#got so upset over this i cried and then circled back around to just Mildly stressed to apathetic entirely within the span of 4 minutes

[thevalleyoftriumph]

im beginning to think that i am mentally ill and the internet makes my mental illness Worse

[emeralddaydream]

I dont care what you write about i just need some kyle pls, post or pre death, either is fine

I am so hungry pls

you got it!! aww sweet ky!! 🥺 i’m gonna go ahead and combine this with another request for now, but I have an idea for a fluffy pre-death kyle thing that i’m definitely wanting to come back to at some point, so let me know if that’s something y’all want!! thank you both so much!!

@ahsxual:  Hiii, how are you doing? I hope you're doing well!

Since your requests are open (yeyy!), could I request a fic or hcs about Franken Kyle reacting to the reader crying alone in her bedroom? I bet he would be so confused 😭🥺 Thank you!! Have a nice day 💞

Just the Way You Are

Pairing: Post-Death Kyle x GN!Reader

Word Count: 811

Rating: General

Warnings: angst, crying, but also lots of comfort and fluff💜

You don’t hear the door opening slowly over the sobs raking your body, so when your bed dips with the weight of somebody else, it startles you. Your cries cease, and with a soft gasp, you scrunch your eyes up further. You know exactly who it is without having to look, and you also know that as much as he may want to, as much as he may mean well, there’s nothing that Kyle can do to help you in this moment. Tears continue to fall when you feel the weight of his hand on your back a moment later, where he runs his fingers slowly, not wanting to do anything he think may upset you further. 

“Y/N,” he whispers, and you feel more warmth fall silently down your cheeks. He loves your name; it’s his favorite word, one of the few he’s mastered since coming back to this life. He loves you, more than anything. And you know that. You don’t feel it’s fair to do this in front of him… You’re quick to wipe your eyes, plastering a smile to your face before you look up at him from your spot against the mattress. 

“Hey, Ky,” you whisper, pulling a blanket to your chest anxiously as he watches you, his head tilting slightly in confusion.

“Why… sad?” he asks quietly, reaching out slowly, tentatively, not wanting to startle you further, to brush a few tears from your cheek as they trail slowly down your face. You can’t help it when they begin to fall more freely as he studies you, his brown eyes seeming to bore into your soul, searching for some sort of answer to his question. You shift further against your pillows, gaze falling from his as it becomes too intense. He shifts closer, reaching out for your hand. You allow him to grab it, and he squeezes gently.

“Y/N,” he repeats softly, and the concern that’s evident in his voice is what makes you look back up at him; you hate the thought of upsetting him too, any more than you already have. “Why sad?” he asks again when your eyes meet his, thumb moving to brush against your wrist in a way that he knows helps to calm you; you can’t help the tiny smile that forms on your face at the gesture. 

Ultimately, you realize, there’s no point trying to shut Kyle out; despite still having a tough time communicating his thoughts, he knows you better than anyone. With a weak sigh, you finally answer, telling him all the things that have been bothering you. He never interrupts, only watching your face intently as you speak, watching your mouth form the words as you tell him about the terrible week you’ve had. Things just don’t seem to be going right, and you are… tired, to put it mildly. When you’re finished speaking, you breathe deeply, and with a shake of your head say, “I’m sorry, Kyle. I’m so sorry.” You look down at your hands where they pull tightly at your blankets again, as you try desperately to keep the rest of the tears that have formed in your eyes at bay.

“No,” he whispers, taking your face between his palms, turning it gently so that your gaze meets his once more. He moves in closer, running his thumbs along your cheekbones; a shuddering breath leaves you as you struggle not to look away from his intense stare. “D-don’t be… sorry,” he finally finishes, and you can’t help it as a couple more tears run down your face. You offer him another small smile.

He pulls back suddenly, standing from the bed, and before you have much time to comprehend what he’s doing, he’s made his way to the other side of the mattress, so that he’s standing behind you, a questioning look on his face; he wants to make sure you’re comfortable, and you feel a pang of pure love for him; he’s always so caring, so attentive to your needs and wants. You aren’t quite sure how you got so lucky. When you give him a small nod, he climbs in behind you, arms wrapping slowly around your waist, head resting heavily on your shoulder. The gentle lull of his breathing has you calming in his arms almost immediately; you aren’t aware of just how tense your muscles are until now.

“I love you, Kyle,” you whisper into the darkening room. Turning in his arms, you bury your face in his chest; your tears have stopped now, so you just lie there, listening to the soft beating of his heart, letting it relax you further.

“Love you, Y/N” he replies slowly. The room is silent then, except for the sounds of your mingled breathing. Kyle isn’t tired; he stays awake, rubbing slow circles against your back, soothing you into a peaceful sleep.

taglist: @kitwalker02, @ladyfogg, @therenlover, @liandav, @kitwalkerangel (please feel free to fill this out to be added/removed here!!)

[storytellerofuntoldlegends]

and the void looked back to say i love you (Part One)

A/N: did i write a whole fic inspired by the time phil surfed the void in osmp and then soon after that kristin sent in a tts saying "i love you"? yes. yes i did. (I'm aiming to update this every saturday until its done)

Warnings: brief violence mentions, implied/referenced character death (none of the osmp members, just random people), kristin has some mild eldritch horror moments (but it’s barely that she’s just a spooky lady)

Summary: All Kristin had known was all-consuming darkness. Not that she particularly minded it, the Void was her domain. But then along comes Philza, and her life is filled with light in the form of laughter and twinkling eyes. (Alternatively, five times Phil visited Kristin in the Void and one time she came up to the Overworld.)

Masterpost

-

The first time Kristin met Phil, he was flying along the roof of her domain, laughing and cheering as a murder of crows flew close behind him, cawing in a cacophony of distress and elation. She was confused by the birdlike man- not by the fact that he seemed to be part bird, but by the fact that there was someone even near the void at all.

"Why don't we dip down and touch the void? Just for a second," she heard the man say to his crows, who responded with squawks of terror. She watched, intrigued as the man began to dive down with a hand outstretched, the crows cawing their dissent all the while. His fingers brushed through the inky nothingness, the darkness of her domain creeping up his wrist- and then with a powerful flap of his wings he wrenched himself free of the void's grip. Taking on a physical form, she poked her head up out of the void to gaze at the man with wide eyes. She had never seen someone escape the grip of her domain before. And if she hadn't been intrigued before, she was certainly intrigued now.

“I’m fine guys, see? The void didn’t-” the man stopped midway through consoling his crows as he turned midair and locked eyes with Kristin. He looked just as surprised to see her as she was to see him. He nearly started falling towards the void again, but quickly caught himself and hovered above Kristin. The crows circled around the man, cawing in a mix of alarm and excitement.

“Hello,” Kristin called out, a little unused to speaking but excited to have the chance to. The man let out a startled squawk in response, nearly unbalancing himself in the air but still managed to stay aloft.

“You can talk?!” the man cried out in surprise. Kristin tilted her head to the side in confusion.

“You can talk,” she said pointedly. The man let out a laugh, shaking his head in mild embarrassment.

“Good point. I just… didn’t think you were real. Thought my mind was playing tricks on me or some shit,” the man replied, still chuckling a bit. Kristin laughed along with him, and the man’s expression turned into something both mildly terrified and hopelessly endeared.

“What’s that look for?” Kristin asked, head tilting to the side in confusion. The man flushed slightly, and the crows’ caws took on a more teasing tone.

“Your laugh is uh- kind of unsettling, echoing through the void and all. But it’s also kinda charming in a way,” the man said with a bashful smile. The crows’ caws grew louder as they seemed to heckle the man, and he swatted at them in annoyance, muttering something about how he was not blushing.

“I think you’re kind of charming too,” Kristin said sweetly. That sent the crows into a tizzy, and the man’s expression lit up with a grin. Kristin decided she liked seeing the birdlike man smile.

“My name’s Philza, most people call me Phil though,” he said, reaching out his hand for half a second as if he intended to shake Kristin’s hand, but then promptly realized that he couldn’t even see Kristin’s hands. She chuckled good-naturedly, then drew herself up from the void to be more level with Phil. He was much smaller than she had thought, in fact her hand was bigger than his whole body.

“I’m the Queen of the Void, but if I were to know any people, they’d call me Kristin,” she replied, holding out her hand to Phil. He flew back a bit in surprise, then gave a sheepish smile and reached out to awkwardly pat her finger instead of attempting to shake her hand.

“It’s lovely to meet you- hold on, let me find an opening up there to rest on, my wings are getting tired,” Phil said, beginning to glide away.

“You can rest on my hand if you’d like! I promise I won’t pull you into the void, you’re the first person I’ve spoken to in… well, ever, I think,” Kristin offered, holding out her hand palm up. A few of Phil’s crows flew to rest in her hand, cawing up at her in greeting. Phil looked a little skeptical still, but seeing as his crows were alright, he flew down to sit cross-legged in her palm.

“Thank you. I get tired a little quicker when I’m away from the sky,” he explained.

“Then why come down here at all?” Kristin asked. Phil shrugged.

“I was exploring, saw an opening to the void and decided to explore. In all my traveling, I’ve never seen access to the void through the Overworld,” he replied.

“But you’ve seen the void before?”

“Yes, when I was very young. The place I came from was just an island in the void.”

“Then why are you here? In the ‘Overworld,’ as you put it,” Kristin asked. Phil frowned in thought, a dark, mournful expression taking over his face for a few moments before he shook his head. “It’s… a long story,” Phil said, something dark taking over his previous cheerful tone.

“You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to, I didn’t mean to pry,” Kristin said hurriedly, something in her stomach twisting uncomfortably at making her new friend upset. Phil patted her hand reassuringly, giving a weak smile.

“It’s alright, I just don’t talk about it much… mostly because I don’t have many to talk about it to. Anyway, something… bad had happened, on the island. I don’t remember much, but what I do know is that people had come in big ships and attacked my home. Myself and some others managed to fly away to try and escape through the portal the people had made to get to our world… but I was the only one that made it out before something happened on the other end, and the portal shut down,” Phil explained, the smile he had managed before slowly slipping off of his face as he talked. One of his crows resting on his shoulder hopped over to nuzzle his cheek, and Phil gently scritched the bird’s head with a wistful smile.

“I’m very sorry to hear that. It’s terrible, what happened to you,” Kristin said, wishing there was something more she could do than just offer condolences. Phil merely shrugged.

“Not your fault, not mine either. It just… happened, I guess. For a while I tried to find a way back, tried to relight the portal or find a different one- but no luck. Decided to just travel and explore instead,” Phil said.

“Sounds like a rather lonely adventure,” Kristin replied.

“Oh it’s not that lonely, I’ve got my crows after all. They just sorta started following me around- I’m pretty sure they think I’m a giant crow, since they call me ‘Dadza’ sometimes,” Phil said with a chuckle. The crows squawked indignantly, seemingly arguing among themselves and with Phil.

“They talk?” Kristin asked, frowning as she listened to the crows a little closer, but couldn’t make out any words amongst the chaos.

“I mean… not exactly, but I do understand what their caws mean,” Phil explained. Kristin raised an eyebrow.

“So… you are a giant crow, then,” she said with a wry smile. The crows ceased their argumentative cawing for a moment to look at Kristin, then back at Phil, before they started a ruckus of excited caws.

“Look what you’ve done, you’ve gone and encouraged their chaos,” Phil huffed, crossing his arms and looking very disgruntled as a murder of crows hopped and fluttered around him, cawing in excitement all the while. Kristin couldn’t help it- she laughed.

“Sorry. I did think you were a bird when I first saw you down here,” Kristin said sheepishly.

“Well… you’re not wrong, I am birdlike in some ways, but I think a giant crow is a bit of an oversimplification,” Phil replied.

“But an accurate oversimplification,” Kristin countered with a grin. Phil threw his head back and groaned, although it morphed into a laugh at the end, and Kristin couldn’t help but join in and laugh as well.

[shesclearlya3]

Class Fight (p.1)

pairing: teen!dandy mott x teen!reader

word count: 3,303

warnings: language, jealous dandy, slightly au!dandy, all characters are 18

part 2 part 3

1.

It was the first semester of your Senior year. The first month of school had flown by, and the Fall dance was just a few weeks away. Your small group of girlfriends was anxiously awaiting for their crushes to ask them.

You weren’t particularly concerned with this. The dance fell on the one Saturday of the month where you had to accompany your mother to some stupid Tupperware party. It was the newest trend in American dining, and your mother needed you as her plus one. It wouldn’t hurt to miss one dance… right?

Your best friends Winter and Zoe were excited, but they were devastated you couldn’t come. You always went with them as a trio.

“Are you sure you couldn’t cancel?” Winter asked while you washed your hands in the bathroom sink. The school day was over, and you planned on accompanying her to the diner for greasy food and to catch up on homework.

“I already promised her weeks ago,” you said, drying your hands. “There’s still prom?”

Winter nodded in understanding, and you both knew it was the end of that discussion. Zoe came out of the stall, her face flushed and hair tied back. She looked clammy.

“You alright in there?” Winter asked her as Zoe took a disposable cup and drank some water.

“Kyle asked me to the dance!” Zoe replied breathlessly. You and Winter both congratulated her, and Winter asked why she looked so sick.

“I just got overwhelmed, you know? He came up and asked me right as I put my books away. I didn’t think he was going too, he never brought it up before-.”

You followed them out as Zoe recanted the story of how Kyle asked her. The halls were mostly cleared now as kids scrambled to leave as soon as possible.

“You’re riding with us, right?” Zoe then asked you, raising a neat eyebrow at you.

“Yes, Dandy probably left already.”

The girls both smirked to themselves, but you ignored it. You were used to it by now.

The thing was, Dandy Mott was the best looking guy in school, in your opinion. You had never attended a public school in your life, but you knew those boys could never compare. Dandy was from the wealthiest family in your private district, and with his looks, girls were all over him.

However, he was quite the character. 

Dandy didn’t necessarily associate with a particular group of kids. He was reticent and didn’t bother with any clubs, but he was quite attuned to the drama program. He was also known for his temper if things didn’t go his way, but age matured him, mostly. You were one of the few people who he actually gave a damn about in life. You attributed that to knowing him before school. Your grandfather was a business partner with the Mott family, where your family name found their wealth, and how you two were friends.

You weren’t bothered by the unwanted attention you got from girls attempting to weasel their way into your circle for the chance to talk to Dandy. Most of them gave up quickly, and that was that. Plus, you had Winter and Zoe as your protectors. They weren’t afraid to kick a bitch in the vagina if they overstepped the clear boundaries you had set for yourself. Dandy trusted you, and you weren’t about to fuck that up.

Plus, his mother, Gloria, was continually trying to set him up with girls in other parts of town. 

You climbed into Zoe’s new car, buckling your seatbelt and glancing across the almost deserted parking lot. You spotted him instantly, sitting in his car and staring right back. You slowly raised your hand, giving him a wave. Dandy slowly reciprocated the action, and you swore you saw him smile.

You spent the evening with the girls, eating dinner and trying to explain the symbolism in the required reading in English. The football team had finished their practice and were crowding what few booths and tables were left. You tried to block out their raucous laughter, loudly asking Zoe to read your theory to see if it were plausible. 

Winter had noticed the Quarterback, Jason, occasionally staring at you as he chewed his burger. Your back was to him, so you had no idea. She didn’t say anything, instead watching him from the corner of her eye, figuring he wouldn’t approach your table. 

“I just think it only makes sense to me,” you told Zoe, scratching your head. “I can’t concentrate with the boys screaming for no reason.”

“I think it makes perfect sense. You did misspell authority, though…”

You laughed to yourself, glancing around the diner as Zoe fixed your spelling. You were so distracted, you misspelled simple words. 

“We should get ready and go, it’s getting stuffy in here…” Winter commented, closing her English book. 

“Just a moment!” Zoe said excitedly, scribbling down in her own notebook now.

You had started gathering your things when both Zoe and Madison looked behind you, looking a mix of concern and amusement. You glanced behind you to see Jason Dean, smiling down at you. His dark hair covered his eyes, and he pushed it back.

You had no idea what to say. The last conversation you had with Jason was probably in fifth grade when he commented that women were weak while helping you carry boxes of school supplies, and you accidentally dropped a massive box of markers on his foot. He cried for an hour. 

