#eating gravel like popcorn over this and over THEM

[foibles-fables]

commission created by the lovely and ridiculously-talented @plastic-pipes—a moment from one of my Hawk and Thrush fics (gray areas and expectations), brought to life.

I'm honored and beyond excited to show it off! The softness, the lighting, and the physicality are perfect. Thank you, Pipes, for this gorgeous piece! ❤️☀️🏹

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 7,362 Pairing: Teenage!Daryl Dixon x Teenage!Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: mainly pre-outbreak Warnings: Language, mentions of abuse, violence A/N: Angsty and fluffy and angsty and fluffy! AGH! Summary: Daryl and Y/N are close growing up. Y/N knows about his bad home life and worries when Daryl doesn't show up at school one day.

Your name: submit What is this?

You were kicking a rock down the road, humming some stupid song you’d heard on the radio, when there was a familiar voice from behind you.

“Hey.”

You turned and grinned, knowing immediately who it was before you even saw him. “Daryl,” you said warmly. “Hey.”

He had his hands shrugged into the pockets of his secondhand black jeans. “What’re ya doin’?”

You laughed and shrugged. “I dunno. Wasting time. Kicking rocks.” You tucked your hair behind your ear and took him in. You could tell immediately that something was bothering him. “You okay?”

How did you always know? Even when he was trying his hardest to hide it, you always knew. “Yeah, just—” he chewed his bottom lip in that anxious habit he had. “Water got shut off again. My old man didn’t pay the bill.”

Your expression turned a bit sad and you nodded. It was mid-summer and the Georgia heat and humidity was suffocating. They never had air conditioning at the Dixon house, but no A/C and no water was a big problem. “Come on,” you said, tilting your head in the direction of your house down the street. “You want to come hang at my house for a while?”

Daryl considered your bright and open expression and then nodded. “Thanks.”

You nodded. “Of course. C’mon. My momma is workin’ the night shift so she won’t be home until God-only-knows-when. Ya can stay as long as ya like,” you said. Daryl fell into stride beside you.

“Thanks,” he said again.

“Sure.” You nudged him with your shoulder playfully. “Ya want me to help you with the Algebra homework?”

He rolled his eyes at you. “No.”

“Oh, come on, Daryl. You’re way smarter than you think. If you’d just try—”

“Why? Ain’t like I’m gonna go off to some big fancy college like you,” he said, kicking a rock along. It skipped on the gravel and stopped in front of you.

“Ya could. If ya wanted to,” you said, hitting the rock again with the toe of your boot. It went skipping along the road in front of you again.

“How the hell would I pay for that?”

You gave him a sympathetic look. “There’s financial aid. Scholarships.”

He scoffed. “Ain’t no college givin’ me a scholarship the way my grades are.”

“That’s why I said try,” you replied gently.

“Nah. Ain’t happenin’.”

You always felt so sad when Daryl talked about his future as an inevitable dead end. You knew he wanted to get away from his drunk asshole of a father and you also knew that he had plenty of reasons why he couldn’t focus on his schoolwork. Hard to focus on class when you’re wondering when your next meal or beating is coming… But you saw so much brilliance in him that he refused to see in himself. You decided to drop the subject for now and simply glanced over at him. His blue eyes met yours and you gave him a small smile. “Ya hungry?” you asked, kicking the rock down the road again.

He avoided your eyes again but nodded. “Always. That even a question?” he drawled.

You turned onto the driveway of your house and soon climbed the steps, pulling open the front door and nudging your head toward the cool interior. “We’ve got chicken pot-pie in the fridge,” you said. “Ya can have the rest of it. I swear, it’s the only thing my mom has been buyin’ lately.”

A short time later, you were flopped down watching TV while Daryl sat on the floor, his back leaned up against the front of the couch. His empty dish was sitting on the coffee table and you jumped up and grabbed it as a commercial came on. “Ya want some more?”

He looked up at you and one corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “Nah. I think three helpings was enough,” he said, pushing his dirty hair out of his face. “Thanks…” he said, a little more bashfully.

You nodded. “Sure.” Daryl climbed to his feet and followed you into the kitchen. He watched you set his dishes in the sink and then fill up two glasses with ice water, putting one down in front of him. He felt your eyes on his face and glanced up to meet them. “You wanna clean up while you’re here?” you asked.

He shook his head and glanced back down at the glass in his hands. “Nah. S’alright.”

You prodded him gently. “Ya sure? It’s not a big deal. I can wash your clothes and you can shower. I was gonna do some laundry anyway. Probably have somethin’ you can wear til they’re dry. Promise it ain’t a sundress,” you joked. You glanced at the clock. “We’ve got some time to kill before tonight’s terrible monster movie comes on anyway,” you said brightly. That was your thing; watching old monster movies from the ‘50s and ‘60s. You weren’t even sure how it had started, but it was just what you did together.

Daryl chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. He hazarded a glance back up at you. He was always so grateful for how you saw him, looked at him. Your expression never suggested anything other than open acceptance and genuine care. Finally, he nudged his nose up at you. “Alright. You win,” he said, downing the rest of his ice water quickly. “Let’s go pick out my sundress,” he said, eliciting a laugh from you.

Daryl followed you upstairs and you grabbed a clean towel for him out of the linen closet. “Hang on a sec. I’m sure there’s something in Brody’s room you can wear.” Your older brother was away at college. You returned a moment later with some clean clothes and thrust them at him. “You know where the bathroom is. Since I will puke if I eat any more pot-pie again this week, I’m gonna make popcorn. Just put your dirty clothes outside the bathroom door and I’ll throw ‘em in the wash.” You turned to head back downstairs and Daryl found himself watching you go until you disappeared.

“Hey, don’t watch the movie without me!” he called after you.

“Well then hurry up!” you called back up. Daryl smiled.

_ _ _ _ _ _

A short while later, you and Daryl were side by side on the couch. His clothes were tumbling in the dryer and now that he was clean, he realized just how dirty he had felt before. You were both munching on some popcorn from a huge bowl sitting between the two of you on the couch. Daryl always teased you about how much you made at once.

“Christ, are ya eatin’ this for your next four meals?”

You would pull a face at him. “No. Just for dinner. And knock it off or you don’t get any.”

Your eyes were glued to the screen as you watched the damsel in distress on screen run from some deep woods swamp creature, your knees pulled onto the couch and bent underneath you to the side. “I don’t understand this—if somethin’ is chasin’ you why would you run in a straight line, completely visible!? At least take a turn every now and again! I mean, look at all that thick brush she could disappear into!”

Daryl let out a small laugh. “That’s what your problem is? There’s a 9 foot tall, muck-man chasin’ her and that’s what ya take issue with?” he drawled.

You turned and gave him a manufactured look of annoyance and chucked a handful of popcorn at him, eliciting a gruff laugh. “You know what I mean!” you said. You heard the washer stop spinning and went to change the laundry over into the dryer, chucking one more handful of popcorn at Daryl as you got up.

“Hey!” He brushed the popped kernels off his shirt. “Ya know I’m gonna retaliate eventually and it’s gonna be much worse!” he yelled after you.

You laughed as you started the dryer. “Oh, I’m real scared! What’re you gonna do, Dixon?” You appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with your arms crossed over your chest and not looking the least bit intimidated.

“I’ll think of somethin’,” he said. “C’mon. Movie’s back on.”

You rushed back to the couch and moved the popcorn bowl onto the coffee table, sinking down in the empty space now beside Daryl.

He couldn’t stop glancing over at you and he felt suddenly fidgety, chewing on his bottom lip and practically having to sit on his hands to keep them still. Luckily, you didn’t seem to noticed, and it wasn’t too much longer before you laid down on the throw pillow at the other end of the couch, curled up with your eyes still on the screen. And not much longer after that before Daryl noticed you were asleep. The first movie was over, and some old rerun of The Blob was no playing.

Daryl noticed goosebumps on your arms and wondered if you were cold from the A/C vent blowing overhead, just in your t-shirt and shorts. He grabbed a quilt from the chair nearby and tried to cover you up without waking you.

But you stirred as soon as you felt the fabric on your arm and sat partially up, blinking awake and meeting his blue eyes, which seemed care-free for once and brighter than expected in the dim light from the television screen. “Sorry,” he said softly. “Was tryin’ not to wake ya up.”

You sat up all the way, clutching the quilt over your lap and looked up at him. “Thanks. What time is it?” Daryl glanced over at the time on the VCR.

“S’late. I should go… Let ya get some sleep,” he said.

“Oh, your clothes,” you said, climbing to your feet. You went to the laundry room and grabbed his freshly cleaned clothes from the dryer. “Go ahead and get changed and just leave those in the bathroom.”

While Daryl was changing, you went to the kitchen and filled up a water bottle with ice and cold water from the tap. He came out, looking much more like himself now that he was out of your brother’s old shorts and t-shirt. “Here,” you said, pushing the water bottle toward him. “In case you get thirsty on the walk home,” you said giving him a small smile.

He gave you a long look and seemed like he was on the edge of saying something, but he couldn’t get the words out and simply nudged his nose up in a nod at you. You always thought of the littlest things to make his life less shitty and did them for him without hesitation. “Thanks,” he said, grabbing the bottle. “I’ll give it back to ya tomorrow.”

He started toward the front door and you followed to walk him out.

He turned on the entryway rug, his hand on the handle. “Hey, tell your mom ‘thanks for the food’ when you see her in the mornin’, okay?”

You nodded. “Sure thing. You walkin’ tomorrow?” You already knew the answer. He always made the half hour walk to school, and you did it together most days.

“Duh,” he said, one corner of his mouth flicking up. “Ya comin’?”

“Duh,” you returned with a wide smile. Daryl felt his heart jump.

“Alright. See ya then. Thanks. Night.” He pushed out onto the porch and you caught the screen door as he ran down the steps.

“G’night,” you called after him. He turned and waved one last time over his shoulder and then he was gone into the still darkness outside. The cicadas seemed to grow louder as you stood there, and it was a fitting soundtrack to the immediate rise in your anxiety after Daryl disappeared. They seemed to grow so loud they were almost defeaning. You always worried about him when he went home. There was no way to know whether his dad would be passed out drunk or waiting up angry. You knew sometimes Daryl would just wait outside in the dark until he could either sneak in through a window or until he was sure his father was asleep or too drunk to move. Your heart ached. You wished more than anything that you could just fix it. He deserved so much better… You were always amazed that his heart still was so good considering all the bullshit he had been through, losing his mother and their home, his brother running off, and all the shit he was still going through. Sure, he could be angry and moody at times, but who wasn’t at your age?

Finally you sighed and closed up the house, heading upstairs to try and catch some sleep before school the next day.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were finishing packing lunch when your mom came down, still in her scrubs from the hospital. “Morning, mom,” you said. She came over and gave you a hug and left a kiss in your hair. “How was the shift?” you asked, grabbing a banana off the counter.

“Oh, just the usual. Nothing exciting. Lots of old people.” She was a nurse and always worked the night shift. She yawned and grabbed a mug and put on the tea kettle. “I’m exhausted. Mr. Jones came in again needing to be back on oxygen. Pneumonia again.”

“Oh, no…” you said, glancing at her. “Did he throw things again this time?”

She let out a wry laugh. “Of course he did! Nearly took my head off with a damn bed pan.”

“Seriously?! I hope it was empty!” you exclaimed, and you both dissolved into laughter.

“Luckily, it was. Or I would not be in such a good mood this morning… What’d you get up to yesterday? How was school?”

“School was fine. Daryl came over for a while. We watched some terrible Swamp Thing movie of course,” you said.

Your mom laughed and opened the box of tea and grabbed a tea bag. “You two. I do not understand your obsession with those monster movies from my generation,” she said.

“I dunno. They’re funny. Anyway… I gotta go. Gonna meet Daryl to walk to school.” You kissed her cheek and grabbed your things. “Love you! Get some sleep!”

You rushed to the spot where you and Daryl usually met up to walk to school, but were surprised to see that he wasn’t there. He was always there waiting before you. You dropped your bookbag, checking inside to make sure you had grabbed your lunch and the second one you always packed for him… And then you waited. And you waited. And waited… But there was no sign of him. And now you were worried. Maybe he’d gone ahead for some reason? He had never done that before. But soon you knew that if you didn’t leave, you’d be late for class, so you hastily scribbled a quick note on a sheet of notebook paper and left it under a rock at your meeting spot before heading to school.

You looked for him as you made your way through the halls to your locker, but you didn’t see his familiar silhouette anywhere. And he wasn’t in any of the classes you usually had together. At lunch you couldn’t focus on any of your friends’ conversations because you were so busy worrying about where the hell he was…

Over the course of the day, you felt sicker and sicker. You made sure to grab materials for him in all the classes you had together so he could get caught up on what he missed, and by the time the final bell rang you were determined to see him and make sure he was okay. You hastily waved goodbye to your friends and started the walk home, but instead of going straight there, you paused at the meeting spot where you usually met Daryl and saw that the note you had left that morning was still sitting underneath the rock. You collected it and shoved it hastily into your pocket. You stared up the dirt road that led into the woods and to the Dixon house. You took a deep breath in and tried to hold onto your courage as you turned up the path.

It was strange how the trees seemed to insulate from sounds of the outside, but amplify everything taking place inside the woods. You startled when a crow let out a raspy caw and took off nearby, the beating of its wings so loud in your ears that you could hear the hurried rush of the air through its feathers. Your heart was hammering in your chest as you came at last to the muddy driveway that led up to the dilapidated little trailer house. The ‘No Trespassing’ sign burned red in your peripheral vision as you carefully picked your way between the puddles and deep mud, trying not to sink your shoes into it up to your ankles.

You gulped and hesitated at the front step, but you forced in a breath and knocked.

Your heart was racing and you could feel your pulse in your fingers and toes as heavy bootsteps and cursing sounded from inside the house. The inside door was yanked open and an imposing man stood there, separated from you only by the thin screen door.

He glared at you, his lips almost curling into a sneer immediately. “Didn’t you see the goddamn sign?! Get the hell outta here! I don’t want whatever the fuck you’re selling!” he growled. He was tall and lean, but looked powerful and you gulped, suddenly thinking that maybe this wasn’t a great plan…

“I’m—” you had to clear your throat. Your voice came out quiet and somewhat strangled the first time. “I’m not selling anything, sir. I’m—I’m a friend of your son. Is he here?”

Mr. Dixon let out a scoff and never quit staring at you like he could snap at any second and come rushing through that screen door. “My boy ain’t got no friends. He’s too damn worthless. You got the wrong house,” he said, turning to slam the door already.

You weren’t sure where you got the courage from but you quickly shouted to stop him. “I don’t have the wrong house, Mr. Dixon! I’m—I’m a friend of Daryl’s. Please. Is he here? I just have some, um, school work for him…”

He stared at you again for a long moment, his eyes narrowing. They were sharp. “He ain’t here.” You were sweating with nerves under his gaze. “You goddamn women are only good for one thing, and I know he ain’t man enough to be getting any tail, so I don’t care why you say you’re here, but it ain’t no good reason. Now get the fuck off my property!”

You felt your face burn, some combination of anger, humiliation, and shock at being talked to that way by a grown man. You decided to try one last time. “Are you sure he’s not—”

Daryl’s father kicked the screen door hard and it flew open violently. You jumped back and let out a small scream of surprise and fear. He stepped out onto the stairs, his hands clenched into fists, and you could see that he was wavering a little on his feet, drunk, but also shaking with rage. “I got a goddamn shotgun sitting right inside here and I won’t be waitin’ much longer to use it unless you get the hell outta here right now!”

You quickly turned tail and ran, not caring at all that you were sloshing through muddy puddles up to your shins on your way back onto the dirt road and away from the house. You ran all the way back to the spot where you and Daryl usually met up before collapsing onto the grass. You shut your eyes and pressed your hands over your face for a moment. “Shit… shit.” It suddenly occurred to you that maybe going there had been entirely the wrong move. What if going to his house and asking about him got him in trouble? What if you had just endangered him more than he already had been? You felt tears burning in your eyes and blinked them away, popping back up onto your feet, which were squishing in your mud-soaked socks and shoes, and you trudged the rest of the way home.

It had felt like the longest evening of your life. You’d drifted around your house, hoping Daryl would come bounding up the porch steps at any moment, ready with some sarcastic comment or that quick twitch of a smile. But he didn’t. You knew your mom usually took a break around 8 pm, and you called the hospital, needing to hear her voice.

“Hi, honey. Is everything okay?”

You anxiously bounced your knee, feeling like you were about to cry again.

“…honey? Are you okay?” Now there was worry in your mom’s voice too.

“I’m—I’m okay. It’s just—Daryl wasn’t at school today… We had planned to walk together and he never showed up, and then—he wasn’t in any of our classes…” you trailed off. Your mom knew Daryl’s home life was bad, but you’d never told her how bad. Daryl had made it clear plenty of times that he didn’t want you telling anyone—not your mom, not the school counselors, not his teachers, not the cops, no one.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. You twirled the phone cord anxiously around your finger, winding and unwinding. “Well, maybe he was just sick today,” your mom offered.

“Mom, Daryl doesn’t get sick.” You chewed your bottom lip. “When Daryl gets ‘sick’ it’s because—because stuff at home has gone really wrong.”

Her silence on the other end of the line was heavy until she finally sighed. “I wondered. I mean, I’m a nurse for Pete’s sake. It’s not like I didn’t see the signs. Oh, honey… and how could anyone ever lay a hand on that boy? He’s got a heart of gold.” Her voice was low and sad.

“I know… What—what do we do?”

“I suppose, unfortunately, we just have to wait and see if he’s back tomorrow. It’s only one day… If he’s not at school tomorrow, you tell me and I will deal with it,” she said. “Try not to worry yourself too much, hun. I’m sure he’s fine.” But her tone was half-hearted and you were unconvinced. Your stomach twisted as you thought about more endless hours of waiting ahead. “I gotta get back to work, sugar. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Mom. I’m fine. I’ll see you in the morning. Have a good night at work.”

“Love you,” she cooed.

“Love you too,” you said. You hung up and your house had never felt emptier.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were lying in bed staring up at the ceiling, knowing sleep wasn’t going to come, when you thought you heard something on your window. Your first thought was that a cicada or other insect had flown into the window. It was a small plink sound against the glass. But when it happened again, you shot upright in bed. And then it came again. You rushed over to the light switch and flipped it on and then went to the window and pulled back the curtains.

You could barely see a familiar silhouette by the dim glow of the porch light. You hastily pushed the window open. “Daryl?”

“Hey.”

“Just—just hang on! I’ll come let you in!” You raced downstairs and clicked on the hall light, unlocking and throwing the front door wide open. He was standing on the steps and you could see that one of his eyes was almost swollen shut and was surrounded by angry bruising. “Oh my God.” You felt all the air leave your lungs in a rush. “Daryl…” you stepped back to let him in.

He strode in past you, ducking his head a bit. “Yeah. He’s usually pretty careful about hiding ‘em. Guess his hand slipped on that one…”

You closed the front door and locked it again, turning to take him in. Daryl watched your eyebrows knit together and form a deep worry line in your forehead. The next second you had thrown your arms around him in a hug, squeezing your eyes shut tightly. “I was so worried about you!”

You heard him let out a strained exhale, a wince really, even as his hands landed on your back and he hugged you back. You pulled back suddenly and Daryl’s hands slipped onto the bare skin of your upper arms. “You’re hurt worse?” you asked him, looking up into his bruised face.

His hands dropped from you and you both lamented the break in contact. Daryl ducked his head again. “M’fine. What the hell were you thinkin’ comin’ to my damn house? Are ya crazy?” But you could see that he was almost smiling as he said it.

“I was thinking that I needed to know you were okay,” you said, turning and leading the way into the kitchen, flicking the light on as you went. “You heard that?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, nodding. “I was—I couldn’t get to ya.”

You nodded, your expression sad and overwhelmed with worry. “Your dad is…”

“A bastard,” he said, sinking down onto one of the chairs at the table. “Ya. I know. M’sorry ya had to go through that.”

You looked at him with consternation. “Are you kidding? You’re apologizing to me? Daryl…” You went to the freezer and grabbed out a bag of frozen vegetables and wrapped it in a clean dish towel. “Here. Put this on your face,” you said.

Daryl mumbled a thank you and pressed the makeshift cold pack over his eye. He was wearing a black t-shirt and as you stood beside him you noticed some dark spots on the material. You gulped. “Daryl…”

“Hmm?” he glanced over at you and saw that your eyes were fixed on his back. His stomach twisted. “S’nothin’,” he said.

You gave him a skeptical and deeply concerned glance. “Let me see,” you said gently.

He dropped the ice pack from his eye again and hesitated for a moment, nervously licking his lips and bouncing his knee. He trusted you, more than anyone, but this was still hard… Finally, he set down the ice pack and grabbed the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it off over his head, wincing as he moved.

When the light cotton was pulled clear, you saw that his entire torso, his ribs, his sides, his back, all a cruel dark purple with shades of black and blue. Across his back were raised lashes, some open and bleeding, the reason for the dark spots you had seen on his t-shirt. He sat there with his eyes turned down and his shoulders slumped forward.

You couldn’t help it. The tears just started streaming out as you looked at what had been done to him.

“Hey,” he said, turning toward you a little, hearing your hitched breathing. His blue eyes landed on your face, took in your desperate expression. “S’alright,” he drawled softly.

Those words only made the tears pour out faster. “I should be saying that to you—” you managed. “But I don’t even know if that’s true. Daryl, you can’t keep livin’ there with him. He could kill you one of these times.”

He gulped. He knew you were right. Of course he did… “Where the hell am I supposed to go? Run off and find Merle? Go into the system? Because you and I both know neither of those are gonna work.”

You hastily wiped the tears from your cheeks. “Here. You can come here. I can talk to my mom—”

“Nah. Nah, ya’ve already done enough for me. Ya do enough. Christ, Y/N, ya pack me a damn lunch every day. I eat dinner here more nights than not.”

“It’d be fine! My mom loves you! And—and so do I,” you said quietly. You felt nervous flutters in your stomach. You’d never told him that before, but it was true.

Daryl’s eyes snapped up to your face again and he gulped.

“You’d be safe here. And taken care of the way ya deserve to be,” you said.

Part of him wanted that more than anything. He wanted to agree and escape from the shit life he was living in that shit house with his shit father. But the idea of being a burden, and he truly believed that’s all he would be, the sense that he wasn’t worth it was so engrained in him that he rebelled against that other part of him that wanted to reach out for help, for escape. He avoided your glassy eyes again and shook his head. “I can’t,” he said, with no small amount of effort.

You felt like your heart was breaking. “Why not?”

He wouldn’t look at you. You just wanted him to look up at you. You wanted to see his blue eyes and convince him. But he wouldn’t. “I just can’t…”

“Daryl—”

“No! It—it ain’t your job to save me, alright? And I ain’t—I ain’t your burden! Just leave it alone.”

“You’re not a burden.” You tried to swallow the tightness in your throat but it didn’t work. You sniffled and wiped the tears from your cheeks again. You’d pushed him enough. You let it drop. “Is he gonna know you’re gone?”

Daryl replaced the ice pack on his swollen and bruised eye. “Nah. He’s on his next bender now. He’ll be so drunk he can’t see straight for at least the next few days.”

You nodded. “Okay. Let’s get you patched up and somethin’ to eat,” you said quietly. You filled a glass with ice water and grabbed the lunch you had packed for him that day from the fridge, setting them down in front of him at the table. You grabbed his bloodstained t-shirt and murmured a soft “I’ll be right back.”

After throwing in some more laundry, his shirt with it, you climbed the stairs and retrieved the First Aid kit from under the sink in your bathroom. You paused for a moment, leaning heavily on your hands, gripping the edge of the basin so hard your knuckles were white. You glanced up at your pale and somewhat wide-eyed expression and wiped a few more stray tears away, steeling yourself. You needed to just be strong for him. You knew he was trying his hardest to hold himself together and you going to pieces wouldn’t help anything. You’d spoken your piece and there was nothing else to do at that moment besides care for him.

You came down with a pile of supplies and dumped them on the kitchen table next to him.

Daryl seemed frozen, still as stone, holding the ice pack to his eye and occasionally drinking for the glass of water you’d given him. You grabbed a washcloth and wet it with some alcohol. Daryl twitched a little as your fingers landed lightly on his bare shoulder.

You withdrew for a moment after he startled. “Sorry,” you said, replacing your hand gently. “This is gonna sting,” you said.

“Can’t be worse than it is now,” he said quietly.

You could tell his wounds hadn’t been tended to at all and it took you some time to carefully clean the dried blood from them, dabbing gently at the raw skin and cuts. You worked in silence and Daryl nervously bounced his leg and spun the water glass on the ring of condensation it had shed onto the table.

After you were satisfied that they were clean, you grabbed some ointment and spread it over the entire length of each as gently as you could. Your stomach twisted as you stepped back and took in the whole view of his wounds and bruises. “Alright. Done.”

“Thanks,” he murmured.

“Here. Take some of these,” you said, putting a bottle of Advil in front of him. “I’m sure you’re in a lot of pain.”

You moved around in front of him and sank down on a chair, sighing. Your brow was still knit and Daryl read the worry still on your face. “M’alright,” he said.

You shook your head. “No. You’re not.” You paused and grabbed the makeshift ice pack, replacing it in the freezer before nudging your head toward the staircase in the hall. “C’mon. You’re stayin’ here with me tonight.”

Daryl’s brow quirked down and he briefly chewed his bottom lip. “…Why?”

“Because it’s safe. And I just can’t let you go back there. And you need real sleep and we both know that you won’t get that if you’re under the same roof as him.”

Daryl considered your determined expression and finally nodded. “Alright.” He stood up, wrapping an arm around his ribs as they ached when he moved, and followed you up the stairs. You flicked the lights off as you went.

The door to your bedroom was standing open and Daryl hesitated at the threshold as you pulled the blankets back on your bed. You tossed an extra pillow down next the one already at the head of the bed.

Daryl gulped, nerves at the thought of staying with you so close all night suddenly overwhelming the aches and pains running through him. “I’ll take the floor,” he drawled.

You shot him a quizzical look. “You’re not taking the floor,” you said. “You’re covered in bruises. Come on. You take the other side. Just shut the door behind you.”

After shifting his weight a bit nervously for a moment, he finally crossed the threshold and shut the door softly behind him. You settled down in bed, heaving a sigh as your head hit the pillow. Daryl gingerly laid down on the other side, facing in toward you. His eyes met yours as he settled in, wincing a little as he moved his arm up under the pillow. You were close together, your faces merely six inches apart and Daryl could see your eyes flitting over his face.

“Ya sure this is alright?” he drawled quietly. “Yer mom…”

You shrugged. “She won’t even know. It’s okay.”

Daryl licked his lips absently and nodded.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Daryl looked puzzled.

“It’s not fair,” you went on. “That someone as good as you has this happening to them.”

Daryl gulped nervously again, your words kindling a rush of heat in his chest which seemed to spill into his face. “Ain’t yer fault.”

You nodded, looking a bit sad, but beautiful in the warm glow of the single lamp on your nightstand. You turned and clicked it off, and maybe it was the darkness that gave you the courage to, but you reached over and found Daryl’s hand with yours in the dark and slipped yours beneath it, pressing your palm to his.

Daryl felt his stomach flip with surprise but he thrilled at the grounding touch from you. For once stopping himself from overthinking it, he laced his fingers with yours, and soon both of you were asleep.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Some years later

“Don’t fucking move.”

Daryl froze, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his teeth.

“Put your hands up where I can see them. Away from the bow.” The voice belonged to a woman and despite the tense and potentially dangerous situation he now found himself in, Daryl felt his stomach flip, seemingly responding to the voice peculiarly.

“Stand up.” Daryl obeyed and stood up slowly, in disbelief that he hadn’t heard whoever the hell this was approaching in the almost silent woods. That left him feeling particularly curious and a little uneasy. He didn’t like that anyone was able to sneak up on him… “Now turn around. Slowly.”

