. And he hardly let that happen.”

Rhys closed his eyes sadly, but she continued. “I didn’t see my best friend for three years. Until she showed up in the emergency room.”

His eyes snapped open. 

“I’m her emergency contact. I don’t know why she never changed it when she got married, but she didn’t. So I got the call, and drove to the hospital, and she was-”

She swallowed a sob. “She was in a coma for two days.” 

Mor cleared her throat. “When she woke up, I don’t know how to describe it. She was... different. I helped her divorce him and get a restraining order, but it wasn’t easy. He controlled all her shit. Bank accounts, everything. She was never the same. We left, packed up, and moved to Boston together. She didn’t want him to know where she lived. I think... sometime I think she’s still scared he’ll track her down.” 

“It took her three years to even go on a date. Another to have sex. She says she’s fine, but ever since that night, she won’t let herself actually let anyone in her life. She’s always been a workaholic, but after what happened... I don’t know. It’s like moving on, having a life, makes her remember her life before.” 

Mor sobbed, “And I don’t know how to help her. Because he’s a cop, you know. That’s why it was so hard for her to leave him. We had to go to the freaking governor to get the restraining order.”

A sob wracked her body, so Rhys leaned across the bar and pulled her into a hug. It made sense. Why him showing any sort of feelings freaked her out. Why she’d been cautious around him, Cassian, and Az when they’d first met. Why she didn’t want a relationship with him. 

But it didn’t mean he couldn’t fight for her. That he couldn’t tell her that he’d never hurt her. 

“Mor,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

She pulled back and wiped her eyes. “Well, now you do.”

“I want to be with her.”

She nodded, and smiled sadly. “I know.”

“And she wants to be with me, too.” 

Mor nodded again. “Go get your girl, Rhysand. But, just be careful. And I swear to God, if you’re anything like him-”

“I’m not,” he interjected. 

“-I’ll shoot you. I’m not making the same mistake twice.”

“I’m never going to hurt her. You can count on that. Do you think she’s still at the hospital? If she’s not going to answer the phone, I’m gonna track her ass down.”

________________________________________________________

Feyre scribbled down her note, then peered back into the microscope. She knew it was late, but it’s not like she had anywhere to be. The thought sent a pang through her chest, but she ignored it.

She was so distracted thinking about how big of a mess she was that she didn’t hear him come in the lab.

“Feyre,” a familiar male voice said from behind her. 

She spun around and opened her mouth to scream, but he was faster. She cried out as his fist connected with her ribs, but he stifled the noise when he slapped a hand over her mouth and shoved her against the door. 

She tried to swing a fist toward him, but he pinned her arms against the door. 

“It’s been a long time,” Tamlin said, smiling. “It took me a long time to track you down. You know how I found you? Paparazzi posted a picture of you leaving some football player’s apartment at three in the morning. Little whore.”

She whimpered as he squeezed her jaw. 

“So I came to see you. At first, I wanted to punish you. You were my wife. Mine. And then you go and divorce me. For no reason. I wanted to know why.”

Howie, she thought desperately. If she could signal Howie, he’d come and save her. 

She ignored what he was saying, blocked it out, and bit his hand as hard as she could. 

Tamlin jumped back with a surprised yelp and she barely had a chance to scream before his fist connected with her eye. She fell to the ground and he kicked her in the side, making her curl into a ball. 

“You bitch! Why are you screaming? If you’re trying to get that fat security guard, he can’t hear you.” 

No one’s coming. A tear ran down her cheek onto the floor. 

“Now, as I was saying,” he continued as if nothing had happened. “At first, I wanted to punish you. I had it all planned out.”

He knelt on the floor, brushing the hair off her cheek. 

“But then I realized something. I realized you ruined my life. You told everyone I worked with, hell you told the governor, that I abused you. You got me kicked off the force.” 

“Why are you here? What do you want?” 

Please leave please leave me alone-

“I want you to suffer for what you did-”

“I do-” 

Her cheek stung as a palm connected with it, making her cry out. 

“Do not interrupt me again.” His voice was so cold, so calculating. “I want you to suffer. I want you to lose everything, like I did. But the only thing you ever cared about is work. And I couldn’t get you fired. No, you’re too good at your job.”