“y/n,” he addressed you. You glanced at your friends who were eagerly watching you with their faces hidden behind their textbooks. Winter’s was upside down.

“Hi, Jason,” you responded, hearing the confusion in your voice. You listened to his friends giggling behind you, and you wondered if this was a joke. 

“I haven’t seen you in a minute,” he said cheekily, and you nodded. “You look good.”

You quickly looked him up and down. Jason was muscular but not bulky, and he was definitely a whole foot taller than you. He grew into his facial features, and he was a handsome guy. You assumed he was just talking to you on a dare, so you finished putting your things in your bag. Zoe and Winter didn’t budge, still pretending to read their books.

Jason realized you were dumbfounded at his statement. He quickly backtracked, “I just wanted to say hi. I’ll see you around.”

You bid him farewell, turning to your friends who were having a hard time concealing their laughter. You heard Jason’s best friend, Matthew, call him an idiot and what sounded like a smack on the back.

“y/n, you have a boyfriend?” Zoe asked, smirking at you.

You glared, standing up as they shouldered their bags and grabbed their books. “You know perfectly well I don’t speak to him.”

“I bet he wants to ask you to the dance.” Winter grinned at Zoe, who nodded in agreement as you stepped into the cold autumn air. 

“I’m not going either way.” you mumbled, and the girls dropped it until the next morning. 

2.

You didn’t think it was that big of a deal that the Quarterback tried to talk to you at the diner a few nights before. All the students who were present spread gossip like wildfire. You ignored it. You knew they were just children speculating what it could mean when it probably meant nothing. 

Zoe and Winter never brought it up again, and you were relieved that your friends didn’t dwell on it for too long. You loved that about them. 

It was after lunchtime when you sat in your History course, going over the notes for the test. You heard Jason and a few of his friends pile in, laughing and making comments under their breath. They took their designated seats in the back, and you felt eyes on the back of your head. 

A group of popular girls across the room started to giggle, and you glanced up to see Dandy walk in, his nose up and sauntering to the seat directly behind you. You wondered why he didn’t acknowledge you, but you didn’t dwell on it long. Dandy was often absent from any social interaction. 

Your teacher began the class the moment the bell rang. She decided to go over the notes an extra day and postponed the test. You were mildly disappointed but knew the material well, so you decided to doodle in your journal. One of the girls in the front occasionally popped her gum. 

Ms. Strode was talking about World War II when you felt something hit your elbow. You glanced over and saw a balled-up piece of paper. You glanced around to see most people were either frantically jotting down notes or not paying any attention. You picked it up, assuming it just needed to be passed ahead.

However, you read your name in neat cursive and opened it under the table.

Would you go to the dance with me? - Jason

You read the short invitation a good ten or so times before you could comprehend what he was asking. While the teacher wasn’t looking, you peeked over your shoulder to see him staring at you. His buddies were hiding their own smiles, but you didn’t see any malice behind it. Was he serious?

Of course, you’d have to decline. You already have an engagement. You promised your mother. You already declined the evening with your two best friends.

You didn’t send a note back, knowing it would be too distracting trying to pass it. Dandy would never try to give a stupid message.

However, Dandy had been paying attention and had managed to read the note over your shoulder when you laid it on your pencil case. He became green with envy, closing the book he hadn’t been paying attention too in the first place.

You hardly spoke a word to him this year. He wondered why that was. Dandy was very particular who he said too, and gave any sliver of his precious time. You were a comfort to him and probably didn’t realize that. Dandy knew he couldn’t seem desperate for your affection, or at the very least, your attention. He had hoped you’d be waiting for him in his car after school like the previous years before. Did he do something to upset you? Were you too good for him?

Dandy spent the rest of the class staring at the back of your head. He knew that wasn’t the case. Perhaps it was his behavior that steered you away. Of course, he liked being friends with you, but maybe it wasn’t enough. He was a loner who enjoyed his alone time. Dandy heard what people said about him. The general consensus was that he was doing everything right. 

When the class was dismissed, he hung back, watching as you quickly gathered your things and paced out the door. 

“Tough blow, man!” he heard Matthew say.

“She’ll come around.” Jason replied, his tone snarky. Dandy watched as they walked out of the room, his brows furrowing as he debated on taking the high road and asking you to the stupid dance himself. He wouldn’t go willingly. His mother, Gloria, needed him to be involved as much as possible. To keep up appearances, of course. Not for Dandy’s own goodwill. 

Dandy trailed out of the class, seeing you across the hall at your locker. Winter was beside you, somehow talking and applying lipstick at the same time. He stood off to the side, not minding all the bodies bumping into him and temporarily panicking that he’d yell at them.

This is it, Dandy thought. It’s a war, whether Jason Dean knew that or not. 

3.

Jason approached you the following day and asked if you’d mind talking to him at lunch. You hesitantly agreed, catching Zoe’s eye as she hugged Kyle before going into her class. She smiled at you, and you gave her a hesitant one in return. 

He definitely matured through the years. Jason was interested in you, and you felt comfortable talking to him through the entire lunch period, even catching yourself laughing at his sense of humor. Dandy played with the apple in his hands, glaring daggers at the back of Jason’s messy head. Winter noticed from her spot at your usual table and nudged Zoe, gesturing for her to look. 

“He looks pissed.” Zoe giggled, and Winter nodded in agreement. 

“I think Mott is going to kill him!” Winter said, stabbing at her steamed broccoli.

“Shouldn’t we let y/n know?” Zoe asked.

“I think she’s about to figure it out.” Winter said as Dandy stood up, heading directly to the table where you were sitting with Jason. Zoe and Winter fell into a hush, shoving food into their mouth and intently watching what was about to unfold. 

Jason saw him approaching first and paused, sizing the other guy up and down. Jason was bigger than Dandy in height and muscle tone from being an athlete, but Dandy wasn’t lanky either. You turned around, shocked to find Dandy staring down at you. 

“y/n,” Dandy nodded at you, ignoring Jason.

“Dandy, hi!” you said, genuinely happy to see him. “How are you?”

“I’m decent.” he said, smiling a little. “Could I have a word?” 

You glanced at Jason, who seemed timid, but he nodded. You stood up, promising Jason you’d be back as you followed Dandy out to the hallway. Multiple eyes followed you, and you heard the whispers starting as the door swung shut. 

“How are you?” Dandy asked now, looking down at you. His dark hair was neatly gelled and had a slight curl. 

“I’ve been good. I haven’t heard from you in a while…” you said.

Dandy nodded, “I could say the same. I assumed you’d come back around soon enough.”

You felt he was hurt by your absence. Dandy looked bothered, and you felt terrible. However, he was capable of approaching you as well. Which is what he thought he had to do. 

“Is everything okay?” you questioned, hoping his mother was doing well. You hadn’t seen her all Summer. 

“y/n, you know you’re one of the only people I care about in this stupid town,” Dandy said, glancing towards a teacher walking to the lounge. He gave you guys a questioning look but didn’t comment, disappearing into the next room. 

You weren’t sure how to respond to that, so Dandy continued, “Which is why I think you shouldn’t go to the formal with Jason.”

You frowned, “How do you know he asked me?”

“The whole school knows!” Dandy retorted, and you remembered. “I think it’s a bad idea.”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m not going either way.”

Dandy looked surprised, and you saw the relief in his eyes. He laughed a little, his fingers drumming against his leg. “Oh.”

“What, are you jealous?” you asked, laughing at him. Dandy tried to hide his laughter, but it didn’t work. The quiet hallway was filled with your giggles.

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out.” Dandy said, and you were saddened to hear the bell ring. Dandy straightened up, the smile leaving his face as kids filed out of the cafeteria and the surrounding classrooms. Kids stared at you and whispered, many laughing and wondering if you were now a couple. 

Jason slowly walked in your direction, but you didn’t want to say goodbye to Dandy. You were ashamed that you had avoided him for so long. You missed him. Dandy glanced behind you, his eyes sharpening as your new suitor waited patiently, his hands in his beige jacket. 

“Be careful around him.” Dandy whispered to you before he disappeared down the hall.

You approached Jason, who gave you a soft smile, “Am I missing something? Are you two together?”

You shook your head, a light smile on your lips, “No. We’re just friends.”

“Oh…” Jason nodded, “Look, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry if I freaked you out the other day. We don’t have to go to the dance together, but-.”

“Oh!” you gasped. Jason frowned, giving you a quizzical look. “The dance… I forgot,” you lied. “Uhm, I’m actually not going. I have other plans…” you said.

Jason looked defeated but took the rejection gracefully. You promised you’d sit with him again tomorrow, and he visibly cheered up at that. You ended up having to sprint to your locker for your books after saying goodbye, but you couldn’t stop thinking about Dandy’s warning. 

“Be careful around him.”

The Friday before the dance went to complete shit.

That morning you ate your breakfast slowly, listening to your parents argue in the kitchen over a business deal your mother thought was a bad idea. Your father was greedy and looked towards the top dollar than what was best for the business and the family. 

If that wasn’t bad enough, Winter fell sick and couldn’t go to school. You had to wait for your father to finish getting ready before he could drive you. You were ten minutes late and got a verbal warning; you never got in trouble at school. You had three tests in a row, and by lunch, you were about to rip your hair out.

Jason was nowhere to be found, so you sat with Zoe. She was worried that Winter would miss the dance but was happy that she’d at least have Kyle if Winter canceled. Kyle came and sat with you guys, his shaggy blond hair wet from the downpour outside. 

You were anxiously looking around the cafeteria for any sign of Dandy. He had missed a few days of school, citing a fever when you called his house and spoke to his maid, Dora. You wished him well and knew he’d pull through fast. Plus, you saw his car this morning when you got dropped off. 

“They’re going to cancel the dance if more kids fall ill,” Kyle said as he ate a burger. Zoe glared at him, telling him to look on the bright side of things. 

“What? I am!” Kyle replied, smirking at his new girlfriend.

“I’m sure they won’t cancel.” you placated Zoe, who beamed at you. “All the parents who gave money will be pissed.”

You ate most of your lunch when the principal walked in. The room immediately quieted as he observed the tables before landing on you. He walked to you briskly, and you felt your heart racing as he approached. 

Am I getting detention? I’ve only been late once!

“Ms. y/l/n, could you come with me?” he asked politely, smiling at you, Zoe, and Kyle.

You nodded slowly, bunching up your trash and placing it on the tray. Zoe told you to leave it, and they’d take care of it. You quietly thanked her and followed Principal Harmon out, struggling to keep pace with his long, thin legs.

“Is everything alright, sir?” you asked. Now wondering if your parents died in some fiery crash or if you failed a class. 

“There’s been a disturbance outside this afternoon,” Harmon replied, his voice grim. “With Mr. Mott and Mr. Dean.”

You were shocked to hear this. You were silent during the rest of the trek to his office. When he opened the door, you saw both boys sitting in chairs. They both had packs of ice on their faces and sheepish expressions.

“What were you thinking?” you hissed to them as Mr. Harmon gestured for you to take the empty seat next to Dandy.

“Well, now that y/n is here, I think you both owe her an explanation and an apology.” 

Jason and Dandy shared a look. Dandy now looked pissed, and you could only imagine what lead to this. 

Oh, I have a pretty good fucking idea.

[rmtndew]

All I’ve Ever Known ~ Chapter 3

Summary: Fiona’s life is a shattered fraction of what it used to be. She’s trying to navigate her new normal when she meets Detective Marshall, who gives her something more to look forward to.

Pairing: Marshall and OFC.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Mentions of death, cancer.

A/N - This was intended as a short drabble but it got out of hand and became a multi-chapter story instead. It’s my first Marshall fic and the first fan fic that I’ve written in over a decade. The title comes from the song ‘All I’ve Ever Known’ from Hadestown: ‘I was alone so long, I didn’t even know that I was lonely. Out in the cold so long, I didn’t even know that I was cold. Turned my collar to the wind, this is how it’s always been. All I’ve ever known is how to hold my own, but now I want to hold you, too.’

Tag list - @hollydaisy23​​, @readings-of-a-cavill-lover​​, @onlyhenrys​​, @omgkatinka​​, @speakerforthedead0-blog​​, @gearhead66​​,  @thethirstyarchive​, @oddsnendsfanfics​, @littlerinoa, @agniavateira​, @aaescritora​,

If you’d like to be added to the tag list, let me know!

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Wednesday morning we had so many orders to fill that I was left filling the one for the police station all by myself. I saved Marshall’s for last and when I knew Darcy wasn’t looking (not that she would have minded), I wrote a quick note on the paper sleeve the cookies went in. 

    ‘Thank you again for Saturday night - Fiona’

Then I put in two extra cookies in the sleeve and placed it in the box before sealing it with the store sticker.

When I arrived at the station, I kept my eye out for Marshall, hoping to see him again. Despite being convinced that he wasn’t interested in me and that nothing would come out of my crush on him, I hadn’t been interested in anyone since Ezra had broken up with me and it felt nice to know that I was capable of feeling things again. 

I worked quickly, doing my best to not be sloppy, as I tried to get done before Marshall could come in. I wanted an excuse to take his lunch to his office. I craved the opportunity to talk to him one on one again, even if it was short. I managed to set all of the orders out and pack up my stuff before he came in, so I grabbed his box and excitedly made my way towards his office. I was looking for his name on the doors and almost passed his up because his door was open, making the nameplate hard to see. I backed up and stood in the doorway for a moment, deciding how to announce myself. I finally settled for knocking on the outside wall. There was no answer. I waited for about half a minute before stepping in. I looked around, but his office was empty.

My heart sank a little, but I went to his desk so that I could leave his lunch on it, but it was almost completely covered in files and folders and notepads. There was a small space right in front of his chair that was empty with the exception of a yellow Post It note. Since his desk was full, I decided to leave the box on his chair, but when I circled around to it, I glanced at the note, then did a double take. 

 ‘Thanks for lunch, Fi.’   

I immediately started blushing. I almost wanted to take the note with me but I didn’t. I left his lunch and got out of there before someone came by and wondered why a delivery girl was in one of the detective’s offices smiling like a lunatic. 

The rest of my day, to put it mildly, was a real dumpster fire. I got a flat tire and had to change it on a busy road where no one stopped to help, but a few people did honk. Back at work, I burnt my forearm taking bread out of the oven. Then, when I checked my phone before getting in the car to go home, I saw that I had two unread texts from Demi. One was cold but simply said that being friends with me was no longer working for her. The second, sent an hour later, went into greater detail and basically circled back on her comment the other night about me being ‘immature’. I tried to hold it together, I tried not to let it bother me, but I couldn’t. I sat in my car and cried. It was the only safe space where I could cry like that in peace. Or at least I thought it was. After several minutes, there was a knock on my window. I expected to see Darcy checking in on me. Instead it was Marshall. I was so surprised to see him that I stopped crying immediately and let out a little squeak. 

His brow was knitted together in concern as he made a hand motion for me to roll my window down. I did and he lowered his head to look me in the face. “Are you alright?” 

I tried to smile and nodded, but then I realized how silly that was. No one cries in their car when they’re fine. It wouldn’t take a skilled detective to figure that one out. So I paused, let out a breath, then shook my head. “No. I’m having a bad day,” I said. “But it’ll pass.” 

He didn’t look convinced. “Can I…?” He pointed to my passenger’s seat. 

“Yeah.” I unlocked my doors and wiped at my tears, trying to dry my cheeks as he walked around. When he sat in my car, his knees went up to his chest and his eyes went wide for a second, looking like a confused puppy. I laughed. “You can adjust the seat with the bar in the front,” I said. “Sorry, I should have slid it back before you got in. Mom’s the only person who sits there and she’s pretty tiny.”

“It’s alright,” he said, pulling on the bar under the seat and sending it back almost all the way. He let out a relieved breath as he stretched his long legs out.

“Why…” I started and trailed off. “Is something wrong?”

“No.”

“So you’re not here for your case?”

“No. I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t have your number. I called here and your boss said that if I hurried, I might catch you.” 

I turned in my seat so that I could look at him better. “What did you need to talk to me about?”