Again, Daryl complied, his hands still up, turning slowly to face toward the woman holding him at gunpoint.

But neither him nor you expected the person in front of you and you felt a tug somewhere behind your navel and the muzzle of your gun dropped involuntarily just as your mouth fell partially open. You felt like the air was ripped out of your lungs as you took in the familiar face in front of you. “What the hell?” The words fell from your lips without you even knowing it. But you would recognize those blue eyes anywhere. You lowered your gun the rest of the way. “D—Daryl?”

He finally dropped his hands his eyes narrowed and intense. “Are ya gonna shoot me?” he drawled. His voice was deep and gruff and you felt goosebumps rising on your skin. One corner of his mouth flicked up in the same way it always had back when you were kids.

You gulped, your hands still on your pistol. “Do I need to?”

He let out a gruff laugh. “Nah. I dun think so.”

You holstered your gun, still paralyzed, your boots seemingly rooted into the soil.

Daryl was the first one to move. He rushed over to you and hugged you almost desperately, but you were still in such a state of shock that by the time you moved to return it he was already breaking away. Your eyes were searching as you looked at him and he just peered back at you with that classic Daryl Dixon stare.

“S’real fuckin’ good to see you, Y/N,” he said. He bent and picked up his crossbow, swinging it over himself and onto his back in a fluid and well-practiced movement. He tilted his head at you. “Why the hell did ya stick me up, hmm?” he asked.

You snapped yourself out of your reverie, actually shaking your head slightly. “Uhh—My camp is near here. I don’t like strangers,” you said absently, still unable to trust your eyes that this man standing in front of you was the boy from your past. “Daryl—” You weren’t even sure where to start but you suddenly felt a swell of anger. “Daryl, what the fuck?” you demanded.

He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably.

“I—I thought—you just—you left! You were just gone!” Before you knew it there were tears spilling out onto your cheeks and your anger was rising. “What the fuck!?” you yelled at him. You rushed toward him and pushed him hard in the chest. He simply took it and staggered backwards. “Why did you do that?! You didn’t even say goodbye to me! You didn’t tell me you were leaving, you didn’t tell me anything! You just—you were just gone! Do you know what I thought? Do you have any idea?!” You shoved him again and still he just took it and stepped back to regain his balance. “I thought maybe you were dead!” The tears were pouring out more quickly onto your cheeks and you reached out to shove him back again, but this time he gently caught your arm and held it. His eyes were soft and you crumbled underneath them. “I thought maybe you were dead. I thought your dad—” you gasped in a heaving breath.

“M’sorry,” he said. You stared at him, fighting emotion. “M’sorry,” he said again. He gently tugged you closer to him and you allowed it. “M’so sorry.”

You fell into him and felt his arms wrap around you as you squeezed your eyes shut. “M’sorry, Y/N,” he whispered to you. His hands flattened out on your back and smoothed over it and he held you until were able to stop yourself from crying. You straightened up, hastily wiping the tear streaks off your cheeks.

You laughed a little wryly at yourself. “This is so stupid. I’m—I’m crying over something that happened over a decade ago,” you murmured.

“S’cuz it still feels like it just happened yesterday. Ain’t stupid,” he said.

You took him in for a moment and then nodded. “Yeah. It does.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

You brought Daryl back to your camp and you both did you best to catch the other up one what life had been like since those hazy summer high school days. Most of it didn’t seem to matter anymore now that the world was what it was—all nightmarish and broken. But there was one question you had to ask him as you sat by the campfire that night.

“If you could do it over,” you hesitated, “would you do the same thing?”

“Hmm?” he hummed, a questioning noise.

“Would you just leave, like you did? Or would you do it differently?”

Daryl considered you quietly for a long moment. He had always thought you were beautiful and that hadn’t changed. He had always known you were kind and smart and caring and funny… and that hadn’t changed either, despite the hell around you now. And he still felt like there was a string, a golden thread that led from his heart to yours, tying the two of you together, and that still felt connected. It had never been cut. Not after all the time and all the distance. “I ask myself that just about every day. Think about ya every day,” he said, feeling a bit bashful under the gaze of your brilliant eyes. He turned back to stare at the crackling fire in front of you both. “I dunno if it woulda turned out any better or worse, or even any different but—I do regret not havin’ ya around all this time. Maybe my biggest regret in life.” He glanced up at you again and marveled at your thoughtful, open, and slightly sad expression.

You nodded subtly. “Mine too.”

“The reason I didn’t come tell ya I was leavin’—” he hesitated, biting his bottom lip anxiously. “Is because I knew ya’d try to stop me. I knew ya’d ask me to stay… and if—if ya asked me that, there would be no way I could go.”

You gave him a sad smile and had to blink away the glistening moisture in your eyes again. You cleared your throat and nodded. “I’m still mad at you,” you joked softly.

He let out a small laugh. “Thas fair…” Daryl rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “So, yer really alone out here?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Well, I’ve got a group. Good people. Family. If ya wanted to, ya can come back with me. Yer—yer family too. I promise they’re all good people,” he drawled. He watched you carefully, anxiously trying to read your reaction.

You nodded slowly. “I trust you,” you said.

He cleared his throat, feeling a swell of happiness at your response. “I won’t leave ya again,” he said.

You quirked an eyebrow up at him. “Ya better not.”

[greyeyedmonster-18]

do you have any cut scenes with the word “cusp”? could be from any piece!!

friend, this is so deliciously specific. but also, i've looked in all my documents and have never used that word ever. which is baffling because it's a fantastic little word! I even looked at my official docs where the full fics are and...never been used.

some writer i am huh? anywho....I contrived a dribble using the word. from the ten reasons universe; featuring a flashback with bright-eyed and eager remus and his meeting with the publishing house.

Khaki pants weren't fashionable. Remus knew this. Everyone on the planet knew this but at the moment, they were the best pair of pants that Remus owned. His nicer jeans and corduroy all smelled like coffee or had stains on the front from when Remus ate lunch and used his thighs as a cloth napkin.

It was a bad habit.

Benjy laughed at him for it.

His mother scolded it for him every time he went home and she would see his hands wipe across the front of his pants while eating popcorn in front of the television or worse at a nicer dinner.

But he still did it, and as a result, was wearing khaki pants that were the slightest bit too short (had he grown?) to the most important meeting of his life.

His sweater was nice though. He had stolen one of Benji's and was wishing he hadn't because the arms were too short and he had to roll up the sleeves and kept fidgeting with them as he sat in the lobby of the publishing house.

He had brought a briefcase. With a spare copy of his book inside, just in case.

He had bought a planner.

Because for the first time in his life, Remus thought he might have something worth writing down and planning. He might be one of those people, finally, after years of scraping his nose along the pavement and rummaging through gravel, leaving his nails broken and bloody, that could finally make plans. Things to look forward to. Instead of just...a revolving door of disappointments.

"Mr. Lupin, I assume?" A tall woman in bright red trousers and braids down her back walked into the room with a warm smile. Remus tripped over his feet standing up from the couch he was waiting on. "Dorcas Meadowes, we spoke on the phone?"

"Yes, hi, hello. I'm so excited to be here if that wasn't obvious. And nervous, my hands are sweaty, so are my armpits, and I think there's an ass sweat stain on the chair--swass?" he asked her, "Is that the correct word? I think so, or I made it up but anyway, there's a..." Remus stopped, watching as Dorcas's smile grew, "I'm...sorry. Hello, a pleasure to meet you."

"We're excited for you to be here as well," she said laughing, "Don't worry about the stain or the book copy. We have one. Come into my office, we can talk."

"Hopefully you more than me...or it'll probably be about ass sweat."

"You know," she said, laughter still in her voice as Remus followed her down a hallway where other doors were, her black stilettos clipping on hardwood, "Had I not read your book...I might find this inappropriate, but...something tells me, I could easily read 500 pages of..what did you call it?"

"...Swass."

"Yeah."

"Hope I don't disappoint."

Remus walked through the door to an office, another woman already sitting in there. One step through the threshold, on the cusp of being someone. Someone who...didn't know who he was exactly, or what was to come...but someone who deserved to find out.

[jamespotterthefirst]

How do you think lilac is with bryce and sienna's kids?? We always read fics where we see how bryce and sienna are with mc and ethan's kids so what is ur hc on lilac with their kids is she their godmother?

She is definitely godmother to Sienna’s kid (and she is also their aunt because I HC sienna x mc’s brother oops). But... Your ask inspired me to write a piece with Ethan and these kids so here we go...

Babysitter

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x f!MC  (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 950 Warning: Language Summary: Ethan has to babysit 5 children who demand pancakes. 

Pale beams of sunshine pour through the window, catching in her hair and bringing out the subtle gold tones in the rich brown. Lilac laughs when he takes her hand and spins her to him, easily pressing her against his chest. 

“Don't go,” he commands softly, pressing a sizzling kiss to her throat. 

“I can’t skip it. It’s an important meeting,” she protests, the hitch in her breath indicating Ethan’s ministrations could possibly convince her.

“It’s a board meeting. We already know it will be a monumental waste of time.” His voice is pure gravel against her ear, his hands finding refuge under the silk of her blouse.

With a mournful little sigh, his wife gently pushes away, kissing him chastely on the cheek. “I’ll be back before you know it.” 

She pauses, astute green eyes surveying his face for a moment. “Are you nervous? Because if you are, you shouldn't be. You’ll be okay with the kids.”

“I know,” he returns, almost too quickly. 

Lilac looks unconvinced. 

“They’re just kids,” Ethan rationalizes, more to himself than to her. “Not much worse than dealing with interns, right?” 

Memories of the previous night's slumber party play out in his mind and all Ethan remembers is a cacophony of shrieks, errant popcorn flying everywhere, and the passionate argument that ensued when none of the five children in their care could agree on a movie. 

His wife reads his mind. “Last night was loud because they had ice cream after dinner and some candy during the movie. Just don't feed them that for breakfast and you'll be okay.” Another loving kiss to his cheek. “And if you can't tell them apart again, just remember that Bryce's twins are the ones who will most likely break something. Sienna's son will probably try to clean it up. And Jonah or Lolly will unhelpfully announce what's going on. Though I really hope you can at least tell them apart as they are yours.”

Ethan rolls his eyes, certain he can keep track of every child. 

As it turns out, his wife is right. Not even two hours after her departure, the children are wide awake and the first casualty comes in the form of a ceramic vase Lilac's sister had gifted them. It explodes against the floor, and Lilac's prediction comes true all at once, like a prophecy from the oracle at Delphi. 

“Malia broke aunt Laurel's gift to mommy,” Jonah announces loudly. 

“It was Alani,” his daughter amends sagely. 

A frantic little boy rushes into the mess of ceramic, ready to clean it up. 

“Don't touch it, Daniel,” Ethan warns loudly, causing the child to freeze, terrified. “You're not in trouble. It's just very dangerous to touch the broken pieces. You can cut yourself.”

After safely disposing of the mess, Ethan miraculously herds them into the kitchen for breakfast. There's a long, almost ominous silence as they decide what to eat. 

“I want pancakes,” Malia declares. 

The proclamation is followed by cheerful agreement from the other children. 

Fuck. 

Out of all the foods they could've picked, they had to pick the one that always ends in a burnt, inedible heap in the Ramsey household. 

“How about waffles?” Ethan offers instead. “They're basically the same thing, except better.”

And we have a machine that can cook them.

Alani Lahela scrunches her nose in disgust, as though Ethan's statement is the most outrageous thing she's ever heard. 

“Can we have chocolate chip pancakes instead, Dr. Uncle?” Danny adds timidly. “Please and thank—” 

“Yeah, chocolate chip pancakes!” Alani interrupts enthusiastically. 

And then the chanting begins. 

“Pancakes, pancakes, pancakes!” 

Ethan is convinced he's had this exact nightmare before. Even his traitorous son and daughter join in. 

“You two know your mother is the only one who makes those,” Ethan reminds his own children. “Mine never end up the same.”

“We can look it up online,” Jonah offers helpfully. “There has to be a YouTube video or something.”

“Yeah,” Lolly adds. “And if you burn them again, we can give them to Jenner.”

In the end, they adopt Jonah's plan of using the internet. 

“You're supposed to flip them when the bubbles pop,” Jonah says half an hour later, parroting what the video said only seconds ago. 

The rest of the children watch in wonder as bubbles begin to appear on the shapeless pancakes. 

“That one's ready!” Alani excitedly points out. 

“Good eye, Lahela,” Ethan commends, relieved when the pancake appears unburned. 

“Why do the bubbles form?” Danny wonders out loud. 

“Because science,” Malia explains simply. 

Ethan chuckles. “You're partly right. When you cook pancakes, the batter undergoes a chemical change. As such, the formation of bubbles is caused by the release of gas.”

As expected, the children erupt into a fit of giggles at the word. 

Even Ethan grins. “Not the kind of gas you're thinking. We added baking powder to the batter, which is a chemical leavening agent that  makes them fluffy. When it's activated, it releases carbon dioxide, the gas. It's what makes the bubbles you see.”

They all stare at him in amazement, even if it's evident they didn't quite understand everything he explained. 

“Cool!” Jonah exclaims. 

“You remembered the baking powder this time,” Lilac laughs from the doorway. When Ethan looks over his shoulder, she is watching the scene fondly. 

“Mommy!” Lolly cries happily, running into her mother's arms. 

When all five children are occupied washing their hands, Lilac wraps her arms around his waist as he cooks, pressing a kiss on his shoulder blade. She inspects his work over his shoulder, sounding impressed. 

“Not bad, Ramsey.”

“My life depended on these turning out right.”

She laughs, the sound warm and comforting. Her sultry, dazzling voice is at his ear in moments. “And that mini science lesson was the hottest thing I've ever seen.”

Ethan turns, arching an intrigued brow at her. “Is that so?” 

“Mhmm.”

Ethan is unable to resist her charm much longer, kissing her fully. 

A chorus of exaggerated disgust interrupts them as the children catch sight of the affectionate display.

__________

Author’s Note: Thank you to everyone for the lovely name suggestions for these kids. Lilac and Ethan’s kids are Jonah and Dolores “Lolly”. Sienna’s is Daniel, and Bryce has twin girls Malia and Alani Lahela :)

*Tagging Separately*

[thebadchoicemachine]

Yall want some MYCT Magnus Archive Headcanons I may or may not draw? (Pt 1?)

I will try to include individual trigger warnings at the beginning of each explanation as much as I can think of. They may seem a little overboard but better safe than sorry. Remember, TMA is a horror podcast. 

(ALSO, EVERYTHING HERE IS /RP. EVEN WHEN I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT A ROLEPLAY VIDEO PLEASE KNOW I’M MAKING UP A CHARACTER BASED OFF THEIR CHANNEL AND AM NOT ACTUALLY ACCUSING THEM OF BEING A SERVANT TO A MALEVOLENT FEAR ENTITY.)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Philza 

1. An End Avatar (TW, Numb/Apathetic Mindset)

He’s a reaper. An immortal. You only live once but life’s become, not meaningless, more like desaturated. He doesn’t care in a cheery “oh well” way. He’s pretty chill about it. He’s extremely chill about it. He is disturbingly chill about it. At first it seems great, he’s just a nice chill guy! No evil schemes or vicious plots. Just spending time with him seems to calm your nerves. And then you spend more time and you begin to understand why, things aren’t as important as you make them seem. You catastrophize a lot. Then a catastrophe happens and you’re not... upset. Why... why would you be? It doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t. It won’t in a hundred years and it doesn’t now. would end the same anyways. And then he starts to be less and less relatable. Why is he so happy? Why does he bother to go meet people and smile and eat or laugh or frown. You can’t belive you ever complained that he was so mild about everything, any amount is more than is worth. Why bother? Why... bother...

2. A Vast Avatar (TW, Heights?)

He just fucking tosses people into the sky instead of being upset with them. Do anything he doesn’t like? SWOOSH. It’s to the point it’s not even a malicious thing, it’s just routine. He gets up, goes to the store, picks up some groceries, sends a person who cut in line to a void of dusk with swirling black clouds where you fall so long you can’t tell if you’re flying up or down or left or right, maybe gets some mints, goes home, puts groceries away, does the dishes, etc. 

(the rest of the cast below the cut)

Tubbo

1. A Corruption Avatar (TW, Body Horror Surrounding Lungs, Swarming Insects, Implied Murder.) 

He has bees in his lungs and he loves them very much. If he ever gets something stuck in his throat or has water go down the wrong pipe he will FEAK OUT. He often has to cough up honey (and sometimes bees). It’s... a process. He just sits over a bucket or jar and hacks his little heart out. He sometimes saves the honey and offers it to people. Amazingly, his friends never take him up on the offer. Unsuspecting people who don’t know the.. supernatural origin of the honey find they have some... unpleasant side effects. (Bees. The side effect is bees. Specifically ones trying to fly down their throat.) Oh well, being a part of a hive isn’t for everyone. The really unfortunate ones make good fertilizer for his flowers, though! His lungs are literally a hive. If you tried to listen to his heartbeat you’d hear buzzing. He will sometimes hold flowers over his open mouth to let the bees get some easy pollon. He doesn’t usually actively seek out “prey” but when he is trying to feed on that good old fear he’ll act super sweet, too sweet, and then open his mouth and let the bees fly out. It’s very creepy but to him it’s just funny. (Also, all of the bees have names and he has a funeral for every single one that get’s killed.)

Quackity

1. A Spiral Avatar

I- I mean have you seen a single one of his videos?

2. A Stranger Avatar (TW, Unreality Depersonalization )

He mocks people as their own reflection, hopping from pond to mirror to camera to scream at them (sometimes literally) that they do not know who they are. It starts off subtle (Wasn’t your hair a bit longer? Weren’t your eyes a shade lighter? Did you always have that birthmark?”) but grows and changes until it gets to the point you stand in front of a mirror and every time you blink you look completely different. You feel your face, you look at your hands, but it’s no help. They change too fast. Your pictures change too, every single post on all your social media looks like different people posted it- wait... did you always have this platform? You don’t remember ever using it before. You have so many posts... none of them match up. You throw your phone away, noticing you never had the case on it. You turn to real photos for help but they are none. Of course not. You feel like just giving up as you shuffle through photo after photo, you don’t know what you really look like, so what? But then something catches your eye. A photo of you in the 5th grade concert. You don’t remember going to that school. You’ve never played an instrument, have you? Something screams yes and no at the same time. You throw the box down and grab your phone. You need to call someone. You pace throughout a house you recognize less and less searching for clues, reminders, as the phone rings. Your best friend answers. You throw the phone down again. You don’t have a best friend. You’ve never really been one for friends. No, that’s not true, you had a few really good ones but you’ve grown apart. No, that’s not true, you only have one real friend, your boyfriend. No, you don’t have a boyfriend, just a close friend. No, you have many friends just none that are close enough for this bullshit. You stop. No. No you don’t like swearing, do you? Do you? Who are you? Who are you? Your reflection laughs. It’s eating popcorn and making you do a stupid dance. What a bitch.

3. A Flesh Avatar (TW, Body Horror Surrounding Faces and Skin)

You’re a piece of meat, he’s a piece of meat, everyone’s meat. Like Chicken Nuggets.He’ll steal your face right off it’s skull and dance with one in each hand. He’ll put words in your mouth like you’re a puppet with bones. He’ll make you say the dumbest shit because it’s funny. Even when it’s obviously not YOU talking. 

Technoblade 

1.  A Hunt Avatar (TW, Stalking/Genocide) 

Many people have suggested a slaughter avatar but I don’t see it. Yeah, he kills (blood for the blood god and all that) but I don’t see it. The Slaughter is about the moment. The unplanned snap. The sudden outbursts. I don’t see that in techno. You know what I DO see that also involves quite a bit of bloodlust? The chase. The planning, the target, the unstoppable dread and panic that overtakes his victims once they realize who is after them. The power. Calculated genocide of victim after victim. The HUNT. My two pain points of evidence: His potato war videos, that time he took over the world, and his stalking speech to Quackity. Go watch an animatic of Technoblade chasing down Quackity and tell me he is not a Hunt Avatar. 

Wilbur

1. A Desolation Avatar (TW, Abuse/Torture)

Everything he touches burns and hurts. Sometimes it’s on purpose, sometimes on accident, but either way he’s caught up in enjoying the drama. I’m gonna be honest, my main inspiration was the Villainbur aesthetic but the more I thought about it the more it made sense. Look at nearly any of his 100 player videos; designed to create maximum pain for hs enjoyment. Even the Dream SMP where he was mostly a good guy and more tragic than anything else fits. Maybe that Villain Arc was his first dabble as an avatar of destruction and pain. Even making his own father kill him could have been along the lines of “how can I milk as much despair out of this as possible.”

TommyInnit

1. A Slaughter Avatar (TW, Straight Up Murder)

Now HERE is a character right up that slaughter’s alley. No thoughts, not plans, just unbridled passion and rage and violence. He just stabs people whenever he feels like it (which is often) sometimes just with sticks. Like a rabid raccoon just jumps straight at people’s faces out of nowhere, always starting shit and stoking fires to make people angry at each other. 

2. A Buried Avatar (TW, small tight spaces)

Tunnels and caves and sticks and spots. He’ll burry you under a mountain, he’ll lock you in a tree. Dirt man. His usual MO is trapping people under an avalanche of stones and rocks and rubble. Basically just lava casting your bones. Everything he makes is ugly but not just in a ”that’s literally a pile of rocks in the middle of the road” way in a bit of an indescribable “looking at that makes me feel like I’m breathing in straight gravel.” 

Bonus: Ranboo as a Dark Avatar/Victim. He is not a willing avatar like Jude or Helen, he’s more along the lines of Oliver and Jon.

[losingmymindtonight]

been on a for-your-own-good imposed exile from my phone & social media since Friday, so what’s a gal gonna do except eat pizza, reread The Inheritance Cycle, and finish old fic drafts?

I humbly present: Peter can’t sleep, but Tony’s a father now, and he’s got a few tricks up his sleeve.

--

Peter was okay.

He was. That wasn’t even him being self-sacrificing (like May thought) or deferring some kind of PTSD (like Tony thought) or anything. Most of the time, he was totally, completely, undeniably okay.

As a general rule, he just didn’t think about Thanos. He was too busy for that, with planning for his school’s Europe trip and patrolling and learning how to be a big brother to Morgan and resettling a whole apartment with May and rediscovering the absolute thrill of being alive along with the other fifty percent.

He had a good life, and considering everything that had happened, he was so, so lucky.

So, Peter was okay. Despite what Tony and May seemed to think.

He only ever had problems when the sun fell.

Vigilante by day, anxious wreck by night, he thought, more than a little bitter.

There was a bone-aching frustration that came with insomnia. He couldn’t sleep, but he was tired. God, he was so, so tired. His eyelids creaked, his face was tight and worn. Every inch of him was screaming for rest.

And yet, well, here he was: awake, staring at the ceiling, mind swirling down the inescapable drain of death throes and battle heat and the memory of his DNA vibrating apart.

He clenched his fists, then slowly pried them apart. His wrists hurt, yet his webshooters were comfortingly cool on his bare skin.

“Mister Parker,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. suddenly said, and Peter still jumped despite the fact her volume had been lowered and pitched into her softer night mode. “I apologize for the intrusion, but per my protocols, I am to alert Boss if you or Morgan are awake for longer than thirty minutes from the hours of 11:00 pm to 6:00 am. I thought it was only fair to warn you that he is en route to your bedroom and you should be prepared for his arrival.”

There was a time when an alert like that would’ve filled him with annoyance. A time when he would’ve met Tony at the door with a sharp reminder of, I’m almost an adult, I can take care of myself, on his tongue. Now, though, he just felt a dull splash of surprise.

“Mister Stark has rules for if I’m awake?” He asked the ceiling, blinking slowly at the smooth molding. It was different than the popcorn texture in his apartment. Probably easier to deal with when it came to painting.

As if on cue, his door swung open. A soft, yellowish bar of light flashed over his sheets and then collapsed in on itself with a distant click. Huh. So Tony thought that this needed to be a private conversation. 

“It’s called the Cradle Protocol,” Tony offered, and despite the fact that Peter hadn’t actually looked in his direction yet, he could hear the man’s smile in the warmth of the words, like curling into a fireside on a winter’s day. “You know, in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Oh? Thought you spent most of your life wondering about pretty much everything.” His bedframe creaked as Tony settled down near his hip, and suddenly Peter didn’t have much of a choice but to stare up at the man, taking in the burn scars on his face and the gray in his hair and the quiet love in his eyes. “That’s what kids are best at.”

“I’m not really a kid anymore,” he whispered, but not a single inch of the words felt defiant. God, he wanted to be a kid again. He looked back on the moments he’d spent racing to adulthood and wanted to cry. Wanted desperately to hit rewind on all of it.

“All of us are kids, in the end,” Tony said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. “And you’ll be my kid forever. Sorry. No exchanges or returns on that policy. It is how it is.”

Tony’s thumb brushed soothingly over his cheek as he spoke, and the contact was rough and calloused and so intensely familiar that Peter let his eyes squeeze shut against it, swallowing hard.

“I don’t want to exchange it,” he whispered, and somehow he felt a little ashamed to admit it. Like he was rearing up against the order of things. Or, like he was admitting the truth in a space where untruths were expected.

There was a pause. Peter blinked his eyes open again, and saw that Tony’s gaze had drifted away from him. He was looking up at the headboard, soft curves of sadness mellowing his face.

Finally, he breathed, eyes tracing their way back to Peter’s own, gentle yet intense.

“Why aren’t you asleep, Peter?”

It was a redundant thing to ask, and both of them knew it. There wasn’t a person in the world who couldn’t guess the why of that question. There were probably a million different people all around the world staring up at a million different ceilings, all cold-eyed and shivering because of the same goddamn reason.

“I don’t know,” he lied.

Was it still lying if everyone knew that what you were going to say was a lie before it even left your mouth?

Tony just nodded, like those three words had told him everything that he’d needed to know. For all Peter could figure, maybe they had.

“Alright.” Tony patted his thigh through the blankets, then stood. “C’mon. Get up.”

It probably said a lot about him, or maybe more about his relationship with Tony, that he was already climbing out of bed even as he muttered a halfhearted, “where’re we going?”

“On a mission,” Tony said, gently tugging one of Peter’s oldest and softest hoodies out of his closet and pushing it against his chest. “Put this on.”

He did as he was told, tottering lazily into the hallway, too exhausted to do anything but follow.

“What’s the mission?”

Tony glanced back just long enough for Peter to see the corner of his mouth quirk up. “I need to put my baby to sleep.”

If he hadn’t been so goddamn tired, he would’ve picked up on the wryness in Tony’s voice. As it was, he blinked hard, brain whirring against the fogginess.

“‘S Morgan awake?”

The question startled a bark of laughter out of Tony. “God, Pete. I can’t believe you’re even managing to walk in a straight line right now.”

They were at the front door, now, and Tony snatched the car keys off of their hook in the entryway and ushered him into the cool night air. Cricket chirps swelled all around them. Peter let his eyes drift shut at the sound, then smiled when he felt Tony snag the edge of his sleeve, gently guiding him over the gravel.

“Ought to get this paved, huh?” Tony muttered, almost to himself, but Peter let the words fall over him anyway. “Would make life a hell of a lot easier when we got those summer monsoons. Plus, less of a tripping hazards for the kiddos, especially when they’re half asleep.”

“‘M awake,” he protested.

“I know,” Tony said, almost under his breath. “I’m working on it.”

Peter heard a beep as one of the cars unlocked, and he forced his eyes back open. They were standing in front of Tony and Pepper’s minivan, something which Peter still couldn’t quite wrap his head around. Tony Stark owned a minivan. Sure, it was a nice minivan, with leather seats and F.R.I.D.A.Y. installed and parking sensors, but it was still a minivan.

“C’mon,” Tony muttered, using the hand that wasn’t braced against Peter’s back to pull open the passenger’s side door. “Slide in.”

