#but i can’t believe i got myself in the car alone with them and nothing happened jfc

[blueparadis]

LEMONADE + SHIU KONG // f!reader ( she's a sniper), smoking, mention of murder and violence, implicit smut, semi-public ( happens in a car ), little tension between them, rivals to fvck buddies dynamics, he is such a tease here. 1.3 (w.c)

special thanks to @poohbea for beta-reading. without her, i really wouldn't have posted this. i had something in mind and this is entirely different. so i said better luck next time to myself and found the courage to post this. | back to nav. | also tagging @yuujispinkhair

“You’re not nearly as inconspicuous as you believe yourself to be.” Kong mutters off-handedly under his breath, reaching for the latch of your belt. His minty tobacco-laced breath paired with that familiar musky cologne threatens to send your nerves into a frenzy. He’s too close for someone who claims to ‘just wanted to undo your seatbelt’. He had no reason to but he did it anyway, probably because you were asking too many questions. He could have easily pressed one of those buttons on the driver’s side door, the one that unlocks all seat belts at once. The car is fancy enough to have those kinds of luxury features anyway, but you can’t help the racing of your heart when his fingers brush your skin. It’s only when he sits back in his own seat do you register his remark. Did he just scold you? The possibility alone has you licking your bottom lip nervously. 

It’s not as though he never has, but given your history with him, he rarely comments on your professionalism. He has been your handler for almost a year now and has yet to actually correct or complain about the way you do your job. He’s proud of your skills, he has to be, otherwise, he wouldn’t be hiring you for every sniper-kill case he gets.

“I heard you were back in town,” he starts, tapping on his cigarette packet before taking one between his lips. “But I couldn't contact you until I got the green light. That, and I’ve been too damn busy with the bounty offers that keep coming up.” He digs into his breast pocket to fish out a lighter, the flame flicking to life as his thumb rolls over the spark wheel. You look at him visibly confused, something he acknowledges with an amused huff. “Were you really so busy that you couldn't read the briefing I sent you?” He is definitely scolding you, but for what exactly? Trying to stay neutral in the face of his crude teasing, you let out a small breath, choosing to keep his gaze despite the nagging need to look away. He’s changed a bit. There’s worry in his eyes, more than usual, eyebrows creased as he continues. “Ah! I can't let you slip up now — ” 

“Why am I here?” You interject with a frown. 

“What?” He has the audacity to look at you surprised, as if he wasn’t the one to call you here again.

“This is the third time this month you’ve had me meet you… and in case you haven’t noticed, I have a bit of a busy schedule.” Kong lets you speak for longer than ten seconds for the first time in a very long time, his bad habit of interrupting taking the backseat for once. When he doesn’t answer you, you click your tongue, irritation evident in the furrow of your brow. “Why am I here, Kong-san—?”

“Shiu.” He corrects. Guess you spoke too soon. “And you still didn't answer my question. Did you or did you not—”

“I did.” You respond sourly. “And it told me a whole lot of nothing. Which is why I'll ask you again. Why am I here, Shiu?” Despite your irritation, the glaring fact of his contributions to your career as a sniper sits heavy on your shoulders as you sit in weighted silence. He knows it too, and never fails to bring it up every time you try to walk away, try to tell him you don’t need his help. He’s pushed you farther than anyone else ever has. Certainly, you owe it to him, but his ego is already big enough without the offer of such a confession, and you would rather put a bullet in your skull than admit that. 

The air inside the car grows thick with smoke as he takes drag after drag of his cigarette, not that you minded, you’re a smoker yourself, but just to spite him you opened the window by your side. “Isn’t it obvious?” Kong soon discards the butt out of his own window, studying you all the while, observing the mix of question and frustration that creases your forehead as your frown deepens. His lips tug up in one corner ever so slightly, too slight for anyone else to spot, but being around him as often as you have, you knew it was coming. “I’ve missed you.”

You blink. Once. Twice. Thrice. What a horrible man… he’s toying with you.

“Hilarious,” you mutter, offering him a sarcastic chuckle. He doesn’t waver, doesn’t look away, that small smile growing at your skepticism. The realization has your heart beating in your ears, and suddenly finding it difficult to keep his gaze.

“Want me to prove it to you?” He dips his head slightly, the leather of his seat squeaking in protest as he leans closer.

“No.” Your reply was instantaneous but you do not move, his hand reaching to play with the necklace resting against your collarbone, the very someone he gifted you after your first successful case. “Aren't we supposed to be doing a job here?”

“You tell me. Haven't you read the briefing?” Again with the same question. He is far too calm in this situation, fingers caressing the hammering pulse that lies just below the surface of your skin. “You weren’t lying to me were you—?”

“This is going nowhere.” You huff, finally breaking the intense staring contest he had trapped you in, finding the courage to withdraw from his touch momentarily. 

“It could if…” he guides you back to him, grasping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, gaze dipping to your lips. “If you wanted.”

You bite your lip lowering your head to hide your merriment. “Like the last time?” You ask with a knowing smile. If you wanted. Yeah. Sure. As if he didn’t. Because during the ‘last time’ in question, things were entirely different. You two weren’t out for a job. In fact, you were in a situation similar to this one, in his car, engaging in your usual back and forth. It’s unclear exactly what came over you that day, but those sly eyes and that cocky smile had you seeing your handler as less of a mentor and more of the man he was. The conversation devolved into his lips against yours, his hands against your hips as he encouraged you from your seat onto his lap. Thunder rumbled the heavens and rain battered against the windshield, the perfect mask for inevitable heavy breaths and throaty moans. Your skin tingled beneath his touch, his lips, his teeth, the press of his thigh between your legs that had electricity crackling up the base of your spine. His name fogged the windows, each syllable working its way through the tresses of your mind till that was all you could utter, all that truly mattered. He reveled in that, in the way you gave yourself to him almost entirely. How your body grew hot with every caress, every thrust, every kiss. What did you even call this feeling? Neither of you knew, but it was clear that either didn’t want it to stop. By the end of it, his presence spanned your body, inside and out. 

Shiu laughs at your subtle accusation. It has the kind of warmth that reminds you of cozy mornings during winter. There is a pregnant pause after he says. “Yeah.” Bobbing his head in a ‘yes’. You shake your head slowly, an amused breath leaving your nose as your nerves buzz with memories past.

You sigh, assessing him with narrowed eyes, trying to figure out what exactly he’s hiding beneath that elaborately organized talk of his. But the man is a vault, hiding behind dark eyes that threaten to reel you in again. It has you playing with your tongue, curling it against the insides of your mouth before smacking your lips. “Was there really any job for me to begin with?” You retort. 

Shiu Kong smiles, his carefully crafted demeanor crumbling in the face of the woman he’s slowly beginning to fall for. “There wasn’t.” He says bashfully.

—

@angelshub @public-safety-network @underratedcharactercorner

[starrdevereauxx]

I said last time would be the last time.

Brandon broke up with me 6 months ago. I’ve been a wreck for weeks on end. I promised myself to get over it, but it’s been such a hard thing to process. We would always fight, make up, make love and act like nothing ever happened. He was gone this time. This was the longest we ever been apart.

I try to find things to do to pass the time, but nothing ever seems to take my mind off him. I still smell him, breathe him, and feel him through my body. Our mutual friends always give messages about him, but I’ve been ignoring them lately. My heart can’t take listening to his name, let alone hearing of any accomplishments.

I need to run my errands today, but like everyday I become sad running them alone. We did everything together, after 6 years I can’t believe that we don’t do this anymore.

Heading to the grocery store I become sad with my list of groceries for one instead of two. I hop in my car and turn on “our” playlist. Hoping I can borrow a feeling from any song that plays. Another slow song begins to play and I’m seeing myself in the mirror. Envisioning him touching me, wishing my hands were his. Rubbing the side of my face, choking me ever so lightly. I literally just felt my pussy drip at this light.

“Get it together Dev” I say trying to convince myself that I’m over him. Knowing damn well I’m not. I can feel him inside my pussy when I think about him. The feeling intensifies with every breath I take.

I gather myself to go inside of the store, with my lonely list of single items. Looking at the list I just remember every single meal I ever made for him. Pouring my heart into each meal, now I can only make food for myself. I sob gathering myself for this lonely trip.

I walk through the store, gathering each item reluctantly. Wishing we were laughing together, talking about what we gonna pretend to watch on Netflix when we got back home. Saying pretend because it we wouldn’t make it pass the opening credits without his chocolate snicker veined dick engorged in my throat. He would be gagging me before we knew the name of the movie.

After looking at my cart, I figured I deserved a treat. I tried to maintain a healthy cart since I’m single, I need to stay in shape. The most physical activity I get is the gym these days, so I had to maintain some resemblance of care in my food intake. But with all the crying that I’ve been doing, today I deserve a treat. I decided to head back to the ice cream isle and help myself to something to lift my spirits.

As I walk to the back of the store with my headphones on, I’m letting Chris Brown sing me to a happy place. I almost begin to get a spring in my step as he’s talking about fucking someone back to sleep.

I make it to the ice cream section and I immediately look for Ben & Jerry’s tasty ass. I see it, straight ahead “Chunky Monkey”. I move my cart out of the way to reach for it. As I get ready to reach for the pint, I feel some thing grab me, startled I think I’m in trouble for climbing inside the refrigerator. Moving my headphones so I can hear, a deep, smoldering voice says

“that’s still your favorite ice cream I see, even though I also remember that your monkey was the only chunky I ever wanted”.

I’m fucking stuck. There’s only one voice I know that sounds like that, and my pussy dripping is letting me know exactly who it is.

“Brandon, oh wow. It’s crazy seeing you here. How are you?” I gulp nervously.

“You look good Dev, time has been good to you. But then again when has it not?” Brandon says as he looks at me like he’s about to take my throat from me right here in this store.

As I prepare to answer him, someone loudly over talks me.

“Babe, BABE.. do you want movie popcorn or kettle corn?” I turn to see a bubbly perky breasted young lady yelling to her significant other about popcorn. I turned back around to see if I see him, just for my heart to sink as I realize that there’s nobody here but me and Brandon here. She’s talking to him. Oh my God, he has a girlfriend.

“I’m so sorry ma’am, I was just trying to get a hold of my fiancé, I didn’t mean to bump you, my apologies” she smiles.

“Kettle Corn baby, thank you” he replies.

She skips off to honor his request. I stand there putting my broken heart back in my chest, not making it obvious that I’m literally breaking apart inside. FIANCÉ!?!? What in the fuck is this? After 6 years together, he never asked me to marry him. I’m even more convinced that it was never going to be me.

“Well congratulations to you and your fiancé, you deserve happiness. Be well Brandon.” I say tearfully as I run off, forgetting my ice cream. At this point I just want to disappear.

I get to the register, pay for my items and hurry to my car.

It was a long walk to my car. I always parked far from stores because I loved to get my steps in. Every step counts to me. So I had enough time to cry myself to the car and be over it by the time I started my car.

I open my trunk and back seat to place my purse down as I organize my groceries in the back, just incase if I needed room for a surprise bullseye store trip. I think after that encounter, I deserve some retail therapy now.

As I near the finish of my organization, I feel someone tap me from behind and say “I thought we discussed you parking way the hell back here. Nobody can see you back here.” Brandon says with what looks like chunky monkey ice cream in his hands.

“What the fuck are you doing back here? Where’s your fiancé? Why are you here? I-“ he stops me mid sentence, placing the ice cream in my hand.

“I’m sorry, I should have told you about Keisha. You didn’t deserve to find out like this” he says looking at me sincerely.

“You don’t owe me anything, we are over. It’s your life. We have both clearly moved on.” I say proudly, pretending that I don’t feel like bending over right now and letting him turn me into a Twinkie.

He stares at me in my eyes with a look I haven’t seen in so long, but I remember well. I break contact and go back to packing my car so I can leave this awkward encounter.

He grabs my arm forcefully, making me drop my car keys in the backseat. Turning me towards him, forcing me to look at him. I begin to tear away in anger because I’m loosing control to my body.

“Get the fuck off me Brandon, what in the hell is your problem. Let me the fuck go.”

I try to break free from his grip. I feel his dick literally growing with anticipation the more I fight.

He stops me and looks me in my eyes. He’s subdued me with his piercing glare. He presses up against me, placing his hands on my body. One softly but firmly on my neck and the other on my left breast, lightly massaging it and grazing the nipple ever so softly. My breathing becomes shallow and scattered. What is he doing? Why is he doing this? Isn’t his fiancé near by or in the car wondering where he is. I’m sure she’s looking for him. In this moment, I don’t think either one of us cares. My pussy is wet and gushing between my panties that I know is drenched at this point.

“I know you feel what I feel for you. I haven’t had a day go by that I haven’t thought about you Dev. We broke up, but never really let go. If you tell me to let you go right now, I’ll stop and walk away forever. You want me to stop?” He says while looking me in my dough eyes. I have no voice to even reply. My red lips are pursed and parted from the small breaths I continue to take. I shake my head no while staring him completely in his eyes.

He leans onto me, kissing me softly, hand still wrapped around my neck. He kisses my lips softly and becomes more aggressive every time he touches his lips to mine. He parts my lips to slide his tongue inside my mouth, I close my mouth to proceed to suck his tongue. Feeling now that his dick is rock hard.

“Show me that you still love me” he says as I’m already unbuckling his jeans. I drop to my knees and open my mouth. Giving him my entire throat to use as he pleases. Forcing my head on and off his dick, using my mouth as his personal pocket pussy. Grabbing both sides of my face, moaning loudly in this parking structure like we are outside alone. He literally has no fear of being caught in this moment. Brandon’s dick is so deep down my throat that he’s breathing for the both of us.

I feel his precum slip pass my lips. He stops. He pulls me off my knees and stands me up, just to pull down my leggings, revealing my cummed in panties. He begins to take his dick to rub my clit while I stand there defenseless.

Brandon forcefully turns me around, placing me in position. I automatically arch the posture of my back, taking my hands to spread my giant ass to show my wet dripping pussy that’s salivating for his erection to be inside me.

“Such a good girl, still obedient like I remember. Tell me what you want” he orders me.

“Fuck me hard please. Take my pussy from me” I say patiently waiting for him to beat my pussy like an Undertaker versus Mankind cage match.

He forces his dick inside my tight wet pussy, moaning hard as he enters. I grip him hard with my pussy as he’s thrusting aggressively in and out of me.

He’s pulsating inside of me as he’s moving. I’m feeling every inch of him as he’s continuing to grow inside of me. Just moving back and forth, harder and harder. I’m moaning so loud and hard, tears in my eyes from how good it feels to have his dick inside me. Holding my breasts as he’s making me take his dick roughly outside where everyone can see.

“Oh my God Dev, you’re gonna make me cum. I’m about to cum. Do you want it in your favorite place?” He says as I scream out “Yes” in reply.

I fall to my knees like a sinner who needs prayer, open my mouth to the heavens and wait for him to bless me. He releases an outpouring of his creaminess all over my face and mouth, as I devour every drop that hits my throat.

He moans as he shakes out every drop til he’s empty. I swallow the rest of him and what’s left of my pride as he kisses me in completion. My pants still around my ankles, he grips my ass holding me in place as he continues to kiss me softly.

I buckle his pants as he helps me with mine. I brush my hand across his face and we embrace each other knowing that he has to go.