“Will you tell me about your day first?” he asked, reaching out to put his hand on my forearm, right on my burn. It hurt and I instinctively pulled my arm away. He looked confused, his wide puppy eyes coming back. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to hurt you. I shouldn’t have -” 

“No, you’re fine. It’s not you.” I pushed my sweater sleeve towards my elbow and held my arm out for him to see. “I burnt myself earlier. I was getting bread out of the oven.”

“Is that what you were upset about?”

“It’s one of the reasons. It’s just been a horrible afternoon.”

“Can I make an offer that might help?”

“Yeah, of course.”

He looked at me, pursing his lovely lips for a moment, then said, “Would you let me buy you coffee?” 

I laughed. “Out of pity?”

He smiled, a full beautiful smile, showing his teeth. “If that’ll make you say yes, then sure.”

“Oh,” I said, heat creeping up my ears. “Oh. You really want to take me out to coffee?”

He swallowed. My eyes were instantly drawn to his Adam’s apple as it moved. “If you would let me, yes.”

I suddenly felt shy and couldn’t look at him. “I, um… I would love to.” 

“Would right now be a good time for you?”

I nodded. “It would be perfect,” I said. “Unless it interferes with your job and your case.”

“We actually closed the case today.” 

I smiled. “So you had the good afternoon,” I said. “Congratulations.” 

“It hardly feels like a victory but I’m pleased that it’s finally closed and to have answers for the family.” 

“You don’t strike me as the type of person who finds victory in any case as long as there are victims.” 

He let out a breath and shook his head. “No, I don’t.” He rubbed his hands on his thighs, almost nervous looking. “So, coffee?”

“Coffee,” I said. “Do you have anywhere particular in mind?”

“There’s a place called South York, do you know it?”

My anxiety hit me in a rush. I was caught between excited nervousness from the offer of coffee with Marshall, to a sudden kick of nerves at the mention of South York. I was trying to figure out a way to politely suggest another place without getting into detail as to why, when he caught my eye and smiled. 

“You don’t like it?” he asked. 

“No, I do, it used to be my favorite.”

“Used to be?” 

“I, um, I just had a bad experience the last time I was there.”

His brow furrowed again as he looked at me more intently. “I have a feeling you’re referring to more than just a bad cup of coffee, yeah?”

I nodded. “But I feel like every time I’m around you, I end up telling you more about myself than you’re bargaining for, so I won’t go into details.”

The corner of his mouth turned up in a slight smirk. “Well, I am a detective and getting people to talk is a big part of my job, so maybe that bit is on me,” he said. “And just because I’m not great at talking doesn’t mean that I mind other people who are.” 

“That’s the thing - I’m not, it’s just when I’m around you.”

“Is that a bad thing, though?”

I rubbed my neck. “I don’t know. My ex-boyfriend used to hate it when I rambled, so it can get annoying, I guess.”

“Is that why you broke up with him? Because he was an idiot?”

I smiled. “I should have dumped him because he was an idiot, but no, he actually broke up with me,” I said, my smile faltering. “Right after I got the call about my dad’s wreck.” I managed to look him in the eye. “We were on a date at South York.” 

I watched his eyes change as he took in what I said. There was no more soft puppy, it was all angry ocean like it had been that night in the bar. I hated admitting to myself how much I liked that look when I knew he was angry on my behalf. 

“He broke up with you after you found out about your father dying?” he asked, his voice tight.

“Dad wasn’t… He died later that night. I just knew that it was a bad car wreck. I went into shock after Mom called me, so I was calm when I told him what happened. He said later that he didn’t think it was that serious because I wasn’t reacting like it was. But the whole time he was driving me to the hospital to drop me off, he kept asking if I understood what was going on, that we were through.” I shook my head. “I had never wanted to throat punch someone as much as I did him, and if he hadn’t been driving, I probably would have.”

“For a completely unrelated reason, I need his full name and last known address.”

I laughed. “There’s a very big part of me that would actually love to give that to you.”

“What’s stopping it and what can I do to change it?” 

“I don’t know that you can change it because what’s stopping it is the other, bigger part of me that would rather start with a clean slate and not be the woman you have to rescue from a bar and has the idiotic ex-boyfriend who needs to be taught a lesson.”

“You’re not either of those.”

“I’m just the wreck you find crying in her car and won’t stop talking?”

He shook his head, his brown curls bouncing at the nape of his neck. “No. You’re the beautiful woman who seems to be holding everything together as best as she can and is having a hard day,” he said. “And who left me a lovely surprise of extra cookies.”

I could hear the blood rushing in my ears as my heart began pounding. I stretched my palms out on my legs, trying to covertly wipe the sweat that was suddenly pouring from them. I swallowed hard. “You think I’m beautiful?” I asked, my voice a rough whisper.

“You are beautiful.” He said it like a fact.

I looked at him from under my lashes, feeling too shy to look at him straight on. “You’re not too shabby yourself.”

South York had been my favorite coffee shop since my senior year of high school, but that afternoon my new favorite became Birchwood Coffee. Sitting at a table by the window with Marshall, feeling the last of the afternoon’s sun shining through, warming me up as we drank coffee while we sat talking was the loveliest feeling that I’d had in a long time. I’d forgotten what it was like to have someone interested in me. Someone who cared enough to ask me questions and actually listen. I’d been lonely for so long, I’d forgotten that that’s what it was. I thought it was just a part of me, like my anxiety used to be, like my grief was. But talking to him I realized it was something far easier to sweep away. At least he made it seem easier. 

“Do you mind if I ask about your daughter?” I said.

“What would you like to know?”

“You told me that she was thirteen, but I don’t think you told me her name.” 

“It’s Faye.” 

“That’s pretty,” I said. “What’s she like?”

He ran a hand over his beard, his fingers combing through it while he thought. He gave a small laugh as he let his hand fall back to his thigh. “She’s stubborn and strong willed, like me. But she’s smarter, far smarter than I was as a teenager. A lot more social, too. Which doesn’t make it easy to keep up with all of her friends, but I try,” he said. “And she can hold her own. She won’t take crap from anyone. Her mother and I got called into a meeting at her school not long ago. A boy had flipped up a girl’s skirt and tried taking a picture. Faye pushed him and he broke his nose when he fell. His parents wanted an apology for assaulting him. She refused. She said that if they were going to excuse him harassing a girl and attempting to violate her privacy as ‘boys just being boys’, then her physical assault to prevent him from doing that was just ‘girls having to be girls’ and that she should get the same slap on the wrist that he got. I said, ‘good girl’ and we both got kicked out.”

I smiled. “Did she get in trouble?”

He shook his head as he picked up his coffee cup. “No. My ex-wife is far more level headed - not to mention better at arguing her point - and she handled it.” 

“Is it hard spending time with her with your job? I imagine you don’t have the typical nine to five hours,” I asked as he took a sip of his coffee. Again, my eyes were drawn to his Adam’s apple. I tried to drag my sight away before he caught me staring. 

“We make it work,” he said. “I try to take her to school as often as I can and she stays over on occasion.” 

He had an errant curl that drooped down over his forehead and I had to restrain myself from reaching out to brush it back. Something about him inspired a desire in me to take care of him. I wanted to make sure he got enough sleep, drank enough water, ate right and regularly while working a case. I couldn’t explain it. 

He set his cup down on the table, his hand still clutching it. His arm was close enough to my own that was resting on the table in front of me that I could feel the heat from it. “How’s your mum?” he asked.

“She’s...okay. She’s going a bit stir crazy and keeps talking about going back to work, but I don’t know if she’s ready for it.”

“What did she do?”

“She taught music. The violin,” I said. “That’s how she met my dad; they both played the violin in the city orchestra when they were in college.”

“Did he teach as well?”

“No. He was a physics engineer. I think music was just a way to shut off the analytical part of his brain for a while.”

“Do you play the violin, too?”

I laughed. “No. That was my form of rebellion, I refused to play it or any stringed instrument.” I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “I did play the piano, though.”

“You did? Not anymore?” 

I shrugged. “I haven’t played in the last couple of years. With everything going on, it just slipped to the bottom of my list.”

He nodded. “That’s understandable.” 

“Do you play any instruments?” 

He laughed, the corners of his mouth quirking up in a smile, making a dimple visible on his cheek through his beard. “No, I was never patient enough for that. I was always outside, running about or riding bikes with my brother, getting up to no good.” 

“Were you a trouble maker as a kid?” 

He kept smiling as he nodded. “Nothing terrible. Not like the boys who stole or damaged other people’s property, but yeah, we got into our fair share of trouble.” 

One of the women who worked at the shop came to our table to ask if we needed refills on our coffee. I passed but Marshall accepted. While she poured it for him, I couldn’t help but notice how she looked at him, how unnecessarily close she stood, how her touch lingered on his fingers as she handed his cup back. I couldn’t tell if he was really good at pretending not to notice her attention or if he was so used to having women fawning over him that he’d become oblivious to it. Something told me that it wasn’t the latter. The thought that I held his attention above all of the attractive options surrounding him made my heart flutter. I tried to hold back the smile that thought brought on, but I couldn’t. He noticed. 

“You’re smiling. What are you thinking about?” he asked. 

“I’m thinking that you’re a pretty good cure for a rotten day.” 

Eventually, despite all the coffee he kept drinking, exhaustion seemed to catch up to Marshall. I noticed him yawning more and more, and his already limited talking slowing down. When I pointed it out, he apologized but admitted that he hadn’t slept much while working his case and that it was finally getting to him. I told him that I understood and that as much as I was enjoying myself, it would make me feel even better if he went home and got some much needed sleep. He agreed, but not before asking if we could exchange numbers. I’d never given mine out with so much enthusiasm. 

We’d parked side by side in front of the shop and he walked me to my car. After I unlocked it, I looked at him. He was standing in front of me, the warm lights of the coffee shop shining behind him, lighting him up like some other worldly being. I couldn’t remember ever being more attracted to someone as much as I was him in that moment. 

“Thank you for the coffee. I really enjoyed it,” I said.

“Yeah, I did, too,” he agreed. “Would you like to do it again sometime? Perhaps when I’ve had a little more sleep?”

I smiled. “I’d love to. I’m very interested in what a fully rested Marshall is like.”

He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head slightly, smiling back at me. “I don’t know if he exists anymore, but I can offer you a partially rested one, how’s that?”

“I’ll take it.”

He nodded, chewing the corner of his lip for a moment. “Can I call you?”

It shouldn’t have caused butterflies when he asked me that, we’d just exchanged numbers after all, but the simple act of him asking made my stomach feel like a thousand butterflies had taken flight. I tried to stay calm looking on the outside, though.

“Yes. Of course. Whenever you’re free.”

He gave me a smile, the kind where it was more in his eyes than his mouth, and I loved what it did to his already beautiful eyes. “I’m probably going to go home and sleep for the next four days, so it may be some time after that, but I’ll call you.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” I said. “Now go home and rest.” 

His smile widened. “Yes, ma’am.”

I called out for Mom as soon as I got in the door. She had been in the kitchen and came and met me in the entryway after I locked the door. When I saw her, I let out a happy little squeal. 

“A good date, I take it?” she said, beaming at me. 

“He’s just so stinking handsome!” I exclaimed. “And he’s lovely. And he smells nice. And he’s so warm that you can feel it just by sitting next to him. And I swear he’d be the biggest teddy bear if I could ever get the chance to hug him.” I sighed. “Mom, I feel like a teenager. I’ve not had a crush on someone like this in my entire adult life. I never felt this way about Ezra. Ever.”

“I’m so happy for you, sweetie,” she said. “What Ezra did to you was wrong. Breaking up with you after Dad’s wreck was bad enough, but leaving your stuff on our front lawn while we were at the hospital, and then ransacking your apartment to get his stuff back while we were making funeral arrangements.” She shook her head. “I still get so angry when I think about it. No one deserves being treated that coldly, especially not you, Bird.” 

“And you let him know it, didn’t you?” I said, taking off my coat. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on his face when you told him to sit down so that you could look him in the eye while you scolded him. That was a lot of anger jam packed in a tiny lady.”

“Am I going to have to do that with your Detective Marshall?” 

“Scold him? I don’t think so. Sit him down so that you can look him in the eye? Absolutely,” I said “But it’s just Marshall, Mom. I’m not naive enough to believe he’s my anything after a single coffee date.”

I may not have believed it, but it didn’t keep me from wanting it. 

[cesabutterflywrites]

Prince in the Storm Chapter Two

Summary: Contrary to popular belief, Virgil was sensitive. Most people saw him as some “spooky, broody dude”, when in reality he was just a private person. Teachers tried to open his mind up with a figurative crowbar. Everyone tried to get him to open up. Well, everyone except his best friend Talyn. They were the only one who understood his personality and inner workings just enough to be his friend. However, they haven’t seen his Marking. No one other than his parents have.

Contrary to popular belief, Roman was sensitive. Most people saw him as a fanciful, dreamy, somewhat egotistical thespian who wanted nothing but to be the best of the best. Everyone cheered him on in his performances. Everyone praised his original works. Anything he made others enjoyed. People would whisper about his Marking, wondering where it was and when he would reveal it. He had a whole circle of friends, yet no one except his best friend Joan understood him. Joan was the only one who saw Roman’s insecurities.

As students of Kingston High School, with zany principals and try-hard superintendents, it is up to Virgil and Roman to stay alive enough to fulfill their destiny.  Ao3

Genre: High School/Soulmate AU, angst

Pairings: Romantic Prinxiety, Platonic Teacher/Student Analogical, Platonic Student/Teacher Princeit, Father/Son Moxiety

Word Count:  1057

Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit, Sympathetic Remus, Strong T rating, cursing, mildly inappropriate humor, request if anything is missing

Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten, Chapter Eleven, Chapter Twelve, Chapter Thirteen, Chapter Fourteen, Chapter Fifteen

Bonuses: Immune to Change

Chapter Two

“He was so rude, he was a rude dude” exclaimed Roman to his best friend, Joan. “He thinks he can ignore his surroundings like that. In a crowded hall no less. What if I wasn’t as strong and durable as I am? I could have been seriously injured! He’s a hazard to those of us who actually care about our safety” 

Joan snorted, “If you’re so strong and durable, why are you so shaken by it?” 

Roman opened his mouth to reply, but paused. Why did it shake him up so much? Here he was, during lunch hour, and still obsessed with a little accident. It wasn’t the first time he had accidentally bumped into someone. Hallways in high school being crowded was normal, especially on the first day. He spent the classes afterwards just reeling over this specific encounter, loudly complaining about it to anyone who would listen to his tale of woe.

He calmed down a bit. “I guess… I guess I’m so upset because I was already not looking forward to today, and that made it worse. Maybe I, perhaps, possibly took that frustration out on that little Emo.”

“Very insightful of you, you’re so wise. Is this a result of being a senior?” Joan teased, “Roman, don’t worry about it. Just let it go.”

Roman sighed and looked at the table. He saw his food on the tray and cringed. Did they really expect him to foul his insides with this filth? “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Besides, I do have more important problems at the moment. Like how they feed us this slop.” 

“Oh my god, right?” chimed in a kid who was sitting nearby at a different table. 

“Principal Duke is just trying to beat his record of How Bad It Can Get.” Joan remarked.

As the conversation continued, Roman made a point to ignore the altercation from that morning. Yet his stomach hurt. The cafeteria food wasn’t much help. Roman felt the muscles underneath his Marking tighten. Joan’s joking around became background noise as he started trying to distract himself from the hopes building up inside of him at the familiar ache.

I wonder when I’ll stop thinking nausea is a sign of my soul mate being near. Just because my Marking is on my stomach doesn’t mean anything. We all know that when we meet our Prince Charming it will feel different. Better. Feeling sick is not an equivalent to feeling in love. Such dreams are not attainable right now.

As he took a sip of his milk, he realized why he was feeling so gross. He sprayed the milk out of his mouth, “Ugh, it’s rancid!” he cried. 

Joan’s face stayed still as the sour milk slowly dripped off. “So, naturally that means you needed to spit it in my face. You trying to poison me, Your Highness?” 

Roman cringed, and started dabbing his best friend’s face. “Oh, I’m sorry, friend. I was just distracted in my thoughts.” The napkins weren’t doing much, they were thin and not very absorbent. He silently cursed himself for spitting in his best friend’s face. Joan was always there for him. 