She shook with fear as he smiled down at her.

“But then I thought, if the job won’t lose you, you can lose the job.”

He ran a thumb over her lip, and she was paralyzed with fear when she realized the bitter taste in her mouth was gas. 

“What did you do?” she asked softly.

His fist closed around her throat. She clawed at his hand, kicked at him, tried everything, but she was stuck. It had never mattered how hard she fought. 

When her vision started to fade, he let go. 

“Don’t question me,” he snapped as Feyre hauled oxygen into her burning lungs. 

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a lighter, grinning down at her.

Feyre’s stomach bottomed out. 

She had to think, had to do something. Or else she was going to die in here. 

“You were so consumed by your work, you didn’t even smell the gas I lined this fucking room with. Always so distracted by your work.” 

He laughed softly, “And now you’ll burn with it.”

He flicked the lighter open, and time seemed to stand still. Feyre didn’t let herself hesitate as she reached onto the counter, grabbed the beaker she knew was sitting there, and broke it over Tamlin’s head. 

He swore and closed the lighter, then swung at her. She rolled away from him, placing a kick in between his legs that had him gasping for air. 

She got up and sprinted for the door. Her fingers were closing around the handle when he caught up to her, grabbing her head and slamming her face into the metal door frame. 

Feyre sank to the floor, and Tamlin knelt in front of her. She tasted blood, felt it running down her face, and knew from experience her nose was broken. 

As he punched her in the stomach, she could tell she’d have a ruptured spleen. 

He was still dripping wet from the beaker, but he leaned close and laughed. 

He opened the lighter close to her face, the heat warming her skin. 

“You always were a fighter.” 

This is it. If she didn’t fight now, it was over. He’d drop that lighter, and they’d both go up in flames. Together at last. 

Gritting her teeth, she told herself she wasn’t going to die here tonight. She was going to live. 

She was going to kill her ex-husband. 

Bringing her knees close, she rallied her strength and kicked his chest as hard as she could. As he fell backward, she jumped to her feet. 

Before he could react, she grabbed the lighter out of his hand, threw it on his chest, and rushed out the door. 

What Tamlin hadn’t realized when he’d lined the room with gas was that there were more chemicals in there than anywhere else in the hospital. He didn’t even have to use gasoline. But now that he had, one open flame, and the whole place was going to blow.

She ignored the growing flames on the other side of the glass as she engaged the door’s security lock. Ignored Tamlin’s screams as the petrol from the beaker reacted with the oxygen in the air and the present flame, erupting in flames twenty times hotter than usual. 

She ignored everything happening around her except Rhysand. 

Rhysand, who was running toward her, a confused and terrified look on his face. 

She had no idea what he was doing here, but she sprinted full force at him, also ignoring the fact that he was a professional football player. She wrapped her arms around him and tackled him to the ground as the room behind her erupted. 

Glass and debris and pieces of paper still on fire rained down on them as she looked down at him. 

She laid on top of him, shielding him as best she could, and grabbed his face. Please be alive, please be alive.

His eyes shot open, arms coming around her to brush debris off her back. 

“Feyre, are you all right? What the hell happened?” His voice was fuzzy, like she was underwater. 

She probably had a concussion from where Tamlin had slammed her against the door. 

Tamlin. 

Tamlin was dead. She’d killed Tamlin. 

“He’s dead,” she whispered. “He’s dead.”

Rhys was shaking her, telling her to stay awake. Alarms were going off, the sprinkler system sensing the fire and raining a flood down on them. 

He was screaming her name. 

She just looked at him and smiled softly. “I love you, by the way,” she whispered. Like it was the easiest thing she’d ever said. Like she’d been waiting to say it. 

“I love you,” she whispered again.

Then passed out. 

_______________________________________________________

There was something warm and heavy on her lap. And it had hair. 

She opened her eyes and looked down at Rhys, peacefully sleeping with his head resting on her legs. 

Gently, she ran a hand through his hair. 

She was in a hospital bed, that much was obvious. There were probably police men outside waiting for a statement from her about why her much-beloved lab had been blown to pieces under her watch. 