“Goodbye Brandon.” I kiss him on the cheek. He walks away silently. Staring back a few times before he’s out of my view.

I said last time would be the last time.

Happy Monday 💋

[honkytonk-hangman]

Big Girl

Jake Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake Seresin doesn't believe you should hide your light under a bushel, no.

Notes: Just a lil drabble i've been working on. I just think Jake would be the kinda guy who loves his girl to be big and loud and successful!!!!!!! ty to @roleycoleyland for being my rock the past few months holy gosh this one's for you bbyyy!!!! <3

Masterlist

“It’s a deployment, Samuel! It’s not like I have a choice!” you hiss, before closing your eyes and trying to get a hold of yourself. Afterall, it's not as though you and your boyfriend were in the comfort of your apartment. No, he’d decided to start this argument in the parking lot of the damn Hard Deck.

“Having a choice has nothing to do with it. You want to go, that's the real issue here!” Sam all but spits at you. You reel back, and throw your hands up in exasperation.

“So what if I do?! This is a big deal for me! This is a big deal for my career! I should be allowed to be excited about that!” you insist. Sam rolls his eyes at you and scoffs.

“Oh, there you go again! It’s always got to be about you and your big career, right?! Can’t let anything come before that!”

“That isn’t fair,” you lower your voice, and try to keep it from wobbling. “I have tried so hard to make sure you know you’re equally as important to me, but that was never going to work, was it?” Your voice does break a little this time, and you suck in air as you cross your arms over your chest and take a step back from him.

“You have decided from day one that you feel inferior, and you are never going to let me forget it! I have done everything to show you otherwise but you won’t let it be enough! You don’t want to change, you want me to change.” you probably shouldn’t let all of this air out in the parking lot of your favourite local bar, but you can’t stop yourself now, and the words tumble from your mouth faster than you can think things through. “I have tried to put myself in the box that makes you comfortable, but the truth is that I’m too big for it, I'm never going to stop being too big, so I’m never going to fit your stupid box!”

The two of your stare at one another for a few moments, you huffing tearily, and Sam staring at you in what looks like disgust. At last he scoffs again, and looks away from you, off toward the beach before he pulls out his car keys.

“Good luck with your big career.” he says mirthlessly, and you shut your mouth, swallowing hard as he climbs back in his car, giving you only seconds to step out of the way before he’s throwing it in reverse.

Suddenly you’re standing alone in the parking lot, blinking at the space where your probably-now-ex boyfriend just was. You don’t feel regret, exactly, but you do feel a deep sense of disappointment pulse through you. It’s not like you didn't mean everything you said, but you wonder if perhaps you might’ve said it differently.

Before you can get too far feeling sad though, a righteous kind of anger takes you over and you kick into action, stomping inside the bar and pushing through the busy crowd. When you order a straight bourbon, Penny frowns at you, and you know your eyes must be all red and glassy, but she doesn’t ask you, simply gives you her kindest smile and slides your glass towards you.

You down it quickly, and take a few deep breaths, hoping the alcohol might steel you some more, but it frustrates you to find your tears have started leaking, and you angrily wipe at them with the back of your hand.

“I don’t mean to pry…” a voice, somewhat familiar, sounds from next to you, making you turn. You’re slightly startled to find one of the pilots you’ve seen around base leaning casually against the bar. You know him to be a TOPGUN graduate, like yourself, but you’d never spoken before, let alone shared the sky. Hangman, you remember suddenly, and square your shoulders somewhat. It was coming back to you now. He had a bit of a reputation.

“I happened to arrive at the same time as you… couldn’t help but overhear all the commotion,” he speaks like he finds it all rather funny, but straightens up and clears his throat when you can’t help but look away from him, struggling to blink back tears. Dropping all pretence, he stops leaning and steps in a little closer with a frown on his face.

“Hey, I’m sorry, I wasn’t tryna’...” he trails off once more and you suck in a deep breath as you try to calm down.

Embarrassment lances through you, and you mostly just wish Hangman will leave you alone completely, but he doesn’t. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him shuffle on his feet in a manner you hadn’t been able to imagine him doing before now, and you try to get ahold of yourself.

Hangman seems to watch you for a beat before his demeanour changes up and he ducks his head down to catch your attention.

“For the record, if you hadn’t of said any of that, I might’ve,” His voice is somewhat humorous again, but this time it’s like he’s trying to make you laugh, which, caught off guard by his words, you do. You sneak a glance over at him, not feeling so intimidated anymore, and you almost laugh again to see him look so proud.

You watch as Hangman flags down Penny once more, ordering you another round and a beer as you use a napkin to blot at your face discreetly. When he looks back at you, his expression is much more intent than you’re fully comfortable with.

“Don’t you ever let some guy put you in a box, alright?” he tells you like it’s an order. It takes you a moment, but eventually you find yourself nodding at his words, not bothering to hide your surprise. The little you knew of this man was that he was prickly at most, and a complete asshole at worst, so his almost angry words in your defence take you off guard.

He stares at you until he seems satisfied you’ve heard him, and then his shoulders sag just a little and his expression softens.

“Find someone who’ll love that bigness, alright?” he says after a moment, before clearing his voice and straightening up once again as your drinks are delivered. Your cheeks want to warm in embarrassment at his referencing your little speech outside, but then he’s taking his beer with a thanks to Penny, and gesturing blindly toward you.

“Put her drinks on my tab tonight, alright?”

He doesn’t give you time to protest before he’s pushed away from the bar and disappeared into the bustling crowd of patrons.

The next time you see Hangman, his sudden appearance is just as unexpected as the first time, and just as welcome. You’re in a bar again, of course, only this time halfway around the world and thankfully, not crying. Your squad had a limited amount of shoreleave, so you were making the most of it while you could, before you needed to be back on base in the morning.

You hear a loud cheer from somewhere by the pool tables and glance over your shoulder toward where most of the Navy personnel had gathered, but you can’t see much aside from a few new faces. You assume they must be the other squad that Roukie had mentioned were passing through, but you’re quickly distracted again by the bartender coming your way.

Just as your server begins moving away to sort out your rather large order, you feel a hand at your back, quickly followed by the materialisation of a uniformed man beside you, his massive grin and sparkling green eyes flashing as a welcomed sight to your slightly hazy mind, and you let out a gentle sound of excitement as you turn to greet him properly.

“Hangman!” you exclaim, feeling only a little funny about being so happy to see him when you don’t even know him that well. Hangman thinks little of it, his smile turning brighter, more genuine as he eases into a lean against the bar, mirroring the last time you saw him, all cool and casual confidence as he nods towards you.

“How’s my Big Girl?” he asks, eyes crinkling in the corners. You can’t help but let out a laugh, but force yourself to look away from him for a second and pray to any god listening that he can’t tell how flustered you are.

“I think this is the first time in history a man has said that to a grown woman and isn’t going to get gut punched for it.” you deflect from the barrel rolls your stomach is doing. He chortles, and settles in even closer to you, his eyes never leaving your face.

“Well?” he prods, still staring at you even as the bartender returns, and you go to pay for your round, only to have Hangman push your outstretched hand away and hand over his own card instead. “Come on now, don’t keep me waitin’,” he says with playful sternness, and your already two-drinks deep mind can’t help but give in, and you begin gushing about your deployment so far, a few of the assignments you’d gotten to do, and some of the achievements you’d earned. Hangman stays staring at you through it all even as you gesticulate wildly as you speak or describe manoeuvres, and you’re so invested in your story telling that you barely register how or when you’d both moved back over to the surrounds of the pool table, where you assume Hangman had circulated the round you’d (he’d) bought all the while still listening to you talk.

You must be four or five drinks down when you at last come to a stop, giggling a small amount at the tail end of your last story. The sun has well and truly set now and you’re crammed in one side of a sticky pleather booth, Hangman on the other. You realise then, that you must have been talking for over an hour, probably much more.

“I’m sorry, that was so much!” you say, bashfully ducking your head a little. Hangman cocks his head at you, a wry smile pulling at his lips as he watches you fiddle with your drinks coaster.

“I know what I asked for.” he tells you with an assuredness you can’t question, and even as you glance away from him to catch yourself, his attention remains on you. You have to blame your four or five, maybe six drinks for the next words out of your mouth.

“You know, I don’t think you’re an asshole at all,” you declare, face growing hot when Hangman lets out a surprised, but amused bark of laughter, but doesn’t question your statement.

“Oh, is that right?” he asks instead, leaning forward like he’s very much intrigued by this assertion. “What am I then?”

You think he’s teasing you, but again, you can’t really help what comes out of you, and you draw your arm up onto the table to rest your head in your palm, and blink back at him slowly.

“Pretty, for the most part.” you tell him, trying to suppress a sudden yawn. Hangman's laugh is less boisterous this time, more of a chuckle really, and you find that your blinking has slowed even more, longer pauses between closing your eyes and opening them.

When you startle back awake some seconds later, you think you might’ve just fallen asleep, but you see that Hangman is watching you softly again, and you can’t help but smile as your eyes flitter shut once again. Warm hands guide you to your feet moments, maybe hours later, but when you pull back at the grasping, a soft shushing joined by a gentle voice lulls you back into sleep.

“Alright, Big Girl lets get you home.”

[nathandrakeisabottom]

Headcannons about them with an anxious SO? Love your stuff x

Thank you, friend! Now, in full canonical honesty, I don’t believe that either Nathan or Sam would be particularly good at dealing with their deeper anxiety, let alone someone else’s, let alone someone else’s who they loved dearly and would only be afraid to make it worse (that many crumbling bridges and a guy’s gotta if consider his only superpower is the ability to destroy everything he touches) for most of their young lives. 

However, I do believe that post-UC4 (perhaps a little earlier for Nathan), and a good dose of necessary therapy (paid for in pirate coins, of course)--- they’d be more than willing to finally take on the challenge. 

For themselves, and for the person they love more than anything.

Drakes with an Anxious S/O Headcanons

Nathan:

In his younger days, the prince of the awkward smile and half-hearted clap on the back. A pulley doll whose only catchphrases were “Man, that’s hard”, “Yeah. Yeesh.”, and “Soooo, I guess this would be a bad time for a joke, huh?”. Scurries to the bathroom as soon as they’re not in tears anymore, and stays there for as long as it takes to stop hearing the residual sobs.

However, his late 30s and 40s bring him a much healthier perspective (and therapy— Jesus, finally) and being the smarty pants he is, he passes on no opportunity to put his new skills and knowledge to use.

That playfulness and desire to find the lightness in even the hardest situations never leaves him at any age, though.

A panic attack? “‘Is something… wrong with you’? You realize you’re talking to the guy who accidentally destroys ancient temples for a living, as an archaeologist? And I still consider myself a not so bad guy. So in my eyes, you’re basically a lesser known Mesopotamian god.”

Got a bad grade? “A D in Psychometrics? I don’t know, sounds like they don’t know anything about math if they’re using a letter to grade you. Maybe they should go get their teaching certificates checked. Hey, how ‘bout I just draw you a PhD myself? You know I have an eye for art.” 

Dealing with shitty parents? Landlord? Roommates? Exes who won’t leave you the fuck alone? “What? That buffoon? Guy who can’t even spell their own name right? That asshole isn’t worth a thought of a thought of a thought in your head. Pretty sure they haven’t had a thought in their own head since 1996.”

As soon as the first wide-toothed smile is won, he’s leaning into his partner with a secretive smirk: “Ya wanna get the hell out of here?” 

Because distractions always helped him before. 

Will act especially gentlemanly, and theatrically play it up, while taking their partner for a frozen yogurt, antique shop, Target trip, public park, laser tag (yes, really) decompress. Bows when he opens the car door for them. Pays for everything. Calls them ‘your majesty’ for the entirety of the excursion.

All he wants is to get them to smile. And he’s not stopping until he sees it. 

When the night creeps in and his S/O starts to lose steam, Nathan’s own worry grows more obvious, though he tries his best to keep it to himself. 

Watches them with wide eyes. Gives them space, but still asks every few minutes if they need a cup of water. No? Tea? Arnold Palmer? Popsicle? Massage? Hot Pocket? Sexy pillow fight? However many it takes to make his partner laugh again. But he fully means every offer he gives.

Says nothing as he helps them undress and into their PJs. Touches are tender and intimate, gently rubs their shoulders and neck. Never too hard, never too direct. Plays the friendly ghost and lets their partner take the lead, but never, ever just sits around to watch.

Makes them a beverage of some sort, even if they say no. Hot lemonade with honey is his personal homecure. Says yellow is a happy color, so it must be good for you.

And right before they turn the lights out, Nate timidly offers— with a shy, trying chuckle— if they want him to read them a bedtime story. 

Somehow shocked every time they say yes. Mumbles something self-derogatory about himself (“Ya know, not the best actor, but—” “Personally I think I have the voice of a dying goose, but—”) before sitting on the nearest surface and cracking open a book.

If he’s still feeling a little awkward, will uneasily ask if they wanna hear what he’s been reading lately, and will do so if asked— but really wants to read the pirate storybooks his mother read to him and Sam when they were kids.

It always made him feel better when the world felt too big, too scary, too cruel. 

So he wants to share it with the person he loves. 

He wants to share everything with the person he loves.

And without even asking, goes to the medicine cabinet and brings them a tablet of whatever they need when the anxiety gets especially bad, and says “I know, it’s scary. But we’ve been through scary before, right?” with a kiss on the cheek as they swallow it down with a sip of lemonade.

Lingers, eyes down, and vaguely nods to nobody as he stands and walks to the door.

“Want me… uh, want me to keep reading to you?” But he offers before he can even get past the door frame. 

“Do you want me to want you to keep reading to me?” 

And the last thing he wants to see is his love, alone. The idea of them crying beneath the covers because they were too afraid to burden him with it, too afraid to be seen. Everything he felt he had to do when he was 6 and his mother “passed”, age 9, 10, 11, 12 after a black eye, the words that his brain told him wrong: spoken aloud by the playground bullies he feared he’d never be stronger than. 

But he knew they were wrong. The bullies were wrong. The ones in his brain. The ones in theirs.

“Yes.” He replies without missing a beat. 

And he makes sure to hold their hand in his free one until the second they fall asleep… and a few hours after, just to be safe.

The next morning they fucking better expect breakfast in bed— and he maybe, just maybe, might even be willing to spring for McDonald’s, if that’s what they want. As long as they promise to eat actual fruit after. And hell, maybe even a vegetable or two when he makes dinner that night. Did you know that eating right and exercise are actually primary solutions to poor mental health—? That’s what Dr. Dorian said— No, potatoes don’t count as a vegetable— no, especially not if it’s fried— NO, FRENCH FRIES DON’T COUNT, BABY—

Sam:

Sam takes a bit longer to warm up to discussing anxiety than Nathan does, mostly due to struggling so deeply with it on his own. It’s not like prisoners (or Shoreline guards) made the most comforting companions. 

The better he could keep secrets, the less he could reveal, the safer he’d be.

So it makes sense that it’s both his greatest strength and weakness when it comes to emotionally turbulent times. 

In his younger, more avoidant years, he’d be the first to leave the room, leave the building, hell, sometimes even leave the city after a particularly heavy cry or confrontation with his then-partner. Only to come back the next morning and act like nothing ever happened. 

But now, he doesn’t run. After prison, after Rafe, after Madagascar, all he wants is to be allowed to stay. To be wanted to stay by someone who loves him. 