Joan just shrugged it off with a laugh. “It’s fine, I’m used to you being half present when I speak. Your head is always in the clouds, especially nowadays.” 

Roman was hit with guilt, but the distraction of apologizing to his friend for the rest of lunch hour worked. Focusing on Joan, and bitching about how awful the school was the very first day kept his mind off of his morning.

-----

“Ugh, Talyn you should have seen the nerve of him! So concerned about breaking his face? Like, ‘wow, thanks for being concerned about me nearly breaking my skull’ Damn, he thinks he is so perfect, but HE IS NOT!” Virgil was interrupted by Talyn covering his mouth with their hand.

“I swear to all that is Viking Metal, just shut up about it!” 

Virgil gave his blue haired friend a pointed look. Talyn was a tiny, adorable, lovable little bean. Their cuteness softened Virgil’s edges. The pair could have easily been soulmates, but Talyn’s Marking was behind their ear. The Marking was in the shape of a Dragon’s skull. Nothing like Virgil’s. 

Talyn was soft and adorable, but they were also feisty. They weren’t afraid to call Virgil out on his bullshit, and they weren’t afraid to tell Virgil when he was being annoying. 

Virgil tried to lick their hand, but it didn’t work. Talyn was stubborn as hell when they wanted to be. After a minute or so of staring at each other, Virgil rolled his eyes in defeat. 

“Better?” Talyn asked. 

Virgil just nodded in response. His head still ached a bit, but perhaps that was all of the tension he was holding from the fall. Virge wasn’t a fighter-his dads had taught him better than that-but he still felt pissed. He wished people would take him more seriously. Part of the reason he put up an angsty, edgy, dark persona was so people would actually value what he had to say. Take him seriously, for once. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been ranting your ear off, dude.” 

“Don’t sweat it. I guess it’s better than me ranting about Digital Art” Talyn groaned. 

Virgil nodded. His “elective” (if you could call it that) wasn’t until sixth period. Second to last class of the day, Technical Theater. Virgil wanted Art 1 or Ceramics, like Tal had wanted. He was better at drawing and solo projects than he was at-what? Pulling ropes? Building sets? What was technical theater, anyways?

While imagining horrible scenarios involving his clumsiness causing a horrible theater accident resulting in his death, he took a bite of his sandwich. Well, if you could call it that. It was barely thawed bread with cold mystery deli meat and cheese. God, Dukey really is losing his touch. 

Talyn coughed violently. “Ugh, there was a hair in my salad!” 

Virgil patted their back in half hearted comfort. The other half of his heart was pounding at the prospect of being in school the rest of the day. Looking at the second half of his schedule, his eyes kept focusing on the Technical Theater aspect. He couldn’t help focusing on the sick feeling in his stomach. 

I got a bad feeling about this.

-

-

-

-

Let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist for this story!

[jeks-tgs]

Highschool AU - Part 2: How To Make Friends Enemies 101

(TW: Mentions of abuse, violence, blood, disassociation, panic attack)

Walking into class with a poorly concealed black eye was not what he had wanted to do, but sadly he had no say in the matter. Everyone looked up, eyes instantly judgmental, it felt like, looking over this stranger to not only their school but their country.

"Class, this is our new student," The teacher, a kind looking older woman with spidery fingures and sharp cheekbones, introduced him to the class. He stood in front of them, back to the whiteboard, and felt his anxiety build. "Introduce yourself, sweetheart." Somewhat encouraged by her gentle smile and soft Southern drawl, he cleared his throat.

"W-Well, my name's Henry Jekyll, and–"

"Holy shit, you're voice is so fucking deep!"

"He sounds like David Tennant, the fuck?"

"Crowley, is that you!?"

The laughter and comments killed whatever confidence he might have had, and he shrank in on himself. The teacher frowned at her students, holding a hand up. They fell quite, a few sinking down in their seats at her disapproving face.

"Class, that was very disrespectful," She scolded. She must have been one of those teachers students actually liked, because a good chunk of the class looked genuinely guilty for having upset her. "Henry is new, not only to this school, not only to this state, but to this country as well. While some of your comments may not have been intended to be mean, you must take into consideration how this might seem from Henry's perspective." She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, looking worried when he flinched. "He just moved here from an entirely different continent, and his first interaction in a new hometown is to be teased. Now, what do we say?"

A round of apologies were given, some less enthusiastic than others, and Henry felt like he had already made at least five enemies in this class alone. The teacher made a gesture with her hands, and he nervously continued.

"I was born in Glasgow, Scotland, and when I was fourteen my parents moved back up to London. We recently moved to America due to my father's job offering him a better position here, and.. yeah.. that's.. about all there is to.. that.." He felt stupid, and the snickering of some students in the back only worsened the feeling. Suddenly, a girl raised her hand. Henry looked at her, then at the teacher, confused.

"Yes, Melody, what's your question?" Oh. That.. that should have been obvious, he was a fucking idiot-

"Do you watch Doctor Who?" Henry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course he was asked that. Just as he was about to give a brief 'yes', he felt eyes on him. He looked up, and nearly lost his composure; it was that blond kid who was in his backyard last night! He locked eyes with, and suddenly felt the strong urge to prove himself. To who or as what, he had no idea, but he found himself popping his collar and responding in a casual voice, "Bitch, I *am* the doctor."

Edward cracked a grin, laughing and looking away, and he got a few chuckles from some of the other kids.

"Are you aware you look like Crowley from Good Omens?"

"Ah, shit, has angel been blowing my cover again?" He himself laughed a bit when someone coughed out a quick, "That's not the only thing he blows-" After a few more questions (and wow, this teacher gave no fucks about language, and was even laughing herself, okay-), he moved to pick a seat. Feeling a bit bold, he sat beside Edward. The class went dead quiet, and Henry suddenly regretted every life decision he'd ever made, especially when faced with a pair of confused, passive-aggressive eyes.

"..no one sits next to me," He sounded Irish, something Henry hadn't picked up on when he'd first met him. Without thinking, tongue loosened from his quips earlier, he blurted, "Why, d'ye stink?" Someone actually squeaked with fear, and even the teacher was watching them hesitantly. What the fuck had he gotten himself into? The blond's eyes widened a bit, clearly taken aback, and a smile started to creep onto his face.

"You're ballsy, Jekyll," Edward chuckled. Henry felt mildly relieved, but his idea that this was some form of acceptance was washed away instantly when the shorter boy chirped happily, "I'm gonna beat the fuck out of you behind the school during lunch. Don't puss out on me." Henry looked around at the rest of the class, but no one would meet his eyes, except a few who looked at him like they were attending his funeral.

"Mr. Hyde, that's enough," The teacher snapped, turning to begin the lesson. Henry spent the next hour sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair next to a kid who was looking at him like he was going to disembowel him for fun.

---

"Only lasted a day, god damn.."

The story had apparently spread fast, and the comments in the halls weren't helping in the slightest. When lunch rang, someone actually pressed a slip of paper into his hand that simply read, 'Remember: it's 9-9-1 in America, not 9-9-9'. Real fucking helpful, thanks kid. He slowly made his way outside, ignoring the Hunger Games whistles behind him as he turned the corner.

There he was. It was only him and Edward back here- wait, no.. fuck, he'd brought Robert Lanyon. That kid was a good 6"10, what the fuck, how was that fair!? Steeling his nerves, he straightened up, chin held high as he approached him. The blond seemed genuinely surprised to see him, and turned to Robert with a laugh.

"Looks like I'll be getting that snog-sesh after all, Lanyon~" ...what?

Robert rolled his eyes, correcting, "If you win."

"I always win~" G'ah, fuck, he was gonna die-

Henry watched Edward circle him like a shark, green eyes glinting as he licked his teeth. Out of nowhere, the blond swung. His fist connected with Henry's jaw, knocking the Scot flat on his back. Edward, seemingly disappointed, commented, "Shit.. that was quick. Alright, Bob, where's my tonsel hockey, you uppity fu-"

As Henry kicked the blond's legs out from under him, the only thought running through his head was; That barely felt like anything compared to how hard my father hits me. Edward hit the ground with a yelp, and Robert actually let out a surprised laugh. The amusement died as Henry launched himself at the other, drawing back and clocking him dead in the face. He hit him a few more times, then grabbed him by his shirt collar and shook him, his left hand pulled back threateningly, clenched in a bloodied fist.

"Stay the hell away from me!!" Robert had grabbed hold of the back of his shirt, but he couldn't tug him off, adrenaline and fear and maybe a bit of a PTSD attack keeping Henry firmly in place. Others had rounded the corner at the shouting, gasping and murmuring as they crowded around the unexpected victor. "Don't look at me, don't talk to me, don't even fucking think about me!!" Edward's nose was gushing blood, clearly broken, and his green eyes were wide with fear, tears dribbling down his face. He was shaking immensely, thin fingers clutching at Henry's wrist, feebly trying to tug him off.

"If you ever touch me again, I'll break every bone in your fucking body!!" He was oblivious to the crowd, unaware of how kids who had looked at him with sympathy were now looking at him with fear, how peers who had seemed to want to be friends with him were now mentally planning routes to avoid ever having to see him again. "Do you understand me?" Edward let out a pitiful whimper, then cried out in terror when Henry grabbed him by the hair and pulled. "I said do you understand!?!" Edward wailed with fright, and Robert finally pulled Henry off of the blond. He staggered to his feet, rubbing his bruised jaw and breathing hard.

"What the fuck is wrong with you!?" Robert shouted as he helped Edward up, holding the swaying teen to his chest. Henry blinked a few times, guilt settling heavily in his gut. Fuck.. fuck, what had he done? He wasn't a violent person, so why..? The Scot didn't answer, just turned and walked away, not paying any mind to how the other kids were practically tripping over themselves to get out of his way. He rounded a corner, and the minute he was out of sight, his knees gave out. He simply sat there, disassociating, struggling to breath as a panic attack overwhelmed him.

[goodlucktai]

Protective Joxter?

this got…..so much longer than i was expecting…………..so it is in 2 parts. have some father + son bonding between 2 people who have no idea how to be a father and a son :)

all you gotta do’s knock on my door (1 of 2)

the moominspairing: the joxter & snufkin word count: 2048read on ao3

(next chapter)

x

There is company just beyond the light of his campfire; Snufkin has a certain sense for these things, lifting night-eyes to scan the woods around him. Everything is gray in the daybreak, hard to make out, but he still finds what he’s looking for.

“I know you’ve been following me since I left town,” Snufkin says mildly. He stirs the pot of stew with a patient hand. “There’s plenty here for the both of us if you’d like to join me.”

After a moment, someone drops down from a nearby tree. He pads over the leaves and forest litter without making a sound and settles down an arm’s length away from where Snufkin is sitting. His legs are folded up, arms draped over his knees, as if he absolutely needs to be in position to nap at a moment’s notice.

Snufkin smiles. His usual reaction to this particular creature is fond amusement, and tonight is no different.

“Hi, Dad.”

The Joxter tilts his head, blinking slowly. In the low light of pre-dawn, his eyes are very dark; or it could be his round pupils, swallowing up all the blue.

“H’llo, Snufkin,” he says, voice a lazy stretch, like taffy left out in the sun. “You don’t mind the company?”

They’re two of the same, and Snufkin knows his father would leave without ire or hurt feelings if Snufkin asked him to. As it is, though, “Not at all. I won’t be alone for much longer anyway. Spring is here, and it’s only two more days to Moominvalley.”

It’s unnecessary to point out, because the Joxter is probably familiar with the way himself by now. Since meeting Snufkin there two years ago, an adolescent son he had never known about, the Joxter has made it a point to spend at least summers in the valley. It’s common ground for them both, an easy place to navigate newfound family or peel away for time alone or time with friends.

Sometimes the Joxter leaves early, too restless to sit still, and Snufkin doesn’t begrudge him that. They always cross paths again on the road at some point, or in some faraway city or unmapped village, so there’s never any true need for goodbyes.

Snufkin is beginning to think his father is keeping loose tabs on him. This early morning is a perfect example. He just can’t think of why, when they both know Snufkin is self-sufficient, and has been since he was very small.

“Three days,” contests the Joxter, chin sinking down to rest on his knees. “You don’t sleep enough.”

Snufkin ignores the remark comfortably, passing him a bowl of the finished stew. His father gets most of the meat in his serving, and Snufkin most of the vegetables, and they’re both content as they tuck into the warm meal.

The peace lasts for about three minutes after that, and then a sudden frantic voice from overhead has Snufkin jumping in surprise.

“You there! Little snufkin! Won’t you help me?”

“Oh, dear,” Snufkin says, setting his food aside and climbing to his feet. There’s a bluebird swooping in frantic circles above his camp, and it can hardly calm down long enough to land on the arm he offers as a perch. “Slow down, my friend. What’s the trouble?”

“A snake came in the night and tried to eat my nestlings,” the bird cries. “My neighbors helped drive it away, but it upset the nest, and now my babies will fall!”

Alarmed, Snufkin skirts the fire and starts to run, without pausing even to grab his hat. “Lead me to it, and I’ll do my best to help.”

The bird takes flight and stays low, eye-level. The Joxter is keeping pace beside Snufkin on silent feet, curious and watchful.

“I forget that you can speak to birds,” the Joxter says. Birds avoid him, as do most small creatures, because he’s as much a predator as a snake in a nest. He knows better than to eat any of Snufkin’s companions, and generally has stopped offering to bring food to Snufkin’s campfire unless it’s fish. “How is it that you learned? It all sounds like chatter to me.”

Snufkin keeps his eyes on the bluebird so he doesn’t lose sight of it, even as he explains, “When I was young, there was no one else to talk to but the birds in the trees. After a while their music began to sound like language. It helps that I’m a good listener, I suppose.”

The Joxter doesn’t say anything after that, and it’s only moments later that they reach the bluebird’s tree. A quick glance doesn’t reveal any nests in precarious positions, so it must be on a higher bough. Snufkin spares a moment to wish he had had time to pull his smock on over his undershirt, because his arms will surely get scratched on the way up.

“I should do it,” his father says suddenly. “I’m the better climber.”

“They’re frightened enough as it is without you prowling around their babies,” Snufkin retorts, and eyes the lowest branch, which is still well above his head. His father has more than a foot of height on him, which lends itself to a handy solution, and he turns to wave the taller creature over. “Give me a boost, please. And then wait for me down here so you don’t send anyone into a fresh panic.”

Grumbling under his breath, the Joxter hoists Snufkin up enough that he can grab the branch and pull himself the rest of the way into the tree. Snufkin calls down his thanks, and the bluebird lands on his knee.

“This way,” it says, “not much farther! Oh, hurry!”

Snufkin follows it up easily, thanking all the warm afternoons he and his friends spent playing in the trees around the valley, because the experience certainly helps. His grip slips a few times, and once a branch bends beneath his weight, but he makes it to the nest without incident.

Right away, Snufkin can see the danger. The small bunch of branches the nest was safely built into are broken, the skirmish with the snake causing what was stable to lean hazardously to the side. The little ones inside have picked up on the bigger birds’ distress and their shrill cries work straight through Snufkin’s heart.

“Alright,” he says softly, “there’s no need to fear. I’ve got you.”

He works the nest into the cup of his palms and holds it carefully. The bluebird directs him to a new place for it, a hollow in the trunk that a squirrel helpfully surrendered, and Snufkin can only breathe easily again once the little nestlings are squared away inside.

“Thank you!” half a dozen birds seem to say at once, coming to perch on his arms or the branches around him. The mother bird adds, “To think what might have happened if I hadn’t found you— !”

Pleased with the positive outcome, Snufkin says, “Don’t think of might haves. You and your nestlings are safe and that’s all that matters. I’m happy I could help.”

He leans back to make room for yet another perching bird, shifting his footing as it flutters by, and something snaps beneath his boot. He realizes with a second to spare that he’s about to fall, and then there’s no time to grab hold of anything before the birds are shrieking in alarm, and gravity is snatching hold of his shirt and tugging him backwards, and Snufkin’s mind is blank with fear—

But he doesn’t hit the ground. He lands much sooner than that, against something much softer.  