She knew from experience that as soon as she officially woke up, she’d be surrounded be nurses and police officers and doctors asking how she felt and... 

She ran a finger down Rhys’s cheek. 

She knew he was awake when his mouth twisted into a smile and he murmured, “Do that again.”

She did. 

His eyes opened to meet hers, full of worry and passion and anger. 

“Hi,” she whispered. 

“Hi.” He picked his head up and put a hand on her cheek. “You’re so beautiful. This gown suits you.”

She knew he said it to distract her, and smile tugged at her lips, even as tears sprung to her eyes. 

She was in the hospital. Again. Because of her ex-husband. And Rhys was here. He’d probably never look at her the same after this. Would probably pity her now. 

He leaned in, and she thought he was about to kiss her, but his mouth landed on her cheek instead. As he licked her tear off her face. 

“That’s disgusting,” she murmured, not pushing him away as he moved to the other cheek. 

He pulled back and grinned. 

“Mor told me about your ex-husband,” he said softly. 

Before she could reply, he surprised her by murmuring, “And I honestly don’t know why you say you don’t have any country in you.”

Had he hit his head when she’d tackled him?

“What?” 

“Considering you barbecued his ass,” he finished with a laugh.

Despite how awful and wrong that was, a giggle escaped her. And another. And another, until she was laughing along with him. 

“That’s so fucked up,” she said, still smiling. 

“Yeah, it is, but it’s all I’ve been able to think for the past four hours.” 

Then his smile faded and his eyes grew serious. He put both hands on her face and pulled her close to him. “Feyre.”

“Rhysand.”

“It’s over now. He’s never going to hurt you again. No ones ever going to hurt you again. I’m so proud of you.” He said it all in the softest tone possible, and it made her chest hurt with how much she needed those words. 

“I killed him,” she whispered, the reality of it crashing into her. 

He shook his head. “You defended yourself. He was going to kill you. You fought like hell, and you won.”

Feyre nodded, pulling him closer until his weight was on top of her and his arms were around her. 

“You kicked his ass,” he murmured through her hair. “My little brawler.” 

She smiled, running her hands over his back. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to her. 

She pulled back far enough to say, “What do you possibly have to be sorry for?” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t get here faster and I didn’t protect you-”

“Rhysand.”

“Yes.”

She shook her head and flicked his nose. “Shut up.”

“Okay.” 

He hugged her again. “You should know,” he said a moment later, pulling back to give her a smile, “that Mor is outside with Azriel and Cassian.”

“Oh, God.” 

“Yeah. I think they had to give Mor a sedative to calm her down. I’ll go get her if you want.”

Feyre shook her head, deciding to give herself another moment before dealing with that brand of crazy. 

“Do you remember what you said to me? After you tackled me? Which, by the way, was insanely sexy.” 

She knew under the humor was a twinge of anxiety, so she said, “I could talk about the homo-eroticism of what you just said, but I’ll give you a break. You’re under a lot of stress.”

Rhysand grinned and raised an eyebrow. 

“I love you,” she murmured. “You know I do.”

“I do,” he replied smugly, smirking like a cat. “I love you, too.” 

He leaned down and kissed her softly, ignoring the probably nasty black eye and bruised jaw. He kissed her, and she didn’t care about anything in the world. 

Until the door banged open. 

“You’re awake and you didn’t tell me!” Mor screeched, running in the room and throwing herself on Feyre, bruises be dammed. “Of course you didn’t because you wanted a chance to make out with your boyfriend before you did. Selfish, Feyre! Selfish!”

“Mor,” she muttered, hugging her back tightly. “I’m awake.”

“You’re such a bitch,” he best friend laughed.

“I love you, too.”

Rhys laughed and got out of his chair, probably going to talk to his friends and update them. 

For the first time in years, everything felt right. It felt good. She was excited for tomorrow, not because of work, but because for the first time in a long time, she had people in her life she was going to fight to keep there. 

For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t afraid. 

_____________________________________________________

FUCK sorry this is so long! I literally had no intention of taking this route when I started writing it, but shit happens when it’s 2 am and you’ve had a long week. 

As always, feel free to send me requests/asks/whatever. I love hearing from yall. 

