#makes me draw round face round eyed people

[nie7027]

Maybe buying a drawing table wasn't such a bad idea afterall

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part ten —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 2.3k tags: death. blood. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: this chapter kicked my butt. thanks for the patience~

An ear-splitting gunshot bites the ground near your boot, close enough to feel the heat simmer through the worn leather. It takes everything in you not to freeze in terror. You grab Blue and run. 

Adrenaline kicks into high gear once again, but with her dead weight and your lack of strength, you know you can't get far. You manage to tumble behind a stack of rusted bins just as another round fires. 

Blue clings to you. "He's following us!"

Your heart sinks as your fingers reach for your bow— you left it.

"Give me your gun," you sputter quickly.

She shoves the unfamiliar weapon in your hands. A tremble consumes your body as you peek over the barrel to find your target. For a second, you see your attacker as he passes by one of the jeeps. A young man no older than yourself. 

Without hesitation, you close an eye and go for his heart, but the bullet grazes the top of his shoulder with a spray of blood. Used to a bow, you aimed too high.

He barks out a swear and then lifts his rifle in retaliation. Before he can shoot, a Grey bursts through the window of the jeep, clamping down on his neck. His throat turns to gore. The gun falls from his grip as screams of pain quickly turn to muffled groans.

Relief and horror pound through your veins. That was close. Too close. You have to get Blue out of here. But how—

There is no chance to decide. Suddenly, she screams again. You whip around to meet the slash of a long knife and the flush of cold air as your coat is torn. Someone has snuck up behind you. You fumble with the gun but the attacker knocks it out of your hand, then fists your hair hard enough to make your scalp burn. It happens so fast. You can't even get a good look at him— only the wild stare of his eyes and the strength of his stature. Whoever these people are, they are certainly better fed than that man in the woods.

You thrash against him, hurling saliva at his face. Apparently, he didn't expect that because he hisses, "Fuck."

You use the distraction to grab your own knife, the only weapon on you, and blindly drive it into the taut muscle of his thigh. He howls, letting go of your hair, and you slip away just enough to dodge the next swipe of his blade.

The fight is short-lived. You've grown stronger, but not enough to fight a man. He is skilled and bulky. Your attempts to hit him are futile. His knife catches you in the forehead, sending a curtain of blood down your face, and he grabs hold of your hair once again.

"Gonna cut your throat first," he murmurs, low and gravelly. "Then your little lamb's."

He will kill you. Then her. You can't let him. You won't. Something animalistic takes hold of you. You do the only thing left you can think of— bite. Hard. The sickening taste of human flesh and hot blood fills your mouth as you rip out a chunk of his nose.

"You bitch!" 

He clutches his oozing face. Blue shouts at you, her finger jutting toward something— the Grey. Done with its first meal, it draws toward the scent of fresh blood. Before your attacker can recover, you throw all your weight at him, which isn't much, but it is enough to make him lose his footing and veer into the Grey's path. It grabs hold and sinks another bite into his face.

Suddenly, two more gunshots ring out. One to the Grey's head, and the other through the man's eye. Both bodies flop dead to the ground. Before you can panic, a wild-eyed Ghost returns in long strides. 

"Blue!" he bellows. 

"Dad!" she yells back.

He heads straight for her, quickly dipping down to check her bandaged leg and search for any other wounds. Fear has forced her eyes to stay open, her body stiff and alert. There is a wet stain at the crotch of her jeans. 

"They tried to kill us," she cries.

“I'm here, baby. I won't leave you again.”

You wipe the blood off your face and glance around, panting so hard your lungs hurt. The air reeks of carnage and gunpowder, but the firing has ceased. 

"They attacked us," you speak in a raw shout. “Two of them. Did you— Are the rest gone?"

He nods. "Could be more nearby. Let's get out of here before we find out."

He slings the rifle over his shoulder and scoops up Blue without an ounce of the effort it took for you to do so. 

He moves fast. Retrieving your bow, you push hard to keep up with him. 

Twilight tints the sky purple. You make it past the fence and zig-zag through the medical tents when movement catches your eye again.

"Ghost, to the right!" you scream.

You knock an arrow onto the string, aiming for the distant figure. But the movement multiplies, more shadows lurking towards you with uneven gaits. Not people. Greys. The realization forms a pit in your stomach.

"They can fucking smell us," you choke out. 

"Hit the faster ones!"

Arrow after arrow, you aim for the ones that move with the stamina of a more recently infected. To your right. To your left. Ghost carries Blue with one arm and shoots with his handgun. More and more crawl out like cockroaches, no doubt catching a whiff of the blood that stains all three of you. 

Two built like linebackers run wildly up to Ghost from either direction. He shoots one, while the other grabs him by the shoulder. You launch an arrow at its skull, your aim more precise now that you're not shooting bullets, and it lets go of him with a squeal. 

When the trees grow thicker, it becomes harder to see them. Despair pushes a cry up your throat when you slap a hand back to your quiver and feel two arrows left. 

A slippery mix of mud and leaves suddenly takes you down to the ground, your knees landing on a hard tree root. You swear under your breath, fumbling to get back up, when a Grey you hadn't noticed behind you lunges on top, slamming you back down. Pain shoots through your ribs as you frantically roll around, thrusting a forearm against its throat to avoid its opened mouth and kicking your knees into its chest. Then, a fiery bullet lodges into its forehead, the Grey going limp on top of you with a splatter of brains and coagulated fluid. 

"Get up, Twix!" Ghost barks. 

You shove the body off and scramble to your feet, legs feeling like jelly, but you force them to keep running. 

You whip a brief look behind you. 

"There's too many— I'm almost out of arrows!" 

"The river," Ghost throws over his shoulder. "Those fucks can't swim."

You realize his idea when the roar of water greets your ears. Ghost doesn't hesitate to sprint onto the rusty rebar, slipping his gun away to hold Blue with both arms. 

You follow behind, forcing your eyes on the bank ahead as you slow down to keep balance. All you have to do is get across and the river will take care of the rest. Heartbeats pound in your skull, each step requiring an unfathomable amount of focus that you struggle to muster. You're about halfway there when you hear the splash of Greys falling in, and a brief glance below causes your footing to falter. 

This time you fail to grab the beam.

Cold water envelops you like a million needles.

A mouthful of water burns down your throat, and for a moment, you can't move. Can't breathe. Everything spins around you. It's not until your feet collide with something hard - the bottom of the riverbed - that your brain registers what's happening and you kick out to propel yourself up. 

You break the surface for a gulp of air before the current pulls your head back under. Your arms flail around in search of something to grab. Just when you latch onto what feels like a log, a hand seizes your ankle with a hungered screech. You slam your foot back, over and over, more water filling your mouth as you struggle to kick the Grey and hold on at the same time.

Finally, the rotten skull caves in and the current sucks it away. With your leg freed, you haul yourself up the log toward the edge of the river. You begin climbing up the cliffside, using the twisted roots as footholds, your hands digging into caked soil. You're almost to the top, but you feel numb and weak. So weak. You can't find anything else to grab. The wet sole of your boot begins to slip.

"Grab on!"

A gloved hand stretches down. Ghost is crouched above, Blue now on his back so can he lean over. You grip his hand and he pulls you up, until you collapse on the ground, wet and shivering. 

You cough up water and bile. 

"Bloody fucking hell.” 

It's been a while since you've thought about dying. You've made it this far, instinct always taking the reins and pushing you onward. But now, as the reality of the cold, wet clothes clinging to you sets in, you consider asking Ghost to just shoot you. It would be quicker than freezing to death, and a much better fate than drowning or turning Grey. At least you know Blue will be safe now.

Before you can form the words, you hear the shuffling of fabric. A jacket, a beanie. Set on the ground beside you.

"Take off your clothes. Put these on."

The rest turns into a dream. You don't remember putting the clothes on, or standing up and moving your heavy limbs. You don't remember getting to the hunter's cabin, but the next thing you know, you are curled up on the floorboards beside a small fire, inhaling the musky smell of Ghost's oversized jacket, with the blanket you brought tucked around your bare legs. You don't feel cold anymore. Your head pounds. You can hear the steady rhythm of your heart, slow but present. Behind you somewhere, Ghost tends to Blue. You know this because you hear him whisper to her as her sobs are muffled by biting onto a shirt. Amelia, Amelia, he says to her. A name you've never heard before. He must be cleaning the wound, the pain of it causing her to thrash and kick. Then, the sounds fade, and you know she is asleep. 

When your eyes finally tear away from the flames, you spot Ghost hunched over, lifting up his shirt. Dark blood and ink stain pale skin. 

"You were shot?" 

His eyes snap up. He regards you for a moment, and it is now you notice that most of the white of his mask has been stained with red from his kills. 

"Knife," he says.

You don't know why you offer, or why he silently accepts. Somehow you end up knelt beside him, your cracked fingertips cleaning the puncture wound in his torso without a single word exchanged. It's not deep enough to need stitches. You clear the blood and dab on antiseptic. The only sign he feels any pain is the flex of corded muscles beneath your touch and the occasional sharp inhale through the mask. His skin is oddly warm, a temperature that does some to ease the tension in your muscles.

When you're done, you roll the shirt back down. He doesn't say thank you, not that you expected him to. 

You break the silence with a voice that barely hovers above a whisper. "You could've let me freeze."

His brows lower. "You could've let them kill her."

"I would never do that." When he doesn't respond, you glance at her sleeping form. "She's okay?"

"Just a graze," he confirms.

"She lost quite a bit of blood. She might need a few days to rest."

Your gaze shifts back to his. You quietly add, "Did you recognize them? Were they a part of the military?" 

"Maybe. Their gear was. Didn't know them, though."

"Why did they try to kill us?"

He gives you a look. Of course. He tried to kill you for the same reason once.

"They have a camp nearby," you murmur the answer, more to yourself than to him. "Something to protect."

He gives a slow nod, then moves to grab his rifle and a hoodie to slip on in place of the thick SAS jacket he lent you. As he moves to the door, you realize what he plans to do. Keep watch.

You slip the beanie off and run your fingers over the cut on your brow when he says something just before leaving.

"For someone who once asked me to kill them, you fight hard to survive, Twix."

You don't know what to say. Just hours ago, you almost asked him to kill you again.

There's a beat of silence and then, "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Do you fight so hard."

A breath sticks in your throat, and you stare at the floor. You're not sure why he is asking this, or why the answer is so hard to give.

"I... I don't know."

With that, he leaves. You watch the fire turn to dark embers. The faded adrenaline has left you with a fatigue you have grown familiar with. If you weren't so tired, maybe you would still be scared, your mind filled with fresh memories of gore and death and screaming. But you fall asleep quickly, scooting beside Blue and sinking into the warmth of his jacket. 

[wqnwoos]

seungcheol is a goner for you the moment you sail into the café; gorgeously rumpled and bright-eyed, striding to the counter with purpose.

“hi,” you greet, planting two hands onto the counter and leaning over it breathlessly. “i want fifteen shots of espresso, please.”

seungcheol’s eyes widen, fingers hovering over the cashier. “i’m sorry,” he repeats, “did you say fifteen?”

when you nod brightly, his eyebrows draw together, wondering how the universe could throw someone so beautiful in his path, and then make them batshit crazy. “i don’t think i can do that,” he says finally.

“you guys have a rule about espresso shots?”

“no, i mean, like, morally.” the corner of his lips tug upward. “if you died of caffeine overdose…”

your eyes expand comically — “die?” you whip round suddenly, facing three or four people that he hadn’t even noticed were dithering behind you. they must be your friends, because they’re all giggling as they wait for you, and they explode into laughter when you yell at them: “guys, the cute guy says i could die! you want me to die just for being late?”

amidst their raucous laughter, you turn back to him with a resigned sigh. “those dipshits,” you inform him, “are my friends.”

seungcheol’s still stuck on how you called him the cute guy, but whatever.

“we have a penalty every time someone’s late,” you explain, “and today mine is ordering fifteen shots of espresso.”

his eyebrows flick upwards, amusement curving his lips. “technically, you did order it,” he suggests. “doesn’t sound like they made you promise to drink it.”

unbelievably, those sparkles in your eyes seem to brighten. and then you beam at him, which kind of takes his breath away, but you’re speaking before he can curse himself for being so easy. “you are my new favourite person in the world,” you declare without much ceremony. “then can i get an iced caramel latte instead?”

when he delivers your newer, saner order to you, he’s scrawled your name on the side, and a string of numbers underneath with his name attached, waiting with bated breath for you to notice it.

which you do, of course, raising an eyebrow at him. you tap the little call me? he’s written on the side, saying, “that’s a little presumptuous, no?”

“it’s not a command,” he replied, half a smirk on his lips when he taps the question mark. “it’s an option. consider me an option.”

that makes you smile, as you take the coffee cup, exiting backwards and waving it at him in farewell. “consider yourself an option i’m likely to choose, mr choi seungcheol!”

an / hiiiii it feels like ages since i posted! anyway. part of my 1k event & requested by @glowunderthemoon (happy incredibly late birthday!!!!!) with the trope café meetcute.

taglist: @n4mj00nvq @eoieopda @som1ig @glowunderthemoon @wondering-out-loud @graybaeismytae @hannyoontify @sahazzy @dokyeomin @icyminghao @smilehui @nicholasluvbot @lvlystars @immabecreepin @hanniehaee @kokoiinuts @astrozuya @doublasting @yepimthatonequirkyteenager @qaramu @weird-bookworm

[thatlovinfeelin]

Swan Song | Jake Hangman Seresin |

Carole Bradshaw was pregnant when Goose died. Newly pregnant, too early to even know. The pregnancy was hard, not just emotionally but physically. The birth was even harder, but in the end Carole was left with a beautiful baby girl. She had Goose’s eyes from the start, big and brown, just like her big brother Bradley. Her smile was contagious from the very beginning and soon she was growing into a beautiful young woman. 