Snufkin blinks, reorienting himself, and finds himself halfway down the tree, tucked securely between his father’s arm and chest.

“Ah,” the smaller snufkin says, more relieved than anything. “Thank you.”

The Joxter picks his way down carefully. His dark fur is raised, tail like a bottle brush, and his claws are caught in Snufkin’s shirt. He doesn’t let go until the ground is firm beneath their feet, and even then it takes him a long moment to decide to set Snufkin down.

“Next time,” the Joxter says slowly, “I am climbing. I would rather scare the little birds than watch you break your bones.”

Snufkin has to work not to roll his eyes. He’s a little hardier than that. It wouldn’t have been the first time he fell from a tree, and it surely won’t be the last. Not as long as there are little birds who need favors.

The Joxter seems to sense the repressed eye-roll and his own eyes narrow. The pupils in them are slitted now; Snufkin doesn’t think he’s seen them like that since the day they met, the day Moominpappa introduced them to each other and the Joxter startled so badly he dropped one of Moominmamma’s best teacups.

“A twenty foot fall is not nothing.” The Joxter’s quiet tone has taken a sharp turn. “If I hadn’t caught you—“

“But you did,” Snufkin says, his own hackles rising. These might haves again, and right after he told the bluebird not to think of them! “And I said thank you. There is nothing else to talk about.”

“We could talk about risking your life for an animal. A bluebird,” the Joxter says in distaste, “one of a hundred thousand bluebirds. What’s next? Will you help an injured creep cross the river? Save a squirrel kit from a landslide?”

An argument, Snufkin realizes, his stomach turning sour. He has witnessed the uncomfortable scene a dozen times before in a dozen places, a child and their parent screaming at each other in marketplaces or city squares.

The Joxter is taller than him, bigger, sharp where the Mymble’s blood made Snufkin soft. His voice is usually low and unobtrusive, a storyteller’s voice, but it sounds so different in anger. Snufkin wonders what it will sound like when he is shouting the way those other parents shouted, and a very cold feeling slides around inside him.

But Snufkin never learned how to back down. The orphanage matron tried to teach him but those lessons didn’t stick. Whether it’s park keepers, or the traveler who came through the valley last year and thought it was okay to call Sniff simple, or his own father, Snufkin stands his ground.

“There could be a hundred thousand snufkins just like me,” he shoots back. “Better snufkins, even, who can play more than just guitar and harmonica, who have never been invisible and never gotten lost and never fallen out of a tree. What makes me worth so much more than that bird?”

The Joxter surges a sudden step forward, and all of Snufkin’s courage deserts him. He ducks his head, missing his hat dearly, and braces himself for furious hands.

They don’t come. He opens his eyes.

His father is crouched in front of him, hands in his lap, eyes round and hurt. The anger, if it was ever anger, is gone. When he reaches out, Snufkin is ready for it this time, and he doesn’t move away. 

The Joxter’s dark paw lands very lightly on Snufkin’s auburn hair. It’s a gentle touch, and then it’s gone. The Joxter pulls back and straightens up and does a tidy disappearing act into the trees. Snufkin loses sight of him within moments.

It’s just Snufkin and the worried birds and the rising sun. Their comfortable breakfast feels like it happened a year ago.

He wraps his arms around his middle and stares at the ground. He doesn’t like arguments, for all that he can be contrary and difficult when his principles are fringed upon, when his personal boundaries are broken. Pulling up fences and signposts is one thing, but fighting with words? Just talking with words can sometimes be too much, let alone fighting with them. There is a reason he tends toward silence and solitude.

“If I didn’t have birds to talk to, I wouldn’t have anyone,” he murmurs miserably. “I’d drive them all away. All except dear Moomintroll.”

The name is like a balm, and Snufkin lifts his head to the north. Two days— less than, if he pushes himself— and he could see Moomin again. The one person whose welcome he’s never had to doubt.

Snufkin rushes back to the camp to pack his things. If he’s hoping to run into his father there, he’s sorely disappointed. But that’s only if.

[morningfears]

Killer Queen

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18!

Summary: You and Ashton go see Bohemian Rhapsody. He’s less than impressed by your crush on Ben Hardy’s Roger Taylor. You take the opportunity to remind Ashton that he’s your favorite drummer.

Word Count: 2.2k

“I can’t believe you’ve seen this movie three times already. And you want to see it again.”

You roll your eyes at Ashton’s teasing and guide him to the your seats near the back of the theater. You’ve just purchased your tickets for the night’s final showing of Bohemian Rhapsody and, although you have indeed seen in three times, your excitement is still palpable as you settle into your seat and situate your slush in the cupholder on your side. “I can’t believe you haven’t seen this movie at all,” you counter as you watch him lift the arm rest between your seats so you can move closer to him. “You guys recorded a Queen cover and nearly killed one another in the process in celebration of this movie, babe. I feel like you should watch it at least once.”

“I never said I didn’t want to see it,” Ashton returns with a laugh as he wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side. “Just said I couldn’t believe you wanted to see it for a fourth time. Is it that good?”

“Absolutely,” you nod, completely serious. “I loved every second of it. I saw it with some classmates the first time and one of them, the big guy that always tries to talk football with you, cried. It’s a great movie and tells a compelling story. It’s really interesting. Also, the cast is really fun to look at.”

Ashton rolls his eyes playfully at this but elects to ignore it as the trailers for upcoming films begin to roll. He knows that you’ll shush him if he talks too much, even if you’ve already seen the movie enough times to know what to expect, so he resigns himself to a few hours of relative quiet and reaches for the popcorn. His only sounds during the trailers are murmurs of agreement when you nudge him (he’s got plans in mind to see both Rocketman and Captain Marvel with you now) and a snort of thinly veiled jealousy when you breathe a happy sigh at the sight of Jason Momoa. He might’ve whispered, “Aquaman is lame,” but he won’t own up to it because it’s almost guaranteed he’ll be in the theater to see it, sitting beside you, and will likely enjoy every moment.

When the film finally begins, Ashton has to admit that you were right. He’s hooked almost instantly, intrigued and impressed by Rami Malek’s portrayal of Freddie, and finds himself anxiously awaiting the Live Aid scene you’d mentioned as your favorite. He enjoys the cast, thinks they’re all a good fit for their respective real life counterparts, and he would’ve thoroughly enjoyed Ben Hardy’s portrayal of young Roger Taylor had you not started to sigh happily each time he appeared on screen.

He knows that you’re not aware you’re doing it. If you were, you’d glance up at him after, but you don’t. Instead, you keep your eyes glued to the screen as you watch him play along to one of Queen’s most famous tracks. Your hand is on Ashton’s thigh, fingers tapping along to the beat, and he finds himself mildly impressed that you’re on beat as you always joke about having no rhythm. However, his mild impression ends when you barely suppress a giggle at the sight of Ben Hardy’s Roger Taylor smoking a cigarette and playing drums.

“Since when do you like smoking?” he asks, his voice low as he turns his attention to you. He can’t help himself. He knows it’s dumb, he knows that it’s just a fictional character and you have every right to find someone else attractive, but he’s tired and he finds himself losing bits and pieces of his filter as he continues, “You refuse to be near Cal when he smokes.”

You glance up at him, mildly surprised, before you grin at the badly concealed look of jealousy on his face. You can see the dark circles beneath his eyes, can see the desire to curl up and go to sleep on his face, and you know it’s the exhaustion making him grumpy but you decide to have fun with it, anyway. It’s not often that you get to rile up Ashton so you take the bait he’s given you and run with it.

“I don’t,” you murmur, your voice just as quiet as his as you return your gaze to the screen, “but he just looks so good, don’t you think? I could watch him play drums all day.”

Ashton snorts at this and pays no mind to the few other people who are in the theater with the two of you who turn to glance at him. There are a few couples near the front and he doesn’t want to disturb them but he finds himself grumbling, “You could watch me play drums all day.”

You wave an apologetic hand at the woman who turns in her seat to shush the two of you and feel your cheeks heat with embarrassment. You want to rile him up, mess with him a little bit before you assure him he’s your favorite drummer, but you don’t want to do so at the expense of his movie experience. So you mumble a quiet, “Of course I could,” before you press a quick kiss to his cheek and settle back in your seat to watch the movie.

But Ashton can’t let it go.

Every time Roger appears on screen, he huffs under his breath. Should the focus remain on him too long, Ashton starts to squirm in his seat. It’s not like him to get so riled up, exhausted and grumpy or not. You know that you can’t get him to leave the theater, not when you begged him to see the film with you, so you move your hand on his thigh and gently trace circles over the denim of his jeans in hopes that this will calm him. However, this has the opposite effect and only serves to rile him up as he feels your hand move closer and closer to his cock.

He knows that you’re not doing it on purpose, that you’re just trying to calm him down, but when your fingers move a little too close and the heat of your palm against his skin gets to be too much, Ashton nudges your hand away. He doesn’t look at you, he keeps his eyes firmly on the screen, and misses the look of hurt on your features before a look of realization washes over you. You were afraid that he was truly angry at you but when you look at him, watch the way he’s shifting in his seat and attempting to adjust himself discreetly in his jeans, you realize that he isn’t truly upset with you.

He’s hard.

You grin at the realization and glance around the theater to determine if you can reasonably get away with what you’re considering. You’ve always wanted to try something a little more public (even if it is fairly dark and you’d be concealed from prying eyes) and this feels like the perfect opportunity. There are five rows of seats between the two of you and the next couple. The chairs are high enough to hide you should you kneel on the ground between Ashton’s legs, there’s plenty of time left in the film and you know several louder scenes are coming up. You also know that Ashton can keep quiet, he’s managed on the bus and backstage in bathrooms after shows, so you don’t think twice as you slide out of your chair and nudge his knees apart.

“What are you doing?” he questions, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he watches you settle yourself between his spread thighs.

“Proving to you that you’re my favorite drummer,” you inform him with a grin, your voice quiet and your hands settled on his knees. “Unless you don’t want me to, which is fine.”

“I definitely want you to,” he assures you quickly as he shifts in his seat to accommodate you, “by all means, go for it.”

At his consent, you grin and begin trailing your hands up his thighs. Ashton settles in his seat and attempts to keep his eyes on the screen as you place your hand over his cock and gently squeeze. You hear him release a quiet sigh and grin at the noise as you reach for the button on his jeans. It’s rare that Ashton gives you this much control and you know that it’s not likely to last long so you take advantage of your control while you have it.

Ashton lifts his hips and allows you pull his jeans down just enough to free his cock. One of his hands grips the armrest while the other tangles in your hair and remains still as you grip the base of his cock and begin kitten licking the head. Ashton knows the mood you’re in, he can tell by the look in your eyes as he glances down at you, and he knows that he needs to hurry you up if you don’t want to get caught.

But that’s the farthest thing from his mind as he feels you trace the vein running along the underside of his cock with your tongue. You repeat the motion once and Ashton breathes a deep sigh, his fingers tightening in your hair, as you finally take the head of his cock in your mouth. You focus your attention on the head for a moment, your tongue dipping into the slit and lapping at the bead of precum, before you open your mouth wider and take more of his cock into your mouth.

Ashton allows you to set the pace for a moment, allows you to bob your head and simply keeps his hand tangled in your hair, and you take as much as you can without letting the tip hit the back of your throat. He notices that you’re bobbing your head to the beat of the song playing in the background and he can’t help but laugh. You’ve been with him too long, he thinks idly, as you slowly begin taking more of him. He can feel the head of his cock hit the back of your throat and he begins losing himself in the feeling.

However, before he can lose himself completely, he hears one of the couples from the front of the theater moving around and he holds your head still as he watches one of them begin making their way forward. “Shh,” he hushes as you pinch his thigh, “hang on a second.”

Ashton holds your head in place until the person passes to keep them from hearing your movements. When they pass, he allows you to lift your head and grins at the glare you level him with. “Don’t want to get caught,” he laughs as he returns his gaze to the screen as you take deep breaths. It takes a moment but you return your mouth to his cock and take him as deep as you can as he attempts to watch the film.

The moment Ashton feels you swallow around him, the last thing on his mind is Queen’s Live Aid reunion. He can’t help himself as he begins to guide your head. He begins to fuck your mouth, focusing on the feeling of the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat and you gently rolling his balls in your hand. He can hear you gag slightly and he glances around to make sure the sound isn’t noticeable but he realizes it’s the last thing anyone is listening to as Queen begins to play. He can hear the other people in the theater singing along and takes that as a sign to keep chasing his orgasm.

He fucks your mouth, his cock hitting the back of your throat with every thrust, and though he tries to remember not to be too rough (he knows you won’t want it to be too obvious what you two were up to), he can’t help himself. He loves the sight of tears leaking from the corners of your eyes and spit coating your lips. And the image of you on your knees in the midst of a movie theater where anyone could see you pushes him over the edge.

He bites his lip to hold the groan that bubbles in his chest back as he spills into your mouth. He keeps your head still as he waits for you to swallow and when you tap his thigh, he releases his grip on your hair and helps you back into your seat. He laughs as he watches you take a sip of your slush before you settle back against his side.

“You know you’re my favorite, right?” you mumble as you glance over at Ashton. “Not just drummer, but person.”

“I know,” he assures you, a smile on his lips as he leans over to press a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. “You’re my favorite, too.”

Author’s Note: I saw Bohemian Rhapsody with my cohort and there was a kid beside me and I literally said, “Holy shit,” when I saw that scene of Ben Hardy as Roger Taylor playing drums and smoking and the kid laughed at me. His mom understood where I was coming from, though, so that was fun.

[daredevile]

You Promised [1/2]

Summary: The newest addition to the Avengers causes Bucky to question his entire past to find their connection.

Warnings: Angst with a dash of fluff

A/N: This is my entry for @the-canary‘s lyrical mini challenge. Prompt: I apologized for the fifth time. I think you’re sick of hearing it now. I get the feeling this is gonna be the last time. I had a lot of fun writing this, hope you enjoy!

The early hours were something Bucky cherished dearly. Watching golden streaks appear in the sky calmed his distressed mind to a great extent. Hence, he was not particularly happy when a conversation between a certain blond and a certain bird-man interrupted him from his blissful state. Normally, he would have eavesdropped on them, however, he would never dare taint the mornings with their words. Despite not paying attention to their conversation, Bucky perked up at two words: new recruit. It’s not every day strange enhanced individuals join the Avengers. 

Annoyed at the two men for ruining his peaceful morning, Bucky turned around to face them. Baby blues made eye contact with yours. Although his reaction was subtle, Steve didn’t miss the tiny movement of Bucky’s eyebrows. Bucky squared his shoulders and shot a warm smile—one that would have floored you. In the past. 

“I’m Bucky,” He extended his hand, carefully observing your mannerisms. Bucky wasn’t one to be awfully welcome, but something about you sparked a tinge of familiarity. Steve eyed the interaction warily, silently groaning at the soldier’s casual attitude. 

You didn’t move an inch. Ignoring every single fibre in your body to slap the soft expression off his face, you clenched your fists. A flash of hurt washed across his features, confused at your unwavering form. He locked eyes with Steve, hoping to receive some sort of explanation. 

“Did I do something wrong?” Bucky stepped back, eager to run away from the situation, “I...I’m sorry, if I did something wrong, sorry,” He felt his chest constrict and heart race under your gaze. Why was he feeling all of this?

Guilt.

Guilt was coursing through his veins, yet he didn’t know it. But you did. For you had felt the same, years and years ago. Even though watching him face the consequences was mildly satisfying, a part of you couldn’t see him suffer—not after all the horrors he had been through. 

“You promised,” Two words left your lips, infecting his mind as he watched you bolt out the room.

The 1940s, according to Bucky, was also known as the decade of destruction. Faint cries of weeping wives could be heard as their husbands departed their homes to fight for their nation. Bucky was no different. The day he had received the letter, he knew his days were numbered. Sparing no time, he called you and Steve for one last reunion before he left for England.

“I want to spend this night with the people I love,” Bucky stated, sandwiching you in between Steve and himself. His arms wrapped around the both of you; a moment he vowed to treasure forever.

“Bucky!” A feminine voice called out, the brunette spun so fast his hat nearly flew off. A bright smile settled on his face as he watched the slight bounce of her dark curls. He circled his arms around her with a chuckle, capturing her pink lips with his own. 