@bamchickawowow

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh Episode 30 Season 4: The Dead Joey Shuffle

Lets ignore everything happening on planet Earth right now and talk about old ass anime, shall we? Yes, my sky turned a horrible end of the world yellow/orange color for an entire day because of a LOT of fire in my state. But thankfully, the winds have changed, the sky is blue...and I can write about Yugioh again.

Last we left off, Tristan, Tea, and Yami stumbled across two fresh corpses. Now, when Joey died a season or two ago (I honestly can’t remember when), we had my favorite storyboarder at the helm just sweeping emotion all over the field and the intense weeping for Joey Wheeler lasted for like 30 minutes. Yugi freaked out in the puzzle headspace for like half an episode and nearly gave up playing cards again, Yami punched a wall and then put a duel disk on Joey’s arm like a funerary send off to the afterlife, Tea started losing her mind and begged Yugi to drop out of the tourney so Yugi wouldn’t die, and Pharaoh was like “yo Tea, Yugi can’t talk right now can we do this later????” And then Tristan, out of nowhere, just started shaking Joey and screaming at him to wake up (and I think he punched him in the face and it got censored? Yo that episode is wild.) Joey got plugged to some Kaiba Corp med bay that had like 2 dozen weird sensors attached to his chest and feet to keep him alive. Serenity was like hyperventilating in the back, just a LOT of stuff was happening all at once.

But this time, with an ordinary animation team, these three kids are so distracted by the other corpse, that they only cry just a little bit before being like “woah what?”

And like this is their second time. Maybe they’ve gotten used to Joey being dead? Maybe they got it all out of their system and are now a lot more accustomed to the fact that they all must die. Several times.

Confronted with this Agatha Christie brand debacle, Tristan makes an incredible reach that is also completely correct. Like this is such an amazing incredible reach.

Hire Tristan as your detective, hot damn. There are like 7.8 billion Orichalcos-possessed people on this planet right now trying to kill Joey Wheeler and Tristan actually called the right one.

Yami never tells us who he blames, but it’s OK, because the show immediately cuts over to Dartz’ silicon valley fortress to tell us without telling us. So while this animation team isn’t as insanely extra as our previous animation teams, they still know how to edit their cuts to work alongside their dialogue just fine.

(read more under the cut)

Lets take a little while to just take this in. Someone took a while to make it, so rather than look at it for half a second before it passes--please lets count the number of floating streets in this scene.

3.

So before when I talked about the history of San Francisco, I mentioned the old Embarcadero, which was a double decker street wrapped around the peninsula. (we still see parts of this double decker set up on parts of the highway to this day.) But what if--they actually have no idea that the Embarcadero was a thing before it fell down in an earthquake?

What if they just...wanted San Francisco to be vaguely cyberpunk in this universe and that floating freeway was supposed to be futuristic and not just an 80′s throwback?

Because there’s 3 streets stacked on top of eachother right here and yo there is no where in the city built like this. This is a Gotham situation where the poors live on the lower levels and the rich just kind of hang out on the top. We have too many Earthquakes in reality to ever support this setup but Yugioh...wow. They went for it.

Also, our art deco architecture isn’t quite in this style as Dartz’ mansion. Mind you, this isn’t full deco, and the structure has more of an ancient world vibe. But...while San Fransisco does have a lot of deco, it’s just different (sorry you’re not really here for the architecture but youknow, I’m an artist so I do think a lot about why concept artists may have gone where they went)

++++++++++RANT ABOUT SF DECO VS COMIC BOOK DECO FEEL FREE TO SKIP++++++++++++++

So I’m not going to dare say this is a mistake on the Yugioh team by any means, since Deco is Deco and who knows when Dartz built that building. But like I’ve seen the SF skyline many times in this show and it’s got some funky shapes in it that are just sooo off to me. They keep drawing a more Futurist New York. Truth is, we don’t have that many skyscrapers in SF.

Most of the pictures you see of scaling buildings are of this one area around the financial district--everything else is...pretty short. So in those photos they very carefully crop out all the really squat as hell buildings on either side of it, to give the impression that our city is super tall, much like a dating app.