Is happiest to just sit with you in the silence. His biggest skill is his ability to weather the storm. And whether you need to scream bloody murder, or need to sit and decompress and just fucking feel, but can’t do it alone, Sam’s there. Listening. 

Once you’re done talking, he takes one last, long drag of his cigarette, stubs it out onto the pavement, and asks simply: “So do you want solutions… or something else, sweet’art?” 

You can see in his eyes— darting less than solid, certain against your own— that he really means it, in every way that he was too afraid to when he was younger.

The wonderful and terrifying thing about having anxiety while Sam is there is that it’s a vulnerable experience for the both of you. He’s learning, discovering, trying right along with you. And he may not be able to lift you up so easily, but he’ll be able to sink into the dark places with you, and not be afraid to see what’s down there. 

And maybe seeing someone he loves so deeply, sees as so beautiful, so smart, so kind, so wonderful, so absolutely perfect to him feel the same ways he does about himself… maybe it makes him think that he’s not as terrible as his brain tells him, either. 

Helps you take action by letting himself (finally) not be the smart one: “When ya… get like this, what do you usually do first, sweet’art? Paint me a pit’chure.” Gives you complete control, and smiles softly when you wipe your tears and the logical, the archaeological mind awakens. Mimics unraveling an ancient map when you begin to explain, and you inadvertently hiccup out a laugh. 

At times, it’ll feel like he’s trying to run again, but when he stands up and walks across the room— he always returns. This time with your favorite of his jackets, the denim one that smells like him even though he just cleaned it, and drapes it protectively over your shoulders. Clasps his palm at the back of your neck and rubs out the knot he always finds there. Smiles toothy and wide when your words are broken up by sighs of relief. Only to be filled once again with silence, gazes meeting sweet and safe. 

“Remember Indonesia?” He offers with a smirk, despite your furrowed brow.

“I guess? What about—?” 

“I read the runes’ instructions and ran us in circles all around Bali, only to reread the transcript and realized I got three letters completely wrong. J—V—A. Java. It was goddamn Java the entire time.” 

“Your point being?” 

He smiles and shrugs. Trying. Maybe he’s wrong, a foreigner in some ancient, uncertain land, but he tries.

“Sometimes our brains are just wrong.” He tries for you. “That’s all.”

You sniffle, and he leans in to press a prickly kiss to your cheek. His jacket is still warm from the dryer, wafting with the residual sting of cigarette, Old Spice Captain, cheap mouthwash, even cheaper aftershave, and something else completely unnameable. 

And maybe some others would think the scent appalling, but it’s the strangeness, the specificity, and yes, the stank— everything that makes Sam him— that makes you love it. Love him. The depth. The difference. 

The pain, and what he chose to do with it. 

Another kiss, this time down your neck. This time, the sigh of relief is his own.

What he chose to change it into. 

“So… any chance sex therapy might be a thing?” He asks grinningly.

“Why don’t we find out, ‘sweet’art’?”

[klausysworld]

Hi, can you please write an oneshot where reader exploited yandere Klaus Mikaelson’s trust by faking her affection to escape, but she returned to his house a few hours later crying and apologising because she realised she cannot live without him and her feeling toward him is actually real despite she tried to convince herself otherwise? Thanks a lot.

You came back

My plan was supposed to be perfect.

It had taken fucking months to accomplish only for me to wind back up in the same situation by choice.

Weeks of gaining his trust and being loving.

I had kissed him, touched him, declared my love for him.

I had laughed at his jokes, worn what he asked of me. I was his precious girl and my own stupid mind had to go and fuck it all up.

I thought I was free.

I had tricked the beast.

I was out, my legs moving so fast I couldn’t feel them as I bolted through trees.

And yet once I was miles out of reach and ‘free’ I was really just alone.

What the actual fuck was I meant to do without Klaus?

He did everything for me.

I had no money and was in a thin summer dress, but the sky was getting darker and the winds were picking up.

The cars that went past scared me, I wasn’t used to the outside noises anymore or the bright headlights. I had ran off before I had eaten and now I was starving with nothing but trees for miles. I was too afraid to follow the road incase he was driving on it.

But after another few hours of aimlessly walking, I just wanted him to come get me. I wanted to go back home and snuggle up with him. I want his hands in my hair while we watch his stupid films and he feeds be strawberries and calls me his princess. I want him to wrap me up in a blanket and rock me to sleep with promises of a better future. He’s never gonna let me do anything now.

He’s gonna put me back in the basement instead of upstairs and I’m gonna have to sit silence again and wait for him to stop yelling at me.

And yet despite all of those factors, I still found myself back at his house. But he wasn’t home. So I just waited on his doorstep for hours. Until he came back.

I was curled up on his doormat with tears rolling down my cheeks and my body shivering.

My eyes were closed in the silent hope that I would either fall asleep or die before he got back.

Bur the second I heard a car pull up I was wide awake and my eyes shot open. I whined at the blinding lights from the car and covered my head in my arms

I could head his footsteps as he quickly approaches me

“Sweetheart” he whispered before I was lifted into his arms. I hid my face in his chest as he rubbed my back. I let out a sob as my hands gripped his henley.

I could feel the warmth of the house as he brought me inside and locked the door behind us. I bit the inside of my cheek when I opened my eyes, we were heading for the basement

“Please no” I whispered “Please I’ll do anything else” I begged “please, please I’m sorry” i cried, I held onto him tighter “I’m sorry” I repeated, i kissed his neck softly “I’m so sorry”

I could feel his hands in my hair as he opened the door and I immediately let out a cry “nononono” I whimpered, my nails dug into him “I came back” I whispered “I came back!” I yelled “I came back you can’t do this!” I pressed my lips to his but he pulled away, his hand grabbing my neck

“You ran.” He stated

“I came back” I whispered, tears staining my face as he tried to drag me down the stairs “I came back to you” I cried

“You tricked me” he muttered coldly

“I’m sorry” I whispered “I was scared…but I need you…I want you, I know that now”

His hand stroked my face “how am I supposed to believe you sweetheart?” He asked, hurt visible on his face

“I’ll do anything you want” I promised

“You let me do that already” he muttered, shaking his head “you let me do all those things just to run away didn’t you?”

I looked down and he nodded, I didn’t struggle as he put me into the cell that was originally my room. He sat me down on the floor and searched me, he frowned when he saw the rips in my dress and little cuts from where I had ran through the bushes and trees.

“Why would you come back?” He asked quietly “you went through so much trouble to get away, you’re freezing, bleeding and white as a ghost” he murmured “did something happen?” He questioned and my expression softened. Even wen he was mad, he still cared. He would always care. He loved me.

I shook my head “I missed you” I uttered and he nodded, holding my hand “there were so many loud things and it was dark, and cold, and I couldn’t find any food in the woods and then I was lost and I couldn’t find you- I couldn’t” I brought my knees to my chest as I choked on my own words.

I was lifted back into his arms on onto his lap making me cling to him tightly “you were in the woods? Sweetheart you were missing over 14 hours”

I rubbed my face against his chest, pushing his scent into my nose. I wrapped my arms around him as I nuzzled into him “will you stay here please?” I asked weakly “please, just ten minutes”

His hand pet my head and I was lifted back up, I squeezed his shirt and looked up to him in confusion “where are we going?” I questioned and he looked down to me, his fingers tucked a strand of hair behind my ear

“To my room sweetheart” he murmured kissing my head softly and speeding up both flights if stairs.

“Why?” I whispered as he put me down on his bed

“You came back” he responded as though it were obvious, “you came back” he repeated before kissing my lips softly.

His hands unbuttoned my dress at the back and lifted it over my head leaving me in my underwear. I looked up at him nervously but his expression held no malicious intent. He lifted me once more and brought me to his bathroom and pushed my panties down my legs. I stayed silent as he took my bra off and then stripped from his clothes. His arm went round my waist, pulling me to him and bringing us both into the shower. He turned it on and onto the hot temperature I liked.

My eyes shut as he kissed my neck gently, his fingers brushing through my hair to get it all wet. I sighed out as he lathered my hair in shampoo, the heat if the water was much needed after shaking in a forest for over a dozen hours.

“I do love you” I whispered “I’m sorry I didn’t know that until now…and I’m sorry I lied before when I said that I did when maybe I didn’t yet”

“It’s alright” he muttered, rinsing my hair, “I haven’t made this easy for you sweetheart, I admit to that. I understand why you ran away, it’s okay…but I never expected you to come back, I shouldn’t have been so mad…I shouldn’t have put you back down there. You came back, you’re perfect, my precious princess”

I pushed against him closer, pressing our bodies together. “I love you” I whispered again, hugging him to me. We remained silent until we were finished and I was swaddled with one of his big fluffy towels.

His arms kept me to him as he carried me back to his bed, grabbing clothes on his way.

He slipped my silky pyjamas up my legs and over my head before throwing on his boxers and getting into bed.

I looked around for a minute, I didn’t come into Klaus’s room very often. He had a window that could open and he didn’t like to risk me being able to jump. It smelt like him, covered in artwork and the colour scheme was dark. His bed was bigger than mine, bigger than any bed I had ever seen and comfiest too.

I kept still as I felt him combing through my hair and pulling it into a low ponytail. “You want to go look out the window?” He asked softly, normally looking outside was great but after experiencing the world again I didn’t want to go back so I shook my head quickly and lead down beside him.

He pulled me to him, his arms pulling me so his front curled around my back. “You won’t leave again, do you understand?” He questioned though it was really just a statement.

“I won’t leave again” I repeated

“Good girl” he murmured

I turned in his arms to face him and smiled weakly. He leant down and kissed my lips softly a few times “I love you sweetheart, I don’t want anything to happen to you…You know that” he mumbled, his hand cupped my face making my eyes close “I love you” he breathed with a kiss to my forehead “I’m so proud of you for coming back”

“I’ll always come back”

[steviewashere]

Words to Keep Us Moving (Chapter 1 of 6)

Rating: Mature CW: Implied/Referenced Non-Canon Character Death, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Animal Death—CANNOT EMPHASIZE THAT ONE ENOUGH, A DOG LITERALLY DIES HEED CAREFULLY Tags: Canon Divergence, Post-Season 4, Apocalypse AU, Vecna Apocalypse, Eddie Munson Lives, Steve Harrington Character Study, 5+1 Things, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Journal Entires, Amputee Steve Harrington, Disabled Steve Harrington, Worried Eddie Munson, Protective Eddie Munson, Protective Steve Harrington, Stubborn Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Getting Together, Steve Harrington Takes Care of Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Other Tags to be Added

This is a 5+1 fic, but only the first chapter so far. Five journal entries during the apocalypse/moments during the apocalypse, and one entry after the apocalypse. Please heed all content warnings, I am begging you.

Also on AO3 (because this is wicked long for a first chapter)

📝———————📝 The First Journal Entry: April 16th, 1986

I don’t know what I’m doing with this. I’m not much for writing. Fuck, I couldn’t even write an essay for my senior paper. Nancy had to coach me through eighty percent of it. But I’ll go insane if I don’t speak. And I’m being careful with my voice for now. Those demogorgon things are blind, but aware. They can sense the heat of our bodies, the sounds of our movement, the smell of our fear and our blood.

Many people I’ve had to rescue have ultimately faded into nothing. They scream and they cry and they shake. They get too close, they stray too far. They reek of sweat. Even though I tried to get them away, to get them back towards the safe houses, they weren’t savable. I tried, though. Believe me, please, I tried.

Hawkins may not be salvageable. I don’t think this town is meant for saving. We try anyway. There’s the safe houses, like I mentioned. One bordering the exit sign, that’s where they put the women and children. They being the feds, by the way. Didn’t make that clear, should do that by now. Anyway. There’s the safe house across from old Forest Hills; the victims from the sinkhole crevice tearing through the trailer park go there. And then the final safe house is Hawkins High.

Some of our group is between Hopper’s cabin and my house. Everybody is safe there. Eddie’s no longer in hiding, but he still sleeps down the hall from me. Max is out of the hospital, her old bed now taken up by an elderly woman; the woman will probably die—a demogorgon got her with its claws—and Max is with El. The Wheelers are with their parents in the exit sign safe house, same with Henderson and his mom, the Sinclairs are there, too, and Mrs. Hargrove. Jon and Will are here with Hopper, El, Max, and Joyce. I wish we could take Max back to her mother, but she’s under constant supervision—El believes her newfound blindness is connected to Vecna. Wayne is no longer at the high school, he’s been forcefully relocated to old Forest Hills, but he’s welcome around here any time. Robin’s with her parents at the high school; that’s where Vickie is, so that’s where she’ll be.

I haven’t seen my parents since before the earthquake. They were out of town on a business trip. Mom went with Dad because she still doesn’t trust him alone. They called me the day Dustin brought me along to find Eddie. Told me they were on their way home, were driving back from the airport. I can hear back the message on the answering machine, as long as I keep the generator up and running.

Mom told me she loves me in it.

I can’t help but think that they should’ve been back by now. I’ve checked with the soldiers on the edge, see if they saw a black Lincoln come through. Told me no. Told me they found remains of a car; a black car. I stopped checking after that. Couldn’t stomach the meaning behind that.

Our town is in ruin. I’m not alone, I have to remind myself. I’ll go out on monster hunting duty tonight, first time on my own. We’ll see how that goes.

I have to go, I can hear Eddie rousing. Time to check his wounds. Make sure he has his dose of antibiotics. See if he needs Tylenol; opioid free now…yay!

———— Steve closes the soft leather cover of his journal. He found it among the rubble of the bookstore in town. He’d been advised by Hopper to start writing because apparently his low morale “affects the monster hunting” and if he didn’t get it under control, he’d be reassigned to radio duty. Where Eddie is now.

Speaking of, Steve stands from his cramped desk and walks the short distance to the first guest bedroom on his floor. Knocks gently on the wood and enters without any other preamble.

Sitting in the spare desk is Eddie, hair ruffled and clothes messily strewn across his body. He spares Steve a glance over his shoulder. The bandage on his cheek is beginning to peel and Steve knows it’ll be a bitch to change; he always feels bad when he has to rip it off, it tugs at the raw skin and the little bit of facial hair Eddie’s still able to grow. Remembers, though, the joke Eddie had made about his situation: “Look, I’m freaking Two-Face from the comics! Think he grows half a beard, too?” He had to bite his tongue. Almost reprimanded the poor guy.

He blinks and Eddie’s still staring at him.

“How’s it goin’, Stevie?” Eddie murmurs. His voice has taken on an even deeper rasp than before. The demobats had taken a liking to his chest and the base of his throat, but Steve had been able to keep those wounds from being life ending. “You were pretty quiet in there.”

“Well, you know we have to be somewhat quiet,” Steve mock-whispers, “thought I’d use the…solitude to focus on getting in a journal entry.”

Eddie hums. “Glad you’re getting started on that. Don’t wanna be removed from surveying duty, yeah? You’d be stuck in here with dear old me. And let me tell you, sitting around and checking the stations is booorrring.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, well, this is where you remain until you’re healed.” He steps further into the bedroom, clicking the door closed softly behind him. Settles on the guest bed on the right of the desk. Roams his eyes around the walls. “I’m doing alright, though. A little nervous if I’m being honest. About going out there alone. What if I don’t hear—“

“They’re letting you go out there alone?” Eddie squawks. “They should be sending out one of those adults, not you! You’re just a kid, Steve.”

