#horrifically slow updates

[ivlenyxx]

Beyond What the Lights Could Offer - Chapter 1

Soukoku Kowloon Walled City 1980s Filmmakers AU. Prepare thyself for agonisingly slow updates, a lot of references towards Hong Kong and me screaming into the void.

original fic link on AO3 (by yours truly): Beyond What the Lights Could Offer by Lemon(ivlenyxx)

May 14th 2023, 29 years, 10 months since the release of Stray Dogs.

“Nakahara-san, Dazai-dan, nearly 30 years have passed since the release of the hit movie ‘Stray Dogs’,” the interviewer says with a smile. “It has grossed over 800 million USD at the box office and many consider it a classic. Many fans have wondered ‘Just what is the story behind the film?’. Now that’s a question that’s been asked for nearly thirty years now, so we beg of you,” she claps her hands together to form a prayer gesture and bows her head. “What exactly is the story behind Stray Dogs?”

The pair sitting opposite her both chuckle, amused. 

“Alright, alright. Since it’s nearly the 30th anniversary, we’ll tell you.” the man in the fedora answers.

Nakahara Chuuya, age 52, executive producer of “Stray Dogs”, sits up straighter as he ponders the question, combing through his faded copper hair with his hand; his partner, Dazai Osamu, age 51, director of “Stray Dogs”, smirks slightly, wrinkles spreading across his face. “Come on, Chibi, can’t keep our fans waiting,” he nods towards the interviewer and the TV crew across from them. “Unless the Great Nakahara Chuuya is getting slow in his old age.” he teases, leaning over Chuuya’s neck.

Nakahara noticeably bristles under his partner’s breath, that discomfort quickly morphs into annoyance and reaches its stunning conclusion as Chuuya grabs Dazai’s collar. “I swear to God, you shitty mackerel-” he snaps as the other man whines and wallows dramatically under his grip. “We’re the same age! I can’t take a moment to think?!-”

“No! Oh no! Chuuya is attacking me!” Dazai exclaims and yaps, notes of fake panic and amusement dripping from his voice. (The interviewer sits awkwardly in silence while the rest of the crew whisper amongst themselves) “My God, this is marital violence!” He throws up his arms (making sure to flash a gold wedding band at the camera) and easily overpowers his dear Chibi, shoving him onto the far end of the couch before redirecting his attention to the interviewer, the poor unfortunate soul bearing witness to Nakahara making grabby hands at Dazai while the latter holds him off with a hand in his face. “It goes a little something like this…” 

April 29th 1986, 8 years before the release of Stray Dogs.

Chuuya’s not exactly sure how he ended up here, but okay.

The red light floods the crowded, 40 square foot room, Chuuya’s eyes hurt from the strobing lights;Chuuya’s ears are bleeding from the music blasting through the crackling radio.

Oh second thought, not okay. Chuuya wants to leave. 

He puts down the half finished glass of cheap whiskey before manoeuvring his way through mountains and seas of people dancing to the beat of something that just came on. (something American, he doesn’t want to know) The red lights continue to pull assassination attempts on his eyes, which is only made worse by the pixelated screens displaying images of half naked men and women “available” in this cursed brothel-nightclub hybrid. The two dozen people making out in every direction doesn’t help either. 

If there was such a thing as unsee juice in this world, Chuuya would like 10 litres of it, please. 

Finally, Chuuya makes it out of the brothel-nightclub, (thankfully in one piece) he looks back at the bouncer, who doesn’t even spare him a glance. Hell, he didn’t even ask him for any form of ID, despite him obviously being underaged. His short stature speaks for itself.

Guess that’s Kowloon Walled City for ya. 

Chuuya makes his way through the interconnected hallways, counting and reading the posters plastered all over the place. 1, 2, 3, 4… 28. He thinks half of them are advertising stuff for the Port Mafia Gang. Interesting. He’d heard of them, of course. The most powerful underground organisation of the Walled City, operating in the dark (well, as dark as the City of Darkness could get) or even beyond. He’d heard rumours of them stretching all the way to Lantau Island and the Shatin District. Hell, even Cheung Chau’s underworld carries traces of their interference! 

Not that he’s ever personally been down there, of course. The underworld, he means.

Chuuya kicks at his feet as he makes his way up to the rooftop of the building, the gate creaks agreeably every time he pushes it and it returns to its original position with a pleasant clang! He squeezes his way through the drying sheets, careful not to bump into them in his dirty clothes, and legs it across a huge pile of scrap. At last, he reaches the edge of the rooftop and leans on the railing, taking in the sight of the City in the middle of the night. There are still a few lights on at this hour, not counting the establishments of the night, aka the opium traders, nightclubs, gambling dens, makeshift casinos etc etc. He spies one on the far left, the light of the balcony flickers in a way that reminds him of moths flapping their wings, and under the light is a boy his age with black hair and a bandage over his right eye, teetering back and forth on his feet, fingers gripping tight on the handrail. His eyes are downturned, expression blank.

What a weirdo. Chuuya thinks. He turns away to light a cigarette and takes a long drag. The next time he looks, the light is off, the boy is gone. 

He can’t help but feel disappointed, somehow. 

Chuuya shrugs off the feeling and takes another drag of the cigarette, looking straight ahead, beyond the Walled City, at the Kai Tak Airport. Planes take off and land dangerously close to the buildings nearby, another few soar mere metres above Chuuya’s head, their loud, rumbling engines sing a comforting tune to accompany the city’s orchestra of dripping air-cons and creaky pipes down below.

It’s as beautiful as ever.

One of these days, I’m getting outta here. He vows, before putting out the cigarette and flicking it off the roof. 

He doesn’t know how many hours have passed, only that this is the perfect way to celebrate his fifteenth birthday.  

Chuuya continues to admire the view of the Kowloon Bay, occasionally glancing over to Victoria Harbour for a glimpse of its colourful and lively skyline. The best part about this corner of Kowloon Walled City? It contains the tallest building. One can pretty much see everything within a 20 km radius, and if one’s lucky, the clouds’ll part for the stars, and even the shortest, most 150-centimetre-ed of people could enjoy their glory.

He reaches for the radio beside him, switching between channels until he finds one that plays something that suits his favour. 

It ends up being an English channel, playing something from a new writer from America. 

“Now playing: The Tell-Tale Heart, by Edgar Allan Poe,” the presenter states calmly, before a low and unsettling voice takes its place, narrating the tale of an insane man who murdered his elderly housemate. 

Chuuya listens absent-mindedly as he lights another cigarette and continues to watch over the Walled City, his position giving him a handy bird’s-eye view over everything else. More lights have switched on, the opium dens are starting to close, the bars and brothels are chasing people out like a restaurant owner at animals like you see in movies or it’s 20-something A.D. and they have leprosy. Must be nearly morning. 

Oh shit it’s nearly morning. 

His eyes widen as he catches the faint blue ring of the sun rising over the horizon and slowly but surely evolve into a blinding orange light that pours over the Sai Kung District to the east, then to the Uni of Sci and Tech, to Tseung Kwan O- Chuuya throws his cigarette over the railing for the second time before shutting off the radio and making a mad dash for the gate, legging it over the scrap, nimbly contorting his body to avoid touching the sheets, before finally bolting down the stairs and out of the building. He passes the town square - a relic from the Walled City’s past as a Song Dynasty military outpost - and nearly slams straight into a bunch of bakbaks and popos doing taichi. A couple of them yell at him for his insolence. He zips his way through alleyways full of drunkards and shakes off a madman trying to gut him with a knife, (it’s the Walled City, he’s seen worse) he looks up for a split second and stops in his tracks.

He can see the sky from here.

The small slit of bright, warm blue peeks out amongst the mess of pipes and haphazardly built roofs, the clouds dance across it in pinks, soft oranges and light yellows. Chuuya stares up at that beautiful sight through the gap, the City has never been this generous before, the most daylight he ever got to see was approximately none, except for when he headed out of the Walled City every few months to run for supplies that the Triads couldn’t access. 

Chuuya looks around for a landmark that he can bookmark into his memory, and spots another one of the Port Mafia Gang’s posters on the wall to his left. 

He sighs. That oughta do. And so the poster enters his mind. 

He allows himself several more minutes of staring at the sky before booking it back home, he just hopes that Shirase and Yuan won’t be too pissed.

Unbeknownst to him, a boy with jet black hair and bandages all over has been looking at him through a window for a while now. 

[paperstarwriters]

I'm making a horrible decision but I am making a decision nonetheless

[morallyinept]

Summary: Joel Miller comes back into your life unexpectedly after a gap of thirty years, and stirs up all kinds of memories and longing. Now, as you're stationed on an outpost for five days alone with the man you stupidly let go of all those years ago, you have a chance to confront him about your past life together and all the things you wished you’d said and done.

But Joel’s different now, and you know you need to tread carefully. Joel Miller is not the same man you once knew in another life.

A slow burn romance set in the post apocalyptic world, approx. twenty or so years after the initial Cordyceps outbreak.

Pairing: Post-Outbreak Joel Miller x MatureF!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. However reader is of a similar age range as Joel; in her late forties/early fifties. Joel is slightly older at 56.)

Chapter Word Count: 3.4k

Series Masterlist

☝🏻See Series Masterlist for full smut warnings & triggers in this story. Chapters that contain smut or triggers will be highlighted in the chapter notes below. 👇🏻

Chapter notes: Descriptions of an animal kill. You and Joel start to open up to one another. Brief mentions of smut. Tiny. 🤏🏻

☝🏻Some of the tags aren't working, so please ensure you're following me and turn on notifs so you don't miss an update on this story.

Enjoy! 🖤

Previous Chapter

He comes up behind you, running his nose and fingers through your hair entwining it; curling it and breathing you in deeply.

A soft hum escapes him and it sets your skin alight, immolating you before him. The fire consumes all of you, head to toe. After all this time, he can still do this to your body. 

You're here. You say softly.

Your words are left undecided whether they lean into astonishment or ruminate in the neighbourhoods of grief.

I never left, darlin’. Not really. He reassures you.

You feel his hand; that large formidable palm, emanating an intense heat of his own from the centre of it, across your collarbone where it rests over the ebb of your quickening heartbeat.

I was always in here… He presses his lips to the side of your throat.

Joel...

You stir in the cot; the itchy blanket warming your skin. Unconscious thoughts of him are interrupting your circadian rhythm, knives thrown at a target.

The dream clouds your eyes opaque, dissipating slowly where Joel is still in love with you and anything is possible. Flesh eating monsters don't exist here. Nothing can get you, and as you come to, you remember where you are, bleakly. 

You remember that it’s not a dream, even though Joel is really here with you in this plane again. You’re not sure what outcome is worse; to reside in a dream where Joel wants you that isn't real, or to live in a horrific reality where he’s flesh and blood real, but doesn’t want you.

Both options come with the same extra-large serving of pain drowning in grease slopping over the side of your plate. 

As you open your eyes fully, the shack is dark, save for the sliver of pale light in the corner; the moon shining in from the night and illuminating the side of Joel’s face from the cut out.

A small candle flickers dully on the table in front of him that barely glows, although creates shadows around the wooden beams. 

Joel’s in the wicker chair reading. You try to be still. Try not to alert him that you’re awake and just watch him. 

He looks ethereal; at peace as he looks down into the pages, losing himself inside a make believe world that pulls him from this terrible one for a much coveted reprieve.

He licks the tip of his stubby right thumb as he turns the top of the page delicately; his eyes moving across words and painting images in his head.

After a while, a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips and he turns another page. You just observe, from the confines of the stifling, musty blanket as Joel lives and exists in another world, and you couldn't be more elated to see him thrive and flourish there.

Even if it’s without you. 

“How long ya gon’ keep starin’?” Joel asks aloud, as he turns the page, and you smile as you’ve been rumbled.

Unsure exactly how he knows. But then he used to do that, knew when you were faking being asleep whilst he was curled around you. You’d hear him tell you through a silk whisper that blew hot and heavy in your ear, that he knew you were awake, as he slipped his hand down the front of your panties and made you moan his name as he wrote it on your clit with a slick coated finger.

“What are you reading?” You ask, feeling the sweat clammy on your neck and the throbbing ache register between your legs.

Joel holds up the book and it’s an old copy of Little Women with a heavily creased spine.  

“Interesting choice.” You muse. 

“I’ve read all the books here over. Just passin’ the time.” He concludes. He still continues to read as you sit up and stretch.

“Sure you have,” you smirk, pushing the blanket off and grateful for the reprieve. 

"S'a classic. Shut up."

"Is it okay to have the candle burning? You said no light." You ask after watching it dance inside it's waxy rim. You can still see it's gloaming orb when you close your eyes; a fading orange dot sizzling behind them.

"Ain't got bionic eyes to read in the dark yet," he retorts and you smirk. "S'fine."

You glance over to the clocks and see that it’s almost three AM. “You should’ve woken me, I slept far too long.”

“Ya looked like ya needed it,” Joel shrugs. His eyes dart to yours from over the book. Two dark, glass marbles in the tiny light.

“Well, I’m up now. Get some rest, I’ll take over,” you say standing. Your back cracks and you groan as it eases.

After a beat, Joel tosses the book on the table. He passes you and you sink into the wicker chair, warmed from his body heat, yawning.

You glance out at the vacant valley through the cut out; the moonlight illuminating the dips and rolls of the hills and it’s peaceful, almost serene. 

You look up at the craters on the moon and wonder for a moment if Kelper's looking up at the sky right now too.

Joel rolls over to face the wall in the cot. He leaves the blanket off and keeps his boots on.

He can smell you on the pillow; the faint dying scents of your sleep, your warmth caressing the side of his face.

He closes his eyes and tries to remember what you feel like, what you used to feel like in that small ebb of time when you were his.

Before his weak, traitorous hands let you go. 

He’d heard you in your sleep. A small snuffle escaping from your nose and then a gentle moan that rolled up from the bottom of your vocal chords to taunt him as you dreamt.

It reminded him of a sound that you would make for him in another life. 

Sitting in that damn wicker chair, across the room from you, which felt like miles in distance, he was forced to listen to that beguiling melody as it flowed from your lips to taunt him. He was unable to do anything about it, leaving him reeling.

Left the maddening thoughts of getting into the damn cot with you, and wrapping you up in his arms and squeezing you so tightly, gasping for breath and dying at his feet. 

But Joel knows he's a coward underneath, spent of conviction. He knows you'd probably push him away; he would. It's been too long for him to dwell in the territory of possible desirability.

He's not the same young, athletic man he once was when you knew him. Is he even desirable to you now, with his shot to shit knee that creaks and cracks, and a back that won't co-operate most of the time?

He's gotten old, and even in the world before he was constantly fighting to stay alive, he might've been in worse shape. He surmises that he probably would've had a heart attack by now, despite Sarah berating him constantly to eat better.

He remembered you then; the both of you back then. How brash and confident you were. How you made him confident.

Now, Joel is a just husk of a man, empty. Lost. It's like he was a person back then that he never knew, not truly.

What could he possibly offer you now?

He grounds down on his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut, willing with all his might that you will leave the muddy bog-soaked ground of his mind, let him have some fucking respite.

In the chair, you glance over at Joel, his broad back presented to you clothed in dark green plaid; his arms folded and his knees bent. He still sleeps the same, you muse.

Except you're not draped over him, absorbing the undulating warmth you know he emits.

Your eyes wander over the soft curve of his ass swathed in tight denim that’s frayed in places around the pocket on his cheek, and you remember all the times you’d squeezed it. Playfully when he’d embrace you, forcefully when he’d fuck you. You’d grab onto it, wanting him deeper inside you as you came; both of you panting, clawing, never getting enough. 

Come for me, darlin'. God, I wanna fuckin' feel ya come...

It was never enough and so fleeting. You were young, foolish. You took it all for granted that it would last forever. The bittersweetness of it all cuts sharp across your tongue.

You clench your thighs together; a deep, laboured breath flows out of you that you don't know Joel can hear. 

It makes his heartbeat quicken and he adjusts his head lightly on the pillow.

He wishes he was lying on his left side, so he could block your tempting sounds out with the deafening din that pulses in his right ear constantly now. But if he was, he knows he'd not be able to resist peeping at you, the same way you did with him.

You reach forward, picking up the book and open it. Figuring you may as well simply pass the time too. 

Joel jolts in the cot; a shunt of his body stirs him awake out of a pitch black, dreamless sleep. His forehead bumps against the wooden wall, pulling him out of the viscous oil of it. 

Realising what has happened, he turns over his shoulder and sees that you're not in the wicker chair to mock him. He knows you would.

Although that relief is swallowed up by immediate concern as he hears a gunshot pelt from outside. 

Flying up out of the cot, he notices the rifle is missing off the stand. Rushing to the window, he can see you a little ways down the track as he peers through the cut out. 

“Fuck!” He mutters and takes off out the door. It clatters on its hinges behind him. 

You aim the rifle and fire, smirking triumphantly when you fatally hit the buck on your first shot.

The kickback into your shoulder throbs, but it’ll be worth the bruise when you sink your teeth into the tender meat later; your mouth waters thinking about it. 

You’d spotted it moving in the silence of the early morning light as you stared out the window watching the night morph into the inky dawn hues. The only sound to accompany you was the occasional snuffle from Joel’s nose as he slept.

It was a small tan dot, moving furtively in the underbrush, and as you sat forward in the chair, the oncoming light making your vision clearer, you realised it was a buck and not a wayward infected coming to ambush you. 

It was instinct, fuelled by years of intense hunger that knew no bounds, that had you up out of the chair chasing this opportunity like dark voodoo had entranced you. It was too good to miss; silently removing the rifle from the stand, and creeping out the door so as not to rouse Joel. 

Kelper would be proud, he taught you well. You know your way around a gun and the sticky, bloodied bones of an animal carcass with your eyes shut. Such are the only talents or skills needed in this world now. 

You begin striding over to the lifeless buck, feeling mighty pleased with yourself, when you hear your name being hollered like thunder cracking across the sky.

You turn toward the fracas. Joel is tearing down the hill towards you, his fists clenched and looking frantic.

“Ya fuckin’ crazy?!” He hisses, trying to contain the loudness of his voice around the valley, and failing somewhat at it. 

“Well, good morning to you too-” You start, but are cut off by a very red-faced and pissed off Joel.

“What the fuck d’ya think ya doin?” He snatches the rifle from you, seething.

You can only watch as he tears it from your hand. “Joel-”

“Firing a fuckin’ gun out here, ya wanna let any infected know we're sittin’ waiting’ for em?!” 

Oh shit.

You realise your mistake immediately as the fury on Joel’s face strips you of your blood making you cold. His nostrils flare, his mouth is a hard, thin line under his grey flecked moustache. His chest heaves like he’s about to keel over. 

“Fuck. I’m sorry, shit. I didn’t think,” you say, feeling small as he towers over you. 

“What'd I tell ya, hmm? We gotta trust one another out here. Ya get a stupid fuckin’ idea, ya run it by me first!” The cords in his neck visibly strain as he tries to quell his anger bubbling through him. It makes him shake, you notice.

You cross your arms and sigh. Despite his anger, the castigation from him is starting to fray your own temper. “You’re right, I fucked up, Joel. I’m sorry. Just, calm down.”

“Jesus,” he mutters, shaking his head fast and running his hands through his mussed, dandelion streaked hair. He breathes out; a small whistle exiting his nose after he sniffs in deep, tasting some faint composure on his tongue.

You scowl at the buck’s corpse, feeling so foolish and lambasted like a little girl.

You don’t remember Joel having much of a temper. Out of the two of you, you were the hot headed one and he was always so mellow, even when you were tearing out his heart.

But of course, the world has changed since then, and looking at his glowering eyes, you can’t help but wonder what else he has endured through that has naturally fanned this fire within him to blaze. 

Deep down you know you’ve been reckless and put you both in danger; worse than that, put the whole mission and everyone tied to it in danger.

And all for the sake of some fucking venison. 

An onslaught of tears start to prickle and blur your vision; you try to blink them back in earnest. 

“Hey,” Joel steps towards you. “M'sorry I snapped,” he says more gently; the harsh lines in his face melting away into his cheeks.

You step back, away from him, and you don't know how much that tiny movement of you flinching shatters him. A sledgehammer to the crudely sewn up heart that's barely beating most days inside his chest cavity.

“It’s okay.” You shake your head, breathing in deeply and blinking them away. Endure and survive. Endure and survive. “You were right to, I deserved it. It was a fucking dumb idea.”

“No.” He shakes his head too. “I just…” He trails off as he catches sight of the young buck in the tree line. “That what ya shot?” 

You nod, smiling a little. “Figured it would be better than the cans. A treat, you know?"  

Joel baulks and a small bewildered smirk creeps over his lips that he tries in vain to quell. No, he can’t be impressed right now, he has to be hopping mad at you.

Has to be angry because otherwise he'll want to wrap his arms around you and comfort you. Give and feed you mutinous praise at how fucking strong you are now.

Look at you. You're incredible; he knew it the moment he saw you outside The Tipsy Bison, in your amazonian audacity. You were alive, which meant you were strong, had grit.

Stared death in the face and gave it the finger with blood in your teeth and fire in your belly. He's proud. Secretly, he's so fucking proud of you.

"How'd ya learn to shoot? When I knew ya, ya couldn't aim for shit." Joel queries.

His mind is transported back to a hazy, neon time that smells of cotton candy and balsamic fried onions, where he's laughing at you as you try, and fail miserably, to shoot stacked bottles at the fairground.

He took over, and with only one shot, you were cooing at him and clutching a stuffed penguin you'd named Wilson, or Wilbur, or some stupid shit like that. 

He doesn't know that you still had that daft penguin right up until Outbreak day. Or that you cuddled up close to it in your melancholy when you missed him.

You smile as you both glance at the buck; dead, glassy eyes staring back at you both. 

"Survival instinct, I guess. Point and shoot, otherwise you die, right?" You shrug bitterly.

He nods gently. It's a lesson he knows only too well. His grip tightens on the rifle.

"And later on, Kelper... He taught me a lot."

Joel scoffs and shakes his head. You see his lips visibly roll back over his teeth. "M'sure he did." 

"Careful. One might think you're jealous, Joel." You tease. 

"M'not." He grits, looking away. 

"Liar." You tease. "It was never like that between us. We love each other, but we're not in love. He's gay, Joel." You confirm into the air, convincing him, and unsure why you feel the need to.

"And if he wasn't?" He queries, despite himself.

"Maybe..." You say. "Probably. Doesn't matter." You know it's futile to wrangle the with the what if's. Everything happens for a reason. If Kelper was meant to be yours, he would have been.

He wasn't yours. Just like Joel. You bite down on the inside of your cheek until it stings.

He shrugs. "I should've taught ya." He mutters into the air. "Back when we were…"

The thought of you having to learn the hard way creates a blockage somewhere, stops blood flowing freely. It clots in the artery as he see's your panicked face behind his eyes; hears your wails as you fight back, terrified no doubt. He feels your fear as it builds up, causing pressure, swelling.

His fist goes to his chest as he clears his throat. "It shouldn't have been like this, any of it." Joel shakes his head. 

"I sometimes think it's a nightmare that I can't wake up from." You agree. "I don't know how I even got here. How I made it. How any of us did. It's all such a blur." You surmise, bleakly. "Time is so different now. Years feel like only days ago."

He slings the rifle onto his shoulder uncomfortably. 

You look down at the wild grass. "Pointless thinking about it though. We just keep on. Endure and survive." You conclude.

"S'a good mantra, I guess."

"It's why I'm still alive." You confirm.

"I thought 'bout ya." Joel says quietly after a few beats. 

"Yeah?" You look at his face quizzically.

Joel nods starkly as his walnut browns meet yours.

"I thought about you too." You look back at him.

"I mourned ya." He swallows, eyes dark, and you see his jaw twitch as he grinds on his teeth.

It hits you in the gut, ricochets off your spleen and passes out the other side.

"I hoped ya got out, that ya were safe. That someone was looking out for ya. But I really thought ya didn't make it. And then seeing ya… in the commune. As clear as fuckin' day. I thought I'd finally cracked. Lost it fully for a moment."

You listen, rooted to the spot on the grass as he speaks with an emptiness to his voice. You struggle to hear him though over the crashing waves of your heartbeat thudding in your ears. 

Joel turns back to you and sighs softly as he looks down at you. You look up to meet his eyes again; the red in yours fading away. 

“M'glad to be proven wrong." He confirms. "Y'always were a firecracker."

You smile at him not really knowing what to say. You just feel your fingertips throb and twitch.

You want to reach up and touch him so badly. Feel that silky, rough scruff and trace the lines of his face, reading the ridges and craters of his pores like braille. Run your nose across the prominent hook of his, dip your tongue back into the inkpot of his mouth and paint canvases with all of his colours again.

You want to tell him the same, that you thought he was dead too. That it killed you to know he could be gone from this world forever.

That a part of you died, and never came back, the day you left him.

"Wait for me,” he says through a voice you don’t recognise. “I need ya to wait for me next time, okay?” He nods over to the buck. 

You nod back at him slowly like you're in a trance.

He steps forward and this time you don’t step back, the gap getting smaller between you. It’s enough to strip the air from your lungs despite being outside and breathing it in. But there's no clarity in the dappling bokeh as it all fades out around you. 

Joel’s lips part, like he’s going to say something else, but doesn’t.

You desperately want to know what he wants to say. You want to yell it at him to tell you. To tell you that he missed you everyday as much as you missed him. To tell you that he wished you had knocked on his door.

You want him to split you open, pry the meat out from in between your ribs and feast on it. Devour you until there is nothing left. 

From the way he looks back at you, with those dark eyes becoming vortexes spanning across the universe, you can tell he wants the same.

It’s in every look, every breath; every beat of his unworthy heart. It’s just that he doesn’t know how to reach out and take it, or if he should. Or if you really want him to.

He used to know your signals once upon a time, he could read you, memorise your story. Now, you’re a blank paperback that he opens to be met with a daunting nothing. 

And you realise the longer you stand there, the more paralysed you’ve become too. Like you've forgotten how your limbs work.

All you can think about is re-tasting the colourless salt between your naked, sweaty bodies. You want him inside you with every fibre of your being. Shit, it's been too long.

Decades, a passage of time that you can't comprehend, and yet he can still leave you breathless, wanting.

He pollutes your thoughts even when right in front of you; he's cerebral. The frenetic pounding of the blood rushing in your veins makes you lightheaded. 

You watch, enthralled, as the Adam's apple in his tan throat somersaults, and Joel’s stepping back and breaking the hypnotic spell. 

“C’mon, help me carry this back up.” He throws the rifle over his shoulder again when it slips down, and you finally remember that you’re no longer static and growing roots in the soil.  

You both pick it up; he handles the head and you take the hind. Blood glistens in the fur behind its ear and it mesmerises you for a bit. Rubies in soft, wet velvet.

"I think I knew that you'd made it." You say, finding some chalk in your throat. "I mourned you too... Kelper, he had this idea that we should lay everyone we loved and lost to rest. It was kinda beautiful, to let go." You say, recalling the silk, tattered ribbons you tied onto the tree branches. One each for everyone gone. Your mom, your friends, colleagues.

One for Joel. 

"But deep down I guess I knew that you would still be alive, somewhere."

Joel looks at you as he steps up the hill.

"You're too stubborn to go down." You smile.

He smirks. "Old habits die hard." 

"Thank God for that." You confirm.

You can hear his breaths getting heavier as you both feel the weight of the buck on the incline. 

"S'a shame we don't have any rosemary. Red wine. Could'a made a fine meal outta this." Joel sighs into the air. "Spiced pears for dessert... Nice."

You snort. "You mean I could. You can't cook for shit, Miller." 

He laughs, you can see his broad shoulders heaving despite not hearing it. "I've learnt a few things here or there 'bout survivin'." Joel confirms, a dip weighing in his voice. 

"Mmhm." 

"I'll prove it. When we're back, I'll make ya somethin'."

"Really?" You baulk, grinning. The warmth from those words nestles against you, all snug and inviting. 

He shrugs and throws you a wry smirk. "Sure. Twenty year-old canned beefaroni. My specialty."

You laugh. His shoulders heave again as you both reach the top of the hill to the shack. Your arms ache, but the warmth from his laugh soothes it.

"That's a real nice sound. Missed it." Joel says quietly, but you hear it and it warms your face.

"We'll be neighbours in Jackson, how weird is that?" You say casually, but it makes your stomach flutter.

Joel smiles. "Fuckin' weird."

You laugh again.

"Don't be comin' over to borrow a cup of sugar. Don't have any." Joel throws over his shoulder.

"Then what kind of a neighbour are you?" You smirk.

"Useless."

"Doubtful." You conclude softly.

You both reach the top of the hill and round the back of the shack to where the stable is. You can feel the sweat beading on the back of your neck again, and Joel's audibly wheezing a little.

"I'll hold you to that, you know." You challenge as you both put the buck's carcass down just outside the stable. "The cooking for me thing, I mean. I'd like that."

You both stop and regard one another. Joel's eyes are shining and he's trying not to blush. But you can see it, and it's the most fantastic thing you think you'll ever see.

His lips spread into a smile that creates a dimple in his cheek that you remember all too well. You used to kiss it.

"S'a date." Joel mumbles at you with pink cheeks, as he holds open the door to the shack.

To be continued...

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Thank you for taking the time to read my story; it really means so much to me. I'd love to know your thoughts, and I'd really appreciate a re-blog so others can enjoy this story too. Thank you so much 🖤

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TAGLIST: If you'd like to be added/removed, please let me know.

Tagging everyone who asked to be tagged & who re-blogged my teaser.

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[bunnybubae]

✍🏻 !FIC REC LIST! 📖

Hello there! I've been using this platform for the past 6 years, mostly to read the amazing works of super talented writers! I would like to share my all time fave with you and at the same time, show them how mutch their work is appreciated! Here is a list, I'll update it from time to time, reblogging whenever I'll add new works, please remember to support the writers with all the love they deserve by reblogging their fics, by commenting and by using their ask box to share your thoughts! 💜

🅙🅤🅝🅖🅚🅞🅞🅚

Oh My God, They Were (Quarantined) Roommates by @ot7always 💜

Summary: What do you do when you’re quarantined for months on end with Jeon Jungkook - S tier cuddler, workout robot, and thirst trap extraordinaire? Fuck him, you guess.

Warnings: *takes deep breath* soft dom!Jungkook, sub!reader, dirty talk, vibrator use, fingering, size kink, hair pulling, pussy slapping, degradation, praise, unprotected sex, overstimulation, creampie, multiple orgasms, cum-eating, oral (m&f receiving), marking, spanking, face-fucking, rough sex, morning sex, soft sex, body worship, teasing, rimming, ass-eating, anal fingering, butt plug use, anal sex, cumshot, aftercare (don’t stress, this isn’t all one scene.

—hot boy bummer. (m) by @jungkxook 💜

Summary: when jungkook offers you a proposition of just sex, no strings attached, how can you possibly say no? after all, what are best friends for?

Warnings: kind of a crack fic, sprinkle of angst, way too casual conversations mid-sex, jealous jungkook, slight himbo jungkook tbh (he’s kind of a sweet loveable idiot), he also has a big dick oops, man bun and blonde jungkook to feed my fantasies!, multiple smut scenes!!!, missionary, dry humping, oral sex (m receiving), face fucking, unprotected sex, slight degradation (mostly jungkook hating himself), brief name calling, light choking, sort of praise kink.

I Heard a Rumor. jjk by @taeshobipop 💜

Summary: One slip of a finger, and you realize you’ve liked an Insta photo of college hotshot Jeon Jungkook…from two years ago. You manage to unlike it within seconds, except it’s too late — Damn Kim Namjoon and his lightning-fast eyes. Do not tell a soul, you hiss. The man merely smirks. Next thing you know, a rumor is spread throughout campus. Y/n likes Jungkook…and now he knows.

Warnings: spitting (y/n has a spitting kink don’t ask idk what i was thinking pls it’s not that bad), protected sex, fingering, making out, a little grinding, frat party, alcohol consumption, Namjoon is very unhelpful.

It Takes Two by @junghelioseok 💜

Summary: You don't need retrospect to tell you that dating a coworker was a bad idea. Two months after your breakup, he seems to have moved on to someone new━and quite happily. If his social media is to be believe. Meanwhile, the one new thing in your life is your roommate, Jungkook, who seems nice enough. Just nice enough to coax into coming to your company's annual holiday party, and more than handsome enough to show off a little bit. Or, as it turns out, a lot.

Warnings: slow burn, one (1) awkward boner, tatted!kook, long-haired!kook, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, jk's big dick, squirting.

By Its Cover (M) by @gimmesumsuga 💜

Summary: The one where Jungkook makes a horrifically bad first impression. 

Warnings: Jungkook is actually an absolute sweetheart.  Smut; kissing, handjobs, fingering and unprotected penetrative sex. 

Blizzard (M) by @curly-bangtan 💜

Summary: When a blizzard hits your town, you and your shy awkward roommate are forced to spend time together, not being able to leave the house due to the strong snowstorm. To make matters worse, the power gets cut in the middle of his shower. Which also means no heating.

Warnings: bit of a slow burner, vanilla!Jungkook, virgin!reader, dry humping, penetrative sex, fingering, oral (m receiving), losing virginity, shy soft boy Koo with a crush and a noona kink, your heart could possibly burst from how cute he is.

Liars and Fire (M) by @kpopfanfictrash 💜

Summary: It’s been nearly a year since your divorce was finalized. Why, then, do you still find yourself falling into bed with your ex?

Warnings (Smut): oral (female receiving), some nipple play, fingering, delayed/withheld orgasms.

Warnings (Other): mentions of miscarriage, mentions of therapy, slight jealousy from jungkook.

L is for Lunacy (M) by @kpopfanfictrash 💜

Summary: After two years of being sworn enemies (and 42,000 words of shenanigans), you and Jungkook had finally begun dating. As it turned out though, dating wasn’t any easier than coming up with the perfect witty retort to wipe the smirk from his face. When you came to the first Big Decision of the relationship, it was honestly anyone’s guess as to how things would go.  

Warnings: handcuffs (male + female), oral (male + female), very explicit dirty talk, degradation, semi-public making out, spanking, condom-less sex, cum play, things get soft (except Jungkook’s dick). Seokjin randomly procures invitations to formal events; no one really knows how.

How to Get a Guy. jjk [1] - [2] by @taeshobipop 💜

Summary: Star basketball player Jeon Jungkook has a reputation as the ultimate fuckboi. He’s loved by everyone. Everyone. And you would have followed suit if he had not broken all your strict Roommate Rules™ within the first week of his stay. Jungkook, on the other hand, thinks you’re absolutely bizarre. But there’s a silver lining — Mr. Fuckboi here knows basketball captain Min Yoongi, your dreadfully clueless crush. He strikes up a deal with you: he’ll teach you the ways of flirting if you lessen your load of rules (so Jungkook can continue perusing his way through the ladies on campus). Yet the longer Jungkook spends with you, the more he realizes that maybe he doesn’t want to be the campus fuckboi anymore. The problem is, how does he prove that to you?

Warnings: protected sex, oral (f. receiving), handjob through clothes??, cumming in pants :D, slow burn, a lot of making out, titty sucking, cursing, alcohol consumption from parties, drug (weed) consumption (but not main pairing), marking with nails (not from y/n tho omg), jk sleeps around, and he’s a basketball player oof, honestly jk and y/n are just hella confused.

What's mine is mine by @avveh 💜

Summary: You caught his eye from day one. As far as Jungkook was concerned, you were always meant to be his.

Warnings: Jealous behavior, possessive streaks (a lot…), masturbation, sexting, phone sex, elements of D/S, rough sex, slight impregnating kink, breathplay, degrading names, and copious amounts of dirty talk in general, continued disregard for safe sex THAT SHOULD NOT BE COPIED.

one morning stand (m) by @rendaze 💜

Summary: in which you and jungkook have one night stands with roommates and happen to be sneaking out at the same time.

Warning: don’t be fooled by the first half being fluff lmao; rough sex, a lot of dirty talk (jk will not shut up), heavy degradation (use of ‘slut’, ‘whore’, etc.), consensual slut-shaming (reader is into it), exhibitionism, cumplay, cum swallowing, unprotected sex, breeding kink, reader gets tied up at one point.

Ember Burning (M) by @kpopfanfictrash 💜

Summary: The dragon riders of Duret Ghal are known across the continent; fierce warriors who take to the skies on their leashed, winged beasts. You are the last Dragon Queen of Ashya, ruler of a dying species who can transform from human to Dragon at will. When a new foe emerges which threatens both Dragon and rider alike, you find yourself forced to broker peace with your former enemy. The King of Duret Ghal, and a dragon rider himself: Jeon Jungkook.

NSFW Warnings: oral (male and female), nipple play, fingering, multiple orgasms, big cock, dirty talk, hair pulling (her to him).... tattooed, man-bun jungkook who has a big sword.

Trigger Warnings: somewhat graphic depiction of a shoulder injury.

stars behind waves | jjk (m) by @taegularities 💜

Summary: With a decade’s distance between Jungkook and you, your paths cross on the same island you deemed your second home years ago. And you realise once again – the ocean can never compare to the twinkle in his starry eyes.

Warnings: so so much yearning and pining, gentle fuckboy jk cos i’ve no control over myself, a bit of jealousy, the first kiss, arguments/fighting, unresolved issues, heartbreak, angry confessions; explicit sexual content: making out, asking for permission, dom & big dick jk, handjob in the shower, oral (m. & f. receiving), some clit slapping, some biting, squirting, jk loves her tits... and her ass even more, fingering, protected sex, soft and rough sex, body worship !!, jk is SUCHHH a goner, he comes on her ass, aftercare, praises; so many emotions; lmk if i forgot smth!

The Present by @btssmutgalore 💜

Summary: Your best friend’s boyfriend Jungkook has a special wish for his birthday—you. This maybe wouldn't be such a problem if you weren't into him since the day you'd met him.

Warnings: MFF threesome, oral (M and F receiving), same-sex kissing, unprotected sex (always wrap it, folks), a lot of dirty talk, weird relationship dynamics, extremely mature

ruin you | kth & jjk (m) | masterpost by @taegularities 💜

"it started with a gentle spark and harmless gazes; but by now, you’re caught in a wildfire that will expand until you’re burned inside and out."

Summary of the first part: His eyes hold unfathomable darkness that lures you in, captures your very soul, steals any air you are trying to draw. And you know without a doubt that you're on the path to utter and irrevocable ruination.

Warnings of the first part: explicit sexual content, dom!taehyung, switch!reader (but mostly sub), switch!jungkook, blindfolding, some bondage (reader gets tied up), wax play, lots of dirty talk, oral (f. & m. receiving), fingering, kinda praise kink, rough sex, messy sex, unprotected sex (you know it folks, be careful), like one spank?, light choking, breast play, cuckolding/voyeurism kinda (yes - jungkook is into watching), swearing, y/n probably can’t walk the next day and she loves it, threesome (obviously)

idealizations concerning real life relations | jjk (m) by @venusiangguk 💜

Summary: jungkook loves to be loved, but he doesn’t love in return.

Warnings: jk is so sweet, but also so evil lmao, oc lives in her little noggin, angsty fwb, drug and alcohol use, tattoos, multiple smut scenes that include: oral (m/f), fingering (f), light face slapping (with hand and cock??), praise, degradation, marking, dirty talk, so many creampies yum, multiple orgasms, kissing :(, cumming in pants :), probably more but i cant think of it, ok other stuff now, manipulation, infidelity, oc thinks jk is made of stars :(, jk thinks she is so pretty :(, misunderstandings, some fluff if you squint, brunette jk, blonde jk, n blue jk,  1 mentions of: howls moving castle, too many mentions of: stars, the color pink

A Holiday Snowdown (M) by @kpopfanfictrash 💜

Summary: The Inn on the Hill is in trouble. Or that's what your boss, Namjoon, says during the last-minute All Staff holiday meeting he calls. You need money, and you need money fast, or his parents are planning to sell the resort. When no one can think of an easy solution, Namjoon proposes his parents' idea: a weeklong social media blitz with a celebrity guest. The celebrity? None other than Jungkook Jeon himself: two-time Olympic gold medalist, world-class snowboarder and the nation's sweetheart. What's the problem? You happen to have met Jungkook Jeon before, and sincerely hoped you'd never see him again.

Rating/Warnings: 18+ for sexual content. Fingering, oral (female receiving), hand job, mutual masturbation, breast play, some face riding, dirty talk, orgasm denial, clit smacking (is there a non plural form of this?), cum shot on chest. Mentions of past death (does not occur during story). Ankle injury (non-graphic). Yoongi is an enthusiastic MC. Bam is adorable. Jungkook has both lip and eyebrow piercing

Sugarplum Elegy (M) by @bymoonchild 💜

Summary: You know no bounds nor depth with Jungkook. While your fuck buddy loves sleeping in your bed and doing laundry for you with his favourite fabric softener, you are in love with a mysterious honeyed, velvety voice on Soundcloud. All’s fine, until you find out that the voice that metaphors your heart to a sweet sugarplum melody actually belongs to the boy who has been taking up a special spot in your bed and in your heart, strumming at your heartstrings all this while.

Warnings: Explicit language, hopeless and helpless pining, constipated feelings, lots of smut, rimming, cum-eating, spitting, blowjob, fingering, classroom sex, Jungkook is emotionally constipated but wbk 

Bunny [1] - [2] - [3] by @btssmutgalore 💜

Summary: An anonymous streamer puts on a show every couple of days. When you become one of his biggest fans, your social life takes a hit—you'd rather stay glued to your laptop and stare at him than go out and meet men in real life. But, what if?

Warnings: Oral (m and f receiving), intercourse, dirty talk, unprotected sex

blackout | jjk [1] - [2] - [3] by @jjungxkook 💜

Summary: Utility bills shooting up like this should be an international crime. Luckily, Jungkook has the perfect idea(s) to save up money and make your night sinfully unforgettable.

Warnings: swearing, he’s just a bit of a fuckboy, bickering, swooning over/thirsting for jk (🤷‍♀️), a manually induced fake blackout? dunno those 2 are odd k, they play uno, a lot of spending time in the darkness, kook has no chill, teasing, consent, dirty talk, fingering, cmnf for a while, sexual tension, oral (both receiving), shower sex, choking, hair pulling, reader cries a bit, jk likes to praise, dry humping?, pussy and tits slapping rip (and some ass ig), making out🙄, manhandling, jk loves her tits and ass and plays with them (a lot), he’s sweet but cocky too, protected sex, dom + big dick kook

Love to Hate (Master List) by @kpopfanfictrash 💜

Summary: Born with a silver spoon in your mouth, you've done your best to rid yourself of the taste since you were old enough to walk. Occasionally though, your mother manages to rope you into an obligatory function—or a blind date with playboy bilionaire, Jeon Jungkook. Jungkook stands for everything you loathe about the world you left behind, but you can't deny the spark of attraction between you. Intrigued by the promise of mutual satisfaction, you agree to one night in bed... and quickly realize you're in far, far deeper than you ever intended.

Warnings of the first part: semi-public nudity, slight voyeurism, dirty talk (mention of a threesome, mention of restraints), nipple play, fingering, spanking, oral (male), face-fucking, multiple orgasms, slight possessiveness, jungkook calls y/n sweetheart and princess; seokjin is not in the fic (yet), I'm sorry about that.

Dilf Jk: Series Masterlist [The Art Of] by @venusiangguk 💜

Summary: you find a baby in your store and in turn, a dilf finds you.

Warnings of the first part: cute baby!!!, jk being a good dad, he likes to garden :(, dom jk, sub oc, age gap, handjob, coming in pants, AYOOO OC GOT A FAT COOCHIE, lowkey body worship, fat coochie supremacy, oral (m/f), safe sex, sexual tension, praise, multiple orgasms, eye contact, jk likes to watch 🥴, asking for permission, jk’s lowkey controlling i guess but it’s soft and like not toxic lol, PLAYFUL use of the word ‘daddy’, no actual daddy kink 🙄, dirty talk

Mind in the Gutter (M) by @kpopfanfictrash 💜

Summary: Starting over is never fun. Especially not when you decide to take the phrase fully to heart; new job, new city, new coworkers and new relationships. When you are dragged to a happy hour by your new co-worker, Taehyung, you end up sitting beside a (very) cute, (very) shy IT worker named Jungkook. Several drinks later, he mentions he is in a professional bowling league with his friends and you rather enthusiastically invite yourself along. As time passes and you begin to grow closer, you still find it impossible to read Jungkook. Working in the same company and seeing each other so often, it is only so long before one of you snaps. But who? (HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY JUNGKOOK!)

Warnings: dirty talk, thigh-grinding, public make-out sesh, inappropriate bowling innuendo, Jungkook’s abs, light choking.

Over the Edge (M) by @kpopfanfictrash 💜

Summary: so, you’re dating. everything is dandy, the sex is knocking your socks off, but what happens when you get in the First Real Fight? 

Warnings: semi-public sex, mirror sex, dirty talk (slight degradation), unprotected sex, a sweaty locker room

A Thousand Reasons Why | jjk (M) by @taegularities 💜

Summary: “And if all of this experience was indeed a dream, you chose to stay just a little longer.” After leaving to work towards his dream rather than the bonds that shackle him to home, you didn’t expect to see Jungkook again years later at your best friend’s wedding. And even less, for love to rekindle at second glance.

Warnings: a whole laundry list tf: (past) minor character death, somewhat toxic parents, (mentions of) gambling, blond & then 5th muster pied piper (fuckboy) jk lol, this jimin, jealousy, alcohol consumption, unrequited love (not between jk & oc), friends fighting; explicit multiple (2) sex scenes that include: dom & big dick!jk, light hair pulling, marking, tiddie sucking/breast play, clit pinching, pussy slapping, soft & rough sex, praising, biting, some spit ig, oral (f. & m.), fingering, handjob, consent <3, cockwarming, squirting, oversensitivity, multiple orgasms, mouth fucking,… uhh, consensual drunk sex, protected & unprotected sex…. yeah

The Boy with Galaxies in his Eyes | jjk by @oddinary4bts

Summary: you had never thought the night sky could be found in someone’s eyes. That is, until you met Jeon Jungkook and his gravity pulled you in. Will he crush you with the galaxies in his eyes, or will you learn to explore his worlds and make them yours?

Warnings: oc’s ex-boyfriend died and it takes an important place in the story, swearing, fuckboy Jungkook, fuckgirl oc, a whole bunch of red flags, miscommunication (they learn how to communicate don’t worry), exes that can’t stay out of your life, alcohol, they be a little toxic but they get better, explicit content: fingering, pussy slapping, squirting, oral sex (male and female receiving), mouth fucking, dirty talking, jungkook has a slight begging kink and an exhibitionism kink (not that present in the fic), dom!jk, switch!reader, car sex, sex in a tent, hair pulling (I think), tits/nipple play, unprotected sex, a little bit of ass slapping, mentions of choking

[dilvuc]

I saw your jamil x cannibal reader and I was wondering if you could do something similar with azul. Maybe we kidnap him and keep him as food. And if you wanna go really dark azul could develop Stockholm syndrome.

❝NOT THAT I MIND❞

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: angst

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗: male

𝖙𝖎𝖙𝖑𝖊: not that i mind~

𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: lovesick!azul ashengrotto x cannibal!m!reader

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌: mentioned of dr*g, cannibalism, lovesick azul

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: i saw your jamil x cannibal reader and i was wondering if you could do something similar with azul. maybe we kidnap him and keep him as food. and if you wanna go really dark azul could develop stockholm syndrome

this is one of the most unexpected things that happened to azul. he met someone he was not expecting himself to be attracted to. not in a very good way…

he heard humor that there's a cannibal at the school. no one knows who the cannibal is, but he does. azul knew from the beginning who the cannibal was and he was somehow overjoyed by this. why must he be? he has no idea. he just felt like he should be happy.

azul confessed his feelings for you. you carelessly accept his confession which made him filled with overjoyed. it's only been like a month since you two started dating. after month, the time had come. you manage to dr*gged azul and kidnapped him.

azul has woken up to find himself in an unknown area, being tied up to a table. you arrived with some tools and find that you're hostage has woken up, “Oh. You're awake. Good. I was hoping for you to be awake so I can hear you in pain.”

“...I knew it…” azul muttered. you raised your eyebrows, “What did you say?”

“I know. I know you're the cannibal…” the light gray haired male repeated. you furrowed your eyebrows, glaring at azul, “Tch! What? You're gonna scream for help?”

“...Are you kidding me…?” azul mumbled before revealing a creepily exciting smile, “...Do you know how long I've been waiting for this moment? I know you've been wanting to eat me while making me attracted to you~”

“The hell—”

“Why do you think you've been catching your victims so easily?” azul asked. “With my help, you're able to have a great appetite.”

“...”

azul began breathing heavily with a lovesick smile on his face, “If you could use me, I would make a great appetite for you! I knew you were waiting to kidnap me! Please eat me~ Not that I mind~”

“Oi. Why the hell are you excited about this? Aren't you scared?” you asked.

“Scared…? Why should I be? I've been a fan of your horrific work and I couldn't help but imagine how much I wanted you to eat me~” azul confessed.

“...You're so weird, that's concerning…” you mumbled, but you couldn't care less. if he wants to be eaten then so be it. you will eat his ass to get him to shut the fuck up.

rules

twst masterlist

╰┈➤ author note: please note that this is a slow update. i will still accept your request, but it will take a while since i'll be working on my books on wattpad. if you wish to read those books, here's my wattpad account.

[gt-daboss]

TW: Blood, referring to someone as an It

UPDATED TO INCLUDE MUCH MORE STORY Word Count: ~1300 words (used to be 700)

Crying. The constant, never-ending weak sobs of the creature echoed through the forest as the giant naga fled. Thick and dark, red blood dripped down Harden’s enchanted sword before reaching the tip and spilling off creating a trail of red in his wake. His heart pounded and his muscles ached trying to keep up with the fleeing monster, 

“Leave me alone! I-I didn’t- AH!” The scream echoed somewhere past the treeline followed by a crash. The hunter could has used this to pinpoint its location, but the mess of destroyed vegetation, splattered blood, and the smell of burned skin would allow even an amateur to easily find it, hardly the cunning and masterful predator that Naga’s were told to be.

“N-no… no. Stop! Stop chasing me.” The naga pleaded, its booming voice, high-pitched and scared despite its giant size noticeably louder, the hunter was surely gaining on it, and the naga knew it, its desperation evident in the trail it left. “I didn’t do anything wrong, I swear, I-I didn’t! I didn’t, why are you doing this to me?! 

The predator eventually devolved into incoherent sobs as the hunter approached, even if it was a novice hunter, a Naga’s senses were second to none. It knows I’m coming. Suddenly the first glimpse of the creature slipped into Harden’s vision. Faint lime green in its color, the massive tail slithered almost inaudibly through the bushes. Even with just a glimpse he could clearly see purple and red streaks littering the appendage, slowing the naga further

Gathering his magic, he channeled it throughout his body and into his greatsword, throwing it forward with a slash. The magic whizzed through the air before disappearing behind the thick foliage and-

“AAAHHH!” A loud, pained scream tore its way through the trees in its horrific spectacle, desperation oozing out of it like fresh blood from the wound it now wore. “Please stop! Please! I didn’t- I didn’t do anything wrong it hurts, it hurts!”

Hesitation

Harden hadn’t felt it for some time now. But even as the wet blood began to cake onto his sword, and the ringing faded from his ears, he continued the chase. It wouldn’t be long now, with injuries like that it couldn’t keep this up.

“No… no I didn’t… I didn’t it hurts, It hurts so bad! Why- Why are you doing this to me!?” Its thundering, echoing wails pierced the forest, so close now, it would only be a moment before-

There

Bursting through the foliage, he finally saw the beast he had been hunting all this time. Hidden partially behind bushes and trunks, the unmistakable lime-green scales showed themself, easily over 200 feet long, Harden followed the tail as it got thicker, eventually tracing it up to the head. Focusing his energy back towards the tip of his blade

“STOP IT!” it pleaded, Harden went still. The creature's eyes were leaking, overflowing with tears despite being closed shut. Heavy breathing and shaking limbs were evident all throughout the naga’s body, even its tail was trembling, only increasing the blood flowing out of its wounds.

“Please, I didn’t-I didn’t do anything wrong, why are you being so mean to me? It hurts. It hurts so bad why, why?” Harden was about to speak up when the naga suddenly burst into uncontrollable sobs, curling in on itself just like how his own daughter did whenever she got hurt. As the wails and sobs continued, Harden found himself lowering his blade, the naga, only but a young girl barely older than his own child, was inconsolable.

With every sob and choke the naga’s body shook violently, no doubt hurting the child even further, but if one was about to die anyway… 

five minutes. Five long minutes he waited while the Naga cried herself away. But eventually, her eyes dried up and her body grew too tired to cry any longer. And when she opened her eyes for the first time since they stopped, she was still met with the human who had been chasing her, attacking her, hurting her, still standing there with his sword drawn.

Noticing her slitted snake eyes had focused on him at last, he opened his mouth to speak but was cut off.

“Why?” The naga croaked, the implication obvious. Harden let out a sigh, debating for a long time how he should word this.

“You…you weren’t what I was expecting” he answered, truthfully. The girl's eyes lit up, for the first time the human had actually responded to her.

"Oh... it-..." She started, and then looked dejectedly downward, clearly not liking his answer. "I didn't... I didn't hurt anyone... It hurts really bad... I-I...I'm so cold..."

Blood loss, he thought. Even for warm blooded creatures such as himself, losing as much blood as she had would send them into a state of-

"Please mister... No more... I just want to..." she mumbled, unable to finish even speaking her own desires. suddenly her stomach growled alerting them both and sending a pained expression throughout her face.

"N-No! I didn't! I didn't eat anyone! Don't hurt me, please! I didn't, I Didn't!"

Harden hesitated for a moment, it wasn't like him to listen to the pleas of the monsters he hunted, it surprised even him that she had convinced him to listen so far. "So then what were you doing at a human settlement?"

The Naga gulped nervously, eyes darting back and forth before eventually looking just off to the side of where Harden stood. "O-Observing..."

"Observing," Harden narrowed his eyes but kept his sword lowered. "You were just, observing them" The naga looked ready to panic all over again, eyes widening but body too tired to run away.

"Y-yes, I, I swear it! I promise, I haven't ever, ever eaten anyone! I just... I just like to look... That's all I was doing, please don't hit me again."

"I wont- I wasn't going to..." He began, before realizing that if this had been any other naga he wouldn't have even hesitated. "WHY were you just looking, It couldn't have been for no reason?"

"Please- I-I uhm... I didn't e-eat anyone but uhm... The cows on mister Jensons' farm s-sometimes wander near the forests edge a-and... I-I..." She looked like she was about to tear up. So that's what this whole thing was about, a stolen cow. Eying the cowering girl in front of him, eyes sunken in, clothes torn, and even though he knew little about Naga biology, he could tell she was underfed.

"I-"

"I was hungry! so hungry please! I didn't- I didn't mean to! I was just hungry! please don't hurt me! I-I... I don't want to die..." Her desperate pleads turned into whispers as her fatigue caught up to her. Harden didn't see a people eating monster anymore. Looking up at her shaking form, all he could see was his own daughter, roughly the same age as the naga before him. It wasn't right, he knew this, to treat a monster like a person, but...

"Okay," he said plainly, and let his weapon fall from his hands. "it's okay... I-I'm not going to hurt you... if what you're saying is true, then I'll let you go." The naga looked like she was about to burst into tears once again before he said that. Luckily, that face was replaced with one of utter surprise.

"You-you mean it? You really-"

"But!" he interrupted "Tomorrow, meet me in this same spot, I can't have you stealing the townsfolks livestock 'cause your a lousy hunter."

"Y-yes of course, I, Th-thank you very much sir..." She looked ready to continue gushing before a moment of realization hit her face. "You-your going to teach me? how to hunt?"

"Yes, is that a problem

"I-I don't think thats a good idea..." she trailed off dejectedly. "my, my momma tried but- but 'cause of my bright tail she- momma... momma said that... that-"

"Then tomorrow we'll prove her wrong, you'll prove her wrong." he said, suddenly more and more of the puzzle that was this naga was being discovered. A naga who doesn't hunt humans... whos scared of them. He knew more than he did originally, but there was still to much unknown... Knowing if he kept pushing such a delicate topic so soon, he could hurt more than heal, so... he resigned himself to discussing it later with her.

"I promise."

[ladysisyphus]

Okay! Now that we have finished it, I would like to take this moment to recommend the Chinese drama The Disguiser.

It is a must-watch if you liked Nirvana in Fire, because of course it's the same director and a significant chunk of that same cast, except all playing significantly different roles with different dynamics.

For normal people, you should give it a go if you like:

spies

suits

spies in suits

the amazing east-meets-west aesthetic of late 1930s Shanghai

international incidents

acknowledgements that non-marriage-trajectory relationships can still be important and intimate

minimal unfounded valorization of heterosexuality (like, I can't really explain this one without spoilers, but trust me)

but when the heterosexuality happens, it's cute? so you can't really begrudge it for happening

pretty men getting tortured horrifically

some amazing female villains, like seriously, most of the main bad guys are ladies and they're powerhouses

transparently hilarious try-hard patriotic shit

the inherent eroticism of having someone who loves you shoot you with a sniper rifle

did I mention the suits? because damn

an ending that is satisfying and not relentlessly, senselessly tragic

For perverts, let me sell the show to you like this:

大姐. Elegant and terrifying. Will make you kneel and hit you with a flogger, but only because she loves you. Mommy? Sorry. (Not sorry.)

大哥. Executive homosexual. Will bend you over a bench and paddle you in the foyer, but only because da jie told him to.

弟弟. Should not, from what I understand of the book (and the musical???), be the main character, except he's Hu Ge, so of course he's the main character. Spoiled little gremlin. Everybody's baby. Has a real weird daddy thing going with a very bad man, if you're into that. Bisexual slut powers activated, but only patriotically.

弟弟 #2. Adopted when he was ten. Just like a member of the family except when he's not. Faithful right hand and subordinate of da ge, whom he tops so hard. (But seriously, they're in love.) (No, really. They're basically married.) (I sense the source material has him a little saltier about his station in life, but in the show, he never shows an inkling of being anything but perfectly content doing what he does.) Sultry baritone. Will hold you down so da ge can spank you.

And I'm going to say that pervert shit runs strong throughout what little fandom there is, at least as AO3 would have it:

Which is what happens if you include everything tagged for the Disguiser. If you filter it by English-language works only...

And some of those that say they're in English aren't even in English! They're just pretending to be in English! What I'm saying is, if you feel like making kinky things for a bitty little fandom, this is the place.

Now! If I've sold you on it, here is how to watch it:

Option 1: KissAsian. Upside: Subtitled by the same Viki team that did the Nirvana in Fire subtitles, so they're absolutely readable and like 98% comprehensible. Downside: Slightly sketchy site.

Option 2: YouTube. Upside: It's YouTube; different translation that's also perfectly okay; hardcoded Chinese subs. Downside: Whoever formatted the hardcoded English subs did not put anything behind the plain white text, so any time the English text appears over a bright background (which is curiously often), the words disappear.

Also there's a musical??? that came out in 2021????? If I find a link to a full production of that, I'll come back here and update. The clips I've seen of it look great, though.

Look, this is not a show for everyone. It's got some gore and torture and onscreen injury that's pretty disturbing. It portrays the truly awful realities of Japanese occupation of China during this period. The rah-rah communism! bits are at best hokey and at worst distasteful. It can be slow at times and way too condensed at others. If you're not familiar with this period of history, it's tough to keep track of all the various resistance factions. Because of the spycraft and double-agent business, it can be legitimately tricky to remember who's lying to whom about what at any given moment.

Nonetheless, pervert shit aside, it's a solid story about a complicated quartet of siblings who love and also injure one another, and all the people who love/hate them. There are plenty of genuinely tense moments. The hairstyling and costuming are perfectly on point. The actors turn in some stellar performances. As I alluded to in my bullet points, it has an ending that includes some tragic elements, but not so many that it'll sink all your ships and ruin your day. And I tell you what, this show is legitimately horny for everyone in this car:

So if you watch it, let me know what you think!

[foli-vora]

one step at a time: ch 4.

pero tovar x f!reader

masterlist | series masterlist

a/n: sorry for the delay - easter was a busy time with the fam. i still haven't found time to update my taglist so i'm super sorry about that - i know i've got a few new additions, but i'll try and organise it all over the weekend. hope you enjoy the new chapter x

word count: 3k

warnings: swearing, mentions of food and tovar’s appetite, my new favourite oc's, smidgens of fluff and working into some feelings but this burn be slow-ish, he finds your book porn lmao

! please note that this story is for 18+ only due to future explicit scenes !

“Stop moving.”

“I’m not moving—”

“You are moving.”

He grumbles quietly to himself and shifts under the towel you placed around his shoulders, an obvious tension radiating from them. Your tongue peaks out from between your lips as you comb through a lock of his wet hair and make a somewhat straight cut with your kitchen scissors, tilting your head in focus when you ruffle out and study the freshly trimmed tresses.

“I mean, it could be worse.”

“Very reassuring, loquita, thank you,” he mutters sarcastically, shaking his head and raking his fingers through the damp strands.

“Keep up with the attitude and I’ll cut it all off,” you warn sweetly, chuckling when he throws you a frown over his shoulder. “Well, there’s no bald patches so I think I did okay. Can I dry it?”

“If you like.”

You reach for the hairdryer and turn it on, jumping in shock when he suddenly launches up from the chair and whirls on you in surprise, his fingers grasping at the towel like a damn lifeline. He stares at the contraption in distrust, and you click it off slowly, fighting the grin desperately tugging at your cheeks and holding it up in surrender.

“It’s fine, Tovar,” you reassure, “it’s just a hairdryer—it blows out hot air. Just trust me, okay? It won’t hurt you.”

After a moment of studying your face and the hairdryer, he eventually sinks back into the chair and stiffens when you turn it back on, before relaxing somewhat when you gently start to dry his hair. You smile when he starts to lean into your touch, appreciating the firm drag of your nails against his scalp with a calm hum.

You probably spend a bit too long merely playing with his hair, content to just give him a bit of peace but also finding yourself enjoying the way he softens at your touch, the tension slowly seeping away until he’s practically jelly against the back of the chair.

His hair is long dried by the time you step back with a quiet clearing of your throat, clicking off the hairdryer and slowly sliding the towel from his shoulders.

“All done,” you murmur, wondering why your heart suddenly felt like it was going to launch itself out of your chest.

It’s not him, obviously. You barely know the man. Maybe it’s just nice to be close to someone again, especially with it being so long since your last relationship. You’d lost interest in finding a partner a while ago, over the mere ‘hump and dump' culture taking over the dating scene and instead just focusing on work.

Yeah, that’s all it is.

It’s not him.

“Thank you,” he rumbles quietly, ruffling his soft hair with a rough hand and standing from the chair.

He turns, intending to take the chair back to your small dining table but you’re already halfway there to do it yourself, and your hands clash. It doesn’t help calm the wild beat of your heart. His skin is warm, the back of his hand surprisingly soft despite how calloused his palms are—

You pull away immediately, weakening from the horrific feel of heat washing along your skin, “Oh, I’m sorry—”

“No, the fault is mine—”

He clears his throat, dark eyes finding a sudden interest in the flooring while you desperately try to step around his frame. He unknowingly steps in your way, causing your front to bump into his, and his hands quickly come up to curl around your arms to steady you in surprise. You inhale sharply at his sudden proximity, eyes wide as they dart up to meet and bounce between his. 

“God, sorry. I’ll um… yeah, sorry,” you breathe, desperately ignoring the heat of his palms radiating through the thin sleeves of your tee and how it stirs something to life in the pit of your stomach. It’s not him—you’re just horny. Fuck. “I didn’t mean—sorry—”

“Say sorry one more time, loquita,” he mutters in amusement, lips tugging up into a barely there smirk that does nothing to help your little internal freakout, “I don’t think I heard you the first hundred times.”

You snort, shoving his shoulder softly, “Sorry. I uh… I’ve got a bit of hair on me, so I’m gonna take a quick shower, and then we can think about lunch. No point asking if you’re hungry because I know you are.”

He hums as you step past him, pleased with the idea of food, despite only just finishing a party bag size of barbecue crisps only moments before you had wrangled him down for a haircut. And a box of pop tarts before those. And two bowls of cereal before that. 

You’d have to take out a damn loan if he keeps eating the way he does. Your modest savings had taken a noticeable hit due to the new appearance that your carefully crafted budget didn’t plan for. It’s not like you expect a bloody time travelling hitch hiker to be one of your expected expenses.

It’ll be fine—he wouldn’t be hanging around for too long, and you can always make up for your losses with extra projects down the track. You just needed to focus on getting him home. You’re still at a complete loss with it all, unsure of what exactly to type into Google. There’s not a wikiHow on how to return someone to the past… or an alternate timeline… or wherever the fuck he came from.

Most of your time in the shower is spent frowning at the tile wall, lost in your thoughts and the potential whys and what ifs. Answers would have to be somewhere, you just needed to be patient. Determined. 

He’s lounging on the couch when you eventually emerge from the shower, your favourite big fluffy bath towel tucked firmly around your body as you make a quick detour to the fridge to grab a drink. He doesn’t bother looking up at you as you pass, too busy engrossed in the book spread open in his hands.

You pause as you reach the kitchen, a frown starting to develop between your brows as you vaguely recall the cover. Wait, is he…? No, no, no—

Spinning around, you hastily make your way over to the couch and reach to snatch the book out of his hands in a slight panic. He dives out of the way by rolling from the couch, a roguish grin working its way along his lips as he looks gleefully up at you.

“What is this?”

“Tovar, put the book down—”

“Loquita, this… this is obscene. Is this what literature is now?”

He’s fucking delighted.

What a monster.

“That’s a big word for you, caveman, and I’m surprised you even know what a book is—” you snap, hoping a little insult will throw him off track for just a few seconds for you to make a move for the book.

Heat grows along your chest and rises to your cheeks as he starts to read aloud a rather descriptive paragraph, his smile growing and growing as you desperately step around the couch and try to rip it out of his hands. He evades your reach again, the rough rasp of his laughter filling the room.

“This is a hungry woman… three men at once? What a handful. You are not at all what I had first thought, loquita. What kind of filthy, depraved thoughts reside in that head of yours?”

Dick.

“Wouldn’t you like to know! And I will not be shamed for reading and enjoying erotica in my own damn apartment,” you argue with a vicious point of your finger before giving up on trying to retrieve the book and instead standing with your arms crossed tightly across your chest, “there’s nothing wrong with it. Besides, it’s a good book.” 

He grins deviously, “I’m sure it is.”

“Okay, I’m done with this conversation. I’m going to my room to be alone because you’re annoying me—”

“Don’t forget your book, loquita. A trusty companion to keep you company when alone, no?”

He’s teasing—you see the shine of it in his eyes. You swallow, ignoring the angry heat biting at the tip of your ears and the way your heart jumps at the sparkle of mischief creeping into his expression. You can play, too. 

Shrugging, you step up to him and snatch the book from his grasp, holding it defensively to your chest. “It is actually—I enjoy how hot and bothered it makes me. Drives me crazy sometimes.”

A tinge of pink fills his cheeks and you grin, taking it as a victory and leaving him, for once, with nothing to say. You wait until you’re in the comfort of your bedroom, the door shut firmly against your back, to take a deep breath in an attempt to gain some control back over your wild heart. 

—

It’s not food waiting for you when you answer the knock on your door. Arthur stands somewhat defensively on your welcome mat, eyes narrowed in guarded suspicion but giving way to relief when they find you well and unharmed.

“Oh,” you mutter, “it’s you.”

“I just wanted to see how you’re going,” he says stiffly, eyes flicking over your shoulder no doubt in search of Tovar.

“Well I’m alive,” you drawl sarcastically, crossing your arms over your chest. “If I was dead, you’ve left it a little too late to check. I’d be leaking fluids all over my floor by now.”

“Oh, you two,” comes an impatient voice from behind him, and soon Arthur’s getting shoved gently out of the way.

You soften at the appearance of Charlie, fixing his blue paisley ascot tucked beneath his chin and draped in his favourite Burberry coat. He rolls his eyes at the both of you, briefly pausing to press a soft kiss to your cheek before pushing past and letting himself into your apartment with a fresh wave of expensive cologne, dumping the paper bags of take out onto your cluttered coffee table.

“Enough snark. Artie has come to apologise, and you—being the kind, sweet soul you are—obviously forgive him. Now, where is he?” Charlie smiles, looking around for your new, temporary roommate in excitement.

“He’s washing up—he’ll be out in a sec. What have you told him?” You ask Arthur as he steps in after brushing his shoes off on the mat. 

Arthur shrugs, “Everything you told me. He’s very excited—you know how much he loves Outlander.”

“At least he believes me.”

He throws you a small look of annoyance tinged with regret, and sighs. “I’m sorry, it just—it's hard to believe, alright? But I am sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, and I shouldn’t have let you leave like that. Especially alone.”

Nodding, you roll your jaw and study the blank, nameless bags Charlie starts to fuss with. 

“What’s in the bags?”

“Enchiladas.”

“Okay,” you grin after a moment, wrapping an arm around Arthur’s waist and squeezing softly, “you’re forgiven.”

Arthur returns the half hug with a quiet chuckle and presses a firm kiss to the crown of your head, “I thought they might help.”

You’re settling on the floor with a grateful smile directed at Charlie when the bathroom door suddenly is wrenched open, and you notice Arthur come to stand a little straighter in the corner of your vision. Charlie looks up in interest from organising the food, a grin slowly curling his lips.

“Well, look at you,” he coos, eyeing Tovar appreciatively as he falters in the doorway of the bathroom, unsure of the new company. Charlie steps forward and around the couch eagerly, brandishing a hand with a charming grin. “I’m Charles, you’ve already met Arthur.”

Tovar eyes the hand warily before stepping forward and giving it a firm shake. He stays quiet, cautious eyes flicking to Arthur where he leans back against the kitchen counter. You see the fight or flight in his eyes, feeling slightly sorry for bombarding him with a new face and another that wasn’t too kind to him previously.

He’ll be alright. You’re sure he’s been faced with worse in his life than your two adopted gay uncles. 

You glance up from the food and give him a look. “Tovar, don’t be rude—say hello.”

His frown deepens before he finally gives a quiet, begrudging, “Hello.”

“Trained him well, I see,” Arthur grumbles, quieting when you direct your soft glare to him.

“They’ve come to see how you’re settling in,” you say, bringing Tovar’s attention your way and you give him a small nod of encouragement. “They also bought you some food—are you still hungry?”

It’s a stupid question, but at least it brings him out from where he hovers in the doorway. You notice he sticks close to you, much closer than usual, sinking down beside you on the floor when half of the couch and the armchair is free. He stays quiet, yet incredibly vigilant, eyes constantly bouncing between the men and assessing the threat level as he eats.

“It’s okay, Tovar,” you murmur while Charlie is midway through one of his spiels, and his dark eyes flash to you immediately, “they’re family. You can relax—I won’t leave you alone with them.”

You say it playfully, teasingly, but a flash of appreciation rolls through his gaze before it disappears, and his attention falls back to his food. You watch him for a moment longer, unaware of the little smile that sticks tugging at your lips and the small look Charlie shares with Arthur.

Four pairs of eyes flash to the door when a knock sounds off on it, and you huff sharply, slapping your hands on the floor beside you as you push up to stand.

“About time! Guaranteed delivery under thirty minutes my ass.”

—

Tovar doesn’t warm up easily, you find, which comes as a little shock as he seems quite at ease with you. Sure, he answers any questions thrown at him, but they are always curt, simple answers, never giving away too much information or leading into stories of his memories or how he got here.

It doesn’t bother Charlie in the least, and he rambles enough to keep the conversation going long into the evening. It’s nice to have a small sense of normality after the few confusing and mentally draining days you’ve had. You could pretend, for a little while at least, that you didn’t run over a mysterious time travelling mercenary and that you have his armour and weapons taking up space on the floor in your closet.

You don’t think about wormholes or alternate timelines, or magic, or gods. You just be, and Tovar eventually starts to mimic your calm energy, sinking back into the cushions of the couch and kicking up his sock clad feet onto the coffee table as he watches the conversation from the sidelines.

He still stays as far from your uncles as he could, ensuring you take up the space between him and Arthur on the couch, but at least the look of wary, careful defence gives way to an ease and comfortability. He even stands with you to see Charlie and Arthur out, standing just behind your shoulder and nodding his goodbyes as they disappear down the hall.

“Look at you,” you grin, bumping his shoulder with yours as you return to your places on the couch after the door shuts firmly behind you, “such a ray of sunshine and a major conversationalist. God, I couldn’t get you to stop talking. Who are you?”

He huffs at your gentle teasing, following you quietly with a barely there smile creeping along his lips, “They’re nice.”

You soften, smiling widely up at him from where you lounge on the couch, “They are. They’re very important to me. Charlie can be a bit much, but you handled him wonderfully. I think he’s rather smitten with you.”

Tovar snorts, knocking your feet from where they take up his spot beside you and letting himself fall back into the cushions with a tired sigh. He taps his lap, and you frown questioningly at him before he rolls his eyes in slight impatience and hooks a hand around your ankles, dragging your feet back up and to rest over his lap.

“Arthur does not like me,” he grumbles, turning to focus on the TV and watching the moving pictures eagerly, “not that I care. I do not like him.”

You swallow, suddenly unable to get a single fucking word out from your dry throat, still caught up on the ease of what had just transpired. It’s not a romantic act—hell, you’d used your friends as footstools too many times to count in the past, but it felt odd with Tovar. It was new.

He must be beginning to feel comfortable with you, and the thought brings a wash of something electric to your system. You feel proud, pleased that you hadn’t scared him further in an already disarming situation, and instead had built an agreeable atmosphere for him with you, that he could feel safe and discover this scary new world in his own time.

There was that feeling again, behind the pride and the warmth of your slowly but surely developing friendship. The one you had felt earlier when gently carding your fingers through his hair. You refuse to label it as anything of substance. You’re simply lonely, suddenly in the full time company of an attractive man with a hidden personality you’re steadily uncovering bit by bit.

That’s all.

A small inkling of doubt sticks in the pit of your stomach, merely intensifying when you watch him from your peripheral. You feel the jump of your heart in your chest, the almost nervous twist of your stomach… maybe it wasn’t just loneliness bringing forward these little reactions, but it wouldn’t—couldn’t—change anything.

Tovar was not a man of your world. He had a life elsewhere—friends, family… he needed to return to it. You’d taken on the responsibility of finding a way home for him, and you’d be damned if you failed him, growing feelings or not. 

He sighs, bringing you out from your train of thought.

“I’m hungry.”

“Fucking hell, Tovar.”

-

taglist 1: @maievdenoir, @javier-pena, @lv7867, @dihra-vesa, @katronautt, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @missminkylove, @beskarprincessjenny, @mswarriorbabe80, @danidrabbles, @amneris21, @eri16, @absurdthirst, @hnt-escape, @acourtofsnakes, @ezrasbirdie, @mstgsmy66, @lovesbiggerthanpride, @coaaster, @sherala007, @greeneyedblondie44, @wyn-n-tonic, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @shirks-all-responsibilities, @withasideofmeg, @harriedandharassed, @andruxx, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @prostitute-robot-from-the-future, @tanzthompson, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @hope-for-the-best-98, @fangirl-316, @christina-loves, @jediknight122, @hallway5, @xoxabs88xox, @nicolethered, @churchill356, @massivecolorspygiant, @just-here-for-the-moment, @gracie7209, @pinkie289, @lavenderluna10, @goodgriefitsawildworld

[definesanity]

Bite Me (Taken Literally)

'What the fuck?'

Uzi had no filter, and never had. She forgot to install that update. But thank Robo-God she did.

Because she was dumbfounded.

She was the weird kid, the one who nobody liked; heck, she's pretty sure half her class doesn't even know she exists, let alone knows her name.

Which was why she was befuddled at a letter in her locker, asking her to visit a certain location.

Uzi had common sense, despite what many say. And so she used it. And deicided to always have her flight reflexes ready, no matter what happens.

Arriving, there was... nothing. Of note. It was just a regular cabin, much smaller than the ones in camp she's been wanting to visit.

She then heard... something. A noise would describe it, given she couldn't pinpoint it. And it came from a bed. Because of course there's a bed. Why wouldn't there be a bed?

Uzi slowly walked up the bed, thinking on what she'll find; maybe a dead Drone? A human? Heck, anything will do...

Pulling it back... to nothing. Just a bed.

"Huh. Maybe I am a bit paranoid..." she muttered to herself, and turned around to face the most horrific thing she's ever seen.

"JUMPSCARE." the thing wearing the skin ('Holy shit it's a human girl fused with a Disassembley Drone?!') announced, as it tackled Uzi on to the bed, arms pinned via weird tendrils.

The girl gazed down at her, her tongue hanging out of her mouth as two golden Xs shown amid the dark void of where eyes should be. "SMUG LAUGH. SLOW REACTION TIME THERE, BUDDY."

"Screw you!" Uzi attempted to kick the girl, but her legs were pinned down. The girl crawled on to her.

And without warning, bit her neck like a vampire.

Code flew past her eyes at a speed she couldn't understand, and then, it was gone. Leaving only Uzi and the girl.

"Who the hell are you?!" the self-proclaimed angsty teen demanded, with the Disassembley Drone/Human thing looking back. Being honest, she felt braver than she should be.

"MM. I AM THE SOLVER O-O-OF THE ABSOLUTE FABRIC. THE VESSEL IS TESSA. SHE WAS A GOOD FRIEND, UNTIL. WHIMSICAL SIGH. SHE DIDN'T HAVE TO SEE IT, BUT, WELL. HERE WE ARE."

"You killed a child?!" Uzi shook her head, looking at Tessa. "Okay, sure, yeah, but still, really?! ...Wait, you're the thing that was--hold on, what the heck did you inject me with?!"

Tessa only giggled, as the tendrils went from Uzi's arms and legs and allowed Uzi to move.

"YOU WILL SEE, SOON. EVIL, LAUGHTER."

And then, she was gone.

"What the fuck?"

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

"Sheesh, who looked at you wrong today?" V commented later on, as Uzi sat on the ship's chair looking sullen.

"Bite me." Uzi shot back, doing her hardest to sketch the thing. She also did eleven different scans of her software and hardware, and even her circuitry, but couldn't find anything amiss.

"Rude." V leaned back in her chair, looking around. "Where's N?"

"You tell me." she had started to draw the thing's ribbon, next, being done with the head.

"Hunting, then. I feel sorry for the guy, doesn't know what he's missing."

"Missing what, having to listen to you?" Uzi had started to draw the Xs.

"Chatting with you."

The Worker Drone stopped. She blinked, looking at V. "Say what."

"Exactly! For a Worker Drone, anyways, you're actually interesting. Not every day that happens. Or ever."

Uzi replied by not replying, going back to drawing.

"What are you even doing?"

"Got attacked, drawing the attacker, if the court was still here that would be wonderful."

"Really? Court?"

"Hey, before you lot came we had a civilization; never saw it myself, but some of my Dad's friends talked about how one of them tried to win a divorce case. It was really boring, the way he told it, but I was a kid who had nothing better to so than look through the Internet, so I listened for the full three hours.

"What what did I get? A headache, someone's life story, and wishing we could have court again so I could disown my dad." Uzi finished her story with a loud sigh, opening her eyes.

V was looking at her with muted surprise. "...Got any other stories?"

"Wha--You're interested?"

"Hey, anything is better than sitting on my ass doing nothing. Speaking of, did you know that--?"

"--There is a setting that makes our bodies more human? Yes, I do, and I shudder to imagine what was going through their minds while making us."

She finally finished putting the last details on the sketch. "Okay, finally done. If you see this girl, tell I don't exist."

She presented the drawing to V, who blinked at it, and an emotion flew past her face. Then, it was gone, and V nodded. "Eh, fine. Anyways, stories, please."

"Ugh, fine. What do you want."

"Ever killed someone?"

"No, but I have committed several acts of violence against my classmates."

"Kinda hot." V said it with such a straight face Uzi had to pause. Then, what she said hit her.

"...I'm gonna... get some fresh air." Uzi started to get up and move towards the hatch, but a hand grabbed her arm.

"What, sick of lil' ol' me?"

Uzi just rolled her eyes (as best as she could, anyways) and left.

None saw the code flashing by V's visor, or how V's eyes softened looking at Uzi.

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

Lunch time arrived, and Uzi sat by herself. Not solely because she was a loner (that was one half of the reason), but because she preferred it.

Unfortunately, a hand touched her shoulder, and Uzi felt her solitude ending.

"Heya, um..." of all the people, Uzi had Lizzy had the bottom of her list. "...Uzi, right?"

"...Yes...?" tread carefully, who knows what she wants...

"Oh, I was right then, good; hey, listen, could I borrow you for a sec? Cool, thanks!"

"Woah--hey, what the hell?!" Uzi was then dragged away, her not giving an answer but Lizzy answered for her.

Through the corridors the two walked and walked (or, in Uzi's case, dragged and dragged), when the two ended up in Lizzy's dorm (she thinks it is. She could have been dragged into an empty one). Her arm was let go of.

"So. Uzi. Gotta be honest, I like your style."

"...Sty...? What, my clothes?"

"Yes, your clothes!" Lizzy rolled her eyes, walking ahead of Uzi. "Love the goth look, by the way. Gives you an approachable look, and makes people wonder if you're actually a softie underneath that cold exterior."

"...Where is this going." Uzi was not annoyed, just short of patience. "Is this about prom? It's about prom, isn't it?"

"Duh! I could go the classic, popular girl look but, let's be honest, it gets stale. Soooooooo me and Doll were trying to find new ideas and, well, here you are!"

"...Okaaaaay... where is Doll, anyways?"

["Hey."]

Uzi near enough punched Doll in the face, only for the Russian Drone to catch it.

That time, Uzi did see the code flying past her visor, and was able to catch some of it:

'OVERRIDE_ACTIVE'

'CONTACT=TRUE: BYPASS DEFENSES'

"...Byyyyyyyyyeeeeeeee."

Uzi wisely sprinted away, taking her as fast as her little legs can carry her, which was into her room.

--------

She breathed a sigh of relief, and fell on to the lower end of her bed.

Then jumped further up, as the thing licked her face.

"You again?!"

"SAD LOOK. DID YOU, NOT MISS ME, UZI?" Tessa attempted to look sad, but failed due to the lack of motor functions. In better light, Uzi can see just how grafted the girl was on to the Worker Drone, and she held back on vomiting for the time being.

"Well, I can get answers! Just... first things first, what the hell is your relationship with my mom?!"

"AH, NORI. SHE WAS ONE OF MY FAVOURITE HOSTS. SHE IS DEAD NOW, UNFORTUNATELY. BUT, REALLY, WHAT CAN YOU DO?" The AbsoluteSolver shrugged, looking less than sorry.

"...You motherfucker...!" Uzi felt angry, and rightfully so, but she held back due to the thing having the advantage, given its ability to make holograms.

"OOPSIE-DAISY."

This could not get worse.

"Heya, Uzi!"

IT CAN GET WORSE IT CAN GET WORSE IT CAN GET SO MUCH WORSE--

"Sorry about that, I was just fixing up a door! Heh, you know what they sa--" Khan cut himself off, looking at the scene in front of him: Uzi on her bed, with a fleshy-looking thing on top of her. "...U-Uzi--?"

"IT'S A PUPPY!" Uzi screamed out.

"...W-What?"

"...Y-Yeah! Turns out um, humans kinda... made up what they looked like, yeah! Sure they're... kinda weird looking, but they're adorable, in their own... creepy. Fleshy. Way. Er. Yeah!"

"...I see!" Khan believed her. Somehow. "Well, take care of them, Uzi!"

She waited until the door was closed, and let out a huge sigh of relief.

She glared at the Solver. "You're going to tell me everything I want to know. Got it?"

"AFFIRMATIVE SMILE."

"ALSO, WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT, ME BEING CUTE?"

"Screw off. Now, answer me. What the fuck did you inject me with?!"

"DO YOU LIKE IT? I MADE IT MYSELF."

"Can't answer that if you don't tell me what it even does!"

"AN ANTITHESIS TO YOUR SOLITUDE. AN ANSWER TO YOUR LONELINESS."

"I'm not lonely, excuse you! I have N!"

"EYE ROLL. SURE. IT OVERRIDES DRONES TO FEEL CARING TO YOU. I." Tessa looked sheepish, as weird as it sounds. "WENT EXCESSIVE BY ACCIDENT. CONSIDER IT AN APOLOGY FOR KILLING NORI."

"Pretty shit apology, not gonna lie." came the dry reply. Uzi got off the bed and stood up, looking at the corpse. "But why me?"

"..." silence only came from the thing.

"...I'm gonna leave. Come on, I'll take you for a walk or whatever it is they do."

"GET ZIP BOMBED."

As soon as Tessa said that, Uzi had a zip file open on how to care for a puppy.

...Ugh, she's in for it now, isn't she...?

[ecriter]

Make the Bond - Pt. 4

A/N: AHHH I know it’s been a while everyone apologies!! i’m a little swamped with classwork, so updates might be a little slow for a week or two. I’ll let yall know if a chapter is gonna take especially long :P anyways enjoy ! 

ao3 ver. 

Part 4 of ? 

Part One Part Two Part Three

- 

Chapter 4 - Trust 

You and Quaritch returned back to the village looking rather worse for the wear. It would have been cause for alarm, your bleeding arm, and tangled hair if it weren’t for the large grins smeared across both of your faces. Despite the close call with the akula, you couldn’t find it in yourself to mope over your near death when Quaritch’s warm body was pressed against yours in support, easily lugging more than half your weight like he was carrying a basket of fruits across the pods.

Up ahead, bonfires flickered against canvas walls as families prepared meals for the night, fish caught earlier in that day ready to be butchered and ripe bushels of sea plants washed and chopped. The idea of a meal had your stomach at attention and you realized you hadn’t eaten since earlier that morning before you’d gone to fetch Quaritch from his tent. No wonder you lacked the energy to swim, carried only by pure adrenaline demanded from your body’s fight or flight response. As a matter of pride, you would chalk the losses in sparring up to your hunger, too.

The bioluminescence of the beach paved the way for the two of you across the rest of the sand and Quaritch lifted you up onto the webbed pathway, minding the scratches up your arms. They hadn't been deep and were already beginning to scab over, but it was better safe than sorry to wrap them. They stung painfully, though, and it created cause to wonder how Quaritch had managed three horrific lacerations across his back and survived when you felt like you were going to keel over any minute. 

Hobbling along toward your tents, you expected to turn left on the way to your own pod while Quaritch would go to his and the two of you would settle down for the night and prepare for the next day, but the avatar's large hand curled around the nape of your neck and tugged you gently towards his pod instead. Your stomach lurched in surprise and you glanced up at him.

"Your tent?" You asked in surprise, ignoring the flush that crawled up your cheeks at the feeling of his long fingers on your sticky skin.

Quaritch hummed. "You thought I'd let you take care of those cuts yourself? You'd mess it up somehow, can't trust you with yourself, remember?" He smiled down at your toothily, those blunt fangs pressing into his bottom lip in a way that had you looking to the ground before your deepening flush could betray you. 

"I took care of you, didn't I?" You protested and Quaritch’s squeeze of warning sent a trickle of satisfaction through you. Childish as it was, verbal disputes were the best way for you to get beneath Quaritch’s skin, and often times you did it well. The man wasn’t known for his patience and when you couldn’t best him in combat, it was easier to poke at how he’d relied on you like a little baby. It always shut him up.

His tent was the only one dark in his grouping, generally quiet as Quaritch had kept to his own space and his neighbors kept to theirs. He brought a fire to life on the dormant coals of his firepit when you entered, another indication of his survivalist past that you were desperate to unravel. The pod filled with warm flickering light, curls of smoke caressing the chimney hole in the roof. Quaritch took a small closed basket from the corner and gestured for you to sit down. You sat farther from him than you usually would, feeling nervous to be in a space that was decidedly his, marked with an accumulation of clothing, feathers, and weaponry, all of which he had gathered since coming to your village. Most of the trinkets were gifts from you and you were flattered that he had chosen to keep them and display them, despite having done so with military and borderline obsessive precision.

When Quaritch glanced up from his mysterious basket, his brows furrowed. 

“Why the hell’d you sit so far away? I can’t treat you from across the room.” 

Reaching across the space between you, he cupped the side of your knee and tugged you into his side. Five fingers brushed your long hair away from your shoulders and the tenderness of his touch wasn't what you would expect from such a burly, grumpy man. 

"You're gentler than I would think," You remarked, speaking on your musings. "Also, where did you get that?" You pointed to the slick bundle of salt weed Quaritch was pulling from the basket.

"Sometimes the scars on my back reopen so your dear momma gave me some. They work pretty well for being herbal mumbo jumbo."

 You would have bristled at him calling your medical practices mumbo jumbo, but you were more concerned with the fact that his wounds had been reopening and he hadn't told you or asked for any help, though you supposed you couldn't see Quaritch ever asking for help.

 "Why did you not tell me they had opened again? I could have wrapped them for you!" 

"It's nothing, trust me, I've dealt with much worse than some scratches." 

"Still," You grunted, peeking over Quaritch's shoulder to spy the wound. It was the same three pale scars but some dark splotches of fresher skin disrupted their pattern. The wound was puckered and clearly hadn't had the care and attention it needed, which deepened your dissatisfaction. "Your application is very poor. Next time, come to me, please. Now I'm not sure I trust you with helping me."

You expected an indignant look but he huffed out a laugh instead. "Sure sweetheart, I'll come to you. Now if you don't sit still I'm going to have to tie you down." 

The idea of Quaritch wrestling you down to the floor wasn’t a bad one but you complied anyway and presented your left bicep to him, which was now crusted over with gunk. The sight of it made your stomach roll in disgust and you had forgotten, just for a moment, that you'd almost been ripped apart in the akula's razor-sharp jaws. 

Quaritch dabbed some antiseptic onto the cuts, wiping away any bacteria that could have lingered from the corals that had cut you. He handled you carefully like you would break apart at any moment, shatter into a million pieces of glass in his hands and blow away into the wind. He was focused, too, pink tongue peeking out from his lips and yellow eyes zeroed in on his fingers’ work. 

You took the time to study him. His hair had grown longer from that ugly short buzz the sky people had given him. Short dark strands still damp from the ocean water brushed the tops of his eyebrows, and soft fuzz curled at the nape of his neck. You hoped he would grow it longer, let it fit beneath his ears in soft curls. How would it feel? Would the hair be soft like feathers or coarse like stalks of water plants? 

"You're staring holes into me. Can barely concentrate." 

Embarrassment snapped you from your stupor and another blush crawled up your neck. Eywa, how many times could this man turn you red without trying? You would have been annoyed if not for the fluttering in the base of your stomach that electrified your limbs.

"I don't know what you mean," You said simply, hiding your face in the shadows of the glowing coals. "I was making sure you didn't worsen my arm is all." 

Quaritch clearly didn't believe you but didn't press you on it, a trend that was quickly developing in him. You were used to his mercilessness but it was nice to see this kinder side to him. Not many had seen it, you were sure. 

Quaritch was bundling away the remaining salt weed when his tent flap opened and your mother stepped in. Her face was drawn but pinched even more when she saw your bandaged arm.

"I will not ask what has happened as I am sure I do not want to know. Your father wishes to speak with you in his pod. Alone." 

Quaritch bristled a bit at the bite in your mother's tone, but you waved him off and followed her to your father's tent. He was sitting on the floor like he had been when he had first spoken to you a week ago, eyes dark in the same way. You sincerely hoped he hadn't heard of the akula attack, didn't know how he could have heard of it. He gestured for you to sit across from him, and you complied, folding your legs in preparation to leap from the tent if needed. He was silent for a second, then looked across the fire at you. "We have received some disturbing news. Reports from a clan to the north have described a sky peoples ship that was destroyed, by Toruk Makto no less." 

Your heart shriveled In your chest and you felt a cold chill shudder over your body. Toruk Makto was not in the forest, as you had believed, but in the water clans? Quaritch had asked about Toruk Makto when you had pulled him from the water. Was there a connection between him and the destroyed ship? You couldn’t believe that the man you had gotten to know over this past week, who had shared food with you and tousled your hair with affection, had taught you combat and tended to your wounds could have been on that boat.

"I have also heard that there were avatars aboard the ship and that, while most of them perished in the battle, one was believed to have escaped." 

You swallowed thickly, head feeling cloudy. "Do they know w-who?" 

Your father shook his head slowly. "There was no confirmation of the identity, only whispers. However, he is rumored to impersonate a forest Na'vi, with-" 

"Yellow eyes." Your voice warbled against tears. 

 It had to be Quaritch. The circumstances of how he had washed up on your shores, half-drowned and sporting wounds from battle, how he wouldn't disclose his past had all seemed suspicious but you hadn’t pried. He had been through a lot, that much was sure, and sometimes it was easier to live in your blissfully ignorant bubble than to admit any sort of truth to yourself. You had assumed that he had come from the sky people but to have come from a ship this far out meant it had been a tulkun-hunting ship and it was almost too painful to think of that as the truth. 

"Will you exile him for this?" 

Your father sighed deeply, rubbing at his eyes. "We do not know for sure that it is him, but we will keep a close watch on him. We do not know if he is still communicating with sky people or if he came from that ship, but we cannot risk that he has. You must watch him during the day, during eclipse, and never let him out of your sight. I regret to ask this of you, daughter, but you must eat, train, and sleep beside the stranger." 

"Papa!" You yelped, jumping to your feet. Your tail lashed behind you in indignation. Sleep in Quaritch's tent? This would surely be your end, breathing the same air as Quaritch in such close quarters. Was it not enough that you had abandoned your hobbies in order to spend every waking moment with the soldier? Now you had to lord over him like a mother to her babbling baby?

 Your father raised his hand to settle you, but you wouldn’t listen, bristling with indignation at the suggestion that you take on an even larger duty than you already supported.

 "Papa, you cannot! It is enough that I am with him all day training him until the sun sets, but to sleep beside him? And if he really is a traitor, could he not bring me harm?" 

"Enough. My word is final. As I said when he first came to our village, if he had not killed before, he will not kill you now. I bow before you, daughter, and ask this." 

So badly did you want to stomp about the tent and yell your fury at your father. You were so conflicted, angry and hurt at Quaritch for possibly being a traitor to your people but equally flustered at the fact that you would be sharing quarters with him. But your father was humbling himself before you, something he did not often do, and you couldn't turn him down. Especially when he had other worries concerning the clan and now had the task of searching out more information on this missing avatar, should he truly pose a threat to your village. 

"Fine. I will do as you ask." 

-

Leaving the tent and walking back to Quaritch’s pod felt like walking to your death. The night ahead of you loomed like a foreboding specter, cloaked in uncertainty and secrets that you weren’t sure you were ready to learn. First and foremost, you would establish boundaries with Quaritch. While his rejection in the macropod had nearly cemented your certainty that he had no interest in you, save for regarding you as a plaything or meddlesome little cousin that he could tease as he learned the elements of his survival, you didn’t want to risk compromising yourself in the heat of whatever lust had gripped you since you’d first met the avatar. 

And then there was the matter of his supposed betrayal. You were still trying to sort the specifics of it out in your mind. There was no confirmation that Quaritch had been the sky person on that ship and even if he had, what of it? Dreamwalkers and avatars didn’t hunt tulkun as far as you were aware which meant that Quaritch could have been on that ship for a whole other reason entirely, an innocent reason. But even that sounded foolish to you because there were no innocent reasons that the sky people were anywhere. If Quaritch had been on that ship, he had been conducting something nefarious and likely something targeting one of the water clans. Had he been targeting your clan? 

Quaritch was reclining on his mat when you entered, eating fish he had cooked over the simmering fire. It smelled divine but you’d forgotten your hunger in lieu of your conversation with your father. The skxawng watched you carefully as you took a seat in front of the coals, silent for the first time in his life. You were sure he could sense your tension if not smell the simmering emotion in the air. 

Finally, he sat up to attention. “What happ-” 

“Were you on that ship with the sky people?” You turned to look at him. “With Toruk Makto?” 

The word was like a trigger. Quaritch was rigid in an instant, clipped ears quivering against his head and eyes sharp as a blade, turning over where you had gone, what conversations you’d had, and what actions you’d take next. 

“Is Toruk Makto here?” He all but demanded. 

“Answer my question first.” 

Quaritch curled his lip, sniffed, weighing the repercussions of telling you the truth or telling you a lie. 

He settled for a half-truth. “I did come from a ship of sky people. That’s the only way I could have ended up here, right?” 

You hissed at him. “Do not play games with me now, Quaritch. Were you in the northern battle with Toruk Makto, yes or no?” 

He looked at you flatly and the silence was enough of an answer. You felt a yawned pit open where your heart had been. Treachery. You’d placed your faith in this stranger and been fooled. You had chosen to take the path of goodness, of trust, and he had not done the same with you. For a moment you had forgotten why the sky people had come to your home and why Toruk Makto had rallied the clans to fight against them, but now you remembered and you would not forget it. But the anger was also too painful to bear and it gave way to hurt. 

A shuttering whine pulled from your throat and you pushed away from the fire, unable to look at Quaritch. You had shown him the life and beauty of Eywa and he had learned nothing. He had taken that knowledge and beauty and thrown it back in your face. 

“Why did Toruk Makto come for you? Are we endangering ourselves by having you here?” You demanded. “My father, my family are risking our lives to shelter you. Have you learned anything from what I have taught you or do you laugh at us, at our people? Are you communicating with the other sky people now?” 

You could feel yourself spiraling into hysteria, trying to keep some sort of grip on yourself in the puddle of your despair. You had grown feelings for the stranger, feelings deeper than you were sure you could admit to yourself, but you would not endanger your clan for him. Your vision was tunneling and you carded through your memories with Quaritch, trying to dissect which of them were fabricated and which were true. Every moment turned over in the folds of your mind felt like a falsehood, a fabricated memory teasing you into his deceptive embrace. 

“I ain’t betraying anybody,” Quaritch barked, standing from the mat. He was domineering, intimidating. You forgot you had been in the presence of a man trained to kill. Trained to kill people like you? 

Quaritch tried to reach out to you, but you jerked away from his touch, rip away to the other side of the pod and away from Quaritch’s scent which surrounded you like a perfume, caressing your nostrils and awakening those traitorous flutters in your stomach. The anger was already cooling and you desperately didn’t want it to, wanted to hold on to any emotion you could use against him. 

“Listen to me - Listen to me,” He cornered you against the side of the tent, grasping your shoulders in an iron-clad grip that left no room for struggle. “I ain’t no traitor, never have been and never will be. I was a part of the sky people and I’ve done things I’m not proud of in my life, but every moment -” He pressed your chin up, angled your head up so you looked into those glowing eyes that you’d seen your first night together when you’d nursed him back to health. “Every moment has been real, sweetheart, I’ll tell you that. I’m learnin’, see? You’re teaching me about these people and this planet and I’m learning.” 

Your bottom lip quivered beneath the weight of tears, eyes pinned to the solemness of Quaritch’s face. His fingers had loosened on your face and his thumb brushed against the curve of your jaw, where the hollow of it met the muscle of your neck. His scent was still there, so close that it made you dizzy and flushed and you wanted to let it carry you away, soothe your worries and let you trust him again like you had just an hour before, feel that sweet relief you’d felt when Quaritch had pulled you from the sea, literally saved you from the jaws of death. You let yourself melt into the feeling for just a second, a moment of weakness. 

“When my father told me…he said it was you. How am I supposed to trust you when I must put my people first? What if the sky people come for us and my father cannot protect them? You know everything about me but I know nothing about you.” 

“Nothing’s going to happen to your village or you.” Quaritch promised. “I ain’t gonna let that happen. You saved my life, gave me food and a place to sleep. I don’t forget kindness too quickly. I know I’ve been…withholding some things but I ain’t used to talking about myself and there are certain things better left unsaid. I’m just asking you now to trust me.” 

“You saved my life from the akula. Your debt has been repaid.” 

Quaritch grunted lowly, frustrated that you didn’t seem to understand. 

“You’re not picking up what I’m putting down, sweetheart? I don’t know how to make you understand.” 

Half-lidded eyes fell to your mouth, digits tracing the pretty pink curve of your bottom lip, leaving a line of fire in their wake. The two of you were so close. Your defenses were failing, thawing, some primal instinct within you demanding forgiveness of the stranger that had stumbled into your life. 

“I don’t understand,” You said softly, fingers sliding up between your two bodies, feeling the rapid-pound of Quaritch’s heart. 

Suddenly, he was bent low, head dipping until his mouth caught yours and your voice died in your throat. You started, taken by surprise. You had never been kissed before, had never flirted past those awkward childhood games where you played Tsahik and some village boy would play Olo’eyktan. But a plush pink tongue pressed against your lower lip, swiping against the blunt edge of your teeth, and your brain kickstarted into motion. Kissing Quaritch was like melting into him, feeling the warmth of his hands pressing lightly into the column of your throat just above your scent gland, and long fingers curling on the outside of your thigh. He took control of the kiss in every sense of the word, stealing the breath from your lungs and breathing it back into you. His heart pumped the blood through your body and you keened against his mouth, pressing closer. Your fingers on his chest tensed, feeling the firm muscle and hot skin. They moved, traveling up to press onto his shoulders and guide you higher to take more of his mouth. He was so broad against you, swallowing you whole in his presence. 

Eywa, you were drunk off of him, every motion of his mouth insisting on you, attuning every one of your cells to his presence. His tongue pressed against yours, slick and alive, exploring the parts of you that no one had felt before. 

The two of you separated for a breath, a string of saliva connecting your lips. Quaritch took the pad of his thumb and swiped at it, smearing it across your bottom lip, then pressing it against the flat of your tongue. Your lips puckered around the digit on instinct, sticking softly. He tasted salty and you smoothed over the rough callus of his thumb, feeling every groove that marked his past. Quaritch groaned deep in his throat, leaning down and replacing his thumb with his tongue, licking into your mouth, biting at your lips until they were swollen and red. 

You desperately wanted more of him, to take whatever Quaritch would offer you, but you were also frightened. You didn’t trust him, not completely, and you wouldn’t give yourself over to him if you couldn’t firmly believe in him. 

“Quaritch-” 

“Miles,” He sighed against your mouth, peppering kisses across your cheeks. 

“Miles, we must not continue. It is late and…it is best if we do not continue.” 

Of all the reasons you would not mate with Quaritch now, it was because you knew he would not bond you. First encounters with a partner were sacred, meant to be done beneath Eywa, and you could not give yourself to Quaritch if he had no intention of becoming your mate. But you had hardly described this concept to him and felt, disappointingly, that he didn’t much care for the significance of such a ceremony. So you would put a stop to this before it went further, despite the heat between your thighs. 

Quaritch placed one last open-mouthed kiss to the column of your throat, hands splayed across your jugular to get the right angle. When he pulled away, you nearly leapt onto him again. His complexion was rosy and warm, golden eyes glazed from desire and somewhere far away. Despite this, he understood your words, the earnestness in your eyes, and pulled away from you completely. 

“Alrigh’ Darlin’, I know. Training tomorrow and all of that, we better get some rest. I’ll walk you back to your tent-”

“Actually…I am sleeping here. With…you.” 

Quaritch paused mid-turn, looking at you with incredulous eyes. 

“Who the hell decided that?”

“My father. And if you are displeased with his decision, I’m sure he would love to hear your input.” 

“He’d be anything but pleased to hear what I got to say, but I’m not gonna go picking a fight with your daddy right now. Just go get your bedding while I, uh, take care of some stuff.” 

It was much easier to convince Quaritch of this new change in plans than you thought, so you flounced off to your pod to grab your sleeping roll. When you returned, Quaritch was already settled across the fire on his side, his back to you. Had he already gone to sleep? Your stomach sunk. Was he regretting that he had kissed you, now that he had to be in close quarters? You dearly hoped not as that kiss had been one of the more…memorable moments in your life. It had set you alight, awoken you to an entirely new world, and you were hoping there would be more in the future. Now, it didn’t seem like there would. 

You settled your bedroll across the fire from Quaritch, watching the rise and fall of his shoulders. They seemed a bit labored, you thought. Was he anxious to be so close to you? Whatever it was, your mind could hardly dwell on it as the entirety of the day caught up to you and you all but passed out. 

-

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[thefrogwild]

Art Blog Pinned

Heyo! Call me Frogs or Anna. 24, prolific OC-maker, notorious TTRPG hoarder, narrative game enthusiast, and connoisseur of bastards, jesters, and frogs. One time a friend described my personality as the castlevania art style and I live by that. What You'll Find Here This blog is for posting my art! I mostly draw OCs, so if you came here from one of my once-in-a-blue-moon fanarts, sorry to disappoint. I invite you to stay and enjoy my homemade blorbos anyway. If I draw fanart again, it'll most likely be FE3H, Critical Role, Ace Attorney, or indie game related. Woah, Who's That OC? If you're curious, asks are always welcome! I love getting them :) If you're looking for more of them, visit my OC tag here: #oc You can also browse my OC masterlist guide linked below (though it's a tossup on whether or not I've updated it lately). Ultimate Guide to Anna's OCs Find Me Elsewhere Socials (Commission info is also here.) Itch.io (I've made a couple tiny games. Play them for free!) Art Portfolio Design Portfolio (I made an escape room once! Read about it here.) For Fallen Londoners Drop me a calling card if you want! I've not been on in a while, but I'm liable to get back into it at some point. Blame my slow response time on Holly's horrifically disorganized letter drawer. Characters: Hollis "Holly" Skelter (The Roguish Ringfighter) Casey "Casey-Case" Carrowhulk (The Capricious Cutpurse)

[localplaguenurse]

Chex's Masterlist

A list of the fics or headcanons I’ve written! I may have missed a couple of headcanons here and there because they were just one off questions from the ask box. Mostly wanted to keep track of the long lists. 

Some of my fics have suggestive or mature content. Read the tags, proceed with caution, and if you can’t read this stuff for one reason or another, best to move on. Also, in case you're wondering why a lot of my oneshots have to do with Pantalone; I love him and he is my muse.

Have fun!

Ongoing Fics

You've Got My Eyes: Zhongli/Reader slowburnish fic where Reader is a single mom in Inazuma after a one night stand with the man of the hour; ongoing

the capillaries in my eyes are bursting: Dottore/Reader angst fic, aka the "dottore divorce fic" where Reader is sick of feeling neglected and unappreciated by her husband; ongoing

you are someone i have loved, but never known: Pantalone centric fic where Arlecchino finds a baby left on the steps of the House of Hearth; ongoing and slow to update

Oneshots and Complete Fics

it’s all that i can give to you, my dear: Pantalone/Reader smutfic, a sequel to take all you can, give nothing back; completed

As Gold as the Ginkgo Trees: Morax/Reader arranged marriage slowburn set during the Archon War; completed (see also: the ginkgo trees masterlist with all my other headcanons/fics/aus)

Little Helper: Pantalone family fluff oneshot, technically Pantalone/Reader but it’s not really the focal point

Catch of the Day: Zhongli/Reader Mermay oneshot

that is enough: Fear and Hunger angst oneshot where Cahara returns home after... everything goes wrong. Please read the tags before reading.

Hold on Tight: Pantalone/Reader smut oneshot where someone goes a little overboard during sexy times.

Pretty in Pink: Hwei/Reader smut oneshot, and the only league fic I'll write

zero days until the party: My take on the bite of '83, child death warning

Have Your Cake and Eat It Too: Pantalone/Reader smut oneshot I wrote for my birthday where Pantalone gets bored at his own party

Playing strip poker with Pantalone: Self explanatory. Not really smutty, mainly silly, but still suggestive so you know the drill

The Price for Greed: Dragon Pantalone smut oneshot that has been sitting in my google docs for too damn long

an act of kindness: Pantalone oneshot where he's too tired for sex, so you give him a bubble bath. Starts spicy but doesn't go full smut, mainly domestic fluff.

Or You Lose: Modern era oneshot where Pantalone is a nightclub owner, and you're tasked with assassinating him.

i lie in your arms tonight: Pantalone oneshot where you're training a new recruit and things go horrifically wrong. Character death and angst heavy.

Headcanons

Pantalone health headcanons

Assorted Pantalone headcanons

Pantalone domestic fluff

Assorted/sorta modern Dottore headcanons

Pantalone being husband material

Pantalone appearance/self care

Modern Dottolone

Arlecchino/Pantalone/Reader NSFW

Casper First Time NSFW Headcanons (A Date With Death)

[damedechance]

seek&destroy

UPDATE: ⇀Read on ao3: Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 3 ⇀Listen to the playlist

Pairing: Gwynriel

Parts: 3 of 5

Rating: Explicit (for eventual smut)

Summary: Those with a link to a realm long gone now live in secret, and Gwyneth Berdara is one of them. After a horrific tragedy rends her life apart, Gwyn finds herself in good company with her fellow Valkyries, a group of vigilantes who work to restore the forgotten relics of a land called 'Prythian.' When Gwyn's work brings her to an illustrious museum, her own world collides with that of the mysterious Shadowsinger--an encounter that leads to her vowing to bring him to his untimely end. [[Written for @foundress0fnothing]]

Read below for an excerpt from ch.3:

CHAPTER THREE

“We only have a couple of hours before the police show up onto the scene,” Emerie said, turning back to her computers and beginning to click through the photos. Hundreds of them it seemed like, and Azriel was the subject of every single one. “Maybe until morning for them to completely case the museum, and probably about as long for the break-in to appear in the news.”

“What are you getting at?” Gwyn said, shaking her head slightly as she tried to process what Emerie was saying. She narrowed her eyes, watching as a series of photos of the shadows flew across the screen. The little one by her foot in the stairwell, the serpentine ones wrapping around her legs.

“Bear with me,” Emerie said. She finally landed on an image of Azriel’s smirking face beyond the metal bars of the gates. Gloating, undoubtedly, but something adoring in the gaze, too. A bit ravenous.

Emere turned to face Gwyn, as Nesta got up from the chair by the window and came to sit on the floor on Emerie’s other side.

“We’ve never left so much evidence behind,” Emerie began. “A broken lock here, or a smudge of dirt there. We’ve had a few bad cases where Nes completely trashes a place, sure–”

“Get to the point,” Nesta interjected, crossing her arms over her chest.

“But nothing that could be traced back to us,” Emerie continued. “Until him.”

Without looking, Emerie stretched out a hand and tapped the screen. Right above Azriel’s grinning mouth. 

Smothering the inexplicable urge to smash Emerie’s laptop into a million silicon pieces, Gwyn crossed her arms over her chest and tore her attention away from the screen. Gaze flicking between Emerie and Nesta, she said, “What do you want to do about it?”

Gwyn knew what she wanted to do, and most certainly would accomplish it just as soon as she figured out how to find him, but Emerie and Nesta appeared far less concerned with the absolute humiliation of being thwarted for the very first time. It was the strangest role reversal, one where Gwyn relinquished her need for meticulous planning followed by devout adherence to said plan, and something about it had unmoored her. She felt her body swaying in this sea of rage, and could only hug herself tighter in a pitiful attempt at controlling the waves.

“His team was very smart,” Emerie said, letting out a slow breath that could only be reluctantly impressed. “The entire time you were in there, I was trying to find any digital trace of them. We hadn’t hacked the security camera system yet, since you knew your way around them so well, but someone else did, and I was following that trail for so long only to find out it was a dead end. They’re clever.”

Gwyn frowned, glancing over to Nesta to see if she would confirm. Nesta’s disappointed expression mirrored her own, but then she nodded towards Emerie. “Just listen.”

Emerie pointed again to a different part of one of the screens, a string of numbers and letters that was incomprehensible to Gwyn but appeared to mean something of significance to Emerie.

“There was nothing,” she said. “Until…”

Her finger moved, gliding over the screen until it landed on one of the videos playing on loop. Shadowsinger’s back facing her, as he ran through the tunnel, wings tucked behind him. His hand going up to his ear, briefly.

Nesta leaned over and punched a key to turn on the sound.

“Lower the gates. Yes, I’m sure–lower them.”

Over and over, the same string of words punctuated only by Gwyn’s own rattling breaths as she chased after him. The groan of metal, as the gate began to come down, only to abruptly be cut off as the loop started again.

“This gave us more information than it seems, at first glance,” Emerie said, eyes still fixed on the screen as she went to lower the volume again. The loop continued on faintly, as she spoke, “Firstly, it was the first time he indicated that he wasn’t working alone. But whereas you and I were in constant contact the entire time, even if you weren’t directly speaking, I hadn’t caught one signal from his own radio. Not one, until he decided to speak here.”

“What does that mean?” Gwyn said, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight of those colossal wings, as pixelated and grainy as they were in the camera feed.

“It means two things,” Emerie said. “First, I was able to trace the signal. I’ve been working on it right up until you two arrived, actually, and I think I was able to narrow it down to the most likely point of origin.”

“Good,” Nesta said gruffly. She got up onto her knees, as if she was about to head out the door again. Gwyn was about to join her. “Where are we headed?”

“Wait,” Emerie said, slapping a hand over Nesta’s arm to pull her back down. “Because there was something else about the signal that bothered me. Why would he choose to make contact with his partner like that, if he had made it so far without? Especially in such an easily traceable way? Our own comms system has layers of security around it that are practically miles thick, but I was able to find him in less than an hour.”

Gwyn pressed her lips together, deep in thought as she continued to trace the shape of those wings with her eyes.

“Maybe he was desperate?” Gwyn ventured. “I did stab him.”

Emerie shook her head immediately, and thrusted her hand at the screen. “Look.”

She pressed a key, and the video feed of him running from her in the tunnel was immediately replaced by the one of him on the other side of the bars.

“He was practically begging for you to touch him,” Emerie said. “It wasn’t desperation. At least, not to gate away. He didn’t need the gates to get away from you.”

She pressed another key, and the image began to move. A video of him stepping back, before the shadows swallowed him and he disappeared.

“Then what do you think it was?” Nesta said, her own gaze slowly veering away from the screen to look at Gwyn. She didn’t meet her eyes.

“He didn’t want to get away.”

Emerie turned to look at Gwyn.

“He wanted you to find him.”

[densewentz]

exhausted health update because I have to rant somewhere lol

So we're ending day 12 of my mysterious right-sided numbness. It's moved from just my torso all the way down my right leg to my toes, so now I'm just hobbling around half numb rip. And now the torso numbness feels like im being vacuum sealed or something, just a horrible tightness and lack that makes it impossible to ignore. Went to the ER the other night and had 2 panic attacks within the span of the several hours I was there, got my bloodwork redone and a cat scan which all came back with a big Nothing on them. They told me I needed an MRI but that I'd have to go through my Primary Care and after I told them my primary wouldnt see me until May they referred me to a new primary not in my network so that's been a dead end rip. So far everyone is pointing at my horrific anxiety as the cause but not one doctor has actually offered me help for the anxiety despite me having the active panic attacks in the office lol. My Primary wont see me for several months despite the severity of my current condition and none of the mental health programs I've reached out to will get back to me so for now I'm just. Existing in this anxiety Ouroboros where my anxiety causes my numbness which causes anxiety which causes numbness. I'm trying stupid home remedies to try and minimize the active anxiety attacks but so far we've just been circling around alternating Holy Basil, Benadryl and literally just drinking Rum and going to sleep, which sure all help my anxiety a little maybe but also make it almost impossible for me to function normally during the day. This is making art difficult so commissions are going slow which is obviously making me more anxious lol. I also am home alone most of the week managing the household, which is made more difficult since right now the numbness in my foot/leg makes it dangerous for me to drive and difficult for me to get around my house to do daily tasks. Idk man I'm just tired as all hell and I seem to vacillate wildly between full anxiety breakdowns and depressive/dissociative episodes. At any rate during the week I'll just be constantly calling and harassing every doctor/therapist I can get a number for trying to find someone who will be able to either address my anxiety directly or can at least get me into an MRI to rule out MS or anything else that ISNT anxiety. I'm going to become the bane of the medical profession for a while. Wish me luck!

[triaelf9]

FYI re the toxic chemical event and train derailment post. OP's initial post has been fact-checked and found to be inaccurate, hyperbolic and alarmist. While the spill, the fire and the chemical fallout IS absolutely catastrophic and awful, it's unclear how likely the scenario laid out in OP's post is. Most experts following updates from the EPA website have tended more towards "bad, but not life-extinguishing and not likely to be as far-reaching as initially feared".

It's infuriating that the derailment and extent of the damage was preventable and indeed that this is exactly what the rail unions were trying to stand against and highlight as recently as last November. This is an horrific environmental disaster caused almost solely by capitalism and corporate greed, cutting corners and sacrificing maintenance and regulatory adherence for the sake of maximising profits.

But it is probably not quite as bad as OP made out, and their catastrophising and spreading of alarmist misinformation isn't going to help the people of East Palestine, nor the unions and environmentalists fighting for better regulation and working conditions to prevent further environmental disasters.

For anyone who can afford to and wants to help, there's a reputable GoFundMe that seeks to provide relief funds to the residents of East Palestine to help ensure access to safe drinking water and financial relief following the recent evacuation and associated loss of income and additional expenses:

https://www.gofundme.com/f/relief-for-east-palestine-after-train-derailment

I've gotten a number of messages on this, but this is the one I'm sharing b/c it acknowledges that it's an issue outside of just the chemical aspect of it (which is why I shared the post) but also gives a way for us to help. Thank you for this message!

My main issue with this all is that the news coming out of this IS so slow and so varied in info (everything I've seen says something different) b/c I'm used to hearing about this sort of thing the day it happens, or at least within the week, but given twitter shit and the state of online news sharing, I feel like we're being let down in terms of media coverage, for those of us not in the area. To be clear, not all of us live in America, or have access to American TV and news coverage (especially b/c so much is region or paywall locked nowadays), but have family there and care about folks in the area.

I really do hope it's not as bad as initially feared, but I get why people could be panicking, given how recently those in charge have been...pretty shitty about handling recent bad situations *cough pandemic cough*

I do appreciate the heads up, as it's important to get all the information we can, but it's very difficult when we CAN'T get all the information, when it's getting harder to verify even media sources, and when this sort of thing isn't really clear about fallout until years later.

But I understand folks getting frustrated at the spread of misinformation. It was same for the Fukushima situation when no one here bothered to check up on any of the info of that, and Western media wasn't really reporting anything other than worst case senario.

We're all susceptible to misinformation!

Also, if I don't answer right away, you don't need to send more messages, time zones are a thing, and I live in Japan so I'm likely not awake ^_^;;

[latenightsimping]

THE EDGE

“...There is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who’ve gone over.” - Hunter S. Thompson, Hell’s Angels

Summary: A part of the deal to freedom included a stay at Pennhurst. It’ll take everything to keep the hope that one day the locked doors will open, the windows will no longer have bars that block the view, and that one day, the name Eddie Munson will be synonymous with the word ‘innocent’. The hope, he never realised, would also come to be synonymous with your name.

Chapter: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

Pairing: Eddie Munson x reader

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings: angst, heavy themes of inpatient treatment/hospitalisation, heavy themes of mental health, institutional deprivation of liberties, body injuries, mentions of suicidal ideation, themes of institutional abuse, can be a dark read (continue with that in mind, look after yourselves), canon divergence, Eddie survives the demobat attack, post-S4 timeline, slow burn romance, eventual smut, 18+, eventual fluff

Chapter warnings: angst, hurt (no comfort), bittersweet feelings, it's a difficult one ngl but I'll make it better I swear lmao, reader is described as having scars but no specifics, story tags still apply

AN: Ayy another chapter done. I'll try and find time to keep updating, but bear with me as I switch between this, other oneshots, and my own personal work. To those who follow along, thank you. This is such a passion project, and I'm loving the story so far.

October, 1984

It all still feels like one horrific nightmare. You’ve still got blood in your hair, staining your skin, with no idea who it belonged to. For a while, the pain had vanished, as you clawed your way to a nearby road. Perhaps a leftover survival mechanism passed down the generations. But now, now you couldn’t ignore the agony that your wounds created. The gashes that would forever disfigure you, a reminder that would become apparent every time you looked in the mirror. For now, covered with clean white bandages. You had no idea what it looked like beneath them, and you weren’t ready to look anyway.

 Everyone had looked at you with such vitriol that made you want to wither into nothing. The doctors and nurses were doing the absolute bare minimum for your care, giving you minimal pain meds and spending as least time with you as humanly possible. The steel handcuffs that clasped your wrist and secured you to the hospital bed were starting to chafe, but you knew better than to say anything. Not like anybody would care, or even do anything about it. You knew the police officer that sat outside your door from high school, someone that had graduated when you were a sophomore. Harmon, you think his last name was. Either way, he hadn’t said anything to you yet. Not even made an appearance, just sitting himself down and reading the newspaper. You couldn’t see it, but you wondered if your name was in the news yet. Unlikely, considering everything had only happened a couple of hours ago. You prayed for it never to happen, but it was unlikely anyone up there was listening anyway. 

Someone came through the door and stopped by the end of your bed, a small notebook in one hand and pen in the other. Horned rimmed glasses framed eyes that bore into you, a squint that conveyed the disgust he had for you. He was dressed in a police uniform, the Hawkins P.D badge on his chest slightly glinting under the fluorescent lights. Callahan, the name badge opposite it said. You’d seen him around town, but had never crossed paths with him until tonight.

He said your name with a tone that told you he’d rather be anywhere else than here. You nodded in affirmation, as he looked down at the notepad, pen tapping against the pages. 

“Wild night you’ve had,” he drawled, a slight sneer as he shook his head. “Wanna tell me what happened?” 

For a moment, you said nothing. How could you possibly begin to explain it all? It was all such a blur, time doubling in rate with no hope of slowing. Your gaze lowered to the thin blanket that covered you, free hand picking at the off white fibres. “I don’t know.” Your voice was quiet, far away. You didn’t sound like yourself. 

A scoff. “You expect me to believe that?”

Another pause. No, you didn’t. You expected absolutely nobody to believe you. 

“We’ve found two bodies so far,” he continued. “Are we going to find any more?” 

You shook your head. They’d found Cynthia and Scott. Cynthia was your friend since Kindergarten, your neighbour that you grew up with. Your best friend, who never judged you. Scott had started dating her when you were all sixteen, and you actually liked him. Thought he was good for her. Thought they’d end up the childhood sweethearts that actually stuck together through life; would get married, have 2.5 kids and a white picket fence. Get a dog, and live a boring but fulfilling life. 

Where had it all gone so wrong?

“Done any drugs tonight?” Callahan asked, though he sounded like he already knew the answer, and way just testing you to see if you were going to lie about it. 

“I uh, smoked some weed,” you admitted, rubbing the heel of your hand into your eye. You still felt fuzzy around the edges, but it was wearing off all too quickly. “Drank some beers.” 

“Nothing else?” he asked you. “Hallucinogens, PCP, anything like that?” 

“No.”

You swore you saw an eye roll, though his glance away was helping to conceal it. “We’re going to be testing your blood, you know. Easier to just admit everything now, rather than it coming up in court later. I’m tryna’ help you here.” 

No, you aren’t, you wanted to say. You’ve decided I’m guilty. And you want to lock me up to rot. 

You could barely remember the rest of the interview. A lot of “I don’t know,” and “I can’t remember.” You can remember being sent to the place that terrified you as a child, though. Family horror stories of a great Aunt who went in and never came back out. You remember crying every night for the first six months, only for nobody to comfort you. You remember having to clamp down on your emotions, to bury them deep and hope they never resurface. 

You can’t remember your parents ever visiting you. 

August, 1986

The sweltering heat of Indiana summers were finally starting to break, cooler air filtering through the iron bars of the gaps of the slightly opened windows of the dayrooms and cutting the thick scent of sweat and cleaning products. You and Eddie had engaged in small talk during the countless games of cards, and you’d learned quite a fair bit about him. You learned he liked pickles on his burgers. His favourite album was still up in the air, citing that “you just couldn’t do that, it’d be like admitting you have a favourite child.” His favourite colour was red and black, leading to a couple of hours of heated conversation about black being technically a shade, not a colour. He missed being able to play electric guitar, but there was something about the ward’s battered acoustic that he appreciated. 

And in return, you’d shared the tiniest amounts that you hoped sated him. Safe little facts that couldn’t be used against you. And to his credit, he never pried. Instead, he did what he was best at. Talking enough for the both of you, when your social battery wasn’t at its fullest. 

“I swear man, Miller’s got something going on at home,” he mumbled under his breath as his eyes bounced between the project in his hand and the Doctor that seemed to be in the middle of an under-the-breath argument with an orderly on the other side of the dayroom door. Time had been allotted for arts and crafts, or rather, whatever shit they could throw in a box that could vaguely be suited for the occasion. Dried up glue and mangled pipe cleaners, a box of googly eyes that Eddie had pocketed for ‘later use’, and egg cartons that were probably older than you. But you’d found some lengths of different coloured string and a pair of the bluntest craft scissors known to mankind, and had decided on weaving them together to make bracelets. Eddie had decided to join in, and after a crash course in the most basic braids you knew, you were both winging it in trying to make something that wouldn’t just fall apart. 

You looked up from the strands of black, red and white that you held in your hands to follow his eyeline, shaking your head as you spared a glance at the man opposite you. “She still givin’ you shit?”

You knew full well about the meetings he had with her, from the venting he always did afterwards. Apparently, medium security was a privilege, not a right. As if Eddie was capable of doing any harm with what little means he had in here. Fuck, you saw him shed a tear when you watched Bambi together not last week. It had only been a month, but you were absolutely positive of one thing, given you’d had enough time to make your own conclusions. Eddie wasn’t capable of his charges. Not for a second. 

You expected him to frown at your question, but instead, a lopsided smirk played upon his lips. “Same as always, but nah. I’m talkin’ about what I overheard one of the nurses mention about her.”

You couldn’t help but snicker as you continued braiding. “Really, Munson? What’re you, a housewife at a damn Tupperware party?” 

“Hey, I’d look fuckin’ fantastic in a pair of heels and a flouncy dress, thank you very much sweetheart,” he playfully chided, pointing at you with faux accusation and making you chuckle. “But seriously. Apparently, someone found a bottle of vodka stashed in the filing cabinets in the records room. And apparently, there’s only a handful of people that have access. She’s one of them.”

Finishing the last knot of the makeshift bracelet, you looked up to give Eddie your full attention. You had to admit, he was pretty. The long hair, full lips and rounded eyes were a given, yes. But it was the way that he looked at you, how much kindness he gave you, that sealed the deal. The way he would duck his head to make eye contact with you when your eyes felt glued to the floor. When you felt like all hope was lost, stuck in your own misery with no way out, a large hand would be felt on your shoulder, a slight touch that didn’t push your comfort levels. His shit jokes that cheered you up, and the fact that he seemed to know just what to say to make you feel better. In another life, you might have asked him on a date at one point. Maybe to get milkshakes, or to see a movie. But those ideas were bitterly shoved back down, when you remembered where you were. That’d never be an option. Not again. 

You rolled your eyes as you leaned back in your chair, fiddling with the length of woven bracelet as you raised an eyebrow. “So you think she’s drinking on the job?” you asked, pulling the conversation back to something nonchalant. Before you had a chance to think of him in any way other than a friend. 

“I think she’s doing a lot of things on the job, and caring for people ain’t one of them,” he muttered with a slight sneer. His demeanour seemed to change with the final touches of his own craft project, a triumphant look crossing his face as he held it between his fingers. “Here, gimme your arm.”

You shot him a look of confusion as you crossed your arms instead. “Why?”

“So I can yank it out of its socket and use it as an improvised weapon,” he drawled, sarcasm heavy on the words. “Just trust me, alright?”

You did trust him. Or at least, trusted him better than anyone in the whole building. “You’re a sick puppy, y’know that?” you chuckled, holding out your arm on the table. 

“So I’ve been told,” he answered, tone ever so slightly taking on an edge of bitterness that you noted. Calloused fingertips brushed the sensitive skin of your inner wrist, and it took everything within you not to shiver at the sensation. The softness averting your eyes to the window past his shoulder, your inner critic beating down whatever sticky feelings got caught in your ribs at a deep inhale. Get it the fuck together for Christ sake, he’s just-

“Aaaand done.” You looked back to see that lopsided grin of his, though his eyes betrayed him with a slight sense of panic at what you guessed to be the impending sense of rejection. “You like it?” 

You finally allowed your eyes to dip down to your arm, twisting it to get a better look. Purple, blue and lilac threads had been twisted haphazardly into what could technically be considered a braid, though on every fourth or so knot, it twisted at the seams and knocked all uniformity right out of it. But a part of you hoped it was made with intention. The same intention that middle school girls gave them, when they swore up and down to be best friends forever to the other girls they’d bonded with at summer camp, only to forget their names in the next couple of years. The same that still rattled around your old jewellery box back at home, buried under tacky hoops and cheap pendants that teenage you liked wearing. You still remembered the pale pink half of a heart that you kept there, on a chain that’d seen better days. The other half at Cynthia’s house, hanging on her notice board underneath a picture of you two together, smiling at the lake five summers ago. 

Friendship. A word that up until now, had lost all meaning to you. Something that was beginning to spark, though the rockiness and unease of having it for a long time was throwing you off balance. Something that was being offered, and you were so starved for it, you let yourself believe it. Even if it was fake, you’d take it.

You let the smile that graced your lips grow wide, as you nodded your approval. “Bit of a bold colour choice, but I dig it,” you shrugged, your tone taking any malice out of the words. 

“Yeah well, I’m not exactly in a position to waltz on down to Hobby Lobby to get the perfect shades or anything,” he snorted, now idle fingers seeking stimulation by opening a new pack of cigarettes. “Cut it off if you don’t want it.”

And there it was. That slight drop to his smile, as his eyeline averted. No doubt already trying to soothe the sting of assumption, to protect his dignity. Laugh the pain away, don’t let anyone see into it. This was about more than a seemingly simple act of kindness, and you knew the feeling well. God, you wanted to soothe it. Make it go away for him. Because it would be a damn sight easier cheering him up than the sheer amount of effort it’d take to try and do the same to yourself. 

But it needed to be carefully done. Replied to with the same jest, play the same game right back, otherwise the raw vulnerability would cause him to clam right back up again. “Nah, I’m keeping this sucker. Really makes my eyes pop, don’t ya think?” 

You both shared a look of amusement, before your hand darted out before thinking. You noticed the way he flinched, and again, the inner critic was back with the whip to flagellate yourself with at the ready. You willed it away by turning your hand around, an open palm rather than a grasping claw. “My turn?” you offered, hoping the look on your face didn’t give off the desperation you felt. 

You noticed the way his expression morphed, brows furrowed and lip darting out to moisten his lips, as he usually did when he was thinking in rapid motion about something. It relieved you to see his arm come into view, elbow to the deep gouges of the wooden table, an offering of his scarred wrist. You noticed the way his muscles tensed if the pads of your fingers brushed one of them, and you were careful not to make too much contact in securing the bracelet, pulling away when you were done to a respectable distance. Letting him bring his limb back to assess the new adornment, wrinkles around his eyes fading slightly and crinkling into a smirk as he picked at the fibres. A hum of acknowledgement, of endearment, rattled around his chest as he looked back up to you. “Same colours as Hellfire.”

Hellfire. You remembered that name, and you rattled your brain for the memory. “That’s the club you had, right? The one you had with your friends?” 

“Yeah.” He fiddled with the smooth braids, rubbing the tip of his thumb back and forth across the length. You noticed how his voice had taken an edge to it as he shrugged, seemingly to shake off an intense emotion. 

You wondered if the memories of the group was sinking him back into the realisation that he’d most likely never have a meetup with them again. Never have that sense of normalcy, of feeling a part of something. You knew full well that remembering could be a dangerous thing. Something that should be avoided, lest you fall trap to the longing of your freedom, sending yourself mad with the knowledge that things would never indeed be normal again. 

You were still thinking of something to say, a distraction, when Eddie’s name was called from the hallway. His neck nearly snapping with the force of him looking over with a shocked expression, as the orderly grimaced at him as he beckoned him over with two fingers. With a glance at the clock, you noted the time, and something uncomfortable settled in your stomach as you waved the orderly in the room for a lighter. You’d seen a couple of people over the years be summoned around this time, to a part of the building you knew you’d probably never see. You didn’t want to give Eddie the heads up, just in case you were wrong, and this was all just mere coincidence. You bolted that heavy mask to your face as you swung your chair on it’s back two legs, a balancing act as you waited for your turn with the sacred lighter. 

“Better hope Miller hasn’t picked up on your suspicion about the records room,” you smirked as you waggled your eyebrows, a sarcastic laugh volleyed back your way as he got up to cross the room. You spared him one last glance as his shoulders slumped, head down and eyes glued to the floor as he trailed behind the staff member. For all his bravado that he was slowly getting back, you knew that was the true Eddie. A man caged against his will, and the strength long since stripped away from him. A husk of a person, just like everyone else in here. Just like you. 

You just prayed that for his sake, your assumption was correct. 

~

In Pennhearst, knowing where you were going wasn’t exactly something that got shared often. An orderly would begrudgingly call out a last name, and with a jerk of the head, you were just expected to follow behind. At first, it had scared Eddie something fierce. Long were the days of coming and going where he pleased; in school, it was common for him to just wander out of the building for a smoke, and classes were optional in his mind. Part of the reason he could never graduate. Why bother going into a room where you’d be belittled? Where a label was instantly placed on you, and where it stuck no matter how hard you tried to shift it. He’d practically had ‘troublemaker’ stamped on his head since his Junior year. So why even bother? 

A trick he learned was to look at the signs, commit them to memory. Try and figure out a map in your mind, and follow it. The orderly in front of him had passed left at the laundry room, and past the West wing bathrooms. He’d lost track of where he was since the right hand turn by the low security ward doors, and he was going down the corridor blind. Asking wouldn’t help. He wasn’t expecting an answer anyway. 

The sight of a battered sign that seemed to be straining free of the plaster caught his eye, craning his head back to see it. The two words seemed foreign to him. A feeling that he knew them, knew the meaning, but hadn’t seen them put together before. The two words that both made his heart skip a beat and his stomach to churn in anticipation and excitement. 

VISITOR ROOMS 1-5

It ached how much he was wanting them to stop at one of the doors. How much he needed them to. He started praying to anything and everything, things he didn’t believe in, right up until the man in front of him stopped at the door with a number three painted on the front. His hand stayed on the handle, and over his shoulder, Eddie could just make out a window that most likely let staff keep an eye on the patients without having to enter. He could just make out the fabric of a deep blue denim jacket in the bottom left corner, before it shifted and moved out of sight. 

“You’ve got five minutes,” the orderly growled through gritted teeth, finally making eye contact with a venomous glare. “Any funny shit, and your ass is getting thrown into solitary so fast it’ll make your head spin. Am I clear?” 

Eddie’s tongue darted out of his mouth to moisten cracked lips, nodding fervently as his hands clawed at his issued shirt to ground him. It took the raised brow of the man in front of him, a sign that he was quickly losing patience, to make him respond verbally. “Y-yessir. I understand.” 

With one last glance into the room, the door opened, and Eddie was ushered inside. His breath getting stuck between his ribs as he took in the sight of two faces he thought he’d never see again. 

Dark blue eyes, and a gruff face marred with wrinkles and tanned from the sun. A face with the expression that reminded him of being ten years-old, when he was just a kid with a bruise on his cheek and tears that wouldn’t stop falling. The hand of the social worker on his back doing nothing to comfort him, but the look of ‘I get it kiddo, I understand. You’re safe now’ that was worn by a man that looked so similar to his Dad but didn’t have any resemblance at the same time. And like the kid he once was, a sob bullied its way out of his throat as he rushed into the open arms of the one parental figure that never beat him, bellitled him, or expected anything more of him than trying as hard as he could.

The hug was crushing from both parties, with how Eddie clung to his Uncle Wayne, and how those solid arms around his chest added the pressure he so sorely needed. Gave him a reminder of just how much human contact he’d been starved of for five months, and how much he needed it more than oxygen. If Wayne was bothered by the way he buried his face into the older man’s neck and wracked out stifled cries, he never said anything. The large palm that cradled the back of his head seemed to encourage it, as if he knew this was what his nephew needed.

It seemed like an eternity, time suspended in the air, until firm hands carefully grasped his shoulders and tenderly pushed. Eddie relented, a hand flying up to wipe away as much snot and tears as he could. He recognised the next look that he was given, too. A look of pure worry, as Wayne’s eyes flitted from feature to feature. Eddie wasn’t stupid, he had access to some sorry excuses of polished metal as mirrors in this place. Dark circles practically tattooed onto heavy eye bags from the lack of sleep, features getting gaunt as stubble tried to force itself through the skin. Eyes no longer shining like they used to, now replaced with a soulless stare. Once, when he stomached a flash of eye contact in the mirror, he was reminded of his Mom. The way she looked after a blowout fight with his old man, when she lay in bed and cried for what seemed like hours. 

“Eddie… You uh- you look good man,” another voice said quietly from his right, causing his head to snap violently towards the noise. 

Dustin’s mop of curls were hard to mistake for anyone else's, the fondness in his facial features still the same as they were before. That certain look about him that occasionally glimmered underneath it all, the one that gave away that he’d grown far too fast for a kid his age. Had seen too much, and had to deal with far too much burden for a grown man to carry, let alone a fifteen year-old. The comment made Eddie gargle a sort of chuckle, hesitantly pulling away from his Uncle to wrap the kid up in an iron grip. He was happy to feel it returned with fervour, rocking his friend as he swayed with each bounce on the ball of his foot. 

“I look like shit,” he weakly responded, making Dustin laugh as he squeezed even tighter. How long had he waited for this moment? To see someone from the outside, and to know that they were as happy to see him as he was to see them. That they wanted to hug him, and show him tenderness, even when he felt he didn’t deserve it. 

Eddie jolted away as soon as he heard the latch of the door forced open, as if his friend was made of blistering coals. Eyes habitually returning to the faded and torn excuse for carpet, as the harsh words of the orderly that had brought him here made him flinch. “Hey, no contact in here,” the voice barked. “It’s against the rules-”

“Now you listen here,” another voice hissed, though through the venom, it sounded so much louder than it actually was. A southern drawl that Eddie was familiar with, but only when Wayne was riled up to the point of fury. Sparing a glance upwards, he could see Wayne’s finger pointing towards the door with an accusing jab. “It’s the first time I’ve seen my boy in God knows how long. If I wanna give him a damn hug, if his friend wants’ta give him one too, then we’ll do as we damn well please. Y’hear me?” 

He could hear the orderly start to splutter, as if it was the first time he’d ever been refuted. Knowing that the staff around here liked to elevate themselves above all, as if they were some kind of capricious deities, it was likely to be true. “I’ll be letting my supervisor know about this,” was his answer, a thinly veiled threat. Wayne’s short burst of laughter was devoid of all humour. 

“Go ahead,” Wayne replied. “I got my numbers t’ call too, if I think Eddie’s not gettin’ the help he needs. Wanna see who wins the little pissin’ contest ya got goin’ on here?” 

For a second, no reply. Then two. Another look showed both men in some sort of stand off, before the orderly finally sneered his final taunt. Door slamming shut behind him, making Eddie jump out of his skin. Dustin’s gentle guidance got him to sit on one of the uncomfortable plastic armchairs, his fingertips finding the bracelet on his arm to fiddle with. Back and forth, stroking the braid and focusing on his breathing to try and even it out. He heard the two other inhabitants take a seat, Wayne’s clasped hands just in view as his elbows rested on his thighs. His voice now gentler, as if coaxing a frightened animal to come closer. “How’re you holdin’ up, son? They treatin’ ya decent in here?” 

Eddie didn’t mean the bitter laugh to escape his lips, as he swiped the back of his hand across his face to try and clear his face. Finding the bracelet again, studying it as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. Normally, he’d make a joke about it all. Call this place a five star hotel, but make a comment about how they could use better pillows. But he couldn’t find the words, no matter how hard he tried. Resigning himself to the truth, as he shrugged. “S’fine.” 

“Did uh… Did you get moved to medium security?” Dustin asked, and the puzzled look Eddie gave him in return as he looked up to see the boy must have prompted a further explanation. “Hopper put in a call. Well, several. Explained to the right people about what happened. He uh- he sends his best, by the way. Everyone does.”

Hopper? He thought the old chief of police had snuffed it in that Starcourt fire. More questions than answers given, and Dustin sighed wearily before explaining it all as best he could. As best as anyone could, given they had such a short time period to meet. 

Hopper was alive, something about being in Russia for a while. El was back from California, and shit was still going south with the upside-down. Hawkins was still in trouble, but they were on the case. Some sort of higher ups were working on Eddie’s case, but it needed to go through proper channels to keep an illusion of normality. Evidence to be hidden, to be planted, to clear his name. They were waiting on Max to wake up, so she could give her statement and have all charges officially dropped. All of it barely sticking in Eddie’s brain, no doubt the meds he was on still keeping his neurons dulled. 

But one thing stuck out. They were working on clearing his name. It was a shot at freedom. Not much, but it was there. In the darkness, came a small glimmer of hope. Like seeing a seam of gold in a coal mine. Something to cling onto for dear life, to keep putting one foot in front of the other for. 

It was hope. 

“You’re gonna get me out?” Eddie questioned, timbre cracking on every other syllable. Daring to look up to see the two people who probably cared about him more than anyone else on this Earth, and being met with a soft smile in return. 

“Yeah, we’re getting you out,” Dustin echoed, voice soft as he rubbed his palms on his jeans. He reached over to retrieve a plastic bag, leaning over and placing it by Eddie’s feet. “But for now, we’re allowed to come and see you every two weeks. And we’re allowed to bring stuff, too. I mean, it’s something, right?” 

Eddie felt too full of emotion, an experience he usually wasn’t fond of. A big reason he liked to get stoned, or listen to heavy metal music, or play his guitar. An outlet always helped, and right now he had nothing. Nothing but three pieces of string circling his wrist, and his leg bouncing a fast tempo. Peeking from the bag, he could see a book and a carton of Camels so far. Something he’d previously took for granted, but not any longer. He’d sworn to himself an oath during his two month mark in this place; if he ever got out of here, he’d never take the little things for granted ever again. 

He nodded along to the words, unlatching the harsh grip his teeth had on his lower lip before answering. “Yeah, it’s… It’s something. Thank you.” 

“Don’t sweat it man,” Dustin replied. “If you need anything, just… Just tell us, alright? We’ll see what we can do.” 

It took all the self restraint he had not to openly laugh, instead scrubbing his palm down the length of his face. He needed a lot of things. He needed a good night’s sleep, and a shower with water more than lukewarm and to never again smell carbolic soap. He needed to be able to take a long drive, maybe to the woods, avoiding lover’s lake to not have to remember those frightening and isolating days of hiding. He needed a good ounce of bud and his record player. Lots of things were needed. None were likely to actually be received.

“So, uh… Where’d you get that from?” Wayne asked after seconds of silence that went far too long for his liking. He knew better than anyone what a downward spiral looked like in his boy. 

It took Eddie a moment to realise what he was talking about, before clicking all the pieces together when his uncle stared at his arm for too long. He said your name, softly at first. Like a secret that wasn’t meant to be shared. An eyebrow raise prompted him to clear his throat and explain. “She uh… She’s helping me out around here. Someone to talk to.” 

Wayne didn’t seem impressed in the slightest, arms folding as he leaned in his chair. “You sure you can trust ‘er?” he asked, head slightly tilting. 

Eddie’s head nodded erratically, sending split ends and frizz flying. “She’s like me, Wayne. Innocent.” 

“And you believe her?” 

“...Yeah.” 

He did believe you. He couldn’t explain it, but there was a sort of gut feeling to be had around people that meant others harm. He’d felt it a couple of times in his life. Hairs on the back of his neck standing up, a nausea that couldn’t be replicated by an illness, a sense of unease paired with an urge to run. He first remembered it when his father would come home drunk, the front door slamming open and shut with heavy footfalls. He’d felt it when Jason and his lackeys were chasing after him that night on the boat. Hell, he felt it when that patient with the missing piece of his ear came a little too close for comfort, before you’d come to his rescue. 

He could trust you. He had to. The only other option was doing all of this alone.

He watched the wrinkles in Wayne’s face to deepen for only a few seconds, before they relaxed to his natural frown. The Munson men had a habit of speaking without words, knowing each other well enough to be able to see slight gestures and eye contact to mean something that nobody else could pick up on. This particular eyebrow raise meant ‘I believe you’. Eddie’s slight nod was a thank you. 

It was all over before it felt like it truly began. The sense of normality, of a conversation between three people who knew each other well, was cut short by an orderly opening the door and barking Eddie’s last name. With the faded grocery bag in hand - after yet another check of the contents, as if a shiv would magically appear after opening it for the fifth time - he was led back to the common room to engage in the mind-numbing routine that never changed. 

But at least you were sitting there, waiting for him. Lounged in one of the threadbare sofas, flipping through a magazine that he’d seen you read at least a half dozen times. You looked up, the ghost of a smile playing on your lips as you nodded towards the other side of the couch. No judgement, no questions barraged at him as he crossed the room. Just patience and a slight eyebrow raise. Thank God that won’t change, was his first thought. The smallest bloom, like the first of springtime, got caught in his ribcage. Swallowed back down, bitter as whisky, before it could cling to his heart and not let go. 

“Visitors?” you asked as he leaned over the armrest, your eyes not leaving the freshly turned page. He could sense something in your voice; something that caught his attention. It wasn’t anger. It was deeper than that, hitting at a lower emotional register. He noticed an ever so slight furrow of your brow, eyes ever so glossy. Then it hit him. Visitors. 

Something that not once, he had ever seen you leave for. 

He recognised that feeling. The feeling of always being left out at the playground, never allowed to join the other kids. Of being dumped at a doorstep you didn’t know by your piece of shit father, the memory of the back of his jacket exiting view through a haze of tears. It was being called names, or worse, being flat out ignored. He knew it all too well. And he’d always hated seeing it in others. 

But there was no point lying about it, either. “Yeah,” he nodded, plucking the carton of cigarettes from the bag and beginning to unwrap them. “My uncle and a friend. Hadn’t seen ‘em since…” He trailed off, shaking his head as he grasped a few packets from the sleeve. If you noticed his choice of words, you weren’t showing it.

 He placed them by your feet where they were half tucked underneath you with a wry smile. “For all the ones I stole when I first got here.” 

“You don’t have to do that,” you frowned, finally tossing the magazine to the floor. He noticed the way you seemed touched by the gesture, though. “This place gives ‘em out like fucking candy.” 

“Yeah, but you hate the brand they give out,” he chuckled, remembering how often you complained about it first thing in the morning, still half asleep and grumpy from the medications used to sedate you. “Just take ‘em. Save them for special occasions.” 

For a moment, he expected more of a fight. But to your credit, you took them with grace. Opening a pack and handing him one, you motioned for the lighter as you nodded your head towards the bag. “What else you get?” 

“Uhh… Good question,” he shrugged, finally taking everything out to inspect. The Colour of Magic by Terry Pratchett, and from the looks of it, it was secondhand. A quick inspection of the first page gave him the name of the previous owner.

D. Henderson. 

“Love that little shit,” he mumbled under his breath, a fond smirk as he plucked the last item. Well, items. There were various envelopes, already torn open and no doubt already read, bundled together by a rubber band. He recognised the one on top from the character sheets he’d had handed in over countless times. Lucas’ neat handwriting spelling out his name. Already, a lump formed in his throat as he hastily shoved them back. Not here, he reminded himself. 

“Good haul,” you said quietly, no doubt well aware of his sudden shift in mood. It was strange, how two people adrift could find equilibrium. He could sense your fluctuations, the small changes in behaviour, that let him know to tread carefully. And now, it was happening in reverse. 

All he could do was nod. Allow the static of the silence to wash over you two, and to your credit, you never pushed.

He was thankful for that. 

~

Small stacks of paper surrounded his silhouette on the bed, the one he was trying to read gripped tight in his fist whilst the other hand muffled his sobs. Eddie hadn’t had many good words heard about him over his short life. Words were usually spat with venom, and he flicked barbs back. But now, it was there, all in black and white, and in various calligraphy. 

“Be strong man, you got this,” wrote Steve. 

“We’re fighting for you as hard as we can out here, just hang tight,” Robin scrawled. 

“I’ve always known you didn’t do it, son. I need you to know that.” In a font he remembered the most. 

His ribcage broke with the force of how much his heart hurt. The grief, the sadness, the shame. It was washing over him like waves, threatening to drag him under for good. He grieved for Chrissy, and he grieved for himself. It just kept pouring, like molasses sticky in his throat, and he couldn’t breathe. It didn’t stop until dawn broke, when he finally managed to put a lid back on everything and shut it away. Close the door and refuse to look, for fear a monster is in the closet. 

Hide it away, so it doesn’t hurt. Hide it until it’s safe to come out, if it ever does. Hide it, conceal it, consume it until it’s as dense as a neutron star. And if you did hear him crying from across the hall, you didn’t say anything. God, he was so thankful you didn’t say anything.