He let Tony manhandle him into the seat, even though he could’ve easily done it on his own. The exhaustion had stripped his stubbornness away. The only thing left was a yearning urge to be protected, cradled, loved.

It was good, he supposed, that those three roles seemed to be Tony’s favorites to fulfill.

Tony got into the driver’s seat, then double-checked Peter’s seatbelt twice before starting the car. He cracked the back windows, and the cricket chirps and nature swell mixed hypnotically with the buzz and hum of the engine. Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath, turning his face in Tony’s direction when he felt the man’s eyes on him.

“You’re supposed to be looking where you’re drivin’,” he murmured, knowing that his smile was all drowsy and lopsided. He could feel them moving, though, so he wasn’t wrong.

“Nobody’s out this late.”

“Still need to stay on the road.”

“Oh, hush. I’ll take no driving smack from the child with a learner’s permit.”

He yawned. “Passed the test.”

“You sure did,” Tony murmured, pride warming the words. “I’ve got that picture that May took after hanging in my office.”

“I know.” A shard of longing pierced his chest. “Felt normal that day. Jus’ for a bit.”

He opened his eyes just in time to see guilt cascade over Tony’s face. Whoops. He really hasn’t meant to make his mentor sad. He was just loopy from all the sleepless nights, wading through the detachment weighing in his head. It was hard to stay conscious and keep his filter all at once.

“I’m so sorry, Peter,” Tony said, hands gripping the wheel so tight that his knuckles flashed white under the occasional streetlamp. “I wish I could take it all away.”

Peter just blinked. God, he was tired. His brain ached with it.

“You can’t.”

And Tony couldn’t. Peter knew that. Iron Man could do a lot of things, even survive the constriction of space, but he couldn’t void memories. Nobody could.

“No,” Tony admitted, and even through the fuzziness in his head, Peter found the wherewithal to be surprised, “but I can be here.”

Peter let his eyes drift shut again. Somehow, that was all the fixing that he needed Tony to do. I can be here.

That was it, wasn’t it? It was why the memories of Thanos rung so clear at night and pitched silent during the day. Because Peter hadn’t really been afraid of dying during the battles. He’d been terrified, horrified, by the thought of being left alone.

And at night, in his bedroom, walls and doors and locks between Tony or May or anybody else who would stave off the quiet, that fear was so much easier to taste.

He was so, so afraid that at the end of it all, he’d been irreversibly alone.

“Can you talk to me?” He whispered.

He just wanted words. Something substantive in the nothingness of night. And Tony was only ever speechless when there was something to be afraid of.

He’d... He’d been silent when Peter had died. Had been silent after he’d done the Snap, too. The look on the man’s face, the lack of speech in the haze, had rung in Peter’s nightmares ever since.

He could hear the roughness in Tony’s voice when he responded, and Peter couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking about his silence on Titan, too. If he even remembered the stillness from the Compound’s dust.

“Of course, buddy.”

And he did. He talked about Rhodey and college and the first time he met Happy. Peter found himself drifting in and out as he rambled, although he never seemed to fully wrap his hand around true sleep. He’d nearly get there, Tony’s words fading into something he couldn’t quite comprehend, and then he’d recognize the shift and jolt himself out of it.

Somehow, it was even more frustrating than what he’d been doing before. At least then, he’d known he wasn’t going to get any sleep. Here, it kept dangling in front of him. And to make it worse, every aborted attempt at sleep felt like a failure. Like he’d screwed it all up, despite all the effort Tony was putting into helping him.

“Sorry,” Peter suddenly muttered, blinking away his most recent near-rest. Tony fell silent. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Shh, Pete,” Tony soothed, right hand abandoning the steering wheel and settling on his arm. “It’s not your fault. We’ll get there.”

“‘M trying.”

“I know you are. You’re doing great.”

For a breath, Tony just rubbed Peter’s arm, breath and nature filling the car.

“I used to do this for Morgan, you know,” he finally said, voice low. “Learned it within the first month. Think I must’ve put a thousand miles on the car, driving around just for some precious minutes of peace.”

“Ben used to drive me around when I was little,” Peter mumbled, twisting until he found a comfortable position: draped over the center console, head just inches away from Tony’s elbow. The console was leather and padded, which made it a surprisingly good pillow. Plus, he was close enough to pick up the steady thrumming of Tony’s heartbeat. “I didn’t like sleeping after my parents died. Car always worked, though. Dunno why.”

Tony’s hand settled on the top of his head, and a swoosh of comfort whisked from that one point all the way down to his toes. “It’s the vibrations from the engine. Low frequencies make us tired. It mimics the sensation of being rocked to sleep.”

He smiled. Trust Mister Stark to turn anything into a physics lesson. “‘S science,” he muttered.

Tony’s thumb swiped over his temple. “It’s science,” he repeated. “Do you want another story?”

Hmm. Yes. And he wanted Tony’s hand to stay right there, too. The tips of his fingers kept brushing over the nape of his neck, and the pattern was nice. Slow. The kind of monotony that was so easy to get lost in.

“Mm.”

“How about a special one?”

“Mm.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Tony said, laughter in the words. He sounded pleased, though. Peter was too busy falling asleep to figure out why. “Y’know, I never went to Queens much when I was a kid. Howard wasn’t a big fan. And then I didn’t have much of a reason to go once I was an adult. Everything I needed was in Manhattan or Malibu. Point is: imagine how surprised I was when a web-slinging vigilante actually forced me out there…”

Peter drifted off long before he could recognize that the story was about him.

--

Peter half-surfaced to the quiet thud of a car door opening, and the crunch of shoes on gravel.

It wasn’t the usual way he woke up. He’d gotten used to jolting into consciousness, sweat slicking his trembling limbs and damp sheets snarling all around him. It was a violent thing, full of heartbeat and rib-ache.

But this was soft. Warm. Safe hands slid under the back of his neck, his seat tilting back until he was lying almost completely flat. On instinct, his eyes flickered open, and he grinned sleepily at Tony, who shushed him in a barely-there murmur.

“Nice and easy, Pete,” Tony said, voice warm and safe and already blurring. “Now be a good boy and go back to sleep.”

And for once in Peter’s life, it was as simple as that.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Typical Colin

Helen jolted awake. To her growing shock, she was not in her own room, but in an unfamiliar, cold, dark place. Not on a bed, but on a hard concrete surface, coarse and rough. High ceilings, distant walls, all swallowed by shadow. Harsh edges everywhere, coupled with the smell of rust. She could taste the grit and filth of this abandoned hall.

Grime had fogged up windows, through which moonlight shone inside, dimly drawing outlines upon crates and steely shelves cluttered with all manners of junk, encased in bubble wrap and cardboard and seas of packing popcorn.

A warehouse she had never seen before, never been inside of before.

From where she was sitting on the ground, she almost jumped onto her feet when she heard something scraping. Metal against stone. Screeching, grating noises.

Drawing closer.

She backed up into one of the shelves, sending shockwaves through the clutter on them and causing it all to rattle and clink and then something toppled over and—

SMASH.

Glass shattered on the floor, shards, and liquid scattering all over, immediately followed by something like vinegar assaulting her nose.

The scraping sounds stopped. She held her breath, knowing what would follow.

Then the scraping started again. Faster.

Heading her way.

In a growing panic and increasingly nauseating dizziness, Helen scrambled away from the sounds closing in on her, taking a left turn here, pacing just quickly enough to not make noise but not fast enough to be running, then taking a right there, meandering her way through this maze of towering shelves and stacks of cardboard boxes of which no human could reach the tops. She descended deeper into the darker insides of this warehouse.

When she stopped to hide in a nook between objects cloaked by shadows, her heart beat so fast and loudly that she worried her pursuer could perceive it. Holding her breath again only made her heart race faster and fear itself erupted from her pores in a cold sweat.

The scraping passed by her, separated by a wall of shelves standing in between them. It was so dark back there that she could only make out a vague silhouette, further obscured by whatever had been piled onto the shelf beds.

Something the size of a man, walking on all fours like a dog rather than upright, creeping through the valley of warehouse junk with abrupt and stiff movements.

SHWINK. SCRANK. SHWINK. SHANK. SHWINK.

It sounded like four huge knives being dragged across whetstones to sharpen them.

Imagery of arm-sized blades filled her mind, attached to stumps where hands and feet should be. Even though she could not see them, her imagination filled in the blanks with something awful. Dripping with ichor, peering out from hollow sockets instead of eyes. A mouth without teeth, made only of hands and grasping fingers.

All in her mind.

Something else audibly clicked.

Behind her.

Trembling like a dry leaf hanging onto a skeletal autumn branch, she slowly turned to face whatever had just made that sound behind her.

Before having fully turned around, a soft glow flared up. Red, hot, and cold, all at the same time, weaker than a candle, closer to the glimmer of a cigarette.

A very big cigarette.

The toxic smell of smoke filled the air and made her cough, covering her mouth.

Something close to what she had just imagined. An eyeless thing only half her size, with grasping hands for a mouth. No blades, though. Its arms ended in stumps from which embers and ashes trailed off, carried away in a nonexistent breeze, like the ends of burning cigarettes, only grotesquely oversized and feeding from pallid flesh that stretched thin around gaunt limbs.

It raised those glimmering stumps, threatening to burn her, while looking pathetic and desperate at the same time. Like a small child, pleading for something and stretching up to try to grab it from the adult keeping it out of its little reach.

All fear drained from Helen. A scorching anger took its place.

She screamed at this amorphous abomination.

"You never got it, did you! Heroin was where you should have drawn the line, Nadine!"

Helen screamed at her old dead friend. But Nadine had never listened, and would not now, either.

SHWINK. SCRANK. SHWINK! SHANK! SHWINK!

The scraping gained speed and stopped abruptly.

The blade-armed thing was exactly behind her, and she was about to turn around and tell it to fuck off, but understood the futility of it. She just never got through to any of them.

Instead of seeing Kent, when Helen turned around, she jolted awake.

This time, she had awoken in her bed. Sitting up in a tangle of sweat-drenched pajamas and sheets, she stared at the empty spot beside her—the spot that had stayed empty for a full year.

Clink.

Clank.

Soft sounds from downstairs.

Sounds from the kitchen.

They made Helen's blood run cold. Her bangs were clinging to her forehead with sweat, sweat born from the nightmare and now painfully felt in the cool air of her bedroom, molting with the knowledge that there should not be any sounds coming from downstairs.

Because Helen lived alone ever since—

Ever since—

Her grip around the baseball bat tightened as she cautiously descended the stairs, creeping around, corner by corner, the hardwood floors burning coldly against her bare soles. A whole slew of unpleasant sensations, all overshadowed by the dread of a home invader, amplified by the horror of having left her phone in the kitchen, her only means of calling for help now separated from her by said invader. And only this baseball bat at her disposal.

Would anybody find her? Or would neighbors eventually notice the smell coming from her house after her inevitable murder, telling police and reporters alike how they would have never expected such a horrible thing to happen in their neck of the woods?

Clink. Swish.

Bottles jingled in the fridge.

Bastard was helping herself to her food, adding insult to injury. Had the lights on in the kitchen and everything—making no secret of the intrusion. Like he owned the place.

How ever had he bypassed the alarm?

His shadow bobbed back and forth, broadcasting his presence as Helen waited in the darkness behind the doorway, baseball bat raised high above her head and ready to crack a skull.

When she turned the corner, she gasped. Some part of her had been ready to scream and swing and strike, but what she saw—or rather, who she saw—robbed her of all ability to act. Her brain broke a little bit in the attempt of making sense of it.

Colin stood in the kitchen, making himself a sandwich. His skin was pallid, his clothing half-decayed and eaten by worms or corpse juices, all of which made sense for a body that had been buried for over half a year.

What did not make sense was him being here, standing in the kitchen, slathering mustard and mayonnaise onto bread and stuffing it with cheese and cold cuts. She had told the doctors to pull the plug half a year after the incident, then he was buried in the local cemetery. Almost twenty people had showed up to mourn his passing.

He turned around with his gross sandwich slapped together, took a bite from it with yellowed, rotten teeth, and started chewing with a terrible grin stretching across his face. More sadistic and malicious than anything he had ever displayed in his lifetime.

Mouth half-full, he said, "Hello, honey. I'm home."

Helen was speechless. Could anybody blame her?

She wondered if she was dreaming, but after waking up from a vivid nightmare just to walk into this unfathomable situation, she very well felt the stark contrast, the difference between reality and the glamours of surreal dreamscapes.

This was very real.

He chewed, swallowed—in a way that looked painful, like he was trying to swallow a cup of gravel—and forced his face to widen his grin. Some of his skin was sloughing off around the edges, drooping from his chin and jaw and turning his face into a grotesque caricature of his former life. But without a doubt, this was him.

This was Colin.

"Surprised to see me? Well, guess what, bitch. I'm here for some payback. I'm here to serve justice from beyond the grave. I—"

"W-what are you talking about?" she asked, cutting in while he rambled on about making her pay and other nonsense that sounded like it came from a bad movie.

Undead Colin guffawed. A raspy, throaty thing, emitting a stinging smell reminiscent of vomit.

"What I'm talking about? Bitch, you know exactly what I'm talking about. You had me killed by those punks. And you thought you could get away with it."

He continued eating the sandwich with a comically oversized bite. Almost to punctuate his accusations. Could he even digest food like this? The way he swallowed continued to look painful, like he was making a point more than enjoying anything from his previous life. Crumbs tumbled from the corners of his drooping lips, slime dripped down right after it.

Helen blinked and shook her head, unsure what of this baffled her more: Colin's return from a coffin buried six feet under, or what he was accusing her of. He took another bite from the sandwich.

"Are you out of your mind? Honey—"

"Don't you 'honey' me, you murderous witch," he grumbled, muffled, mouth full, sputtering out some sloppy chunks in the process.

"Those punks were just some hoodlums, some hooligans tweaked out of their minds on drugs. The cops said they had already put several homeless people in the hospital before they attacked you. You were—they were—you cannot seriously believe that I had anything to do with that. You were on life support for five months. Everybody tried to talk me into pulling the plug way sooner—I am in massive debt over it."

Colin's lips smacked as he chewed, and his face contorted. Dead skin wrinkled and sagged more dramatically than it ever had in his lifetime. Probably because gravity was dragging most of it down.

Confusion marked his visage.

He swallowed again and paused in his almost comical display of pretending to eat like a living human being.

"What?"

Undead Colin was clueless of how many awful things he was dredging up. A full year since his hospitalization and effective departure from this world—and here he was, bringing it all back in the most unpleasant way possible.

Tears welled up in Helen's eyes. She had struggled so much to come to terms with it all, to get over it all. She was not even sure if she had managed to fully move on, yet.

"When one of those dumb asshole kids confessed, he said you were challenging them, taunting them. He said you said you could take them all on with your hands tied behind your back. They tied your hands behind your back and beat you to death, you big oaf!"

Undead Colin had stopped eating. Things were obviously not playing out as he had envisioned.

"You mean you and your lover-boy didn't hire them to murk me?"

Helen's outburst was violent, shaking the baseball bat without raising it, choked by sobbing and anger.

"What the fuck are you talking about? What lover-boy?"

Small chunks and gobs of food lazily plummeted from Colin's speechless, dead mouth.

"You mean you and Frank—you and Frank weren't—you know—"

"No! What's wrong with you?"

"Y-you and Frank always spent so much time together, you knew each other way longer than—"

"So fucking what? I never cheated on you! You should have just asked! I would have told you. You fucking moron! What are you doing here? How? How even?"

No answer.

His milky eyes darted to the baseball bat in her hand, the head of which now rested on the white tiles of her kitchen floor, hanging uselessly by her side as she wiped tears from her swollen face with the back of her other arm. It was just too much for her to take.

And Undead Colin was slowly beginning to put two and two together.

"So, you, uh, you're livin' alone now? Huh?"

"It's been a year. Well, more like half a year since we buried you, but there was nothing they could do. You were—"

She lost her speech, going hoarse. Wiped more tears from her eyes because they kept welling up and flowing uncontrollably.

Part of Helen wanted to hug Colin. But even standing several steps away, he smelled like someone had vomited into a dumpster that a skunk had sprayed its stink in and on top of which a pack of dogs had taken a crap. The stench filled the entire kitchen. Through all the confusion and sorrow and tears, there was a flash of her wondering how many cans of air freshener it would take to get rid of the awful smell.

"Shit. Uh. I'm sorry, babe. I—I thought you and Frank—you know. So, I was wrong, huh? That's good, right? Good to be wrong for a change!"

"Yes, you were fucking wrong, you fucking asshole. I missed you so much."

 "W-well, uh, I'm sorry for bothering you, then. I promise it all came from a place of, uh, love. I, uh," he stopped mid-sentence. Thoughts that must have trailed off. The words died in his dead mouth.

He gingerly placed the sandwich on the counter, no plate, just spilling crumbs everywhere and allowing some mustard to splotch the surface. Undead Colin stared off into the corner. His typical air of abashed shame lingered about him, just like the last time when he set the barbecue grill on fire and burnt off his eyebrows despite insisting that he knew what he was doing when he squirted bottled accelerant into it.

For Helen, the floodgates were open, all memories bubbling to the surface. The tears were not only born by bitterness and loss, but happy memories, as well. And wondering about all that could have been. Helen now wondered what would happen next.

She started to ask him about it, "Does this mean that—"

He interrupted and said, "I'm sorry. I'm—I'm so sorry I didn't have more faith in you. Sorry for accusing you."

He sighed. A long gasp, like a whole cemetery breathing its last breath. Then he collapsed. Colin crumpled to the floor in a lifeless, stinking heap. He did not even twitch for a split second, all the unlife evaporated from his being at once. His milky-white eyes remained open, his body contorted in an awkward arrangement of limbs that were not supposed to bend that way and had no business being left in such awkward positions.

Helen started to sob again and covered her eyes. Torn away as abruptly as he had inexplicably returned from the dead.

A fly even buzzed about him.

It took minutes until she recovered from a jumble of broken thoughts.

Then she realized that he had left her with the mess of cleaning up after him again.

Of course. Typical Colin.

Did not have the decency to crawl back into the coffin he had clawed his way out of. Some poor groundskeeper probably had to take care of re-burying him all over again. And she had to get his body back there, somehow, too. Her skin began to crawl at the thought of what kind of insects he must have had on and in his corpse.

Minutes later, Helen groaned at the realization while pacing in a circle.

Then the doorbell rang, and the rhythmic, repetitive flashes of red and blue light outside the windows suggested that police were at her front door.

Panic gripped her again, because this was no dream, and now she had to deal with the absurdity of it all. She had to pick up the pieces.

Typical fucking Colin.

—Submitted by Wratts

[aloysiavirgata]

In The Gale

Title: In The Gale

Author: Aloysia Virgata

Rating: PG

Category: MSR

Author's Notes: For @perplexistan, who asked and helped me make it better. This is shortly after settling into the Unremarkable House. I tried making sense of their legal status, but it’s simply impossible and I gave up.

Our heroes quote from Melville, Shakespeare, Sagan, Baudrillard, and (Emily) Dickens.

***

Because I know that time is always time And place is always and only place And what is actual is actual only for one time And only for one place I rejoice that things are as they are and I renounce the blessed face And renounce the voice Because I cannot hope to turn again Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something Upon which to rejoice

And pray to God to have mercy upon us And pray that I may forget These matters that with myself I too much discuss Too much explain Because I do not hope to turn again Let these words answer For what is done, not to be done again May the judgement not be too heavy upon us

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly But merely vans to beat the air The air which is now thoroughly small and dry Smaller and dryer than the will Teach us to care and not to care Teach us to sit still.

T.S. Eliot, Ash Wednesday

***

She recites The Raven to herself on the drive in, lists all the state capitals in alphabetical order, and goes through the periodic table. Her body fizzes like a shaken soda, tiny anxious bubbles rising through her blood. They’ve done so much for this, called in so many favors. Mulder put his book on hold for a month, quizzing her with dog-eared notecards. 

“Immediate treatment of myocardial infarction,” he’d call, and she’d say “MONA TASS.”

She feels a pang for the simplicity of the other life, the hiding one, where she just had to ring up cigarettes and herbal Viagra at gas stations.

***

She’s the new girl at the cafeteria table, awkward and alone. Mulder had prepared her a lunch like it’s the first day of school, and she stares at it, wishing for an appetite.

From the corner of her eye she sees two colleagues - an MRI tech and an obstetrician, she thinks - talking softly and glancing over. Scully thinks she hears “FBI,” and she looks up and smiles, uncertain.

They blink at her, look away.

***

Ybarra comes around the corner, gliding in his cassock like a disapproving ghost. “Dr. Scully,” he says, in his pinched voice.

She smiles thinly. “Father Ybarra.”

“Nurse Mossing was looking for the chart for Mrs. Sullivan. Imagine my surprise when I found it in Room 314 instead of Room 413. That’s a potential HIPAA violation, Dr. Scully. That’s a federal law.”

Scully curls her hand so that her nails dig into her skin. “I’m so sorry,” she says. “Father Ybarra, please forg-”

He holds up his palm. “It won’t happen again,” he says, and glides onward.

Scully closes her eyes and leans against the wall. She breathes through her nose until the ringing in her ears stops.

***

She wants to collapse into his arms and cry when she gets home, but that would be giving in. It would be letting them down.

“How’d it go?” he asks. He’s wearing basketball shorts and a Knicks shirt, a five o’clock shadow.

She smiles brightly. “It was good. Learning curve, but good. I think Father Ybarra might be a tough nut to crack, is all.”

Mulder rubs his cowlicked hair. “Put your feet up, Scully, since you won’t wear sensible shoes.”

She does, and accepts the glass of wine he holds out. “Thanks. I’ll sleep well tonight, anyway. There are miles of hallways.”

He sits next to her on the couch. “I wrote a few pages,” he says. “I deleted a bunch, but I think there was a multi-paragraph net gain.”

“I’m glad you’re able to stop focusing on my stuff now,” she says. “Both back in the saddle.”

“Go team.”

She clinks her glass against his. She drinks her wine too fast.

***

Ybarra had come in during her rounds that morning and startled her into knocking a metal bedpan onto the floor. Scully thinks the reverberations of that sound will follow her to the grave.

She’s now in the chapel, tucked into a back pew. She’s been staring at the small altar, at the stained glass windows flanking the crucifix. The Blessed Virgin smiles beatifically down at her, a wretched sinner.

Scully laces her fingers on the back of the pew in front of her and bows her head against them. “Please,” she whispers. “Please.”

***

Mulder wakes her with tea and eggs. “You haven’t been eating,” he says, brow furrowed. 

She rubs her eyes, yawning. “What?”

He sits next to her on the bed, sets the plate and mug on her night table. “You just push your food around your plate, you hardly talk when you get home. What’s going on, Scully?”

She sits up, looking at his worried face. He’s sun-browned and tousled, beautiful, with a mouth that still makes her weak in the knees. “Nothing. It’s just a lot to jump back into.”

“I’m sure it is. And I still want to help you with it.” He pulls the flash cards from his pocket, touches her wrist with his other hand. “Let’s see - causes of upper zone pulmonary fibrosis?”

She looks at the ceiling, back at him. “I don’t need help.”

Mulder blinks, stung. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. You just don’t need to hover over me. You have your own things to work on. Work on your book, patch up your henhouse. ” Her voice sounds snappish to her own ears.

His changeable eyes, now mossy green, darken. He chews his bottom lip, nodding slowly. “I thought you were one of my ‘things.’ Sorry to bother you.” He rises, walks downstairs.

“Mulder,” she whispers.

The tea goes down fine. Scully tries to eat the eggs but feels bile rise in her throat. She flushes them down the toilet instead of leaving them behind, because that is love.

***

She arrives at the nurses’ station on the second floor with three dozen donuts and two cardboard boxes of coffee. She deposits them on the desk. “Good morning, Annabel,” she says.

“Anneliese,” the woman says.

Scully nods, walks away.

*** 

He slides his hand up her pajama top, tracing circles on her ribs, sliding his fingers around to her breasts. He kisses the back of her neck. “Scully,” he whispers, his breath warm and ticklish in her ear.

She wants to pretend to wake up, to turn towards him and lose herself in his body. She wants to tell him everything, to be held and loved and petted and reassured. She wants him to remind her that she once stared down Congress, that some backwater priest and his prickly staff should be a joke to her. She wants them to laugh together at these silly, petty people.

But she can’t, she can’t disappoint him. He’s been so proud of her.

Scully stays still, breathes evenly until his hands move away and she’s alone again.

***

Her car rattles over the driveway, through shimmering waves of heat that rise from the crisping grass. It is the kind of late July afternoon where the sun is a hazy white ball in the west, and clouds of gnats are a permanent feature of the landscape. 

Scully parks, avoiding a puddle in which a peacock is standing. Mulder has recently become enamored of yard fowl. She narrows her eyes at it while opening the car door. 

“Good boy, Kevin,” she calls to it, wary.

Scully picks her way over the gravel in her thin heels. The peacock mews an alarm as she approaches, but doesn’t charge. She lets herself inside, shuts the heat and sun and wildlife outside. The house smells of coffee and microwave popcorn.

She walks into Mulder’s office and finds him hunched at his desk, typing. “Hey,” she says, and drops a kiss on his head. There’s a sketch of Baphomet taped to his monitor, her worn flash cards atop a tome about Raëlism.

He turns in his chair. He puts his arms around her hips. “Hey.” 

“Kevin behaved himself,” she offers.

“You two will be friends yet, you’ll see.”

She peers at the computer. “You get a lot done today?”

Mulder shrugs. “Eh, a bit. Waiting on a few emails, and I had to run that tubing to drain the sump down into the woods. Ate up most of the afternoon.”

Scully shakes her head in admiration. “I don’t know how you manage all the multitasking.”

“Well, the book helps me avoid the house, and the house helps me avoid the book. It’s a perfect system. That Ybarra guy still riding your ass?”

She chews her lip. “No,” she lies. “I think we’re okay now.”

“Good,” he says. “I’d hate to have to beat up a priest.”

***

Scully gazes at herself in the empty locker room. She looks thin and tired, and her hair is frizzing up, even pulled back like this. All her makeup has sweated off except for smudged crescents of mascara. Her bra is the color of a Band-Aid, her underwear white and sensible. Between the two is the hard white rose of her gunshot scar, like a second navel, an artifact of a second birth. It is numb when she touches it, indifferent. There are no stretch marks from William, a tale missing from the anthology of her skin. She unhooks her bra, lets it slide down to the damp floor. Scully turns to observe her body in profile. The scar is gone this way, the tattoo hidden as well, and she smooths her hands along her ribs. Her breasts seem out of place to her when they are unbound, frivolous somehow. Vestigial. 

She looks away.

***

The hospital is labyrinthine, having been constructed of various additions when funds allowed. There are dead ends, pointless staircases, and a mysterious storage closet filled with old televisions. She makes little maps on notepaper. 

“So where did you work before this?” an orthopedic surgeon asks her.

A diner in Wyoming. 

“I was out West for a while,” she says.

***

A week in, and Mulder has made a cake to celebrate. A bouquet of Kevin’s shed tail feathers ornaments the table.

An offering, Mulder calls it, tickling her chin with one.

A week down, she thinks, and blows out the candle. She wonders when she’ll stop counting the time.

***

Shy, he gives her a chapter to read. It’s good, and she tells him so. It’s very good. She hears his voice in her head when she reads it, his passion. She loves the esoterica tucked into his gyri and sulci.

“Your prose was never this clear in your reports,” she remarks. 

“Hey if you can’t blind them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit.”

Scully laughs. “You want to read a few medical reports?”

He looks at her, suddenly serious. “Yeah,” he says. “I would. It would be nice to hear about your day for once.”

She wonders if love is the weapon that lets them wound so casually.

***

“You’re late,” Ybarra says softly. 

She doesn’t explain that she’d somehow ended up at the TV closet again, that the room numbering system in this hospital had been designed by nihilists, that the nursing student had Dermabonded her glove to a patient’s forehead.

She lowers her eyes like she did at Catholic school. She promises to do better.

***

“What’s going on?” Mulder asks her for what feels like the hundredth time. “Talk to me, Scully.”

She presses her hands to her face for a moment, drops them to her sides. “Nothing,” she says again, frustrating them both. “I’m tired. It’s a hard schedule.”

He places a throw pillow on his lap and pats it. “Come here,” he says. “Please.”

She acquiesces, curling on her side with her back to him. He runs his fingers through her hair, traces the Fibonacci spirals of her ear. She wants to relax, to melt into his touch. She indulges in a Mulderesque conspiracy theory that the hospital microdoses the water with tetanus toxin to keep everyone rigid and tense.

Scully gazes at the windows, at the hard white light of summer streaming in. The curtains are blue with an arabesque pattern, and they looked very chic in the store. She wonders now if they seem desperate in this odd little house. She thinks of Meg March, dressed up in borrowed finery at the Moffats’ ball.

***

Scully clomps up the steps to the porch and kicks her rain boots off next to the umbrella stand. It contains four umbrellas and a gnarled hickory limb that Mulder claims is going to be polished into a fine walking stick one of these days. She goes into the house and is dismayed to find it stale and stifling and dark. Dust motes waft in Brownian motion through shafts of sunlight, undirected by fans or air conditioning. 

“Mulder,” she calls, and there is silence.

She twists her hair into a bun as she pads upstairs, old wood satiny under her bare feet. She pushes open the bedroom door, and the air is hot and still. 

“Mulder?” She needs his help with her zipper, but there is no reply.

She wrestles herself out of her silk sheath, sticky and irritating, and lets it puddle on the floor. Her bra follows. She feels guilty, as Mulder has turned out to be a surprisingly diligent housekeeper. His office is filled with perilous stacks of home improvement books and arcane journals about lake monsters, the walls papered with clippings and blurry photographs, but he seems able to quarantine his own entropy.

She is trying to do the same.

Scully pulls on soft cotton pajama shorts, a gray tank top imbued with the compressive powers of Lycra. She uses lotion to rub away the mascara beneath her eyes. She goes downstairs and out the back door, shielding her eyes against the piercing sunlight. A mosquito whines at her ear and she pinches it out of the air.

“Still got those reflexes, kid,” Mulder says from somewhere off to her left. 

She turns and sees him crouched next to the hulking green block of the transformer. “All the lights are off, and the house feels like a rainforest. I take it you’ve had an eventful day?”

He sighs. “Not really. Well, not the event I was hoping for, which is the power coming back on. There was a pretty heavy thunderstorm around one and that’s when the electricity blew.”

She sits on the bottom step, knees drawn up. She likes to watch him working, a side of him they’re both still learning about. There was never much call for home maintenance at Hegal Place, or living out of cash-only motels. “You call the power company?”

He huffs. “Yeah, they told me they had no reported outages and the power should be fine. I explained that I was trying to report an outage and that it definitely was not fine and she promised someone would be here between tomorrow and eventually.”

Scully smiles. “And that’s why you’re out here toying with death?”

“Not much else to do, really. Can’t write with the power out.” Mulder sits back on his heels and shrugs. “You, uh, have a good day?”

She hadn’t. “Yep. Starting to feel like part of the team.”

“Good. You need to get your career standards as high as your standards for men,” he says, getting to his feet.

“Oh, well, that’s an obviously unattainable bar.”

“Obviously.” He sits next to her on the step. “You wear that to work? You know I think bras are a tool of the patriarchy and you shouldn’t bother, but I’m just surprised Our Lady of Perpetual Shame takes such a liberal view.”

She laughs a little. “I figured as long as I tossed a lab coat over it, I’d look like a real doctor. It worked when I was a kid.”

“Hey, that’s what I did with my badge half the time. Listen, Scully. The house is pretty tropical. You want to bunk up in a hotel until they get the power sorted out?”

Scully thinks about the convenience it would afford. Maids and room service and maybe a pool, depending. But she is tired of hotels, even nice ones. She is tired of polite signs that remind her that the pillows and towels and hairdryers aren’t hers, the tiny toiletries an indicator of her temporary status. She is tired of living out of suitcases and dressers that made her clothes smell strange, tired of running from her own life.  She wants to be home.

“Nah,” she says. “We’ll manage.”

Mulder looks surprised, but doesn’t question it. “I’ll call Lowe’s about getting a generator delivered tomorrow. We ought to have one anyway out here.”

She’d always had a vague idea that Mulder had money - it was the only explanation for his complete disinterest in it. But when they’d come back, when they’d talked to his lawyers, she'd been staggered. The Vineyard house alone explained his casual international jaunts. They can have things now, endless things, and there is something frantic in her that wants to spend the money. Bingeing chocolate bunnies after Lent.

Mulder peels his shirt off, wadding it into a limp ball. He tosses it so that it hooks over the doorknob. “Still got it,” he says. He preens.

“Does the NBA realize the tremendous talent they’re missing out on?” she asks. “Do they even know that, at this very moment, a six foot tall middle aged white man is out here flinging his clothing a distance of several feet?”

He snuggles up to her, wrapping his sweaty arms around her shoulders. 

“Ugh,” she says, and pushes at him. “Mulder, you’re disgusting and it’s a thousand degrees out here.”  

“Hoping that cold, cold heart of yours might cool me off.” She sniffs disdainfully, and he releases her. “Scully, how do you feel about bees?”

“We have a history, bees and I,” she observes, tapping the back of her neck.

Mulder curls his hand over the scar, kneads the muscles there. “Well, these wouldn’t be fancy bees.”

“Hmmm,” she says. “I’m not inherently opposed. Why do you want bees, Mulder?”

He shrugs. “I’m getting older, and I’ve got to consider funeral plans. The last one didn’t really go as expected, so I thought maybe I’d mellify myself this time.”

She nods. “Makes sense. I mean, of course, there’s no actual proof that mellification actually occurred, but that’s never stopped you.”

“I also like honey,” he adds. “And bees are good for the planet.”

“Honey often contains botulism spores,” she remarks. “Botulinum toxin is the most lethal toxin known, and it’s estimated that as little as 40 grams of it would be enough to kill everyone on earth.” She doesn’t say you shouldn’t give it to babies, that she sweetened her smoothies with dates and maple syrup so that -

“Well, nobody better piss off my bee army and me,” he says darkly. 

“Everybody eventually pisses you off. Mulder, is that old tent in the shed still? We could sleep in that tonight.”

He shakes his head. “Heavy mildew and dry rot, so I threw it out. We could sleep out here if you want, though. We’ve got that big air mattress.”

“Let’s do that,” she says. “We can put it on the porch. Tell you what - you get stuff together, and I’ll even make dinner.” Scully doesn’t like cooking, but she wants to create order, to complete a finite task. She can be domesticated again, like a lost house cat finally returned to a hearth.

“We having eggs or peanut butter?” he asks, smirky.

“I’d hate to spoil the surprise,” she snips, and goes back into their sauna of a house. 

In the kitchen, she stands in front of the open fridge, letting the delicious leftover cold soak into her skin. She’ll deal with the spoiled food later. Eggs had, actually, been her plan but it’s just too hot. The stove doesn’t work, and she doesn’t have the fortitude to turn the grill on. She finds some leftover shrimp pasta that Mulder has made, some vegetables, and assembles it all into a passable salad.

There, she thinks, pleased. I’d pay twelve bucks for that somewhere. She uses her foot to scratch a mosquito bite on her calf.

Her skin is clammy, hair stringy and damp from sweat. Maybe they should just go to a hotel after all. Perhaps she should stop ascribing symbolism to every damn thing and enjoy herself once in a while. But she thinks of packing, of driving, of unpacking and somehow it’s all too much and her eyes start to fill and her sinuses sting.

Scully pinches her wrist until it passes, feeling weak and hating the weakness in herself. It’s the heat, it’s the exhaustion, it’s the heavy mental load. She considers going outside for a dip in the pond, but suspects the water will be unpleasantly warm. Instead, she drags herself back upstairs for a cold shower.

She sits on the edge of the bed, weary, and stares at a framed picture of a sea turtle on the far wall. If she lets her eyes drift out of focus, it looks like it’s swimming. She tips her head back for a better angle, watches it float across her vision. It slips away then, into the black of the deep waters.

***

She startles awake when he touches her shoulder, gasps.

“Jesus,” Mulder says, and sits next to her. “Bad dream?”

Scully sits up, dazed. “What? No, was I asleep?”

“You’ve been out cold for over an hour, but I wanted to make sure you got some food. Water at least, it’s too hot up here.”

She blinks, confused. “I don’t remember,” she says. Peering to her right reveals night outside.

Mulder holds a hand out and she grasps it, letting him pull her to her feet. She wavers and he steadies her, arm about her shoulders. 

“I just need some water,” she says, defensive.

He guides her down the stairs and out the front door onto the porch. The air outside is substantially cooler, a light breeze kissing her face. She settles into a chair, stares deep into the felty dark. She still can’t remember falling asleep. 

Mulder hands her a water bottle from the little table and she rolls it between her palms, the plastic crinkling. “Hey, I thought you were setting up the air mattress out here,” she says.

“No air flow behind the wall,” he replies. “Drink that up like a good girl and I’ll show you what we’ve got.”

Scully obeys and feels better. The water tastes stale, but it’s cool and wet. “Maybe you should have my job,” she says, looking up. “Caring for live people is so much work.”

“Everybody eventually pisses me off,” he reminds her. “Come on, Doc.”

She follows him down the steps and around the side of the house. Their property is vast and feral, pocked with mole burrows and rabbit nests. The floodlights are out with the power, and the house is nearly swallowed up by the vast night. Scully glances up at the Milky Way, at the waxing moon, and marvels again at the sky they have out here. We are star stuff, she thinks.

“Moonstruck?” Mulder asks.

“The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars.”

“As long as you can tell a hawk from a handsaw,” he says, and tugs her along.

She follows him to the back of the house and then stops, smiling. Mulder has hammered some old two-by-fours into a frame, draped the structure in white bedsheets. Inside, the air mattress is piled with sofa pillows. Outside, camping lanterns, candles, and two strands of solar lights make it into a kind of fairy circle.

“Mulder,” she says, delighted. “This is ridiculous.”

“Indian Guide saves the day,” he says.

“Your architecture badge is definitely more impressive than your fire badge,” she says, walking over to the little tent. He’s brought her salad inside, and there is a cooler packed with ice and water bottles. Cans of bug spray sit at the flap. She crawls inside, suddenly ravenous. 

Mulder joins her on the mattress, which bounces in response. “Remember my water bed?”

She laughs, piling food on a plate for each of them. “What a swinging bachelor you were.”

She remembers the water bed fondly, the leather couch and the fish and the postage-stamp bathroom in his apartment. It shouldn’t hurt still, but it does. She knew herself there, her place on the map. She eats her salad, wistful for Chinese food and beer at that battered coffee table.

“Scully,” he says.

“What?”

“Scully.”

“Just middle-aged nostalgia, I suppose,” she murmurs.

He reaches out to take her hand. “You’re scarcely middle aged.”

She smiles, squeezes his fingers. “If you go by life experience, we’re both about two hundred years old.”

“Like those Galapagos tortoises. But you need to tell me what’s going on at work. You won’t disappoint me.”

It can be very disagreeable to live with a profiler.

Scully drops his hand. She bites at the fleshy part of her thumb. This is real, she thinks. This place. It is not down in any map; true places never are. She can only deflect for so long, and her armor is rusting away. “I’m afraid,” she whispers, then chances a look at his face.

His eyes are soft, searching. “Why?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know, I don’t…” Her sinuses sting again and she presses her palms hard into her eyes. “Please.”

Mulder’s hand on her back, in endless, gentle figure eights. He pulls the elastic from her hair and lets it tumble down to her shoulders. He shifts so that her back is to him, his long legs on either side of her body.

“Mulder, what -”

“Shhhh,” he says, and gathers the hair at the crown of her head. “It’s not a real sleepover if you don’t get your hair French braided.”

Scully blinks. “Since when do you know how to braid hair?”

“Little sister, absent parents. Now stop moving and talk.”

She keeps her head very steady, thinking of her own sister’s deft fingers when their mother was too busy for anything but ponytails. Mulder tugs at another little section of hair. Scully thinks she might be okay if she isn’t looking at him, if she can’t read herself in his eyes.

Moth shadows dance across the white sheet wall, drawn to the flickering candles outside. It fascinates her that they never figure out that fire burns.  “I don’t know how to do this,” she says, and her voice is thick.

“To talk, or to be still?” he says in his Oxford psychologist voice.

She isn’t sure of what she means either. “Yes,” she says, with a hiccupy laugh. “Both.”

“Me too,” he says, slipping his thumb through the strands behind her ear. “I don’t know how to do this.”

She swallows hard. “I just...I’ve always had something to consume me. I had the FBI, we traveled all the time, and then we were running and I thought it was hard but it was so easy to just survive. There were no decisions. I didn’t care about, I don’t know...plates.”

He pauses in his work. “Plates?”

Scully chews at a hangnail, frustrated. “Just things, the things you buy for a house. Long term things. I did with William and then…” she trails off, her chest tight. “I feel like I’m playing a game sometimes, like improv theater. Fox and Dana Build A Home.”

“Fox and Dana?” he repeats. “Surely not.”

“Well, we’re hardly Mulder and Scully anymore, are we?” Her stomach clenches and that’s it, she sees. That’s the fear.

He finishes the braid and fastens the elastic at the end of it. “Of course we are,” he says. “We are who we are.”

She turns to him then, the whispering anxiety back with a roar. “And who is that, Mulder? I was plain old Dana Scully until I met you. And we had this life, this strange and wonderful and terrible life where I was Scully because I was your partner and now that’s over. It’s all nothing.” She’s crying openly now, quietly, and it feels cleansing.

“You’re still my partner,” he says, and his eyes are shining too.

She wipes her nose with a paper napkin. “Am I? At what? I go to work and see patients but I forgot there’s no closure with the living. People get sick and get better and get sick again. It doesn’t end. And this house, the power is always going to go out and the chickens will always be hungry and -“  she stops, feeling hysterical.

“You don’t have to work,” he says softly. “The settlement from the FBI, my inheritance…”

She shakes her head. “You know I have to work.” 

He sighs, rubs her knee. “I know you do. But it doesn’t have to be this. It doesn’t have to drain you.”

He’s right, of course he’s right, but he’s also so terribly wrong that she wonders if he knows her at all. She has to be a doctor for her father, for William. For him. She has to see something through. Scully smooths her hand over the back of her head, feeling the even ridges of the braid. Mulder is so competent with everything he does, so easy with himself. He’ll get his damned bees and become some kind of honey magnate in no time.

“People at the hospital, they ask me what I did before. And I don’t know how to answer. How can I possibly answer that question? I just say I was with the government, but that isn’t really the answer, is it?”

Mulder shrugs. He’s never felt the need to explain himself to people. “It’s true.”

Scully stretches out on her stomach across the mattress, chin on the pillows, watching the moths again. They tumble like acrobats, untethered in the thick air. “There’s this number called Graham’s number, used in Ramsey Theory, which is, well, nevermind. It doesn’t matter. Anyway, it was in the Guinness Book for being the largest specific number used in a proof at the time. And Mulder, this number is so big that writing out all the digits would exceed the bounds of the known universe.”

“Nobody likes a math nerd, Scully.”

She rolls onto her back to glare at him. “Yes they do, they give them Nobel prizes. Anyway. A whole new notation system, Knuth Notation, had to be developed to express these massive numbers. Graham’s Number, Tree(3), et cetera. And I feel like that at times. That there’s this endless amount of vital, inexpressible information inside of me that is so essential but that I have no way to share.”

She blinks a few times, spent by this unburdening.

Mulder stretches out next to her, propped on his side. “You can express it to me,” he says, massaging her temple with his thumb.

Scully closes her eyes. “I feel like a ghost sometimes. How do you do it, Mulder? How do you just keep moving forward without getting lost?”

He sighs. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but you have a tendency to compile people into perfect specimens, then measure yourself against that imaginary standard. It’s the precession of simulacra.”

She looks at him, indignant, then realizes he could be right. “Well,” she says. “It’s possible. But Mulder, is that such a bad thing, to want to hold myself to the highest goals?”

He tugs her onto her side so that she’s facing him, nearly nose to nose. Her lips feel tingly. “Yes,” he says, stroking her hair. “When the goal isn’t attainable. And when it puts everyone else on pedestals where we’re ill equipped to balance. And when it puts you in a constant state of frustration and anxiety. No one is perfect. Not even you.”

“I don’t want to be perfect,” she lies. “And I don’t need you to be either.” That part is true, at least.

He laughs in reply. “Apropos of being Galapagos tortoises, Charles Darwin once said ‘I am very poorly today, and very stupid and hate everybody and everything.’”

“He rode the tortoises,” Scully says, calming. “I can’t defend his methodology.”

“See? You’re better than Charles Darwin.” He kisses her forehead.

“Well,” she says. “Well.”

“Scully, look. You’re not alone here, feeling at sea. I went to the feed store and some guy picked a fight, shoved me pretty hard with his shoulder. And this reflexive part of my brain wanted to grab my badge, stick it in his face, and put him against the wall for assaulting a federal agent. But I ignored it and bought the chicken feed and just headed out. And I felt like, is this who I am now? Some pushover with yard birds and home improvement books?”

“You made a little fast and loose with your authority sometimes,” she says, thinking of Roche. She curves her palm against his cheek, thumbs the fine ridge of his zygomatic bone.

He bumps her nose with his. “You broke into a secret morgue.”

“You made me.” She sniffles, laughs a little. “The good old days.”

“These can be the good days too,” he says. “They can, if we work at it.” He traces her mouth with his finger.

“Okay,” she says. Hope stirs in her, a thing with feathers. “Partners?”

“Partners.”

He kisses her, in their small tent, in their ring of light.

[crowdedimagines]

Who Is That? Part 2 (Harry Styles)

PART ONE

In the span of a week Harry and I go on two dates, our third taking place in a few hours. I’ve never moved so quickly with someone, but I’ve also never felt so comfortable with someone so quickly.

By the time I got up to my apartment I already had a text from Harry asking when he could see me again to take me out on a date. I immediately called Hannah to gush over what had happened. She seemed to be just as shocked as I was, especially being that I wasn’t exactly thrilled with him the last time she saw me.

Our first date, Harry took me out to eat. We only waited until the next day before we decided to meet up again. The more we got to talking the less we wanted to wait. Over dinner we were able to get to know each other a little better. Harry made me promise not to google him before the date. He found it refreshing to come across someone who didn’t know of his stardom. Instead he got to tell me all about it himself. I got to tease him about how this was the second time he was paying for my meal, but only our first date.

It took a while to meet up again, I officially started teaching. It took me a few days to get into the swing of things. In the meantime Harry and I texted and called to keep in touch.

Our second date was my idea. I decided it might be nice to go on a hike. I hadn’t been on any of the trails in Los Angeles in years, so I was glad to be back. Harry seemed to be thrilled with the idea as well. It was surprising how for someone who looks to be in shape, he becomes out of breath quite easily. We would talk the whole time, pausing to take in the view. Another successful date.

Hannah couldn’t help but freak out that things were going so well. She felt responsible since it was her idea for me to go up to him in the first place. She liked to gloat and tease me about giving a speech at our wedding. She also claimed that if she wasn’t godparent to at least one of our kids she would be pissed.

Tonight is Harry and I’s third date. He asked me when he dropped me off after our hike and he’s given me no details. We’ve talked and I ask him how to dress and what to bring, but he hasn’t budged on anything. Haven’t wavered even slightly on giving me some details.

“So, what are you wearing tonight?” Hannah asks, she watches me on facetime digging through my closet.

“I have no clue.” I huff, “I just don’t know what to expect. Like are we going out to dinner? Should I dress fancy? Or our last date was hiking so what if we’re like going rock climbing? I hate this.”

I sigh and lay back on my floor, piles of clothes around me.

“I may have heard from a little bird what you’re doing, so I would dress casual and cute.” Hannah admits, I can hear her laugh.

“You know what the date is?” I ask, sitting up to look at her proud smirk. She gives an evil nod in response. Of course they’re in cahoots.

“You ass! You’ve watched me sigh over my clothes for twenty minutes now. So what's the date?” I ask, picking up my phone from my desk to get a better look at the screen.

“I’m not telling! You will love it tho.”

“Okay, so casual and cute.” I reevaluate the items in my closet, trusting that she knows how I should dress appropriately. I settle on a short floral dress and a denim jacket. I put it on and turn back to Hannah for her opinion.

“It’s perfect!”

“Well that’s good because I think I just heard him at the door.” I reach for my phone and my purse, “Thanks!”

I yell a simple ‘coming’ so he knows that I heard him. I check myself in the mirror one more time by the door before deciding it’s good enough.

“Hi.” I swing open the door.

“Hello, love.” He leans in to press a kiss to my cheek. I smile leaning into his touch before turning around to lock my door behind me.

“Ready?” He asks, walking me towards the elevator.

“As ready as I can be for a mystery date.” I grin.

We go downstairs, Harry holds the passenger door open for me.

“I don’t get to drive?” I tease, sticking out my bottom lip in a pout.

“Not when you don’t know where we’re going.” He walks around to the other side and gets in. I’ve decided this car is my favorite when the top is down. It takes my hair with the wind, pulling it in every direction. I normally would hate that for going on a date, but it does the same thing to his curls.

We drive for a while and get on the freeway, telling me that we aren’t going anywhere very close.

“So, how was your first week?” Harry asks, referring to my first week with students.

“It was great. It was a long week, I’m glad it’s Friday, but it’s only confirmed that this is what I’ve always wanted to do. How about you, how was your week?”

I squint to look at him as I wait for an answer. The setting sun casting an orange haze over both our faces.

“I spent most of the week in the studio.” He glances over at me.

“Wait, but didn’t you tell me that you recently released an album?” I tuck my hair behind my ears.

“Yeah, I did. You can never spend too much time in the studio. Plus I was feelin a bit inspired.”

“Were you, now?” I tease, biting back a smile.

He simply nods, trying not to give in to many more words. He should know by now that I’m not going to let him off that easy.

“So, have you already written a song about me?”

He bites the inside of his cheek to avoid giving anything away. I don’t pull my eyes away from him, not wanting to miss an emotion that crosses his face. His cheeks heat up in the most adorable shade of pink.

“Wow.” I smirk, “If you keep that up, I’m going to become the narcissist in this relationship.”

“So we have a relationship now?” He decides to flip it on me now.

He’s successful in shutting me up for a minute. It’s true that we haven’t discussed exactly what we are. We are heavily flirty, but we haven’t even kissed, nothing more than the cheek at least.

“I must be pretty amazing then, huh?” I fill the void, bringing it back to me, wanting to know more about what he could be possibly writing about in the studio the past week.

“That’s where I have to agree.”

Silence fills the car, but it’s comfortable. We just listen to the radio, I watch the scenery pass by as we drive farther and farther from the city. I rest my arm on the top of the door, letting my hand float in the wind. Harry pulls me out of my trance when he reaches out to the radio.

“What?” I question as he turns down the radio. He has a funny look on his face as he does it.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, “Just don’t always enjoy listening to my own music.”

“Shut up!” I grin, Harry has still been adamant about wanting to keep me in my little bubble of unawareness. He wanted us to find out things about each other organically so I haven’t been granted the pass to listen to his music yet, “This is meant to be.”

I reach to turn it back up again, letting it play loudly through the speakers. He rolls his eyes but a smile still graces his face, he gives up feigning annoyance. His arm resting across the bench of our chair drops to my shoulders to pull me a little closer. The wind was whipping my hair, but now due to his arm it’s settled. I lean in to rest my head against his shoulder, grateful for the small car. It makes the cuddling a little easier.

“So are you going to tell me where we’re going?” I ask, looking up at him.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

He continues down the freeway, the sky dimming as we go. We’re miles from the city, nothing is familiar anymore.

“Close your eyes.” He smiles.

“Why?” I squint sceptically.

“Because it’s more fun this way.” He manages to keep glancing between me and the road, “Humor me, love.”

“Fine.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and keep them shut, even as he slows. He makes several turns, we’re obviously far from the freeway now. The roads get quieter and quieter and eventually I can hear us turn on to a gravel road.

“I knew it, you are some creep.” I turn to face him, still keeping my eyes closed, “Taking me out into the middle of nowhere to kill me.”

“Shut up, would ya.” He nudges my shoulder, “You’re going to ruin the fun.”

I can hear the smile in his tone. He’s having way too much fun with this, but also it’s getting me excited for whatever he’s planned. It wouldn’t take much for him to win me over. He’s so charming, and we just click. I would be happy with picking up a pizza and talking. It doesn’t take much to fall for this boy.  

“Okay, you can open.” He’s finally parked. I picked up on outside noises of people talking and other cars.

I peek my eyes open to see where we’ve finally stopped. A drive in movie, Harry’s car parked a few rows back giving us the perfect view of the screen.

“Shut up.” I sit up, reluctantly leaving Harry’s grip so I can sit up a little more and look around.

“Harry.” I turn to look  at him, his eyes already on me, “This is perfect. Thank you.”

“C’mon, let’s go get some snacks.”

We walk over to the snack booth to get drinks and popcorn.

“I haven’t done one of these since I was a kid.” I laugh, taking a piece from the bag, “What movie are we seeing anyway?”

“Grease.” He grins, “A classic drive in movie.”

We go back to his car with our snacks just as the movie starts. The bench seating makes it so Harry can slide more to my side and avoid sitting under the steering wheel the whole time. Once we’re done snacking, we cuddle in a little more. Harry wraps his arm around my shoulder, I throw my legs over his lap. His free hand tracing patterns absentmindedly on my leg.

“I think I watched this movie a hundred times in year four.” He whispers into my hair.

“Really?” I grin thinking about ten year old Harry watching this movie on repeat.

“It was my favorite, I think I proper annoyed everyone else. Gemma hated me for it, I think she still hates this movie.”

I laugh pulling back to look at his smiling face. His eyes leave the screen once he notices I’m no longer watching.

“Whatcha starin at?” He teases.

“You.” I smirk, I focus my attention on his lips. He licks them once he notices my gaze. I tilt my head up towards his slightly, hinting. He smiles before leaning down to finally connect our lips. His hand leaves my leg to cup my cheek and deepen the kiss. I reach my hand to run through his curls, something I’ve been wanting to do since I saw him in the bar.

We both pull back to catch our breath after a few minutes of an intoxicating kiss. I peck his lips once more to get one last taste. Harry doesn’t seem to want it to be over either, pulling me close again. I laugh as he presses kisses down my jaw, trailing them down my chest. He trails them down between my breasts as far as the cut of my dress will allow.

“Harry.” I laugh, pulling on his hair lightly to grab his attention again.

“Hmm?” He finally pulls back to look at me again, he has a dopey grin. I’m still practically sitting in his lap, but I long to be closer. Needing to feel his lips burning against mine.

I push him down slowly, so his back is flat against the seat. I move to straddle his hips before I move down to join. I trace my hand along his jawline, letting the moment build this time. The tension is at an all time high, finally Harry loses patience and pulls me down to his lips again.

We continue the hot makeout for the rest of the movie. We manage to pry ourselves apart once Danny and Sandy are flying away in the car, the end of the movie. Harry clears his throat as he starts his car. I manage to stifle my laugh, Harry makes me feel like I’m a teenager again. Making out in a car, not wanting to go home just yet.

“How are we ever going to top this date?” I ask, my forehead resting against his neck. We’re just now pulling back on to the freeway, we’ve got a long way to go.

“I don’t really know.” He grins, “I’ve quite enjoyed this one.”

“I don’t want this night to end.” I reach my hand up to feel the breeze against it.

“It doesn’t have to.” His eyes flicker between me and the road, “My house is actually in Malibu. We practically have to drive right by it. We don’t have to! I didn’t mean to insinuate that we need to spend the night at my house.”

Harry being a proper gentleman, afraid he’s offended me. In reality it’s excited me.

“No, it sounds like fun.” I grin.

Harry continues driving, thankfully Malibu isn’t as far as driving all the way back into L.A. We both started non stop yawning about ten minutes ago, I think the tiring week and how late it is catches up with us. He enters the code to his gate and drives up the long driveway.

“Jesus, this is your house?” I laugh, looking around at his large Malibu home, “How’d you get this again?”

“Rockin and rollin and whatnot.” Harry laughs, putting on his best Danny Zuko impression to quote the movie. I throw my head back in laughter as he guides us to the front door, his hand resting on my lower back.

“You’re such a dork.” I whisper with a laugh.

“Oh really? I’m a dork? You seem to really like this dork.” He smirks, backing me into his house. I don’t even look around because I don’t want to break eye contact. Something about Harry’s eyes pull you in, enchanting you. Creating a wave of butterflies in my stomach.

“I do really like you.” I admit.

“Wow, she even said it without teasing.” He reaches forward to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear.

“I did.” I smile, “Believe it or not, I’m not always teasing you.”

“It’s okay if you were, surprisingly I like it when you tease me. You keep me on my toes.”

Harry shows me around slightly, a mini tour not going into it fully until we get to the master bedroom.

“Well this is my room.” He blushes, becoming his more shy side.

“It’s cute.” I smirk, “Do you have anything I could sleep in?”

“Yeah, of course.” He goes into his closet and comes back with a soft tee shirt and a pair of his boxers, “My bathrooms right through there.”

He gestures to the en suite. I go in to wash my face, brush my teeth with a spare toothbrush, and change. I decide the tee shirt is enough, it falls down far enough to feel comfortable. I fold my clothes and his boxers and leave them on the counter.

“You look way better in that than I do.” He admires from his bed, sitting up against his headboard.

“Tell me about it, stud.” I tease, throwing a Grease quote back at him. He lets out a loud laugh, not expecting the call back to the movie, little does he know I’ve been waiting to quote the movie since he did.

I walk over to his bed and pull back the covers to climb in, Harry sinks down next to me. I let out another loud yawn, Harry mimics it a second later. His warm arms wrap around my waist, pulling him closer to his side.

“Y/n?” Harry whispers after a few minutes of silence, checking to see if I’m still awake.

“Hmm?” I ask, struggling to keep my eyes open.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” His voice is just loud enough for me to hear it.

“Really?” I smile, turning around to see his face.

He nods, pressing a kiss to my temple.

“I get it if you think we’re moving too fast. If you don’t want the title that’s fine. I just want you to know that I’m not seeing anyone else, and I don’t want to pursue anyone else. I don’t want to play a game, I just want you.”

“I want you too, Harry.” I lightly trace my fingers over his jawline until I guide his face down to mine for a brief kiss.

“I would love to be your girlfriend.”

i hope you guys loved this part just as much as the first. xoxo

[starrynite7114]

Misconstrued: Part 4

A/N: Hello my lovelies! This one was hard to write, I just want to give a shout out to my twin, @justahopelessssromantic​, she really coached me through this last update. I just want to apologize in advance, please don’t hate me. Regardless, I hope you all enjoy this update!

Also, thank you again for the response I’ve been getting for this story.  I enjoy reading all of your comments!

Anon:  I don't know if this is too specific but could you do something about Angel ruining a date and later admits it because he loves them and then they have some angry smut and late night fluff

Word Count: 5106

Warnings: Angst, Smut. 

Previous parts

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3

Masterlist

Tag List: @iambabyharry​ : @justahopelessssromantic​ : @carlaangel86​ : @marvelmaree​ : @mrsamaroevans​ : @ifoundmyhappythought​: @woahitslucyylu​ : @cind-in-real-life​ : @briannab1234​ : @fairygardenss​ : @gemini0410​ : @everyhowlmarksthedead​ : @losolvidad0s​ : @whyisgmora​ : @comasi-world​ : @xserenax-13​ : @chibsytelford​ : @welovethesponge​ : @claytoncardenasbabymama​ : @jadert15​ : @bigcreatorwombatdreamer​ : @trulysuccubus : @pananegra : @summertimesadnesswithadashofsass

If you would like to be added to the tag list, let me know! If I forgot to add you, I’m so sorry!

Angel twirled you around using the hand that was holding yours. He pulled you against him, wrapping a shoulder around you as you giggled. He kissed your cheek, enjoying the time he had off to be with you. You two were walking towards the movie theater with Coco and Gilly trailing behind. This was going to be your date, but you invited Gilly and Coco to come along, knowing they needed a break from whatever the heck your tio was having them do. 

“I really wanted us to be alone.” Angel murmured into your ear before he placed another kiss on your head. 

Angel was very affectionate and you were trying to be as affectionate as him. This was brand new for you. The one boyfriend you had was during your sophomore year of college and it didn’t really feel much of a relationship. You were almost certain that he befriended you since you were breezing through chemistry. After all, your relationship lasted about as long as your chemistry series for university did, but you were never bitter since you were still into Diego at that point.

“Be nice, they perked up when you said we were going to the movies.” You playfully elbowed Angel and he chuckled. 

“You’re such a saint baby.” He shook his head. 

You got the tickets for Captain Marvel, a movie you’ve been wanting to watch. The boys were Marvel fanatics so it didn’t take much to coerce them to see the movie. Angel grabbed snacks for you and him. Gilly and Coco jeered him, asking him what about them, which made the two of you laugh.

“I already let you go on my date, you two should be buying our food.” Angel flipped them off. 

“You’re right,” Gilly nodded, he looked over at you. “Y/N, what would you like since you’re the one who invited us.”

You laughed as Angel rolled his eyes. “I’m good Gilly, Angel got all my favorites.”

“No he didn’t, he didn’t get your KitKat bar.” Coco pointed out before turning to the cashier to order it for you. 

“You didn’t want chocolate baby.” Angel pouted, not liking the fact that he forgot something you liked. 

“I didn’t, just let them have it.”

The four of you made your way to your seats, with Angel and Gilly on either side of you. You loved going to the movies. You always enjoyed it and the seats were so comfortable as of late. Angel placed your food on the table that was attached to your seat. You got fish and chips while Angel got popcorn. Unlike you, Gilly, Coco and Angel already had dinner. You met them at the scrapyard after your shift and they just finished eating. 

“So, what are we doing after this?” Angel questioned you as he took a fry.

“I don’t work tomorrow, so I don’t really care what we do.” You shrugged. “Anything in particular you want to do?” 

“Want to watch the sunrise?” Angel knew how much you love nature. You always spoke to him about the Big Sur and Yosemite, how you had all these hiking trails you wanted to take him up north. 

“Are we taking Gilly and Coco?” 

“Fuck no.” 

You got off Angel’s bike, shoving your hands in the pockets of your hoodie. Angel wrapped his arm around you as you two made your way down to the sand. It was 5:20 and you two had twenty minutes to spare before the sun would rise. The skies were becoming lighter and you just enjoyed the breeze as it blew through you and Angel. 

You two sat down on the little edge that separated the sidewalk and the sand. Angel intertwined your hands, resting it on your lap. It was quiet, with a few people doing their morning workout, but otherwise, the beach was empty. 

After the movie, you two said your goodbyes to Gilly and Coco. You two went home for a few hours to take a mini nap before getting up to make your way to Oceanside, California, which was half and an hour drive. You love riding with Angel, feeling the wind against your face, how freeing it felt. 

“Has Diego reached out to you?” Angel noticed that you never mentioned Diego after two nights ago when he had confessed his feelings for you. He’s encountered Diego a few times and he could feel the glare that he threw his way every time they would run into each other. Angel was an asshole, but the satisfaction of that reaction from Diego, it was priceless. 

He fucking won. 

Diego could go fuck himself. 

“Yes, but I just ignore his messages.” You shrugged. “Has he approached you?”

“Fuck no, he knows better.” Angel knew that Diego would stay away. He was reaching his tipping point and if Diego even approached you one more time, he would sing to Bishop. The smugness that Diego had would be wiped out. Angel doesn’t think that Bishop would strip him of his patches, but he knew he would receive some repercussions for his actions. 

“Can I be honest?”

“Of course querida, you can always be honest with me.”

“I’m not going to lie to you and say it didn’t stir something in me when Diego confessed to me.” Angel gazed at the ocean then, not wanting you to see the hurt in his eyes. “But, it wasn’t the same. I didn’t feel the way I thought I would feel.”

“And why is that?”

“Because of you, all I could think of was you. I wanted you to be there so you could tell him to go away. Diego was my best friend, but after everything that happened, everything with us, I no longer see him in that way. I want to be with you, no one else, just you.” You confessed, which surprised you. Feelings were always difficult for you, it was the reason you were never actually able to tell Diego that you liked him. But with Angel, he always made you feel at ease. You could share everything with him. Though, it took you some time to actually tell him how you felt and it took him meddling, you were glad he did.

It showed you what was missing between you and Diego all those years ago.

You were naive to think that Diego had feelings for you, yet, he never confessed to you. But Angel, he did it, he told you that he loves you and when he did, it was something else.

“When you told me that you love me, it was different. I can’t explain it, but it was the best thing I’ve ever heard. I always thought my crush on you was one sided, then you kept charming your way in my life and I fell in love with you.” 

Angel grinned, squeezing your hand and bringing it to his lips, kissing the back of your hand. “And I meant it, I truly love you. Nothing is going to come between us, especially not Diego.” He couldn’t breathe without you. He tried to put distance between you two at the beginning, but he knew it was futile. It really fucking was, it was a sad attempt on trying to keep his feelings at bay. He was moody, which Coco and Gilly gladly always pointed out to him. 

You and Angel watched as the sun rose, illuminating the skies and the water. Just being in the mere presence of one another was enough for you both. You two love one another and it may have been too soon to say it, but neither of you cared. This was building ever since Angel introduced himself to you. And after a year or so, you two were finally together. 

And Angel had no plans of letting you go. 

This was it for him. 

================

Diego took his phone out as he sat on the picnic table, enjoying his break from the scrapyard. He was getting used to life in Santo Padre. Maybe the city truly did grow on you or maybe it was the fact you were around. Regardless, Diego was contemplating on transferring down, to be closer to you. Regardless of what happened a few nights ago, he knew he could make improvement with you, all he had to do was take Angel out of the picture for just a few days. 

Nothing sadistic or malicious, but he was certain he could convince Bishop to send Angel up north for a few days. 

He smirked at that thought, taking a drag out of his cigarette and exhaling it out of his nose and mouth. It became an obsession for him at this point. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint when it became an obsession, but after he broke up with Regina, contrary to popular beliefs, he left her not the other way around, he was set on getting you back.

He missed the way you felt in his arms whenever you would accidentally fall asleep while watching one of your lame movies you love seeing. He missed the way he would come over to your apartment, a home cooked meal waiting for him. He missed hearing your snort whenever you would laugh so hard at his corny jokes. He missed being able to run to you whenever club shit got too heavy for him.

He just fucking missed you.

And the fact that Angel was getting in the way, it didn’t sit well with him.

Diego could admit that he was an asshole, but he would do anything to get you back.

Even if it meant bringing Coco and Gilly down with Angel. 

He heard steps against the gravel and looked up to find Coco making his way over to him. The smirk on his face became smug, knowing exactly why Coco Cruz was making his way over to him.

“Can we talk pretty boy?” Coco was fuming. The last thing he needed to worry about was Diego, but after last night, Diego was a thorn on his, Gilly and especially Angel’s side. With Angel being MIA for some reason, here he was dealing with Diego. He seemed harmless at first, but Coco should never count out a man who wanted a woman. From what he heard from Medina and other members, Diego was cunning, manipulative, a good fighter, and even better with a gun. Diego was a natural athlete, fighting, running, things came easy for him. But Coco wasn’t impressed easily, especially since he’s been through hell and back. 

“About?” Diego sat up straight, the smugness was exuding from him.

“Don’t be a pendejo, you know what I want to talk about.” Coco glared at him, wanting to smack the smug look on his face.

“About how you’re helping the rebels?” Diego took another puff of his cigarette before he threw it to the ground. “Or about how you three are betraying the club?” Diego shrugged. “Whatever do you mean Coco?”

“Listen, this is bigger than any petty shit you have between you and Angel. This is for the longevity of the club.” Coco knew he didn’t have to explain shit to Diego, but with how he followed them last night, finding out they worked with the rebels while they were on the other side, it looked terrible. Especially with Adelita taking Galindo’s kid, the MC looking for Los Olvidados, it wasn’t didn’t look good.

“But this isn’t about me and Angel. It’s about the fact you three along with the prospect is betraying the club.” Diego stood up, looking around to make sure they didn’t have an audience. “I’m easy to talk to, I’ll keep my mouth shut.” And he could keep secrets, for the right price.

“And in return?”

“Angel breaks up with Y/N, and she comes back to Stockton with me.”

Coco chuckled. “This is your game plan, why am I not surprised?” Coco should have known this was what would appease Diego. He would hate to ask Angel to give you up, but they didn’t have a choice. They’re intentions were noble, but the club may not feel that way, at least not right now. “Angel would never let her go.”

“Then I guess Prez finds out.” Diego shrugged. 

“Don’t act innocent. We all know what you did to get where you’re at.” Coco spat out venomously. 

“Yeah, but I didn’t betray the club, did I?” 

“But you betrayed her.”

Coco was trying to restrain himself. He heard the motorcycles then, knowing that they would have company soon. Diego was so lucky that they weren’t alone cause if they were, then it would be a done deal. 

He looked back and it was EZ. He quickly made his way off his bike and called Coco over. Diego’s eyes followed them, but he stayed away. 

He made his demand.

It was only a matter of time.

================

Angel was relieved that Adelita saved him along with EZ and Coco. Their partnership was going strong, but today was a too fucking close call. When he was in captivity, all he could think about was you, and how he may not be able to see you anymore. He couldn’t bear that thought, it was so painful for him. 

When they arrived at the clubhouse, he felt at ease knowing you would be there, that he would be wrapping his arms around you soon. After cracking that joke on Coco, he made his way towards the clubhouse, but Coco pulled him aside.

“I spoke to Diego.” They took a seat at the picnic table since it was empty. They didn’t need an audience. 

Angel’s blood boiled hearing Diego’s name. That motherfucker was definitely trying him. It took Gilly, EZ and Coco to hold him back from hurting Diego. He couldn’t believe this motherfucker followed them at Santo Madre, watching Galindo’s work with the ice cream man and his son. Their eyes connected through the crowd, the smug look on his face said it fucking all.

He got them and he wouldn’t hesitate to throw him under the bus.

“And?” Angel lit a cigarette, offering one to Coco which he took.

“He wants you to give up on her.” 

Angel scoffed. Over his dead fucking body he was giving you up. 

“I get it hermano, but you have to be smart about this.” Angel didn’t have to say anything, his face answered all of Coco’s questions. But this was why Coco was there, to be the reasonable one between them. “The progress we made, it would burn to the ground if we don’t do what he requests. She won’t fall for his bullshit, talk to her. She’s it, right?”

“What?” Angel stared at Coco, not surprised to hear what he was saying. He sympathized, he understood what Coco was saying, but your relationship was so fresh. He couldn’t possibly walk away now, you wouldn’t understand. But he remembered that the club was something you’ve known since you were young, maybe you would understand. 

Then the thought dawned on him, Coco’s last words sinking in. 

You were it for him, he didn’t see a future with anyone else but you. It was the reason he waited as long as he did, he wasn’t ready to make you his a few months ago with EZ coming out. He needed to reestablish his brother. But now, things were different. Angel was more than ready to be with you, but then Diego came and was just hell bent to ruin your relationship, a relationship that has yet to get off the ground. 

Now, he had to give you up. 

“She’s the one, I know, but you have to make this small sacrifice right now, if you don’t let her go, he tells Bishop. You’re no good to her six feet under.” Coco always had such a way of putting things in perspective for him. 

“Fuck,” Angel breathed out. “I can’t, if I give up on her now, Diego will sink his claws back into her.”

“That’s why I’m telling you to be honest with her. It’s risky, but I know she’ll be loyal to you, she’ll understand why we’re doing what we’re doing.” Coco threw his cigarette butt, stepping on it to put it out. “She’ll wait for you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do, you’re it for her too. If you just saw the way she looked at you, you’d understand.” Coco left Angel to decide. He said his piece and if Angel decided to stay with you, they would cross the bridge then. 

Angel sat there for a moment, thinking about Coco’s words. He knew he was right, it was what pained him. This was unfortunately bigger than him, he had to put personal feelings aside and let you go so that he could assure that the MC would get rid of the cartel. He sighed, throwing his cigarette on the ground. He would talk to you, he wasn’t going to let you slip from his fingers. Coco was right, you would understand, two would make it work. 

Making his way inside the clubhouse, the sight that greeted him was highly ideal. You and Diego were sitting side by side, looking at his phone for some unknown reason. You laughed, snorting as you did, shaking your head at Diego. Angel cussed under his breath as he made his way over to you.

"Enjoying yourself?" Angel joined your conversation, immediately catching your attention. 

"Angel, hey," you got up to greet him with his arm immediately wrapping around your shoulder and pulling you in for a kiss. 

"Thanks for keeping my girl company, Diegito." The way he said Diego's nickname, it was almost a mocking tone and Diego's jaw clenched, giving him a tight smile. 

Angel led you away and you could just feel how tense he was. He brought you outside and let you go then, taking your hand and leading you to the picnic tables that were currently empty.

"You two look cozy." Angel commented, making you frown.

"Angel, come on, you know our history."

"That's the problem, I do. I trust you baby, but you're not stupid, you know why he's here."

"Yeah, but I'm not going to fall for it again." You reassured him, cupping his face, and pressing your lips against his. “I love you, remember? He’s nothing to me anymore.”

“I know mi amor, it just doesn’t sit well with me knowing he’s actively trying to win you over.” Angel felt his heart clench knowing what he had to do. He didn’t have to do it right away. One last day with her was all he wanted before he made this sacrifice. This was bigger than him, Coco was right.

It just sucked that you had to suffer because of it.

“Well he isn’t succeeding. I’m just being nice, but if you want me to stop talking to him, that’s fine with me as well.” You didn’t want Diego’s presence to ruin your relationship with Angel. After what occurred a few days ago, with Diego confessing to you, you wanted to steer clear from him with everything considered. It was mostly out of respect for your relationship with Angel. Talking to someone who you were in love with wouldn’t sit well with Angel and you know it didn’t. 

“I’m not trying to control you, I just don’t want him to sweet talk you.” Angel had his hands resting on your hips while yours rested on his shoulder. 

“Angel, if his confession didn’t move me, what could possibly sway me his way?” 

It was true, Angel knew that and this was breaking his heart. To actually hand you over to some asshole he despised just to assure him, Coco, and Gilly’s survival, it pained him, but like Coco said, it was a small sacrifice. 

But he was hoping once he explained everything to you, you would understand. 

Angel’s phone vibrated and it was an unregistered number on his phone. 

It was a picture of him with Adelita, walking side by side. Another message was a video with himself, Adelita, and Coco. 

‘It would be a shame if this was sent to Prez and El Padrino.’

The fury on Angel’s face was unmistakable. Your eyebrows furrowed looking at his features. Softly, you squeezed his should, his attention drifting away from his cellphone and back to you.

“Are you okay?” You questioned.

“Yeah amor, I’m good.” He gave you a smile, but you could tell it wasn’t genuine. It was tight and it didn’t reach his eyes. 

But you let it go, nodding your head. 

“You ready to get out of here?” 

“Damn baby, I gave you the dick once and you’re insatiable.” 

You rolled your eyes, smacking him playfully on his chest. “Fuck you.”

“That’s the plan.”

You sighed as Angel kept your legs spread out for him, spelling the alphabet on your pussy. Every time you came, he restarted back to A and this was the third time he was restarting.

“Angel, baby, please, I can’t take anymore.” You were trying to push his head away, but it was to no avail. You literally had no strength. 

Angel kisses your inner thigh, stopping at the letter ‘S’. He smirked, proud of how wet he made you, how you were putting in his hand. 

“Come on baby, gotta learn self control.” He teased you.

Angel loved that you were inexperienced. It was to his advantage since he could teach you all these things, give you all your firsts. Diego was still in his mind, the weight of the decision on his shoulders, but he wanted to spend one more night with you before things changed. He knew he wouldn’t be able to take the heartbreak in your eyes, it would crush him. 

But he would make it up to you, he really would.

“I have self control, but this is ridiculous.” You tried to close your legs, but Angel moved to kneel in between them. 

“You ready?” Angel knew you were ready, but he knew how sensitive you must feel right now.

You shook your head, placing your hand on his stomach. He moved his cock up and down your slit, coating it with your wetness. You moaned, shaking your head. 

“It’s too much right now.” You tried to move away but he held your hips down.

“I promise it won’t be so bad, you’ll feel so good baby.” Angel coaxed, placing kisses all over your neck, trying to bring the fire up again. “You’re so fucking wet too baby, I’m just going to slide right in.” Angel was almost sure that wasn’t true, but he did prep you as best as he could.

You know Angel would take care of you, that it was going to feel good once he was buried inside you. “Okay.”

Angel lines his cock up to your opening, coating the tip before pushing himself in. He groaned, looking down at you, watching the pure pleasure on your face as you arched your back, holding on to his forearms as his hands held your legs apart. Angel watched where you two were joined, cursing under his breath. 

Watching all these new sensations coarse through your body, the whimpering and moans that you let out was music to his ears. He had this possessiveness over you. He was your first and he intended to keep you by his side and be your last.

But then Diego poked at him. 

That motherfucker.

He should have known.

Known that he would pull some shit like this. 

“Fuck Angel,” you voice broke him out of his thoughts. His vision cleared and you were watching where you two were joined, your pupils were dilated and Angel was sure he was as well. 

“Feel good, Querida?” He slowed his pace when he noticed you were tightening up around him. You fell back, arched back and his name on your lips. Angel loved seeing you so vulnerable, see how much you were enjoying this, how intimate this was. “I fucking love you, don’t ever fucking forget that.”

You nodded unable to speak as Angel fastened his pace again.

“Can’t get enough huh?” Angel cockily asked you.

You shook your head, pulling Angel down so your lips could meet. He moved you two so you were sitting on his lap as he sat down, guiding you to move up and down his cock. You felt that familiar feeling as this position was hitting you at the right spot. Angel thrusted up, sucking on your neck, leaving hickeys all over. You loved the feel of his beard against your skin, how it slightly tickled, but you loved it. Giving him an open mouthed kiss, you wrapped your arms around his neck.

Angel pulled away, wanting to watch you as you came. You bit your lip, but Angel smoothed it out, wanting to hear you. 

“Angel, I need-,” you felt yourself tightening up, but it wasn’t enough. It was like you couldn’t reach that orgasm, but it was so close. 

“I got you baby.” He placed you on your back. Angel thrusted into you, his thumb on your clit, rubbing it. 

“Shit, that feels so good.” You moaned out as you clamped down on Angel. The familiar feeling at the pit of your stomach came for the fifth time that night and you let out an ‘Oh god’, as Angel continued to fuck you through your orgasm. 

“Look at that, that’s my fucking girl.” Angel pulled out, watching as his cum dripped down. He licked his lips, gathering whatever came out and pushed it inside once again. He was a bastard for thinking it, but he hoped he got you pregnant so even after he fucked up, you couldn’t leave him. 

Angel helped you clean up, slipping in under the covers with you in his arms. He knew you were asleep, especially with tonight’s activity. 

“Please forgive me, amor. Once I handle Diego, you’ll be back in my arms for good.” He knew you couldn’t hear him. 

Tomorrow was going to be a bitch. 

You stretched, loving the soreness you felt between your legs. A smile crossed your face as you opened your eyes. You reached over your nightstand and got your glasses. Angel was no longer beside you, which was not surprising since you knew he had a shift at the scrapyard. Taking your phone out, you saw you had a message from him and a few other people, but he was the first one you opened. 

But you wished you didn’t. 

You really wished you didn’t.

‘Y/N, we’re done. I got what I wanted from you. Sorry I strung you along, but now that I got what I wanted, we’re done. Thank you for giving yourself to me, I'll never forget it.’

You couldn’t believe it. You reread the message over and over again in disbelief. This wasn’t Angel. He wouldn’t use you, he knew what you went through. After everything you two went through this past year and half, there was no way he was faking everything.

But that voice at the back of your head, mocked you, chuckling at your rebuttal for every negative thought it threw at you. Insecurities were a bitch and you felt like the world was closing in on you again. This was worse than what happened with Regina and Diego, which bothered you. But Angel was different. You were in love with Angel, a man that thought you were worth the risk no matter who your relatives were. He saw you for more than your relations within the organization and now, you felt like a fool.

A sob escaped your lips as his words ran through your mind, now coupled with that voice at the back of your head. 

‘You’ll never be good enough.’

‘Another man who you thought was worth the risk, but at the end, you looked like a fool again.’

‘You’re not worth loving. You’ll always be just that friend.’

You felt your heart break, laughing at how much of a fool you were. 

Fuck Angel Reyes. 

================

Angel felt shitty. He was looking at his phone every fifteen minutes hoping to see some reply from you, but there was nothing. He wasn’t surprised, but there was some part of him that wished you replied. 

“You okay?” Coco questioned as they took a smoke break.

“No, I broke up with her.”

“Shit, well, here she comes now.” Coco warned.

As soon as Angel turned around the sting on his cheek was immediate. His head recoiled, his eyes immediately on you. He didn’t want to see your face, he didn’t want to see the hurt in your eyes. He loves you, but this was something he had to do. Diego was at the corner of his eye, wiping off his sweat, a smirk on his face. The victory etched on his face was too much, but he had to do this.

“Fuck you Angel,” you venomously spat out. “I gave myself to you and you broke up with me through text. You can go fuck your self. You’re no better than the person you apparently tried to protect me from. I just wished you didn’t fuck with me as hard as you did.”

Before Angel could even utter a word, you walked away, moving away from Bishop when he tried to approach you. His eyes locked on Angel and it made him swallow hard.

“Prez,” Angel began, but Bishop cut him off.

"You strike me as a smart man, so I know you didn't fuck with her feelings. I don't care what you do, but you're going to fix this or I'm going to hang your balls outside the fucking gate." Bishop smacked Angel upside the head and walked away with Hank and Taza in tow.

Diego approached Angel, taking his phone out. Stopping beside him so Angel could see his phone screen, he deleted all the contents he has with Adelita in it.

“I’m a man of my word.” Diego clapped a hand on Angel’s shoulder which he immediately shrugged off. “This is the best for her. You know it, that’s why you let her go.”

Diego walked away, thinking of what he could do for you later so that he could keep you company. Angel broke your heart, so he was going to mend it for you. And in good time, you would be back in his arms. 

Coco approached Angel, placing a hand on his shoulder knowing that a storm was brewing. 

“Did he delete everything?” Coco asked

“Yep.”

“We’re getting even right?”

Angel turned to him and smirked. “He won’t even fucking see what’s coming for him.”

[ihearthes]

Farmers’ Market

Author: @ihearthes Pairing: Harry x y/n Rating: Fluff Word Count: 2.8k

Summer Feeling Challenge sponsored by @helladirections

Vibrant yellows, pinks, greens, and red catch my eye as I take in the variety of fruits and veg in front of me. Wow. How is it possible to have this much beautiful fresh produce in one spot? Placing the essential ingredients for my favorite salad in a basket, I approach the counter. Having ridden a bicycle to the market, I’m fairly confident it will all fit in my knapsack for the return to my flat. 

Hearing his voice causes my entire body to freeze. Well, not completely because my heart is like a wild animal trying to break free from captivity. Regular beats, steady, but louder than my friend Steph had been at his concert in Philly. 

“Hi, I’m looking for some kale, and you don’t seem to have any,” His voice is as deep as the grooves in one of the gravel roads back home in Springfield, and the shiver that travels up my spine is a violent and silent storm. 

Shit. Had I taken the last of the kale? Maybe I can surreptitiously put it back so he doesn’t notice? Wait just a doggone minute! Why the fuck should I give up my kale? Just because he’s my favorite musician in the whole world and he’s somehow standing at the very same green-grocer’s as I am? That makes zero sense. 

A statue, I debate my options. 

Buy my produce and leave before he notices me. But then he might realize that I’ve taken the last of the kale. 

Put the kale back and choose spinach instead? My strawberry salad will taste lovely with spinach. But it truly is best with kale. 

Wait until he leaves and hope he doesn’t spy the kale in my basket? Suddenly, I’ve got the urge to pee. What if he’s here for a long time? 

Put on my sexy voice and offer to share my kale salad with him? This option causes me to smirk while my tummy resembles a popcorn popper with kernels scattering in every direction. Stepping to the counter, I quickly throw my items at the woman while he’s engaged in conversation with a different clerk. 

“That’ll be £14.35,” the woman says, and I withdraw a £20 note, quickly passing it to her, holding my breath that I can escape before he approaches. Not daring to look backwards, I squeeze my change in my fist as I rush to fit in with the crowd strolling the Parliament Hill Farmers’ Market. It’s not until I’m at the end of the stalls and near my chained bicycle that I slow down, breathe, and risk a glance behind me. 

“What did you think? He was going to chase you down and tackle you for the kale?” Steph screams at me through the phone. Naturally she had been my first call as soon as I arrived back at the flat my company had rented for the duration of this London business trip. 

“I didn’t know, Steph! It’s like sixty degrees out there, and I’m sweating like I’ve just run a marathon in ninety-degree heat.” Removing the items from my knapsack, I wash them, laying them out to dry on a towel. Using my fingers, I pull my shirt away from my chest and shake it to allow air to flow better. 

“You’re the only person I know who can meet Harry fucking Styles on her first trip to the farmers’ market! And you’re deffo the only one who would turn and run away! How did he look? What was he wearing?” Her words are BB pellets like my brothers used to shoot at cans back home. 

My words are quiet and stutter as they emerge like a new butterfly from a cocoon. “I didn’t look.”

“WAIT JUST ONE GODDAMNED MINUTE! What do you mean? How could you not look?” Her volume has increased to the level that I might need to remove my Airpods so as to not damage my ears. Then her voice lowers. “What if it wasn’t him?”

Shit. I hadn’t considered that. “No. It was definitely him. Come on. How many times have I listened to his voice?”

“Maybe it was just the British accent.”

“Steph, I’m in London. Everyone has a British accent. I’m telling you. It was him.”

My best friend sighs. “Okay. I believe you. The fact that he was right there, though, and you didn’t say or do anything…” 

“I got the hell out of there. What do you mean I didn’t do anything?”

“Maybe you’ll see him next week. Will you talk to him?”

A soft smile crosses my lips. “Nope. Come on, Steph. You and I have always had a pact that we wouldn’t bother him if we saw him in the wild, and I’m sticking with that.”

----------

“My boss and his wife are coming by tonight, so I want to put together a fruit and cheese plate.” I tell the vendor at Bath Soft Cheese. “Can you give me some suggestions?”

“Oh. I can!” A voice next to me says, and I’m a rigid piece of lumber. What are the fucking odds? Shit. 

“Thanks, Harry,” the gentleman at the table says. “I’m going to help this couple.” With that, I’m left alone. 

Carefully, I swivel my neck to make sure I’ve not lost my mind -- or the plot as my colleagues might say. But no. It’s him. Definitely him. 

I drink him in. Wearing a hoodie with his own name over the heart and a pair of shorts that are more for walking than jogging, Harry (fucking Styles!) points towards one of the cheeses sitting on the bed of ice. 

“This one is a vegetarian cheese, and it’s my sister’s favorite. Best paired with thin apple slices because they make the cheese with apple cider. So delicious.” He glances at me, and I feel faint from the deep green of his eyes. Fuck. Up close and in person, they’re brilliant. They shine (Shine! Step into the light! Shine! So bright sometimes!), and I have to blink so that I can nod. 

“Awesome. Thanks,” I move to take the cheese. 

“Oh, but this one,” he points to the next one over, “is their Bath Soft, and it’s best served with grapes.” Harry Styles, explaining cheeses like he’s an expert cheesemonger, makes me smile. “Personally, I wouldn’t serve a blue cheese to guests unless you know they like it. So many people take offense to blue cheese.”

“Right? I love blue cheese. Especially in a salad. It’s got that bite to it,” I blurt out, and then clamp my mouth shut as I realize I’ve started to relax in his presence. Which is downright stupid as I might inadvertantly disclose something incriminating. Like how many of his concerts I’ve witnessed live.

“Yes! I’ve got this great kale salad recipe with blue cheese and walnuts!” His excitement is the same as that of a puppy spotting a treat; tail practically wagging the whole backside. 

From deep in my belly I feel the giggle build up, and I fasten both hands solidly over my mouth in a pathetic (and useless) attempt to contain it. 

His joy is contagious, though, and I can’t help myself. “Does it have a balsamic vinegarette? Because I have one that’s so good I can eat it every night for a week. Oh. Never mind. That’s the recipe I have with candied pecans. Not walnuts.”

Holy shit. I’m actually standing in a farmers’ market in London discussing recipes with Harry Styles. Perhaps I’m going to pass out? Or maybe I’m hallucinating? Or dreaming? 

“Candied pecans? Sounds yummy. There’s my friend. Gotta go! You can’t go wrong with those two cheeses I mentioned! And maybe treat yourself to some blue cheese too. Just for you.” He winks with his right eye and flashes the dimple my way before he disappears.

----------

My third week in London, and I climb onto my bicycle a full two hours before the usual time I had traveled to the farmers’ market the last two weeks. My license plate should read “Determined to Dodge” because it’s freaking me out a bit that I’ve seen Harry twice in the same place. And they say lightning doesn’t strike twice. Ha! I’m making sure it doesn’t strike thrice. 

“I’ll take the plain goat’s cheese,” I instruct the vendor, and after money is exchanged, she hands it to me and I move to place it directly into my backpack. After nearly a month, I’ve got the hang of this farmers’ market shopping, it seems, and I’m pleased to have arrived with a set shopping list for the first time. 

“Yum.” Harry’s voice comes over my shoulder, and I’m startled enough to nearly drop the damn cheese. HOW IS HE HERE? “What’s your plan for that?”

“Um,” I bite my lip. “Goat cheese, honey, and fruit crostini.” Feeling emboldened, my lips continue speaking as though this superstar and I are friends, “I’ve been debating the two beekeepers, but I don’t know which has the better honey.”

Today he’s wearing a pair of blue jeans that fit wide on his hips along with a peach button-down shirt and a newsboy cap. “Oh, then I think we should definitely go have a taste at each. My lady?” He holds out his crooked arm, ready for me to take it like we’re in a 1940’s movie. 

What’s even crazier is that I follow his lead and add, “Lead the way, sir.” It’s ridiculously silly. And so much fun. His playful side makes me feel charmed, less like a fan and more like an acquaintance. At the first beekeeper, we each taste the regular blossom honey. 

“Oh, that’s fantastic,” I whisper as I slide the wooden stick across my tongue. 

“Hey, you can’t give in yet. We’ve not tried the other one. We’ll be back,” he says over his shoulder to the vendor as he escorts me away. “Maybe,” he adds once we’re out of hearing, drawing a giggle from me. 

Holy shit. I’m relaxed around Harry Styles. What is happening to me? Boundaries! I need boundaries. 

“Oh, my!” I breathe as we arrive at the Local Honey Man’s booth. “There’s too many options.”

Knowingly, Harry nods. “Indeed there are. So maybe we need to back up. You’re doing plain goat cheese on what kind of crostini?”

“You mean what bread am I using? Oh, I was thinking either a thinly sliced sourdough or a baguette.”

“Mmmm...excellent choice. I can recommend some bread next. What fruit are you planning to use?”

His question makes me laugh involuntarily. The great performer and entertainer Harry Styles is asking me what fruit I want on my crostini? Why?

“Well, I’m thinking it’s that time of year for peaches or nectarines. Either of which would be amazing.” Placing a finger to my chin, I survey him. Fuck. He looks so wonderful. Fresh. Friendly. Not at all like a celebrity. Just a normal Joe -- or Harry -- that one might meet at a farmers’ market on a Saturday morning. As I observe him, I feel myself starting to shed some of the barriers between us. He’s just like me, I think. A food connoisseur. Someone who enjoys the local atmosphere. 

“Oh yes,” he pauses, smacking his lips. “I can taste that now. Okay, so with that combination, I would recommend either the lemon zest infused honey or the British Borage Honey. Personally, I think the cinnamon honey might overpower the flavor of the goat cheese.”

“You know what? I think you’re right. My goal is for all of the local flavors to come through, so perhaps going with a non-flavored honey is the best decision. Thanks, Harry.” And then I freeze again because I know I’ve let my tongue get away with a horrible slip by saying his name. Wanting to cry, I bite my lip and turn to the vendor. With tears in my throat, I ask, “I’ll take a jar of the British Borage please.” 

The merchant wraps it quickly, handing it over in exchange for my money, and I nervously twist towards Harry, expecting his glare over my rudeness. It’s almost like he’s oblivious. As I place the jar of honey in my bag, he grabs my hand. 

“Let’s check out breads!” 

Running behind him, I’m puzzled by what had just occurred. Shouldn’t he be upset? Freaking out? Wondering if I’m a stalker?

“Here’s my recommendation,” he says as we stop at a stall with a sign reading ‘The Flour Station’. They’ve got a wonderfully tangy sourdough baguette. If you slice it thin, then layer on the goat cheese, honey, and finally the peaches, it will be a perfect meal.”

When I request the baguette, the owner nods and wraps it for me. As he hands it over, I turn to Harry and extend my hand. “Thank you for your help, kind sir. I’m confident this will be the most amazing meal.”

Staring at my hand suspiciously, he ignores it. “Nearly lunchtime,” he announces. “Any chance you’ll join me for some Indian food?” With his head, Harry gestures towards the Mumbai Mix stand. 

As I consider the implications, my head starts to move from side to side. Never meet your idols. That’s what the voice in my head whispers. 

“Please?” His eyes take on a look that is as close to begging as I’ve ever seen in any human. “Look. I’ll be honest. These days I don’t meet many fans who would go out of their way to avoid me like you do. Most want to move into my house immediately. It would be nice to extend our time a bit. After all, it’s just a meal in the middle of a crowded London farmers’ market. How scary can it be?”

Blinking, I carefully think about my response, but instead the words that escape are “You knew I was a fan? For how long? And how did you know I was avoiding you?”

“Fair questions. Place your order, and we can talk about the answers over lunch.”

Now my curiosity has been peaked. At the vendor, Harry requests the Dosa Wrap while I order the samosas, and we step to the side while they’re being prepared. 

“That first time.”

“Last week you mean?”

“No, the first time. You remember. At the green-grocer’s.”

My face likely flames red. “You saw me? You noticed me? I didn’t even so much as look at you.”

His hearty laugh makes me tingle. “Noticed you? Of course. You’re gorgeous and golden and stunning. And your American accent grabbed my attention. Why did you run?”

The giggle starts at my toes and bursts forth like a bird flying from a cage. “Um...because I’d taken the last of the kale.”

Resting his hands on his knees, Harry chuckles loudly, drawing the attention of other patrons. As the restauranteur hands over our plates, Harry carries both to a nearby table. 

“And last time? You jumped a mile when I suggested helping you with the cheeses.”

Burying my face in my hands, I groan. “Harrrrrrrryyyyy. Before I came to London for work, I made a promise to my best friend that if I saw you in the wild, I’d leave you alone. So it was quite awkward that you were the one who approached me. And holy hell! How did you know I would be here today at this time? I came early so I could shop before you arrived!”

He picks up his wrap and takes a bite, chewing carefully. Taking guidance from him, I gingerly grasp a samosa and tear into the dough, immediately savoring the potatoes and spices inside. 

“Mmmmm,” I murmur, and my tongue flicks out to rescue a bit of flavor still on my lips. 

“‘In the wild’?” he inquires, and I’m confident the blush now covers my entire body. 

“You know. Like if I saw you at a show or a public event, it would be different. Then I could fangirl and ask for an autograph or a photo or whatever. But at the market, you’re not working. You’re just like everyone else -- shopping.” 

Knowingly, he nods. “I appreciate that. Truly. Not everyone respects my private time. So thank you. But the truth is…” There’s a pause, and I nervously nibble at the samosa in my hand, worried about what he will say next. “...once I noticed you, I couldn’t ignore you.” Clearing his throat, he smiles in a friendly manner. “How did your boss enjoy the cheese and fruit plate?”

“Wonderfully,” I respond, “But not as much as I enjoyed my kale salad with blue cheese, blueberries, strawberries, and candied pecans.” A smile tilts my lips upwards, possibly exposing my own dimple. 

“I’m sure,” he murmurs, “I’d love to taste it sometime. Care to make it for me?”

“Hmmm,” I playfully consider his request. “Are you confident you’d prefer that to goat cheese, honey, and fruit crostini on sourdough baguette? It’s all local.”

A/N:  Thanks for reading. Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this. 

[punkpoemprose]

I Love You Pumpkin- A Kristanna Week “Yellow” Fic

Universe: Modern AU Rating: G (It’s just fluff y’all) Length: 2826 Words

For day 3, yellow, I went with concepts of “harvest” and “joy” to make a little pumpkin farm date AU. I threatened to write one of these a while back after going on a pumpkin farm date with my boyfriend, but didn’t finish it for Halloween. I hope y’all will enjoy it anyway!

Anna took Kristoff's hand as he helped her out of his truck. He was, as always, the most courteous man she'd ever met. It was just in his nature, she thought, to take care of others. Since they'd started dating she'd truly come to notice and appreciate just how second nature it was for him to help. 

It was one of the things she loved most about him, his willingness to step up and support her. She was glad for it, because it coincided with a particular inability on his part to ever say no to her. She knew that it was silly to plan a whole day around going to a pumpkin farm meant for children without bringing any children along, and yet when she'd suggested it, he'd just smiled and nodded and let her make the arrangements appropriately. 

"I'm so excited!" 

She was barely able to contain her desire to bounce up and down in her seat when she spotted a little hand painted sign with the farm's name just ahead on the path leading away from the gravel parking lot. She hadn’t ever gone to a pumpkin farm, at least not that she could remember. Her family didn’t do many outings at all after Elsa got sick, and while she’d been reassured by many that she hadn’t missed out on much, she still felt that she had missed something.

Kristoff understood. He’d had all those childhood experiences that Anna craved, but he’d had them after turning eight, when his parents adopted him and strove to give him the childhood that every other normal kid had. He understood that while most people didn’t think a trip to the pumpkin farm was important, it was important to Anna. For him, she knew, that was enough a reason to take the half hour drive.

"I noticed," he teased, squeezing her hand a couple times as he swung the passenger side door shut, "You were bouncing your foot the whole way here. You only do that when you're nervous or excited and I figured my driving couldn't have been that bad, so it must just be the pumpkin farm anticipation."

Anna smirked, squeezing his hand back and rocking up onto her tiptoes to press a kiss against his cheek.

“You’re an excellent driver. I trust you completely. I don’t even grab onto the door like I do when Elsa drives.”

He grinned at the compliment and chuckled at the mention of her sister’s driving. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Elsa was a bit of a distracted driver, often too caught up in her own thoughts to notice someone in front of her braking until the last second.

She pressed close to his side as he led them toward the gravel path that led to the pumpkin farm. It was a warm afternoon for autumn, the morning had been frosty but the light breeze didn’t chill Anna in her flannel and bluejeans, nor did it seem to affect Kristoff. It carried on it the scent of popcorn and something sweet.

“I read on the website that they have a fudge house,” he said, either noticing the scent for himself or being somehow able to sense Anna’s mouth already watering, “Is that going to have to be our first stop, or?”

Anna shook her head as the many small buildings of the farm came into her view. She could see the sign posts just ahead pointing to the different attractions offered by the farm, among them being spooky displays, a haunted haywagon ride, a small family friendly corn maze, a barnyard, and of course, the pumpkin patch. Sprinkled between there were small shops selling snacks and small trinkets that Anna already knew she’d be picking up before they left. 

“Of course not. They have a barnyard, we have to start there.”

She felt Kristoff bump into her side playfully and rocked her hip over to bump him in return.

“Of course, how could I be so foolish. It’s not as if you’ve ever seen a chicken or pig or goat before.”

She had, on more than one occasion, visited his family’s small farm and while there petted their livestock and most recently spent time picking apples from their orchard. She hadn’t been raised in a large city, but she had been far enough into town that she hadn’t spent much time around animals as a child. Helping her collect eggs for his mother and bringing her to see their newest goat when it was newborn were other ways he’d tried to help fill in gaps for her. They were experiences she treasured, particularly the memory of him, hand over hand, helping her to bottle feed the small kid.

“I’ll have you know sir,” she said with mock annoyance, “That they have a mini horse.”

He lifted both hands in surrender, picking up hers with his as he did so, not releasing it even as he teased her.

“Well then, that changes everything.”

***

After the time spent speaking in a baby voice to the miniature horse, Anna brought Kristoff along with her to look into each and every little display set up on the property. They tossed coins into a witch’s cauldron in return for a wish, watched as a skeleton popped out of a steamer trunk, and spent some time listening to children speaking to a giant talking pumpkin, asking her questions about her life to which she promptly replied.

“You’d be great at that job,” Kristoff mentioned as an aside as they walked away from the children.

“Being the lady on the other end of the microphone in the pumpkin?”

“Well,” Kristoff offered, “I don’t think she’s actually in the pumpkin, I assume it’s an intercom situation, but yes. You’re great with kids and you’re smart so I think you’d come up with quick answers and keep the magic for them.”

Anna felt her heart skip at the compliment, but Kristoff carried on walking them toward the fudge house like it had been nothing to say something so kind. She often wondered whether he knew how much he affected her when he said things like that, or when he casually reached for her hand, or when he kissed her, even chastely. There were days where she thought she might catch fire under the warmth and multitude of his affections, and he never acted as if it were anything more than natural.

She sometimes imagined a future where he was like that with their kids, kind and loving, doling out praise and affection easily and with little pomp and circumstance. His free way of giving affection, even when he was cranky and acting gruff was one of her favorite things about him.

“I guess I should inquire for next season then if things don’t go well with my teaching job.”

He smirked and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek quickly as they walked behind a building out of the sight of prying eyes.

“They love you there, you’re the best third grade teacher they’ve ever had. I saw the crayon drawings on your fridge to prove it. I don’t expect you’ll need the job. Unless of course, you’re planning on buying enough fudge to fill my truck, because then you might want to think about it.” 

***

She didn’t buy enough fudge to fill his truck in the least, buying two large pieces, one for herself and one to give her sister if she didn’t eat it on the ride home. Kristoff had bought them both cider and doughnuts that they called an unhealthy pre-dinner snack before buying their tickets for the corn maze and hay wagon ride. 

The afternoon had dimmed down and night approached nearer, and while the corn maze hadn’t been much match for them, Kristoff being able to see the exit the whole time due to the way they’d cut the corn down shorter for the kids, the hayride proved to be quite fun. As they passed by different “haunts” on the path the tractor and wagon took, they worked together to spot little secrets or decorations that made the displays even more interesting.

Kristoff had been the one to notice a lightning rod in the woods behind Frankenstien’s monster, and Anna had been the one to tell him that one of the monster masks on the trees had been painted, scuffed up, and generally repurposed from a kid’s superhero costume. A scarecrow with glowing eyes caught Anna off guard, and Kristoff had taken the opportunity to pull her closer to his side as she jumped. 

While it wasn’t truly frightening, and while the air wasn’t quite cold yet, Anna had been happy to have the excuse to cuddle in close to him. Leaning her head against his shoulder as they chatted a bit more about the displays and discussed their thoughts on what pumpkin they should purchase before leaving.

***

“We have to get the ugly one Kris,” she said, purposefully giving him puppy dog eyes and sticking out her lower lip. 

Of course she knew that the theatrics were unnecessary and that he would consent to any pumpkin she chose, but it was all part of the fun. She had to convince him to love the oddly shaped, warty, off kilter pumpkin as much as she did.

“No one else will pick him, and he deserves a home for Halloween. It’s like the tree in Charlie Brown. It’s not such a bad little pumpkin.”

Looking directly at her, she saw him trying to hold a stone face. His eyes betrayed too much mirth though, for any real protest to be present in his thoughts. 

“Maybe,” he said with a sigh, a smile forming quickly on his lips as he cracked, “If we carve enough out of the one side, he’ll balance better. If not I’ll grab some shims and we’ll give him a support system to keep him standing up on the porch.”

She excitedly lifted the pumpkin from the ground at his approval and acted as if she didn’t watch his hands twitch as she carried the large gourd towards the checkout stand. Many others had caught her eye as they walked through the neat rows of pumpkins and squash, but this oddly shaped one had called to her. It was awkward to carry, and while Kristoff didn’t offer to take it from her as she hefted it along, she saw him in her periphery putting his hands into his pocket so as to not reach for it. 

“I’ll pay the man,” he said, clearly not being ready to watch the balancing act that would ensue if Anna were to hold the pumpkin in one arm and try to riffle through her purse with the other. 

She thought it might be funny to attempt it, if only to see his crabby side come out for a moment. He was never mean, of course, but he did sometimes grumble like an old man, and she often found it enjoyable to kiss the crankiness out of him.

It was a pastime of hers that she found he also enjoyed.

With the pumpkin paid for and their adventures concluded for the day, they set off for his truck once more, the sky getting darker by the minute, but still bright enough to see quite well by.

“So,” he asked as he loaded their pumpkin into the back of his truck, paying particular attention to ensuring that it would not roll despite its odd shape’s propensity to do so, “Was this the pumpkin farm experience of your dreams?”

Anna nodded, seeing the pumpkin successfully loaded, and turning to open the door to the truck.

“All that I could dream of and more,” she said, patting her purse where the remainder of her chocolate fudge, as well as her sister’s piece were located, “Thank you for coming with me. I had a great time.”

He stepped around to her side of the truck, offering her his hand as she stepped up to enter the cab, releasing it only when she was seated so that he could close the door behind her.

She watched from the passenger seat as he shoved his hands back into his pockets and walked around the truck to enter his side. 

There was a bit of an odd look on his face, like he was mulling something over in the short five step walk. His hand was still in his pocket when he opened the door with the other and climbed in, swinging it shut, a bit awkwardly, with the hand that was not in the pocket.

“I’m glad you had fun… I’d like to make everyday… no, that’s not it…”

He was mumbling a bit and Anna offered him a confused look and a tilt of her head. He wasn’t usually a man who started saying something and cut himself off unless he was still thinking about what he wanted to say, or unless he was trying to say something important.

“Anna, everyday I’m with you is an adventure. I never thought that I was the type of man who wanted to wake up to a surprise everyday, but I guess it’s no surprise that I love you, and if pumpkin farm dates and ugly gourds and small animals are what you love then I guess I love those things too. If you’ll let me, I want take you on adventures, and hold your hand for as long as we can.”

He pulled his hand from his pocket, and in the quickly dimming light of the afternoon turned evening, she saw a small shining ring in his large palm.

“Anna, what I want to ask you is… will you make me the happiest man alive and do me the honor of letting me call you my wife?”

***

The ring was beautiful and unique, the stone in the center being a beautiful yellow-orange, flanked on either side by smaller stones set into leaf-like shapes. Anna could hardly breathe, let alone speak, so for a moment she simply flapped her hands in surprise as the tears rolled down her cheeks. She nodded yes quickly, and managed to choke it out as he watched her with a shy smile.

“I’m sorry this wasn’t as special as I wanted it to be, but I’ve been trying to find the right time for weeks, and I tried to take you out to dinner last week but I got called into work and I wanted to do it with your sister there so you could have her and…”

Anna leaned across the console of his truck and wrapped her arms around him, the hug not quite as full as she wanted it to be with the separation. She kissed him fully on the lips when she got him close enough, stopping his apology in the middle as she showed him exactly how perfect he’d made the proposal, and every moment of every day before it since they’d met. 

They sat like that for a long while, pulling each other close and kissing and smiling and wiping away happy tears, until finally he slid the ring onto her finger and they were content to take a moment to breathe with their hands clasped atop the console.

“I was so nervous tonight,” he admitted, his thumb running along hers as he spoke.

She shot him a look of surprise, then laughed. 

“You didn’t seem nervous at all. You never seem nervous when we’re alone together.”

He smiled at her in return and shook his head, “I was checking my pocket every ten seconds for the ring and then I kept wondering everytime we did something. Is it the right time? Should I propose in front of the mini-horse or on the hayride?”

She couldn’t help but snort at the idea of being proposed to in front of a miniature pony. She probably would have loved it in the moment though, given it was Kristoff proposing.

“This was perfect. Just you and me, in your car, knowing that we’ll get to show all our friends and family later but just having the moment for ourselves. It was perfect.”

“Well, just so we don’t slight anyone… we could send the mini horse a wedding invite.”

She swatted him playfully and fell back into her seat, releasing his hand so that she could put on her seat belt.

“Or we could head to your parents house now and inform them… and maybe also the goat.”

“Do you want the goat in the wedding?”

“No,” she said, mentally making note to call her sister as soon as they were on the road and have her meet them at Kristoff’s parent’s place, “But if we have it on the farm it would be rude not to invite all the residents.”

She heard his laugh, rich and joyful, before she felt his arms wrap around her again, pulling her as close as possible for another kiss.

[harryskalechips]

Will we ever be more than friends? Part 2

A/N I did not edit oops! anyways, here is part two because an angel must’ve enjoyed the last one. Thank you here’s your request! ♡

Words: 1775

Part 1

“Yeah, I think so? I mean you like her, she must have some good qualities.” I reply back whispering. I keep my gaze on the screen as I try my best to appear not interested at all. He twirls his finger around one of the curls in my hair and laughs.

“Trust me on this one, I really like Caitlin. I met her at Niall’s party last month. I thought a simple fuck would do but I couldn’t stop thinking about her after that.” I look at him and roll my eyes at his shallow behaviour. I take more popcorn into my mouth and continue to watch. 

“Look, Harry, I know you said the same thing about other girls before but if you’re really serious about this one, you need to show it.” 

“And how would I do that?”

“I don’t know, maybe ask her out?” I can’t believe I’m helping the guy I love to get another girl. Maybe I like putting myself in pain?

“I think I already did that.” He laughs and runs his thumb over my eyebrow. I stand up and laugh along with him, trying to mask my disappointment. 

“No, why won’t you try being romantic? Like bring her on a nice dinner date and formally ask her to be your girlfriend.” I shrug my shoulders and play with his phone in my hands.

“Ask her to be my girlfriend? Last time I asked someone out it was you like last summer ago. I got rejected so bad.” He fakes a pout. I playfully slap him and he laughs pulling me by the elbow to sit closer to him. 

“I only rejected you because you were drunk and you probably didn’t even mean it.” I talk quietly, trying to look at the flowers in the vase that Anne recently put. 

“Still though, you’re the only girl who broke my heart and will be the only girl I’ll give permission to do it again.” As I stare into his eyes, I can feel this connection between us. It’s familiar because I’ve always acknowledged its presence. As I feel myself leaning forward into kissing him, the light suddenly turns on and Anne appears by the door. 

“Oh my, I’m so sorry!” She smiles widely. “Just wanted to ask Y/N, are you staying over for the night?” I quickly sit up in Harry’s sweatshirt and my sweatpants, looking too comfortable in their house. I take my phone and smile back.

“No actually, I think I’m gonna drive back now, It’s uh getting late.” As we awkwardly part ways and I’m in my bed again, I can’t stop thinking about tonight. Does Harry like me? He definitely sent some signals. If he doesn’t, maybe I should get over him. The only question is if I can.

-A Week Later-  

“Hey Y/N, I’m Caitlin. It’s so nice to meet you!” She leans in for a hug as I greet them two at Jack Astor’s. She’s pretty. Her long curled blonde hair and a sweet scent that matched her perfect physique, no wonder Harry liked her. She was just his type. 

I couldn’t be the third wheel to them so I decided to bring a date plus it gave me an opportunity to get over Harry. Maybe if I see him with Caitlin more, it would push me to give someone else my attention. Am I a smart ass or what?

“Hi Caitlin, this is my date, Alex. Alex, this is Harry my best friend I told you about, and his girlfriend Caitlin.” Alex sits up and handshakes the couple as they soon sit in front of us. Alex is pretty charming and just talking with him while waiting for Harry and Caitlin made me realize how much potential we have. 

“I didn’t know Y/N was bringing a date?” Harry gives a confused look as he takes off his jacket and slides in his seat. “You know Alex, feel special. She hasn’t been on one in a while.” Harry tries to crack a joke. Caitlin slaps his arm secretly that I caught on. Never knew, I’d feel this embarrassed.

“Yeah, she’s mentioned that to me. I actually do feel very special though, I’ve been trying to ask her out for ages but she kept rejecting me. Now though, I can finally spend time with her even if it’s just for a double date.” Caitlin awes loudly as Harry looks intensely at his menu, just nodding along. I smile at Alex for his comment and laugh. 

“I’m sure we will have another date where it will be just you and I.” I flirt back and try to make him feel more comfortable despite Harry’s cold attitude. Harry though seemed to have enough the topic since he closes his menu and looks at me weirdly. 

“I’m sure you guys know what you want since you guys were here before us. I’ll just call the waiter.” Hary interrupts.

~

As dinner goes by, I can feel some tension at the table. Was it just me, or was it real? 

“You know Y/N, I never got to thank you for pushing Harry to actually asking me out. I was practically dying when we went out the other time and he never asked the question.” Caitlin gushes over her boyfriend as she eats a fry from her plate

“Oh really, that’s good. Hey, a sister can always help another sister out.” 

“Yeah. Now, I can say my girlfriend is this pretty lady beside me.” Harry wraps his arm around her and kisses her cheek. I suddenly feel my heart crack. It wasn’t the first time Harry showed affection to a different girl. It’s just this time, this girl was probably the most serious he’s ever been with. It’s okay, it’s okay. I try to reassure myself.

“I hope one day, I can call this beautiful one beside me too.” Alex blushes as he takes a bite of his pasta. I would reply back but I felt too down about the display in front of me. God, why am I so whipped for him?

“Your girlfriend? Honestly, she would probably bore you to death! When I’m with Y/N all she does is talk about celebrities and random shit! What do you say Y/N?” He pauses sarcastically. “I can’t even remember because she rambles too much.” Harry laughs as he avoids looking at me, taking a sip from his beer. Caitlin awkwardly shifts in her seat as I stare at Harry with fire raging in my eyes.  

“I think she’s cute when she rambles.” Alex shrugs his shoulders and wraps his arm around me too. He obviously realized that the boy in front of me was insulting me. Harry stares at him after his act but all Alex can do is stare back at him. Yeah, there is tension but about what? How Harry my supposedly best friend, is supposed to have my back and not degrade me?

“Well, you won’t find it cute when you find out she’s practically in love with me,” Harry says nonchalantly, continuing to stare at him. Alex’s eyes widen as Caitlin looks at me in shock. As on cue, I throw my napkin from my lap on the table and leave. I can’t believe Harry knew I was in love with him! And what now? he uses it to push guys away from me? what the actual fuck! 

“Y/N, Please stop running!” Harry chases me outside the restaurant. There was still a light breeze and the moon was the only thing in the dark sky. 

“Fuck you, Harry,” I scream back at him trying to find my keys in my bag. “Fuck where are they?!” Harry pulls my keys out from my back pocket. As I try to reach forward for them he brings them higher. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N! Fuck, I shouldn’t have said that in there!” I cry more and lean back on my car just looking at him. Thankfully, no one was here in the parking lot and was inside eating. 

“I’m so fucking tired of loving you,” I whisper. “What’s fucked up is that you knew the whole fucking time I was in love with you, Harry. You just kept me here to be beside you! So what? You can use me? When every time a girl uses you, you can just lean on me!” I scream at him and punched at his chest. 

“You’re supposed to be there for me. You’re my best friend.” he throws my keys on the floor and uses his arm to shield me from people exciting the restaurant. He uses his other hand to wipe the tears from his eyes. “I didn’t know how to tell you I knew you were in love with me. I just- I felt it because you’re just with me and I heard your mom telling mine!”

“Fucking jerk.” I sob and hit him again. “you’re so arrogant that you just knew I was in love with you just like all the other girls who worship you at your feet?” I lean my head back. “You know Harry if you’re such a smart ass. You can know this. I don’t want to love you anymore. I’m so fucking tired of you and all you wanted to do was just continue to hurt me!” I take my keys angrily off the floor and unlock my car.

“Please don’t leave me.” He whimpers and falls onto his knees. My heart clenches seeing him fall onto the gravel as others can see. 

“Harry stop.” I try to wipe the tears from my eyes. 

“No, Y/N how do you think I knew you loved me. I love you too! I have always been in love with you!”

“Are you trying to make me feel better? Stop playing yourself, you didn’t harry! You didn’t.”

“I remember the first day you talked to me in Ms. Richardson’s class... you had an orange flower in your hair.” He pauses but then continues on, “Before you tried to talk to me, you would always look for me during recess and stare at me in class. During Prom, I knew your date had a bet going on with his friends that he would ditch you at prom during the night so I made you ditched him before he got to. Why do you think I got so drunk that night? I just- there are so many times when I wanted to tell you I love you but how could I when you’re my best friend! A girlfriend can happen but it will always lead to a breakup but our friendship is what kept us together and I just can’t gamble that away.”

“Harry, I have to go.” I proceed to sit in my car, starting it up. He stands up and rubs his face in frustration. I roll my window down before I leave. “Make sure you drive Caitlin home. She’s a nice girl. I do like her for you.” And with that, it was the last time I saw Harry during senior year of high school until...

part 3 (final)

[the-fiction-witch]

Wait What?

REAL LIFE

COUPLE TBS X READER

RATING SWEET AF

I smiled as I stood Infront of my mirror drying and sorting out my hair so I looked presentable as I did my phone went off.

Y/n <3 :

Just doing my make up should be ready soon

"Ahh fuck" I said out loud

Thomas:

Okay Hun, on my way

Even if I lied fixing my hair and grabbing my clothes knowing she'll get worried if I'm late I made sure I looked good and went down grabbing my keys

"Ahh!! Fuck! Fuck shit! Almost forgot" I said almost slapping my fucking self for being so dump, running back upstairs and digging thought my bedside draw desperate to find what the hell I did with it, grabbing the little blue velvet box opening it to make sure it was still in there, seeing the light twinkle in the rows of diamonds in the beautiful gold.

I shut it back up hiding it in my pocket and going down locking up and getting in my car.

I began the drive over to y/n's parents place, she had gone for the weekend just mostly to spend some time with her family but I used it as the perfect excuse to have her out the house so I could get ready.

I've wanted to propose to y/n honestly since I met her, but it never quite seemed right and then once we moved in together it was kinda a nightmare to plan in anyway without the suprise getting ruined.

But luckily she went away all weekend, the house empty, free to walk around the shops on my own so I could sort it all out, and it so happily fell on our anniversary.

I had been looking for about the last year for a ring and I found a little shop not to far away that had a nice one, I didn't care what it cost it was for y/n after all. So I reserved it a few months ago while we where out shopping and she conveniently went for a wonder in lush on her own, and I picked it up yesterday then booked us a nice dinner the same place I took her on our first real date, so I headed over to pick her up and I pulled up at her family house and as soon as I shut the car off and got out she opened the door in her perfect purple dress her make up and hair done so perfect she looked like a beautiful painting from a thousand years ago I felt so happy to see her I almost ran over hugging her tightly

"Whoa... Hi Thomas" she laughs giving me a little cuddle to

"You look so beautiful" I told her kissing her head "I missed you so bad"

"Aww thank you Tommy, I missed you too" she smiled pulling away and giving my lips a tiny kiss "come on Mr else we'll be late" she warns heading to the car I smiled widely and got into the car with her starting to drive off often resting my hand in her leg as I drove "so why exactly are we going so fancy?" She asks

"Well it's our anniversary" I laughed

"Thomas I'd have thought by now you'd have known I'd rather just cuddle up on the sofa with some popcorn and pizza watching breaking bad or something" she explained

"I know... But sometimes it's fun to be fancy" I smiled as we got to the restaurant and I parked up "umm I love you so much" I smiled giving her a kiss

"Aww I love you too, what's going on?" She asks

"What why do you ask?" I asked in panic had I given it away that early?

"Your being very... Affectionate today Thomas, and very lovey dovey" she explained "I'm not used to you being like this" she explained as she got out and I followed her

"Maybe I just really missed you?" I suggest

"I was gone two days Thomas" she laughs

"Well maybe I just want to show my love for you a little more" I shrug

"Alright, but I'm watching you Sangster" she warns as she headed inside.

We sat to dinner at the same table we had our first date laughing and talking about everything and nothing as we had dinner I couldn't help smiling as I looked at her as we waited for dessert while she had some wine I got the box out of my pocket fiddling with it trying to find a step in the conversation to maybe get onto the topic, or somehow get into that idea

I really should have planned this more.

I have to lead into it don't I?

I can't really just shove the box on the table and just pop the question.

"Sally? Will you marry me?" A voice asked from across the restaurant we both looked and saw another couple on a date and he was on his knee proposing

Oh thanks dude now I have to follow you!

He probably practiced, Or atleast wrote it down.

"Aww that's so sweet" y/n smiled

"Yeah, really sweet" I smiled trying to not act nervous

"What a beautiful way to propose" she smiled Dam I wasn't watching what he did! Should I have been? Or would that be copying? "Umm don't like the ring thought" she says turning back just as dessert got here

"Oohh what kinda ring was it? I didn't really see?" I asked

"Diamond, I know there a classic and all I just really don't like them" she explained

And I had a heart attack fiddling with the box in my hand containing the diamond ring I had bought

"Wait what?" I asked trying not to cry or scream

"I don't like diamonds, the whole thing is a old marketing campaign, and that's before you even look into the ethics of diamond mining. Plus honestly I just find them boring there just sparkly and white, I can get that from glass" she explained

"So... If someone where to, buy you a diamond ring? You wouldn't like it?"

"I'd like it, hell I'd be engaged they could ask with a haribo ring and I'd be happy" she laughs "but I think I would be a little disappointed, that they would do something special for me" she explained eating her cake "why?" She asks

"Just curious that's all Hun" I said faking a smile putting the little box back in my pocket "so... If let's for theory's sake, I was going to propose? What kinda ring would you want?" I asked

"If you where?" She asks slyly licking her spoon

"If I was" I smiled

"I don't know... Maybe a gem of some kind? Or a rare stone? Ooohh or like an opal I love opals there all so different and interesting" she explained

"Okay" I nodded

"Why are you so curious anyway?" She asks

"I don't know, I like finding out new stuff about you" I smiled.

I yawned sitting up having a stretch rubbing my eyes after being up so late last night, I looked over to the other side of my bed looking at y/n perfectly sleep.

Ummm you where meant to be my finance by now, I sighed looking at my jacket from last night still with that box in my pocket, I was mad at myself

I should have known that, instead I wasted that whole night because I bought the wrong thing. I smiled seeing her sleeping so I gave her some kisses

"Umm... Good morning" she yawns

"Good morning," I smiled kissing her "hun I'm gonna pop out okay? We need milk" I told her

"Okay Thomas" she yawns so I got out of bed and got dressed hiding the box in my pocket and heading downstairs I know she'll be fast asleep again I went to the fridge pouring away some milk so I had an excuse to go buy more. I went out locking the house behind me and hurrying off in my car to the jeweler I bought the ring from.

The second I step thought the door I think she could read my emotions and the fact I had the box in my hand likely gave her a clue why I was there.

"Oh darling, did it not go to well?" She asks

"Not exactly" I told her

"What do you mean?" She asks

"Look it's kinda complicated but long Story short I didn't ask because... She kinda mentioned she didn't like diamonds very much so is there any kind of way I could maybe trade this one in and get a different ring that's not a diamond?" I explain

"Well most if not all engagement rings are diamond" she says

"I know but it doesn't have to be a engagement ring just a ring that's not a diamond" I explain

"Did she say anything she did like?' she asks

"She likes opals" I told her

"Opals? Ahh I think I have something" she says taking my ring box and going into the back a moment before coming out with a luxurious tray of rings all with different sizes, shapes and colours if opals I saw one that caught my eye, a black and blue sort of colours and I think it clicked

"Yeah that one" I told her

"Your sure this time?" She laughs

"Positive" I laughed she checked and it happened to be the same price as the original ring I got so she swapped the ring in my little box and she smiled at me

"Good luck"

"Thanks" I blushed taking it home hiding it in my pocket as I came in and I saw her sat in her pjs watching TV "hi Hun I'm home"

"Hi, did you get milk?" She asks

Fuck! I knew I forgot something

"Uhh no they where out" I told her

"What took you so long then?" She asks

"I was Uhhh driving around looking for milk, can't fine any seriously it's a UK wide milk shortage" I lied

"Okay" she laughs

"Uhh Hun? You wanna go for a walk in the park?" I offer

"Aww okay" she smiled giving me a kiss and running upstairs to put a dress on.

We walked around the park for a while hand in hand chatting about things and looking at the sweet flowers till we stopped in the summer sun perched on a little water fountain people often throw pennies in I looked at her sweet face, hardly any make up her hair a little messy from the breeze, I squeezed her hand and she looked at me

"Hi Tommy" she smiled kissing my cheek

"Hi Hun, look I need to talk to you about something important" I told her and she looked worried "it's nothing bad don't worry" I laughed kissing her nose I kept hold of her hand Moving to kneel on the gravel and grass and she looked confused

"Thomas... What's going on?" She asked

"y/n from the second I saw you I wanted to ask you something, and I knew I couldn't because I literally just met you and it would be really weird. But I never stopped wanting to ask you, sometimes I actually thought you where trying to stop me from asking. But with everything we've been thought together, and having just had our anniversary... I think it's time I finally actually ask you rather then just thinking about it" I told her

"What?" She asked almost in shock as I got the little box from my pocket

"Y/n, your my world, everything I've ever wanted, and I know your just gonna argue it's just a bit of paper or its just a bit if jewelry but...I truly love you, crazy little sinic and all my darling. And if you'll have me? I'd like to be with you for the rest of time"

"Thomas what's-" she began as everyone was clearly now looking at us as it became obvious to everyone else in the park what I was doing

"Y/n, I'm asking you to marry me" I laughed showing her the ring "so?" I asked as she hadn't said anything

"Ohh Thomas of course I will" she smiled hugging me tight I hugged her tighter then I ever had before kissing her soft lips between tears of joy till I pulled away and helped her put the ring on "for the record... I knew" she laughs

"What?" I asked

"I knew you'd been wanting to ask for months," she laughs "I assumed it would have been last night, what did you leave the ring at home or something?"

"Funny story actually Hun"

"Oh?"

"I almost did leave the ring at home but... It was a uhh a diamond engagement ring, and when you said I just felt bad so I traded it for one you would like" I explained

"I still would have said yes Thomas" she laughs

"I know but... Now you have a beautiful ring that you like" I smiled kissing her

"I love you" she smiled

"I love you too" I told her

[bluepenguinstories]

Remoras Full Chapter XXVI: Coleslaw is Good, Actually

My eyes feel like shit.

...My head also feels like shit. How much sleep did I get? Two hours? Three, if I’m lucky. In a few minutes, I’ll get a call. It seems to happen every time I’m home, without fail. I might only get a couple hours. Three, at most. Then, bzzt! There it goes.

I turned to my left side, where my husband was fast asleep. No phone call. No pager duty. Thank goodness.

Maybe it’s just one of those lucky days where I can actually get some sleep, I thought. Still, it wasn’t very likely to happen. I checked my phone. It was almost 8 AM. My husband, Cole, tended to sleep in. We both worked long hours at our respective jobs; mine, a doctor. Him, an electrician. I didn’t understand a bit of what went into that, but he never really discussed his job with me.

It must have been lonely, though. Going into people’s homes, fixing up lines. Something like that. Meanwhile, I had plenty of people to interact with. Had to put on smiles for them all. Many of them were dying of one disease or another, or getting surgery. It was kind of a gloomy position, but I was far from alone. In a way, our jobs might have been the same. We both kind of helped people. Without electricity, certain things wouldn’t work, like lights. Without doctors, some people couldn’t get better and their health would take a toll. But even then, I couldn’t save everyone.

That kind of line of thinking is terrible, though. For every life that we can’t save, there are at least a few that are. Even if the ratio was reversed, the lives that are saved make a huge difference. Seeing their smiling faces, going back home, or on the road to recovery, it was the whole reason why I do what I do...but then, the bloody messes, the ailments that get worse until their lives are lost. The ones who don’t recover, the grief and images stay with you and can’t be scrubbed out. Yet I’m required to smile and try to cheer everyone up regardless.

“When was the last time I smiled for you?” I leaned over, my face hovered over his, and mumbled. He didn’t answer. Of course not. The man was a heavy sleeper. What a blessing that I didn’t have to worry about whether or not he was getting enough sleep. What a curse that the few precious moments I have to see him, he’s often already asleep.

I poked his tit. Yes, that was the medical term for it. Or maybe it wasn’t. My brain went to weird places when I didn’t get much sleep.

“Hey hun. We should do something if we ever get a day off together. Maybe a nice dinner. Or we could go see the northern lights together. Wouldn’t that be romantic? We could stay at home, curl up with some popcorn, marathon Danny DeVito movies.”

He smiled, then stirred awake.

“All of that sounds good,” he muttered, his voice a very sour groggy sound. Like he just got done eating a bag of gravel. It was sexy in a way, though. I did hope that he was drinking enough water. Even in a cold place like this, it was important to stay hydrated.

His face was plain. His arms were beefy. Hairy, even. He had no shirt on, but a pair of jeans. His titties just poked out without a care in the world. Yes, as a doctor, I was qualified to say all that.

Why did I fall in love with him again? I forgot. That wasn’t such a bad thought. It was just how all of my energy was spent at work, caring for people I didn’t know, that my memory of him has long since slipped.

I recalled a time when I first informed Ray that I was now married.

“Who’s the lucky person?” He asked me.

“His name is Cole Slaw,” I told him.

“How did he propose?” Ray then asked. That I had to think over.

“He was like ‘will you marry me?’ And I shrugged and said, ‘sure’.”

“That’s it?! You do like him, right?!” That left him flabbergasted. I wasn’t sure why. Thinking about it, flabbergasted itself was a funny word.

“Yeah, probably,” I also shrugged.

Still, I knew I liked Cole for something. I just couldn’t remember what.

I could have written it down somewhere, just in case, I thought, but I also thought better of it. For me, it was enough to know that I did, regardless of circumstances.

Now, he sat at the edge of the bed. Time must have passed while I was lost in those thoughts. I was laying down.

“Let’s just stay in bed. I don’t have work today,” I poked Cole’s bare back. His well defined shoulder blades, to be more precise.

He turned to me, while slipping on a shirt. What a bummer. Still, his smile made it just a little more worth it.

“Sure, why not? Neither do I.”

Then my phone rang.

I checked it, but it was from a number I didn’t recognize.

It must not be work, then. It’s also not Ray. Maybe it’s better if I don’t answer that.

“Aren’t you going to answer that, hun?” He asked with a yawn while he rubbed his eyes.

Careful. If you didn’t wash your hands, you could get bacteria in your eyes. If you rub too hard, your eyes can get all irritated, were things I thought to say, but didn’t. Instead, I looked over.

“It’s not the hospital. I’d rather spend time with you,” despite my pleas, I sounded disinterested. My voice always seemed to betray me. The tired, low energy that I exerted. To combat it, I flitted my eyelashes.

The phone continued to ring. Its vibrations shook the bed. I continued to ignore it and stared at him.

“You should really answer that,” he pointed.

I sighed. Yes, any responsible doctor would, I imagine.

I picked up the phone and held it against my ear. As I did, I was greeted by the distraught voice of a young woman, her pitch on the higher end of the vocal spectrum, but still a bit of a roughness thrown in.

“Hello?” She asked.

“Hi,” my groggy, tired voice replied. Rather similar inflection that Cole had, as well, but I felt like if I had just a little more energy, I could have given a better tonal greeting.

“You’re a doctor, right?” She sounded unsure, as if she might have had the wrong number.

“Mm. That’s what they call me.” Except Ray, damn him. He still referred to me by name, as if he had little regard for all the hard work and accomplishments I made.

Actually, I think that’s just because we’re friends. He’s even gotten better at calling me Dr. Cole-Slaw. I guess I should cut him some slack.

“Good. Look. I’ve got someone who could really use a doctor. She hasn’t been feeling well in a few days and I’ve been doing my best, but she hasn’t been getting any better. I feel like shit, because I know I don’t know shit about medical shit, but I hate to see her like this. Could you please come over?” Her voice was frantic. Rushed, even. On one hand, she said please, but on the other hand, did she have to say “shit” that many times.

I sighed. Or yawned. Shook my head, as well. Just my luck, wasn’t it?

“Are you at the hospital right now?” I asked. Now I was the one who sat up, against the edge of the bed as well. It must have been instinct that I was already ready to go.

“No, but that shouldn’t matter, right?! She’s sick and you’re a doctor!” Worry now. Just about yelled into her phone. Not a good look. It was a pity, then, that I had to be the bearer of bad news.

“I don’t do home visits. I’m sorry. If you can make it to the hospital, I can treat this person there, otherwise –”

“Ray told me you were dependable!” She cut me off. How rude. Not the cutting off part, I could imagine how stressed she was. But that Ray would tell this person such a poisonous thought. Oh well, if anything, that just made things more interesting. In fact, a smile crept along my face.

“Ray and I have a special relationship,” I explained, then held the phone away and covered the speakers with my hand and turned to Cole. “Hope you don’t mind me saying that, hun.”

“Not at all!” He also smiled and waved his hand away.

I then put the phone back against my ear.

“You know Ray, huh?” I egged her on.

“Yes,” she replied. “I’m at his diner right now! So you should know where to go! Just come over!” She sounded on the verge of tears.

I shrugged my shoulders and had to stifle back a laugh. Loathe as I was to admit, but I felt like a sadist. Like I was the one holding all of the cards in this situation.

“I’m sorry, but even if I were to come over, I wouldn’t be able to treat this person without their consent. Doctors require the consent of the patient to treat them.”

“Ah, I understand,” her voice darkened. Almost drained of emotion, like how mine was. It was a little unnerving. Next, came the unexpected: she yelled.

“Hey Remora! Will you let this doctor take care of you?!”

“NO! NO DOCTORS!” In the background, a hoarse and wheezing voice yelled right back. It wasn’t all that loud, but it sounded like she used up a lot of energy just to muster it.

So that’s the sick one in question, huh? Could be laryngitis.

“Sorry, but she said no, so it’s out of my control,” I shook my head.

I then heard the phone be thrown onto the floor with a thud. No cracking sound. She must have had a durable phone, at the very least. Then came another slam, this time, it was her fist against the wall. Something I shouldn’t have been able to hear.

It probably got put on speaker by accident. I should probably hang up, but I feel it would be rude to do so without saying goodbye, even if I feel like this isn’t getting anywhere.

“Why...why is it always like this? I try to help, but I can’t help anyone. I’m so useless. I can’t cook, I stumble with my words, and I barely understand myself, let alone others. I want to help, but there’s nothing I can do!” She ranted on.

“By the way,” I pointed out. “You’re on speaker.”

No response. Maybe it really was useless. It wasn’t a total lie to say that I needed permission. As disappointed as she would probably be, I didn’t see any other way around it.

“Sorry, but I’m going to have to go now –”

“Just. Wait. Stay on the line,” she seethed. She was still a few feet away from her phone but I heard it well enough.

Her footsteps then. She must have been in the same room as the would-be patient.

“Why don’t you want to see a doctor?” She asked. As quiet and calm as her voice was, I doubt it really was. If I had to guess, she was just determined.

“I hate them. They scare me,” replied the weary voice.

I wonder if I should take offense. I don’t. I’ve heard such things before. People being afraid of dentists. Surgeons. Needles. Scalpels. Can’t say I blame her.

“Why do they scare you? You’re the toughest person I know. If anything, you should scare them.”

...The fuck? I thought. What does being tough have to do with seeing a doctor? The nerve.

Still, props for one thing: whether fake or not (I couldn’t gauge one way or the other), her voice turned gentle, patient, even. There was still a roughness there, but her attempt at being calm was commendable.

“It’s because they give false hope. They say they can cure you if you just give them money, and then they don’t. Worst yet is that I’ve believed them. It’s fine if it helps others, but I want nothing to do with them.”

For someone with such a weak voice, all of that came out clear. Maybe I just had really clean ears. I think that was a good quality to have. Everyone should keep their ears clean.

“Is this related to your other condition?”

“Yes. It’s unbearable sometimes, and I’ve been desperate in the past to get rid of it. I know it’s not normal and most people don’t experience things that way, but despite everything, it persists.”

Huh. Interesting. Don’t know what kind of doctors told her such things, but that didn’t sound right.

“Well, I can’t promise that this doctor can help with that, either. But you’ve got another condition right now that could be treatable. And if she comes and promises you something she can’t keep, then I’ll beat her up for you. You can count on that.”

Who the hell does she think she is? Beating up a doctor?

There was a few seconds of pause. Time which could have been spent laying back down, if I had such a luxury.

“Okay. I’ll do it,” came the reply of the hoarse voice at last.

Footsteps again. Phone picked up. Muffled sounds of static, then:

“She consents,” returned the roughness.

“So I heard,” my smile remained. It was less mean-spirited now. More genuine. “Good job. You must really care about her.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you two friends?” I asked, ever so curious.

“No.”

“Lovers?”

“Nothing like that.”

Huh. It seemed like they were close in some way.

“Siblings or relatives?”

“Not at all.”

“Then what is your relation?”

“I don’t know. I just really care about her. That’s all.”

Such a simple reply. I suppose it was better than nothing. Things didn’t always need to be so well defined, anyway, did they?

“So? Will you come over?” She pressed the issue. Right. It seemed like everything was in the clear. Almost.

“I don’t know…” My voice trailed. That famous “unsure” phrase when you really wanted to say no, but weren’t confident about doing so. In my case, I felt a little playful about it, though. It probably didn’t come out playful. Probably came out more morose, if anything.

“Oh, come on, hun. Quit teasing them!” Cole scolded.

I covered the phone.

“But I wanted to spend time with you,” I whined. Again, probably didn’t sound like a whine. Probably sounded like I was bored.

By all accounts, everything was in the clear. Well, almost…

“Look,” I gave my reply at last. “I don’t work for free.”

“I get it. I’m willing to pay whatever it takes. Name your price.”

How bold. Just how rich was she?

“I don’t need your money,” I answered her.

“Then what? Like I said, I’m willing to do anything.”

Ray’s influence must have rubbed off on me. Maybe just a little. For I knew just what I wanted.

“A favor. I am doing you a favor by going there. So you will owe me a favor in return.”

“What’s the favor?” She asked, a noticeable gulp emitted from her.

“I will tell you when the time is right,” I gave my cryptic answer. In truth, I had no idea what I would ask of her, at all, but it felt exciting to know that somebody owed me something in the future.

I buttoned up my blouse. There was a spare pair of scrubs and a mask in the Hospital Mobile (my truck which holds many medical supplies and equipment).

“Sorry, hun, but I’m leaving you,” I joked to Cole in my (unfortunate) tired monotone. He didn’t give an answer. Not so much as a chuckle. “I’m going to be seeing someone else.”

Again, no answer. I looked behind me. He was once again fast asleep.

“I’ll be back later tonight,” I whispered to him as I got up. Hopefully that was a promise I could keep.

On the way there, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all too familiar. That I’ve done such a thing before. That’s when I remembered that almost a couple years ago, I went over there to check up on some kid. Apparently this woman found her and got all panicky. Ray called me up, filled in the details, and I accepted. All because I owed him a favor. Now I’d be going to that place again, all because someone was going to owe me a favor.

And thus the cycle repeats.

What was that favor, though?

I thought hard about it. My memory was often too fuzzy to remember precious moments outside of work. It was a shame, but what could I do?

Then it hit me: the favor was work related. Of course it was.

It was a horrible experience. Blood bags had gone missing. The staff were having trouble doing transfusions and some of the patients had reported strange shadows in the middle of the night. Rumors started circulating about there being vampires. I didn’t buy into such things, but that didn’t matter when the serious reality was that medical supplies were being stolen.

Ray was an old friend of mine. Acquaintance, more like. We met...I don’t remember where or how. Maybe we both went to the same school at one point. Couldn’t tell which, though, if any. Maybe we just met at a bar. That wasn’t likely, but it was just as likely as the school thing, considering my poor memory. Whatever it was, he had told me a few years back about his side job as someone who investigates rumors. It was a stretch, but I was desperate.

Similar to that girl on the phone, I too was willing to pay whatever price he asked for. Those patients were much more important than any money or possession I may have had.

“You don’t need to pay me anything, Shirley. We’re friends, aren’t we?” Despite his warm and soft voice, he had that sly smile about him like he already knew what he wanted. “Just consider this a favor.”

“Oh, thank you,” I was relieved. I must have been in tears, and I was so wide-eyed, too.

“But, if this is a favor, then a favor is what you will owe. Favor for a favor,” he waved his finger. Of course. I should have known. His nature was already familiar with me, and he loved to strike up deals.

“Very well,” I told him. “Do you have anything in mind?”

“How about this? If I find out what’s been behind this and return those blood bags back to you, then the next time I need medical care, you will be there. No matter where I am. Can you do that?”

I couldn’t tell who was getting the better deal, but I agreed. As the days passed, the worries grew. Those who needed blood couldn’t receive them, as we were still short supply. But then, on the third day, he returned, with many bags in a box of ice.

���Hope these will still be good,” he motioned to the box. I was so relieved, but I couldn’t help but wonder what the truth behind the matter was.

“So, was it vampires?” I asked.

“Unfortunately, no,” he sounded disappointed as he shook his head. “It would have been fun if they were, then I could have been a vampire hunter. In the end, though, they were just some cult of weird guys who thought they were vampires, but weren’t really.”

“Despite the answer being mundane, there’s something still awful about that, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, but I was hoping for something more exciting.”

As detached as that sounded, and as much as I must have been appalled at that at the time, now I found the sentiment resonated with me. Sure, there were “exciting” things at the hospital, like heart attacks and sudden worsening conditions, but after a while, it was hard to even react. It just becomes sad. Even if it was something dramatic, or brought on by misfortune, I would rather experience something like out of an action-adventure movie. Maybe dinosaurs or bandits. Something where I could feel triumphant. Not that there weren’t triumphs. Lives that were saved, patients who got to go back home to their families. But...I wasn’t sure. Maybe I just wanted to feel something that wasn’t work related.

It didn’t take long for me to arrive. I got out into the brisk air. Something else I was used to, as well. Why did I ever choose to live in such a harsh and gloomy environment? If I searched for the answer, I might have come up with something like, “because despite how hard things can be, there is still beauty to be found here.”

Would that have been the truth? I wondered that as I got into the scrubs and reached into the back of the truck for my briefcase. In it were various medical supplies which I might not even need, but it still seemed useful to bring.

After all that was settled, I ventured in.

Inside wasn’t anything special. An empty that was too clean for its own good. It was a shame, considering I knew how passionate Ray could be about cooking. Not only that, but with the cleanliness, if others were to walk in they would be wowed by presentation alone. That was my opinion, as a doctor, anyway.

My first encounter with another living soul was a child who ran from the back door and up to me. She had orange and red streaked hair which resembled a red panda. Or a tiger. Though red pandas were easier to envision.

“Oh whoa! It’s you!” She remarked. As if she recognized me. Which meant that I might have seen her before. Then it clicked. Of course. That was the same child that the strange woman found. It turned out that although she would have died if left out longer in the snow, she still didn’t suffer any long term ailments. Still, I had the one who recovered her watch over her as she rested and to observe her condition. Later on, the child went in for a check up. Despite not knowing her legal name or anything like that, I still made sure she was in good health. Names weren’t really all that important, anyway. But I remembered it was something weird…

“Pandatiger?” I snapped my fingers. That was probably right. Probably.

“No! Tigershark!” She roared.

“Oh, forgive me, Tigershark,” I tried to work up a smile, but I just wasn’t in the right environment. “Have you been keeping healthy?”

She grinned. Teeth whiter than any kid had the right to have.

“Yup!”

“Good,” I worked up something like a smile. I don’t know what effect it had, if any. I then made my way to the back, where I was sure the real victim, er, patient was.

Once past the door, I was greeted by another: a frantic young woman, not much taller than the child, with wavy, green hair, and who paced about the hallway. As soon as she noticed me, she looked both relieved and even more worried than before.

“Oh thank goodness. You’re here. Hurry. I’ll show you to her room,” she carried with her a seriousness, a glum expression on her face.

Was it that bad?

I followed her to the first room on the left. Sunny and Ray were noticeably absent. Maybe in their room, or in the kitchen. Their whereabouts weren’t of any importance, I suppose, but I was hoping to at least see one of them.

When I opened the door, I saw her huddled with many blankets and sitting against the corner of the wall, working up a sweat and her face red. She coughed a low, but continual cough. Then, our eyes met. Although her voice sounded about gone, she still tried to screech.

“You! Out of all the doctors, that’s the scariest! How could you, Demetria?” She wailed, and some of the syllables were missing, so I had to fill in the blanks. Of course, all of that just amused me. I let out a chuckle.

“We meet again, don’t we? First, it was because you wanted to save the life of that Tiger girl, then it was because you brought Ray to my hospital. Now the roles are reversed.”

Back when I saw her those other two times, she had red hair. Now it was black. Which suited her, I just wasn’t used to it. Something told me she could pull off just about any color, though black was likely the most natural.

“Sorry, she’s afraid of doctors,” the green-haired girl apologized. That I already knew.

“She has a good reason to be. What with all of those foreign objects going inside people while they’re often asleep, hopped up on anesthesia.”

“I want a different doctor!”

I slapped on some gloves, then let out another chuckle.

“Looks like you’re completely at my mercy,” I couldn’t help myself. Yes, it was awful.

“Can you please not antagonize her? She’s already got it rough as it is,” Greenie (there had to be some kind of nickname) scolded me.

“Of course. How insensitive of me,” I replied, with my usual dull voice of apathy. I wish it expressed how truly sorry I was.

I walked over to the one shivering, possibly out of fear.

“I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to do,” I tried to be more comforting.

“I want you to go to hell,” my unruly patient rasped. Then she stuck out her tongue.

I looked over at Greenie.

“What is she doing?” I asked.

“Trying to push you away,” Greenie answered.

“Is she usually like this?”

“It depends.”

I see. Well, couldn’t say I wasn’t used to it. Patients with bad attitudes. It didn’t really matter what their attitudes were. They still needed help and they were still patients.

“I’ve been naughty, doc,” that black haired woman looked up and smiled a sly smile while her eyebrows were raised. She bobbed her head, as if she were to pass out at any moment. Speaking of moments, I allowed one to pass before I continued. She continued to stare up with what she probably thought was a suggestive expression.

“Okay, so anyway, I’m going to have to ask you a few questions. First off, do you smoke?”

Her eyebrows lowered and she turned her head to one side, but before she was able to shake it to signify “no”, she clutched her head and went, “ow.”

“Headaches, huh? Fever, chills, short breath –”

“The chills are nothing new,” she corrected me.

“I wasn’t done. Also, you’ve been coughing and your voice sounds like it’s run dry. Tell me, is it hard to talk?”

“That’s not the only hard thing about me,” she moaned. It wasn’t seductive at all. For added measure, she once again went, “ow,” at the end.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Although you’re still trying to do so anyway, which...don’t do that.”

“Usually she’s a terse talker,” Greenie informed me.

“I see,” I nodded. “I think I’m starting to form an idea of what it could be, but I’ll have to do a few more things to confirm.”

First, I set my briefcase on the floor and pulled out a stethoscope from it. I was going to listen to her lungs in order to see if there were any abnormalities in their sounds. Before I could press the end up to her, though, she groaned. Then snapped.

“Don’t put that cold, metal thing on me. It’s bad enough everything else is cold.”

“It’s just for a few seconds. Can you handle that?”

She growled. But I took it as a yes anyway. I pressed the end against her chest, where her lungs were located, and listened in.

“Don’t get too cocky and start feeling me up with that,” she groaned and swayed.

“My husband’s titties are better than yours,” I replied. That shut her right up.

Once I managed to focus, I heard it: little rumbling sounds. That seemed to confirm my suspicion, but it wasn’t enough. There were other things I had yet to know.

“We can either do a blood test next or an X-Ray. Which would you prefer?”

“No needles.”

“OK. X-Ray it is.”

“Does that mean no more Ray?” She asked, and I assumed she must have been trying to crack a joke.

“Reply hazy. Try again.”

Also from my briefcase was a pocket X-Ray. I pulled it out.

“By the way, can I get your name? If you’re having trouble talking, don’t worry about it,” I tried to make conversation.

“Rhea,” she stated, though in a wheeze.

“You don’t have to lie to her, Remora!” Greenie jumped in.

“I know. That’s why I’m not,” Rhea, or Remora replied.

“Are you by any chance related to Danny DeVito?” I asked, offhand, as I thought about how she shared the same name as Danny DeVito’s wife. I was kind of jealous, actually.

“What?” Greenie spat. Not literally, else I would be mad, but, y’know.

“Oh, you know. Just one of the greatest actors of all time. If not the greatest. Everyone always says that Matilda was the best part of Matilda, but Danny DeVito made that movie what it is. He makes everything he stars in good just by virtue of being in it.”

“Uhh…” Both of them uttered.

“Anyway,” I held the pocket X-Ray up to Rhea, or Remora’s chest. How a pocket X-Ray worked was beyond me. I was a doctor, not an engineer.

As I glanced down at those chest bones, I saw where her lungs were and noticed some substances built up. I nodded, then closed up the pocket X-Ray and put it back into the briefcase.

“Tell me, when did you first notice these symptoms?” I inquired.

“About a week ago. Couple days before Demetria’s birthday,” she answered. Good. So she could behave when she wanted to.

“Who’s Demetria?” I put my hand up to chin and shook my head. More questions arose than answers. Not good.

“It me!” Greenie, once again jumped in. Or Demetria, I guess.

“Oh. Here I’ve been calling you Greenie in my head this whole time,” I remarked.

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I can do whatever I want in my head,” I stated with conviction.

“Never mind that, what do you mean, a couple days before my birthday?!” Demetria (sigh, I really liked Greenie more) gasped.

“It was while I was out to earn money. I felt a little bit off. I ignored it and figured it would go away on its own,” Remora/Rhea explained.

“Tsk. Just like Ray with his infection. Why do you guys neglect your bodies?”

“What does it matter to you?” Remora/Rhea retorted.

“Because human lives are precious,” I replied without hesitation.

“Do you really believe that?”

“I have to. Otherwise this world would be far more bleak.”

“I wish I believed that as well.”

“What about the needle? The poison?” Demetria pressed the issue. That was also concerning. None of that got mentioned before.

“It only affected you,” Remora muttered.

“Even so, I think I should run some tests on you as well,” I turned to Demetria.

“That’s not necessary! It just made me pass out! Besides, it was just skin contact, it didn’t puncture me.”

“Still, if you were to pass it to her through contact, that could mean that she was affected by it as well.”

Demetria looked down, hands balled into fists.

“I didn’t consider that...I’m sorry…”

“Anyway, she’ll probably live. Probably,” I tried to reassure Demetria. Maybe Remora/Rhea too. Since I couldn’t guarantee anything.

“Probably?!” Demetria sounded about ready to snap.

“Yes. She has pneumonia. It can potentially be fatal, but in her case, it seems pretty mild. There’s some bacterial build up in her lungs, so I’ll prescribe some antibiotics. Make sure she gets plenty of rest and water. It may take up to a month before she recovers, and even then she might be a little out of it.”

It seemed like my work was done. Nothing more to say, then.

“Before you go, can you check one more thing for me?” Demetria asked.

“What?”

“She’s got this condition where she always feels like she’s cold,” Demetria began to explain.

“Huh. Has she thought about moving someplace warmer?”

“No. That’s not it. She’ll crank the heater way up and while everyone else is burning to death, she’ll still be cold. Even in warmer climates, she’ll still be shivering. It gets worse in social situations, but it’s there all the time. I was wondering if you could identify the cause of it, if nothing else.”

“Hmm…” I pondered. It didn’t take long, however, for me to come up with an answer. “It could be a number of things. However, it’s not something I could check out very well right now, as one of the side effects of pneumonia is that it gives people those shivery feelings. Maybe when she’s better, I could check for various things, if she let me.”

“Would you, Remora?” Demetria asked. Her...something (since I guess wasn’t a friend. While I said earlier that such titles weren’t important, I now found it hard what to use to describe their relationship) groaned but didn’t quite answer. Maybe it was getting to be even more painful to speak.

“It could also be psychological,” I pointed out. “If so, I know a pretty good therapist. I can give you his business card, if you’d like.”

“Am I some kind of joke to you?” Remora’s weary voice returned to retort. “I’m a paragon of mental health.”

“There’s no shame in seeking therapy,” I pointed out to her. Maybe she was of the belief that such things were beneath her. “I’ve seen one a few times.” I could probably use seeing one again.

“Yes, I agree. But I don’t need one. Watch this,” she stared at me, and I stared back, waiting for something to happen. Then she fell back to her side and went to sleep.

“Well then, I suppose that about covers it,” I left the room and Demetria followed behind. I was about halfway down the hall when she ran after me.

“What about the antibiotics?” She stopped and asked in a huff.

“I’m going to get some from my truck right now. Also, if you have any pain relieving medication, I would advise she take that for her headaches, as well. I would also suggest you be present in the room with her when she takes her pills. Something tells me she won’t take them otherwise.”

“I’ll try to remember all that.”

“Oh, and if her other condition is psychological, then there may not be a ‘cure’ and she will instead need to find a way to manage it. I wouldn’t want to give her false hope, either, so rest assured of that.”

“Thank you again,” her voice grew quiet.

I shrugged. “Just try to get her to the hospital next time.”

After that was all settled and I gave Demetria the pills, I headed home. It felt nice to help someone outside of the hospital, even if it still meant I had to leave home to take care of someone else. For a little bit, it even seemed like I felt something, though it seemed to come in dribs and drabs and I couldn’t pinpoint which moments those were. With any luck, I could still spend some time with Cole, if he didn’t leave for work, himself. Or if I wasn’t needed back at the hospital. Like I said, with any luck.

[luxlightly]

It’s Soup! -- Symbruary Day 8 “Food” Fill

Just in case anyone thought I was capable of making anything normal. Here is likely the only prompt fill I will be doing for @symbruary​. Written in about 2 hours (would have been shorter but my dog kept screaming at me to take him on a walk) with little to no proof reading so forgive any mistakes, especially since I nearly never work in first person and have never written in present tense. 

Requires a basic understanding of the plot of Venom: The Hunger to properly understand.

---

I am hungry.

Not the kind of hungry where it hurts your stomach; the kind of hungry that hurts all over. The kind of hungry that looking at food makes you feel sick. That eating doesn’t help. That makes all food look and taste foul. Because it’s a specific hunger. A craving for something.

Yes, that’s it. A craving. One I can feel in my bones, my teeth.

Our teeth.

But for something I can’t define. I can’t find. I’ll have to keep looking.

I am angry.

But that’s nothing new. Every day I feel like I’m angrier, but everyday it feels more justified, so I don’t mind. Every day I see more filth, more corruption, more sin. Everyday it seems like there’s fewer innocents to protect. Like there’s less and less untouched by the grime and putrescence of this city, this whole society.

What is the world coming to? It disgusts me.

Everything disgusts me now. Food, people,places. The popcorn I’d purchased with something approaching optimism is already all but discarded. Like trying to force mud and gravel down my throat. Repulsive. Like everything else. Everything sets a bad taste in my mouth, like sewage.

Well, except for one thing, of course.

The Other winds itself through my fingers, forming a hand to interlace with mine.

My Other.

It’s the only thing that soothes the anger, the shaking, buzzing, craving, wanting, needing. It’s a cool balm. When I feel its presence in my mind, winding its way through the twists and turns of my body, making its serpentine journey through the labyrinth of my form, for a moment I can feel at peace. We can feel at peace.  

There is a movie playing, here in the dark theater. Noise and light that my brain finds too hard to bother parsing. I didn’t come here to watch it, anyway. What story could any human mind fabricate that could match the magnificence of the creature that weaves its way through my cells?

None. Of course not. But the theater is blessedly dark and any within would not be looking at us. So we are afforded this small luxury of clasped hands.

In these brief moments such as this, when our minds touch and my heart swells with adoration for my beloved being from beyond the stars, it feels for a moment like there is more to existence than the wretchedness the world seems so filled with. That there is something else to be felt but disdain, disgust.

Then the shouting begins.

“Aw, they shoulda got Stallone!”

Teenagers.

I always had a soft spot for kids, but nowadays it seems there’s little to be soft for. Even children are tainted by corruption and filth. There’s no respect, no courtesy. These punks are nearly too far gone, already adults, raised in putrid bile and fit to do no more than regurgitate it.

But maybe not too old and far gone, yet, to be taught a decent lesson.

–

I am hungry.

I am angry.

Strung up from the ceiling, upside-down, the little cretin’s whines and whimpers are giving us a headache.

“Punks like you make me mad,” I hiss, wrapped up in my Other, in my true form, our true form.

Being together, as Venom, feels right. It always does. Like taking off an uncomfortable costume and letting the world see you as you are. Like finally fitting right in your own skin. But the buzzing and churning in my mind only seems to get worse together.

The only thing that feels right, but also wrong. Helping and hurting. Bane and balm.

Our headache is getting worse.

“Mad enough to bite your heads off!” I threaten.

It’s an old bit, but it’s our standard. Something about a brain-eating alien always seemed fitting. It’s the kind of thing people expect from us. The kind of monster they want us to be.

“CrrrrUNCH! ” For a moment I can almost picture it. I can almost feel that satisfying crunch of bone between my fangs, cracking and crumbling the the shell of an egg, revealing the precious contents within.

“Slurp down your brains like big fistfuls of Jello…”

I can picture that, too. Soft, slippery texture, zapping with the last sparks of life. Tingling against our tongue like a popping candy. Sliding down our throat like a rich pudding. Being so hungry for so long, it almost seems…kind of nice.

I stretch my jaws around his head, just to spook him, of course. His increased whimpering tells me it’s working. My tongue curls around his chin, as if I’m really tasting, preparing.

“Yeaaaahhhh…” I breathe, more reverent than threatening,now. More focused on the image in my mind, on solidifying it, indulging it that fantasy, than really teaching these kids a lesson. And why not? Not like they’d learn anyway.  I can feel my Other almost basking in the imagined scenario as well. “Barely touched that crummy popcorn, I could really sink my teeth into–”

I stop, abruptly.

I realize my teeth are almost itching with the desire to truly sink into the punk’s flesh. My jaw tightened and primed to bite down with a crushing force. My tongue is drawing in and savoring the taste of fear, of adrenaline, in the teenager’s sweat.

I could really…

I pull back quickly, returning our jaws to a more normal size and shape. The kid was spooked enough. No need to keep the bit going.

“Uh. Nah,” I say, suddenly at a loss for a witty parting line.

We release the kids and depart quickly. Suddenly, and unplaceably, the situation feels wrong, almost dangerous. Not that we’re fleeing from it. Not that anything would have happened.

I just get a little carried away sometimes.

It’s the job stress.

—

I am hungry.

I am angry.

More angry than hungry now, I feel. Like the hunger has settled into my bones, like it’s a part of me. A dull ache for something I can’t place. We’re out looking for it now. Searching, stalking. Scenting the air, sifting through sensations, discarding everything that’s not right but nothing is right.

No one understands it. No one understands us. No one ever has and yet strangers think that they have the right to presume what we need. The interaction with the man at the kiosk is still boiling in my blood.

How can he, someone who could not possibly know us, could not possibly understand us, think he can claim to know what’s good for our health? What we should eat? What we should do? We don’t need his advice! Nor his pity.

I feel suddenly scrutinized. Like every face on the street is watching us, judging us, trying to find the filth and disease in us, too. Trying to see how their poison has sunk into us, too.

I’m looking for something now. I feel something like a panic, a desperation. There has to be something that’s right. There must be something that tastes right, feels right. I’m looking for it, now. I feel like I’m wandering a maze. A mouse trying to follow the scent of cheese through walls that are shifting around it. Searching endlessly for a prize that always eludes it.

I need to blow off some steam.

—

I have to hand it to this biker scum.

He packs a punch. More than I’d expected looking at him, anyway.  

He’s also brutal. Slamming his fists and feet against my skull, my ribs, my spine. He keeps screaming about killing me for trashing his bike and I’m fairly certain that if I were a ‘factory original’ human, he’d be well on his way to succeeding. Even with my Other reinforcing them, I think I can feel my bones cracking.

The pain is grounding, though. It feels sharp and real when everything else has been cloudy, drowned out by the frantic buzzing of my body and mind. The rush of adrenaline feels good and I find I need more of it.

As I’m thrown through a window, I can already feel my Other cording itself through my bones, sealing any crack, repairing any fracture. It seeps up through my skin and releases its cloth disguise to wrap around and through me. Our fangs push up through our gums and back into their rightful place. Our jaw stretches and lengthens to accommodate and I find myself wishing I could feel the strain of it more acutely.

I let our long tongue roll out of our mouth and splash into a mug of beer on the table closest to the window through which we were so recently defenestrated. I do so enjoy a dramatic entrance. Or, reenterence, as the case may be. The taste,however, is even more abhorrent than everything else I’d been fruitlessly trying to consume lately. Pure poison.

I retch, pulling our tongue back and away from the putrid substance.

“You call this beer?” I snarl. “Tastes more like runny buffalo spit. Not that scum like you deserve any better.”

Our form feels strange somehow. Fitting to the state of our mind more closely than to the curvature of my body. Bigger, but less defined. More animalistic. More tendrils than we’re used to, as well. Somehow it feels like it matches the disjointed and detached state of my thoughts. Poetic.

I hear the bikers say something about superheroes, causal slurs and offensive epithets peppered in as is the wont of such ruffians. But we don’t feel like a hero tonight. This doesn’t feel like defending the innocent. I wonder if there’s even any left out there to defend? We don’t even feel like a judge, doling out retribution to the guilty. We’re out picking fights. Finding people who ‘deserve it’, whatever ‘it’ may be. Less like a punisher, more like a predator.

With teeth to match.

We’re slashing through biker creeps like we were made for it. Because we were made for it. But I barely hear it. Barely notice my own comebacks. I’m spouting the truth, the truth about their bile and filth, and the energy behind it feels good, feels like something , but it’s hollow. It’s not enough. I can’t find it in me to care. I’m angry that I don’t care.

I’m angry.

And I’m hungry.

God help me, I’m so hungry.

‘Frankie’,as it seems the leader of this loathsome bunch is named, takes another swipe at me with a knife. As if it could do anything. Ranting about cutting me open, as if he isn’t hopelessly, pitifully outmatched.

I swat him away like the disgusting insect he is.

“Oh, bite me.”

I’m not sure if I mean to kill him, but the loud ‘crack’ of his head against the brick pillar suggests that such a feat has no doubt been accomplished.

Suddenly I have no space in my mind for considering it. No space for thought about the other bikers starting to peel themselves off the floor.

A scent wafts into our nose, permeates into our flesh, into the scent detecting cells that litter the Other’s body, when we wish them to.

And suddenly, we desperately wish them to.

I sniff again, then once more, as the Other floods our form with more and more structures dedicated to scent, lining our skin with them so that the intoxicating aroma caresses us like a warm breeze.

What is that?

“Something…smells… GOOD,” I murmur, like a man possessed.

I feel like a man possessed. Possessed by that smell, the need for more of it, the need to discern its source. Our mouth is watering (more so than normal, anyway) and suddenly the hollow ache of craving turns sharp and demanding in our gut. I feel myself willing more teeth into our mouth and I feel my Other enthusiastically fulfilling that wish.

My Other is practically writhing on my skin. Our form feels like it’s shivering down to the core.

What is it? What is it?

I stalk to the pillar, stained with thick, red liquid, and breathe in that scent as deep as my lungs will allow.

“Warm ’n mushy…” I find myself repeating the words from earlier. When I had so desperately been trying to define what our body was screaming for. To put words to its silent but insistent demands. “ Wet…and…tingly…”

I lean down right above the cracked and bloodied cranium of the late Frankie, sniffing again and confirming beyond a doubt the source of the mouthwatering scent. And confirming beyond a doubt that it’s what we’ve been craving. What we need. What we want.

“Mmmmmmmm…” the moan from our lips is nearly sinful. It’s so close. What we’ve needed so painfully. What we’ve been aching for.

I feel feverish and desperate. The Other is writhing around and inside me. Our combined want and need feels like it will shake our body apart.

The Other provides me a lie before I even realize I have been begging it for one. Something innocuous. Something, anything appropriate. Excusable. It pushes me forward, encouraging. It feels as frenzied as I do.

“It’s… soup!” I exclaim.

And with that it’s justified. It’s acceptable. It’s accepted.

It’s inevitable.

We open our jaws wide, tongue lolling out.

“Yeahhhhhhh…” we breathe.

Our jaws snap down, crunching through the skull soup. The moment it hits our tongue is like salvation. After months of wanting, craving, aching, the thing we’ve so desperately needed is here, dancing on our taste buds, sliding down our throat. Like water in a desert, like life returning to our body.

How could we stop?

Our teeth gnash and tear, dragging more and more of the precious substance into our mouth. It’s so much and yet not enough. How can it be both? How can it be everything and yet nearly nothing?

We can’t understand it. Can’t understand anything. Can feel nothing, think of nothing, but the need for more. More. Like a thousand pounds would not be enough.

Faintly, as if beyond the veil of a dream, we can hear it, a cry of pure horror and disgust.

“I don’t believe it!” a voice cries. “He’s eatin’ Frankie’s brains!”

The statement drags me out of my frenzied state as if dragging me out of thick molasses.

“…what?” I mumble, still feeling only half lucid.

No…no we never….we would never. It wasn’t…it was only…

I look down at my hands, stained with blood and chunks of grey matter.

“No…” I breathe, then scream. "NO!"

It couldn’t be right. It couldn’t be real. This wasn’t me. This wasn’t us. Wasn’t Venom!

Suddenly Venom becomes a divided entity, split jaggedly between the horror and disgust at the viscera coating our claws and the frantic desire to lick each one clean of it. The revulsion at what we’ve done and the desperation to continue.

I stumble backwards.

“Threatened plenty of times – never meant to – just to scare ‘em…a joke !” I stammer.

When had it stopped being an empty threat? When had it stopped being a bit? A Joke?

Dear God, had it ever really been?

My stomach churns. Suddenly I feel panicked. Exposed like a rat in a trap, overcome with the need to escape.

“Something’s wrong with – Oh God have to– Get away!”

I flee as fast as our legs will carry me, away from the cooling, clotting remains of what is decidedly not soup.

And the worst thing.

The worst thing.

Is that I’m still hungry . ---

Also crossposted to ao3 : [Here]