And, as far as Art Deco Gotham-esque skyscrapers go, we got ones like this guy:

Where at a glance it’s like...that’s barely deco (and barely that impressive. This is 1/3 the height of the Empire State building.) Compared to a lot of cities in America, our skyscrapers aren’t as...clearly deco from far away? We don’t have the huge ass humps and long ass gilded lines of the Empire State building or the Chrysler building. You only really get those details when you zoom in.

Our other skyscrapers are kinda understated or modern in comparison. And the reason why we just don’t have many deco skyscrapers is because...our ground ain’t good for building skyscrapers at all, so it took us kind of a while to build up.

Like we got this tower that we built recently (the first skyscraper they built in SF in a good while) and they decided to name it the “The Millennium Tower” which...I know...good job, team, clearly you wanted to get cursed. Well the tower started leaning about 3 or 4 years ago, like well over a foot from it’s original spot, it’s just tilting and sinking away, and people are freaking out because it’s surrounded by other tall buildings so they’re like “damn it we’re gonna dominoes.” The people in charge were like “well...we don’t know why it’s leaning...but I’m sure it’s fine” and it’s like “the ground. It was the ground...you dumbasses” not to mention that it’s clearly cursed by at least one angry Egyptian Ghost but...what do you do?

I would absolutely watch the Yugioh spinoff season about the Millennium Tower and the SF tycoons that got possessed by a ghost and have to play card games to keep their tower from squishing all of San Francisco. Yo you should hire me, Yugioh, I got IDEAS.

Man...Yugioh predicting the future, how did they call the ill fate of The Millennium Tower????

But anyway, most skyscrapers in SF are kind of boring because they have to be sturdy as hell. But, they have some neat modern shapes (like the Transamerica Pyramid--in the shape of A PYRAMID that hasn’t shown it’s face once this entire Egyptian influenced anime)

I mean, come on Yugioh, it’s right there.

Also the hell is this weird UFO on this picture I lifted off of google?

Like I think it’s 4 jets? 

I may have lifted this from an alien website, so forgive me, q-anon for lifting your image, I’m trying to talk about architecture in my Yugioh blog.

In fact the only building I (and google) can think of that is both really tall and deco-ey is this one:

And it’s a Marriot hotel built in the late 80′s. And honestly, it looks way more 1980′s Las Vegas than it does Deco. (It honestly looks like photobashing but made real, this is a weird building.)

And I could be wrong and overlooking a very important structure, but most of the city’s really cool art deco buildings are in the form of theaters, libraries, churches, schools, and houses--which are only a few stories tall. They’re gorgeous buildings with cool and different silhouettes, it’s just not very big.

Like I believe this is an old high school?

also a lot of our “art deco” has no idea if it’s victorian, deco, or art noveau so they’ll just hit all of it to see what sticks. It’s a lot more eclectic than other places where Deco is typically more...straight-lined. I kinda hate defining art styles as masculine or feminine but honestly it’s the quickest way to really hit home the difference between a Bruce Timm art deco that you’d see in a comic book, (which is very New York inspired) and what we have in San Fransisco which is really decorative and decadent.

The Yugioh SF just has no curvy nonsense and that really sticks out to me.

Ornate swirls get shoved Everywhere. Willy nilly. Just everywhere randomly. And it sits next to other structures that are modern and simplistic. It’s very San Francisco to have this old world next to new world.

And it makes sense. SF is the other side of the continent from New York, and about as far West as you can go from the movement going on in Europe. So...we made our own take and tl;dr the art deco in our city doesn’t look like Gotham at all.

And, while it’s not as grand or dark or iconic, it’s a good thing. It’s what helps make San Fransisco look really unique compared to other American cities--the fact that we're...short and eclectic. Our district with the skyscrapers is where it’s kinda boring, actually--the good stuff is when you get away from that. Where every little building has a spunky wild personality.

But in a show like this you gotta make it seem more grand and less homely so--they scaled up the buildings a lot more than we really have and homogenized all the stylings into one (and they axed every Victorian swirl because they don’t want to draw that). They really just turned SF into comic book New York--especially since I’ve only seen like...one steep hill since we got here.