“It’s actually Sergeant James Barnes, sweetheart,” Bucky grinned, his hat tipping forward, “I’m gonna miss you, Dot,” He sighed, eyes sparkling while he pulled her impossibly close to his broad frame. 

That was how the night went. The overbearing sweetness radiating off him as he didn’t take his eyes off his girl. Dot had pulled him through the crowd at the expo. Bucky feigned annoyance, but the truth is, he would have followed her anywhere. 

He raced back to Steve and you, letting you both know he’ll be occupied for the rest of the night. Bucky ruffled Steve’s hair, chuckling at his friend’s resistance. “Don’t do anything stupid until I get back,” He said, winking at you.

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you,” Steve replied, yielding to Bucky’s hug. You watched the two exchange their farewells, it was a big moment since they were practically attached to each other from childhood.

Bucky turned to you, seeing the tears forming in your eyes, his own baby blues started glistening. He had always had a soft spot for you, especially your caring self tending to his bruises after he had saved Steve from many fights. You were always there for him. Through times where he was completely wasted to the times where he had even tried charming you. That’s why saying goodbye to you was even harder.

“You better come back, I’m gonna kill you if you don’t,” You whispered into his shoulder, your tears staining his uniform, “Promise me you’ll come back,” Bucky nuzzled his head further into your shoulder, tightening his grip around your waist. 

“Darlin’ I would never leave you,” Bucky lifted his head to wipe your tears, his heart plummeting at your expression, “I promise,” Before Bucky could continue, two warm hands pulled him away. He mouths a “sorry” but you don’t catch it.

Bucky spent the rest of the night gazing at new technology, mindlessly following Dot’s footsteps and subduing the pain in his chest by drowning himself in alcohol.

Bucky didn’t understand why you had such an impact on him—he didn’t even know you. Nonetheless, he was determined to find out, despite receiving nothing less than a disappointed look from Steve. He made his way to your room, a sense of anxiety spread throughout his body as he lifted his hand to knock. He listened for your footsteps, but he was met with pure silence except for his own heart hammering against his chest. 

Deciding to go with his instinct, Bucky entered the dark room. To his unfortunate surprise, you were not there. Just as he spun on his heel, his focus shifted to a black leather-bound book lying under the bed. He knew it would be wrong to go through it, but curiosity got the best of him. He flicked through the worn out pages, eyes flitting over your words. Not liking the feeling of guilt simmering in his mind, he returned the book to its original place, but not before noticing a photograph stashed in the back. 

That photograph triggered his mind, letting him relieve his 16th birthday. He remembered how much he used to cherish it, for you had given him the best present he could have ever asked for: a kiss on his cheek, and of course a limited edition vinyl of his favourite artist. Bucky smiled, reminiscing any remaining memories of his past. The photograph had captured the exact moment you had pressed your lips against his cheek, both your faces exuding happiness. The simple adoration displayed on your face made his heart clench.

A quiet cough resonated through the spacious room, pulling him out of the black hole of his thoughts. His eyes met yours in guilt, as you noticed the book in his hand. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky spoke softly, unsure of your reaction. Truth be told, he didn’t know why he apologised. However, he rationalised that, knowing his past, he would have done something wrong to upset you.

“Why?” You replied, eager for him to continue.

[ Part 2 ]

[spiritprojectbook]

Chapter One

AN: First posted on Patreon with minimal editing. Hope you enjoy!

“I’m not doing it.”

Lily Pershing stared at the tab with a blue, round symbol on the bottom of her computer’s screen. Hovering in the upper left corner of the little box was an orange notification - a circle with the number 37 in it. It racked up a few more digits with a cheery beep.

“I’m not doing it,” she said again.

“You’re gonna have to,” her companion said. Lily turned and glared up at the hovering being behind her. He had the general shape and face of a person, except that his skin burned like something molten and he had a long, wispy tail instead of legs. What passed for his hair curled and wavered like a flame in slow motion. 

“You can’t make me,” Lily said. She jabbed a finger at her laptop’s screen. “I am not responding just to get yelled at.”

“Lily, you’ve already turned off your phone,” the being said, with the worn patience of an adult explaining a child’s punishment to them for the hundredth time. “Everyone’s probably panicking. The least you can do is talk to him.”

Lily grumbled a curse, but after a moment she moved the mouse to the blue icon. It hovered there for a long, long moment. Lily dragged her hand down her face and hit the button. She was immediately greeted with a long string of all-caps messages.

WHERE ARE YOU

GET ON HERE RIGHT NOW

TURN YOUR PHONE BACK ON

So on and so forth.

“Countdown to him calling me?” Lily side-eyed the being, who was now at her shoulder.

“Five,” he said.

“Four,” Lily said.

“Three.”

“Two.”

Both of them jumped at the shrill ring anyway. A black box with a white phone popped up in the middle of the screen. Lily inhaled and hit “answer”.

“Hello?” she said pleasantly.

“LILLIAN,” was the response.

Lily flinched and hastily turned down the volume. “Jesus. Hi.”

The boy on the other end of the video call was bristling all over. Even his sandy-colored hair was threatening to stand up on end. He swiped at his bangs until they were out of his eyes and scowled at the camera with all the fury a twiggy teenager like him could muster. Lily tried not to smile out of nerves.

“Where are you?!” the boy shouted. “Why did you leave that note? What does it mean?”

“What do you think it meant?” Lily said. “I was pretty clear when I wrote it.”

“Your parents are freaking out right now!” the boy continued on, as if she hadn’t said anything. “Ms. Merry was just sitting there with a white face! Your dad was yelling at everyone! Your mother fainted!” He leaned forward hard until Lily could only see his face. “She fainted, Lillian!”

“Well, that’s one thing I guess I can mark off the bucket list,” Lily muttered. “’Make mom faint.’”

“Lily,” her companion said warningly. 

“Oh, whatever.” Lily turned and gave him a stink-eye. “Pardon me for-”

“Is he there with you?” the boy said.

“Where else would he be?” Lily said dryly, glancing back at the camera.

“Put him on right now.”

“Tell him I don’t have anything to say,” the being said. He started to float backwards.

“No, no, no.” Lily shook her forefinger. “No, you come get yelled at too. Come on.”

She scooted her chair backwards, which proved to be rather difficult without wheels, and the being hesitantly lowered himself until he was directly in front of the laptop.

“Go ahead,” Lily said, loud enough for her friend to hear her.

“Aelith, what’s the matter with you?” the boy said. “You’re supposed to be making sure she doesn’t do stupid stuff like this!”

Aelith shot Lily a stern look. He typed “sorry” and sent it.

“Did you even try to talk her out of it?”

A moment of hesitation, then Aelith typed “sorry” again. Lily rolled her eyes.

The boy groaned and buried his head in his hands. They could hear a muffled “Oh my God” as he rocked his head from side to side. Lily returned to her original position while Aelith moved out of the way.

Lily looked at the image of herself in the call. She was a pasty, rather chubby girl with an oversized pink-and-black striped sweater. Her blond bangs hung just above her eyes, shading them, making her look almost hungover, with a strand of long hair on each side draped over her shoulders, while the rest was in a bun. The tips were dyed the same shade of shocking pink as her sweater. The lighting of the laptop in the dark room made her look considerably more tired than she felt.

“If it helps, I have money,” she said. “I’ve been saving up.”

“Oh yeah, how’s that gonna help you?” The boy glared up at her. “You’re travelling around in a stolen van with a limited budget. You’ll die on the street in, what, two weeks?”

“Adam, come on, that won’t happen,” Lily said. “I’ve got everything I need.”

“To do what?” Adam snapped. “You have a suitcase and a bunch of paranormal equipment!”

“And me,” Aelith said.

“And Aelith.” Lily leaned back as well as she could in the stiff wooden chair. “And really, could you ask for anything more?”

“I could ask you to come home.” Adam was now clearly trying (and failing) to reign in his anger. “You’ve scared the daylights out of everyone. Come back and the yelling will be to a minimum.”

“I can’t do that,” Lily said quietly.

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

“No one’s going to be upset about that,” Adam said. “It’s all-“

“If you say ‘it’s in your head’ one more time, I’m shutting off the computer.”

Adam went back to bristling. “Don’t you dare.”

“Then you best keep your mouth shut,” Lily said, with a sardonic sweetness. “I may turn it off anyway. I only came on to let you know I’m alive and well.”

Adam rested his weight on one elbow, looking at the camera through half-shut eyes. “And what about your parents?”

“You can tell them I’m alright.” Lily sat forward again and folded her hands. “I’ve got money, I’ve got gas-“

“Do you even have a plan?” Adam interrupted. “Where are you going?”

“Tell him where we are,” Aelith said, hovering just above the computer. “It’s the least we can do.”

“I’m in Weed,” Lily said. “We’re, uh, we’re going to Oregon. We’re gonna travel the country and… I dunno, go find Bigfoot or something.”

She muted the call just as Adam began yelling. She couldn’t read lips, but it was very clear by the wild gesturing that he didn’t agree with her plan. Lily deactivated her own camera and grinned up at Aelith, who looked less amused.

“Turn on the sound,” he said.

“Once he’s done.” Lily turned back to the computer. Adam looked even more furious, his normally tan face almost purple. He was pointing out somewhere to his right as he slammed his fist down on his desk. Lily waited until it looked like he stopped for breath to scroll the volume up and turn the camera on.

“You don’t seem too happy,” she remarked mildly.

“Are you listening to me now?” Adam growled.

“Of course!” Lily said. “I’ve been listening the whole time.”

Adam gave her a look that, in another person, would have shriveled all bravado and left blackened scraps behind. Being used to this look, Lily just smiled.

“Look, would it make you happy if I said I’ll come back if things get too bad?” she said.

“No,” Adam said. “Because you won’t.”

“Come on, I’m not stupid-“

“You literally stole a car and drove north at the start of winter to go find Bigfoot,” Adam said.

“And left all your best jackets at home,” Aelith said.

Lily pointed up at him and said to Adam, “He’s ragging on me too, just so you know.”

“Good.” Adam crossed his arms. “If he didn’t even try to stop you, the least he can do is give you a hard time.”

“I really think you’re too tense about this,” Lily said. “I-“

“You don’t even have a plan, Lillian!” Adam cried. “You have no idea what you’re doing!”

“I just told you that we’re travelling the country.” Lily motioned with her palms downward for him to relax. “We’ve got it covered. I even bought a road atlas today.”

“That makes me so much happier,” Adam grumbled, his hands clutching at his face. “You wasted some money on a road atlas.”

“It’s a great investment if you’re travelling,” Lily said. “Look, can you tell my parents everything will be fine?”

“Why don’t you just tell them yourself?!” Adam slammed his hand down again. “Or, hey, better yet, just come back and show them how fine you are!”

“No,” Lily said, her confidence slightly fading. “I’ll… I’ll talk to them later. I promise.”

Adam muttered something and leaned back, staring up at his ceiling. Lily looked at Aelith. He had his arms crossed with a finger tapping his bicep anxiously, but he said nothing. Lily looked down again and noticed that her battery was low. She got an idea.

“Oh, shoot,” she said. “Computer’s dying. Must’ve forgotten my charger. Well! Talk to you later. Say hi to Rose and my folks!”

Adam leaped forward again. “Don’t you-“

Lily hit the power button and her computer went off with a click. She pulled down the screen and closed it with a deep sigh.

“See, this is what I get for listening to you,” she said to Aelith. “Now he’s going to call dad and have him scream at me too.”

“If you’d just turned your phone on…” Aelith said wearily.

“Calling and driving is dangerous.” Lily stood up and stretched. “Besides, I left a note explaining the whole thing, didn’t I?”

“It was a little vague, truthfully,” Aelith said. He hovered horizontally above her, his arms still crossed. “But… I suppose no matter what you said, they’d be worried. Will you at least turn it on now? Give your mother a text.”

“And get yelled at all over again?” Lily sat down on her bed. The hotel mattress was stiff as a board. “That can wait until tomorrow. Right now, I’m sleeping.”

Aelith said nothing for a while. He turned over so that he was facing the ceiling and hummed thoughtfully. Lily went into the bathroom, changed into pajamas, and returned to the bed. She struggled with the sheets, which were packed under the mattress tight enough for her to have to lift the entire thing up to get them out, and slipped between them. The pillows, at least, were soft.

This settled, she stretched for the remote and fumbled with the buttons in the dark until the TV turned on. She flicked through the channels, which were mostly static or barely-visible people sitting at a table and discussing antiques, until she found what looked to be some show about cooking. Her eyes were closed before they got to the finished dish.

“Why did you say we’re in Weed?” Aelith said after a lengthy pause.

“Why do you think I said we’re in Weed?” Lily cracked one eye open. “So they don’t come to Yreka looking for us.”

Aelith leaned his head far back, much farther than a human could, and gave her an upside-down smile. “I suppose we couldn’t have just gone up the coast and saved ourselves some time?”

“You can just shut your mouth,” Lily said good-naturedly. She yawned. “At least we got to see Sacramento.”

“All of it,” Aelith said out of the corner of his mouth. “Especially that one roundabout-”

“Oh, shut up. We got out just fine.” Lily rolled onto her side. “Now hush so I can sleep.”

“Good night, then,” Aelith said.

“Night,” Lily mumbled.

She was asleep mere moments later. Were she conscious, she would have been happy to know that she dreamed of nothing. All of her worries had to wait until the sun rose to come back to her.

[digressfromreality]

That’s The Point, Own Up To It

Synopsis: "I told you that if you got involved with me, I would corrupt all your hearts desires. It will leech into every dream, giving you everything you wanted in the worse possible way.“ Joker stated. And Harley did just that. My interpretation of what the baby clothes meant and the reason of Harley’s dreams induced by Enchantress.

"Own up to it!” Harley taunted El Diablo. Someone who kills children…their children, they have to live with it!

But you didn’t Harley. Harleen whispered.

That wasn’t my fault, that boy-

You provoked them Harley.

“You own up to what you’ve done!” Her breathing ragged. If you’re going to do the dirty, you better admit it. She hated no one more than liars. Child killers. A life, that he created-

You created-

Stop that! I didn’t kill them! He took them from me, from Puddin and me!

You could have stopped it.

SHUT UP HARLEEN!

-

“You’re putting on a bit of,” he jab her side with the semi-automatic, before settling behind her ear, “weight. Harls?” She chewed her painted lip, worried. “Oh, uoo, you look at bit nervous.” He circled her again, this time nearly nose to nose with her. “What is it babydoll?" Don’t fall for it Harley. He nipped at her and she reciprocated, smiling at her man.

"Well Puddin, we’re gunna be a family! A real one.” Joker’s stare didn’t waver, his smile never wander. The excitement she slowly fell, dying a bit in her eyes of course, he could tell. Thoughts were burning through his mind, when did this happen? How hadn’t he notice? Had he been gone that long? How did this happen? He knew, he knew when exactly, oh yes, there was red, so much red!

“Back off Har-ley,” he kicked her over as she wiped her mouth, “we have guests.” Her hands flew over to adjust his pants, Mistah J definitely wouldn’t want to be undressed for visits, no he wou- Joker grabbed her face and shoved her hard to the floor. He glared down at his doll, wagging his finger. Dolls do what their told. “Boys, boys what a surprise. A surprise indeed.” The men approached him cautiously. Nobody really knew how to handle the clown gangster. Try not to piss him off and that was really it. But how to not to set off an impending bomb, that wasn’t something that anyone was prepared for. The trigger was always different.

“Joker.” They greeted. Both flinch upon hearing a crunch of glass. Harley was pouring herself a shot, almost looking mildly offended for becoming center of attention.

“What? Boys thirsty?” She barked at them. They flinched again, she was just as bat shit crazy as him. Both vigorously shook their heads, she shrugged nonchalant. “More for me.” Joker slammed his hands on the countertop, gaining their attention once again. Harley giggled.

“There a reason for this little, said, get together?” Joker gestured, rubbing his thumb and pointer finger together, money. He smiled wickedly.

“We wanted to hash out the deal. Prices are increasing.” To which, Joker, smiled some more. He watched Harley approach the smaller of the two men. She nuzzled her face into the crook of the man’s neck. She made an exaggerated whiff of the guy’s expensive cologne and sweat.