Y/N was very close with her big brother Bradley. They were nearly inseparable. So when Bradley joined the Navy, it took everything to convince Y/N that she shouldn’t follow in his footsteps. She went to college nearby, and got her degree slowly but surely. And once it was all said and done, and Bradley had a permanent position at Miramar, Y/N joined him there. 

“C’mon! Just take me for one drink!” You begged your older brother, “You never let me meet any of your friends! Even Penny said you should let me come!”

“Penny needs to mind her own business,” Bradley grumbled, throwing on one of your dad’s old Hawaiian shirts. 

“No, Penny definitely needs to butt in more,” You argued, “She wants me to actually make friends here. Outside of the studio!” 

“You’re the one who decided to move here,” Bradley pointed out. 

“And you’re the one who keeps me virtually locked up here!” 

“It’s my job to protect you. None of the people I work with are worth knowing, anyway, aside from Phoenix maybe.”

“Great, so introduce me to Phoenix!” You begged. 

“One drink,” He held up one finger, eyebrows pinched tight. He wasn’t joking. You were his baby sister, it was his job to look after you and protect you from everyone and everything. Including everyone he worked with. 

He wasn’t even sure if the Daggers knew he had a little sister. Phoenix and Bob knew, because they were Phoenix and Bob. But the others had no idea, and Bradley planned on keeping it that way if he could help it. He wanted you to stay as far away from military men as you possibly could 

“Two,” You bargained. 

“Fine, then you’re coming home.”

“You have to play me one song too,” You said firmly, “One round of Great Balls and I’ll be happy.”

“You have yourself a deal,” He sighed, “Now c’mon. Let’s go before I change my mind.”

You threw your arms up in victory and ran to go change quickly out of your leotard. Twenty minutes later, you were pulling into the parking lot of the famous Hard Deck. Another five minutes after that and you had a cocktail in your hands as you watched Brad mingle with various people in uniform. He hated wearing his uniform to the Hard Deck, he always came home to change first. 

“Penny, my dear, can I get another one?” A blonde asked, “Thanks darlin!” 

You rolled your eyes and took another sip. Once the blonde had his new bottle of beer he turned his attention to you, which you were hoping to avoid. You had watched him watching just about every girl in this bar. He seemed to know everyone, and know all of the girls. It made you want to be sick. 

“Now who might you be, sweetheart?” 

You eyed Penny, who not so casually eyed the bell by the corner of the bar top. You wanted to laugh knowing she’d ring this guy in an instant for you. All you had to do was say the word. 

“Not your type,” You replied, taking another sip, “Try the leggy blonde at the other end. She’s drooling over all of you patches.”

“I don’t think I want a tag chaser,” He replied, southern draw on full display, “What’s your name?”

You huffed before setting your cocktail down on the bar in front of you and turning slightly to face the man, “They call me Swan.”

“You a pilot?” He questioned, eyebrows raised. 

“No, just related to one. My uncles gave me my own callsign when I was a kid,” you weren’t sure why you were even telling him any of this. You really wanted to tell him to fuck off back to whatever backwoods hovel he came from. 

But there was something about the way he was looking at you that made you want to see a little more of him. His green eyes were intoxicating, and you were certain he used that to his advantage with all of the ladies. You didn’t want to be another notch on his bedpost. 

Yet, you couldn’t help but squeeze your thighs together as he brought the bottle to his lips. You did a quick survey of the bar to see if Brad was anywhere around, but he was engrossed in a game of pool with several other uniforms. Maybe you could have a bit of fun tonight. Just for this one time. 

“What do they call you?” You asked, leaning in a little further. 

“Hangman.”

Fuck. You knew that name. He worked directly with Bradley, and obviously he had no idea who you were, otherwise he wouldn’t be talking to you. If he knew he would probably be fending off the guy at the other end of the bar who wouldn’t stop eyeing you. 

“Well, Hangman,” You said leaning in a little closer, “Why don’t you buy me another drink?”

He smiled slowly and waved over one of the other bar tenders, Grace you think her name was, and then there was another drink in your hand. 

“So, what brings you here? Never seen you before,” Hangman asks over the music. 

“My brother and I live nearby, finally convinced him to bring me along with him tonight,” You replied simply. 

“Do you need your brother’s permission?” He playfully questioned. 

“I think you’ll find, Hangman, that I don’t need anyone’s permission to do anything.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

You drank the rest of your cocktail and slid off of the barstool, “Meet me in the bathroom in five minutes and find out.”

And that was the first time you fucked Jake Hangman Seresin. In the bathroom of the Hard Deck, while your brother and all of his friends were just feet away. Brad never found out though. Instead he marched his way over to the piano and started playing Great Balls the second you reappeared from the bathroom. You laughed and skipped over, sliding onto the bench next to him. 

Jake was a little confused, watching you cozy up to Bradley when he’d been balls deep inside of you just minutes before. He was seething when you leaned over and kissed Rooster’s cheek. He didn’t think you were one to be fast and loose with everyone. But maybe he was wrong. After all, he didn’t even know your real name. 

“Who’s that with Rooster?” He asked Phoenix through gritted teeth. 

“Uh, I think that’s his little sister,” She replied, “Y/N, but everyone calls her Swan.”

Fuck. Jake Hangman Seresin was fucked. Because he’d just fucked Bradshaw’s baby sister. The baby sister that he only mentioned in passing because he had a picture of her in his locker and in his plane. Jake joked one day  that she had to be a hell of a girl and Rooster let it slip, as if he didn’t even realize he’d said it. Maybe he didn’t. But Jake felt like he was going to be sick. 

Did you know who he was? 

When the music stopped Rooster came over to the Dagger group, you following closely behind him. You had a soft smile on your face as Bradley went around the group and introduced you. But when he got to Hangman you smile turned almost innocent, so much so it made Jake hard again just looking at you. You were smiling like you didn’t have his dick in your mouth, or so deep in your pussy that you kept saying you could feel him in your stomach. 

“Hangman, this is my baby sister,” Bradley grumbled, “Y/N, this is Jake. But we all call him Hangman.”

You smiled again and stuck out your hand, “Nice to meet you, you can call me Swan.” 

You were both very much fucked. Because all either one of you wanted to do was grab the other and continue what you started in the bathroom. All you wanted to do was kiss him silly in front of everyone, and then drag him to his no doubt, big pickup truck, and fuck him in it. Truth be told, that’s all Jake wanted to do too. 

“Nice to meet you, Swan.”

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 59

Part 1 Part 58

“Please, Steve!” Nancy’s wheedling voice drifts to Eddie as he rounds the corner. “Jonathan already said no because he’s trick-or-treating, so it’s just going to be me and Barb.”

Steve’s leaning against his locker, frowning down at Nancy. It’s reminiscent of the year before, when the pair were circling each other like monkeys in heat, only it’s knocked on its head. Maybe even…upside down. Eddie chuckles, sidling up to lean against Steve by the lockers, knocking their shoulders together. A united front in the face of a determined Nancy Wheeler.

“Are you saying Barb’s not enough for you, Miss Wheeler?” Eddie asks, faux shocked. He puts a hand to his chest, swooning into Steve’s side just to make him laugh.

Nancy rolls her eyes. “Obviously not.” She’s clearly exasperated by Eddie’s presence. Somehow, almost a year of being friend’s-once-removed hasn’t warmed either of them up. Although, if all the interdimensional ass-kicking couldn’t do it, why would anything else? “It’s just–” she trails off, looking down at the books she has clasped daintily to her chest.

Eddie can almost feel Steve thawing beside him. God damn it. “Just what?” he asks softly.

Nancy peeks up at him from beneath her eyelashes. She doesn’t even look at Eddie. What a conniving little twerp. “Neither of us have been to a party since, well–” she stalls, tucking a curl behind her ear. “You know.” She whispers the last bit, looking around like she expects the men in suits to burst out of the walls because she mentioned a party from last year.

Steve stiffens next to him. Eddie takes a surreptitious step closer, glaring down at Nancy. Not that she has the decency to even notice. “None of us have gone to a party since, Wheeler,” he hisses.

Steve elbows him in the ribs. Like he’s the problem in this scenario. Eddie backs down, slumping down into the lockers and crossing his arms with a loud huff. Time to let Mommy and Daddy figure it out. Eddie grimaces, disgusted by his own thoughts.

Steve sighs, rubbing his face vigorously with his hands. “One hour,” he says, muffled through his palms.

“Seriously?” Eddie demands.

“Yes!” Nancy says, raising her hand in a tiny fist pump that would’ve been endearing on literally anyone else. “I’ll see you there!” She’s beaming as she turns around, walking away with a new bounce in her step.

“Where are we going?” Eddie demands.

Steve lowers his palms, sliding them down his skin, slowly revealing each tantalizing bit of his perfect face. “Were you invited?” Steve asks, turning and walking away.

“Dude, I know where you sleep!” He does not shout out in the halls of Hawkins High in bumfuck Indiana that where he sleeps is with Eddie in his bed. He has some self-preservation left.

Steve laughs, elbowing him in the ribs again. Same spot, too, the asshole. “Tina’s Halloween party?”

“Are you serious?” When Steve nods, he continues. “Ugh, Stevie, you’ve gotta stop letting Wheeler shoehorn you into these things. She’s the worst!” Eddie whines, drawing out the vowels in ‘worst’ past recognition.

“She’s not that bad,” Steve says, but he’s smiling. “You’re just her like–what’s it called? That stuff that always trips up Superman. Dustin mentioned it?”

He looks over at Eddie, a cute look of puzzlement on his face. Eddie wants to boop his nose, so he does, watching as Steve goes cross-eyed trying to follow the movement. “You mean Kryptonite?”

Steve snaps his fingers, smiling dorkily. “That’s it!”

Eddie’s heart flops pitifully in his ribcage. What a fucking nerd, dear god. “Okay, but do we have to go to a stupid party because Nancy Wheeler of all people wants us to?”

Steve shrugs, still smiling as they walk down the emptying corridors. “Last time we got kidnapped by a monster from a hell dimension, so really, Munson.” Steve claps his arm around Eddie’s shoulders, rubbing his hair like he’s one of the bastard children. “Things can only go up from here!”

Eddie can’t help the way he almost shrieks with laughter, almost bringing Steve down with the way he goes boneless. “You’re a total jinx!”

“Maybe, but you love me!”

Steve Harrington says it nonchalantly, like he’s not currently holding him up off the cold linoleum. Eddie’s heart does an unfortunate splitter splatter splat at Steve’s feet. Because fuck. He does.

Part 60

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[jeridandridge]

Autumn Days

The giddy excitement Melissa feels as she drives is enough to make her vibrate. You were in the passenger seat as usual, looking at the map on your phone while you two head for the cider mill. Melissa had a secret, one that was on a silver band hidden away in her bookshelf at home. Now, driving in the crisp morning air Melissa glances over unable to stop the warm smile spreading across her lips as the sun rays come through the window giving your hair a warm glow and your black sunglasses sparkle.

“If we keep going straight we’ll hit Main Street and it’s right there.” You tell your girlfriend, completely unaware of her loving gaze.

As you two pull into the grassy parking area you beam like a little kid rounding the truck to hold Melissa’s hand.

“I haven’t been to one of these places since I was a kid.”

“Yeah? Well we’re pulling out all the stops.” Melissa beams lacing your fingers together as you walk through the entrance. Taking in a deep breath you smell cinnamon and cider making you shimmy your shoulders in excitement.

“Hayride and apple picking first?”

“You bet, hon.”

As you two walk through the crowd you find the little stand to pay to get on the hayride and offer Melissa your hand to climb up onto the makeshift seats. “Covered in hay.” You chuckle. “I bet you’re already thinking about what you can bake with the apples we pick.”

Melissa grins squeezing your hand. “And the pumpkins we’re gonna carve.”

She looked like a little kid in a candy store, bright eyed and a permanent smile etched onto her lips. Looking over you can’t help but squeeze her hand grinning like an idiot. She made you feel warm and fuzzy, alive.

As the afternoon goes on you carry your bag of apples over your shoulder as you walk through the bakery and shop looking at all the sweet treats. With a handful of Carmel apple suckers between your fingers you weave around other people and strollers getting to the cider.

“Baby, do you want a jug of cider for the house?”

“Yeah! We can use it as a mixer.” Melissa grins. “You need all those suckers?” She laughs.

“Of course I do! They’re seasonal, Mel!” You smile happily carrying everything to the checkout.

When you two come out of the store you hold onto both bags in one hand and Melissa’s with the other, happily intertwining their fingers.

“I don’t wanna put pressure on you, but I’m gonna kick your coolie at carving.”

You quirk a brow eyeing the playful smirk on her lips. “You’re on, Schemmenti.”

Back at home with a candle burning, cider drinks made, and a cozy fall playlist going you and Melissa stand at the opposite sides of the plastic covered table with a sucker between your lips. Standing with a determined look on your face you finally come up with an idea, not having a clue as to what’s going on with Melissa.

The redhead is already holding the pumpkin back, drawing her design. She tries to keep her hand steady as she writes.

“I got you big time, Schemmenti.” You grin getting started on your carving by taking the top off.

Melissa shakes her head with a smirk taking her time with the carving not wanting to finish too soon. As you get to carving yours you stand up and hum and bop along to Don’t Fear The Reaper.

“You’re so cute.” Melissa chuckles watching you concentrate on your work, the little crinkle between your eyes being one of your favorite mannerisms.

“I’m very cute.” You grin right back at her. “Don’t try to sweet talk me. I’m winning this thing.”

“I dunno about that one, Tesoro.”

You smile flicking pumpkin guts onto the plastic with a scrunched up nose not thinking of anything going on from the other side of the table. When all is said and done Melissa stands up getting the pumpkin guts off her hands with a towel

“Are you done already?” You chuckle, “let me see.”

“No!” Melissa panics. “Not yet, we gotta wait for the reveal with the little lights.” She recovers easily. You nod and open the package for the little fake candles.

“Here, I’ll do those and spin em around for you to see em.” Melissa tells you with a giddy smile. There was definitely something going on.

“Okay,” you chuckle going over to flick the lights off so you can get the full effect.

Melissa’s hands shake as she opens up the top of the pumpkin, the smell is almost too much in the moment with her senses on overload. She’s never been so nervous in her life. Placing the battery powered lights in the pumpkins she turns yours around first smiling at the witch design.

“I carved Kristen, you like it?” You joke.

Melissa laughs holding onto the other pumpkin. “I really do, hon. You got her nose just right.” You were definitely the one for her.

Carefully turning the pumpkin around, she keeps her eyes on you. When you see the words carved and glowing you let out a gasp, your eyes going over the words over and over again. Four words that change everything.

Moving to stand beside you Melissa wraps her arms around your waist.

“Will you marry me, hon?”

Spinning in her arms you beam like an idiot pulling her into frantic kiss.

“Yes!” You laugh, “oh my god, Mel yes!”

Melissa squeezes you in a tight hug before holding the gorgeous engagement ring out to slide onto your finger.

Cupping her cheeks in your hands you lean in giving her a sweet kiss before grinning once again.

“Best day ever.”

[charliedawn]

What if the slashers kept a journal ?

Bo was taking care of one of the employees' car—which had a flat tire—when you decided it was the perfect time to do a round check of all the bedrooms. All of the slashers had to keep a journal and you thought it would be alright to just give it a quick look to see their progress.

However, Bo's journal seemed very well hidden and then, you found out that his desk was slightly off-centred. It was by palming haphazardly the underneath of his desk that you found the journal—hidden inside a secret compartment he had surely crafted himself.

"You clever clock.", you whistled admiratively with a proud smile. You then opened it and frowned as you noticed that the first page was blank...and the second...and the third. Why was it empty ?!

"Can I help ya ?"

You were surprised to hear Bo's voice behind you and quickly turned around. He eyed the journal in your hands and looked up at you before blinking several times. He seemed to catch up quickly on what you were doing by how guilty you looked.

"Anythin' interesting in there, nurse?"

However, instead of replying, you threw the journal on the bed scurried off of the room as quickly as you had entered it. As soon as the door was locked, he smiled and walked to his desk. He checked that his real journal was still there—hidden underneath some mechanical engineering book—and smiled when he realized it was...

He chuckled knowingly.

"Noisy lil' darlin'."

In Vincent's journal, there were merely animal pics and various unreadable scribbles. You couldn't possibly read the things written, so you focused on the photographs and smiled at the various subjects...until you arrived to the last days' entries. Now, you knew Vincent to be easily obsessed. He had once followed a bird for hours—only to draw a sketch of it. However, you had never seen him get obsessed over an actual human being—until today.

There were only photographs of you.

You. Eating.

You. Talking.

You...Sleeping.

Oh...You blushed and promptly closed the journal before hiding it back underneath his pillow. However, when you turned around—you fell face to face with Vincent.

He looked successively between you and his pillow and finally, it clicked. He tried stop say something—but by then, you were already gone. You had snuck past him. He stood still for a second or two before re-opening the diary. He gently stroke the last photograph he had taken of you—smiling at him.

It was his best one yet...

Sex jokes. So many sex jokes. You thought that man would take the time to write profound meaningful things ? Ah ! Joke's on you.

However, he smiled when he saw you reading his diary. He stayed there for a moment before creeping his way in and surprising you by suddenly pulling your head back.

"Haven't you heard the expression curiosity killed the cat, sweetheart ?", he asked with a threatening grin and you shrugged.

"Haven't you heard bastards usually get cooked ?", you shot back.

At this point, you didn't give a toss that he had caught you—with the amount of garbage you had read. His whole brain needed to be purged in holy water.

"It doesn't make any sense.", he snarled and you offered him a sweet smile before taking a lighter on the table.

"Yes. It means let me go, Krueger...before I burn you somewhere that REALLY hurts.", you his in-between meaningfully—but it didn't seen to be efficient. It only spurred him on as he closed the door with his foot.

"Hmm...Nah. Don't think I will."

No need to say...Freddy got more than one additional burn that day.

Brahms was so discreet—you didn't notice when he approached you from behind. He glanced at what page you were on and realized it was a part when he described you.

Curious. Nice. Beautiful...

You smiled at the compliments, but realized that he had missed the point of the exercise. It was to focus on himself and reach deep. However, Brahms didn't like people reading his secrets.

His chest heaved heavily and in a matter of seconds, your back was against the door and he had removed his mask. You wanted to read all about his secrets ? He would make you sing yours.

Jason mostly wrote random words he learned. He couldn't make full sentences yet—but he mostly tried to write words and various emotions or actions of the day.

Cutting. Eating. Cooking.

He didn't like making sentences—so he usually only writes down random words. He described people he met, places he went to and his feelings.

You smiled.

He might be the only one who had listened to you and tried to fill their journal with what they felt. You flipped quickly through the different entries until you reached the final one. You were then pleasantly surprised by finding a few sentences. But that pleasant feeling quickly disappeared when you read.

'Hello, mommy. I have friends now. I think you would like them. And I...I met someone. I think you'd like them too. They like us. They take care of us. I miss you. But I...I think I'll be alright.'

You let out a few tears as you imagined Jason writing those words. He had learned so much and you weren't afraid to say that you were proud of him. And you were sure his mother would be too if she could see him.

Michael could smell you. He knew you had been in his room and every single thing you touched. The scent lingered on his diary and on one page in particular—one he didn't think was that important.

It was a photograph. A photograph of all the slashers reunited on Christmas. It was also the only day Carrie and Sadako were allowed in the facility.

Jason had taken that photograph before giving it to Michael as a present. He is completely forgotten about it, but smiled faintly at the realization that you had chosen this page in particular made it special.

He sighed before sitting on his bed and closing the journal. He looked out at the garden where you were helping Freddy with the bad weed.

You looked so...perfect. And that made you precious in Michael's mind—but also dangerous. He had this urge to protect you clashing with the need to kill you. It was exhausting to keep that last urge at bay, and he was afraid of what he might do if you were to ever know about his feelings...But, he wasn't worried.

You would never feel the same...right ?

Jack writes down everything—and I mean everything. He can fill an entire book about his day. He also has a big memory and can remember the tiniest of details.

That was the reason why you had decided to read his entries—in case he would have written something you had missed.

What you found inside made your eyes widen.

He had studied them all. And it wasn't just moments. It was fully-detailed portraits. Physical. Mental. Psychological...He had recorded ever trait, every change...And not only about the slashers or the other patients.

But the staff as well. And of course, you. You learnt that he had memorized everything to you taste of cake and the type of clothes you wore for every occasion. It was impressive—but also rather worrying.

"Well well...Wasn't expecting any visitors."

You turned around swiftly add found him standing there with a smug look on his face. He didn't seem to mind you reading his journal. He simply tilted his head with a knowing smirk and you let the journal fall to the floor before slowly backing away.

"I was just..." His eyes didn't leave yours before he stepped out of the way.

"Here you go, nurse. You can go."

You eyed the door suspiciously. Could you...really ? But, you didn't want to stay and ask—so you walked out. Jack's eyes followed you until you were out of view before smiling and picking his journal back up.

New entry: Nurse Y/N doesn't seem to be very happy about being the studied subject for once...

Pennywise hadn't written anything. You were partly disappointed, but not that surprised. Pennywise didn't like sharing—and that was even with himself. He was complicated and he refused to acknowledge his own feelings.

But, that was okay.

You closed the diary and looked at Pennywise who was sitting in his favorite rocking chair and was staring ahead at things you couldn't fathom.

Maybe were there ghosts of his past ? You didn't know. Maybe would he open up some day. But, you'd wait until then.

They ran. They all ran. And I chased after them. Their little hearts pounded loudly in their chests as I trapped them. Their wide eyes fixed on me.

You had mainly a lot of notes on his time when he had to face the Losers' club. Penny was oddly specific on the gore details of his past kills. But, you needed to understand him—so you digged dipper.

You read everything—everything until you found something truly important.

I'm losing my memory...Pennywise says it's normal. But, I can't even remember who I was before. What was my name ? I think I was a clown...But, I don't know anymore. I think I had a daughter. But, I don't remember her name.

Penny was...losing his memory ? You looked up and saw him playing with the other younger slashers in the garden. He was smiling and carelessly chasing after them. But, what if...there was more to him than you had initially thought ?

Ghostface had refused to show his face to anyone. You had simply wanted to get to know him better. You knew that searching though his personal entries for answers wasn't really nurse-worthy...But, he refused to open up. However, before you could read as much as a few words—he had grabbed the diary from your hands and pressed his knife against your throat.

"Now now...nursy. Spying ? That's not very ethical of you.", he teased and you closed your eyes.

He seemed pissed by the way his voice became slightly more high-pitched and you knew that you should be afraid—but something else crossed your mind.

"What is you favorite scary movie ?", you muttered and Ghostface tilted his head quizzically.

"...What ?"

You slowly turned around to face him fully and he didn't stop you.

"That is the question you ask to all the patients. The question you always ask to everyone you meet. Are you...", you looked up—even though you couldn't really judge his reaction. "...searching for someone ?"

Ghostface stayed uncharacteristically quiet for a moment before clenching his fists.

"Leave. Now.", he uttered in a quiet whisper and you didn't dare defy him—as you knew by the way he had suddenly tensed up that you weren't welcome anymore.

The moment you were out, he slammed the door and locked the door before removing his mask and throwing it to the ground angrily. He was was conflicted. He was ashamed that you had succeeded in seeing right through him so quickly. And, he couldn't tell you—not yet. He opened his diary and sighed. He couldn't tell you that the answer he was searching for was Psychose. 1960. His father's favorite scary movie.

It was the only information he had—that and that he was a patient in St Louis. He looked up at the ceiling and suddenly threw the diary in the fire heating up the room.

No one would know. He wouldn't risk it.

[thruheavenandhighwater]

Forever's Gonna Start Tonight

Written for @steddiemicrofic

Prompt: Pool

Word Count: 442 (273 version)