It’s fine, and it makes complete sense why they did it, (I’m more confused as to why most of California is a Nevada desert so I can easily forgive a San Francisco without the right Deco) it’s just a very different energy.

and honestly...it’s an energy influenced by the tone of the show. Everything has a very dark blue-gray palate, and it’s because it’s literally the end of the world, Joey has died, everyone is sad...maybe it would be out of place to have a building that looks like it sparks joy? The harsh and cold lines do add to the gravity of the situation.

Maybe I would have done the same thing? In the end, the legibility of your story matters more than the accuracy of your story--especially when it comes to TV. Which is somewhat a controversial statement, and there’s exceptions when it comes to cultural stuff. But while the culture of San Fransisco was erased (a culture that they did draw in the beginning of the season! they did show alcatraz, a trolly, and the golden gate!), it is at a point in the show where...all of humanity is being erased anyway. Could also be symbolic? Maybe?

+++++++++++++END OF THE ART DECO RANT+++++++++++++

So anyway, stepping away from lovely buildings and into this gross ass abandoned park, Yami decides he’s gotta get himself to this gaudy ass Batman building ASAP.

He can ride a horse but he absolutely will not ride a motorcycle. Or touch Joey Wheeler’s dead body.

Which is wild because apparently there’s a Yugioh spinoff where all they do is ride motorcycles??? But from what I heard, Yami is not in it. Which is the most wild thing.

So uh...you know how much I love art details, lets take a long look at this one.

AH no.

Nope nope nope nope.

I hate this logo. It looks like an emperor penguin’s eyebrow thingies. Like a face with just four huge eyebrows.

Not sure why we randomly have a new logo. It’s nearly the end of the season, we’ve already shown the Orichalcos logo so many times. Was this episode made earlier in development than the rest? Is that why there were like - I dunno, put this random logo here... Maybe we’ll figure out the rest of the logo later?

I don’t know. This weird logo feels so out of place.

And then because I’m thinking about buildings...maybe it’s influenced by our Shell building?

Maybe? Or not? Just saying you got a round thing with radial lines hovering over a trellis...the possibility is there that they were inspired but had to edit it down for animation? Eh, I’m reaching desperately for anything that looks like San Francisco at this point.

Anyways, the front door of this building is an elevator (????) and in a somewhat confusing set of cuts, out of this elevator comes the murderer herself.

And she’s dead.

SO HAPPY I didn’t have to watch that card game but like...c’mon. There’s no way Mai would lose to Raphael.

Maybe that’s why they couldn’t show it? Because she’s the only person on this show who uses a themed deck with cards that actually sync with eachother? (outside of Pegasus’ toon deck and Grandpa’s voltron deck ((sorry it’s name isn’t voltron, I’ve forgotten the name of the robot that you build out of other cards. Exodus? Exodysseus?

It’s Exodia isn't it? Wtv. 2020′s been a real long one, all y’all.)) )

(don’t ask where the smoke came from, we don’t know. Maybe Yami felt like making it to be more aesthetic. It is a fun visual tic to the show.)

So Yami goes into this elevator instead of anticipating that this is obviously a trap. Like most would just decide to take the stairs instead, but Yami loves falling for a good obvious trap every once and a while (or, in the case of this season--each and every single time a trap is placed in front of him) and so this takes him directly to the fightclub roof of yore.

Ah. We started this season on fightclub roof, in like...2010 or whenever I started this season. Feels like forever ago. How long has the year of 2020 been? 20 years of my life? 40 years of my life? Was I in fact never born before 2020 started? I honestly don’t remember anymore who I was before this year happened. Probably because I inhaled just a hell ton of wildfire smoke and now my brain is a bunch of jelly beans rattling around in a jar.

Anyway, Raphael just hands Yami (by hands I mean throws aggressively) Joey’s dragon card.

A little unsure why he’d do this since...this is the weapon to destroy Dartz. Why are you giving it back to the Pharaoh? But apparently, Raphael did that to prove that he is the murderer of Mai, who murdered Joey and...youknow...the stuff that we know but would be pretty difficult for the people in this show to follow.

