#give them fucking tails you fucking cowards

[heartfullofleeches]

Yan Cheater + Cheater Reader

Yan Cheaters are funny lemme try-

Yan Cheater who sees their darling dearest out on the town alone. You should be with them, but they'll fix that shortly. You're the person of their dreams and after so many failed relationships they're happy to find the right one. On their way over, their entire world crumbles as you're seen hugging and chatting up some random with a closeness you've never showed them. The unfamiliar face slings an arm around your shoulder as you walk off together - laughing as if you were without guilt.

You heartless bitch. How could you? After they'd give you their heart - their everything. Fine, fuck you - they could do the same thing. After crying through the night and crying their eyes they hit up a past fling to forget all about you; aggravated that all they can think of as the look at their partner is features that remind them of you. They ignore your calls, block you on everything, and have the time of their life with whoever's available... And looks like you.

The first time you saw them with someone else you turned tail and ran, saving your tears for a better time and person. Good - run off. You know what you did. They won't chase you - no matter how red their heart bleeds after seeing you after so long. You meet again at a party a mutual friend left in the dark was throwing. You, for closure - them, looking for a new body to take home. They couldn't even hide their disgust as you stomped up to them, two lockets in hand.

"What the hell did I do to you...."

They scoff. Trying to play innocent? "You know what you did."

"No! No I don't! You ghost me for weeks and never seem to be home when I try to talk to you, but the second I see you, you have your arm around somebody else. As far I remember, we were happy together. What did I do to you to deserve this?!"

"Hm... I think it was roughly a month ago. You and that little whore you met outside that coffee shop that just opened."

"Coffee shop?... Wha-" Your eyes widen. Unable to control your anger, you slap them across the face so hard the blow rattles in their teeth. They clutch their jaw. You little-

"That was my cousin, asshole!"

You toss the necklaces to the ground, two sets of initials engraved on their fronts.

"You didn't even bother to ask me about it before you ran off. If you really loved me, you wouldn't say something instead of jumping to conclusions. I knew dating you was a mistake. You spineless coward."

Their tongue feels heavy, likely cut on their teeth from your blow - bleeding; just like the heart they thought they lost. In a way - they truly had.

"Couldn't get a refund since they were custom" You spit on the fallen jewelry as you turn your back to them. "Happy Anniversary."

They fall to their knees, crawling after you as you fall into the crowd - grabbing your ankle. "No, baby. Please, baby - I fucked up bad, I know, but I can make this up to you. Sweetheart please - I'll delete everyone in my phone right now, even my parents. You'll be the only one. You're all I need. Baby, see? I'm doing it - look. Look at me - I'm sorry. Angel? Honey? D- don't leave me... DON'T LEAVE ME."

You have to change your phone number the very next day from all the calls you receive from the burner phones they purchased that same night to speak their part. Jobs too - as they stand outside and harass customers since your boss refused to let them in by your own wishes - accusing everyone of trying to take you away from them. You return home one day to find your front door unlocked and before you can realize the danger you step inside - your ex waiting with a carbon copy of every gift you threw out and wearing everything you ever gave them.

"Darling... I'm wearing that shirt you bought me last Christmas. I honestly thought it was hideous - but...it came from you. I'm wearing that hoodie you thought you lost too. I lied because I wanted to have something that smells like you to keep. It doesn't smell much like you anymore. Only my tears. I'm sorry - I won't ever lie to you again. You're perfect. My sweet angel. Please...give me a second chance. I don't know what I'll do if you don't."

[cevansbrat0007]

Disturbing the Peace

Summary: You're keeping a secret from Ari - one that you'll have to tell him about eventually. Right?

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Mentions of Death, Pet Names, Corporate Intimidation, Anxious Reader, Cursing, Minors DNI.

A/N: Takes place earlier in my Sweet Renegades Series timeline. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

You stare down at the notice in your hands, your mouth suddenly dry as your eyes proceed to scan the words on the page for the third time. You’d found it wedged between your doors only moments ago after closing down your shop for the night. 

Which meant someone had been out there watching – waiting – for the right moment to strike. Without the benefit of an audience. Fucking coward.   

Even still, that fact unnerved you to no end. Especially since the piece of paper you were holding seemed different from the others you’d received over the previous months. They’d been polite and professional, albeit a bit pushy.

But not this one.

This letter was short and to the point. Greystone & Reeves Real Estate Group was done beating around the bush. They were giving you one last chance to meet so that the two of you could finally begin discussing the terms of the sale of your beloved shop, Baubles & Quills. 

The one thing you’d promised your late uncle, Lenny, you’d never do.

But unfortunately for you, that didn’t seem to matter overly much to the pushy group. They were clearly tired of being ignored - a tactic that you’d employed with them from the beginning. 

When you’d first received a letter from them you’d laughed it off before crumbling it up and tossing it in the trash. You’d also done the same with the second. But by the time you’d received the third you’d been hoppin’ mad. So mad that you’d left a less than polite voicemail with their receptionist telling them that their entire company could “suck dirt and die”, because that’s exactly what you would do before you ever thought about signing away the deed to your shop.

After that, things were quiet for a time. So quiet that you forgot all about that stupid Greystone and his dimwitted lackey, Reeves. In fact, the last time you’d heard anything from them had been right after Ari had rolled into town. 

Come to think of it, you’d actually lit that letter on fire while wishing you could do the same to their headquarters – wherever they seemed to be located. Oddly enough, you hadn’t actually been able to dig up much about them online. Just that they seemed to have set up shop in several different counties surrounding Bell’s Creek.

You couldn’t make heads nor tails of why they were so interested in your property or your land. But at the end of the day, their motivations didn’t really matter.

Because you weren’t fucking selling. Not now, not ever. 

Baubles & Quills wasn’t just your place of business, but also your refuge. It was part of the legacy your uncle had left behind as a gift to the little girl who had spent so much of her childhood curled up in the overstuffed armchair in his office with her nose buried in a book. 

Long story short, you’d made a promise to the man who’d loved you like a daughter. And you intended to keep it. 

So, tomorrow you’d call Greystone & Reeves and threaten them with whatever your paralegal buddy, Erica, suggested. You’d been meaning to call her anyway so that you two could catch-up on life, as well as all things related to Mr. Ari “Beast” Levinson.

The sound of your phone ringing suddenly breaks the silence, giving you a mini-heart attack in the process. You can tell by the ringtone that it’s Ari on the other end, which has you answering without hesitation. 

“Uh, hey.” You cough out, shaking your head as you try to clear your mind. “What’s up, Beast?” You do your best to keep your tone light and breezy, not wanting him to pick up on your distress. 

Mostly because you’d never thought to mention any of the threatening letters you’d received over the last several months. Even when Ari had stopped by that one fine day to interrogate you about your relationship with Martin you’d chosen to keep that piece of information close to the vest. 

After all, it wasn’t like your Bounty Hunter could do much about it anyway. Not to mention that you’d had no idea that your relationship would ultimately progress the way it did.

Bottom line: nobody needed to know, least of all your handsome Beast. Wait. Except for Erica. She could know. Because otherwise, how else would she be able to tell you what scary things to say? 

It’s only then when you hear your name on the other line that you realize your thoughts must’ve wandered. “I’m sorry, babe. Can you please repeat that?” You mutter, scrubbing a tired hand over your face. “It’s been a long day and I’m afraid my mind is already worrying about tomorrow’s delivery.”

There was no delivery slated for tomorrow, but a little white lie never hurt anyone. Right?

“S’alright, little Bird. I know you’re tired but – wait. I thought you weren’t expecting any more deliveries for the rest of the month?” The sound of his deep, slightly roughened voice has your pulse quickening as a fresh wave of heat pools in your belly.

“I…” You trail off, your fingers coming to pinch the bridge of your nose. Serves you right for trying to lie to the one man who actually paid attention to 99.9% of the shit that you said on a daily fucking basis. 

“Guess I forgot.” You finish lamely, tucking the phone between your shoulder and your ear so that you can get moving. “I’m about to leave Baubles, though. Am I still picking us up something from Holtman’s Diner or did you change your mind?"

“Holtman’s is fine, baby.” Ari responds after a couple of seconds. “But are you sure you’re okay?”

And there it was. Granted, it didn’t sound like suspicion so much as it did concern…

But still. 

“I’m great, Beast. Pinky promise.”

Gritting your teeth you return your attention to the stupid piece of paper in front of you. But instead of balling it up and tossing it into the garbage, you decide to neatly fold it and tuck it into your purse.

Next you pull out your keys, followed by your handy dandy taser. And just to be safe, you decide to go ahead and swipe the nearby exacto knife sitting on an unopened box containing some random celebrity’s latest memoir. 

“I still think you sound funny, Duchess.”

Fuck, this man – your man – was like a goddamned bloodhound. And once he caught a scent he didn’t give up until he had his prey cornered and ready to spill their guts. 

“Augh!” You hiss as you sling your purse over one shoulder before collecting the rest of your things. “Sweetheart, I just told you I’m tired. That’s literally it. Hold on while I get the alarm.” Biting your lip you type in the passcode needed to arm your system before swiftly unlocking and exiting through the front.      

“I’m all set now. About to jump into my ride and head to Holtman’s.” Of course, you’re quick to interrupt when he attempts to turn the focus back to you. “Tell me about your day, handsome.”

Ari did not need to know that you were hovering just outside of fight or flight mode, which is why you currently had your semi-legal taser at the ready. Plus the knife and the tiny container of pepper spray hooked on your keyring. 

Now that had been a gift from Ari.

Keeping your head on a swivel, you make quick work of locking everything back up before making a mad dash to your vehicle. An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of your stomach as you continue to scan the empty lot, searching for any signs of life.  

“Yeah?” You grunt as you throw yourself into your car before locking yourself in. “Well, maybe I can try working that knot out of your shoulder later.” With shaking hands you push the start button in your car and wait for your call to connect with your bluetooth. Thankfully it doesn’t take long. “And yes, please. You have my explicit permission to repay the favor, you ridiculous man.”

Oh goodness, I can’t breathe. Mary, Jesus, Joseph, help!

Body hunched, you Immediately you peel out of the lot and turn onto a main road. Now that you’re safe, you cast a glance in your rearview mirror, feeling grateful when you don’t see anything – save for a couple of raccoons hoping to get their hands on some garbage. 

“Woo!” You shout, triumphantly punching the roof of your car. “Hell yeah!” You’d officially made it out, which meant that you would hopefully live to fight another day. 

“Huh?” Ari growls into the receiver. 

“Um, I just say two baby blue mini-coopers drive down the road. Must be good luck, ya know?” 

“Right.” He doesn’t sound very convinced.

“And I just remembered that tonight’s special involves their homemade mashed potatoes and meatloaf. Still sound good?“ Without taking your eyes off the road, you drop the taser back into the center console of your car.

“Fine by me then.” Your Bounty Hunter replies, his response sounding just shy of frustrated. But I choose to ignore in favor of simply acting like tonight was okay, even when it wasn’t. “Be safe getting here. And if you change your mind about wanting to talk…”

“Nope.” 

After that you hang up and head to the diner, snagging you both a couple pieces of homemade pie to go with your food. A bit to eat and naked cuddles with your man would make things better. At least for a little bit. 

And quite honestly, you’d take what could get these days. The universe at least owed you that much.

END

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[monvante]

persona non grata ╱ myg, 𝟏.

per·​so·​na non gra·​ta: unwelcome or unwanted. not popular or accepted by others.

pairing: myg x f!reader

genre: suspense / noir / detective au

rating: mature | 18+

chapter word count: 3,067

content warings: crime, blackmail, missing person investigation, themes of violence and murder, 90's cult references, corrupt cops, mentions of physical fighting, cockroaches, depictions of dementia, substance abuse & addiction, reader is grieving a breakup;

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chapter i. goodbye, kanan.

Tuesday night, March 18th @ ViCAP Unit, Missing Persons Dept.

Your hands don’t feel clean. They just never do. 

“It’s that same nightmare,” you rub them together, finding comfort in the heat.

Yoongi looks at you. He says nothing, because of course he doesn't. He already noticed the dark circles under your eyes this morning, how you looked at your cup of coffee with a bit more disgust than usual.

He admired your hatred, your devotion to your spiteful heart.

“Cockroaches.” Your sad chuckle is but self-mockery. Your gaze is crestfallen.

He’s left to calculate within the machinations of his mind whatever meaning there is in your nightmare. 

Yet, Yoongi finds none whatsoever.

“Have you eaten?” 

“Why?”

“Just asking,” he shrugs. “Take tomorrow off,” Yoongi hides his hands inside the pockets of his trench coat. His concern is disguised in his eyes, looking out the foggy windows of the department office. “You need it.”

“I can’t stop thinking about him.”

“Let it go.”

“He was eight years old! He was a child!”

The air tightens in your lungs and your throat thickens with silence. You didn’t mean to sound so exasperated, you didn’t mean to sound like anything, but you’ll have to be the first to face your emotional ties to the cold case of a young boy whose face is ingrained in the back of your mind.

Yoongi gulps ⎯  it’s the first thing he does when the truth’s engulfed in his stomach. You glare at him, but he doesn’t budge. Not for a few seconds at least, taking a few steps back as he still refuses to look you in the eye. All cops are cowards.

“You wanna know why we got this case?”

Your brows perk. 

“It’s not because we’re good,” he scoffs. “Last year... I confronted McKinnon about the money. He called me a snitch… I didn’t- I didn’t tell him you were in on it, but I figured he knew. That bastard just.. kept looking at me with those filthy eyes and I- I hit him, okay? I got him good. He deserved it.”

“Is that why you kept avoiding me all those months?”

“Kind of. He said we wouldn’t come out of it alive if the ACU so much as dreamt of it… So I kept quiet. He gave us a case full of dead ends and shit evidence to keep us busy… Said we deserved it.”

The Anti Corruption Unit had been onto the agents’ tail that month. Not that it matters. Nothing was found.

“Why– why didn’t you tell me?”

He runs a hand through his hair, slowing down his breath. In the same second, he fails himself and his fury comes out in full force.

“Fuck’s sake! And risk you being dead? Or worse?!” 

There are drops of sweat down his temple. You can see them because the yellow street lights glisten against his skin and you figure he’s telling you the truth. Even if he wasn’t, you’d be inclined to believe him. 

No one else in this godforsaken unit has a commitment to the truth like Yoongi. 

Thursday morning, March 20th @ ViCAP Unit, Missing Persons Dept.

Agent Gerwig gives you a warm, tight-lipped smile when you pass her down the hallways. You hurry past the agents down the coffee machine, avoiding small talk and nearly tripping down the stairs on your way to Yoongi’s desk. 

The insides of your stomach are twisting and turning as you rush inside, uninvited and breathless, waiting for him to acknowledge you behind his incessant typing and the meaningless emails he reads everyday. 

Yoongi seems as still and lifeless as ever, which somehow comes as a comfort to you. 

“Days off are supposed to make you look better, not worse. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He types as fast as he comes up with witty remarks. 

“That’s because I have!” You spit back, fists closed tightly around the newspaper in your hands.

He quirks up one brow, enough for you to know you’ve got his attention.

“Here,” you toss it onto his desk. “Read it.”

November 27th, 1991. Solved case: Thanksgiving kidnappings linked to man apprehended by police.

“That’s Adam Bowen. He got arrested a night after Kanan went missing,” you huff, catching your breath. “They never considered him a suspect because… the timelines didn’t add up, apparently.” 

Yoongi looks up at you from the large frame of his glasses.

“And?”

“Police always suspected he worked with his brother… but they never found enough evidence to prove it. They never even found said brother, the guy disappeared out of thin air and Bowen never told them anything. Not a word.”

He leans back, stretching his arms. His gaze diverts away from you or the paper altogether and he’s staring into space, seemingly at a loss for words.

“They got one brother, huh? Looks like it was enough for them to settle it,” Yoongi clicks his tongue. “Sloppy as all hell.”

In your heart, there’s some feeble hope, but most of it has been filled with despair and a fierce jealousy towards anyone who still maintained a sense of normalcy. Your last seven years have been haunted by nightmares, tainted by the faces of all the missing person reports hanging on your walls.

“We got a second half of the story to figure out.”

Yoongi nods. He closes off his laptop and puts his hands around his gun belt.

Friday night, March 21th @ Agent ___’s home.

Circe’s orange tail swirls around your leg before she’s meowing next to her empty bowl, with cute and threatening eyes glaring into your soul. You can barely catch your breath on the couch ⎯  you got shit to do. 

Her paws trail happily after you once you’re pouring the pack of Whiskas onto her tiny plate, making a mental note to throw nearly all the home decor away before Easter comes. The apartment is filled with portraits, vases and candles Yuri generously left you with. 

Such courtesy of your ex-fiancée to have abandoned all your memories and stories behind. 

You’re running out of coffee, hope and sugar.

Yuri was not a bad man. It’s what you told yourself, once. He wanted the kids and the white picket fence life, away from violent gangs and city lights, where he’d craft the perfect nuclear family, worthy of homemade apple pies and Sunday barbecues.

But you liked the urban loneliness, your shoebox apartment and the green subway lights on your way back home. You liked the comfort of knowing every neighborhood like the palm of your hand, the ins and outs of every highway and the thought of heartless strangers passing you by, not caring for your name.

You missed him. His warm body pressed against yours and his golden, brown skin; you missed him selfishly ⎯  your comfort zone walked away and resentment grew alongside the fondness. 

You hoped he was happy without you, but not too much.

When your co-workers asked you about him, a few days after he packed his bags, all you gave them was a shrug and a poor explanation, the kind that everyone does: we were incompatible, it wasn’t meant to be, I wasn’t ready. The list went on and on.

The only one to not probe was good old loyal Yoongi. He was indifferent enough to other people’s personal lives not to ask. When you told him, he patted you on the shoulder awkwardly and placed your coffee by your desk with extra whipped cream. 

Saturday afternoon, March 22nd @ Rosefell Nursing Home.

Violet Bowen was not, by any means, what you’d call a reliable witness. She seemed pale beyond human comprehension and her words mostly consisted of hummings or muttering. The moment you saw her, you felt a sting of empathy too strong to ask her of her missing, possibly outlaw brother.

She had no other relatives nor close visitors, except for a caring ex-neighbor who’d bring her flowers every Friday. With nails painted a deep shade of red, she looked to be around eighty, but you couldn’t quite tell. Violet was in poor condition, plagued by dementia and the loneliness of lost loved ones. 

Her caretaker is a vibrant, blonde nurse. A blonde Southern belle whose name tag read in big, uppercase letters.

CAROLYN R. NURSING ASSISTANT

It’s Yoongi who interrogates Violet, remaining unaffected by her lost gaze and brown eyes. He flashes her a picture of her brothers back in the 80’s, sporting what looks to be fluffy mullets. 

She smiles then and her shaky hands point at Adam, but nothing else comes out of her aside from a gleam of life in her eyes. Even if she knew where they were, she wouldn’t tell them a word. 

Carolyn’s smile grows disconcerted. Her hands lay on Violet’s forearm as she pulls a thick chunk of her blonde hair out of her face in typical Southern charm. 

“I think my girl’s had enough here, yes?” She forces a grin, glancing over at Violet. “If you’ll excuse us, it’s tea time.” 

Carolyn helps Violet out of her seat and into the cafeteria. You’re not sure if it’s bad timing or a deliberate attempt from the nursing assistant to end this conversation, but you’re leaning on the latter. Off they go, taking slow, mindful steps away from both of you.

You refuse to look at Violet’s way. Something about her made you want to cry your heart out; the thought of loneliness being an imminent threat to you, too. 

“It’s pointless, Yoongi,” you mutter in your seat, slouching your shoulders. “She’s not going to remember anything.”

He hates to agree. Yoongi tsks, fiddling with his watch.

“Did you check her records at the reception?” He glances over at you, mind brimming with some sort of nefarious idea.

“Yeah,” you nod. “I mean- I didn’t check if she had any funds… It looks like all her properties and money were confiscated by the government, but I should run a background check on her bank accounts, to be sure.”

Monday afternoon, March 24th @ Tech Unit, Information Management Division.

Jenny’s doodles lie by her desk, making the room feel like a high school classroom. You haven’t spoken to her since December; what was once a blossoming friendship wilted away thanks to your cowardice and the desire to protect her from Deputy McKinnon’s claws. If Jenny found out, she’d jump the gun. 

And she didn’t have the best aim.

Her Naruto sketches have improved greatly since you last saw them, a massive improvement for just a couple months. Both of you used to laugh at her poorly drawn stick figures, now it looks like she’s ready to take her comics career seriously. You’re happy for her ⎯  she’ll find a way out of this hellhole.

The air is thick and humid in the early Spring, but filled with an extra layer of awkwardness when she sees you from across the room. Jenny’s strides towards her desk are heavy with grief and resentment, but she holds her gaze your way.

“Have you had enough space from me after not picking up my calls?” She slides onto her chair, scribbling a few notes onto her monthly planner. “Long time no see, idiot.”

You don’t have much to say for yourself, even when your chest pangs with her affectionate, yet sarcastic use of the word idiot. 

“A lot happened, is all,” you gesture sheepishly, hands reaching for the insides of your pockets.

“I can imagine.”

“I’m sorry, Jenny… I didn’t mean to-” 

She looks up at you, eyes drenched with irony and something.. something which you can’t name. If it’s hatred or love, you can’t tell.

“Wat’cha want?”

You swallow dry and uneasy, unfolding the paper on your hand with Violet Bowen’s name and address. It’s crumpled and a little thorn ⎯  you were ready to throw it away seconds before coming into the Tech Unit.

“I- I need a background check on someone,” you mutter, lowly. “Bank account activity… Credit cards… Anything you can find from the last… thirty years, maybe?” 

Your attempt at a chuckle fails, denouncing your regret. Jenny notices the furrow of your brows and how concerned you seem, ripping the paper away from your hands. 

“Sure.” 

The seconds fill with silence. You stand by her desk, waiting for a snide comment, a spiteful joke, anything. She looks at you like she knows you want to apologize again.

“Nice sketches!” You smile as a desperate invitation to make friendly conversation. 

Jenny doesn’t cave in.

“You’re dismissed,” she nods at the doorway and hops onto her laptop. “I’ll text you when I’m done.”

Monday night, March 24th @ Agent ____’s home.

“Hey,” you mutter over the phone. ��Just checking up on you and mom.”

“Finally!” Albeit sarcastic, your younger sister’s voice is nothing but chirpy, as it has always been. “We miss you, you idiot. You know that, right?”

Over the phone, you can hear your mom’s laugh and a few unintelligible words. It seems she’s adjusting to your dad’s absence. Somehow, you had stopped calling after the funeral. It’s not that you didn’t miss them back ⎯  you were sick of being flooded with memories every time you’d hear her voice. Like your dad was still there too, right beside her.

“Sorry, sweetcheeks. I’ve just been busy.” The explanations and apologies roll off your tongue.

“You know you can’t avoid us forever, right?” Her voice is so sober, it’s as if she’s older than you by a million years. 

When you gaze out the window, loneliness overcomes you. The years spent playing hide and seek in your childhood home are long gone, replaced by miles of distance between you and your family ⎯  how you became so caring and so bad at expressing it like your father. You hate how much of you is made of all the people you love. And miss.

“You there?”

“Y-yeah, yeah I’m sorry.” 

“I swear to God, you gotta stop doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“This.” She pauses. “Acting like we don’t exist. Seriously. We miss you.”

A pang of guilt flashes through your chest. 

“I know.” Your voice is small through the phone again. In between the anxiety and the seconds, you fiddle with your bracelet. “I’m sorry.. It’s been hell.”

“I promised you I wouldn’t tell mom about your breakup, but she keeps asking me. It wouldn’t hurt if you opened up for once.” She sounds more hurt than angry, vindicating your mother after all the months you spent avoiding calls and texts under the pretense of your busy adult job.

Even in the softness of her voice, her words feel harsh. You gulp down a threatening tear, staying silent on the phone. She was still right, though.

“Listen, we love you, okay? I don’t know what kind of shit you’re going through because you won’t tell me everything.. but dude, please, seriously just come visit us sometime. I know you’ve got your job and all, but act human for once. Please?”

“Okay, okay. I’ll try. I promise.”

“Good. I gotta go now. Mom wants to go grocery shopping for some french-whatever-pie and I promised her I’d help. Give Circe my love!”

You chuckle, sadly.

“Yeah… Yeah, it’s okay. I’ll see you guys soon.”

When the call ends, silence deepens. It’s your own doing, you know, but that doesn’t make it any less suffocating. Even when you crave solitude, you’re just plagued by loneliness. 

Wednesday morning, March 26th @ Java café.

Today, Yoongi thinks you look a little better. And by better, it means rested. Of course, your gaze is still very much zombie-like, with glimpses of terror in your eyes when you look away. 

But in this line of work, it ain’t all rainbows and sunshine.

It’s never rainbows and sunshine, he realizes.

“So,” you sigh.

“So.” Yoongi punctuates, giving you room to breathe.

Your eyes are distant, watching children play in the puddles from last night’s rainstorm. The weather has been cruel to this city, punishing sinners and saints alike with a dreadful fog in the mornings and plenty of humidity to drive your hair follicles to the brink of insanity.

“Bowen’s alive, Yoongi. There’s a big chance he just… got away with it.”

Your words aren’t met with so much enthusiasm. You suppose it’s the skepticism in this field ⎯ even the good news don’t feel like good news. Before his questioning and theorizing begins, Yoongi brings up a valid concern.

“Why didn’t his brother spill his whereabouts, though? It’s not like Adam had any reasons to protect his brother any longer.”

“Unless he did.” You counter-argue.

“Why, though? It doesn’t make sense. In ninety percent of the cases, you know what happens. So-called partners in crime turn against each other. It’s good ol’ politics.” Yoongi leans back in his chair, nodding at the waitress for more coffee.

“Maybe he had something to lose,” you purse your lips. The biting of your inner cheeks is such an instinctive habit of yours that it barely stings until you realize how much tension you’re holding in. “Or someone, you know?”

“Several someones.” Yoongi blinks. “Do you remember the Mormon Heritage cult?” His eyes narrow as he scrapes the top of his head.

Your back and forth is interrupted by the local waitress pouring hot black coffee onto Yoongi’s cup. He seems like he’s on a roll today ⎯  it’s his third cup. That you know of.

“Uhhh, kind of. They were a thing in the nineties, weren’t they?” 

“Yeah.. well… the Satanic panic might’ve contributed to that,” Yoongi nods, slipping his mobile out of his pocket. His fingers are hasty, typing up a Google search so he can word vomit every single fact possible. “But we know that the Jesus believers can somehow always be worse.”

He sounds so snarky, it earns a laugh out of you.

“The Bowens were around that time,” he says. “I mean ⎯  the connection seems unlikely, but with these people, you never know.”

You sigh. 

“McKinnon didn’t give us this case for nothing, huh?” Even with half a smile on your face, you can’t help but feel defeated.

“Cheer up, buttercup. I think we got a lead.” He smiles with his teeth for once in a lifetime, raising his eyes from his phone to meet yours. You know he is up to no good ⎯ and that can only be a good thing.

“Buttercup?”

monvante © 2021 - 2024. all rights reserved. do not copy, edit or redistribute my work.

[the-kr8tor]

Sink or Swim

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Total Word Count: 16k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), Hobie is mentioned taller than R, CW food mentions, CW suggestive, TW blood, CW injury, CW miscarriage mention, TW violence.

A/N: I've divided this chapter into two because of how long it is and tumblr wouldn't let me draft the post without the app crashing. So sorry for the inconvenience. I'll put the link at the end and on top.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

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CHAPTER 13 >>> CHAPTER 13 II

Hobie's throat feels like he swallowed glass. Yet, he screams until his lungs give out, until his body gives out. Fist pounding into steel, skin splitting, blood staining the metal, he continues to call for you. His ears could only hear your frantic yells, his name falling out of your lips, vomited out desperately, asking for him, calling for him to get you out.

He kicks and thrashes at the metal bars, his mind imagines the worst— nails ripped from your fingers, bones breaking, skin scraped and slashed. He doesn't need to imagine how it could feel for he had lived through it all, survived through sheer will alone. But he promised, he promised to you and in that hollow grave that it will never be filled with your body; that your own blood wouldn't spill in between his fingers.

Yet, like the knife that he is, like the one who breaks skin and bleeds everything he touches— he hurt you, shot you where you stood, when he should've protected you, shielded you from the bullet. But how could he do it when the bullet is from him? When he used the same weapon that has ended dozens of lives to protect his crew, to harm you; the only person he deems worthy of telling all his secrets, you, who is worth more than every single treasure in the world.

Maybe he should've listened to you and stayed on the island.

Hobie calls for you once again, in hopes that you hear him too, in hopes that his voice is enough to bring you hope. The lighthouse that guides you home. But he knows, he knows all you could hear are muffled sounds and the creaking from the rocking ship.

Your voice wavers, like you've been forcefully silenced. So he does the screaming for you. It's loud, tone furious, ready to scratch at anyone who gets closer.

“Hobie—” Gwen tries to get his attention as the door opens, revealing the two guards staying in the doorway, keeping their distance.

Guns are strapped to them, knives glinting in the lamp light, armed to the teeth. Hobie knows it's all for him.

“Shut the fuck up.” One frustratingly said, teeth clenched, hands kneading at his temples.

“Keep screaming and you won't get supper.” The bigger one utters, the large scar on his cheek tightens as Hobie taunts them with a grim smile. The smile he reserves to strike fear.

They stiffen in the doorway, shoulders straight, hands reaching for their weapons.

“Do it then.” Hobie says, voice guttural, hands gripping the bars. “End the screaming.” His sheer tone alone sends everyone's hair to stand upright.

No one in the crew dares to stop Hobie. He doesn't know if they're afraid just like the men in front of him or if they're biding their time to scratch and bite too.

“Come closer and end it.” He doesn't yell, and that terrifies the men in the doorway. “And you'll find out exactly what I did to Admiral Kinney all those years ago.” He can still taste the admiral's ichor on his tongue.

The hulking men share a look, sweat dripping off their brows. And with that, they shut the door behind them, returning to their post with their tails tucked between their legs.

“Cowards.”

If it wasn't a grim situation, James would've laughed.

Hobie hears Gwen sigh behind him, the liquid in her hand sloshes as she practically shoves it in his face.

“At least drink some water. For your throat.”

“No, ‘m not drinking that slop.”

Gwen has had enough, she takes him by the collar, eyes bravely glaring at her captain. “If you want to leave this ship and save her, then drink the slop, eat the fucking bread and keep your goddamn energy for when we get the window to escape. Screaming won't help, captain. It's not helping anyone.” Her jaw is set, eyebrows knitted together.

The rest of the crew stand on the side, ready to get between them if it gets physical. He'll never hurt Gwen, never even thought of it. But he can't stand the thought of his family standing against him rather than next to him. So he fixes it, you'd like it that way.

Hobie gingerly takes the cup, chugging it down in one gulp.

“Good, now eat some bread and sit down.”

“Y/N—” he starts.

“She'll be alright, she's a fighter ain't she?” He nods, “you know her better than us, so tell us, cap'n, that she will survive this.”

He roams his red eyes at his sparse crew. For a brief second he sees the ones he lost behind them. For the first time, he's glad he doesn't see you with them.

Returning his attention towards Gwen, he utters the words with the confidence of a captain.

“She'll survive this.”

—

Sitting down in the corner, he rests his poor throat, the dry bread didn't help much. It was shitty to say the least, times like this, he misses Finn. He'd beat him if he ever knew that he let the famous bloodsail pirates into the hands of a former admiral and you into the hands of someone you fear the most.

Hobie shuts his eyes for a second, he swears it's only for a second but when he wakes up with a start and the door opening with a creak, the moon is already shining outside the large boat.

When he sees you appear by the doorway, he thinks he's still dreaming.

“Ten,” He hears you say between gritted teeth. All he could focus on is you, checking for signs of an injury, he starts from your head—nothing, arms, also nothing, save for a few scratches. Then he settles on your bandaged leg, and he remembers what he did, what he did to you. Guilt and grief overtakes his body, he tries his best to hide into the background, into the wooden walls, to become part of the ship, to hide his shame. Because he hurt you, and he'll never forgive himself for what he did.

Hobie watches from his corner, defeated when you tell him subtly that you're alright. And when you called for him, called his name softly like summer wind breezing by, warm and reminding him of home— he couldn't help but oblige.

Who is he to deny the sky?

When you held him in your hands, he felt anew. Apologies spill from his mouth, eyes forlorn at the red spot on your bandages.

What is the tides without his moon?

He feels lighter when you forgive him. But his past action still haunts him, he knows it'll join the long line of nightmares that plague him at night.

“That's my girl.” He says truthfully and proudly, he feels your heartbeat hasten through your pulse.

You tell him your choice, your decision to give up your freedom for him and the crew. He feels like he was back on the revenge, facing Mathias, refusing to let you go as you offer yourself for their freedom.

His heart beats harder as you ask him to read your mother's letter. He's unsure why you would let someone like him read something as heavy as the letter. It's reserved for someone whose hands wouldn't stain the paper with crimson.

“Because I trust you.” You say, and everything aligns in his mind. Like Poseidon shaking him inside out, like the tides itself is splitting him open.

Hobie reads it with trembling hands and broken skin. Like he thought, it turns the paper pink like ink blots dirtying the pristine paper.

He dictates it, heart shattering at every tear you let out. Wiping your cheeks dry, he's careful not to let his split skin touch your softer ones.

“It's real, innit?” He asks like the earth isn't eating him whole.

“It's real.” You answer and the world caves in around him.

Hobie teases to feel the resemblance of normalcy, “little tomato?” He asks.

And you answer with a “I don't want them, just you.” Like you didn't just mend his shattering heart with one sentence. And you break it right after with a “We'll meet again, in this life or the next.”

He's terrified once again. He shakes his head as the door creaks open. “No, Y/N—”

As you kiss his wounded knuckles gently, you ask him something he can't possibly do.

“Don't follow me, please.”

Reaching for you, he should've read the last line in the letter to you. ‘Don't trust anyone’ it said, whatever it was, it's not your burden to carry, so he'll do it for you.

Hobie apologizes in his head for keeping it away from you and for what he's about to do.

—

With the dinner bell ringing, and heavy footsteps retreating, the crew takes their chance. The key opens the door smoothly. They sneak around the ship, only leaving shadows and footfalls that's barely audible.

Climbing up the steps towards freedom, Hobie spots a door at the end of a hallway. Like two hearts beating as one, he knows it's you behind it.

Miles takes his arm before he could come to you. “Don't.” He whispers to his captain. “Don't waste her sacrifice.”

“She didn't sacrifice herself.” Hobie shakes his head, scoffing quietly. “I can't leave her behind, Miles. I can't.”

“I know,” he pulls him away from the hallway. “she asked you to not follow, so don't follow.”

“If this was Gwen—”

“If this was Gwen we'd be doing the exact same thing. She wouldn't ask us to follow and we'll leave because she asked us to.” Miles spares a heavy glance towards your locked door. “I know it hurts, but we'd be in the gallows by morning if we don't leave now. We'll have another chance at saving her.”

“You don't know that.”

“I don't, but it's better to not know instead of being dead. At least we'd have a chance.” Miles tugs him further away. “Do you think it's better for her to think that she caused our deaths just because you took the chance?” His voice is determined.

“Don't hurt her like that, Hobie. It'll ruin her.”

With one last look towards your door, Hobie nods, following the others to the deck then to safety. As the dinghy drops down into the sea, and into the dark night, he hears Miguel curse his name.

He asks for your forgiveness silently.

—

Hobie and the crew finally make it to the docks without being seen by anyone. It was pure luck that no one saw or even heard them, he thanked the early morning and the still dark sky for lending them a hand.

“We need to wait for her.” He says, stretching his stiff hands from rowing the boat.

The sparse pirate crew hides in the shadows, hidden behind the dark alleyway. They lean on the grimy walls, hands cradling their fatigued heads, huffing and groaning at the aches and pains they had from their daring escape. They can still hear Miguel cursing Hobie's name, his voice ringing in their ears.

“Hobie,” Gwen calls for him. “Leave her be.”

“What the fuck?” Hobie turns sharply. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means we leave her alone.” Pavitr says forlornly, eyes downcast at the dirty pavement.

“We promised her—”

“That was when we didn't know it was her actual family. Back when we all thought Miguel was a threat to her.” Yuri pipes up, hands braced on her knees. Fatigued and clearly needing rest. “I love her, Hobie, I really do. We all love her, but she's with family now. Let her be.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Miles scoffs, “We're talking about the same person right?” He stands next to Hobie, arms crossed on his chest.

“C’mon, Miles,” Gwen says tiredly. “We all heard their conversation, it's real, she's noble—”

“And what of it?” Hobie snaps back. “You were too.”

“I was.” She scowls. “But she has a home to go to, a family that's waiting for her. We need to let her be until for whatever reason she decides to stay or leave with us.” Inhaling sharply, she rubs harshly at her eyes. “Let's make a compromise then. We're all clearly feeling conflicted. I don't want to fully let her go, we all agree right?”

Everyone nods, tension running high, glares thrown about the small group. Gwen continues, “Then we stay close to her, we watch her like when we used to observe potential crew members. But this time we make sure she is actually safe and not thrown to the wolves.” Her idea reminds Hobie why he chose her as his first mate.

“I'll keep first watch,” Hobie quickly says, "we switch after I say so.”

“And when will that be, Hobie?” Yuri clasps her hand on Hobie's shoulder, comforting the man. “You haven't slept a wink, add the fact that you were stranded on a bloody island for a month, you're not in the right state for this.”

“I'll be once I see that she's safe.” His voice cracks, “I didn't keep an eye on MJ and look what happened. I-I don't want that to happen again. Please let me do it. You can follow me all you want just let me keep watch—”

“It's Y/N,” James whisper yells, he peeks around the alley, watching you slowly walk down the ship.

They all clammer to see you ignore Miguel's helping hand. Pride swells in their chest, they remember now why they can't exactly leave you behind— you're family.

As if fate is pulling the strings, you crane your neck to look in their direction. The crew ducks away, but Hobie stays, staring at you, waiting for your signal, anything to indicate that you want to run away with them.

He sees your subtle shake of your head, and with that, he hides with his crew.

“Did she say something?” Pav asks, concerned for you.

“No, nothin’” He holds his heart in his hand. “She said nothin'”

—

Hobie follows you quietly throughout the day. Hiding from Miguel's watchful eyes and your sad eyes. The crew left to rest in an inn, Miles offered to come with him, Hobie's glad he did for he found an unhitched horse in a street corner. But it could only seat one so Miles, the angel that he is, let Hobie go on without him.

“I'll take care of them.” He promises before he lets his captain go.

They all know your house, they've raided their ships before. Crates upon crates full of luxury, with the same design on your necklace stamped on the wooden sides. Hobie knows them quite well, the favourite of the king, always giving them special treatment. Yet the queen holds them at an arm's length away, but she never left her eyes away from their business. He guessed sacking random ships has its perks, gossip is one of them.

Hobie silently trots his horse, eyes never leaving the carriage you just left. The cemetery sends his nerves alight, with the crows cawing in the background, he strains his ear to listen in. He's hiding behind the chapel, the irony doesn't escape him.

The truth is revealed to you, and unbeknownst to you, he has learned about it too. His head is in his hands as he listens to how broken your voice is, tone splitting at the seams. Then his heart stops when you tell your mother that you want to stay, that you want to find the person responsible for their deaths, that the same flames burning inside him now have spread to you.

Hobie doesn't want you to go down the same path he walked on, to let the embers singe your skin, to let the fire burn you from the inside out like it had with him. You helped him through his, helped him control it. Now it's his turn to do so for you.

He cares for you, loves you for all your soft touches and gentle tone. But he's prepared to love you through your jagged edges, through all the anger that's inside you. He'd love both sides of you, because it's you, and no one else.

His foot accidentally steps on a twig as he sees you leave. Hobie almost ran towards you when you looked at the source of the sound. This time he ducks away, knowing that there's eyes on you, eyes that are prepared to take you away the moment they see him. So he waits, until there's no more eyes on you.

The next time he saw you again was when you stepped out of the carriage and into the golden doors of the palace. He's terrified for what's to come, whether or not Miguel has brought you on a silver platter for the wolves to devour.

With his guns accompanying him, he readies outside the walls of the palace until you leave, until he sees you again climbing inside the carriage.

He can finally breathe again, he doesn't have to kill this time. Not yet anyway.

Hobie tries his best to stay hidden, he bribes and lies to get inside Hazelside. Then he waits, and bides his time just to talk to you.

—

“Hazelside estate,” Miguel says when the large manor looms over the horizon. “Your family has owned it for two hundred years. Passed down to every first born child of the family.”

Acres and acres of land stretch across the vast space. Primed apple trees and oaks line the road, men and women in work clothes walk near the carriage, not even craning their necks to take a peek inside. It seems this was a daily occurrence for them.

“Two hundred years.” You repeat, contemplating how many generations owned it. “So it's mine once the papers are signed? Where would my…uncle and aunt go then?” Your mind goes through a hundred scenarios where you stay and where you decide to leave it all again.

“They have their own house. Granted it's not as big as Hazelside but it's enough for them. Knowing his majesty, he'd take his sweet time from releasing the papers.”

“How well do you know the king and queen?” You ask, eyes scanning your family's land.

Stone houses are standing miles away from the main estate, employees of the house you think. Chimneys billow out smoke whilst the sun is just about to rise. You imagine them having breakfast with their families, sleep still clinging in their lashes, hot tea wrapped in their cool hands. Opening the window, the smell of fresh apples wafts over you. Home, you think. It smells like home. Or it just reminds you of the apple tarts Jessica made for you when you were younger.

“You alright?” Miguel asks, watching you frown.

“I'm fine, just tired.” You lied, in truth, you miss them all.

“You had a hectic day, I don't blame you. You'll get to rest soon, I promise.”

How could you even think of sleeping alone? After being near him? After saying goodbye?

“You didn't answer my question.” You shift your attention from the trees to the man before you. “How well do you know them?”

“I barely know the queen, but the king? Yes, short answer? He's a moron, a buffoon wearing a crown.”

Lyla snickers next to you, head plopped on the carriage wall, seemingly asleep.

You smile, “You have a monkey for a king.”

“Once you're the Hazelside duchess, he'll be your king too.”

“Christ.” You chuckle nervously.

“Don't worry, I'll help you get accustomed to polite society.” Miguel reassures you and you still have no idea if you'll stay long enough to bear the title.

“Polite society.” You say with a scoff, “What I just saw wasn't very polite.”

“Just remember, everything here is political. Everyone here is climbing the ladder, kissing the royal asses. Some are doing it for their families, some are doing it for their personal gain.”

“Which one do you think I am?”

“Neither.” The carriage stops, horses neighing, hooves stomping on the gravel. “You're not like them, Y/N, that's why you'll end up walking all over them.”

The footman opens the door, Miguel gives you a look before coming down the small steps. He reaches towards you, helping you down. You hesitate. You still don't take his hand even with your bad leg.

The wind blows cold, goosebumps appearing on your skin, face worried at the sheer size of the manor. The glinting silvered birds catch the early morning's sun's rays. Beady eyes seemingly blinking when a cloud passes by.

Vines cling to the ancient walls, small purple flowers run along the plant and along the large windows. Strong columns line the façade, laurels carved on the marble, oak doors displaying the house sigil— your necklace bearing a similarity to it. Flower beds cradling violets lay by the foot of the building, blooming and fragrant. The smell hiding your trepidation from the dozen or so people watching you with unreadable eyes.

The staff greets you with a stiff nod, they stand on the stairs leading towards the manor. Their uniforms are perfect, perfectly ironed and clean; perfect white gloves on their hands.

A couple of them help your drunk uncle off their own carriage. He groans, head swirling, eyes rolling to the back of his head. Fancy clothes sweaty and moist, neckerchief lopsided and dirtied by ale. In contrast to his wife, who looks tired with the heavy eye bags under her eyes, she still looks like a proper noble compared to Frederick.

“Freddy—” She groans, kicking her husband's leg, “get up!”

“Darling…” he slurs, “there's two of you—oh wait…now there's three!” His guffaw fills the quiet morning.

Victoria gives up, leaving the man to the care of her staff. She walks off, huffing and puffing. She gives you a glance, “what are you waiting for? Get inside.”

Her eyes flick to Miguel who stands behind you, she immediately clamps down her bitterness. “Welcome to Hazelside, niece.” With a stomp of her heeled foot, she heads inside, no doubt seething.

“Catty.” Lyla says next to you, elbowing your side. “C’mon, your grace, before the sun gets in their eyes and sends them into a murderous frenzy.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. Something flickers in your peripheral vision, when you move your head to look, whatever it was, it's already gone behind the thick bushes.

“Y/N?” Miguel beckons you over. “It's cold out, come inside before you get sick.”

“Coming,” you call back, eyes darting around the thicket.

—

Miguel shows you around to your room in the west wing. Various historical paintings decorate the walls, wooden simple frames around them, showing the true beauty of the art without all the extravagant gold laurels around it.

Sculpted busts of your ancestors wait at every corner, marble eyes staring blankly at what's in front of them. Large windows line the walls, just outside the glass lies an expansive field of apple trees, bulbs of reds and greens adorning the branches of the mighty orchard. You stand in awe at the sight, workers start flocking the trees, picking and plucking at the ripest of fruits. The sun shines directly at the field, apples aglow with its light like red and green stars.

You lag behind Miguel as you gawp at the scenery, hand tucked inside the pocket of your gown, mindlessly rolling the pearl. Wishing the crew could see it too, wishing that he could see it and harvest the fruits with you.

Miguel calls for you, hand reaching but he retracts it back to his side. “Apples are new around here.” You genuinely smile at him, so he continues. “It used to just be hazelnuts, which still grow plenty in the estate.”

“Why the change then?”

“They didn't change, your family merely adapted. Your grandmother was the one who started planting the apple trees. Whenever she had a—” Miguel falters, you can practically see his brain turning.

“Had a what? I'm a big girl, Miguel, I can handle whatever it is.” You encourage him with a nod.

“A miscarriage,” he says lowly, “At the end of her life she planted seven trees. There was only one seed she didn't plant and that was when your mother was born.”

Your heart aches at the story even though the people in it are practically strangers to you. “Apple of her eye.” You murmur.

Miguel chuckles, turning to watch the vast orchard that spans acres upon acres of land. “It’s an understatement. She was spoiled, your mother. But she had a heart, most of her gifts almost always ‘gets lost’ somewhere.” He smiles fondly. “Strangely enough, it always ends up with someone who would benefit from it more.”

“Which one ended up getting lost in your backyard?” You smile at his rare grin.

“A lot, pocket watches, jeweled eggs, there was a kitten once. Only because her mother didn't like it.” He sighs, hazel eyes shining under the sunlight.

“You loved her.”

“I did,” he stares at you with kinder eyes. “She was my best friend, and so was your father. They both were.”

“What did you mean back at the carriage when you told me that they did the same to you?”

He swallows thickly, staring back at the outside of the opulent manor. “My daughter, Gabriella.” he says after a moment, “She was only a few years older than you. Your parents were her godparents, this was before they eloped and had you.” You can feel the strain in his voice. “She got sick…they poured everything into giving her the best doctors the country has to offer. They were at her side while I was drowning my sorrows in the navy. When they weren't by her side, they were with me. But in the end everything was all in vain.”

“I'm sorry,” you say genuinely, “I'm sorry, Miguel.”

He gives you a tight smile and a pat on your shoulder. “Even after all that they were still by my side, even when I pushed them away.” Sniffing, he subtly wipes his eye. “I didn't cross the sea and traveled thousands of miles to find you because I want us to be even. Or to pay the debt, I just wanted to find the last thing they left in hopes that I also find them in you.” His chest heaves. “I couldn't even say goodbye to them.”

There's tears in your eyes as he chokes on his own words. “I lost my friends but you lost your family before you could even meet them. And for that, I'm sorry, Y/N.” His hand shakes. “They didn't deserve what happened to them.”

“Tell me what happened to them.” You stand toe to toe with him, determined to get answers.

“Pirates, I told you they were pirates.”

You shake your head. “Do you really believe that, O’Hara? Or are you still trying to convince yourself otherwise?”

His jaw clenches, “It was pirates, Y/N.”

“Tell that to the former navy medic I call mother.”

He whispers, “the last time I looked further into their deaths I lost my Job, stripped of all my titles. I almost lost my house because of it.”

“Then tell me what you found.” You challenge him back. “Tell me who ordered it so I can live in this house in peace.”

“I don't have definitive proof—”

“Who?”

“Edward.” He says through gritted teeth. “He wanted to marry your mother, even going as far to ask for her hand. But when she refused him for your father—” he heaves. “I think he has probable cause to order the attack.”

“You were answering the man who might've killed my parents and wanted me dead?”

“How do you think that makes me feel, hm? I had my full trust in the navy, trusting the report they gave, trusted them with my whole life, even dedicating my life to them. And the moment I get a whiff of a planned murder on the only family I've ever had they bar me from the only life I've ever known. How do you think that made me feel?”

“I'm sorry you went through that but you could've done something.”

“He is king!” Miguel's voice booms around the hallway. He shifts his voice, pinching his knitted brows. “His word is law, I couldn't have done anything, even if I had proof.”

“You should've started with that instead of telling me lies, then I would've come to you without a fight.”

“There would've still been a fight.” He states matter of factly. “Hobie was ready to fight the moment I stepped below deck.”

“Could you blame him though? We both know not every single pirate crew is as nice as them, he didn't attack because you claimed it was pirates. Or that he was offended, he knows that he has done unsavoury things too. So what did you say that made him lunge at you?”

Miguel shakes his head, refusing to say anything. “It's best that you don't remember it.”

“Fine, be like that, just know that there will always be a wall between us.” Your heels clack loudly against the oak floors as you leave him behind.

—

The room they gave you was surprisingly comfortable, unlike the apartments in the palace that you explored. It's ten times bigger than the inn you were in, complete with your own bathroom and sitting room. It's all wooden walls covered in beautiful tapestries of various scenes from history— the thick cloth helps keep the heat inside. All the windows are wide open to let the cool air in and the moonlight. So you could hear the rustling of the trees outside, so you could smell the crisp apples. It helps, you think as you sit in front of the large stone fireplace with birds engraved in every corner of the stone.

You're already sick of the bloody birds.

You wrap the fur blanket closer to your body, still in your gown, refusing to wear anything else they've provided for you. You've heard of poisoned dresses before, it's far-fetched but you can't risk it now that you're in a more unfamiliar territory where your own family holds a grudge against you just for existing.

Especially now that you're alone in a large room filled with strange things. And with only his dagger to keep you safe.

Anyone would kill to be in your shoes right now, to be pampered and placed in a household that can provide for all your needs. If it weren't for the hunger in you, you would've left all of the gold in this house just to get back to them. Instead, the fire has you in its hold too.

Miguel's information only fueled the glowing embers in you, you're determined to find who killed them. But you're still restrained in this large manor, and until you can get your answers, you say their names to satiate the hunger.

“Edward and Mathias.” You say through shuddered breath, feeling if you could just say it louder, the sky would strike them down where they stood.

The pearl in your hands is warm, the shiny surface reflecting your scowl.

The flames mesmerize you as it dances in the kindling. Orange and reds illuminate your face, it's the only light in the whole room. You exhale and a puff of clouds escape your cool lips.

It's getting colder, and you're missing him.

Just when you're about to stand up to close the windows, a pebble lands near you. It thuds on the wooden floors, the sound gets your attention.

“What the hell?” You say confused. Standing back up, another flies through the open windows and into your room. “Who the fuck?” Speed walking towards the window, you almost get hit by a pebble if you didn't dodge it in time. “Hey!”

Fifteen feet below your window, you see two people dressed in their night clothes, bundled up in fur coats. They look up at you with wide eyes, like they got caught with their hands inside the cookie jar.

“Cousin!” One exclaims, a wide apologetic smile on his lips, showing you his perfect teeth. “Sorry about that! Can you come down?”

“Who in the world are you?” You ask, confused, you lean down to take a better look, hands gripping the sill for support.

“We're your cousins! I guess?” The girl next to him says, eyes shining in the moonlight, hand holding another pebble. “We waited to see you during supper and around the house but you were apparently hiding!”

“Alright, why do I need to come down then?”

“Because we want to properly introduce ourselves! Without screaming at you from below that is.” The girl shrugs, smiling prettily at you. “Please, cousin?”

“...fine.” you grumble, the dagger is still hidden underneath your skirt in case they're planning something nefarious.

They beam up at you, the girl daintily claps her hands. “Brilliant! We'll be waiting at the entrance.”

As you trudge down the unfamiliar sprawling halls, trying your hardest to not get lost in the maze-like structure. You accidentally encounter another painting of your mother.

Her name is etched on a golden plaque just below the portrait. This one was different from the one in the palace, she was stiff there, lips tightly closed into a line, eyes cold and empty. The one in front of you is warm, a soft smile on her lips, eyes shining and alive. Her dress is in lilac, golden stars adorning the bodice. She still wore the same necklace you're currently wearing, it rests perfectly on her neck. In her hand is a closed locket, you wonder whose portrait lies inside.

“Hi, mum.” You whisper into the cold hallway. “Where's dad's portrait?” You ask like she would open her mouth and answer back. With a sigh, you head downstairs.

Walking the ancient floors, the moon shines down at you, the light peeking in from the gaps of the heavy curtains. Silently, you meet with your cousins in the foyer. Carefully coming down the curved staircase, hand gripping the bannister, the boy who is about the same age as Miles meets you halfway. He reaches towards you, giving you a hand.

“I heard about your leg, I thought you'd appreciate some help.”

“You're Frederick's children?” You say, questioning whether or not you should take his hand.

“We are,” he says with a sigh. “Come on, cousin, or you might miss it.”

“Miss what?”

“The birds.” The girl waiting in the foyer excitedly says. “They're migrating.”

“Oh, I don't see why that would be so interesting.” You say as the boy flexes his fingers, beckoning you down.

“You’ll see why. Take my hand please, you look like our grandmother going down the steps.”

“Fine,” with an exhale, you take his hand. You hold his hand, a feather light touch that he barely feels, giving yourself enough time to react if he decides to do something.

“I'm Jonathan, or just John.” He says as he gently leads you down the steps. His stride is slow, waiting for your own feet to keep up. “And this is my sister—”

“Collette!” She suddenly clasps your hands when you reach the last step. “Sorry–” her tone is sweet and genuine, quickly removing her hands from yours. “I got too excited! I'm Collette, my brother and I are twins.”

“Unfortunately…” John says under his breath.

Collette jabs her elbow by his side, earning a groan from him. You see the similarities on their faces now that you're closer to them. From the slope of their noses to the curls of their hair, they look very much alike. Except for their eyes, Collette has emerald eyes that shimmer from the oil lamp she carries. While her brother has brilliant blue eyes that remind you of the sea when the sun shines above it.

You get reminded of him again.

“Who's older?” You ask teasingly, pushing the previous thought away.

“I am!” They both speak at the same time. John looks at her sister with disappointment, while Collette scrunches her nose.

“I'm five minutes older than you, Jojo.” She says with a tone you could only describe as annoyed.

“Father told me I'm the one who's five minutes older. Not you!”

“Sure,” she nods sarcastically, the lamp in her hand sways. “Because father was in the room when we were born.” Her head swivels to look at you, and you almost jump at how fast she moved. “He wasn't in the room.”

“Ah, I think I got it—”

“Like you could bloody remember.” John says with a scoff.

Before the argument could go on, you stop them with your hands on each of their shoulders.

“I need to sleep, so whatever you want to show me, just fucking show me.”

Collette stares at you with a gasp, eyes wide like you just said the darndest thing. Meanwhile, John has the biggest grin you've ever seen.

“Wow, cousin.” He says, amused. “I heard you used to run with pirates but I didn't know you got their vocabulary too. Hazelside would be more interesting now that you're here.”

“Gosh,” Collette exhales, clutching her pearls (literally) “I didn't know that word could be uttered by a woman.”

“You should try it sometimes. It's very freeing.” You chuckle at their reaction whilst you make your way outside. “Before we freeze to death, cousins?”

“The oldest should lead the way.” John takes the opportunity to rag on his still bewildered sister.

She groans audibly. “You're not the one with the lamp.”

You smile, there's a warm familiar feeling in your chest.

—

Leaves crunch under your bare foot, you've got blisters from the uncomfortable heels Miguel gave you. You'd take walking on bare feet rather than wear that torture device ever again. The only plus side of the fancy shoe is that it makes you feel powerful with every click of the heels. Walking along a path, tall apple trees carve a way for you and the twins.

“I like your dress.” Collette says right next to you, you sense her wariness by how she keeps her distance. “The color is beautiful, it's our house color.”

“Thank you, but I've been told that red suits me better.”

“Oh, I think they're right actually.” She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Yeah, I'm slowly getting used to this one though.” You lift up your skirt a bit for emphasis.

“Is it true that you were shot?” John asks in front of you, looking over his shoulder. “We heard from the footmen that you were shot by a pirate when O’Hara rescued you.”

“I was, but that's not the whole story. Miguel didn't rescue me.”

“Really?” Collette's brows are raised in question and surprise. You nod at her question. “Huh, I told you we shouldn't listen to gossip.” She slaps her brother on his bicep, he winces, glaring at her. “It's bad to begin with.”

“That's the thing about gossip, Co, it's not always the truth.” He spits out.

“I knew that, pssh.” She crosses her arms on her chest, annoyed and embarrassed.

“Why are we out here again? If you're planning to ambush me—” Colette gasps loudly, like you've shot her.

“Ambush you? Do we look like we know how to fight?” She stops you from going further down the path just as you see a dark river at the end of it.

John knits his brows with a pout. “We're here to give you a warm welcome, cousin. We heard mother and father didn't even give you a tour, so I guess it falls on us to show you around.”

“At night though?” You gesture around the silence of the grounds, save for a few crickets chirping and the flowing of the lake, you're practically alone in the dark.

“Guess we're just living to our house motto, ‘carpe noctem—’”

“‘Seize the night’” Collette finishes her brother's sentence. “The ancestor who established our house was a gambler.” She shrugs.

“That's our house motto?”

“Nope!” Collette answers you. “It was our house motto.” She gestures to herself and her brother. “Before the crown granted us Hazelside, after—” John elbows her. “I'm sorry.”

“It's alright, what's the actual motto?”

“‘alis volat propriis—’”

“‘She flies with her own wings.’” You translate, the siblings look at you with awe. “There's latin in medicine.”

“You know medicine?!” Collette shrieks, the sound echoing through the dark.

“Brilliant.” John murmurs.

“Oh you must tell us more!” Collette loops her arm around yours, walking side by side. “How and where did you learn it?”

“I—”

“Don't pester her, Co.” John clicks his tongue, “have you cut anyone's arm off?”

“How grim!” She exclaims.

As they lead you towards the sparkling lake, you three chat through the night by the banks of the hazelside lake. They ask about the world outside the capital, they ask about the sea and the pirates you were with. You don't tell them about all the blood and violence, deciding that you shouldn't mar their innocent hearts with stories of death. It's not yours to tell, and you don't want to traumatize the only people who don't look at you with contempt.

“So you're not mad at me or even at least a bit annoyed for showing up and taking the estate from your parents?” You ask whilst the sun slowly rises, bathing the lake in bright blue. The hazelnuts in your mouth is a welcome one since you haven't eaten a single bite since you got to the capital.

“Not really.” John munches on his own pile of hazelnuts. He lounges near the water, hand cradling his head, chewing quietly. “We were surprised at first because there have been a handful of girls who claimed to be you. Who were obviously not you.” You raise an eyebrow at his statement. “But when they told us it was Miguel who found you, we were sure it was really you.”

“Wait— there were people who claimed to be me?”

“Mm-hmm.” Collette hums, sitting close to you, hanging on to every word you utter. “They weren't very convincing.”

“The story of Miguel trying to find you was pretty famous around here. I mean, the guy abandoned his post to find a missing duchess who may or may not be alive. That was a big story back then, so a lot of women threw their daughters and young relatives at the manor's gates to get a chance.” John informs you.

“We were quite young back then, but the fakes dwindled away through the years.” Collette finishes his statement.

“‘Quite young’ she says,” he scoffs, “we were barely out of the womb, Collette.” His sister sticks out her tongue at John.

“Huh, that's probably why I haven't heard of it either, I was still young.” You wonder.

“The sun's almost out!” Collette points at the clear sky. “Get ready, cousin, because you're about to see the most gorgeous thing.”

“The birds here migrate at this time of year,” John helps you both up to your feet. You surprisingly take his hand. “like clockwork. Collette and I used to watch it with our parents before they got all…well, too much. Now it's some sort of tradition for us.”

“Look look! The trees are rustling!” She points, jumping up and down.

“Any minute now.” John smiles at his sister as she half hugs him.

The three of you wait for a sign of the birds, a minute passes, then two, then five. Yet, not even a feather flies overhead. The early morning sun shines brighter with every minute that passes. And with every minute, the twins grew agitated.

“Why aren't they coming out?” Collette asks sadly.

“I'm sure they're just getting ready for the journey.” John reassures his sister with a pat on her shoulder. “My calculations are correct, why aren't they here yet?” He questions no one.

Their slumped shoulders and frowns get to you. An idea pops in your head, and you think it's all Hobie's fault.

“Maybe they're still sleeping.” They look at you simultaneously, “I mean it's really cold out, they probably wanted to stay in bed— or nest to sleep more. I know I would want to.”

“Oh,” Collette gives you a small smile at your attempt to make them feel better. “That's probably it. Thank you, cousin.”

You grin mischievously at them, “what if we wake them all up?”

John makes a face. “How?”

You inhale, putting your hands around your mouth, you scream, “wake the fuck up!” The sound echoed throughout the field and across the lake.

Your cousins let out a loud guffaw, you giggle at their reaction. John joins in, copying your actions.

“Wake up you wankers!” He yells, exhilaration filling his chest. “I've always wanted to say that.” Chuckling, he laughs louder at the face his sister is making.

“Johnathan!” His sister gasps next to him.

“What? Try it out! Come on then! No one's out here to tell us off.” John shakes her shoulder, giving you a wide grin.

“Join us in the dark side, Collette.” You sing song, “the birds need a wake up call.”

“You won't tell mother and father?” She asks the both of you. Wiggling, she’s excited.

Crossing your heart, you promise. “I won't, I'm not a tattletale.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die, Co.”

“Alright.” She exhales deeply before letting loud the loudest scream you've ever heard. “Wake up, cocksuckers!” It's so loud that you swear your eardrums are blown out. Smiling, she turns towards your surprised forms.

Now it's you and John's turn to gasp.

“Cocksucker?!” You exclaim, bewildered.

“Where'd you learn that, Co?!” John pokes his sister.

“I heard it when Mrs. Williams stubbed her toe during lessons.” She said shyly.

“Good on you, sis.” He pats her back. “Good on you.”

Collette looks at you expectantly. “Good show, Co.” You wink at her and she giggles happily.

Facing towards the thick trees across the lake, the birds still don't fly overhead. There's nothing but the wind rustling the branches.

“They didn't wake up though.” She says forlornly.

“What if we do it at the same time?” Your words have them smiling again.

“Yes!” They say simultaneously.

“Ready?” They both nod, taking in air before screaming their hearts out.

“Cocksuckers!” The three of you let out simultaneously. The canopy rustles and out comes a hundred or so birds from the thicket.

You all jump up and down, arms up in greeting the birds. Their feathers shine in the sun, light filtering through their wings. Iridescent blues and whites glowing, reflecting in your eyes. Wings flapping loudly, beaks held up high as they greet the sky with open wings.

Amidst the beauty of it all, you wish that he was there to witness it.

A tear slides down your cheek. You wipe it quickly before the twins notice. Head staring up at the sky, amidst all the beauty and light, there's a darkness swirling inside you. Amidst all the life around you, you feel the opposite. And you miss him. The worst part is, you see this place becoming your home.

>>> CHAPTER 13 II

[gubbles-owo]

Asbestos tail vs Ho'oleyak tail comes down to whether you want to choke on a thick, fat, wet tail or on a thick, fat, scaly tail. It's hard to choose. How about Saria's long, spiny tail though?

SO TRUE. Different tastes, different textures, different mouthfeels. Really just depends on your preference in the moment, y'know? Alright so Saria's tail is METAL AS FUCK

Her operator portraits (and various outfits) all seem to go light on the details, but looks like Lone Trail here gives us more to go off of. And look at these fucking SPIKES holy shit.

On god it ends in THAT?? That is sharp goddamn... Mouthfeel? Awful. Excruciatingly painful. Swallowing a gallon of thumbtacks would be considerably less agonizing. But it also wouldn't be nearly as hot. If you're into having your guts ripped to shreds then yeah, this is the fuckin' tail for u. I, however, am a coward Spicy thoughts aside though this thing is sick, probably one of the coolest tails in arknights design/aesthetics-wise. Layered spiky scales with a slick black/red gradient is, for lack of my brain coming up with a better word, fucking sick. Sizeable length, fairly thick at the base, and hard as a rock. This thing's gotta be strong as hell too. Effectively a mace when whipped at high speeds, but I'm sure there's spots on it that wouldn't immediately break skin if you lightly touched them. Saria tail rating: the goth girl im too afraid to be

[odditycircus-2002]

Medusa!Reader Intro Banter

In my last post, you may have expected to have read some intro dialogue for the banter. Initially, I was gonna put a few characters for the intro, but then as I was thinking of the dialogue in my head, it expanded to more than just a few characters. And why deny me of that sort of fun? That's why the intro dialogue gets its own post! So for context, the reader is a Medusa-like creature, able to turn other beings into stone, and is married to Shang Tsung. If you'd like to read more about them for context, you can go ahead and check out these head cannons below.

TW: Suggestive and mentions of death and gore. If you're a fan of MK, you know what you're getting into.

First

Second

Third

Bonus

Yourself (Mirror Match)

Y/N 1: Am I correct to presume that Shang Tsung made you?

Y/N 2: How do I know that YOU'RE not the construct?

Y/N 1: We and Shang Tsung are going to need talk after this.

/

Y/N 1: Are you of my past or future?

Y/N 2: I've come to warn you to take out both Quan Chi and Shao Khan.

Y/N 1: Say no more.

/

Y/N 1: I was unaware you're still alive after all these years, sister.

Y/N 2: From what I've heard, you were the one behind my "illness".

Y/N 1: It was nothing against you. I had to test whether my medicine worked on humans somehow.

/

Shang Tsung (Your Hubby💕)

Shang: This takes me back...

Y/N teasingly: Why so sentimental?

Shang: We had a similar confrontation before making love under the moonlight.

/

Shang: Did you mourn for me, my sweet?

Y/N seriously: It took every ounce of my will not to completely spiral into madness when Shao Khan took you away from me.

Shang taken aback: I am... so sorry to have caused such pain.

/

Shang: Are you so surprised, princess?

Kitana: I find it impossible to believe you found someone like Y/N rather than clone her.

Shang: There's no use in replicating anyone like my wife.

/

Sonya: Is your wife aware of how much you've been chasing my damn tail?

Shang: She knows I'm having fun before I collect you for her garden.

Sonya: No way in fucking hell, Shang Tsung!

/

Y/N: I'm not usually the vengeful type of woman, as I find such reasons to be not worthy of my time.

Shao Khan: Is there a point to your insistent prattling, wench?

Y/N angered with all her snakes hissing: You are the exception and more than worthy of my fury.

Mileena

Mileena: You helped Shang Tsung create me?

Y/N fondly: I remember the day you opened your beautiful eyes.

Mileena trepidatious: Do you think the same with the rest of me?

/

Y/N: We shared the same pain of grief.

Mileena: yet YOUR lover came back, MINE didn't!

Y/N: I could help remedy that... for a price.

/

Mileena: Do you really believe I'm a fine Khanum?

Y/N: Better than your father, although you could do with a healthy amount of grace during your rule.

Mileena: *gives a growl in irritation* Like my sister?

Sindel

Sindel angrily: Never again will I be your or anyone's puppet.

Y/N: Aw, such a shame; you were and are my favorite puppet.

Sindel: You will be executed for the good of all the realms.

/

Sindel: Once upon a time, I thought that, like me, you were forced into a marriage by a cruel man.

Y/N: And now, your Highness?

Sindel: Now I know you and Shang Tsung are equals in evil.

/

Sindel with her voice trembling in rage: You killed Sheeva!

Y/N with a tranquil grin: Technically, you did so with your hands, not me.

Sindel: I will repent for her by wiping that smug grin off you before you can even blink!

Baraka

Y/N: So beautiful and fascinating...

Baraka squints his eyes in suspicion: What is your trick this time, Snake?

Y/N: No trick, just admiring a fine specimen.

/

Baraka: If you are so "fond" of Mileena and Tarkatans, where were you when Kotal wiped us out?

Y/N: In hiding lest I had the same fate fall upon me.

Baraka: Spineless coward!

/

Y/N: I would like to observe some of your rituals for research purposes.

Baraka: Only if you can beat me mercilessly in Kombat!

Y/N with a wide grin: It should be no trouble at all, then.

D'Vorah

Y/N: Such a fascinatingly resilient species.

D'Vorah: Appreciating how This One's the epitome of the ultimate species?

Y/N: Indeed. The perfect test subjects for my experiments.

/

D'Vorah: This One must ask if your snakes are all part of you?

Y/N: My "hair" and I all share one mind if you're dying to know.

D'Vorah: Even so, the Hive outnumbers you by many.

/

D'Vorah: You say This One reminds you fondly of your youth?

Y/N: I remember coming across insects resembling you while watching them feast upon the deceased fauna, as a little girl.

D'Vorah: Then may it comfort you in your last moments while This One uses you to feed The Hive.

Kollector

Y/N: You have the most beautiful eyes.

Kollector: Flattery or not, these eyes will never be for sale.

Y/N with a wicked grin: I never intended to buy, Kollector.

/

Kollector: Shao Khan demands your head.

Y/N: I will not give that brainless brute even a single scale from it.

Kollector: The choice is not for you to make, milady.

/

Y/N: I will not give Shao Khan, not even a single root from my cabinet.

Kollector: I must collect ALL that the Empire requires.

Y/N: Then I'll take four of your arms as compensation.

Kano

Kano: Well, color me gobsmacked, and I thought I had some out there tastes.

Y/N: Shang has far more manners and dignity than you ever will; you waste of air!

Kano: It doesn't make him less of a freak for marrying a literal snake lady.

/

Y/N: I require your services.

Kano: I don't DO that sort of thing, well, unless I've had enough grog.

Y/N irritated: I meant for you to steal from the Khan's gardens for its rare herbs.

/

Kano: Oi! I thought you were supposed to take care of your hubby's island.

Y/N: It was too empty for my liking after my love's passing and his followers requested the most potent poisons I had in storage.

Kano: Eh. Thanks to you, its treasures were free for the taking.

/

Scorpion (Hanzo Hasashi)

Y/N: Once, I was desired and sought after by all the men in my village and beyond for my beauty.

Hanzo: It is only fitting then that your outward appearance reflects your wretchedness.

Y/N: You can thank the Elder Gods for that.

/

Hanzo: I should have never come to you for your help.

Y/N: We both wanted Quan Chi's head, no matter the price.

Hanzo: The consequences afterward were far worse than I could have ever imagined.

/

Y/N: You cannot achieve your goal by yourself, and where did that bring you? Right back to me.

Hanzo, desperate: Please, Y/N, my clan has fallen ill with a long-extinct illness that only you can cure.

Y/N: I am sure you already know what sort of boon I will ask of you?

A/N: Don't forget to like this post, share, and repost! 😁😁😁😁😁Stay Weird, my fellow humans.

Playlist while Writing this:

"The Scorpion and the Frog" featuring Marc Senter,Jessica Lowndes, and Terrance Zdunich

"Prick! Goes the Scorpion's Tail" featuring Emilie Autumn

"Babooshka" by Kate Bush

"Zydrate Anatomy" by Terrance Zdunich

"I Can't Decide" by the Scissor Sisters

"Such Horrible Things" by Creature Feature

"Bad Blood" by Creature Feature

"Here There be Witches" by Creature Feature

"Mad Hatter" by Melanie Martinez

"Tag You're It" by Melanie Martinez

"Milk and Cookies" by Melanie Martinez

(for more like this)

Part II

[transhawks]

A Coward Called Endeavor

I'm wary of wading into the discourse because I'm seeing the unhinged bs my friends are getting, but from my viewpoint I think people miss something important about Dabi-Enji-Shouto and Enji's role in saving Touya -

Enji only tried to be an actual father for one of them and it wasn't Shouto.

No, I know that sounds crazy but we had a toddler whose immediate reaction to seeing his father was being upset and alert that the father would bully his mother. Shouto has never seen Enji the Father, he's only seen a monster named Endeavor.

That's important. Natsuo, heck, Fuyumi to some extent since she was really Rei's girl, none of them had this:

We only see this smirk head on in the manga, but I think this anime shot put it into perspective for me what I'd been mulling over for years, too uncomfortable with the simple truth of what's going on here:

The only Todoroki child who had Enji as a father was Touya.

For a brief few years, Touya was the apple of his eye. And, no, he wasn't replaced with Shouto, not in Enji's eyes. Because Enji uses the word livestock for Shouto. Because Enji was an aggressor from the beginning with Shouto. There was never a moment where this simple sort of moment, a little boy looking up into his father's prideful face as he copied his movements, happened between any of Enji's children besides Touya.

That's why Dabi's like this. It's harder for him to forget Endeavor when he isn't Shouto; he was never "an extension" of Endeavor's drive, but for a short period, he was treated as his actual son before he was thrown away.

So - what does this even mean? Why is it important that the only one with an actual "father" until Endeavor got some sense knocked into him via seeing the Pillar of Peace crumble is Touya?

Because it means Todoroki Enji is a fucking coward, that's what.

We know he's ran away from facing his failures time and time again, but never is more indicative of his cowardice when he got too scared to be a father and decided he wouldn't be. You see, that's why the other three didn't have him as a father - he doesn't know what being a father is. It's likely his own father died on the job, and so the associations of fatherhood in Enji's mind are just... being a hero. Being good at your job, so your kids can be proud of you. The actual parenting, the supporting your child, all that was too much for him.

This is Enji giving up, tail between his legs. He doesn't know how to be anything but "Endeavor", so he's not even going to try.

I really feel like people missed Rei calling him out here. He's running away from his duties and responsibilities to be a father. He fucked up with Touya and doesn't know how to fix it, so he runs off, and ignores all his other kids, and then just trains Shouto like a tool and an extension of himself. He lost his mind and saw his youngest as a simple extension of himself, like a hand or a leg. But when he looked at Touya, once, he saw a person.

A person he failed so many times. Failed to father, then failed to save.

I have a lot more to say about this on Dabi's point of view that also discusses the nuances Western readers aren't getting (like the ie system and his place in it), but when people say that they don't think Endeavor needs to do anything in this Dabi-saving discourse, I think they're forgetting that time and time again we've been shown that Todoroki Enji is a coward and if Horikoshi is serious about any resolution to this man and his "redeeming", it's about time he finally stops being one and faces his fucking son.

All of this has been leading up to him realizing it's nothing but himself that has caused this. That his own cowardice and hatred of himself has torn apart his family. That it's not about him as a hero.

These are the words of a man ready to finally start start being a dad, guys. Took him a quarter of a century.

A caveat: many of us have issues on the Doylist aspect of all this. I've said a few times that most of you are less upset about how Endeavor is being redeemed but the fact he's being redeemed at all, and I get it! The question is always about whether we need more narratives in media of abusers getting redemption, of victimized children reconciling with their parents. I agree fully that those of us who choose to not reconcile, who are unable due to the parents' beliefs or decisions anyway, are underrepresented in media. I know we want to see people like Dabi move on, stop hoping for a man who never knew how to show love for him to love him and apologize. Most of us, in real life, just give up and find love and healing outside of our parents. In many ways, it's healthier to go minimal or low contact with parents like Enji.

But I think that's not the story Horikoshi wants to write. He's writing what is essentially a trauma vent-work and wish fufillment all in one. In his fantastical world, families like the Todoroki one can reconcile, abusers can apologize and strive to make amends. It might be because he wishes this was the case more so than the reality that abuse victims know. He's made missteps with the Todoroki narrative yes, but I don't think what amounts to wish fulfillment on Horikoshi's part is bad-writing just because it's wish fufillment. It's just a very "happy-ending" solution to issues that in real life aren't going to usually see them and I think a lot of us are sick of them.

So, just keep that in mind when people say Dabi needs Endeavor involved. Enji created this problem, he has to fix it, not Shouto. You can't have a Touya at peace with his family if Endeavor gets to shirk his responsibility and keep being a coward.

[deviantartdramahub]

Sighhh so I really do hate to talk about the forums at all, because from what I saw, that place is an absolute shitstorm that's a headache to even begin to describe but...I just wanna reinforce a point I've been making for ages and give further proof of it. Someone may say it's dumb I'm repeating myself like that, but it's just the people I call out are very fucking stupid, and need things endlessly explained to them so they can have hopefully a shred of realization, and even then that's being too optimistic for their intelligence.

Sooo Evie, one of the morons attacking some good people I care about, specifically Club, one of my most best internet friends, and Tri, a person I don't know quite as well, but still a kind and calm person I know I can trust.

So the only reason people like her are attacking these two is bigotry. Purely bigotry. Club is autistic, and Tri is asexual, so asses who've never matured past high school like to target minorities like them to be cOoL aNd EdGy lolll.

I've already provided so much proof for this but...why not add some more, because as I've said, it's very unfortunately necessary when the bad people I have to deal with are completely brain-dead. So the forums, I've looked at the posts about them, and internally groaned at the thought of ever having to cover that shit myself. This will hopefully be the only time I do so. In the forums, I've seen Evie use slurs. Examples include...http://web.archive.org/web/20240516215957/https://www.deviantart.com/forum/community/complaints/2736800

https://www.deviantart.com/comments/18/2689626/5031912084 (In EdelgardMoon's thread...also Evie don't think your cringe-ass UWUifying the word gives you a pass lol, we know what you're trying to say.) AND SHE ALSO SAYS THE FUCKING N-SLUR IN EnryoAlpha's THREAD??? (Albeit once again butchered bc I guess this bitch thinks being SOOO QUIRKY AND RANDOM RAWR HEHEHEE XD makes it okay to say horrendous things lmao.)

Anyways Evie, it's clear to me you're a nasty person who doesn't give two shits about other people, you probably vomit at the very thought of giving another human being basic respect. You don't want to call out genuinely horrible people to help and protect others honey, nah, you just want to make up crap excuses for your bigotry, and it shows. I've got you in a corner, and I'm eagerly awaiting your excuses to escape. You're lucky you got that tail between your legs, or that kick in the groin would be real painful!

Anndd also, you may piss and whine about me harassing you or whatever lol, but I'm not gonna hear that shit when you actually do that for real everyday for funsies. Though I know you really are a coward, considering the fact on this very website you contacted me only to block me from saying anything else! XD

Fight the battles you start dear, lmao. You acting the way you do doesn't make you cool or funny, you're just pathetic and it's sad you're a full grown woman spending your life like this.

Anyways bye bye, God these people are getting more and more pathetic and laughable.

Agreed, regardless of her defense she might wish to give. Of note, she flunked school, so the school part may have another meaning.

[raggstorice]

Incorrect Quotes Part: 2!

(using the Incorrect Quotes generator)

Savannaclaw!

(ft: Idia/Malleus, MC, Cheka, & Farena)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Dorm dinnertimes.)

Ruggie: Jack, can you pass the salt?

Jack: Throws Leona across the table

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Leona and Jack sitting in jail together)

Jack: So who should we call?

Leona: I’d call Ruggie, but I feel safer in jail

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(during a dorm party)

Leona: Who thinks I can fit 15 marshmallows in my mouth?

Jack: You’re a hazard to society

Ruggie: And a coward. DO TWENTY.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack: HELP! I TOLD RUGGIE I’D COOK DINNER TONIGHT BUT I CAN’T COOK!

Leona, pouring milk directly into the cereal bag: And you thought I could help?

(HC: Leona can cook he just lacks motivation)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Leona: I told Jack their tail wags when they lie.

Ruggie: Why?

Leona: Look.

Leona: Hey Jack! Do you love us?

Jack, holding their tail: No.

Ruggie:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ruggie: You have to apologize to Farena.

Leona: Fine.

Leona: 'Unfuck you' or whatever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Babysitting...)

Leona: While I’m gone, Cheka, you’re in charge.

Cheka: Yes!!!

Leona, whispering: Ruggie, you’re secretly in charge.

Ruggie: Obviously.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Leona, probably about like- Idia or Malleus?: They stole from me first!

Jack: Mhm.

Leona: Stole my heart...

Ruggie: It is still illegal to commit murder.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Leona: What's a word thats a mix between 'sad' and 'mad'?

Jack: Disgruntled, miserable, desolated-

Ruggie: Smad.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Farena: Come on, I wasn’t that drunk last night.

Leona: You were flirting with (Insert Farena wife name here.)

Farena: So what? Shes my Wife.

Leona: You asked them if they were single.

Farena:

Leona: And then you cried when they said they weren't.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Leona, holding a python: Guys I impulsively bought a snake, what do I name him

Jack: You did WHAT–

Ruggie: William Snakepeare

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Leona, talking about his lack of motivation: Sometimes I even drink milk straight out of the container!

Jack: The cow???

Leona: What?

Ruggie: Jack, W H Y?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Leona: I’m kind of crushing on someone, but I’m worried about telling you who it is, because you’re not going to like it

Jack: Just rip the bandage off.

Leona: It’s Idia/Malleus.

Ruggie: Put the bandage back on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack: What time is it?

MC: I don’t know; pass me that saxophone and we’ll find out

MC: Plays sax loudly and extremely out of tune

Leona: WHO THE FUCK IS PLAYING THE SAXOPHONE AT TWO IN THE MORNING

MC: It’s 2 am

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cheka, texting Leona: Unca! Help I’m being kidnapped

Leona: Where are you?

Cheka: I’m with some strange person. In a car. Help.

Leona: I’ll call Farena.

Farena, answering their phone: Y’ello?

Leona: Where’s Cheka? They texted me that they were being kidnapped.

Farena: Cheka? Whaddya mean, they're right next to me-

Farena:

Farena: I’ll call you back. hangs up

Farena: THE NEW HAIRCUT ISN’T THAT BAD!

Cheka: WHO ARE YOU?!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(playing a card game like trial by trolley or something)

Jack: If Ruggie and I were drowning, who would you save?

Leona: You two can’t swim?

Ruggie: It’s a hypothetical question, Leona! who would you save?

Leona: my time and effort.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ruggie: We need to get through this locked door. Leona, give me your credit card.

Leona: Here.

Ruggie, pocketing it: Thanks. Jack, kick down the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors Note: I didn't know any other love interests besides Malleus and Idia soooo

[welcometothejianghu]

Welcome to another round of W2 Tells You What You Should See, where W2 (me) tries to sell you (you) on something you should be watching. Today's choice: 叛逆者/The Rebel.

The Rebel is a 2021 period drama set during the 1930s and '40s as seen (mostly) from Shanghai by a patriotic young man who just keeps getting injured, ow, that poor baby.

It's a fairly realistic spy drama, by which I mean, there's not a bunch of cute costume changes or fun fake identities. Instead, this is a story about people who live entire other lives for years, keeping their true allegiances under wraps, doing what they can to help their side while sweating out what they can’t. It's way more John le Carré than Ian Fleming -- no James Bond flashiness or gizmos, all George Smiley subterfuge and paperwork. Actual spycraft is tough, kids!

Full disclaimer up front: This show is not a happy fun good time. It's a fascinating, gripping, tense piece of work about a thirteen-year period of history where a whole lot of miserable things were happening. The body count is frighteningly high. Be very careful about which characters you get attached to. Exactly one man has plot armor, so God help the rest of them.

However, if you're up for a quality drama with a serious tone that's so full of HISTORY! it's bursting at the seams, I have five reasons you should give this one a shot:

1. Starring the veins in Zhu Yilong's forehead

Do you feel like watching a beautiful man have a terrible day for 43 episodes straight?

This show is absolutely a Zhu Yilong vehicle. The rest of the cast is great (and more on them later), but he's the star -- and the show just loves to beat him up, both emotionally and physically. His character, Lin Nansheng, exists in a Murphy's-Law situation where if anything bad can happen to him, it will. If you like seeing this gorgeous gentleman in distress, this show has you covered.

Someone please care him.

2. Daddy Issues

Chen Moqun is a bad, bad man. He's a bastard in his first scene, and he's a bastard in his last. He is loyal to exactly one thing, and that is his own survival. He will ally with anyone and fuck anyone over if it means he gets to live another day.

He is also scaldingly hot in his bastardry.

Chen Moqun is the spymaster who pulls Lin Nansheng out of the regular military ranks and into the world of the intelligence services, despite Lin Nansheng's lack of experience in the field. This means that Lin Nansheng is Chen Moqun's little golden boy -- and that means Chen Moqun feels justified in making Lin Nansheng do whatever the hell he wants, and in getting all up in Lin Nansheng's business when he doesn't do it perfectly.

I know there are several of you out there whose tails just started wagging. Good, you've got it.

Alas that he is not in nearly as much of the series as his top billing suggests he would be. He's a major figure in the early arcs, but pretty soon after, Circumstances relocate him to somewhere Lin Nansheng isn't -- and because Lin Nansheng is our POV character, Chen Moqun all but vanishes from the show. He reappears later, but as a much less prominent figure. Still a self-serving bastard, though! Don't worry about that.

I like Chen Moqun as a character for a lot of reasons. He's slimy, but he's effective. He's smart, but he's not a supervillain. He's the kind of competent bastard that it's very fun to watch the good guys outwit. He kind of has to leave the narrative, because he's so sharp that much of the plot would be impossible under his supervision; he gets replaced by [spoiler], whose general incompetence makes him dangerous in a very different way, but who is so self-absorbed that he can't see when he's being played. Pulling the wool over Chen Moqun's eyes is a much nastier business.

At the same time, though, he's a coward. He'll sell out anything and anyone to save his own skin. His lack of inner conviction eventually reduces him to something pathetic, leaving him at the mercy of people he once abused, Lin Nansheng included. ...Ah, your tails are wagging harder now, I see.

Now, for those of you who are not into a Bad Daddy dynamic, may I sell you on how Lin Nansheng also has two Good Daddies?

Honestly, if this show had not been laboring under the weight of [gestures to the state of Chinese media and culture], I'm pretty sure they would have made at least one of these two Older Lifelong Bachelors textually gay. I'm just saying, throw-yourself-into-the-cause-style patriotism is a great cover for never marrying and being cagey about your entire personal life.

Also, I know their super-secret espionage meetups on park benches aren't intended to look like dudes cruising, but come on.

3. A startlingly good love story???

And I say "startlingly" because the love story comes in multiple stages, and I haaaaaate the first one. Fortunately, so does the show!

When Lin Nansheng and Zhu Yizhen start off their romance, she's a wealthy college schoolgirl (which comes off as more than a little creepy, since Tong Yao is clearly in her late thirties) and he's a TA at her school -- except she's actually a student activist working for the Communists, and he's a member of the KMT sent to seduce her and infiltrate her cell. It goes exactly as badly as you'd expect! And when it was clear it was over for good, I breathed a sigh of relief. I liked them both as individual characters, but as a romantic pairing, the amount of malicious deception involved really wasn't doing it for me, to say nothing of how I dislike teacher/student as a trope. (Also, they really have no chemistry together, but whatever, I'm used to c-drama hets by now.) Well, I thought, thank goodness all that's over and we'll never have to come back to it!

But here's the thing: They come together again later under different circumstances, and oh, that's some good stuff. She gets a haircut, he gets to be himself, and the two of them have to learn how to work together even when they can't entirely trust one another.

That amount of deception is great, because that's not lies -- it's opsec. They are both withholding colossal amounts of information from one another, and each one of them knows the other's doing it, even if they don't know what information is being withheld. They both want to know what the other person knows, but they also know that person would die before giving up their secrets.

This does lead to a number of points where you're hollering JUST TELL HIM/HER at the screen, which can get a little frustrating. But, like, you get it. They've got reasons for not sharing information, and grim little reason number one is, the bad guys can't torture out of you what you don't know.

This is not a romance drama; this is a drama that happens to have a complicated romance stitched all the way through it. Sometimes it's the main focus, but much of the time it's a side note. The two of them go years at a time without interacting. They each spend a fair amount of time believing the other is dead. When they do get to work together, they're great partners. When they're separated or at odds, they don't collapse.

I said earlier that Lin Nansheng is the POV character, which is mostly true. However, we do get a not-small amount of the story told from Zhu Yizhen's POV when he's not around, which goes a long way toward making her an actual person and not just an accessory to his story -- and that goes a long way toward making this romance something between equals, and not just a case where a nice guy feels real bad about how much he fucked over the girl he liked.

I'd say that if you're looking for a drama where the love story is a central point of interest, or for a drama without any love story at all, you'll be happier elsewhere. However, if you're a Goldilocks who enjoys a fraught love story when it's there but doesn't miss it when it's gone, this may strike a good balance for you!

This pair is also about as much as the show gets in terms of textual, onscreen romance. Howerver, there are also a number of couples in this show who have to pretend to be married, if that's a trope that does it for you. And speaking of those...

4. My Fair Lady

Lan Xinjie turned out to be maybe my favorite character in the show, which surprised the hell out of me, considering how she was introduced as a pretty throwaway character: Oh, look, a pretty and sophisticated woman at the dance hall, she can use her refined and wordly ways to make The Virgin Lin Nansheng sweat, it's great.

But then she comes back. In fact, she keeps exiting the narrative and then showing up again a couple episodes later! Her continued involvement with these spy boys keeps both ruining her life and saving it. Every time you think she's gotten out, circumstances pull her back into Lin Nansheng's catastrophe orbit, making her maybe the most tragic character in a series full of them.

Here's a thing that impressed me about the drama: Lan Xinjie is a sex worker, but the show never shits on her for that. The show presents what she's doing as negative, but mostly because she doesn't particularly enjoy doing it. She keeps doing it, though, because sometimes it's the best way for her to make money, and sometimes it's the only way for her to make money.

The thing is, Lan Xinjie herself never talks about what she's doing like it's some tragic fate. It's a job. She has to play nice with jackass men from all over the world, and she can do it because men fall all over a pretty girl like her. Whenever Lin Nansheng makes a sad face about it, she basically rolls her eyes at him. She has a very solid grasp of the way the world works, and she's going to do what she needs to do to keep herself and her loved ones alive.

Now: Lan Xinjie definitely functions in the narrative as a contrast to how Good and Pure Communist Girl-Next-Door Zhu Yizhen is. Lan Xinjie is a little too much of a Fallen Woman, so she's never going to threaten Zhu Yizhen's position as the main love interest. However, it would have been so easy to go all in on slut-shaming Lan Xinjie to make that contrast even starker, and the show does not do that. It does not judge her for her choices, in part because it understands that women like her very often doesn't have any.

On top of all of this, Zhu Zhu can act her damn face off. There are story beats that could have been melodramatic and unintentionally comic, but she sells them and makes them devastating. Arguably the best scenes in the entire show are when she and Zhu Yilong are working together, because the two of them consistently turn in stellar performances. This show is not exactly a font of subtlety (see my next point), but both of them manage to play their roles with restraint and dignity that make their moments together shine.

I won't spoil where exactly this goes, but to me, the complicated relationship between Lin Nansheng and Lan Xinjie is one of the highlights of the show. It's a lot of guilt and obligation intertwined with genuine affection, and because it can't be The Love Story, it winds up being a very fraught, intimate friendship that lasts through the best and worst parts of both of their lives.

Also, everything she wears is stunning. Marry me, Miss Lan.

5. Makes you feel real smart!

Hey, nerds! Do you like history? Because boy oh boy, is this a show about history!

It's so much a show about history, in fact, that it occasionally has to break into little documentary-style interludes, where you get to watch pictures of actual historical footage while one of the cast members narrates a small summary of what's going on with the geopolitical situation at that moment. Everyone in the main cast is fictional, but there are plenty of real names dropped all over the place. You aren't expected to know everything already, but you're definitely expected to keep up.

I will admit that I don't know the ins and outs of that historical period well enough to fact-check a lot of the particulars, so I can't swear to the accuracy of its various smaller moves. I do know enough about it to know, though, that this story is a little biased.

And by that I mean: This show is propaganda through and through. It’s all about how well the Righteous Communists did in their battle first against the Terrible Japanese, then against the Wicked KMT (the non-Communist Nationalists). Characters give stirring declarations of their principles at a rate of about one every other episode. There’s a whole scene where two dudes sit on a park bench and talk animatedly about what a great and prescient writer Mao was. Be prepared to be serenaded by a number of (what I assume are) stirring Communist anthems.

This all has zero emotional resonance to me. There were several points I could tell it was making references to events and people and speeches that are surely real historical things, but I lack most of the cultural competency that I’d need to recognize them without explanation. The climactic moment of Lin Nansheng’s joining the Communists (this is not a spoiler, you know it’s coming from the get-go) mostly seemed goofy to me, especially with the closed-fist salute that looks like you’re about to punch yourself in the head.

See what I mean?

All of which is to say: The propaganda did not bother me, because I mostly found it abstract and funny. And for heaven's sake, I'm from the US; I learned how to laugh my way through unsubtle pro-government propaganda watching Saturday morning cartoons.

However, I can imagine people closer to these cultures and events having MUCH stronger reactions. If this is you, yeah, be careful.

What's kind of sad (and by sad I mean funny) is how much the blatant Communism! Fuck Yeah! just turns the show into the "How do you do, fellow kids?" of propaganda. If it had just told the story, it honestly would have done a better job of making the Communists seem like the cool underdogs against the overpowering forces of authoritarian jackassery. But when you have someone all but turn to the camera damn near every episode to make sure you, the viewer, know how good and noble and smart its brave communist characters are, it sure spoils the effect.

I honestly don't know enough about the production team to know how accidental or intentional this was. Is it possible the drama is actually subtly lampooning these hyper-patriotic tropes? Sure, maybe! Is it possible that it actually believes this cringe with all its heart? Could be! Is it maybe neutral on matters of personal belief but playing up this version of history to get the show approved by party censors during the 100th anniversary of the founding of the CCP? Ah, yeah, that's the most likely one. Believe what you want about its motivations. Those who are inclined to be moved by its ideologies probably will be. The rest of us, probably the opposite.

All that said: I actually think it's useful and good to hear obviously biased takes on historical events, especially from unfamiliar and non-western perspectives. This is because all takes on historical events are biased, and it's dangerous and stupid to pretend they're not! Looking at how someone tells a story is as instructive as looking at the story they tell. If you go into the Rebel with that in mind, it adds a meta-layer of interest that I (a historian) find fascinating.

Ready to watch, comrade?

This one's an iQiyi exclusive -- and it's not a VIP exclusive, so if you're willing to put up with some ads, you can watch it all for free.

This is a show I'm probably never going to watch all the way through again, on account of how heavy it is. However, it is also a show I'm very glad I watched, because I find myself thinking about it a lot. Even when it's being hokey and jingoistic, it never stops being interesting. It's just a well-made drama that contains multitudes.

And, of course, one of those is this beautiful man's beautiful face.

[desiccatedwithering]

The others are fine-tuning the plan, and Steve, for once, is grateful that they haven’t bothered to ask for his input. He wouldn’t have anything useful to say. Not now, when stress and fear are a rope around his neck, choking him more and more as they close the distance back to Hawkins. Not when he can see a hundred different ways that this could go wrong, could all come crashing down on their heads. Not now, when Robin’s concern is rattling around in his head, when it’s taken on a life of its own, shaking him and screaming, “Someone is going to die!”

They’re spread too thin, fighting on too many fronts. They’re not being smart about this. But he’s dumb, too dumb to figure out a solution, too dumb to offer up anything other than “No, no, no, this will get everyone killed.”

The thought of leaving Max and Lucas and Erica alone makes his teeth hurt, makes him genuinely sick to his stomach. They’re children.

And worse than that, Lucas and Erica are both associated with Hellfire now. The whole town will be hunting them, out for blood. What if Erica gets spotted? Jason wasn’t afraid to get in Nancy’s face in public, and Mike’s in fucking California right now, couldn’t possibly be involved with helping Eddie. So what will he do if he finds the Sinclairs, in the middle of the night, all alone, with Max in a trance?

Steve should stay with them. Keep them safe.

But—

Vecna—or Henry or One, whatever—he’s like El. Sure, he’ll be in a trance when they get to the house, but once they light him on fire? He’s gonna wake up, and he’s gonna be pissed. And Steve isn’t sure how much help he’d be against someone with superpowers, but three against one is better odds than two against one. (And a part of him thinks he’s justified in worrying that a gun might not do much, not when the Upside Down has apparently transformed him into an even bigger monster. Bullets didn’t stop the demogorgon. Who says they’ll stop Vecna, even if he used to be a normal man?)

And then there’s Eddie and Dustin, and he can almost convince himself that they’ll be safe. But the wounds in his sides are throbbing in time with his heartbeat, and he knows that Dustin is loyal to a fault—“You die, I die”—and for all Eddie’s talk of being a coward, Steve knows that he isn’t, and—

Fuck it.

The others are so caught up in rehashing the plan that they don’t even notice that he’s gone off course until he’s parked and marching out of the RV.

“Wh— Steve! What are—?”

“I’ll be right back, Rob. Two minutes.”

“Where—?” The rest of Eddie’s question is cut off as the RV door swings shut.

Steve jogs up the drive, gritting his teeth at the flare of pain in his sides, and pounds on the door. “Tommy? You home, man? It’s Steve!”

A moment later, the door is yanked open, Tommy spitting, “What the fuck, Steve? You—” He stops abruptly, eyes raking over Steve from head to toe and back again. “Fuck, Steve, you look like hell. What happened?”

Steve grimaces. He doesn’t bother to answer the question; there’ll be time to explain later, if he’s right about this. God, he hopes he’s right about this.

Carol appears behind Tommy—which is a relief; he’d hate to have to do this twice—and gives Steve the same once over, eyes narrowing. She opens her mouth, closing it again when he shakes his head slightly.

“I hate to do this,” he says, “but you remember the promise we made? When we were nine?”

Tommy’s eyes widen, and his shoulders go rigid. “Steve?” he asks, and he sounds— fuck, he sounds terrified. Steve closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath so he doesn’t turn tail and run. He prays to a god he doesn’t believe in that it’ll be enough. (A tiny, selfish, awful part of him almost hopes that it won’t. But he squashes that voice down. They don’t have another choice; they need more help.)

Carol pushes past him, reaching out for the hem of Steve’s shirt and lifting it delicately. Steve doesn’t protest. Her mom’s a nurse; she’s always been able to tell when he’s hurt and hiding it. No point trying to conceal gaping holes in his sides if he couldn’t sneak something as minor as a sprained wrist past her.

She clearly wasn’t expecting it to be this bad, though. She gasps, her hands trembling where they hold his shirt. “How—? Who—?”

“What the fuck?” Tommy asks, face pale, expression queasy.

Steve knows how it looks, the massive blooms of blood soaking into the makeshift bandage. (He’d say it looks worse than it is, but it honestly hurts like a bitch.)

“I’m sorry,” he says, sure that remorse is bleeding from every pore. He hates, hates, hates himself for dragging someone new into this mess yet again. “But I could really use some help.”

“Fuck, Steve. Of course,” Carol says instantly, looking like she’s about to march off to track down whoever did this to him and make them pay.

Steve glances at Tommy again. His jaw is clenched and his hands are balled into fists at his sides, but he meets Steve’s eyes and nods. “Whatever you need.”

“It’s dangerous. Deadly,” Steve says, almost frantic. As much as he needs their help, he needs them to understand what they’re getting into. “You might not—”

“Steve,” Tommy says. His hand comes up in a familiar move, then stops just in front of Steve’s shoulder, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch. “We made a promise.”

Steve nods, throat too tight to say anything. He’s distantly aware that tears are welling in his eyes, but he doesn’t bother trying to hide them. All he can do is close the scant distance between them, leaning into the pressure of Tommy’s hand almost desperately, hoping the gesture shows even a fraction of his gratitude.

Tommy nods back and repeats, “Whatever you need, Stevie.”

[thefruitiestofbois]

We just needed time- pt1

"Listen up everyone!" Maria shouts, her back to the east gate entrance, holding a log book in her hands. The heat of the morning sun blistering onto my skin with the only relief a slight breeze swaying its way through Jackson. "I'm calling out pairs for today's patrols." I sling my rifle onto my shoulder before leading a horse out to the stables, stopping just before Ellie, Jesse and Dina. I'm extra cautious not to get even a millimetre into Ellie's peripheral vision, in fact I wouldn't even dare meeting those pale green eyes that held so much disdain towards me. As Maria calls out the names, my body freezes as she calls out mine and Ellie's names. Oh fuck me.

Shoving supplies into my backpack I jog over to Ellie, with my horse trailing behind, and she's adjusting her saddle and the two of us are the last ones left to head off.

"Wanna slow us down any longer or are you actually ready to go now?" Annoyance evident in her voice as she rolls her eyes and jumps up onto Shimmer. I mumble an apology- like a fucking coward. I mentally kick myself as I tail behind her and head off onto our route.

//

I kneel down, picking the white daisies from the ground bordering the stream, my horse a small distance away behind me. Ellie had gone with Shimmer on the alternative route, the plan being to meet up where the paths converged. It was safe enough, only minutes of distance by ride away from each other at any given point on the two paths in the woods, so we'd both be able to hear any struggle.

Flowers in one hand, I use the other to wipe off the thin layer of sweat off my forehead. This sun was not letting up, but there was only a few hours left of the sun this high in the sky. My ears perk up at the sound of an animal- probably a rabbit or a squirrel- snaking through the tall grass behind me. I dismiss it and turn to stroll down the path back into the woods and onto the converging routes. I remember at the start of spring, once all the snow and ice had melted away, there was no way to this stream unless you waded through the tall greenery but months of patrols, all of which probably had the same idea of seeing the stream and surrounding scenery out of curiosity, had worn down a path where the tall grass was replaced by shorter blades or patches of mud.

The decision to dismiss my instincts came back to bite me in the ass. Well a runner was coming to bite me- hopefully not in the ass. The achy cries gave it away, giving me time to evade it flung its body at me, jumping out from the greenery surrounding the worn down path. I have my gun trained on the straggler within seconds and I fire. It lurches downwards, grappling for my feet and I miss the shot. Daises still in my hand I leap backwards, tripping on a rock and this gives the runner the perfect opportunity to clutch onto my ankle, its teeth and vein stricken face ready to bite. Even with the wind knocked out of me from my fall, the adrenaline surges through me and I drag myself backwards, attempting and failing to kick away the straggler.

I keep slumping backwards and kicking it away, its cries almost washing away with the sound of the rushing stream as I get back to where I originally was. I deliver a kick with a brutish force in the centre of its face and I get the precious few seconds I need to aim my gun and shoot. The bullet lodges burrows into the space between the eyebrows- or wherever the eyebrows would have been if this thing was still human- and a deep red circle gushes out blood. Bullseye. I go to mentally high five myself before that raspy voice I hate yells at me.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Ellie rushes off of Shimmer and storms in front of me as I clamber to my feet, the daisies long forgotten and flattened on the floor with blood splattered on them. "I was waiting for you at the end of the routes and what were you doing, taking in the fucking view?"

"Nothing is wrong with me, it was one straggler and I had it. It's no big deal." I argue back, trying with whatever declining patience I have left for this girl. Ellie has had it out for me since day one. I can't hang out with Jesse and Dina, my own fucking friends, when she's there otherwise she throws a fit. Why? Fuck knows. All she does is throw disapproving glares at me or send venom seeped scoffs my way.

"Not a big deal? What if you had been bit? Then I'd be the one dragging your pathetic dead ass to Jackson." "I'm not going to die if I take a break for a few minutes. I am more than capable of handling myself." I say that last sentence with a firmness my tone isn't used to when talking to Ellie. Scratch that.My voice isn't even used to talking to Ellie anyway. It's always been her yelling at me for looking her way or giving me shit for 'not focusing' on patrols. Hell I can't even eat my dinner in peace without her making a comment.

"You think just because you're a semi-decent shot that you're suddenly invincible and-"

"I'm not semi-decent, I'm good. In fact, I'm probably the better shot out of all of us." I interject and she laughs in disbelief. She marches closer and she's close enough I can practically feel the anger radiating off her body.

"I'll get them to write that on your gravestone. Famous last words of the world's biggest idiot." Fuck patience.

"Alright what the fuck is your problem?" She takes a step back, almost shocked that I finally have the balls to call her out. Her jaw even sharper now that she's spitting her next words through gritted teeth.

"My problem is that your arrogance is going to get one of us killed." She jabs a finger at me with the same intensity of hatred that her eyes glare at me with before continuing. "All you care about is yourself. You think you're brilliant at everything and that you can just waltz in here and take everything and everyone I've worked so hard for just because you can." What the fuck is she talking about? I didn't take anything. How could I do anything to her without even uttering more than a greeting to her?

"I didn't take anything from you. Where is all of this coming-"

"You took Joel from me!" She cries and her voice splinters, all her hatred intensified to the point where it rattles through me. I swallow hard as all the puzzle pieces of Ellie Williams fit perfectly into place. Joel had died a year ago, maybe a bit longer now but I can't remember exactly. She's right. I can't even deny it. Joel Miller died because of me. Because he saved me.

The blizzards that winter were extreme. The wind screeched around us, piercing our eardrums. Anything less than a loud yell was inaudible. It all happened so quick and bloody. I remember tumbling to the floor as a clicker tackled me, it came from nowhere. Joel who was a few paces ahead heard me scream, he must have, and he rushed to me. Memories of him tearing it off me only for another runner to launch itself at Joel. He stumbled with a grunt and that was the last thing I heard from him before he was ripped apart from the throat. Tommy and Eugene were too far away to even hear the screeches and screams over the winds. He died in the middle of nowhere for a nobody. I had only been at Jackson less than a month and that was one of my first patrols. I can't even place where the patrol route was, only that I never went that way again. He didn't even know me. And I hated myself for it. I hated myself even more know realising Joel meant something to Ellie, unlike me, who meant nothing to either of them but I still survived.

I always wondered why Jesse and Dina were always so tight lipped whenever I asked them about Ellie. It’s not like I didn’t feel anything for him, for his death it’s just that I had made my peace with it. People died all the time in this world but Joel wasn’t just another person, he was Ellie’s person. And I took him away.

I say nothing to her as I drag myself back to the stream. What could I say to her? There were no words that could describe the guilt that consumed me and there was no apology I could possibly muster to give Ellie even the slightest drop of closure. I think even if I did have the words, I’d never have the courage to look her in the eye and say them. I pick new flowers to replace the flattened blood smeared ones and head back to my horse, passing Ellie without even so much as a look, my head down and heavy with shame. Before I can carefully place the flowers into my bag on my horse, I hear the quick thudding of Ellie’s boots on the ground getting close before she smacks the daisies out of my hand and delivering a harsh shove into my chest, sending me hurtling backwards. “Fucking say something you coward.” Another shove. “Do you have anything to justify taking away the one person- the only fucking person I loved?” She shoves me again and this time our horses shuffle around getting increasingly antsy. “I’m sorry.” Is the only thing I can bring myself to say, my own voice cracking as grief just floods through me, ripping apart any resolve I had. “I’m sorry that Joel died because of me."

The rest of patrol passed by painfully slow and unbearably silent but deep down I preferred it. The minutes ticked away and Ellie, with glassy eyes and a permanently locked jaw, didn't spare me a look even as we made it all the way back to Jackson.

[f4irycafe]

⤷ summary:" i'm not scared of lions and tigers and bears but i'm scared of loving you" - jazmine sullivan ♡

⤷ characters: eren jaeger

⤷ content warnings: black!coded reader, college au, drug use (marijuana), reader had attachment/trust issues, closed off reader, naked bodies?

⤷ wc: 745

⤷ notes: i kinda hate this but oh well :(

your heart was no longer yours, for it was currently resting in the hands of a tall green-eyed boy who seemed rather fond of it. it was his, has been for a very long time, even if you would have wished not to admit it. everytime you thought of stealing it back for yourself, he would do something so painfully good that you just told yourself, "one more week."

but one week had turned into two, three, then before you knew it two months had passed.

"and then this dicky ass kid in my 3 p.m - you're not even listening are you?" eren asked, looking over at you.

you were. you had just...gotten lost in him for a little bit. you hummed sweetly, continuing to run your nails through his hair. nails that he had recently paid for you to get done. he let his eyes grow droopy, leaning his head against your shoulder.

you raised the joint to your lips, letting it fill your lungs until you blew it out the open window. it was a rainy, lazy day in bed. wake up, light up, fuck, repeat. you couldn't even remember the last time you ate. it was just him, all day. you had stopped bothering to get back into clothes rounds ago, content to feel free and at peace with each other.

"gimmie," eren whispered as he lowered his head to your hands. you pressed the joint to his lips as he took it from you, blowing smoke out the window just as you had.

"you gotta stop doing that." he said after a bit.

"doing what?"

"zoning out on my face when i'm talking to you." you clenched your jaw in an effort not to let it drop to the ground.

"i do not -"

"it's okay. i'd stare at me all day too."

"you're stupid," you said after a few seconds of silence, snatching the joint back into your hands as you pouted.

"for real tho, wassup with that."

"what? i can't stare at you"

"you can, just not in a way you do." this boy was infuriating.

"and how, exactly do i stare to you mr. jaeger."

"you stare at me like you love me." he had taken the blunt back and anxiously hit it, turning his head after he spoke, too much of a coward to see the look on your face.

boys sucked. men sucked. dating sucked. but not eren. eren was sweet, eren asked if he could kiss you, eren bought flowers for your mother, eren pushes you to be better. he does all the right things, and when he doesn't he apologizes in the right way. he fucked you until you saw stars and ascended to higher dimensions, and he held you when you came down from those heavenly highs.

eren loved you.

and you knew that, of course you knew it. which was what made you mad. you kept giving him subtle opportunities to leave, unveiling your personality one wall at a time. and he just kept coming and coming, crashing through them all until he only had one left to conquer. he was like a little puppy, following you around wagging that big fat tail of his. sometimes when he got excited, you swore it wiggled.

and you loved eren. you loved him in a way that scared you because you'd never experienced that kind of love before. it felt like waves crashing all at once in your body, pulling you further down until his soul had you just where it wanted you.

you held his heart just as delicately as he did yours.

you didn't throw around the word casually. when you said it, you said it which each muscle in your body, each cell. and you were scared that if you took that step, said those three words, let it all out, that something bad would happen.

but that wouldn't happen with eren. he was the protector of your heart, and there wasn't much he wouldn't do to keep it safe.

"i do." you said, allowing your battling thought to quiet.

"you do what?" he asked, suddenly closr to you than he had been a second ago.

"i do lo-hmph," you paused, the words literally painful in your mouth. he laughed and pulled away from his face. shit head.

"i do love you, eren." he smiled, connecting your lips briefly, his hand coming up to massage your throat gently.

"i know you do angel," he said. "wanted to hear you say it for me, just once."

elles ramblings: i feel like i didn't match the vibe the way i wanted to. so maybe I'll do a part 2? or just a different version?

[sahonithereadwolf]

As I get older I think one of the more exhausting types of furry discourse is assigning moral value to someone's fursona choices. Like obviously the guy with the racial caricature sucks ass (you won't hear my native ass say different), and one with hitler mustache and red armband is a fucking nazi and we should kick them out, but I mean like. "Wolves are boring starter fursonas for uncreative people." or "they're slutty because they're *insert animal here*" or like... aesthetic choices. It's a self portrait. it's a realization of self. That changes with people as their perceptions of self, something furry is really good about letting you do, in fact, do. People chose dogs and cats because it's familiar and comfortable and so assign them human traits more easily than something they have no experiences with. People sometimes move away from that as they allow themselves to feel other things or give themselves more permissions. There is no hidden agenda here outside the need to be. There is something to be said about the politics of those things and cultural perceptions of animals, sure. Or the default whiteness of furry as a subculture defined by the internet. But rarely something I would assign a moral value to. At least not any more than other spaces where these matter. A fursona can be personal and they don't need to performative justify who or what it is to you. Sure, let the lynx have a long tail (as much as I personally find that a cowards choice). Let the German Shepard be neon. Let that that bull have giant udders, a dick with a gauge in the foreskin, six arms, and a dad that's a demon. They made these choices because it mattered to them that it was so. They don't need your approval. Let people be wolves. Some people are going to be finding themselves, some folks will have a deep personal cultural connections they can not be moved from, some just think they're cool or tough in a way they want to be or see themselves as. And in the end it's the fact that they made it for themselves and for their own reasons, that matter. And they don't need to disclose them. Roughly, but sincerely

[wickedwitchofthesouth]

Listen I know the whole "do you Journal Dean?" "Ever since I was a little girl" joke makes it look like Dean does not unfact journal BUT WHAT IF!!! what if he DOES journal because John journaled because let's be honest other than drinking and breaking things that's the only other (non-violent) way he knows how to cope.

Okay maybe he doesn't have a little diary where he writes all his deepest darkest little secrets but I like to think that maybe when he moved in with Lisa and Ben, he also started going to therapy? Obviously it was impossiblely hard to convince him and sure he only agreed to go once a month and to be honest, now that he looks back on it didn't really do shit but the one thing that seemed to help him the most was writing. He does not journal! but maybe he writes letters to everyone. Letters he'll never send, letters filled to the brim with words he'll never say

In the beginning most of his letters were addressed to Sammy, is baby brother, the only reason he even wanted to hunt. To protect his brother, to allow him to live in a world where nothing goes bump in the night.

And after Sammys first death, nothing was easy, but the letters helped. more than Ben and Lisa more than the few and far between calls he'd pick up from bobby. The letters were the only place where he didn't feel the need to pretend.

But after Sammy came back the letters stopped. Dean convinced himself that Sam was the only reason he felt this empty pit in his heart and once he came back he didn't need the letters anymore. Even if he wanted to write, where would he even get the time or privacy.

They'd stopped, but Dean still carried them around like stolen momentous that he constantly told himself he needed to get rid of (and conveniently forget to)

The second time the letters start is when he loses Cas to the leviathan. He's angry, he hates what Cas did to them... what he did to himself. 'Fuck this! fuck you and fuck every other prissy angel out there! I shouldve never trusted you i hate you. i hate you for leaving us more fucked over than the last 2 apocalypses, i hate you for leaving with your tail tucked between your legs. I hate you just for leaving at all, so come back so i can yell at you to your face, you coward! Just come back'

Every thought in his head that he can't bring himself to yell out loud, he tells the parchment with his pen as the vessel.

'Shit is getting fucking harder, we need you cas we cant do this without you' 'I can't do this without you"

When Cas comes back the letters stopped again. Dean finds a place to hide them so well that half the time he forgets they're even there

And thats just how the cycle goes, he writes when talking takes more energy than he has left to give. One for each person he's ever lost. 10 for Sam, 20 for Cas.

Sometimes he just writes when he's angry at someone. 20 for Sam, 30 for Cas

Sometimes he just writes for the sake of it, unspoken words he's too scared to confess out loud. 50 for Cas, 100 for Cas, all for Cas

When Dean dies, Sam finds the stash of letters stowed away in a dusty old shoebox on the roof of Dean's cupboard. He sees the letters addressed to him. Something in him is begging him not to read them, but his curiosity gets the better of him.

He should've listened to that something because for the rest of the day after that Sam finds himself reading through letter after letter that was written to him but never sent. He cries like a baby, the kind of sob that Dean would've made fun of him for when they were kids. Gosh what he'd give just to hear Dean give him a snarky remark now.

Sam doesn't read the letters addressed to other people, he doesn't have the heart too anymore. So the next day he makes it a mission to take the letters to everyone Dean has ever written too

Two letters left where they'd spread Charlie's Ashes, One at Kevin's, four for Dad, four for mom, one for crowley, three for Jack, and on it goes

Until the only things left are the unread letters addressed to Castiel. Even after taking out all the other ones it still feels like the box is over flowing, but cas is the only one left.

He leaves them in the flower feild where Dean had spread Cas' ashes. Sam knew that it wasn't where Cas was layed to rest, because truth be told Sam had no idea what had even happened to Cas. Dean refused to talk about it and Sam was too distraught by the awful expression on Dean's face every time Cas became a topic to bring it up over and over again.

So he let the letters go in a place where he thought Cas would appreciate. Wherever he was, Sam hoped that it would bring him peace - the thought that Dean would have wanted him to rest in a place as beautiful as the flower field over looking the mountains.

[mcybank]

✶ ━━ THE 1 ; B.H

summary: two months after the breakup, billy finally had something to say to you.

pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader

warnings: angst, angst, angst. literally angst galore. also billy acting very much like not-billy. he's kinda a complete simp

Two months had passed since you'd heard his voice. You wished you could say those sixty days flew by in the blink of an eye ━ and that you didn't a few minutes in each hour of the day thinking about what he was up to ━ but you'd be lying if you said that.

Although you knew ━ were warned, several times, in fact, ━ to never get in a position with Billy Hargrove which might lead you to have to move on from him, you did it anyway. It was easier telling your friends that a guy like Billy wasn't worth the effort and that he cared about nobody but himself until the said person made you believe he cared about you, too. Oh, and he did. He made you feel cared for and loved but quite like everything with Billy, it came at a cost.

Sure, he caressed your face with the gentleness that made you believe you were the most precious thing in his life. In fact, the few times he managed to say something remotely cheesy, it was along the lines of you being oh, so terribly precious to him.

And he didn't just fool you.

He fooled the entire school ━ he made them mull over how you got him to settle down, to stop giving it out to every girl who looked in his direction, and you didn't know how you did that either.

You spent the better part of the two months thinking why he pretended to care when he never truly cared. Now, you'd given up on deconstructing the words and actions of the complex Billy Hargrove. You were at peace with yourself and the breakup. Steve Harrington had asked why you were bawling your eyes out on the way to school when you were the one who'd broken up with him.

You didn't want to break up with him. But it seemed that during the last argument Billy pushed you into breaking up with him, almost as if he wanted it but was too coward to initiate it himself.

So, you did. What else could you do when he explicitly stated he couldn't meet your needs and that he wasn't going to try to, either. You knew better than to stay with somebody who didn't love you as much as you loved them merely because you loved them. And after two months, you didn't want to know about a mere fragment of his life.

Perhaps that was what lead you to leave the lunch table of cheerleaders, the ones you called your friends when they started talking about how Billy Hargrove hooked up with a girl in the band. It felt as if everybody forgot about your relationship with Billy, forgotten enough of your history to gossip about what he spent the night doing ━ or who he spent the night doing.

The slight breeze caught onto your hair, causing it to flow directly in front of your face. Or that breeze might've been the man who took his seat beside you on the grass ━ the man who didn't cause a breeze in your life, but the man who brought a turbulent storm at his tail behind him into your life.

You didn't have to crane your neck to see who was sitting beside you. The pungent scent of cigarettes and statement cologne drifted into your nostrils and you were reminded of him.

You didn't say anything, not even when you felt the electric blue eyes burning holes into the side of your face.

A minute passed, or maybe ten minutes had passed because it sure felt like it.

"Not gonna say anything, huh?" Your mind ran into a wall of emotions on its own accord as you took in his voice after two months. Yet you didn't speak. You didn't want to. So, he continued, "No? Fine ━ fuck, fine."

A rough sigh escaped his lips as you watched him tugging at the ends of his hair from your periphery. "You're not gonna talk?" he said tauntingly, but you could detect the layer of desperation underneath his words. "I'll talk, then. You're ━ You're a terrible person, you know that?"

Your nose scrunched up at his words and you couldn't help but feel offended. That almost willed you to reply, but you held onto your resolve firmly.

"You left. You left just like that." He punctuated his words by snapping his fingers, tongue diving to lick his lower lip. "You'd think I should get a warning, huh? I mean, in the five months we were together, not once did you insinuate breaking up and suddenly, that is what you wanted to do?"

You wanted to laugh at him, tell him he was talking irrationally, but before you could he continued his stupid-fucking-monologue.

"I know I wasn't great ━ hell, I might have been the worst kin'a guy you dated but we had something. I fuckin' know we did, alright?"

"Before ━"

"Shut up, I'm trying really god-damn hard to pretend you're not here so I can say this to you," he said, cutting you off.

Your lips smacked together as you realized what he was doing. He was giving you everything he felt, something you'd nearly begged him to do when you were in a relationship with him. And though you knew there was almost no chance of getting to that point with him again, you wanted to know how he felt for once. Completely uncovered and open.

"Where was I? Yeah, we had something. You can't tell me we didn't because, on my car, Y/N, you know you'd be lying. I know I fucked up, but was it that easy for you to kick me to the curb? Walk around the school not even looking at me? Like shit, it took you one night to completely forget about me? After you spent nearly every night for five months on your bed with me?

You know what, you said everything you had to say. Left without even letting me fight for us and, fuck, you know I would've."

You opened your mouth but no words came out.

He barked out an unamused laugh. "Yeah, that's what I fuckin' thought." He pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. "Alright then, I'm out."

And before you could take your next breath, he was standing up and walking away from you.

It was Friday, which meant Neil and Susan wouldn't be home.

When you knocked on Billy's door, you would either face Max or Billy on the other end of it. You weren't sure if Billy had gone to a party, and a part of you hoped he had because you were dreading what you were going to say.

If this went in the ideal direction, you and Billy would come out of it having the closure the two of you needed.

You didn't know Billy was holding that much in. Hell, you had to skip the rest of the school day after that just so you could wrap your mind around him. If you believed his words, that meant he truly cared. And you couldn't help but believe his words because they sounded more real than anything else he'd ever said.

"Oh, Y/N." Max's voice broke you away from your thoughts as she opened the front door. "I didn't know you were coming. Are you ━ um, are you here to see Billy?" Her eye twitched as she stared at your conflicted expression.

"Actually, I'm just going to ━" You cut yourself off, rolling your eyes at yourself and how you had become the coward you always claimed Billy was. "I am. Is he home?"

Max slowly nodded, opening the front door wider to let you in. You could hear the bass of his music from his room, and you patted Max's head instinctively before striding towards his door.

You knocked once. Then twice.

"Not now, Max." His voice came from the other end and you almost walked away. Again.

You knocked again.

"Shit, what could you even fucking want? Come in."

You opened the door, and Billy didn't even look up at the door when you walked in. He was looking through his music while sitting cross-legged on the floor, his back turned to you.

You walked as slowly as you could, peeking at the burning end of his cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth before sitting down behind him.

"You're wrong," you said. He instantly turned around, but before he could face you, you grabbed his cheeks and tilted his head away. "Don't look at me, I can't say this knowing you're here. And don't speak"

And that was why you and Billy were similar. He never wanted to show his emotions unless they were happy or angry. You wanted to, but you couldn't. You tried your best for him, though.

"You were wrong when you said it was easy for me. It was the hardest decision I ever made, Billy. But did you give me any other choice? You didn't show up for our date once again, then followed up by telling me you can't meet my needs."

You heard a sharp intake of breath as his fingers finally moved away from fingering through his cassettes and resting on the floor. He didn't speak, though.

"I know we had something, but I doubted that you knew that. It didn't feel like you thought that in the last few weeks of us being together. I'm not the kind of girl to stick around for a guy ━ no matter how much I love him ━ if I have to convince him to treat me like his girlfriend all the time instead of only when it's convenient for him." You were sure your voice would've cracked by now. It definitely did when you practiced this in the comfort of your room. And maybe a few tears fell, too.

"I might have made it seem like you were the only person who fucked up in our relationship, but that's not true. I fucked up so many times, too, but what the difference was ━" You coughed, not knowing whether or not to continue.

You didn't go there to tell Billy why he was a terrible boyfriend at times. You were done villainizing him after you broke up with him. Because yes, he wasn't perfect, but he wasn't the worst you'd had like he thought he was.

"The difference was?" he prompted, clearing his throat after realizing how scratchy his voice sounded just then. He didn't sound angry, just curious and perhaps a little intrigued. He didn't turn around, though, even though you could see he was itching to do so.

"I wanted to fix my mistakes instead of pushing them under the rug. And it was fine ━ you acting completely fine after doing something to make me upset ━ at first. But then you did it more and more until I was tired of it. And you told me you didn't want to stop, you told me that ━" Your sentence broke off into a hiccup as you felt the first few beads of tears roll down your eyes.

"I told you that you weren't worth me changing myself for," he said with remorse, completing your sentence. And that was when your defense crumpled and you let out a sob you felt all the way to your toes.

He cursed under his breath, his hand rubbing against his forehead. "I still can't turn around?" he asked, voice lower, in a way you'd never heard him speak to anybody before. He sounded concerned, way more concerned than he'd ever sounded. And oh, so regretful.

You didn't answer but you couldn't help but rest your head against his back, tears immediately falling to soak into his muscle tank. You noticed how his biceps flexed momentarily before he said, "You never let me fight for us. And you know I'm so good at that."

"Fighting?" you asked, words muffled by your cries. "Yeah, you are good at fighting."

"I'm sorry, Billy," you said instantly. "I ━ I don't know. I didn't think you needed closure."

"I couldn't show it when you seemed so . . . done with me," he said with a dry chuckle.

"I couldn't show you I wasn't because you seemed so done with me," you argued back, quieting down a bit.

"Let me fucking turn around, Y/N." You nodded your head against his back and he was quick to shift his stance.

Before you could take his face in, you were engulfed in his embrace. You felt a tear hitting your head, but that was it.

Billy rarely cried. And the burst of emotion today? It was unexpected and so very not-Billy-Hargrove.

"And I'm ... I'm sorry, too. I guess," he said, slightly shrugging his shoulders. "I wasn't great but I love ━ loved ━ you more than anybody else can. Trust me. I was scared, I'on know. Didn't wanna scare y'away."

And you didn't say anything to that. But you knew that you and Billy Hargrove had unfinished business. The random confrontation two months later following up hearing about him and the band-girl hooking up was exactly that ━ random. But you could only hope you would end up getting more than just closure with Billy.