Rating: T? Implied drinking

Eddie is a bartender at The Hideout. Steve is a slightly tipsy patron when his favorite song comes on the jukebox. Eddie narrowly survives.

~~~~~

Saturday was The Hideout's busiest night. Busy, of course, meaning about 12 people inside the smoky bar as opposed to the 3 or 4 that trickled in most other nights. Tonight's crowd was more or less the same as every weekend, save a few new faces or missing regulars. But the one face that Eddie's wandering eyes keep finding is Steve's.

Steve wasn't a regular by any means, but he wasn't exactly unknown at the bar either. He'd swing in every few weeks, flash his pretty smile around, and disappear until next time. Over the year that Eddie had been holding down the bar at The Hideout he'd come to crave those Saturday nights when Steve would make an appearance.

Tonight he's with Robin and Nancy. The three of them are nursing draft beers around the pool table. Eddie watches closely as Steve lines up his shot. He's a fan of billiards, okay? It has absolutely nothing to do with Steve's new jeans or the fact that he's currently bent at the waist, draping himself over the edge of the table.

Steve pulls back his pool stick and takes his shot. The white ball shoots off towards a group of its brightly colored friends with a smack. Steve watches with a smile as the white ball barrels through the other balls, knocking the red striped ball into a side pocket. He lets out an excited whoop and puts his palm in Robin's face. She rolls her eyes and makes a threat that Eddie can't hear, but he's sure it wasn't very nice.

Nancy is eying the table, deciding her next move, when the song on the jukebox ends. After a beat of silence a piano starts. The trio shares a look before setting their sticks on the table.

"Turn around," Robin croons, empty fist held to her lips.

Steve leaned into her side, "Every now and then I get a little bit lonely and you're never comin' round."

And so it went. Steve went around the bar to every single patron. He threw his arm over their shoulders and dramatically serenaded them to Bonnie Tyler. By the time the final chorus started he'd made his way to the bar. He leaned over the bar, holding Eddie's shoulder as he sang.

"And I need you now tonight, and I need you more than ever. And if you only hold me tight we'll be holding on forever."

Steve places his hand on Eddie's cheek, drawing his thumb across his heated skin as the song fades out. Before Eddie can breathe again Steve winks, spins, and bounces back to the girls at the pool table.

[dangara2610]

Hey guys! I had a weird dream

Of course more things happening on it but ...

I remember very clear a moment when I became Varian (S3 design) I was a little exasperated but patiently and kindly trying to accomplish my chore while Eugene and Lance were interrupting me chatting about funny things

The chore consisted on getting a bunch of... ashes? Torned clothes? Yellow papers ? inside a golden cantinphlora, I finished and said my goodbyes.

Next I was not Varian anymore , I was next to Quirin keeping him company, a lady in waiting with the yellow uniform, was I Faith?, we were on a outside garden party at night with royals and citizens, everything was decorated with lanterns and few light bulbs.

Varian announced his entering , asking for everyone attention, he was not on a stage, but at the top of a wall helped with a mobile staircase, he was about to say speech, then he opened the cantinphora, put it on the wall and a little path of shiny orbs exploded from it, forming an arc of light.

It was lame because it was not big, and suddenly, I could think at the same time in the body of Faith and Varian "That was my fault, I didn't pushed enough ingredients into the cantinphora"

Then me as Varian, gave a proper salutation and started a speech talking about how much thankful I was for all my dad care and love, with a move of my hand, the path of lighting orbs followed me and then I drawed with my finger the silhouette of Quirin, very similar to a line of neon light.

Then the magic happened, I made the siluhette, but a sudden spark would compete all the details to make a full illustration of Quiring face and clothes, now the people awed at it and clapped , I felt great, the artifact was working.

Quirin looked pleased and honored, as in his S3 design, more smiling, and saying a kind of, "oh my child uvu ".

But then a guy wearing a big coat with a hoodie talked back aloud to be herd, unamused saying it what not big deal and did a copy of my Quirin illustration with his own neon light, looking from Faith perspective, tall, small eyes, with acne, pale skin, big long nose but rounded at the tip, not the typical pointy, the hair was not visible , the coat was butter colored.

Varian then felt the joy tainted, of course, disrespected, but shrugged and kept going, next , he thanked his "teacher" for showing him new habilites, he took three steps down the staircase and moved the hand for the next siluhette.

A illustration of an old men with a big robe, long curvy hair, long mustache and long barb appeared, the audience clapped but now Quirin was nervous and faking his smile while saying "That could be any one" like not wanting any one to recognize who this teacher was, but in fact, it was like a generic wizard.

Then the guy with the hoodie said aloud those habilites were easer to get when you train with a chopped and re-arranged hand.

The people gasped and Varian was visiblely tensed and wide eyed, the left hand tingling, angryly thinking "How dares he?! I don't want my dad to know about my hand!"

And then I woke up because my blanket endup far away from me and I was freezing xDdDDDDdD

Thanks for reading 🏵️🌸🪷🌷🌺💐🌹🪻🌻🌼🌴🌳🌲🌀🫧🌊🌠🌌🌟✨✨💫🌙☄️

[saintsir4n]

2. boy toys

"I'M tellin' you Keke, I thought one of them was gonna ruin my car, the way they were swinging', it was so close," Carson had been retailing the events of the fight since she returned from her lunch break. She would do anything to avoid her work.

"You and that damn car," Keke laughed, filing the nails of a customer.

All the other employees listened in enthralled by the story.

Carson shrugged, "It's my baby."

"Yeah, got you so distracted, you forgot to eat on your break."

"I'll get something' later," Carson waved her off, "but seriously, Vince was so mad."

Keelie never liked the man, so she was happy to hear that especially because he always hit on Mia, "Oh really, how mad?"

"He looked like he was 'bout to burst, you know how quickly these white folks turn red," Carson giggled along with the rest of the room.

"As quickly as I snap my phone," Keelie mused, receiving a nod from the woman in front of her.

"Ain't that right," Carson grinned at the noises of agreement from others.

Her story was quickly cut off when the door opened up, revealing a familiar face.

Everyone turned to see the pretty blonde who looked like he ended up on the wrong side of town.

"If it isn't Brian Earl Spilner," he cringed at the use of his name. Carson gestured for him to come over to the counter, and so he did, not before gingerly waving at the older women who gawked at him, "Ladies keep your paws away, he's not a bite to eat."

"He sure looks like it," they heard someone say, making everyone laugh.

"You stalkin' me now?" Carson teased, leaning on her hands as he neared closer with his winning smile.

He rose a brow, "Why would I say yes to that?"

"Well, Jesse did say you sounded like a serial killer so it's not outta the question," he playfully rolled his eyes at that answer, before he noticed what she happened to be sketching.

"These are good," he nodded at her work, making her show off her pearly whites, much to the amusement of everyone else, who watched the interaction. "Is there somewhere we could go to talk?" he asked a little quieter.

Keelie rolled her eyes, hearing him, "You guys can go to the back, but you got 5 minutes and then I'm draggin' you out."

Carson sent her a small smile, then grabbed Brian's hand as she rounded her station.

"I've got my eye on you Elton John," Keelie called out.

Brian glanced back, "Is it because I'm white?"

"No because of your talented voice," she quipped, making Carson pull him to the back.

Brian licked his lips as he scanned her outfit, he hadn't seen it all before because he and Vince were too busy scrapping. She looked good, better than good, then again she always did. Her hand was so soft, contrasting his. Callus' seemed to kiss his whenever he drove.

Carson was a little nervous when she closed the door and dropped his hand, staring at him as he smiled down at her.

The room was cramped, filled with tiny lockers, a mini fridge and a small couch, but the pair decided to stay close to the door. Correction, Brian was so close to Carson that she was practically caged in, she had no choice but to lean against it.

"What did you wanna talk about? You gettin' fired so quickly, must be a record for you right?" she mocked, folding her arms.

His eyes sparkled as he said, "Help me."

"Why do you think I should?"

"Because," he leaned in, drawing a wide-eyed look from her, "You're the reason I'm eatin' those crappy sandwiches every day."

She couldn't help but smile, she was so annoyed that she was. Between his curly hair, dreamy eyes and cheeky grin, how could she not?

"So you admit they're bad and you're stupid for eatin' them anyway," she remarked, trying to shake the heat kissing her cheeks.

"Worth it," he shrugged, not looking away from her.

Although, he came to the nail salon to ask her for a favour, just simply talking to Carson was a bonus. Barbie was another one of the nicknames he heard people call her, and he understood more when she corrected them and said Bratz doll instead.

"What do you expect me to do anyways, hypnotise Dom?" Carson's voice pulled him from his trance.

"Just tell me where the next race is," he didn't ask, he needed to know.

And to her, Brain wanted to prove something.

Carson raised a brow, "And why would I do that?"

"So you can watch me win."

"I'm enterin' that race, you think you can win against me? Dom? You just got outta your trainin' wheels, boy you gotta at least think before doin' somethin' like that."

Carson was putting a lot of money into the race and was hoping to get a lot out of it when, not if she won. The money made from the race would fund the new paint colour, engine, rims and a new stereo.

"Look, if I can win against Dom I get his respect," Brian explained, earning a small scoff from Carson.

"And me?"

"A date."

Carson swiped her tongue around her cheek, "Cute, but it's gonna take a lot more than one win to do that."

He chuckled, "We'll see."

"I guess we will, but give me your phone," she gestured and he started to smirk.

"Already?" he teased, drawing a sigh from her.

"Phone now," she demanded. Brian liked this feisty side of her and didn't hesitate to pull out his phone and give it to her. He goggled at her acrylics, liking the black and pink pattern, knowing she designed it. She typed in her number, called it and then hung up when she felt her phone vibrate, "Here."

Brian took back his phone, smiling when he saw the new contact:

Summer <;3.

"I'll text you the place," she said, pushing the door open, immediately seeing a bunch of women glance away and whisper amongst themselves.

"And I'll be there," Carson wasn't expecting him to kiss her cheek, but he did, "Bye Carson."

His smile didn't falter when he waved goodbye to a dozen women who were eager to wave back as he left the shop.

Carson groaned when she realised how happy she felt and then turned to smug-looking Keelie.

"So... is Justin Timberlake, gonna be comin' 'round more?"

Carson shrugged, "Maybe."

"Oh, he sure is."

"Yeah yeah, and Mia says hey," Carson teased, earning an eye roll.

"Bitch."

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

a/n:

if you're a fan of my account, you know I'll try and add many filler scenes to books that are solely based on canon because the original dialogue can be quite tedious to read all the time. i want brian and carson to feel brand new and fresh. they already flirt like crazy and we all know how both canon and fanon brian can be when he's interested in someone.

you'll be seeing our girl racing soon. what do you think the outcome of the race will be?

[knfmemarbles]

The Devil's Promise pt. 1

Hello everyone! It’s been a while since I have posted any fics but I hope you enjoy this one as it is part one of a series!

word count: 2.5k

pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader, Johnny "soap" McTavish x reader

warnings: none I am aware of (if there are any lmk!)

I sighed and tended to the bar at the Saloon, trying to make a little side cash while my father was off at another meeting. It was always nice not to have to deal with his company, having their prying eyes or clinging hands near me. Sometimes, living under the watchful eyes of politicians was the worst place to be. No freedom, no adventure, and no love life the way I would’ve hoped for. My hand was likely promised to the new person willing to protect our town. Many gunslingers were responsible for safeguarding towns and saloons from outlaws and ruffians. However, my father had been swift to draw a line in the sand, almost crossing it as he attempted to enlist more than he could afford. I brushed my hair to the side, standing straighter as I tried to keep my manners with the newest entering patrons. A broad figure entered the Saloon with his posse, eyes scanning the room before staking a claim on a corner table. A mask dawned on his face, a red skull obscuring his features from vision as a back cowboy hat covered the top of his head. It wasn’t one of those cliches where the whole Saloon went silent as they watched the newcomers come in and were suspicious; they were hardly noticed. After all, the town was quite large, and people passed through on business or travel constantly. However, no one had masks like theirs adorning their faces. It was the only thing that caught people’s eyes as they walked by, but they turned back, knowing it was better not to ask. Better to mind your own business. The man settled on a stool, gesturing for one of his buddies to get up and get drinks as the rest of the posse flocked to the table. They began to joke around and became vivid, nothing like how they entered. The group’s vibrant energy while sharing a drink was now nothing less than fun and bubbly. But the cautionary tale of the Devil’s posse only made my hair stand up on end as I knew the danger they posed and why they were in the part of my town only bothered me further.

The information was like an itch I couldn’t reach as my dad only fed me pieces of what was going on between him and the gunslingers in the area. These men did not play fair. They were more than willing to shed petty blood: At least, that’s what the stories say. Their leader was the one in the red mask. He was known as the Devil himself. Father warned me to stay away from this business if possible as my future was already promised away. He did not want to have his bargaining piece used against him. The one who stood closest to the Devil himself was the one to make quick of getting up. He grunted with effort as he was left with the task of acquiring the drinks for the group. He signaled to you as he walked up, hand twirling around in a circle before gesturing towards his table as he approached your bar. He pressed himself against it with his elbows resting against the old polished wood. After all, your town was wealthy. 

“Round ‘o whiskey.” He said as he eyed me subtly with his head tilted. He looked amused more than lustful as he let his eyes wander. It gave me a short time to take him in. His hair, neatly shaved, faded almost into a mohawk. His jaw stubbled enough to make him look rough around the edges. The clothes adorning his figure were nothing short of cowboy: a cowhide vest resting on a long-sleeve black, thin top, not to mention the chaps that complimented the jeans. 

My gaze flickered up to the cowboy to give him the acknowledgment he sought before moving to grab the closest bottle of Tennessee whiskey. The thick glass was cold to the touch as I reached to grab a few cups to fill, “How many would you like, sir?” 

He tilted his head back to the other side, getting a small head count of his group. He rattled off the number of men in his posse with the smile never leaving his lips. He stayed, leaning against the bar as his eyes wandered around the walls and other tables before settling on a staircase tucked right out of sight unless you were looking hard enough. His curiosity began to get the best of him as he leaned forward to speak over hushed words. 

 “Have any women upstairs?” His words laced in a heavy accent as his eyes followed the staircase. “Or is that just rooms?”

Had he had the accent the whole time? My brain tried to recount as he continued to talk. It sounded almost Scottish. However, his questions did get a laugh out of me. A polite smile eased onto my lips as I shook my head no. “Unfortunately, sir, if you’re looking for company for the night, you must visit a brothel. Those rooms are off-limits to guests.” 

He put his hands up in defense with a chuckle. “Alright, miss, you got me there.”

 The silence hung in the air as I filled the last few glasses with alcohol. I started to set them on a tray, willing to carry them all over myself before the man rose to his feet. 

“Allow me.” He murmured, gently taking a few off the tray to lessen the load. 

“Oh, well, thank you,” I waited for him to reply with a name. 

“They call me Johnny.” he winked before moving to the table, raising the glasses in the air while the gang around him cheered for the first round of drinks. 

 I couldn’t help but linger on the group; watching them with such excitement only made my world feel so much smaller. My heart yearned to be a part of something bigger than myself, even if it was as dangerous as gunslinging. But I was merely a woman; I needed to be prim and proper.  

 I began serving each drink in front of each member. Some took directly from my hand, offering thanks here and there. It wasn’t until I placed the whiskey in front of the man in the red mask. 

His eyes narrowed once he saw it. His gaze rose to mine before placing the liquor back onto the tray with a clink.

“Bourbon.” He spoke gruffly, a thick British accent correcting the drink as he leaned back against his seat. “Kentucky.” It was almost an afterthought like I wouldn’t have figured it out alone. It’s not like the chain of saloons carried many different selections. This one is the number one contender and is currently the only bourbon in most stores as of late. 

I gave a meek nod, pursing my lips as I pulled the tray away from arm’s length.

” Kentucky bourbon. You got it, sir. Was there anything else I could help you with? “I asked with almost a sarcastic rasp to my voice. The man had easily gotten a rise out of me. I flickered my eyes from the cup to his gaze, not allowing myself to let my eyes wander as I stood straight back up. He didn’t bother speaking another word, only grunting, turning his attention elsewhere. I felt my eye almost twitch at how dismissive he was. I shouldn’t want the attention of the gunslinger, but it was difficult trying to ignore the annoyance bubbling instead of fear. I almost wanted to scold him for his mother not teaching him manners.

  I strode back to the bar, setting the tray down to attend to a new glass of bourbon for the man.

While my attention was redirected, Johnny just grinned before turning back towards his boss, who gave him a questioning brow raise. He shrugged in response. "What? She's a pretty gal, and you need to talk more." He says, shrugging as if he wasn't scheming some plan. "She's got a slippery tongue too, might tell you what's up there." He grabbed a thumb backward towards the staircase. "It's a secret, from what I've found out." Redmask sighs briefly before looking at me with a slight hum as if thinking of Johnny’s suggestion.

After finishing pouring the glass, I stopped to check the time. A small curse slipped through my lips as I returned to the table. 

I returned with a small set of menus and gently set them in the center of the table before setting down the bourbon in front of the gentleman with the red skull obscuring his face. I gave a quiet “here you go” before looking to all the other men in the group, “I brought some menus; if you are interested, feel free to wave any of the other waitresses by, and they will be able to help you there.” I smiled and pointed out a few before getting ready to turn and head back to the bar to serve a few patrons waiting for me to serve them.

Johnny smiles at me before touching my wrist, not grabbing it but gently touching it with his finger to stop me. “Thank you, sweetheart. One more thing, though, is there a place we can stay for the night?” He asks, removing his finger from your skin to not make me uncomfortable. In the meantime, Redmask digs around in his pocket and provides a large wad of cash he holds out for the taking.

I felt my face heat up at such a gentle touch. Most men in the bar were very grabby and demanding, rarely using feather-light touches. I gently brought my hand to my chest, touching where his hand had once been. “Ah well, I am sure the local motels around here would be more than willing to take all of you in for the night. Virginia run the one three blocks down.” I smiled, feeling they were trying to figure something out about the upstairs rooms. I looked towards the cash and tilted my head at the red-masked stranger. “Closing the tab?” I asked. I turned to face them with genuine confusion as they were barely served one round. I glanced at the other cowboy and gave him a kind smile, “Would you like me to have someone go over to let Virginia know you need a place to stay?”

He nods, mentally noting the place before taking hold of his glass and drinking. “Ah, that would be appreciated; thank you, sweetheart.” Johnny cooed while his boss sipped at the drink. His eyes leave you after returning to the other men as they talk and joke. The red-masked man, however, just nodded to the question he asked, huffing in slight annoyance. “Any other drinks can be bought by themselves.” He grumbled out, not wanting to feed into his men’s drinking problems. Nor get blackout drunk and cause problems while trying to stay low.

“Okay, I can close that for you. Let me get your change.” I murmured and grasped the money from his gloved hand, brushing my fingers as I rounded to the bar and counted out the Change. I kept glancing at the group, returning to why they were there. Maybe Father had business? No, he never talked well of the posse—quite the opposite. I was utterly lost in thought when counting the money, almost wholly zoning out. 

The masked stranger watched as I counted the change. Though he didn’t intend to let me give it to him, he would hand it back, even as a tip, if anything. He turned back towards Johnny, who was already looking at him. He subtly tilted his head in my direction and asked a nonverbal question. It was answered with a single nod. They had come into the town for something. And they would get it no matter what happened—a score to settle almost.

I stopped before bringing the change back and setting it on the table. “Virginia is aware of your upcoming visit. I hope you all enjoyed your time here.” I murmured before heading back to the bar before moving to make my way to the staircase, ready to take a small break from the smell of alcohol and bustling bodies. The amount of people trying to grab my attention slowed my movement to the room, but I needed to get going. I kept glancing behind me, feeling burning gazes on my back, my head on a swivel until I met his from across the bar again. I gulped before continuing up the store, fishing in the small pocket I created in my dress for a key to the room I had been using. 

I looked over my shoulder before unlocking the third door and sliding through quickly before giving a soft sigh and moving to set the key down on the nearby dresser. Looking at the time, I promptly began to head to my father’s, moving to strip from the corset and dress to something a little more fancy and ladylike. That way, my reputation would not be affected as my father used me as his little pawn. I wish I could avoid it at all costs, but family love ran deep, and I felt I would only let them down if I didn’t do as told. Not to say mothers’ punishments weren’t the other reason.

I slipped on a different pair of shoes, throwing on light makeup before snagging the key and leaving. After locking the door, I descended the stairs and started through the bar, dodging touchy customers and waving bye to some of the ladies, knowing my father was about to have my head for being late. I cleared my throat, passing by the posse as I waved a tiny bye. The curiosity of who they were gnawing at me as I truly wished I could get to know them.

Johnny gave a tiny head tilt along with the tip of his cowboy hat, grinning as he watched as I walked away. He was unaware of the second set of eyes following me as I left, yet he made no motion to say goodbye. After I left the bar, though, redmask stood. He signaled to Johnny to follow; he was the closest thing to the second in command he would get. They also waited a few minutes before leaving the bar, looking around to see where I had scurried off to.

I waved over my driver and watched the horses slowly trot up, smiling as I approached. I stroked the nose of the horse gently before talking to the coach before moving to get into the cart. The smile disappeared as quickly as it appeared, a frown taking place as I knew I would now have to face my father’s men and wishes. I grew mildly frustrated. I was wishing that I could sneak off and go on my adventure of sorts. After slinking out of the Saloon, I hadn’t even felt the gaze or the men following me.

[justfangirlstuffs]

OK. OK. YOU GAVE US SOME CUTE LITTLE SCENES WITH VAMPIRE SUN AND MOON. LET ME GIVE SMOOCHES TO VAMPIRE ECLIPSE

Okay, okay... -sighs- Here ya go. <3

CW: scary scenarios and violence

You x Vampire!Eclipse (sorta)

It was an unfortunate yet not unusual set of circumstances. You had been kept late at your campus job and the last bus you missed by ten minutes. You thought about calling someone to give you a ride but you reasoned it wasn't that far of a walk to your dorm. Just on the other side of campus. You done it before . You didn't like to since walking home alone in the dark wasn't your idea of a good time but at least it was the warmer time of the year so it wasn't that big of a hassle. Plus, you didn't want to be a bother, so you began the walk home.

About halfway there, your ears picked up the sound of footsteps behind you. A quick glance over your shoulder told you that indeed someone was walking behind you, trailing roughly a few yards behind. Immediately, your nerves were set on edge but you tried not to panic. Perhaps it was just another student walking home late just like you. Still, you picked up the pace a bit.

After a ways, you chanced another glance. The person was still there, keeping solid pace with you. Your anxieties increased as fear began to take hold, but you didn't break into a run, not then. You waited until you rounded a corner, and once you momentarily lost sight of them, that's when you took off at a mad dash. The sound of footsteps thundering behind you kicked in your fight or flight response. There was no way you'd be able to make it to your dorm like this, you would run out of breath soon. Then you came across a cemetery and remembered that some people used it as a makeshift short cut. Maybe, if you were lucky, you could shake off your pursuer.

You reached the cemetery gate and it was locked but there was enough space for you to squeeze through in between the opening. You were almost through when you felt a pair of hands. One grabbed your arms while the other clamped over you mouth to stifle your scream. You sank your teeth deep into the assailant's hand, drawing blood. There was a pained shout and the hands faltered, allowing you to wrench yourself free. You ran into the cemetery, too scared to look back, the taste of blood thick on your lips.

Halfway down the main path you cut through the headstones, working your way to the other exit. However, the sight of another figure brought you to a dead halt. You stood gasping from exertion body trembling. You should be running, you needed to keep running. Yet something about the air around you had grown thick and heavy. The figure resting near one of the gravestones was large and long-limbed. Even though you only had moonlight to see you could tell the figure was dressed to the nines. He lounged on the grass with a glass of what appeared to be dark red wine in one hand. When the head turned to look at you you found gleaming golden irises staring back at you from a grinning face.

“Well, well, I wasn't anticipating company,” a dark and velvety voice floated through the air, coating you in its sweetness.

The figure set aside his glass of wind and stood up. Oh, wow... how he towered over you. Your legs locked up and you found you could not look away from that amber eyed gaze. No matter how your brain screamed at you to run you were absolutely frozen. The very air seemed to press down on you, as though entertaining the idea of crushing you down into the dirt. A hand far too cool to be human brushed over your hair, caressed your cheek, and cupped your neck. The hand was large enough the fingers could easily wrap around your throat and squeeze if they felt so inclined.

The grinning face leaned down to meet you, and your heart thumped in your chest not knowing what to expect. Had you just run from one bad situation into something worse? However, staring into those golden eyes you began to feel a sense of calm. You could hear a voice and it came from everywhere and nowhere at once. Deep, and low, and unfathomable as the ocean depths. “There's no need to be scared. Everything is fine now.”

Your shoulders relaxed and your breathing evened out. You didn't even mind it when that grinning mouth pressed itself to yours and you felt a warm tongue cleaning the blood off your lips. Heat bloomed in your stomach and a soft breathy moan left you. Just when you thought that mouth would not stop until it had devoured every inch of you, the figure pulled away, leaving you breathless.

“Now, what are you up to so late at night, little bird?”

Before you could answer, you heard the sound of a twig snapping and you jolted momentarily breaking the spell you were under. You looked and saw the person that had been following you. You saw a glint of a knife in their hand, the same one you had bitten, that oozed blood. Fear resurfaced and you instinctively backed away, hiding yourself behind the taller, mysterious figure.

“Ah, I see now. So you're the one I have to thank for my peace and quiet being disturbed.”

The figure stood at his full height and your eyes widened as four arms stretched wide as though welcoming the assailant in for an embrace. Your attacker screamed, dropping the knife and turning to run. In a movement too fast for your eyes to process, the figure caught the assailant. There was a terrible ripping and popping sound and you saw something thud to the ground and roll away. You looked away, denying to yourself what it was.

Oh gawd, that guy... he was dead wasn't he? Were you next? Was that going to be you in a few seconds? You should run. Run. Why weren't you running? Why, it was simple, because you didn't have permission to. The tall figure turned back to you licking something dark and wet off his fingers. You caught sight of teeth that were sharp carnivorous. Those burning eyes surveyed you, gleaming impossibly bright in the darkness. They seemed to consider you for an eternity before they finally turned away from you. You felt the invisible hold on your being finally relent and you could move again.

“I'm not one to overindulge,” the voice crooned. “Run back home, little bird. This is all a dream you'll forget in the morning.”

You followed the instructions as though your life depended on them, and perhaps it did. You got home safe and the next morning you couldn't for the life of you remember how you'd made it home last night. All your mind could conjure was the fantasy of a blood-soaked kiss that made you shiver in fear... and want.

[virtualcarrot]

[KKIR] Modern AU - Teaching Pains Pt5

Part 4

Prompt 5 : Exes/Memories

.

Iruka's bleary eyed and still half-asleep when a similarly out of it but powering through Kotetsu hooks an arm around the back of his neck.

“Sooo… You and Kakashi-sensei stayed up late together at the gym, uh.”

Iruka doesn't react. In all fairness he's too busy trying to figure whether or not he’ll capitulate to the early hour and abstain from one of the cheap donuts on the counter. On the one hand, he’s vaguely queasy. On the other hand, it’s free food, and also sugar, which should give him the necessary boost of energy to hang on until his brain gets fully online.

Before he can decide, Anko makes a grand entrance, her drill sergeant voice announcing her arrival. “All right, losers! The bake sale's ready and the Headmaster's office’s shut off from the public. Y’all ready to be productive members of society or are you gonna keep mooching off our hard work?”

With a coffee in hand and a coworker hanging off his shoulders, Iruka blinks back slowly. He barely registers Kotetsu hiding his face in his shoulder with a groan.

Ignoring them for the coat rack, Mizuki hangs his bag with a huff.

Anko meets Iruka's eyes and grins toothily. “Why, hello lover boy,” she drawls. “Have fun yesterday?”

Iruka pulls a face. “It's not like that and you know it.”

“Oh, do I?”

Faced with her too sharp eyes and growing all too aware of Mizuki's presence, he hides in his drink. “We were sparring,” he mutters into the mug.

“What was that?”

“We were sparring.”

Kotetsu releases him with a snort of laughter. “Is that what the kids call it, now?”

Sometimes, being on friendly terms with your coworkers is a curse.

“I assume most kids aren’t familiar with kumite, so I’d say: yes,” Iruka retorts curtly.

He doesn’t really like bringing up martial arts around Mizuki. There are old wounds they’ve rebuilt their friendship around that still remain tender. But he can’t let this sort of insinuation go unanswered either. It’s unprofessional, for starters, and also he could really, really do without the risk it might reach Kakashi’s ears if Iruka doesn’t nip it in the bud.

Much to his relief, Mizuki doesn’t sour at the topic. He draws closer instead, eyeing Iruka up and down the way he used to when they were kids and he was looking for injuries. “Are you alright?”

Iruka ducks his head. “Yeah, don’t worry. He went easy on me.”

He pauses, remembering his surprise of the previous evening, the warm feeling of making a pleasant, unexpected discovery.

“He’s actually really good, uh,” he adds, somewhat breathily.

Ever the realist, Mizuki gives him a little smile. “It’s more likely that you’re too out of practice,” he says gently, which Iruka can’t really dispute. “But it’s good that you had fun.”

Then, because they’re not actually paid to gossip, they all leave the teachers’ lounge and go open the school to the public. Mizuki falls into step with him while he goes to round the last arrived volunteer students--for a value of volunteer where Iruka just ended up conscripting additional kids until they had enough people.

That Naruto didn't put up more of a fight feels like an admirable growth of his character, truthfully.

“You should be careful,” Mizuki says, breaking the companionable silence.

In the process of a mental review of the performances and workshops they've got planned for the next day, Iruka has trouble following the non sequitur.

“What?”

“Kakashi-sensei. You had a tense relationship, and he's been mellowing to you--which is great. But it wouldn't do for people to think it's in return for… services. Or that you'd compromise your students for that.” At Iruka's stricken look, he waves a hand in the air with a rueful smile. “Don’t worry, I don't think that. But you know how tongues wag.”

Which is of course the moment Iruka’s phone chooses to chime with a new text. Any cheer he might have derived from Kakashi asking about his morning freezes over. He hastily shoves his phone back into his pocket. Mizuki gives him a pointed, knowing look but is kind enough not to comment.

Thankfully, Iruka doesn't have time to ruminate. Visitors may be slow on the first hours of open day but that's all the better to ready them for the later inpouring. Future students, their parents and concerned family members number that crowd, along with the visiting families of their current ones; the true bulk of it, though, are the random bystanders excited for the free spectacle Ebisu sets up with the kids every year. If only for Sasuke, Lee, Tenten and Neji’s feats of gymnastics and martial arts, the trip is worth it.

By the time the rush fully starts, Iruka has already broken two fights between Ino and Sakura, yelled Shikamaru awake from a nap, reminded Chōji that the cakes from the bake sale are for sale, and stepped in to support Hinata before she passed out at the prospect of talking to a group of total strangers asking for her opinion on the school curriculum.

After which lunch-time arrives.

He distributes the complimentary sandwiches the school provides their little volunteers--but not the teachers--and then takes a very hypocritically cake-filled break in guise of a meal. It's more sugar than he enjoys, but he didn't have time to cook the evening before and knows from experience that the local shops will be crowded from their own visitors looking for something to eat.

Somewhere past two in the afternoon, Kakashi shows up with takeout coffee from Iruka's favorite place. Iruka's never resented someone more for making him like them.

“Isn’t today a university day?” he asks, washing the lingering sweetness from his mouth with a blessedly dark roast.

It's a bit rude, by way of greetings, but Kakashi doesn't take offense. If anything, his eye curves in that congenial arch like Iruka's just the most entertaining thing he's been given to see.

“Had two free hours ahead, thought I'd check how it's going,” he replies, with the sort of nonchalance that tells Iruka those hours were probably not supposed to be nearly this idle.

“Office hours?” he can't help but ask, trying to ignore Suzume adjusting her glasses at them a few classrooms over.

Unperturbed, Kakashi chuckles. “Office hours,” he confirms with an expectant smirk.

But Iruka doesn't segue into his usual rant about responsibility and student needs. Leading a group of wide eyed pre-teens and their flustered parents across the hallway, Kotetsu's just sent a thumbs up behind his back and with it, made his spine freeze.

He doesn’t have time to linger anyway. The gymnastics performance is drawing near, which means it’s almost time to begin corralling the interested visitors towards the gymnasium that a not insignificant proportion of them won’t fail to miss, and that’s in spite of Izumo’s indications on the PA system and the many printed signs they’ve tacked all over the school in preparation.

To top it all, Iruka hasn't seen Naruto in a while which never bodes well.

He heaves a sigh at the thought. “Sorry, Kakashi-sensei, I’ve got to get back to it. Really appreciate the coffee, though.”

Kakashi takes one look at the milling visitors and nods. “Sure. Don’t let me keep you. And good luck.”

It takes all of Iruka’s willpower not to smile in thanks, lest he look too familiar, though he doesn’t get long to brood over it. He’s barely walked past one classroom that he's caught by a family of four asking about the facilities and the disciplines taught and whether there’s a waiting list they might sign on to make sure their daughter of six years old gets in when she’s of age. He wants to sympathize with wanting to do good by one’s child, but his experience teaching the kids of such parents, pressured towards performance like the adults around them think they’re coal they might compress into diamonds, makes him deeply skeptical. And anyway, there’s no such thing as a waiting list, which he tells them, before directing them to a few booklets in the library and drafting Sakura to lead them there and answer any further questions.

Finally free, he slips away.

The good thing about having been a troublemaker in this very school, is that Iruka’s well versed in its real estate of hiding places. The downside is, he’s grown complacent in updating that knowledge.

By the time he’s about to give up and rejoin the event, Iruka’s no closer to finding Naruto. At this point, he has half a thought that Naruto should hope he doesn’t find him, because he won’t make any promises as to the kid’s life expectancy once Iruka gets his hands on him.

Fate must really be conspiring against Naruto, then, because Iruka’s doing his last check in the remote corridor leading to the Headmaster’s office when he catches sight of a blue and orange sleeve hiding behind a cabinet with pictures and diplomas of former headmasters.

He sneaks closer for greater impact when he yells.

“Naruto!”

The resulting screech of horror is deafening.

Sitting on the floor with one hand clutched to his heart and his bag at his feet, Naruto laughs nervously. “Aaah, Iruka-sensei, you found me,” he says, rubbing the back of his head.

Iruka gives him the sort of even look that Naruto should know means this situation can go either way, and it’s all up to him.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

Naruto looks away with the jitters of someone readying a lie, and a bad one at that. Iruka crosses his arms sternly to dissuade him.

It’s enough that Naruto slumps, sullen, and draws his knees to his chest. “It’s just… There are a lot of people.”

“Ah?”

“Lots of… families…”

“Ah.”

Iruka steps around him and the cabinet, and slides down the wall until he meets Naruto on the floor.

“Can’t be easy,” he says casually, looking at the faded paint of the wall across.

“It’s fine,” Naruto mutters to his knees.

Iruka nudges his shoulder and doesn’t say anything. He remembers when he lost his parents, how it was to be young and alone and counting only on himself. Sometimes, a mere presence was enough to help. That, and warm food, which is his usual approach, but he doesn’t have any to offer Naruto at the moment. He makes a note to take him out for ramen sometime soon.

On the loudspeakers, Izumo informs them that the first performance of the afternoon will start in five minutes.

“Hey, Iruka-sensei?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think I’ll pass this grade?”

Truthfully, the question is one Iruka has been pondering himself. While Kakashi’s tutoring has noticeably improved Naruto’s grades in physics and chemistry, and given him confidence to tackle the other disciplines he had given up on, he still has a long way to go.

Iruka sighs. “I don’t know, Naruto,” he answers honestly.

Naruto hugs his legs tighter. “I’m not stupid, you know? It’s just difficult. But I’m really trying my hardest.”

“I’ve never doubted that,” Iruka says, because it’s true. He’s watched Naruto sit hours long in front of his textbooks, hair in even greater disarray than usual as he pulled it every which way in frustration. Truthfully, Iruka sometimes suspects part of his learning difficulties might be closer to disabilities, but he’s been having trouble communicating it to the head of the orphanage, who’s a bit too convinced that Naruto’s just acting out in a bid for attention--which he is--and would by extension benefit from being ignored so as not to reward his behavior--which he doesn’t.

Daikoku isn’t a bad man, but if anything Naruto’s been a harsh lesson to Iruka on the limits of his good intentions.

“I don’t want to repeat the year,” Naruto admits in a small voice.

And Iruka gets why. Kakashi’s guidance isn’t the only reason worth crediting for Naruto’s improvement these last months. Working in a smaller group, out of the more merciless dynamic of a full classroom, has finally given him an opportunity to bond with his classmates. He has friends now. And a rival. Which is kind of a friend, Iruka thinks.

He ruffles Naruto’s hair affectionately.

“Then let’s keep working hard to make sure you don’t, eh?” he says. “Come on, let’s go. Ebisu-sensei’s going to lose his mind if he’s missing one of his stars when the show starts.”

Naruto seems only slightly mollified, but that’s to be expected. Some things take time.

He does get up after Iruka, who counts it as a small victory.

~

Part 6

@kakairu-rocks (I'll finish the fic past the official allotted time of the event but at least these fills will have been posted on time)

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Feeding Alligators 28 - The Art of War

Y'all reach the grove. Battle plans ensue.

On AO3.

You can feel the Grove before you round the last bend and actually lay eyes on the damn thing. That heavy, oppressive dread. The goblin bodies have been cleared out, and there don’t appear to be any new ones. Hopefully, it’s been quiet while y’all were gone.

The gate lifts when the tiefling guards recognize y’all (and ain’t it interesting that it’s the very people that bitch wants to kick out who seem to be doing most of the heavy lifting, so to speak). You pass a young couple inside stacking their stuff into a wagon. Once in the cave, the others break off to talk to the trader, and you clock three more tieflings arguing with each other down the way.

Last time, you veered right. You can’t really speak, but you can still snoop. This time, you turn left. An old tiefling cooks at a cauldron. A blacksmith bangs away at a forge (you want to go over and watch so bad; you ain’t seen blacksmithing before).

But before all that, is the clacking and grunting. There, in another shaft of sunlight, a wooden platform. Training dummies stand in a line. Several tiefling whap at them with wooden swords. But it’s the gaggle of kids and the Black man talking to them in a low, easy tone that draws you in.

The kids look scared. One seems to be on the verge of tears. It’s this one the man takes a knee to talk to. Hand on then scrawny shoulder. Head ducked low so he can peer up at the wet face.

You know a pep talk, even if you don’t know the words.

He’s training them to fight. Training all of them to fight. They’re being kicked out with the looming threat of goblins; of course they’re teaching the kids defense.

Jesus.

The man stands. Readjusts the grip the kid has on the practice sword. Guides them to a dummy. A bash at the knees. A jab to the groin. All things within a kid’s reach. All things more likely to incapacitate than kill.

He backs off, lets the kid have another few goes. Claps and his voice carries an exuberant warmth. Enough that the kid swipes their face with a forearm and hacks at the dummy again.

The man turns, surveying the others, and that’s when he spots you. Faint recognition sparks in his eyes—eye, you see as you get closer; the other is artificial. You saw him before, during that goblin fight. Only a flash or two—you were hanging back and mostly trying to stay out of the way.

His eyebrows lift all friendly and he says something.

To which you can only smile and make a vague hand gesture to your ear. “Don’t speak y’all’s language, sorry.”

Though the “sorry” is in Faerunese.

The man nods slowly. Looks behind you and spots your companions—now clear of the trader and making their way over.

You turn back to the one-eyed man as he opens his mouth, and the goddamn worm flails in your skull. You’re distantly aware of shouting behind you, the man slams a hand to his head, and then your knees almost buckle and you stagger over to the fence—

Red skin. Black horn. Eyes liquid gold and the demon woman literally burns as an ax the size of your torso splits down—

Horror and urgency. A monster on the loose. She’ll carve a path of blood and bone up and down the Coast if you can’t find her, stop her—

The whammy passes. You hang, limp, over the fence and pant. Voices call around you. A child. You lift your head to see the man—

Wyll.

—see him comforting the crying kid again. Then footsteps jog up behind you as the rest of the group hightails it over, Astarion’s lilting voice sharp in annoyance.

Fuck, that brain shit is jarring when it isn’t Gale.

Everyone talks around you. Introductions and what the fucks, if you had to guess. Dude got brainwormed, too. You’d sensed concern in him. Where Gale had been shielded and Astarion a hot mess, Wyll had felt…collected. Worried, but channeled, like storm water redirected into an arroyo. All of his emotions serve a purpose.

Part of that worry is for the tieflings.

“Hello,” you say, hoping that passes as a form of “excuse me.” It nabs Gale’s attention, and to him you say, “Talk shadow druid.”

Wyll picks up on that with a frown. Repeats it slower, but shakes his head. More conversation—fucking running out of that potion, goddamnit.

“Go noun talk,” he says. Or that’s the part you pick up on, anyway.

Gale thanks him. Turns to leave.

But this guy has a brainworm, too. He seems a capable fighter, and, unlike everyone else (you included), doesn’t seem like a complete douchebag.

“Wyll,” you say. “You, um. You walk, talk, all of us? Walk, we sleep over there, eat. All of us also?”

Fuck, this is fucking hard. Come with us, you try to say. Join us in activities. Hopefully it made some sort of sense and wasn’t just babbled gibberish.

Astarion scoffs. But Wyll looks to Gale, says something with his head tilted. A “I’m considering, however” gesture.

The thoughts you’d seen. The demon woman. He’s hunting her. Worried about stopping her.

The last thing y’all need is another fight. But. But people working together, gadugi, got your ancestors through ten thousand years and a whole ass genocide, so hey.

“We all,” you say, swirl your finger to gesture to the group. Then make a stabbing motion. “We all, you. Bad fire tiefling.” Stab again.

Take the meaning, Wyll. Please, please have understood that.

He nods again, slowly. Gale meets your eye—the rest of the group bitching, some more quietly than others (Astarion)—and nods as well. Then Wyll is clapping Gale’s forearm, before holding out a hand to you.

Look at you, making friends and allies.

Now, to start a possible coup.

***

The person Wyll sent y’all to talk to is a druid woman whispering to birds. Neat. You let Gale and Wyll do all the talking, while you watch Bird Lady. The second she hears “shadow druid” her face darkens.

Well shit. There’s your answer.

She’s agitated, now. Talking low, looking around. You catch Kahga’s name a couple of times, that Halsin guy as well. You need to communicate. You don’t have the vocabulary to pantomime this.

You tap Gale’s shoulder and temple-tap. The muscles of his jaw clench, but he nods.

Initiating the mind-whammy is, somehow, even more disorienting when you’re the one starting it. The world shifts, and you can see yourself standing there—

Oh my fucking god, you are such a mess, you look half dead and greasy—