Taken aback, not one to usually be concerned about, Steve crosses his arms over his chest and scoffs.

“It’s not like I have anything else waiting back for me, right?” Steve bites. “It’s my duty and I plan on going through and taking care of said duty. And if something happens, I’ll radio back. You’ll hear me. Someone’ll come running. I’ll be fine.”

Eddie eyes him for a moment. His big, brown eyes impossibly wider. A little wet. His face is pinched, frowning. There’s a moment where he opens his mouth to protest something Steve said, hesitating strongly, but he literally bites his tongue. Croaks, “And if you don’t radio?”

“I’ll radio,” Steve insists.

“Will you? Because the last time you were on duty and that happened—“ He waves a hand at Steve’s missing left wrist. “—You didn’t say anything until you got back. You’re fucking lucky Claudia was over here with Dustin. Else you wouldn’t have any sort of nurse or doctor available to sew you back—“

“I’ll be fine,” he harshly interrupts. He sighs, drops his arms, and swallows hard. Then, he blinks and looks back, leans into Eddie’s space. Brings a tentative hand to trace the edge of his facial bandage. “Have your hands been shaking?”

“Don’t switch the conversation—“

“Have your hands been shaking?” Steve repeats firmer.

Eddie sighs through his nose. Sharp. Annoyed. “Yes, Steve, but I can do this on my own. You don’t need to—“

“Just let me change it before I go, okay? Give me a little peace of mind before I head out.” He pets his hand down to the underside of Eddie’s jaw, to the side of his neck. His pulse welcomingly slow.

Their eyes lock. Eddie’s concerned, too much for Steve’s liking.

Though, finally, “Okay,” Eddie murmurs, “but you have to promise that you’ll be careful, you’ll be safe.”

“Eddie, I already—“

“Promise, Steve. You have to keep your head on your shoulders. You have to report to us if you’re in danger. You have to come back.”

“I will,” Steve promises, whispers immediately, “I will from here on out.”

And with that, Eddie opens one of the desk drawers, pulls out a package of gauze and bandage, and offers it out for Steve to take. He leaves the room briefly to wash his hands, returning with damp fingers. It was a quick, yet intimate procedure. Peeling away the wrappers. Laying down the gauze—right after a cleaning. Taping it all down, sticking it to Eddie’s sensitive, raw skin.

When he pulls back, finished, Steve’s stomach jumps with a new level of unease.

It was done. He could go.

He has to go.

“Jacket,” Eddie murmurs, his hands holding out for Steve’s. He takes them, of course he does. Voice still low, he continues, “Don’t make the mistake I did. Stay safe.”

Steve squeezes Eddie’s hands, nods, and stands from the bed.

He looks back at Eddie before leaving the bedroom, but not without a steel ball weighing low in his stomach. There is a wildfire in Eddie’s eyes. And the beginnings of burns along Steve’s ribcage. He knows, whatever is going to happen, that his promise wasn’t just words.

It was a testament.

A confession.

He descends the staircase, grabs his jacket by the front door, zips it all the way up to the base of his neck, and leaves with his baseball bat and car keys.

———— The two way radio is heavy on his front left pocket. Sagging down the waistband of his jeans. There’s an empty chunk of his jacket sleeve that dangles down and rustles against it, he stops all movement to tie it up.

He was assigned to the scrapyard. Hopper’s orders.

Oddly enough, it was the only location in Hawkins to have very rare activity. Despite the history he shares with the place. But he knows what to do. There’s a jerry can of gasoline and a bottle of vodka in his trunk, a packet of matches in his jacket, and the weight of his splintering baseball bat in his grip. He’s silent as he walks through the bits and pieces of junk. Carefully dragging his feet over the loose soil, cautious about accidentally kicking a chunk of metal.

It’s so quiet, he can hear the wheeze of his breath. As he takes another step, standing parallel to 1984, there’s a sound that echoes through the breeze. A singular pained whimper. At first, he believes it to be a figment of his imagination. Nobody else should be out here. There’s cracks in the ground and fiery red sky oozing through the trees. A shimmer of early evening light and a plume of wind-wild smoke.

He hears it again, though.

This time, however, it’s followed by the rumble of a low growl. Unlike the chittering of a demo-creature. This sound belongs to something like a domesticated animal.

A dog, he recognizes, A dog.

Before he follows the sound, he turns back to where he discreetly parked his car: behind the concave of that rusted bus. Wriggles with the trunk until it just barely creeks above his head. Snatches up the vodka and the gasoline, tucks his baseball bat into his left armpit, and he shuffles back towards the source of the noise, the dog.

It follows out to some various, tumbleweed-esque bushes. He hides behind the nearest junk car, eyes narrowed above the hood. It’s a brown, thin-skinned, almost just bones puppy. Probably around six months or so. A mutt—some sort of lab mix. The eyes are wide, teary, dark brown, and frightened.

The dog cowers against a bush. And right in front of it is a small pack of demodogs. Three of them. Wide mouthed and snarling. There’s large globs of saliva leaking from its lower jaw, or what would be a lower jaw to a human. They’re not very big, roughly around the same size of this puppy, but they are muscular, leathery, and hungry.

He’s not sure what exactly his game plan is. But he knows he has to do something before this dog is consumed for all it is—all it isn’t.

Around him, he spots an empty, glass bottle. As quietly as he can, eyes pointed at the hard soil under his feet, he lays out his equipment. Sits down with his legs straight out in front of him. Ears alert for the dog—whimpers raising in volume, growling trailing off into an absolute nothingness. He sets the bottle upright onto the ground, squeezed together by his knees. Bites down on the twist cap of the vodka, rips it off with his teeth, and shakily pours the contents into the glass. Though, he realizes he doesn’t have a rag to put in the bottle’s opening.

Being careful once more, Steve fidgets with the tied wrist of his jacket. And begins, quietly on top of the whimpers, to tear away at the fabric. Until, finally, he’s got a scrap to stuff limply into the bottle. He wets the sleeve with a bit of the vodka. Then, he lights a singular match.

He places the wood end of the match between his lips, stands from behind the car with the bottle in his one hand, lights the jacket sleeve. And with as much force as he can, he chucks the glass at the demodogs.

It’s fast to occur. The dry bushes go up in bright orange flames. Red sky becoming one with the glow. From the barely interrupted silence, screeches and chittering and snarling erupt. The fire dances in the dog’s eyes. Demodogs melting, dropping to the side, falling silent and smoking.

Steve spots it, then. The wound on the dog’s gaunt side. Fresh blood, crusted brown stains around the edge of this bite, entire chunks of skin and muscle gone.

He realizes, when the silence surrounds him again sans the crackle of going out flames, that it was all no use. There was no point. It couldn’t be saved. He drops his arms to his sides. And watches the flames die out right in front of his eyes. The dry grass now brittle and black. The dog just as brittle, near death.

A glance around shows no other demo-creature. Hastily, he crosses to the bushels, yet slowly, he approaches the fading, cowering puppy. Crouches to be on the same level.

Clicking his tongue and snapping his fingers, he calls out. “C’mere, baby,” he coos, “c’mere, puppy.” However, it’s too weak to move. Too weak to run. So it just stares at him. Wide brown eyes and puzzled absent eyebrows. Fast, rattling breaths through its nose—ones that come from an organ deep exhaustion.

Startlingly, it reminds him of Eddie. He nearly throws up at the realization. Instead, however, he finishes his approach and settles close to the dog’s head. Gently, he lifts it into his criss-cross lap. The dog barely weighs anything between his legs. Its eyes drooping, exhausted. Its fur is greasy, and the skin dry under his good hand. But he doesn’t mind. All he does is comfort it, pet the curve of its skull, thumbs at the base of its ears, traces the wet edges of its nose. The only sound it makes is a gentle, giving-in wheeze of breath.

And as Steve runs his hand one more time over its skull, the dog passes on.

A quiet, ordinary thing. Its eyes going far. Chest caving with its last breath. Not another sound. Not another movement. An ordinary death with an ugly, unusual circumstance.

His lap pools with warm blood. It’ll congeal, stain, never rid. But he doesn’t care, for once. Instead, he lifts the dog over his shoulder, stands on trembling legs, and finds an unoccupied, untainted spot of grass. He lays the dog down into the overgrown weeds. And digs, uncoordinated and sloppy, into the oddly warm, consistently dry dirt. The soil gives way in clumps. Chunks of it getting stuck underneath his fingernails. Palm collecting the dirt into each of the fine lines of his palm.

It’s not a great hole. Only about a foot deep—too shallow. But he rolls the dog into the well he created. Closes its eyes with his one hand. And covers the body back up. Resting, now, on his dirtied knees in the aftermath of destruction. The smell of burnt flesh and dead grass filling his nostrils. Looking around at the scenery: scraps of rusted metal, yellow weeds, demo-corpses, and an ashen circle where rotting meat lays.

He’s not sure how long he sits there. How long he lays his palm over the textured mound of dirt in front of him. How long he grieves a dog he had no connection to. But when he gets up, dusk is settling in. And he figures, with no other activity and nothing else to look out for, he’ll head back.

He grabs the two way from his pocket. Switches to Eddie’s channel. Presses down on the talk button. Speaks low and nasally, “This is Steve. Report to Chief that there were three demodogs. None of them were fully grown; all small, hungry, bloodthirsty. I lit them up. Over.”

“Hear you, Steve. Report on supplies? Over.”

“Half of a bottle of vodka. Gasoline can full. I have a full pack of matches, except for one. But I think it would be a good idea if we collected empty glass bottles and rags. Over.”

The radio reads silent for a lull of two minutes.

Eddie speaks again, softly,“Come home. Over and out.”

———— His front door was already unlocked by the time Steve came through.

It should’ve startled him, really, it should’ve. Though, with the flash of that dog behind his eyelids and the odd fatigue that overcame his limbs, he barely even cared. But the lights throughout the first floor were dim. And the noise of the radio in Eddie’s room floated down the stairs like an early autumn breeze. It was almost sweet, when he eventually came across Eddie in the kitchen, but his stomach was nearing sour.

“I made dinner,” Eddie murmurs as a greeting. He’s standing at the stove, back towards Steve. “The rations that Wayne dropped off earlier had some stale bread and a jar of minced garlic. Thought I’d just make some shitty garlic bread with whatever spaghetti stuff I found in your pantry.” He looks up from the stovetop, then. His hair is sitting atop his head in a barely neat bun, but it’s enough. And he has Steve’s mom’s apron tied around him—covering a plain black t-shirt and a pair of red basketball shorts Steve had loaned him at the start of his stay. Eddie’s eyes widen when he takes Steve in, though.

There are no more words. Eddie’s mouth is open, dried up. And Steve doesn’t know if he can speak—not without tears, at least.

Finally, ever observant, Eddie gestures loosely to Steve’s clothes. “You’re sleeve…you’re pants…”

Steve has to swallow harshly. His right hand is clenched tight to his thigh, and if he still had the other one, he’s sure it would shake noticeably. But he stays rigid to the entryway. Thinking long of the dog. Of its last expression.

Of Eddie’s expression now.

He figures it odd, to be so hung up on this mutt’s face. The haunting that places itself in the small spaces between his ribs. Every single time he’s involved himself with these day-to-day nightmares, he hardly ever considered mortality. Unless it leant itself in the face of everybody else, in which he constantly and greatly considered life or death. In which he knew that it would be him under the knife; never one of the kids, never Nancy or Robin, not Eddie now, not even Jonathan. There were also several moments where he blearily considered morality—the hard set lines of its face and the ugly snarl to its lips. He always thought of himself last in these things, almost like he was repenting—if he put himself in the shoes of his younger self, starchy clothes, and a thick youth’s bible in his hands. Bad things mean bad results, he always considered.

But the dog had no common understanding of morality, let alone mortality. It probably dragged its heels when being pulled along its leash, being led somewhere it never wanted to go. It probably had a family who adored it to the moon and back. It probably was told it was good every minute of its sheltered life, fed dog bones, held close in the darkest point of evenings, and scratched soundly and contentedly between its ears.

And on top of that, he can’t stop ruminating over the striking resemblance the puppy held to Eddie’s own tired, desperate, dying face. His big button eyes and the blood across his body. The open wounds and the dried tears on his cheeks. There are two questions in his hands: Had the dog considered running away, or did it know that the demodogs was its fate? If so, did it die selflessly, or did it die to escape something greater?

He wonders if Eddie answered those questions before facing the demobats.

Eddie’s in his kitchen though, wooden spoon at his side, trembling to take a step forward.

At last, Steve croaks, “I buried a dog today.” He unfurls his fist and reaches out his shaking, dirty hand.

“Steve,” Eddie breathes.

“It—The demodogs were hunting it, Eds. I…I had to save it. I had to save the dog. I don’t know why, but I just…I had to. I set them on fire,” he explains, loose lipped and tumbling, “even when the fire died, the dog was still scared. I came close to it. And it wouldn’t run. I wanted it to run away. I wanted it to get to safety, but I noticed while the demodogs literally—“ Steve inhales, a hiccup, a gasp. “—A huge gaping bite on its left side. I could see its ribs. I could see where the blood began to dry up. So I put it in my lap. I pet it. It died.”

The spoon is settled softly on the granite counter behind Eddie. He approaches Steve slowly. Arms out, fingers spread wide. Steps into Steve’s orbit, but lays his palms on his shoulders, the trembling aching joints. Eddie’s thumbs begin working away at the tension. Before he can say anything, Steve speaks again.

“I buried it as far down as I could dig. And I just sat there, unsure of what to do.” His eyes burn and his throat stings. He shakes in his rigidness. So Eddie leads them to the dining area, settles Steve into a chair, leaves momentarily, and approaches again, now with a warm, wet rag in his hands.

Steve’s dirtied palm sits skyward in his lap. Eddie picks it up deftly, running the soft, worn side of the rag over his palm. The water probably won’t do all it needs to, the tap was apple juice colored, pipes having burst or flooded with sewer in the earthquake. They should use a ration of bottled water, but that would be a waste, Steve considers. So he lets Eddie work. Silently, gently.

He does it methodically. Working harder in the fine lines of Steve’s palm. Digging the cloth into the underside of each fingernail. Going by with another pass, crumbling the stubborn clumps. His breath deepens, sighing through his work. “I’m sorry you had to do that, Steve,” Eddie breathes. “Somebody should’ve been there—“

“The dog made me think of you,” Steve chokes out. He swallows back a pained whimper. Eddie halts all his movements and looks up startled. His wide eyes not scared, but too similar. “How you looked when…I just couldn’t leave it there to die.” And at that, Steve finally lets the tears spill over. He doesn’t make a sound, biting down on his tongue to make himself as silent as possible. But he shakes from shoulders to knees. Sipping air through his nose.

Steadfastly, Eddie maneuvers them so that Steve is burrowed deep into his chest, right ear over Eddie’s heart, nose smushed underneath his clavicle. Eddie strokes a hand down his back, wraps another around Steve’s forearm, above his absent wrist. Shushes him with whispers; the syrupy soft ones, the ones meant to soothe, but otherwise a babble of nothing. Of “You’re okay,” and “I’m okay,” and “You did okay.”

It works, eventually. Steve wrung out. Eddie shaken to his core.

They pull back from each other. The rag is run softly over the tear tracks on Steve’s face, cutting through a sheen of light dirt he didn’t know was there. Eddie murmurs, close to Steve’s tendered eyes and chewed lips, “Eat some dinner, okay? I’m going to put a call over the radio. And when I come back down, I’ll clean up and we’ll lay in your bed, alright?” Steve minutely nods and lets Eddie get him some food, mourning the touch he gave almost immediately.

And when Eddie’s upstairs, he hears, drifted from the opening of the guest room, “No more putting Steve on duty alone. That’s final. Over and out.”

The chattering static of the radio cuts out after that. Steve realizes he meant what he said. They’ll go to bed. Bodies close. Warmer, ever warmer.

But that dog will still be dead and buried.

📝———————📝 Taglist is open for this fic!! (Comment to be added <3)

[cult-of-the-eye]

(TW brief allusion to car crashes, monster horror)

Statement of Chitra Kulkarni, regarding the view out of her bedroom window. Originally given 27th May 2008, recorded 31st March 2024, by [REDACTED], Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, Manchester.

Statement begins. 

I don’t know what you want me to say, ok? I was literally just looking out my window and something seemed weird and now for some fucking reason, I’m here. No, I’m not gonna calm down, I don’t even want to be here in the first place. Jesus christ. [sounds of slumping in chair]

[unintelligible] 

Fine. I guess. I can start somewhere.

I.. am not the biggest fan of my room. It’s not like I’ve had many horrific experiences in there, just a lot of shouting and mental breakdowns. But yeah. Lately, I put a lot of energy into making my room…palatable, I guess. Fairy lights and the whole shit. As much as I hate to admit that it worked, it did. Little twinkly fuckers around my room kicked the brain chemicals into working. I guess. Anway, um, in the spirit of mental health, I got into a habit, of sorts. Every night, I would climb onto my washing basket, stretch open the window and reach my head out into the night air. I felt clean, in that cold water on a winter morning way. I felt like god, in that absolute sense of detachment from those below. I wasn’t the person at their door, metallic with alcohol and metal keys and nor would I ever be them. The air was sweet, sugar granules on a milky night sky and I would breathe, deep. Even on the days when all I could think about was the screech of cars and ambulance sirens, I looked down on my little world of street lamps and pavements drenched in darkness like biscuits in tea. Until one day, I saw something. 

It began as a flicker. At first, I thought it was the reflection of my fairy lights in the open window. Ha. I just. It looked like just some guy, in a hoodie and jeans and I remember thinking I had similar jeans, in a surreal calmness. But he had a stiffness to him as if he was being held up by a dissociative puppeteer. It could’ve been a million things, maybe he was just some weird guy, having a moment. And then it turned to me. I finally caught a glimpse of his face. It was split into a painful smile, filled to the brim of layers and layers of baby teeth. They didn’t look like they belonged to him. I reached into myself for a scream but found nothing but blind terror. Whatever peace I found in that night sky, was shattered by the knowledge that I was not alone. I was not separate, nor clean. Not when he was looking at me with those sinkhole eyes that never seemed to end, taking over the sky in its entirety.

I don’t know when I stopped looking. I don’t really think I had a choice. I remember the sun glistening through the clouds, reintroducing the rest of my body to my aching eyes. I remember the soreness of my joints and the phone call I immediately made to my boss to take a sick day. I know you might think it’s some kind of hallucination or drug trip and I don’t know how to prove it to you other than coming here and explaining it to you, but i just can’t afford to not be believed,

I see him every time I close my eyes, [REDACTED]. I haven’t slept in days, please, could you please make it stop- i’m begging you PLEASE PLEASE MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT-

Statement ends. 

I think I might, um, I think…I’m going to go get some air. Yeah.

[click]

[delioncourtes]

when noah kahan said "if the sun don't rise till the summertime, forgive my northern attitude. oh, i was raised on little light" and when he said "i thought that if i piled something good on all my bad that i could cancel out the darkness i inherited from dad" and when he said "my house was designed to kinda look like it's crying. the eyes are the windows, the garage is the mouth. so when they mention the sad kid in the sad house on balch street, you won't have to guess who they're speaking about" and when he said "i was taking the wrong meds, feels good to be sad" and when he said "my mouth was designed for my foot to fit in it" and when he said "someday i’m gonna be somebody people want" and when he said "no thing so sure that i can't learn to doubt it" and when he said "i divvied up my anger into thirty separate parts, keep the bad shit in my liver and the rest around my heart. i'm still angry at my parents for what their parents did to them, but it's a start" and when he said "at the end of the day, i know there are worse ways to stay alive" and when he said "i'm terrified that i might never have met me" and when he said "i forgot my medication, fell into a manic high. spent my savings at a lulu, now i'm suffering in style. why is pain so damn impatient? ain't like it's got a place to be. keeps rushing me" and when he said "if all my life was wasted, i don't mind, i'll watch it go. yeah, it's better to die numb than feel it all" and when he said "i drink till i drown and i smoke till i'm burning" and when he said "collect every dream in these old empty pockets, in hope that i'll need them someday"

and when he said "it's an ode to the hole that i found myself stuck in, a song for the grave that i dug" and when he said "i only tell the truth when i'm sure that i'm lying" and when he said "i would leave if only i could find a reason. i'm mean because i grew up in new england. i got dreams but i can't make myself believe them. spend the rest of my life with what could have been, and i will die in the house that i grew up in. i'm homesick" and when he said "it only falls into place when you're falling to pieces" and when he said "the whole place is quiet. you miss something that you can't place but you can't deny it. don't know whether you want a place in the coast or the country. you can't stay here, it's hard to face and it feels too ugly. you light a fire inside, let it burn" and when he said "with a past box of photos i rip myself open" and when he said "feel the rush of my blood, i'm seventeen again. i am not scared of death, i've got dreams again" and when he said "a minute from home, but i feel so far from it. the death of my dog, the stretch of my skin. it's all washing over me, i'm angry again. the things that i lost here, the people i knew, they got me surrounded for a mile or two" and when he said "my medicine is drowning your perspective out, so i ain't taking any fault" and when he said "i ain't proud of all the punches that i've thrown in the name of someone i no longer know. for the shame of being young, drunk and alone"

and when he said "'son, are you a danger to yourself?' well, fuck that, sir, just let me call. i'll give you my blood alcohol, i'll rot with all the burnouts in the cell. i'll change my faith, i'll kiss the badge. just wait, i swear she'll call me back. 'son, why do you do this to yourself?'" and when he said "i'll turn up the music and i'll forget until it ends that i'm not ready to let go yet" and when he said "i'm in my car and i see the yard, the patch of grass where we buried the dog. and the world makes sense behind a chain-link fence. if i could leave, i would've already left" and when he said "i thought i had something, and that's the same as having something. i get mad at nothing, blame my dad for something. i pull no punches, then feel bad for months. thought i was raised better. tried to fake better, tried to blame weather and escape better. hope the skin heals where the pain enters" and when he said "i saw the end, it looks just like the middle. got a paper and pen and a page with no space. i filled the hole in my head with prescription medication, then forgot how to cry. who am i to complain? and now the pain's different. it still exists, it just escapes different and evades vision. makes the rain different, makes the news boring and my rage distant. yes, i'm young and living dreams, in love with being noticed and afraid of being seen. but i can finally eat and i can fall asleep. it's fine, fine, fine" and when he said "medicate, meditate, swear your soul to jesus. throw a punch, fall in love, give yourself a reason" and when he said "we spent so long just getting by. that's the thing about survival. who the hell, who the hell likes living just to die?"

[ajkamins]

Yea right.| eddie munson x fem!cheerleader.

summary: eddie never believed someone like you could even find it in your heart to love someone like him, so he puts you down. but he doesn’t know what he says is just confirming what you say to yourself everyday.

warnings: extremely angsty, sh

reader has depression and anxiety and harms herself.

today is the day, i have to do it. i can’t keep hiding my feelings i HAVE to do it.

i did the same old same old like every thursday morning, put on my outfit and went downstairs to enjoy my breakfast. but what happens everyday happens this morning i can’t ever avoid him. my dad.

i walk downstairs excitedly for the first time in days, just for the smile to falter when i see him, stupid piece of shit father of mine, “hello father” i say in the most monotone voice i can.

“oh look at you, still haven’t lost any weight i see.” he says to me “fat ass” he mumbles knowing i can hear him. i ignore him because i will not let him ruin this day for me. i walk past him and grab a couple strawberries from the fridge i try to move around him but brisk his shoulder on accident “watch yourself fat ass, your so fucking fat i can’t even stand here without your huge ass shoulder bumping into me” he tells me

whatever i roll my eyes and just in time i hear a horn from outside thank fuck i tell myself. i walk out the door to steve’s car “hey rob, hey stevie” i say to them like every morning

“hey y/n what’s got you all smiley this morning, your dads truck is still there so it must not be him” steve says to me, how does that boy know everything

“ oh nothing just excited for today you know” i say back but they obviously know something’s up but don’t question it.

we arrive at school me and robin hop out of the car and steve says goodbye we wave back and head our separate directions, i walk over to chrissy and hug her “ oh my gosh y/n you scared the crap out of me” chrissy says giggling. we walk in together and like always everyone is staring, jason comes up and kisses chris on the cheek we part our ways and i head to first period mrs o’donels, english i hate english but i only stay there for one reason eddie munson

the most beautiful boy i have ever seen, i know he probably doesn’t know me but i hope he will today .

skip to lunch bc i’m lazy asf

i walk in the lunchroom and there he is in all his glory eddie laughing it up with the hellfire club, i can’t help but smile a bit myself when i see that big grin on his face. i just keep telling myself i i have to do it and get it over with.

i walk up to him. all of the boys stop talking and look at me. and then i meet his eyes eddie’s eyes

“hi” i say nervously, he looks up at me with i’m assuming is a confused face

“what do you want” he says with a painful tone

“uh- umm- i- i was wondering i-if, maybe yo-y-you wanted to uh-uh”

“spit it out i don’t have all day” he says

“i was just wondering if you maybe- wanted to um hang- hang out sometime— you know- just-uh just you and me- like-like on a date?” i finally get it out and can’t help but look away

he just stares at me a starts to laugh, i can’t help but frown a bit in embarrassment “yea fucking right princess go tell your jackass jocks i’m not falling for their stupid tricks- and you, you i can’t believe you out of all people would have the heart to come over here and embarrass me infront of all my friends like this i thought you were a sweet girl y/n, but i was wrong wasn’t i, it’s obvious now your just a bitch who loves to make others feel bad do you enjoy this huh?” he says standing up now towering over me, i start to back away scared and cowering down with tears in my eyes “ your worthless y/n, your fucking worthless and you thought i would fall for this stupid trick get the fuck out of my face” he says sternly and i now feel the ache in my heart it hurts but i can’t deny it anymore. i walk away shaking and out of the cafeteria and eventually out of the school doors to the woods far away so i can be alone

all those things he said, they were all the same things i said to myself everyday “your worthless” “your a stupid bitch” “he was never gonna like you” “your so fucking stupid!” i yell the last words to myself punching myself in the face and head “your stupid!” another harsh blow to my face “Fucking worthless bitch!” pounding myself in the face with my own fists “so fucking stupid!” “so stupid, so stupid, so fucking stupid” i keep saying until i have no more strength to keep swinging i let my head fall back against the tree gritting my teeth with angry tears running down my now bloody and swollen face fists clenching.

but not knowing what’s happening in the cafeteria right now.

back in the cafeteria

no one’s pov

chrissy and robin just saw that whole thing go down, chris felt terrible because she was the one who told y/n to tell eddie her feelings, her and robin walk up to the now proud of himself eddie

“What the fuck is your problem Munson?!” says chrissy angrily robin walks up shortly behind her putting a hand on chris’s shoulder with the same anger in her eyes

“The fuck are you talking about chrissy, what are you apart of that?” he says with a questioning quirk of his eyebrow

chrissy can’t help herself anymore and slaps eddie right across the cheek. the whole lunchroom goes silent with gasps.

eddie is now holding his cheek looking up at chrissy “the fuck was that for” he says with anger raising up, jason’s already on his way over to the lunch table with his team mates

“ your the fucking idiot munson your god damn oblivious, i can’t believe you just said all that shit to y/n infront of everyone, your the dumb ass, she actually likes you eddie she has forever and is never able to stop gushing about you when she’s around, like ever, i actually told her to tell you about her feelings thinking you would be different eddie, your an asshole eddie munson” chrissy says with heated anger, jason walks up to her and holds her away

“yea man god damn i don’t even like you but the way that girl talked about you was crazy never stopped talking ever that was really fucked up munson” jason surprisingly says, eddie is now in shock he really thought this was all jason’s idea her asking him out eddie the freak munson was being asked out by y/n y/l/n, he thought it was definitely a huge fucked up joke because they knew how much he liked her, he couldn’t believe it the girl he actually liked asked him out and instead of him actually accepting he rejected thinking it was all to good to be true.

“fuck”

y/n’s pov

i just started walking home but can’t help but notice the hideout on my way, i remember all the nights i went there to watch him and his band play staying hidden where he couldn’t see me, i also remembered the change of clothes in my bag so i walk towards the bar and go to the restroom to get changed, i come out and sit at the bar and order a beer they didn’t ask for ID which i’m assuming is because my face is severely fucked up, i couldn’t help myself but get lost in the alcohol beer after beer,

some guy bumps into me and i can’t help but get angry “hey fuck face watch yourself” i say turning back around to the counter to continue sipping on my 6th beer.

“woah pretty princess no need to get so angry what happened to that pretty little face of yours” he says back with a smug grin on his face

“keep standing over here and i can make you look as pretty as me” i say still facing the counter finishing off the beer and asking for something stronger two glasses of their top shelf whisky. i down them both and the guy just stares at me and walks away, i order even more but just before i can lift up my glass a hand stops it,

“no more y/l/n your done, and for you i should have you arrested for serving underaged adults” i look up and see hopper my uncle, he lifts me up but even with all my protesting he gets me out of the bar, some how it’s dark out now. “let’s go surprisingly enough to me your father is actually worried about you, so i need to get you home, not only did you go missing from school today you also are all beat up and drunk out of your head, so your going to tell me what happened or i’m going to lock you up in a cell for the night- and don’t say i won’t because you know i will.” he’s right i know he will he’s done it before.

“it’s nothing hop” i say as he places me in the passenger seat but he knows there’s obviously something wrong, he decides not to push it just yet and luckily enough he doesn’t take me home to my dad, he takes me to his and joyce’s place.

we get there and i see steve’s are parked out side, hop takes me out of the car and opens the front door all i hear is a bunch of people gasp and bombard hopper with questions “i don’t know but she will be fine leave her i’m putting her to bed” with that voice i’m assuming he doesn’t want to talk about it either, he walks me to the guest bedroom and tucks me in “ i know that didn’t happen from someone else-“ he says gesturing to my face “- your too tough to let that happen, i know you did it to your self, i’m not happy about it but i want you to get some sleep and rest it out till the morning, then we can talk, and you know joyce is probably going to be in here any second now with a bag of frozen peas, but what i’m trying to say is just don’t worry yourself about your dad and all that other stuff, i’m here now and i’ll keep you safe till you feel better ok, i don’t want you worrying about your dad i’ve got that all taken care of, goodnight kid, i love ya” he says and kisses my head and leaves just like he said joyce comes running in seconds later with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a rag littering me with all the ‘i love you’s and other stuff but eventually i drift off

i wake up with a killer headache and and warm hand on mine and hearing sniffing, i try not to make any sudden movements to try and figure out who if is without them knowing i’m awake

“i’m so sorry y/n/n, i shouldn’t have said all that shit, i’m sorry, i’m so so sorry” i know who it is but i’m afraid to look him in the eyes just yet, he keeps muttering apologies. but i give his hand a gentle squeeze, he gasps a bit and take my hand in both of his now, i slowly look up at him, i see his teary red eyes and a face full of regret, “y/n?” he says with a wobbly voice i give him my full attention now,

“it’s ok eddie, i forgive you” i say grasping his hand a little tighter now.

“no, no, no don’t say it’s ok y/n it’s not ok what i said, it’s not ok at all and this is not an excuse i just- i’ve been fucked with so much i don’t even know who to trust anymore, god i’m so stupid”

“no-no,no your not stupid ed your kind, brilliant and smart, you were just afraid to be hurt again, i understand, i really do” i say with a genuine light smile

“i just- i don’t even know what to say anymore” he says looking down

“ you could tell me if you want to go on that date with me?” i say with a grin and a little chuckle when he looks at me with a sad grin

he chuckles a bit “of course i would love to go on that date with you y/n, i’ll do whatever you want” he says looking deep into my eyes

“don’t say that or you’ll be in it for life munson” i say laughing

“maybe i want to be in it for life y/l/n” he says.

[allycatcreatethings]

The Acceptance of Adulthood

Chapter 1: Old Memories 

What happened during the time with Finn with his perspective?

I missed the good old memories...

[First - Next - Chapter Index] [Word Count: 1327]

*~ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ ~*

Do you know what it’s like to grow up with hyper imagination? I knew that since I was young. It was a wonderful gift to tell stories without getting dispassionate about them. However, real life got in the way, and I had to leave that magical world behind for the night, only to return in the morning.

Some kids played with cars or dolls, but for me, it was Lego. Lego could be anything when you build and create, and you can get the best ideas out there to see them flourish and move. I played with my sets for a long while, creating a cute and delightful world without many rules. 

One time during the night, I sneaked into the basement to see what my father had constructed with his Lego sets downstairs. I felt in awe as I saw another world better than mine. There were flaws and order, but it made it much more fun! The different sets were various locations I could visit and wish to be in. I decided to dedicate myself to making the best story to enjoy and then one day tell it to the rest of the world. 

But my dad never let me play with his sets and told me to play with mine, but after playing the same thing repeatedly, I wanted more.  

I was able to create great storytelling by starting with a villain. Dad always told me not to touch the sets. But my Dad’s rules were too limiting, so he divided the world to never interact with each other again; imagine how the Lego figurines feel about this. 

[It was horrible.]

When I noticed the Lego figurines for the first time, I loved each and made some with some bricks alone, like Princess Unikitty. I wanted my old world to be where she ruled over and called it Cloud Cuckoo Land, but I knew if I wanted to improve the story, I had to eliminate my old world to create a new, better one. 

I feel like they are alive while playing with the Lego figurines. They are real people in their world, but they can’t interact or see me.

Each of their personalities was easy to make, and the narrative usually took off without me.

The Lego figurine drawn towards me the most was a construction worker. He already had a name on his printed leg piece, and his name was Emmet. There was nothing about Emmet that made him stand out from his other workers. I thought of the last name Brickowski because I thought it was clever, with the word brick in it.

But he was special to me. I put myself into the little guy, but even the worker became his own Lego person. I also did that with my Dad with Lord/President Business, but I have yet to tell him. He may not like it if I put him in the villain role.

One day during play, when Emmet fell onto the floor, I thought he was alive. I didn’t realize at first he was there; I think I stepped on him by mistake.

I think Emmet can see me. But he could move, but minimal. I guess my imagination was running wild. That was also when Dad finally saw my story and almost destroyed it. I can hear Emmet screaming for help or in pain, seeing his friend almost losing. I felt the same way; I was only a kid then. That’s what I imagined, at least. 

[But you are blind to seeing reality, Finn.]

I encountered a problem: What happens if a Lego person falls onto the floor? I can not place them back; you must cross a barrier to return them home like another world. I thought of many ways but came back to a portal. It was manageable; I had tested it and hoped it worked. That is what I believe in, like that cat poster on the wall.

To get my story back on track, I distracted my dad and saved Emmet with the lid of the Kragle. I gave him one last goodbye and placed him back into his world. I felt like I had lost a friend, and they moved away, but it has to be that way.

After that, something clicked in my Dad to change, and he allowed me to play with his sets. It felt like magic, like the special one did it. I was delighted that my story could continue until Dad told me my sister could play. Everything went into a nightmare pretty quickly as my sister threw my story off course; everything changed in my real life and reflected in the new narrative I created. Well, except Emmet. I changed, but he did not. Nothing in my power could change him, no matter how much I tried. 

Then, when my sister took his friends away, I wanted to get them back, and in the process, I lost Emmet. I had lost myself in the story.

I created the character Rex, and he felt it was me similarly, but I modified it to be more like the older me rather than a younger, naive version of my past. But I felt my anger come in, and I had enough of everything. I destroyed Bianca’s palace, but the consequence was Mom coming in and telling us to put Legos away forever, for real, this time.

I was heartbroken; my story was gone, and for the first time, I only saw my sister hurt without the narrative, and it hit me like Lego bricks crashing down. Somehow, I became a monster of my creation and didn’t know what to do. I comforted my sister, and she and I felt compelled to open the box again to rebuild the relationship. I heard the Lego figurines singing, but my sister couldn’t listen. I just thought it was my mind playing tricks on me. 

[But you listen anyway. They are just toys; why are you so attached to the plastics?]

I search for the Lego pieces for the heart and build them together again. I wanted to restart everything again with my sister and make an even better world for them!

But then, I realized I had to rescue Emmet from the true villain.

[You always need your main character. Hmm, who is the real villain?]

I picked up Wyldstyle and started to locate them. I felt horrible, but Rex had to go; I couldn’t be him anymore, so I let him disappear from the story. He was not dead; however, Vitruvius’ death was already hard to handle, and Emmet could even see his ghost occasionally. Killing a character removes the story they want to tell and the ideas they have with them.

Emmet became a monster he should not be, but I tried to let Emmet one last goodbye. Rex was an adult I never wanted to grow up as, and I had to get rid of him peacefully; that made sense in the story. 

[And yet you regret removing him from the story anyway.]

It’s been about five years since the last big adventure the Lego Figures had, but I still consider them for their story—my narrative. I had tried to grow up and learn to drive, cook, and be responsible like most adults. Why is it so hard to do sometimes?

[So tedious, so exhausting.]

I still hate the idea of adulthood. Why did you have to discard your childhood self before becoming an adult? 

[Because you are afraid of change, let go of the past.]

But things are about to change, I know it. Maybe for the better, but I hope not for the worse. After all, it’s just a story. I keep asking questions, and the answers are in play or games. I wish they were genuine and weren’t in my head. I just want my hero I can look up to, Emmet Brickowski.

[OUR HERO]

*~ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ ~*

[the-void-writes]

OC in 15 or Less

Thank you @sergeantnarwhalwrites for the tag! Anyone is welcome to hop on, and I’ll tag @bloodlessheirbyjacques @tryingtimi @magefaery just in case you guys would like to join, no pressure 💖

The rules are to use 15 lines of dialogue or less that capture the vibes or personality of your character. Bonus points for being able to do it with one line, but it’s okay if you need more than one for context.

For this one, we’re doing Will from Freaks Of Preston. I tried to capture both his dramatic and funnier moments, but I’ve come to the realization that this kid is in desperate need of a personality lol

————————————————

1. “What for?! He doesn’t even love me!” Will rolled up his sleeve, revealing the pale scars that ran across his arm. “I’m his little burden, the curse on his family— Why does he insist on keeping me?!”

2. “I just got you back. I’m not losing you, never again.”

3. He hopped off the bed in a flash, ignoring the pain that shot through his legs, and the spinning in his head.

“Where is he,” Will said, “did he make it—”

“Will, you can’t get up yet!” Sarah pulled him back. “You have to rest.”

4. “You can call me anything, really— except William.” He scrunched his face up. “Or Willy. That just sounds like an old man.”

5. “How can you stand it?!” The boy waved his arms wildly. “They talk all sweet and act like they’re sorry, but they never even liked Jason to begin with. They’re glad he’s dead!”

6. Will grinned. “Is that… disco? The cheesy, seventies disco music that you rolled your eyes at six years ago?”

Jason shoved the CD back onto the shelf, clearing his throat excessively. “You didn’t see that.”

“No, I think I did.”

7. “Pay them no mind,” Vesely said. “They’re going to be bitter. You’re not to blame for it.”

Oh, I know, Will thought, an unamused frown flickering across his face, believe me.

8. Jin poked his shoulder. “So when’s the wedding, huh?”

Will huffed. “I just found out that people can be attractive, I don’t think we’ll get to ‘marriage’ levels for a while.”

9. “Yeah, it sucks to be sick all the time. On the other hand, I haven’t slept this easily in years.”

10. “I only started fighting because you made me. I wasn’t trying to be a hero or a god… I just wanted my family back.”

11. “There they are, the triumphant heroes!” Henry hugged them both over the side of the couch. “You survived your day with that old devil and his family. How do you feel?”

Jason and Will let out a simultaneous “ehhhh” of fatigue.

12. “I know a lot of you are hurt, but we need to get you out of this car in case it collapses. If you can move, I want you to head towards the door in the back. I’ll help any of you who are injured.”

13. “I get it, okay? I’m a filthy fucking Freak with no place in your world, and nothing I do will ever be enough for any of you. I’m sorry you have problems with us, but I really— really— don’t care! There are people up there waiting for us, and I’m gonna make sure they get to see their families again. Can we at least come together on that?!”

14. “I spent so long trying to pretend I was Human, and I hated it. There’s so many amazing things I can do, if I just stop hiding who I am.” Will stared at his hands. “I want to be proud of myself, for once.”

15. “Take whatever you need from me, just leave them alone.”

[amorhedera6]

i’m giving everyone lore bc i can’t help myself sorry not sorry.

(ruth’s tragic backstory under the cut)

ruth joleigh flemming is the second born child of five. her older brother, nathaniel, is two years older than her. he is the family golden child that does no wrong, he got all the good genes, attractive, taller. he played baseball and was popular in high school. in the hallways he would pretend not to see her, refused to acknowledge her, made her walk home when he drove his friends so he wouldn’t be associated with her. he’s their parents favorite and can do nothing wrong.

ruth on the other hand is only useful of invisible. she is given the most chores, is asked to watch her younger siblings constantly, expected to follow a curfew nathaniel never had. her parents marriage follows traditional gender roles, roles they push fiercely into their children, and ruth is put to work the most. she’s not allowed to drive her parents car when nathaniel was, etc.

her next sibling, henry, is three years younger than her. he is kinder than nathaniel, also often invisible to their parents, for he is more academic than his older brother. he likes science and is always holed up in his room working on smothering or other. he loves animals and learning about them, wants to be a vet. he and ruth walk home with richie every day (bc richie lives a few houses down). he’s quiet, mostly keeps to himself.

after henry is melanie, who’s only a year younger. she also has a lot of expectations on her to be a good girl, good wife, etc. all that sexist, 50s house wife bullshit. ruth tries to shield her from it by doing most of the work, but melanie is a better, less sarcastic help in the kitchen, so she often had to help their mom with the food. she does gymnastics, is really good at too, but her parents write it off as just a hobby. she could do really well professionally if her parents took it seriously.

the youngest is harvey, who’s two years younger than melanie. he does a lot of sports, but all of them in the kid way where he doesn’t really do anything. he likes soccer the best, and wants to continue that when he gets older. he’s a boy scout and plays a lot of video games. he’s the stereotype of the youngest sibling, he gets whatever he wants and doesn’t realize it.

ruth was put in dance at 4 because her mother danced as a kid, and she absolutely loved it. ballet and tap, but she wasn’t graceful enough for ballet. tap she stuck with for a long time. she had this class with peter, who she became friends with at like 12ish. she was expected to be a dancer because it was feminine and quiet and all that shit, so she became insecure about her loudness and lonely. she quit dance in her freshman year when she was picked for a dance solo and had a panic attack on stage.

she fell in love with theatre and joined the tech booth. she wanted to perform, but couldn’t get herself back on stage after what happened. she watched the shows from the back of the auditorium with jealousy.

she knew she was bi watching shake it up bc she fell in love w zendaya at 8. she never told her parents bc she knew it wasn’t worth the hassle. she knows they won’t believe her, will think it’s a phase, and thinks it’s better to just leave it all alone. it’s not like she’s ever getting a girlfriend anyways.

she hates wearing skirts, but if she goes like two weeks wearing just pants her mom sits her down and talks to her about being a proper lady. she’d rather just wear them then hear any of it. she wears a skirt every other thursday and it’s enough that her parents only give her looks instead of actually talking to her.

she likes star wars, absolutely hated the choices made in the new ones but watches them anyway bc the people are all hot. she has star wars merch and shit in her room but not too much bc it’s a “boyish” interest.

she had long dark curls her whole life, hates them. hates managing them, hates the curl routine, hates having such long hair, so in a fit of rage had richie and pete chop it all off in the middle of the night her sophomore year. she got it touched up by her moms hairdresser, but refuses to let it grow any more.

she got her headgear the summer before eighth grade, when she was 13, and has had it ever since. she despises it, but refuses to admit it to anyone but richie and peter. she owns it, matches her clothes to it, acts like she doesn’t give a shit when people call her metalhead or something equally uncreative.

she inherited her fathers anger issues. she keeps a lot of it inside bc she hates social interaction if she isn’t close to a person, but it makes her have a lot of hate for people who annoy her. like trevor, who always mixes up his cue lines and makes her look bad. or caitlin, who likes to spend her breaks annoying ruth in the tech booth.

(caitlin actually has a crush on ruth and has for years, but ruth’s so annoyed with someone pose being in her safe space that she can’t tell she’s being flirted with.)

her parents don’t want her to work, so she can spend time at the house looking after her siblings, cleaning, and all that, so she doesn’t have a job. her parents also don’t want her to go to college, since they think it’s unnecessary. she still applied to schools all over the country to get the fuck out of hatchetfield. she’s marked her major down as math, since she’s okay at it, but she has no interest in doing it with her life. she has no idea what she wants to do. (that’s not true. she wants to act. dance. perform. but she has absolutely no faith in herself, her talent, her ability to overcome her anxiety, so. math it is.)

she’s never told anyone this, she’s ignoring it and pretending she didn’t, but she did send a self tape to a drama school in california. she hasn’t heard back, though.

her favorite color is red, which is why she picked it for her headgear when they made her chose. she likes it because she can get away with wearing it in masculine ways since it’s close enough to pink, but it also represents fire, anger. she thinks color theory is super interesting. she had to learn it when her mom made her learn about flowers, and the flowers part bored her to death, but she loves colors.

her father is named walter, he’s a business executive about thirty years older than her mother. her mother, doreen, wants desperately to be a stay at home mom, but they can’t afford it, so she works at a flower shop. she says that if you must work in life, it might as well be a position for a lady. she still makes dinner every night. she only wears dresses and heels. sometimes ruth thinks her mother was brainwashed or something.

because ruth’s sanctuary is her grandparents. her mothers parents are not at all the stereotypical housewife/working husband couple. they are fiercely strong and interesting people with interesting stories to tell. from their stories, her mom used to be the same way, at one point. she went to college for prelaw, and dropped out her sophomore year after meeting walter. they say she changed a lot, but they don’t talk about it enough for ruth to get real details. she can only pull them by their teeth if they have a lot to drink, which they don’t often do. it’s a mystery shes piecing together slowly.

she knows her parents don’t care about her much. they don’t give a shit about her grades, never go to parent teacher conference night, stopped going to her dance recitals when she was ten, never came to one of the shows she worked on with the school. she was only ever scolded but never really treated like their daughter, more like a misbehaving help they need to set right.

they never hit her, but she’s well aware she’ll be fucked up forever. she is counting down the days until she gets to college and she can get a tattoo and burn her skirts and go to therapy. she loves her friends, and her siblings (most of the time), but she despises hatchetfield and her parents.

she can’t wait to get out.

(she never gets out.)

[thedummysdummy]

Gender Reveal

The previous part to this series can be found here: When Memory Fails

Her hand went automatically to her belly, just as it had a million times since she’d learned of the little spark growing inside. She glanced through the window, looking for the familiar black car to arrive with her best friends inside. However, it was still nowhere to be seen and she slumped back onto the couch. 

She’d never really thought she’d look forward to doctor appointments. But each time she sat on that crinkly paper and looked at the strange black and white images on the screen, an excitement grew inside of her. The tiny beating heart made her own flutter as she watched it beat away inside the tiny bean she carried. Every appointment showed her a more and more recognizable human being. 

And today, she’d know if her insistence was correct.

The buzzing of her phone pulled the girl out of her thoughts. Immediately she flicked on the screen and scanned the text message. “We’re almost there. Are you ready to go?” 

Anna’s smiling face reflected in the girl’s happy eyes as she read the text message and replied in the affirmative. The slightly older woman was far more than a coworker; Anna had always been one of the girl’s closest confidants and took on an almost motherly role from the outset of the pregnancy. Between Anna and Goldman, an assistant to their company’s largest investor and close friend, the girl found herself supported at every step. 

Another glance out the window revealed Goldman’s sleek black car had arrived in the lot of her apartment complex. At the same time, her phone buzzed with another message. “We are here! We’ll be up in just a minute!” 

“Oh, don’t worry about coming all the way up here! I can make it to the parking lot by myself, you know.” The girl giggled as she pressed ‘send,’ knowing that nothing she said would deter her friends from coming up for her anyway. Surely enough, a final glance out the window showed the pair hustling across the parking lot in an attempt to reach her before she made it down alone. She indulged them by returning to her couch and waiting for the doorbell to ring. 

Her bounce up to answer the door was slightly slower than usual, the pregnancy sapping some of her energy reserves the further along she got. It opened to reveal the beaming faces of her friends, Anna wrapping her arms securely around the girl’s shoulders in a tight hug. “Hey, you. How are you feeling?” 

“I’m doing fine. A little tired, but that’s normal apparently. I can’t believe we’re over halfway there.” She rubbed the growing bump, quite visible within the last week, and let out a half sigh. “He moves around quite a bit now. It’s really a strange feeling. Takes some getting used to.” She allowed Anna to take her hand and lead her out into the hallway before turning to lock the door. 

Both Anna and Goldman nodded, their grins eclipsed only by their seeming nervousness for her well-being. They stood on either side, brushing her shoulders and elbows as they walked, eyes flickering between her and the floor ahead. The girl shook her head slightly, but did nothing to prevent their care. 

Goldman opened the passenger door and offered a hand to support her as she lowered herself into the seat. “Are you alright? Let me get the seat belt for you.” He pulled the clip away from the wall of the car where it hung and handed it to the girl so she wouldn’t need to twist her torso, waited until she had clicked the belt securely, and closed the door with care. Anna had already climbed into the back seat with her phone in hand, tapping away at what was most likely some work-related email. 

“You two are so funny. I’m not made of porcelain, you know. But I really do appreciate your help.” 

Her friends nodded and patted her shoulders as Goldman kicked the engine to life. “Absolutely! Someone has to keep an eye on you. Especially since the father is a scumbag who-” Anna paused, not entirely sure where her anger was leading. “You haven’t managed to remember anything yet, have you?” 

“No…I feel like there’s something locked away that I really, really should remember, but I just can’t seem to break through to it. Maybe it’s just because I’m scared to know what it is? That maybe it’s something better left forgotten.” Her eyes dimmed, her heart telling her a different story than that. If something horrible had happened…wouldn’t there be other signs? Wouldn’t she have a lingering sense of dread, not an empty feeling that something important had been lost? 

Anna reached forward from the back seat and placed a warm hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Hey. Don’t stress yourself out over it, okay? I know I’ve told you a million times, but I’ll say it again. Whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault. Maybe someday down the road, you can submit to one of those DNA ancestry database things and see if there are any clues?” 

“Only if you want to,” Goldman interjected, looking over as the car came to a stop at a red light. “If you think it’s better left the way it is, then that’s completely up to you.” He frowned in that concerned sort of way that he adopted every time the topic came up. The girl smiled and patted the back of his hand. 

“It’s fine, Goldman. Maybe I’ll try it someday. I appreciate you looking out for my well-being, though.” The air in the car felt a little heavy as they continued on their journey and the girl searched for a way to lighten the mood. “So are you really not going to let me know the gender today? That’s so not fair!” 

Anna began to laugh with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Of course not! That would totally ruin our plans for a gender reveal party! And we are going to make sure that you have every single positive experience that any other expecting mom gets along the journey. No matter how you got here, you deserve nothing but happiness.” Goldman nodded along with a soft grunt of agreement. 

“We already have a small list of guests put together. Kiki, Willow, Minor, and Kiro are all coming for sure. Officer Gavin insisted he will be there as long as nothing emergent happens that day, and Professor Lucian said he should be available but won’t know for a few more days. Was there anyone else you wanted us to invite?” 

After a few moments of thought, the girl shook her head. There weren’t really any others in her life who knew of her situation, and the last thing she wanted to do was explain to a room full of her family and friends that she was pregnant for no apparent reason. It had been hard enough with her coworkers and closest friends. While none of them had blamed her or treated her differently, she couldn’t help wondering what they really thought. 

“Fair enough. Have you come up with any girl names you like?” Anna tapped the back of the girl’s head and giggled. “You still don’t know for sure you’re having a boy!” 

“I just can’t get the name ‘Victor’ out of my head. Sometimes it just bounces around in there like an old screensaver. So I’m positive that’s supposed to be his name.” 

Both Anna and Goldman sighed, having been through this conversation way too many times at this point. “Well, can we at least add Victoria for a girl? That’s close enough, right?” Goldman’s eyes flickered over for just a moment to check his friend’s reaction. She shrugged with a thoughtful look on her face. At least she seemed to be considering it!” 