“I like him.” She backed up, trailing her hands on the back of his leather jacket. “An Armani man.”

“She’s taken a liking to you boys. Wanna take her for a spin?” She nodded to Joker, from behind them, no weapons on one, a gun on the other.

“Nah, nah man. We’re here to do business, notcha girl.” She rubbed the shoulders of the other, circling back around by the Joker. Joker snapped his fingers, pointing Harley back to the bottle of booze.

“If, we’re going to, do some uh, business we’ll need some entertainment. Harley?” She ripped open her top, revealing a black and red brasserie underneath. “Some sugar boys?”

“No, no not necessary man.” The men stammered. Harley frowned, staring at Joker. They didn’t want to play. No matter, he had made other plans. Nobody refuses him a third time.

“How’s bout a drink?” They nodded, “a hammer special doll.” He showed teeth, and Harley returned the sentiment. The both uncomfortable by the tension between the other two.

“Coming right up Mistah J!” Something slammed into the floor, followed by Harley giggling, “Whoops!”

“Whoa, whoa. We’re cool. We’re cool.” Joker had a gun pointed point blank at the one carrying heat.

“Then why refuse such a pretty party favor? You’ve upset the queen.” He grinned wide, winking at Harley who was inching closer. She raised her mallet waiting for him to give her the go ahead. “Hammer time doll.” She shrieked loudly as her mallet connected with one’s face, blood spraying everywhere the other jumped back as the other two barked with manic laughter. 

What had he walked into? He tried to quietly back away as Harley pounded his partner’s flesh into a pile of useless putty, while Joker egged her on. He went and kissed his lady’s blood soaked lips. The coppery taste and murderous gleam in her eyes made him excited, very, very excited.

“Oh Puddin!” She squealed as he threw her up on the counter top. He began tearing at her clothes, while she panted like an animal. Ready to be ravished by man. Joker paused, grinning into the side of her neck when he heard the other man desperately paw at the locked door. They hadn’t forgotten him just yet.

“An audience Harls?” He whispered into her ear. She smiled as she felt the gun pressed into her palm. Tap. One. Tap, Tap. Two. Tap, Tap, Tap. Three. Joker moved back from Harley as she let off two rounds, one in each of the pathetic man’s kneecaps. He hollered in pain. She laid the gun on the counter and raised her brow suggestively at Mistah J.

“Now where were we?”

He clenched her delicate jaw in between his twitching fingers, like they were itchy to pull a trigger, or twist a knife. They dug hard enough into bruised skin, almost making her whimper. Almost. His smile stretched as she tried to pull her head away. What’s Puddin going to do?

“Mistah J?” She whispered, desperately. He patted her other cheek but roughly releasing her. He backed away from her, deep in thought.

“Harley Quinn. Harley, harley, Harley Quinn.” He returned to his predatory circling, shoving a dresser out of his way. “What to do, what to do, Harley?” He leaned against the darken wall, leaving devastation in his path. He beckoned her forward, no hesitation, and quick compliance. She hadn’t forgotten her place, he mused. Her current condition, complicated things but- “You’re going to have to pull your weight Harley.” He looked down at his girl’s basketball. “Double time.”

“Triple actually.” The gleam brighten in her eyes, “but no worries, Mistah J! I’m ready as you need me,” she giggled, “until they pull the plug.” Double trouble, how fitting. A clamor of noise brought them back to their surroundings, the walls shook.

“And it’s, Time. To. Go.” He pushed Harley ahead, she stumbled over the debris. He glanced back and forth, trying to judge the best way to escape. Harley looked back at her homey cell, she might miss it. Don’t leave with him Harley. You need to leave you need- "This way.“ He grunted, tugging violently on her arm. She smiled, her Puddin needed her, and no, no she won’t miss it.

-

"Come'on. Kill him!” She cheered her man on.

Harley stood aside watching Bats pant in fatigue and pain. The queen never too far from her king. Joker laughed, kicking the dark figure in the side.

“What fancy toy are you going to use now? Hmph?” He laughed again, “Ha ha hee Ha!” He kicked him again, hard. Harley could hear the Batman sputter. One more and the Bat will, fall off the roof. “Come on, do it! DO IT!” He roared, and with one final look, Batman launched himself off the roof. Joker laughed hysterically as he witnessed Batman’s graceful decent from the roof. His body bounced from awnings like a broken rag doll.

Suddenly another dark figure flew at the Joker from the shadows. He had anticipated this. “Oh, batman junior has decided that he wants to play too.”

“Shut up!” Jason swung a metal pipe at the Joker, missing by a margin. He had to resort to using miscellaneous items as weapons now.

“Ha, a ha ha. You’ll have to do better than that!” The kid swung again, and again, and again. This time, the Joker wasn’t so lucky. He fell on the concrete roof with an unceremonious thud.

“Puddin!” Harley cocked the gun, unloading a shot or two. The figure hadn’t even flinched, throwing heavy pipe in Harley’s direction. The contact instantly made her throw her weapon and spit blood. “My babies!” She whined, finally the figure turned towards Quinn, horrified. He hadn’t, he truly hadn’t mean to- he watched Harley dropped to her knees, spitting up more blood. He went swooping towards her as she cried and held her stomach. “I can’t feel them, I can’t feel their heartbeats.” He tried to help her up, assess the damaged. She slapped his hands away in a fury. “Get your grubby hands off me! You killed all of them!”

“I can get you to a hospital. Doctors can save them.” He yanked her arm, trying to pull her up. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, not like this! She cocked her head to the side, anger exuded from every pore of her skin. A look of emptiness in her eyes, he did this. He killed them.

“You’ll pay! You’ll pay for everything!” Harley pulled the trigger, spraying the would-be hero with an array of bullets. His body landed a few feet from her, she kept shooting until her gun finally clicked. She had emptied the entire clip. A sting of pain, made her scream with torture. She dared to touch in between her legs, her fingers came shaking back coated in blood. “Mistah J!” She screamed desperately as her vision blurred. J finally rolled over breathing heavy, 

“J!” She called softly before falling back. Joker cracked his neck, throwing himself back into his feet. Tutting as he leisurely walked up towards the two, smiling noticing the wannabe hero was riddled with bullet wounds. He knelt by Harley, watching her pant as she fought against the darkness. He pushed his fingers to one side of her swollen belly and then to the other. He could only feel her weak pulse. A pity. Blood was pooling beneath her, intermixing with baby killers. Ah, he reflected, reaching for the forgotten cans of spray paint that littered the roof top. 

Now, the dark knight of Gotham and his heroic side kick had finally failed. Lives were lost by their hands. He began spraying a message onto the man’s chest. His own masterpiece. “Puddin?” Her voice weak. He dropped the can, looking at his lady’s crumpled body. “They’re dead Puddin, they’re dead.” He scooped her fragile body in his arms.

“Let’s go Harley.” He walked a few steps, before looking away one last time. A perfect pun spray painted on the killer’s chest. Jokes on You, batman. Jokes on you.

[apathetic-revenant]

[continued from here]

There was nothing terribly special about the house itself, or at least, not the outer part of it. It was a nice, respectable enough house, with two stories plus a basement, hardwood floors, and a good-sized kitchen. It was mostly clean, but comfortably lived in, and contained a great deal of plants and some interesting wall hangings. It was not very old, even by human standards, and to the knowledge of the owners nothing particularly grisly or historical or even mildly interesting had ever happened there before. 

They did not know that their nice respectable modern house had old, old bones, old as the hills. They did not know that the land their home had been built on had a History: not the human sort that got written down and engraved on plaques and discussed very seriously by academics, but the Folk kind of history, a history of hauntings and grudges and legendary deeds, a history which left no mark upon the earth but was known deep-down and never forgotten. They did not know-how could they know?-that long, long before the settlement and construction, before the concrete and asphalt, before roads and cars and shopping malls and neat suburban neighborhoods, there had been a Hill, a gateway from which the Folk came out of their twilight realm to work mischief of one kind or another. The humans did not know, but the land remembered, others remembered, and the memory came up out of the past and rested heavily on the nice respectable house and made it older than it was.

There were things in that house, things that remembered. Sprites nesting in the houseplants, pictsies who made away with knickknacks and spare socks to line their nests, goblins rustling through the patterns in the wallpaper. The ghost of a bard who had wandered through the Hill and never made it all the way out. A house-hob living in the closets and a boggart under a little girl’s bed.

And, of course, him.

They were all used to invisibility, intangibility, to lurking in the night and keeping their own company: humans had never been too skilled at observing the Folk, but now they didn’t even try anymore. They had forgotten the old customs, the old contracts, the careful agreements between human and not human; they had forgotten what you did to please the Folk and tame their tempers and what you did to drive them away. Or, if they remembered, they wrote it down in books and put them it away so that it could not touch the real world any longer. 

They had forgotten other things as well, the meanings of things. They overlooked portents and symbols, scoffed at omens, shrugged away superstition. 

When the little girl was born with a caul over her head, her father panicked-although, since he had been in a constant state of panic for some twenty-six hours by then, this made little noticeable difference-and was reassured by an extremely patient attending obstetrician that this was only a bit of leftover membrane, rare but completely harmless, and easily removed. They did not say that to be born with the caul was a portent, an omen of a child who could see more than most, because that would be ridiculous and these days you’re liable to get kicked out of medical school if you go around talking like that. 

But the Folk remembered.

They watched carefully when the girl was brought home. It was hard to tell, at first-who knows for sure what an infant is giggling about, whether they are truly seeing something or simply staring? But bit by bit, it became clear that the girl could see what her parents could not. When the goblins in the walls made faces at her she giggled and imitated them. When the sprites circled her head curiously, she tried to catch them, just as curious but a good deal more clumsy. When she cried in the night, Baeirli’s lullabies soothed her back to sleep. 

Her parents called her Cecily, but the Folk used their own names, as was only proper: a true name had to be rightly given, given with intent, such as no child so young could truly possess. The sprites gave her names that hummed and buzzed; the goblins called her by words that were sharp and scratchy. The pictsies gave her names that they found, words scavenged here and there from packaging and labels and newspaper articles, just as they scavenged everything else. The bard would compare her to queens and heroes and scholars, or to a budding flower or the first ray of light breaking in the dawn, none of which she understood, but always liked to listen to. 

Baeirli called her “little miss”. The Lady of the rowan tree called her “sapling” and “young bloom”, or, sometimes, simply “child”. 

Adracgh, for reasons no one else understood, called her Cherry. 

If he had a name for her, no one knew it but him. 

Her parents did not go to bed that night, but they did eventually turn down the lights in most of the house and retreat to their bedroom, talking in broken voices. Adracgh and Baeirli waited until the dead of night, when the moon was high, to venture from the quiet little blue room, because that was the proper hour to do such a thing. Baeirli carried the stuffed dog, which Adracgh felt was important but had not been able to bring himself; boggarts are much better at throwing things around than holding them in one place even when they are not already very upset and anxious. 

The goblins began to talk in their rasping whispers as Adracgh and Baeirli descended the stairs. They spoke in turns, as if they had one voice that had to be shared among all of them: “-where are they going?

“-what does he carry?”

“-a keepsake-”

“-a child’s toy-”

“-there is no child now-”

“-the child is gone-”

“-she was carried away-”

“-where do they go?”

“We are going,” Baeirli said firmly, “to speak with the Fire Below.” 

This caused a moment of stunned silence, followed by a frantic cacophony. Baeirli smiled a little; they and the goblins had never gotten on very well, and they would count anything that they could as a victory. 

“-the Fire Below?”

“-he is not to be spoken to!”

“-he will eat you up!”

“-he will burn you!”

“-he will crisp your skin!”

“-he will melt your eyes!”

“-he will turn your bones to ash!”

This went on for a while. 

One goblin ran out in front of the herd, its spidery black shape outlined briefly against the white backdrop of the wallpaper. “-whyfor do you do this foolish thing, hob? why you, boggart?”

Adracgh’s shadow flowed past the goblin and flicked around the corner. “Because we want her back.” 

This caused even more discussion among the goblins. Adracgh and Baeirli passed the study, and the bard glided out of the wall and watched them, head cocked slightly. 

“-dangerous-very dangerous-”

“-terribly, terribly dangerous-”

“-but-”

“-might work-”

“What might?” the bard asked politely. 

“-THE FIRE BELOW!” the goblins cried out, and then giggled in high, sharp voices.

“We are going to ask him for aid,” Baeirli explained. “The Lady Rowan says it was-humans who took her, so they are not bound to trade for her fairly.”

The bard, who knew a considerable amount about humans by virtue of being one, gave Baeirli the blank look of someone who has just had something very obvious explained to them.

“But he might,” Baeirli went on. “He might avenge a...a theft. We hope,” they added, trying to affect rather more certainty than they really felt. 

The bard considered this. “It seems...possible,” he said. He had a gray, faded kind of voice, which always sounded as though it were coming from somewhere very far away. His name had been long forgotten even by him. “He is not bound by different rules than the Folk, after all. The trouble will be convincing him.”

“Well,” Baeirli said, kneading at the plush fur of the dog unconsciously, “yes.”

“-the Fire Below does not like being woken!”

“-the Fire Below does not tolerate fools-”

“-the Fire Below will swallow you in his terrible maw-”

“Shut up,” Baeirli said. “You’re not helping anything.”

“-no-”

“-we do not help-”

“-generally speaking.”

“But I will,” the bard said. “I will come with you, if you like.” 

“You will?” Baeirli squeaked, then hastily cleared their throat. “That is-your aid would be most agreeable, of course.”

The goblins chittered.

“-what will you do-”

“-what can you do-”

“-dead man?” 

“I will speak to him,” the bard said mildly, unfazed by the mocking gestures the goblins were giving him. “There is less that he can do to me, if he should become angry. I will not say nothing, but...less.” 

They reached the basement door. 

Baeirli hesitated for a moment, then bravely turned the knob. 

The goblins remained behind, watching and muttering to themselves; there was no wallpaper in the basement, only cool concrete walls and cobwebs. It was not a terribly welcoming place, that basement. There was an ominous, lurking feeling in the air, an unsettling sense that twisted every innocent shadow into something clawed and hideous. The stairs creaked uncomfortably as Baeirli descended them. 

Then there was the furnace.

It really had no right to be as intimidating as it was. It was just a normal furnace, sitting in the corner of the basement, making furnace sounds. But something about it loomed terribly. It dominated the entire room, its pipes spreading out like the coils of a snake, and if one listened too long to the sounds that it made, it began to sound horribly as though it were breathing. 

The girl’s parents did not understand why she was scared of the basement, why she was convinced there was something terrible down there. They told here there was nothing down there, nothing to be frightened of. The Folk told her otherwise.

Adracgh folded in on himself, dwindling to a small nonthreatening shape like a dog showing its belly. Baeirli glanced desperately, pleadingly, at the bard. 

“My lord,” the bard said. There may have been a note of trepidation in the words, but it was hard to tell with that gray, gray voice. “I seek an audience.”

The furnace rumbled. A faint red light began to glow around it, coming from nowhere and everywhere. 

When the voice came it seemed as though it should be shaking the earth, sending cracks through the concrete; it was a voice like a thunderstorm, like a fire. 

WHO DISTURBS ME?

“I am a spirit of your house,” the bard said. There was definitely a look of concern on his face now, but he pressed on. “I come to you on behalf of all who li-exist here. I come with a request.”

There was a long pause filled with the furnace’s horrible, heaving breath. Baeirli huddled themself around the dog. Adracgh tried to make himself even smaller. 

SPEAK.

The bard took a deep and purely psychological breath. “My lord, there is a child who lives here. She has the Sight-”

THIS I KNOW.

The bard blinked. Even Baeirli brought their head up a little in surprise. They had all assumed that he slumbered and paid no mind to the goings-on of the house above. It was a strange and terrible thing to think otherwise.

“She-she has been taken, my lord,” the bard went on. “By another human. Not...rightfully. We request your aid to. To bring her back.” 

The basement, previously cool and damp, was rapidly becoming quite hot. The red light around the furnace was growing brighter. The bard moved back, half raising his hands in a defense he would have to admit was fairly pointless. Baeirli shut their eyes tight and began to mutter something under their breath.