Focus, Gale thinks.

You close your eyes. Both sets. How many for Kahga, how many for Halsin?

It is… a whole trip to feel Gale’s brain forming words and speaking them. If your lids weren’t shut, you’d be cross-eyed and drooling right now.

Five or six for Kahga certainly. More every day, Gale translates. Must act soon. Now. Before tide shifts.

Tell her gather Halsin ’s people. Armed—

A spike of alarm through him, but also the others (oh goddamnit, it’s a group chat again fuck) and you feel disgust, disappointment, and amusement.

Scheming, as in derogatory. Has to be Lae’zel.

Winning, you think and picture wolves on an elk. Which seems to slap Shadowheart right out of the group chat. More numbers, no fight, easier victory—

The connection sloughs off. You gasp and blink at the sudden daylight. Sway a moment until your balance kicks back in.

Lae’zel is, indeed, curling her lip. She wants a fight. Wants honor or glory or whatever stupidass thing her people and that fuck off sword value.

But you don’t want a fight. You want to win. And that means setting the pieces so the enemy never has a warning, never has a chance to respond. Because the enemy is bigger than you, stronger, more numerous, more influential. They have more power than you can ever claim, and trying to fight something like that is suicide.

You know how to bide your time, suck it up, and wait for the right moment. How to strike in the dead of night and be gone before anyone even knows you’re missing. Beyond reach before they can lift a finger.

Fairness is for people who can afford to lose.

Astarion stares at you until you notice, and looks away, pretending he wasn’t absolutely doing just that.

Gale must present your idea to Bird Lady. She looks grim as fuck as she sends her last birds off. As she turns and surveys the circle of druids around their idol, chanting as magical, green haze fills the air around them.

Her eyes are scared when she looks to you.

Which leaves the tieflings. The terrified kids swinging wooden swords around. The tieflings as a whole clearly don’t know how to fight if Wyll has to teach their children. You think of the skinny one that don’t talk, of the pipsqueak y’all saved from the harpies. If this goes bad, they need to stay out of it, stay hidden and safe.

“Wyll,” you say. “Tieflings also. No this here. Walk over there. All them shh.”

You mime crouching. Put a hand over your mouth, motion under Bird Lady’s bench.

Wyll’s gaze is sharp. His nod swift. He says something to Gale, who turns and nods at you. Well takes off at what could almost pass as a casual stroll, if you hadn’t seen the tight expression on his face.

“Tieflings,” Gale says and a verb. One he demonstrates ducking down. Hopefully it’s “to hide.”

Good. That’s good. Keep the civilians out of this. Keep the kids the fuck away from this.

The door to Kahga stands twenty feet to your left. You itch to slip in there, get things over with (or run for the hills because what the fuck are you playing at here). But you need to give them time. They got to get everybody ready, and you can’t draw attention to yourselves just yet.

So you look over to the man in the foppish had trying to talk to a bear, and let your feet guide you, and clasp your free hand into a tight fist so no one can see how it shakes.

Previous - Index - Next Chapter

[laxmiree]

[CN] MLQC Lucien’s Dating Reality Show date translation

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

This post contains a detailed spoiler for a date that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~

“Are you still mad at me?”

“If you insist on not getting back together with me, that's fine.”

“Because no matter how many times you push me away…”

“The most important place in my heart will always be reserved and waiting just for you.”

Translation under the cut!

Male Guest: So you are a show producer?

I smiled awkwardly and nodded to the male guest on the couch. My eyes swept over the camera, and I began to regret agreeing to participate in the pre-recording.

Six months ago, the company collaborated with a studio to plan a dating reality show in which strangers live with each other in an attempt to create chemistry.

To make the show more watchable, the crew planned to include a couple who were quarreling in it.

They must choose to get back together or start a new love while hiding their relationship.

Due to the innovative format, the crew wanted to try pre-recording before the official filming, so they chose inexperienced guests to polish the show.

Who knows that before the start of filming, the planned hidden lover has actually broken up, and emergency interviews were held, but all failed to end.

Finally, the casting director rounded up his ideas and reached out to me.

Considering the situation's urgency and the fact that the pre-recording would not be officially broadcast, I agreed to do so with Lucien's consent.

His reason, however, was surprisingly simple.

MC: Did you just say yes?

Lucien: Naturally, I have no reason to refuse any of your requests.

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Guest: The weather is great….

One female guest broke the silence, and I hurriedly answered.

MC: Yeah~

Help, so awkward….

I wailed inwardly, trying to figure out how to heat things up when I heard a noise from the hallway.

Ka-cha.

The door is opened one more time, drawing the people's attention in the living room.

A familiar figure appeared behind the door, accompanied by the sound of luggage wheels rubbing against the ground.

The man's dark hair was casually and naturally styled. His cold face raised a very shallow smile and greeted everyone in a low voice.

There was no hesitation in the pace of his steps, and he walked straight toward me.

Lucien: Hello, my name is Lucien.

MC: Hi, my name is MC.

I politely extended my hand, pretending to be formal and polite as if I were meeting someone for the first time.

However, he suddenly bent a fingertip between our clasped hands and lightly tickled my palm twice in a teasing manner. I froze and met Lucien's slightly playful gaze.

Lucien: How can producer MC become so distant from me? This hurts me a little as your program consultant.

My staged smile stiffened.

I forgot that we have a professional relationship! I've been trying to act, but instead, I've made a fool of myself…

I quickly adjusted my expression and nodded as if nothing had happened.

MC: I just never expected that the busy Professor Lucien would come to the show, so I didn't recognize you right away.

??: Professor Lucien? Are you the Professor Lucien of the Institute of Bioscience?

When a female guest looked surprised, I loosened my grasp on Lucien's hand.

Female Guest: I never expected to have Professor Lucien here as a guest. I've heard a lot about him. Did you two know each other personally?

MC: Um, Professor Lucien is my program consultant.

Female Guest: Oh~ Then I guess you two are the secret lover hidden among us?!

MC: ...

I glanced at Lucien without moving, hoping he could smooth things over. I did not expect him to smile and nod his head.

Lucien: Yes, that's us.

MC: ..??

Shoot, the mission of hiding our relationship will not fail right at the show's beginning, is it?

I was gazing wide-eyed at the crew when the others began to laugh.

Female Guest: I didn't expect Professor Lucien to be so fond of joking.

Male Guest: Yeah, I thought scholars were very serious.

The atmosphere soon lightens up with a couple of words, and I breathe a sigh of relief, sneaking a warning glare at Lucien.

He narrowed his eyes happily but cooperated with me by refraining from interacting with me.

Soon all the guests arrived, and everyone introduced themselves. Then the crew handed over a card, which contained our first task.

Male Guest: Why doesn't Professor Lucien read the task?

Female Guest: I agree~ Professor Lucien's voice is very magnetic, so it is difficult not to focus on it.

Hearing everyone's continuous praise for Lucien, I couldn't hide my pride and quietly straightened my back, watching him politely accept the card.

Lucien: "To get to know each other faster, you can spin the empty bottle on the table to get a chance to ask someone a question."

Lucien: "After each guest turns the bottle, the question will be asked to whomever the bottle ends up facing."

Lucien: "If there's two of you that have mutually spun into each other, you can have a 'couch date' tonight."

Lucien: (chuckle) Hmm… Sounds like a fun little game.

There was a little buzz in the living room, and everyone was excitedly discussing it.

Although it was just a game, I began to look forward to it. I wish I could spin the bottle to Lucien…

Lucien: Since I read the task, can I determine who will start?

Guest: Of course, you can~

Lucien: Then let's ask Miss MC to start.

Guest: Oh~

Amid all the commotion, I looked at Lucien with confusion and walked over to the coffee table.

I quickly measured the angle between the mouth of the bottle and Lucien's with my eyes, then took a deep breath, raised my hand, and spun the bottle

The bottle spun quickly, and although I had good control of the force, I was still a little nervous.

Seeing the mouth of the bottle is about to pass Lucien, a fleeting white mist seems to have appeared next to the bottle. It looks like… a small barrier.

In the next second, the neck of the bottle was firmly pointed toward Lucien!

I restrained from raising the corners of my mouth and pretended to think hard for a moment.

MC: Then I'll ask Professor Lucien to tell us about his ideal type.

Lucien: Ideal type?

Lucien tilted his head. Strands of his hair dipped in the bright sunlight and bounced lightly in the air.

Lucien: The person I like… Is someone who cares about my rest, supervises me to eat properly, and also works hard and lives well.

Lucien: She will occasionally lose her temper but is also very sensible.

Lucien: Erm, Ah. Most of the time, she is very independent but can also rely on me.

His low voice slowly fell into my ears, evoking a sunny warmth in my earlobe. Seeing that he seemed to have a lot more to say, I quickly nodded, signaling him to stop here.

MC: Wow- I didn't expect Professor Lucien to be so attentive~ my turn is over, so it'll be Professor Lucien's turn this time!

I tried to ignore the fluttering satisfaction and pushed the bottle in front of Lucien, who reached out without a second thought and gave it a light twist-

This time, when the mouth of the bottle stopped in front of me, I vividly saw a very small barrier appear next to the bottle, which blocked it from spinning further.

What I saw is true!

I raised my head in a daze and met Lucien, who showed me a sly look.

Lucien: (chuckle) What a coincidence.

Lucien: Looks like tonight's "couch date" is ours, Miss MC.

We played a few more games to get to know each other quickly. Fortunately, the guests were all very easy to get along with, and we were soon done with the daytime shoot.

During the break, Willow, the program coordinator, brought me to the recording preparation room.

MC: Eh? Do you still need to interview me?

MC: You can skip me and Lucien. We are pretending to quarrel anyway, and I'm also the producer of this show...

Willow: Boss, this is about the selection of interview questions, so please be more serious.

In the face of Willow's professional expression, I sat in front of the camera with a straight face.

Willow: Can you tell us about how you and Lucien first met?

I squinted my eyes and rummaged through my mind to retrieve a distant memory.

MC: At that time, the company hit a rough patch and was already preparing the last episode of Miracle Finder…

MC: So I invited him to be a guest on the show with a desperate idea.

Willow: Which one of you chased each other first?

MC: It can be regarded as… Love that grows over time.

Willow: Then, can you tell us the reason for your quarrel?

I froze, meeting Willow's iron gaze, and could only rack my brains to recall the moments when Lucien and I had argued in the past.

Finally, a small memory came to my mind.

MC: Well… One time when it was raining heavily, he suddenly got out of the car and braved the rain to buy me a bag of red bayberries.

MC: I thought he was a bit impulsive. It was raining so hard. What if he caught a cold? And he had an important meeting that day.

MC: But now I think I should not be angry. After all, he was trying to make me happy…

When the scene in the hotel room later that day suddenly came back to mind, I couldn't help but feel my cheeks burn a little.

When I thought about it, we actually didn't quarrel at all, so I shifted my words and tried to make up a few more sentences

MC: But... Later we brought up this matter again and had a disagreement. In short, we quarreled about this and that.

Willow: Putting aside the quarrel, what is one word you would use to describe your love?

MC: One word….?

As the numerous moments of snuggling with Lucien crossed my mind, the surroundings became incredibly quiet.

I looked seriously at the camera in the middle of my train of thought.

MC: When I think about it, it's hard to describe it in one word.

MC: At times, I feel like all the time I spend with him is synonymous with romance.

MC: And sometimes it feels like our tacit understanding is so natural that it seems we were born that way.

MC: So, I would like to use every beautiful word to describe it.

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

After the interview, I came to the living room, and Lucien was already waiting there with two cups of hot cocoa.

He naturally handed me a glass while I glanced around at my co-workers getting ready to shoot and poked at Lucien.

MC: Did they also interview you?

Lucien smiled helplessly and nodded his head.

MC: So what were you being asked?

Lucien: They asked a lot of questions, which one of us chased who, the reason why I like you, why we quarreled, and so on.

MC: How did you answer?

Lucien: Of course, I answered truthfully.

Lucien: I said that I one-sidedly fell in love with you at first sight and did my best to pursue you.

MC: Where is the truthfulness…

Lucien: (playfully) If it's not truthful, does that mean you also fell in love with me at first sight?

MC: Lucien!

I blushed and lightly punched his arm. He looked over with a grin and seemed to be in a good mood.

Lucien: But since the setting of "we were quarreling" was fictitious, and we did not "collude" beforehand...

Lucien: So I told them that all the right to explain why we quarreled belongs to MC.

MC: Pfft.

I was so amused by him that I burst out laughing. When the crew signaled for us to start shooting, Lucien took the cup of cocoa from my hand and tapped me on the forehead.

Lucien: (chuckle) I'll take this "prop" first, and I will use it to coax my "angry" girlfriend.

He walked to the sofa and sat down. With the sound of the record playing, Lucien frowned, looked out the window, and sighed deeply.

I couldn't help but laugh at how he tried to fit into the role but cooperated by pretending that I had just arrived in the living room.

Lucien "noticed" my arrival and raised a light smile. He handed me the cup of hot cocoa again and patted the spot beside him.

Lucien: Are you still mad at me?

I held back my laughter, sat down, grunted, and pretended to have a tantrum as I lay back against the arm of the sofa.

MC: Hmph, do you know where you went wrong?

He looked like he had anticipated my "surprise attack" and put on a humble and innocent face.

Lucien: Frankly, I'm not really sure why MC is so angry.

Lucien: But in front of you, I have always been an inquisitive student, so if you'd like to tell me why…

My ankles fell with the warmth of his words, gently and slowly touching my skin.

Lucien: No matter the fault, I am willing to admit it and correct it in time.

His fingers are stroking across my ankle, and rather than just an innocent touch, it's more like deliberate teasing.

His pleading expression looks extraordinarily sincere, but the corners of his mouth are slightly drooping with a rare hint of mischief.

The dim light enveloped his shadow ambiguously over my whole body, announcing my powerlessness and conceding defeat.

Lucien: After all… I only care about your feelings and everything about you

This cunning man, how can this make me angry?

I bit my lip, knowing that I was acting, but I couldn't help feeling a rippling wave from the bottom of my heart.

Out of nowhere, a ‘bad’ idea jumped up in the waves, and I deliberately raised my chin

MC: Didn't you say before that you were also very angry, so you wanted to break up with me?

Lucien froze for a moment, obviously not expecting me to frame him this way.

Lucien: Did I actually say something that bad? …Then it's justifiable that you're so angry.

He lowered his eyes. The hair in front of his forehead covered his eyes. He looked somewhat aggrieved.

Lucien: If you insist on not getting back together with me, that's fine.

Lucien: Because no matter how many times you push me away…

Lucien: The most important place in my heart will always be reserved and waiting just for you.