Minutes later they were in the waiting room of the doctor’s office, thumbing through the same magazines they’d been poking at for the last five months. The girl felt a little bit nervous as her name was called and the nurse led her back to the familiar exam room and ultrasound machine. Soon. Soon she would know.

~~~

The five days between the appointment and the reveal party were the slowest the girl had ever experienced. She alternated between being completely positive that she carried a boy, and slightly worried she was having a girl and had nothing prepared. Had she already begun collecting little boy clothes when she was shopping on her own? Definitely. She even had an outfit picked out to bring him home from the hospital: A little panda-themed onesie, hat, and booties. Perhaps a little bow glued to the hat would make it girly enough…

Pink and blue balloons, streamers, confetti, and other decor had been lovingly distributed from one end of the office conference room to the other. A betting pool had been set up in one corner, boy or girl, with a prize basket for those who guessed correctly. Snacks and small sandwiches covered the entire conference table with a tower of cupcakes being the crown in the center. “Don’t touch until reveal time!” announced a card next to the cupcakes. 

All eight guests had arrived early and the gift table on the far end of the room was overflowing with packages. The girl watched each guest arrive and pile their gifts onto the table, feeling just a little overwhelmed by the amount of love being shown by every single person in the room. Minor and Gavin chatted quietly with plates of snacks in hand, while Kiki talked at Kiro and Willow leaned against a wall, listening to Lucian explain some project he was working on. Anna and Goldman were finishing the last few tasks before calling everyone’s attention to begin the party properly. 

Anna placed the final plate of sliced fruit on the table and clapped to turn everyone’s eyes toward the front of the room. The low grumble of conversation faded away and Anna smiled. “Welcome to our dear friend’s gender reveal party! Enjoy yourselves with the snacks and be sure to cast your vote at the betting table. We’ll do the actual reveal in about thirty minutes!” With a wave at the food from Anna, everyone returned to their conversations. 

The girl wandered from group to group, accepting hugs and well-wishes from those she loved. But her eyes kept wandering to that pile of cupcakes, knowing they held the answer she was seeking. The time passed painfully slowly no matter how hard she tried to get sucked into conversation. 

But as time does, the thirty minutes eventually came and went. This time Goldman took charge, standing proudly at the table with his eyes staring everyone down until the room fell quiet. “Alright, it’s time for the real reason we all came tonight! These cupcakes have been filled with either pink or blue frosting. Come on over here and let’s end the anticipation!” He picked up a cupcake and extended it to the girl, who held it in her hand for a moment. She just examined the white-frosted top with pink and blue sprinkles, the confetti cake beneath, and the “boy or girl?” wrapper. 

“Come on, quit stalling!” Kiki shouted, causing the room to erupt in soft laughter. The girl blushed and pulled away the paper on one side of the cupcake. Everyone held their collective breath as she opened her mouth and took a large bite, eyes closed tightly. She chewed and swallowed before opening her eyes, finally brave enough to see the results. 

“It’s a boy!” Minor yelled, pumping his fist in the air. “I knew it! I guess you were right, Boss. See guys? Always trust the boss! She knows what she’s talking about!” 

Everyone again began to laugh and helped themselves to the rest of the cupcakes, the excitement three levels higher than before. Anna made her way over to her friend and gave her a tight squeeze. “Well, Victor it is,” she teased, pulling back slightly to look in the girl’s eyes. “Congratulations, Boss. How about we go open some gifts?” 

The girl nodded and allowed herself to be led to the far side of the room, feeling relief flowing through her entire body. While she still didn’t know why the little boy’s name had to be Victor, some of the anxiety surrounding it managed to evaporate into excitement. Mysteries could wait. Today was the time for celebration.

[ppjeterka]

get to know me tag! i can’t remember the last time i did one of these, it was probably like 3 tumblr accounts and a decade ago lol. thank you @edwinamistressofthecart for the tag!!

do you make your bed? no but next question let’s not talk about it

what's your job? just finished undergrad and am on the full-time job hunt for the first time what if i died

if you could go back to school, would you? at this stage in my life the only way you are forcing me back into full-time studenthood is if you’re keeping me at gunpoint the whole time. But grad school is still definitely something i’m planning on doing in the future so eventually (or not so eventually) yes 😞

can you parallel park? yes!! but don’t ask me to do it on a one lane road with cars behind me i swear to god i’ll crash the car and kill us both

do you think aliens are real? very much so yes! something something fermi paradox something something it’s a special brand of human narcissism to believe we are alone in the universe

can you drive a manual car? nope

guilty pleasure? hrpf but I'm losing my shame about it LMAO (tennis rpf now too...)

tattoos? just the one for now! got it just before i turned 19 on a trip I took with my friend to san francisco. We both opted for ribcage tattoos because we had to hide them from our parents 😭

favorite color? evergreen green

favorite type of music? I'm so musically illiterate it pains me haha but I don't have loyalty to any particular genre/sound! While my knowledge is shallow I'd say my taste is wide. One thing I can say is that I was listening to chappell roan a couple of months before she really took off. So there. I'm also a huge rina sawayama fan!

(I am begging people to recommend me music)

do you like puzzles? only if i’m doing them with someone else who isn’t competitive about it

any phobias? nothing too crazy, not the best with heights, but only in situations where it's actually feasible I might fall

favorite childhood sport?

This genuinely feels like a lifetime ago but I was actually pretty good at horseback riding when I was younger (haven't been on a horse in a hot minute though). I also liked soccer but I was dogshit at it

do you talk to yourself? yeap

tea or coffee? Tea!! I also told myself in high school that I would save my coffee drinking for college so that any given cup would theoretically be more potent because I wouldn’t have had any caffeine immunity built up by then. then I went to college and promptly forgot to drink any coffee. So, tea. (I conveniently forgot that many types of tea also have caffeine, but alas)

first thing you wanted to be be when growing up? veterinarian

what movies do you adore? My mom and I have watched The Man From UNCLE maybe nine times? I also had a one month phase when I was ten where I was obsessed with Hairspray and watched it seven times, which is embarrassing but I feel some obligation to mention it here. Besides that, I adore Kung Fu Hustle, EEAAO, and I am on record saying that Challengers was my favorite movie going experience ever (admittedly, I don’t go to the cinema very often)

I don’t know people on hockey tumblr enough to be tagging them out of the blue 😭 but to anyone that wants to do this tag, take this as me tagging you!

[akehoshimystar]

Chapter 9

Nagisa: Now that’s a cute bookmark! What kind of flower is this?

Ito: Yellow daisy. Its meaning is “as it is”.

Nagisa: As it is.….

Ito: ......I believe that your concerns and worries are rooted in your care towards your partner.

I pray that your feelings will be conveyed as they are.

Kiho: …….

Nagisa: Ahaha...Thanks a lot. I really got myself a lovely charm!

Enomura-sama’s eyes were welling with tears, but her smile was no longer cloudy.

Nagisa: …..Well, I'm off now.

As I watched her return, a sigh came out naturally.

Ito: .…..That sure was something...

Kiho: Agreed. I think it takes more courage than you could ever imagine. I hope it goes well.

Ito: Oh. Yeah... Well, that was very strong of Enomura-sama.

But the one who also amazed me here was Kiho-san.

Kiho: I didn't do much. All I did was craft my words to be harmless. Ito did even more marvelous job.

That yellow daisy you picked really cheered her up.

Ito: You think so? I’m glad to hear that... Anyway, it’s too humble of you to say something as if you haven’t just done something amazing.

From the moment you guessed the reason for her leaving, it was a series of great things from start to finish.

I literally got goosebumps when you found out about the proposal through fortune telling.

Kiho: Oh. I actually had a hunch even before the fortune telling. 

Ito: Seriously?

Kiho: Just a little observation and deduction. Do you remember the flower arrangement she reserved?

Ito: 9 Gerberas….

Kiho: Did you look up its meaning?

Gerberas were also chosen for the bookmark design. In flower language, they are “hope” and “always moving forward.”

Ito: (There were several other customers who requested it besides Enomura-sama, so I thought it was a popular flower that’s often chosen as a gift...)

.…..Could there be a meaning behind the number of flowers, like with roses?

Kiho: To satisfy that curiosity, look it up later.

Ito: (….Oh.)

Ito: I can only think of obvious reasons like there being a certain number of people who would find it annoying to receive one...

Probably nothing in particular.

Kiho: Oh yeah?

As soon as I realized that he was smiling the same way as he did back then, I felt as if the dots were connected. When Kiho-san can't put everything into words, he just smiles beautifully like this. Instead of trying to falsify something that can’t be shown, he shows them what they can't see.

Ito: (.…This person himself is like a flower.)

Kiho-san, please make sure to take a break. You’ve worked hard.

Kiho: Yeah. Thank you.

Without putting my thoughts into words, I quietly returned the chair that she had pulled out to its place. Kiho-san’s smile that didn’t seem to follow me too intently was as beautiful as always.

A few hours later, we finally saw off the last customer.

Thus, concluding the event, “Florist”.

Mao: ….This paper bag is the last one. Anything else I can help you with?

Ito: Thank you, I’ll let you know if I need one. There's only trivial stuff now, so that should be all for today... Ah.

Kiho: I already repacked the items that I don't think I'll use anytime soon and stacked them in the aisle.

Anything else that needs to be carried?

Mao: Nope. Let's call it a day.

Ito: Thank you for staying up so late. Be careful on your way home.

Kiho: You too, Ito. Yuzuru said he would go with you, so don't go out alone.

Mao, if you don't have any plans after this, how about I give you a ride home? I came by car today.

Mao: Oh? If you’re fine with it, I'll take you up on that.

Kiho: Sure. The trains will be crowded at this time on Saturdays anyway.

See you later, Ito.

Ito: Yes. Thank you for your hard work... Also, congratulations on being crowned “The Best Florist.”

Kiho: Oh. Thanks.

Mao: You were glued to No.1 spot from the beginning until the end. I wouldn’t say that comes as a surprise.

Kiho: It wasn't a big difference, I just lucked out today. I'll invite everyone to dinner once I've received my pay…

Mao: Anyway, Ito. You should hurry home as well. You stayed late yesterday, didn’t you?

Ito: Thanks for the concern. I’ll be sure to do that.

Mao: Alright. See you then.

Ito: Thanks again for today.

Ito: ……Haaa…..

(I'm glad it went well...)

I quickly started packing up after closing time. Now I can finally breathe a sigh of relief at the familiar sight… Before my body tensed up again.

Tomose: …….

Ito: !?

In the restaurant where I thought there was no one… Onda-san was sitting alone in a corner, resting his chin on his palm.

Ito: (That sent me a chill. His presence was so little that I couldn’t help but startle once I saw him.)

(So he’s still here. Those who left the venue earlier had already finished cleaning up and gone home...)

Ito: .……Good work.

Tomose: Oh. You’re done?

Ito: Yes. Kiho-san and Mao-san have just left.

Tomose: And you?

Ito: ………I just thought I'd turn off the lights and lock the door.

Tomose: No need. Yu is coming soon.

Ito: Nina-san?

Tomose: He’s preparing lunch for tomorrow.

Ito: Ah...I see.

(Is he planning to wait for him and go home together after they’re done?)

(Even so, Nina-san still thinks of doing more work right after his ST Dept. job. That must be hard.)

Wouldn't it be better if he had some help?

Tomose: Just go home. If you need instructions for everything, Yu alone is more than enough.

Ito: (Can’t say I disagree...)

Okay. I will leave you alone then.

Tomose: Sure.

I nodded at Onda-san, who looked away from me as if he had lost interest or wasn't even that interested in the first place. But before I stepped out, my feet stopped.

Ito: (.……He’s probably tired, not that he’s the type to chat cheerfully anyway. It’s probably best not to talk about unnecessary things.)

(But, I don't know when I'll see Onda-san again.)

Onda-san.

Tomose: What?

Ito: As a result, I spent more time outside the kitchen today. I'm sorry that I left most of the work to you.

But thanks to that... Uh, that might have come off as inappropriate, but I was able to keep a close eye on the customers in the dining area all day.

The food was really well received. There were also lots of compliments on the presentation.

Tomose: ……

Ito: It was really helpful to have Onda-san join us. Thank you very much.

Well, I just wanted to express my gratitude. Sorry for saying that out of nowhere. I will excuse myself now...

Tomose: I simply acted as instructed.

Ito: ?

Tomose: “Respect what Yu spent time making.”

“Faithfully reproduce the visible shape without imagining the invisible Yu’s intention.”

I remember you said something along that line yesterday.

Ito: (Eh... Is that…)

I soon realized what Onda-san was talking about, but I immediately thought that he might have been a bit off here. What I was able to put into words at that time were more vague, superficial, and insignificant personal feelings. I couldn't explain in an orderly manner why I felt that way, or why I wanted to do that. I didn't say it. Or more like, I couldn't say it. This person just collected and ran with it from there.

Tomose: Although I don't think the instruction was given after a thorough understanding of Yu’s personality and preferences.,,,

I was convinced that it’s a way to show respect to someone you don't understand. So I merely followed suit.

Ito: …….

Tomose: In the end, if my work was adequate from a business aspect, then that was an accurate instruction.

There's no need for one-sided gratitude. Both you and I simply fulfilled our duty. That's all.

Ito: (Woah.)

Despite being aware that my apology and gratitude could be deemed unnecessary, I went ahead and did it anyway. The reply I got may not be “Same here” or “Thank you for your hard work.” Obviously, not even a smile…. But Onda-san’s unwavering words somehow made me incredibly happy.

Ito: (.…..Never have I thought Onda-san would say something like that to me.)

Thank you.

Tomose: Enough with that………Do I have to say something back too?

Ito: !? No, not at all.

--Clank

Ito: !

Tomose: ….Great job out there.

Yu: Same to you. Thanks for the wait.

……Yashiro is here too?

Ito: Thank you for your hard work. Sorry, I'm about to leave now.

Yu: You don’t need to be that alert. 

As he spoke, Nina-san picked up a blanket that was laid next to the counter.

Yu: It probably won't take an hour. How about you rest a little bit.

Tomose: I don’t need that long. You won't be able to rest unless we go home anyway.

Yu: Yeah. Then, I'll wake you up when I'm done.

Tomose: Nghh….

Ito: (……………Hmmm?)

After that exchange, Onda-san folded his arms and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes...

Tomose: ……

Ito: (………Huh? ………Sleep? Just like that?)

Translator’s note - 9 gerberas have a meaning “I want you to stay with me forever”.

Chapter 10 >>

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Birthright: Part Two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.9k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

You two get back in the car and head back to the station where everyone else is eagerly waiting.

"Karen recanted her story," you sigh.

"Do you think she's lying?" Rossi asks you.

"I know she is. Something happened to her. I felt the pain she endured, and she is trying to push it down so she doesn't have to think about it. She just refused to admit it happened."

"She couldn't open that door. Afraid she could never come back."

"Exactly. Right now the only person she's protecting is the offender," she sighs.

"We just told her that this guy could still be out there. She wasn't even concerned. She wasn't scared at all. Why?"

"Maybe she's got nothing to be afraid of," Rossi says, and you know exactly where he is taking this.

"Where are you going with this?" John asks.

"Why can't someone let a case go? In your gut, you know the son of a bitch is still out there."

"You're right. She doesn't blink. The only way she'd move back here is if she knew for a fact that it was safe. That means the offender who did this either moved away or he died," you say.

"You know who this man is. He grew up here. He was in his mid-twenties back then. He left after you found his last victim," Rossi tries to jog John's memory. "He might have gone to prison, he could have joined the military, moved away, and sold his property. He was reckless in his personal life, maybe a drinker. He would have had arrests for DUIs. This is your case, John. He was meticulous, so he may have had two areas of control, both private. One to torture and one to confine them. It could have been a workshop or a barn."

"December 13th, 1980. Robert Wilkinson," John says, suddenly remembering.

Emily looks through the different files of potential suspects when she comes across his file.

"He has three DUIs. Spent a few days in jail."

"Well, he's dead. He was twenty-eight when it happened. He fell into his combine harvester."

"When was this?"

"December of 1980. Right when the killings stopped. Sounds about right when Karen moved back. He was survived by a widow, Mary Wilkinson. I know her personally."

"Looks like you're coming with us. Y/N, I'd like for you to join us," Rossi says.

"You got it," you nod.

The three of you leave the police station since John knows where Mary lives. She isn't expecting anyone to come over, so when she sees the old sheriff at her doorstep, she is a little taken back by it.

"Sheriff Caulfield."

"Hello, Mary. May we come in?" Mary nods and opens the door for you three. "How have you and your son been?"

"He's married now and doing just fine. I know you didn't make a house call to see how I'm doing."

"We're investigating a case, and it's led us to Robert."

"Well, he's been dead for twenty-seven years. What could he have done?"

"He murdered five women in 1980," you say. "I'm sure you remember it."

"I'm sorry. I haven't thought about him for a long time."

"You were a young widow, and the sheriff said you had to raise your son by yourself. It's hard to believe you wouldn't think about him from time to time," Rossi states.

"I've never felt sorry for myself. I moved on."

"You remarried?" you ask.

"I moved back here with my parents. I stayed here for a bit while I was pregnant. Robert was mean when he drank. He begged me to come home and said he'd changed."

"Did he?"

"I don't know. He died the day I went back."

"Do you mind if I talk to her alone for a bit?" John asks.

You and Rossi nod in understanding, and you leave the house to hang out by the car. It would take too much time to explain to John what you can do, so you opt to tell Rossi when you get to the car.

"She's definitely caged in, but not as much as Karen was. She wants to hide something, maybe to protect her son?"

"She wasn't surprised. She didn't even ask why we thought he did it. She suspected him. He was a drunk. She got pregnant and left him."

"He could have felt abandoned. Might have had the same thing with his mother. Either way, he can't handle it. It's his stressor. He starts killing. He couldn't touch his pure wife, so he had to find disposable girls, but the killing stopped when he died."

"So, who is doing it now?"

"Would you believe me if I suspected the son?"

"Why?"

"Well, the kid grows up without a father. Naturally, he wants to know why. Mary might not have told him about Robert, but a kid gets curious. When he figures out who his dad is, he could have the same urges."

"Or he could have repulsed him and fought to be nothing like him."

"It's just a theory, Rossi. It's a possibility."

"That it is."

John picks this moment to come out of the house and joins you two by the car. Mary doesn't want to speak to you anymore, and you're not sure what he said to her that would make her not want to talk. You can't force her to say anything, and you only came out here to talk to her. The only thing you can do is head back to the station and hope that someone has something.

However, when you set foot into the police station, you know that something bad happened. You can feel it radiating off of JJ.

"There's been another abduction."

"Her name is Tara Ricker," Sheriff Ballantyne says. "Her family called this morning. She didn't come home last night. We're still trying to locate the vehicle."

"Well, we know he kills after he takes another victim, so we're running out of time here," JJ sighs impatiently.

"Alright, what do we know?" Hotch asks everyone.

"This is a copycat considering Robert is dead. He has the same MO and the same dump site, which he could only have gotten through someone else since it wasn't released into the public. It could be a friend or a family member of Robert. Say, his son?" you say and look at Rossi.

"Are you suggesting there is a genetic predisposition to killing?" John asks you.

"It's one factor, along with psychology and socialization," Hotch answers. "If you have a combination of genetics and a son who grew up without a father searching for his own identity, it could be a stressor."

"I remember Charlie Wilkinson when he was fifteen. He killed a neighbor's cat. He put it in a bag and hit it against a tree."

"How old is he?"

"Mary was pregnant with him when Robert died, so twenty-seven. That makes him roughly the same age Robert was when he started killing."

The phone rings, and you answer it knowing it's Penelope. You put her on speakerphone so everyone can hear her.

"Hey, do you have something for us?"

"I just found the reason why Karen was lying."

"Why?"

"She got pregnant by Robert."

"Mary didn't want to protect her son, Karen did. We need to talk to Karen right now."

Rossi wants you to come with him when he talks to Karen, and you think that's a good idea. She is going to be very emotional, and you think it's best if you're the one to help calm her down and guide her through her memories.

When she sees you two at her door, she becomes angry and caged off, more so than before. She clearly doesn't want to remember what happened, but you're not here to protect her feelings. Young women are getting hurt, and she is the only one who can help right now.

"What are you doing back here? I told you before, I don't know anything," Karen says to you.

"We know that he burned you, Karen. All of the other victims had the same burn marks as you. We know that you were raped by Robert, and we know you have a son because of it."

That seems to soften her tough facade, and she slumps her shoulders in defeat.

"Stephen doesn't know the truth."

She opens the door wider to let you and Rossi in, and she takes you to the living room where she sits on the couch. You opt to stand, but Rossi takes a seat next to her.

"You never told him about his father?" you ask.

"I made him out to be a hero. I said he died in a motorcycle accident."

"Why did you decide to have the child?"

"I couldn't make my baby pay for what his father did," she says, her voice cracking with emotion.

"Is Stephen drinking again?"

"Yes. He just got out of jail for a DUI."

"Has he been hostile or gone for long periods of time?"

"Why are you asking me these questions?" she glares slightly at Rossi.

"You lied about your past because you're protecting your son. You're scared that he could be hurting these women, aren't you? We need to talk to him, Ms. Foley."

Just then, the front door opens and Stephen walks in.

"Mom? What's going on?"

"I'm David Rossi and this is Y/N with the FBI. We're investigating the disappearance of four women from this area," Rossi introduces you two to him.

"Yeah. A girl over at the Monroe farm. I heard about that."

"Do you know something about it?" you ask.

"I don't know anything."

"Does the name Robert Wilkinson mean anything to you?" Rossi asks, and Karen's eyes go wide in fear.

"Please, don't."

"No, it's okay," Stephen assures his mother before turning to you two. "Is this about what he did to my mom?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You thought you could keep it a secret? I've known for a long time that Robert Wilkinson raped you."

"What?" Karen whispers in horror. "Why are you saying that?"

"You never got married. You never dated. You cried yourself to sleep every night. I knew someone hurt you really bad. Then one day, I was cleaning out the garage and I found that article about the man who died in the farming accident... Robert Wilkinson. There was a picture of him, and another article about women disappearing and being found dead. When you walked in the door and saw me holding that picture, the way you looked at me... I knew."

"That was ten years ago. You knew I made it all up? You knew?" Karen sniffles.

"They were really great stories."

"Honey... I wanted you to believe he was a good man. You're the only good thing that came out of it."

They hug, and you let them have their moment. Stephen pulls away from his mother and turns to you and Rossi, wiping his tears.

"So, what, you think this old case is connected to the new murders?"

"Yes, we do," you nod.

"Wilkinson's dead... and I'm not. Mom, you think I did this? If you thought that I could turn out like him, why would you--why would you ever even have me?"

"I never regretted my decision--never. I'm sorry, Stephen. I don't want to doubt you."

"I didn't kill anybody."

Stephen walks off angrily, and Karen follows after him apologizing profusely.

"He's not lying," you say to Rossi. "I feel it. I see it. He's telling the truth. Look, you can handle this here. I'm better off looking for Charlie, Robert's other son."

"Yeah, I got this."

You grab the car keys from him and head out to the car to meet up with the rest of the team. Half of them went to Mary's house and the other half went to the place where the recent missing girl's car was found.

The car was clean as if nothing bad ever occurred there, but the CSI unit is dusting it for prints, but you know they won't find anything. The car has been in that spot since last night, and only until the news of Tara Ricker gone missing, did someone speak up about the car.

It's frustrating because four girls went missing, and no one seems to know anything. This is a small town, someone has to know something about something.

x

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