A CHILD HAS BEEN STOLEN FROM MY HOUSE? 

It took the bard a moment to work up a response. “Y-yes?”

The furnace rumbled again. There was a pause, a sense of the building intensity in the room suddenly being suspended, though certainly not gone. When the voice spoke again it was quieter, stiller, but no less terrible for it.

WHY DO YOU COME TO ME? 

“Er...we...we cannot leave here, my lord,” the bard said. “We can do nothing to retrieve her on our own.”

The red glare around the furnace seemed to tighten, like eyes being narrowed.

AND WHY DO YOU WISH TO RETRIEVE HER? 

The bard glanced at Baeirli, who glanced at Adracgh. Adracgh, unable to glance at anyone, settled for shifting around uncomfortably.

“Er...we...we like her, my lord,” Baeirli said. It came out very hoarsely. “We...we just want her back.”

“She will be alone and scared,” Adracgh added sorrowfully. “I cannot bear to think of it.”

“It is an injustice,” the bard said. “A base crime. The child should be with her parents, my lord. This is where she belongs.”

They all held their breath, or performed the local equivalent.

GOOD.

“...Good?” Baeirli croaked after a moment.

GOOD. 

The red light flared bright, suddenly illuminating the entire basement with a fierce, hot, hellish glow, and in that light a shadow was thrown against the walls that looked something like wings.

THESE ARE GOOD REASONS, the voice said, and anyone who didn’t know better might have thought it sounded proud. IT IS GOOD TO SEE MY LITTLE CREATURES LOOKING OUT FOR EACH OTHER.

Baerili made a strangled noise.

The shadows on the wall twisted and swirled. There was a moment of poise, a sense of anticipation-

“Wait!” Adracgh cried. 

The shadow paused. WHAT ELSE? 

“You-you have to take the dog,” Adracgh said. “It’s-she’ll be scared. She’ll need it.”

Baeirli groaned and buried their face in one hand.

There was a strange noise from the furnace, something almost like amusement. 

VERY WELL.

The light grew too bright to see. There was a scraping noise, a blast of hot air, and then nothing but a rapidly cooling silence. 

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

There were a great many things about the Cecily Baldwin case that were never resolved to the satisfaction of the police, chief among them being what had caused the man later identified as Jonas Tapton to have suffered several broken bones, second and third-degree burns, and a total psychological break that left him huddled and senseless in the back room of the house he had taken his victim to. Nor did they ever find out who the man was who had called 911 in the early hours of the morning and informed the dispatcher exactly where Cecily Baldwin could be found. His voice did not match Tapton’s at all, even if Tapton had not had a shattered jaw by that point. 

While less serious, it was also quite puzzling that the girl seemed to have acquired a favorite stuffed animal that her parents swore up and down had been on her bed all evening. 

“Do you know anyone named...er...Barely or...uh...Adrack?” the officer interviewing the Baldwins asked afterward. 

Cecily’s parents glanced at each other. “Those are her imaginary friends,” her father said. “She...she talks about them a lot...why?”

The officer raised an eyebrow. “We asked her if she saw the man who called in,” she said. “She said she did, and that he told her that...er...those two sent him.”

“She must have been imagining it,” Cecily’s mother said. “She’s a very creative child.” 

At that her voice broke and she began to sob into her husband’s shoulder. 

“Yes, I suppose so,” the officer said, and went to find some blankets and a couple of strong cups of tea. 

Cecily herself was found to be unharmed. She did not even seem to be nearly as frightened as she might reasonably be expected to.

“It was scary,” she told the officer looking after her seriously. “An’ I wanted to go home...but I knew it’d be alright, cause...cause...”

“Because why, dear?” the officer asked, vaguely expecting something about God or parents or perhaps the platitude of some popular TV show character.

Cecily yawned hugely. “I knew my friends would help me,” she said. “They’re much scarier than he was.”

In the basement of the Baldwin house, the furnace rumbled back to life. The Baldwins never even noticed that it had gone out. 

[invaderhogtwopointohno]

Doesn’t Sound So Bad To Me

A gift for @coppernailpolish for the RebelCaptain Secret Valentine’s Day Exchange

 Summary: A RebelCaptain Boxer/Coach AU. Jyn Erso has been fighting since childhood, and won every title she can get her hands on. But when she suddenly goes through a major public incident, her coach and gym drops her and she has to figure out how to get back on the scene. She ends up at Alliance Gym, where the owner wants to put her together with infamous Cassian Andor, a coach known for only producing real winners.

 -----

A/N: I decided that Leia was the perfect person for Jyn to fight because I feel like if she were a boxer Leia would be the freaking best.

------

Chapter Four

 Morning Glory

 Jyn might have put up a strong front in front of Cassian but she was secretly nervous about a fight with Leia Organa. She was America’s sweetheart, she was a major player in the game and by far one of the best fighters Jyn had ever seen. At only nineteen she was already doing pretty well for herself. Her twin brother, Luke, was her coach and the two were a serious threat. She was going to have to work hard to win the fight, if she could win. Jyn wasn’t stupid. She had been out of the game for a bit and was having a hard time winning lately, if she was going to lose, she wouldn’t mind losing to Leia because at least it was expected. But if she was going to lose, she was going to make the Princess of Boxing work for it.

Jyn did her homework and watched a few of Leia’s fights on her own and only mildly grumbled when Cassian made her sit down and look at his laptop the next day.

“Here, watch her matches, get to know her,” he said, leaving her with the laptop when he was called over to look at another fighter. She watched one video and then without Cassian looking, clicked out and decided to go exploring his actual laptop. He had a picture of space on his background and several folders of family photos in his pictures, but nothing to do with a significant other. She didn’t know why that was satisfying to know but it was. She found work photos and several listings about fighters. Probably his personal notes.

She found a new folder made the night before with her name on it. She saw several videos and photos of her in it, and several notes already. She was surprised to find that one of the pictures was the one of her from the night of her arrest. She had been only wearing a towel in that photo and she clicked out quickly, looking up as Cassian came closer. She put another video up and pretended to be disinterested.

“What do you think?”

She looked up at him, taking a moment to realize that he meant the fighting video. Not the fact that Cassian Andor had a picture of her in a towel. Something about that felt strange and she just shrugged.

“She is a good fighter, she is hard to predict,” he said, reaching down and taking the laptop from her lap, and she felt his fingers brush her thigh. She closed her eyes, trying not to think about it but it had happened anyway. Cassian was looking at his laptop now, clicking around and found another video, putting his laptop back, leaning in close.

“This was her fight last week,” he said, showing her a video, his breath against her neck as he pointed over her shoulder the way Leia was moving. “Perfect form.”

She was suddenly really angry. Maybe it was a delayed reaction to the photo or the fact that Cassian had called Leia perfect, but that was enough to make her mad. She moved, getting him to withdraw his hand and she stood up, handing him the laptop.

“I got it,” she said, “She’s better than me.”

“I didn’t say that,” he said, frowning at her and setting down the laptop. She crossed her arms, unsure what else to do. “You are a really good fighter. You just don’t have Leia’s control. She lets her opponent open themselves up for attack. You just kind of dive in for it. That’s fine but its not going to always work. If you just do what you usually do, you are going to get knocked down by her time and again.”

She saw the genuine concern in his eyes, which was surprising because he wasn’t really good at giving away anything. He suddenly became hard again, as if he had said too much and looked away.

“Get your gloves on.”

He moved and went to Kay, getting on the sparring equipment.

“What are you doing?”

“You want to hit something, hit me,” he said, Kay looking down at her.

“Don’t tempt me,” she said flatly and moved to the ring after getting her gloves on. The thought of punching him in the face was too tempting to pass up.

She got into the ring and he held up the gloves for her to hit.

“Right,” he demanded, and she ignored him and instead went left. He watched her as she went for another shot and he reached out, hitting her shoulder and she glared at him.

“See, you never listen.”

She swung but he dodged.

“Come on, right, right,” he said and she gritted her teeth. She swung again and he moved away, making her chase and she didn’t like it. It was like he was toying with her. She swung again, hitting his gloves but it was only temporary as he was swinging again, this time hitting her in the glove and she was forced back.

“Come on, hit me,” he said, now getting almost arrogant, as if she couldn’t do it.

“Stop fucking moving!” she growled and swung, but he anticipated and countered, hitting her a little harder this time. She pushed back and went for his stomach, not thinking as she jabbed him, getting him pretty good in the side. He didn’t let up, and swung again and it was finally then when she listened to him and threw a right, hitting him in the shoulder and knocking him to the ground.

“Cassian!” she yelped, dropping to her knees, surprised that she had been able to knock him down. She used her mouth to tear off her gloves, touching his cheeks as he groaned. “Oh my god, are you okay?” she asked, and he opened his eyes, squinting at her.

“You threw a right,” he muttered and she helped him sit up. She touched him, his cheeks, his neck, his shoulder, finding that he was mostly okay, just stunned. She had never meant to go that far, it was supposed to be a little spar but he had made her so angry.

“Are you okay?” she asked, looking him in the eyes and for the first time it seemed like they really were looking at each other. Cassian had been unable to keep a neutral expression this time as he stared at her, her palms cupping his face and making his heart start to forget how to work properly.

“Cassian!” the others had rushed over when they saw him on the ground and were hurrying into the ring, Jyn forced to let him go as they got him to his feet. She stepped back, not realizing that her hands were shaking. When was the last time she had ever been that scared? She took a glance at Cassian and then got out of the ring, not looking back as she went to the showers.

 -----

Jyn hadn’t cried in six months and for the first time since her fateful phone call to her father, she stood in the showers at Alliance Gym and she cried.

Jyn had never hurt anyone. Sure, she beat the living shit out of people, but that was people. Cassian wasn’t a person. Not like just anyone. She didn’t know any of the other people she had beaten on. They were just people standing in her way. She had never worried about it because with the same vigor they’d have done the same thing.

Her hands were still trembling as she leaned against the shower wall, closing her eyes and letting the tears come.      

What in the hell had she been thinking? She could have seriously hurt him. She closed her eyes and slowly fell down into the corner of the shower, grateful the constant flow of water was there to let her believe that everything was going to be okay, no one was going to see her like this.

She heard people coming into the showers and she hurried, rubbing her eyes and letting the water hit her face, trying to make it stop. She left the showers, and found Kay standing over Cassian on a bench. Cassian had an ice pack on his jaw, and she felt like she had when she was in that courtroom, all of those people looking at her. Shame filled her insides. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been so angry and upset. Usually her outlet was punching, but it felt like that had made everything worse.

“Jyn,” Cassian said, going to stand and she did the only other thing she knew how. She ran. She turned, walked out and didn’t look back, even after hearing him call her name over and over again.

She ran to her motorcycle, got on it and didn’t stop until she was in her apartment and hitting the punching bag in her living room, trying not to cry again.

 ------

Cassian stood at the ring the next morning, looking at his watch. It was a Tuesday morning so it was fairly quiet. He looked again. He felt the ache of his jaw and wondered how bad it could have been if Jyn had been any more mad. He looked again.

She was an hour late. And then two hours. He walked in circles and then tried his cell phone, but no answer.

She didn’t come. That day, or the next day. Or the next.

Cassian waited until day four and then he was in the middle of reps with Kay when he suddenly threw down his towel and let out a frustrated yell.

“I am going over there,” he declared, leaving Kay to sigh.

“You are making a mistake.”

“I am going to talk to her. She should be working. We have three weeks until the fight,” Cassian said, grabbing his jacket and keys, ignoring the look on Kay’s face. He left the gym, and drove to where Draven said Jyn lived. The place was godforsaken to say the least. He was sure that in this kind of a neighborhood, he was probably never going to see his car ever again. So he patted it and took out his favorite pair of boxing gloves. He found the apartment building easy and then only had to go up one flight of stairs before he reached her door.

He had come over here, so determined, that he didn’t actually know what he was going to say. He had wanted to apologize, honestly. He had been trying for days to figure out how to get the best out of Jyn and he had been smart to provoke her, but he had been stunned with how he reacted when she’d hit him. He had thought she would have gloated but Jyn was so upset about it and running off like that? He didn’t know what to do. He had originally taken Kay’s advice about keeping his distance but it wasn’t working. He needed to see her.

“Jyn!” he yelled, banging on her door and putting his hands on his hips. “Open the door. You haven’t been to the gym in four days, we have to work.”

Cassian was not aware that his voice was filled with intense need. He needed her to come back to the gym. To keep on training. She was going to be a great fighter if he could get her there. She needed to come back with him.

“Jyn,” he said in a quieter voice, one that was barely enough to choke out the name. He closed his eyes and leaned against the doorframe. “Please, open the door.”

There was a long pause. The longest of his life. And then the sound of a chain moving and the door unlocking made him straighten. The door opened a little and Jyn looked small, fragile and very, very sick.

“Jyn,” he said, surprised, and rushed inside, grabbing her by the arms and touching her forehead. Her nose was red and she looked like she hadn’t been sleeping. She was sniffing and coughing.

“I thin- I’m thic-” she coughed and he looked around the apartment. She had a few posters of boxers, a fridge with no food, a mattress on the floor and a punching bag. He wished he could say he was surprised.

“Come here,” he said, grabbing her and bringing her back to the mattress. He sat her down and grabbed her blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders. “What happened?”

She sniffed and looked at him, clearly tired and sick. He touched her forehead, she was burning up. Her phone was sitting next to the bed, charging on the floor and had an indicator that she had several missed calls from him.

“You’re sick,” he said, though he didn’t know why. He grabbed her by the shoulders and laid her down, with no protest much to his surprise. Apparently there was an end to her fighting if her shivering was any indication that her strength was completely gone. He got up and looked around the room, finding a closet with clothes kind of just piled up, and found that she had an extra blanket. He laid it around her, and stopped to touch her hair, her eyes closed and her breathing steady. She’d fallen back asleep. She probably had the flu.

He got up and found her keys on the counter in the kitchen, and grabbed them, locking the door behind him. He went to the store he’d seen down the block, got her some medicine and soup and came back to find she was still out cold (pun not intended).

The kitchen was a disaster and he had to clean it up just to avoid getting sick himself and threw away what food she had left over and did the dishes while she slept. A large flatscreen in the “living room” was his source of entertainment for the afternoon as he watched news about boxing and waited for Jyn to wake up.

She finally did after about an hour and he heard her moans as she attempted to sit up.

“Jyn,” he said, coming to her side almost instantly and touching her forehead. Still hot. She looked at him lazily.

“Cassian,” she said, and he nodded.

“Eat,” he urged and made her take the bowl and spoon. He would make her something better later, but this would have to do. He figured that she wasn’t a great cook but he knew what he was doing so he could manage fine for her.

She fumbled with the spoon, shivering because of her cold and finally got a hold of what she needed, eating quietly. She didn’t speak and kept having to stop to close her eyes, fatigued by simply eating. He sat down on the mattress next to her, watching her to make sure she ate every last bit of it.

“How long have you been sick?” he demanded.

“A few days, I just have been sleeping,” she muttered. She usually just kind of waited for it to be over. She was never really a great patient, so she would just hole herself in her room and wait for it to pass. She looked at Cassain as he took her bowl. He reached out and touched her forehead again, but he lingered and she blinked, opening her eyes a little more to stare at him.

“You’re still warm, go back to sleep,” he said, setting down her bowl and turning. He grabbed her shoulders and laid her down, still wrapped in her blanket and staring at him. He tucked her in and she was looking at him, unsure if she should speak.

“I’ll be back, just go to sleep. I am taking your house keys,” he said, and she nodded, unsure what to say. He hesitated a moment and she thought he might actually treat her like a child and lean in for a kiss on the forehead but suddenly he was jerking up and standing, grabbing her bowl, going to the kitchen, and then leaving her to sleep. But with what just happened, it was going to be hard.

 ----

A/N: I stuffed like as many tropes into this fic as I could manage because who doesn’t love just going for it? And I made sure to mention every time that we go to Jyn’s apartment that SHE DOES NOT HAVE A COUCH. I don’t know why that was important for me but it kept bothering me that I forgot to give her a couch and I just wanted to make sure to continue to point it out for no reason.