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Over the next few days, after Lucien's passionate "courtship", our relationship on the show quickly "warmed up".

Although it is far from the drama plot of "the couple breaks up and finds a new love" that the show team expected to see.

But considering this is also one of the likely outcomes, we were allowed to "get back together" and they let us "get out" quickly.

The morning sunlight coated my surroundings with a unique and pleasant scent, and I slowly opened my eyes to see a familiar face lying next to me, which made me feel very cozy.

I moved contentedly, burrowed myself into Lucien's arms, and greedily took a deep breath.

Lucien: Did you sleep well?

Lucien didn't open his eyes. He just smiled and wrapped his arms around my waist.

MC: Of course I did. How could I not sleep well when I woke up and saw you lying next to me?

I heard a low chuckle, and his warm breath spread out on my neck. I couldn't help shrinking my neck with laughter.

MC: How about you? Did you sleep well?

Lucien: Not so well.

He opened his eyes, and there was a gentle ripple in those dark eyes.

Lucien: I didn't sleep much because I always wanted to look at this beautiful lady next to me.

MC: (blush) Pfft, what a nonsense~

I laughed and lightly smacked his arm, sitting up happily.

MC: Since we're all awake, let's have breakfast together for the first time in a long time. I'll go see what's in the fridge.

Lucien: There's no need. When I woke up, I ordered breakfast, and it's already outside the door.

I excitedly ran out to collect the take-out and set up a plate for breakfast on a whim.

As soon as I took out my phone to record this coziness, the screen suddenly popped up with Willow's message.

"Willow’s SMS”: Boss, look, an exclusive video - Professor Lucien reveals his heart in the interview. If it’s not sweet, you don’t have to pay me.

Puzzled, I clicked on the video in the message and saw Lucien's face in the center of the screen, and I couldn't help but curl my lips.

As expected, my program consultant is really photogenic.

Lucien came out from the bedroom, and I handed him breakfast while holding up my phone to him.

MC: Check out your interview footage~

Lucien: Is it edited so quickly?

He took his breakfast and leaned gently on the table to look at the screen.

A dark sweater lazily rested on his shoulders. Wearing a loose shirt, his exposed chest easily stole my attention away.

??: What is your exclusive nickname for MC?

As the program director's question came over the phone, I unconsciously narrowed my gaze and waited for Lucien's answer on the video.

Lucien in the video: Hmm.... There seems to be no exclusive nickname.

Lucien in the video: Because I think MC's name is the most beautiful nickname.

The sweet smell of fruit and tea in front of him crept into my heart. Lucien's smiling eyes winked at me twice, then continued to look at the phone screen.

Interviewer: What if you had to choose from words like "girlfriend", " love", "honey", "baby", etc.?

Lucien in the video: (laughs softly)...

Lucien seems to chuckle softly in the video.

Lucien in the video: I already had the answer in my mind.

Lucien in the video: But I hope the first person to hear this answer is MC herself.

Lucien in the video: I'm sorry, but I can't answer this question.

When I heard this, I took my phone back and pressed pause, despite my fingers being covered in breakfast sauce.

MC: Lucien, how do you want to call me? I'm all ears.

Looking at my expectant face, he gave me a sweet smile, then picked up a paper towel from the table and slowly took my left hand, which was stained with sauce.

Lucien: I have indeed thought about it, but now does not seem to be the right time to say it.

MC: What do you mean by ‘right time’?

He didn't answer, just lowered his eyelashes quietly, his gaze focused on my fingers.

The morning sun outlined the white tissue in his hand with a sacred light, and as he carefully wiped my fingers, it seemed to be imbued with solemn meaning.

Lucien: Because of the nickname I chose…

Lucien: It requires a special and meaningful ceremony before it can be called out.

I opened my mouth and seemed to understand the meaning and weight of his words.

The hot temperature invaded my cheeks little by little, but he just continued to wipe with concentration.

I blushed and tried my best to pull my eyes back. In a daze, I lowered my head and continued to play the video.

(T/N: HIS CHOSEN NICKNAME IS WIFE, PG real wedding when-)

The director on screen made an envious sound and continued to ask the next question.

Interviewer: If you had to pick a word to describe your relationship, which word would you pick?

The video gradually quiets down, and Lucien slowly blinks as if lost in some memory.

A distant memory came to him. The girl with the panicked face when she learned that she had misidentified him was clearly visible in his mind.

The sunshine of the research institute, which had never been warm, stretched on her youthful face, but it was the most beautiful sight he had seen that day.

If he had to do it again, he would still find a way to get her to come to him.

Then become the most special person to her.

And so, the one word that can describe their relationship is...

Lucien slightly curved his eyebrows and looked up at me before the screen.

Lucien, together with what he said in the video: It’s ‘destined’.

[zillyeh]

Sundowning

CW: violence, mentions of self harm, very brief bit of gore

“Can you just go over it one more time? Like I’m stupid?”

“I don’t know Zee, there’s only so much stupider I can go before I start making animal noises.”

The smaller troll threw a handful of water from the swamp shoreline at her purpleblooded friend. The taller of the two giggled, splashing her back. She pulled her twin braids over her shoulder, picking up a stick from the ground. As she spoke, she drew in the mushy mud between them.

“Okay, so. It’s basically astral projection-”

“Stupider than that, En.”

Endara let out a huff, drawing two circles with lines coming out of the top on top of two triangles.

“The stuff that keeps you awake,” she said slowly. “It’s like if that got up and left… it’s the same thing as when I teleport, except it’s not as hard. Y’know, cause my body doesn’t need to come with me.”

“So it doesn’t make you cough up blood?”

“Anyway-”

“En-”

“Anyway,” Endara insisted, “Other people can do it too. Subconsciously. Not on purpose. People with powers because of the brain stuff.”

You miss her. You don't know if it can fully register to you how much you miss her. Your mind is used and broken, and hardly your own anymore. It's these lucid hours in the daylight when all you do is miss her and hurt yourself and everything around you. The walls. The floor. Everything. You don't know who she is- you hardly know who you are- but you know you need her.

“Brain stuff,” the anon repeated with a scoff. It was a rare moment where her friend could see her face fully, uncovered by its wraps. It was hot in the swamps that night, both from sulfuric vents below and the season beating down on them from above. Her teardrop pupils were barely visible in her eyes, too dark for her age. It was a game to find where the line of her pupils started and the dark gray ended. She also eyed the hardness of her jaw, too skinny to hold too much of the roundness that was quickly leaving Endara’s face. Then the rest… She couldn’t keep her eyes there for too long, or she’d cover her mouth with her hands.

There was something tugging at Endara’s heart as she scratched more lines into the ground.

“Yes, brain stuff. I haven’t met her yet, but my ancestor up in the mountains uses her powers to get the big dragons used to her.”

The long horned anon bit her tongue to the disparaging remark she always made when En talked about her ancestor. She was too invested in her lesson.

"Is it hard to get into people's heads?" the anon asked earnestly. "Do they have to let you?"

"Sopor leaves people more unguarded than you'd think," she said with a sage nod. "Animals are harder, people who just like, deal with the nightmares are just as hard."

"Fucked up," the anon said, furrowing her brow. "You're the only one who can do that though?"

"Nah, plenty of people can mess with dreams if they try to. There's only one way to tell if someone's actually in there or not." Endara made a crude drawing of her friend's face, including the wraps she usually wore. "Most people's brains can't fully reconstruct a face no matter how much they look at it. There's always something off.”

“I dunno, En,” the anon said with a tch, “That thing in the dirt is shitty looking enough to match the real thing…”

Endara threw mud at her. She wondered if she could tell. Those occasional fleeting touches that gave her access to Endara’s nerves firing off. Nevermind her pulse. She wondered if she thought about her half as much. 

“Shut up, Zee,” Endara scoffed. “You’re so annoying. Basically if you're awake enough, you can tell when someone's in your dreams if you see them. Their face is too real.”

“If I show up in someone's dreams do you think I'd have my mask on? Or if someone came in mine?” It sounded like a genuine question. Genuine worry. Endara bit her lip.

“Hard to say. You wear that nasty thing enough that it's basically part of your face now…” 

A mass of ugly gray wraps, eyes that look so tired for her age. The scarring she’d given herself after you two did something, you two did something terrible. You did so many terrible things. The worst thing you did was convince her to die. The worst thing she did was want you to live. How long ago? The sun streaming through the cave mouth wants you to remember. The comforting darkness wants you to forget. You know you should, you know you want to, but something coherent rings through your head like the clear gonging of a bell.

If you survived, what if she had?

“Have you ever been in my dreams before?” she asks, her dark eyes searching her’s for something. A purple flush warms the other troll’s cheeks. She would notice her if she did again, wouldn’t she? Now that she knows?

“A couple times. Just to see.” 

I could probably do it half dead.

It’s daytime. If she’s alive then she should be asleep. Trolls sleep during the day. Your memories return enough in the daytime for you to know that. Your memories return enough to know that if she’s alive, you’re this thing for nothing. The part of your soul that is still a troll makes you sit. Makes you close your eyes. You can still see the sun through your eyelids, but it doesn’t hurt. Or maybe it does. You can’t remember if you feel pain or not.

A look like Endara hadn’t seen from her flashed across her friend’s face. The color she so desperately tried to hide dusted her own cheeks before she looked back down into the dirt.

“I always wondered why you looked like that in my dreams,” she grumbled, “Nobody else ever looked like that.”

Zippie’s insomnia always gave way to the worst nightmares she could possibly have. One of these nights she was worried she’d hurt Bess in her sleep, even despite the precautions she’d taken in her bedroom. Bed was more comfortable than cupe by a long shot. It was a rare night where she practically couldn’t keep her eyes open.

Were you that strong? That you could find her? Force her to sleep from this far away?

Of course you could. You have part of her. Stability that It thought you needed but she didn’t. Why would she? Treating her like a person and not a battery would have been more energy than either of those two monsters would expend to her.

A the crack of a branch sounds off like a gunshot not too far from the pair at the edge of the swamp. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone out there. Not at the edge of Zee’s property. She can’t help it. She looks up. Hoodless. Maskless. Her face on full display for the adult violet that had wandered too close. Her slow eyes kept her safe, but her lower face?

There was a reason she never took the wraps off.

Endara had always wondered what would happen when she got found out. How much of her fear was justified. How badly an adult troll would hurt what they understood to be a child at first glance.

The answer was very, very badly. 

She didn’t even hesitate before barrelling towards the two. Like a predator that knew this was it’s only chance to strike. Before Endara could move, she’d been shoved roughly aside and Zvejia hauled off the ground by the shoulders. She’d guarded her throat, but the adult was struggling for it. Zvejia bit anywhere she could find purchase, down her arms and on her face. The violet winced and swore whenever her bare skin made contact with her hands. Zee must have been using her powers on top of tearing as much skin as she could.

As much as this troll’s face was burned into Zippie’s memory, she’d never see it properly in her dreams again.

Endara coughed up blood even before she’d teleported behind the troll mere feet away. She hadn’t perfected the art of rematerializing while partially in an object, but this would do.

She wasn’t strong. She was weak. Sickly. Worsening by the day. But she didn’t need strength to do what she’d intended to do if this night ever came. The reason she’d stolen so many of Zvejia’s medical books. The reason she’d practiced to the point of bleeding eyes at all was for this.

The muscle and tissue being displaced made a more horrific noise than either of them had ever heard. It took the violet seconds too long to realize where the lanky purple’s hand was, too long for her to try to formulate a shriek, long enough for her heart to crush all too easily in the hand that had been delivered through her back. 

“Endara!” the anon cried as the violet released her, not dead but certainly not alive for long. When the soon to be body tumbled to the ground, she slid right off of Endara’s arm. Like a glove. Leaving her the gory prize she’d won, and a purple haze around her vision. 

“Why is it always this?” rasped a voice where Zvejia would have fallen under the violet. Where she did fall under the violet, when the two of you actually lived through this. The part of you that is the troll holding that adult’s heart understands immediately. She’s on her feet already. Hornless. Maskless. Lacking the black that once hid her from danger, and the fins she’d nearly killed herself cutting out of her face. The scars were just as ugly, covered in the other ones she’d given herself as well that handn’t healed. Her wounds never healed right. You two always thought it was part of the mutation. 

The rivets in her wrists match your own. Tattoos cover every inch of skin you could see exposed. On her upper arm you see a band of purple that makes you choke out a sob.

She glances towards you. Then she double takes. You can sense her fear here, standing on either side of the first body you two ever made.

Her breathing is shallow. All she says is:

“No.”

“Zvejia…” Your voice is not the voice of the young woman that just killed for the only friend she ever had, but of a monster. Guttural and too big to ever have come out of that girl before she was made into what you are now.

Her next “no” comes as a plead as she drops to her knees. She’s so much bigger and so much smaller than you remember her being. You approach and she stumbles back. That hurts the part of you that forgets what you look like now. The black claws of your toes dig into the soft swamp dirt to keep you from doing it again.

“You can’t,” she said, her razor soft voice begging as if this were a nightmare she could beg her way out of. “You c-c- that’s not- I’m so sorry, En. This has to not be real, this has to not be real.”

You tilt your head like the animal you are. She grips her head. She refuses to look at you. Not like you look at her.

“The… sun… is… going… down…” you murmur, the part of you connected to your body still feeling the cold of the night start to settle in. A shiver runs through the incorporeal dream, making it feel cold within. She looks at you again. She grew up so handsome. So tired. She got to live. It’s what you wanted.

It’s what the part of you that lives in the daylight wanted.

The part of you that lives in the darkness hunches you back over onto all fours, chitinous claws digging into the hardening dirt underneath you.

“What did he do to you…” is the last thing the troll in you hears. Whatever thing you’ve invaded the dreams of this time you are going to tear to shreds like all the rest of those who dare trespass your territory. Except this time something is different. 

This thing smells like you. 

Enough to stop you long enough for it to rip itself awake, leaving you too unstable to stay dreamwalking like this.

You wake with a wet face, howling in what could have been pain or could have been agony, if you were the sort of thing that could understand emotions that weren’t territorial or hungry. The new black of the sky outside helps you reorient yourself. 

With any luck, you won’t remember what you’ve seen come sunrise.

Neither of you will.