Mai’s voice actor seeing “Mumbo-Jumbo” and being like “Well if I’m doing this, I’m going to commit.“

WE ARE NEVER DUELING DARTZ.

I refuse that a duel with Dartz, in fact, ever happens in this season.

Kind of surprised whenever I see there’s still people left. SF is basically abandoned in comparison.

Thing is...that’s just SF on a holiday weekend.

And then, because Tristan’s in the middle of the street, the rest of the party has to try and run him over.

It is really funny to me that Seto went out of his way to ditch these people so MANY times, but keeps ending up around them again and again, and each time in a wildly different vehicle, each and every time it’s when these guys need a lift...he’s very quickly turning into the group’s soccer mom. Should’ve gotten a minivan.

And then this happens?

I’ll just leave this here:

I’m sure that fanfic writers everywhere rejoiced when Seto reached out a hand to catch Joey’s face from hitting the pavement. In all this was a bizarre animation and now that I’ve figured out my blender settings for the new update, I can finally cap little segments again.

Just don’t you dare flag me, tumblr. Hopefully segments less than 10 seconds long are fine.

Like there was this part where they had to just drag around Joey’s corpse over this rail, and it was Mokuba and Tristan just prying him up there like he were a potato sack and like...

...Joey’s gonna wake up with so many rail-shaped bruises! They do not treat him gently!

Then back on fightclub roof, Raphael made me do a bit of a double take when he accidentally implied the existence of another bean within that Pharaoh bean.

And no, Bakura did not show up at this point.

I would LOVE IT if Pharaoh biffed it a second time and Bakura suddenly took the reigns and was like “Oi loves! that was bloody easy!” but I...have a feeling that this team didn’t actually watch the episodes where Bakura is just vibing in that puzzle piece.

If this never comes back to bite Pharaoh in the ass...

It might never come back guys...I don’t know. How do these writers have this much self control to ignore Bakura for like a full season. How do you do it? I can’t hold a plot twist in for even like 5 seconds. How....how do you do it?

Anyways, now that Seto has Tea who has a map, they walk up to the entrance (I honestly forgot if they drove or walked because knowing this show, Seto would absolutely ignore the car. Either way, the Ferrari isn’t necessary anymore. Written right out of the script. Cars are hard to draw. Get rid of it)

You know, Mokuba’s seen an awful lot of corpses for a kid! Like 20ish corpses if you count the 2 times the Big 5 biffed it. Really should have left him with Rebecca! Youknow, the other kid the same age as him!

But it’s fine, we gotta train Mokuba to suppress that trauma deep, deep down like a proper Kaiba.

Youknow when I started this series I was like “I don’t get why everyone talks about the Kaibas so much, these two seem kinda like whatever” but now I’m on like S4 and like...I’m SO concerned about the Kaibas. With Yugi...whatever...he’s gonna be fine, but the Kaibas? Oh boy. Either one of them could go completely evil and I’d buy it.

And probably root for them.

And I know they won’t go full tilt, I’m pretty sure--but like...they COULD. I can’t say that about the rest of the cast.

Everyone’s made it!

Even joey’s weird coma/dead body for some reason!

Lol also I love this random sci-fi tech water tower next to Tea. What is that?

My drought senses are screaming, is that a huge ass water tower the size of a 4 story building next to Tea? Chances are, it’s got a jet in it or something because this is Yugioh, but...man. At least it doesn’t look like one of those rusty New York rooftop water towers. This show just completely not getting what SF looks like.

Whatever, he can resurrect the leviathan, maybe Dartz can make water?

Youknow, all you have to do to make California worship you forever is make rain. Screw this lizard nonsense. The man can power water. What’s he doing with this stupid snake?

But youknow, Yugioh just never really figures out how to harness the weather. They CAN and they do it all the time. But, do they use it for their benefit? Like freakin never.

Anyway, that’s all for now. I went on a looong rant about SF but maybe I’m just sick of my own house? Been a lot of fire and quarantine over here. It’s been messing with my head a fair amount so thanks for bearing with me and my weird ass update schedule (remember when I used to be productive? Was that just a dream I once had?)

But if you just got here, here’s a link to read these recaps in order, from the beginning way back in S1.

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono