#or was I just supposed to overcome my fear of the word count and figure it out myself

[ifyoucandaniel]

Okay so, I went ahead and bought an iPad to try digital art for the first time, and my first attempt was shit. I went too far outside my comfort zone and fucked it up BUT!!! I am happy to report I've finished my first official piece! Not sure if any of you have seen those racing au wolfstar/jegulus TikTok’s, but I was inspired to give it a go and did Remus as a street racer (I was only thinking about Ronan lynch the entire time)

For the love of GOD do not look at his helmet or clothes

[berrystiles]

Right Where You Left Me

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!reader

Word Count: 10.1k

Content Warnings: Angst, Lovers to strangers kinda deal ya know, some cursing.

Summary: It's the summer before you head off to college, and there's a fear about that decision that keeps creeping in. You try not to let it drown you, spending time making summer plans for your friends and with your boyfriend Steve. It feels like you can do this, and you're happy to be staring into the summer ready to make memories that will carry you into college. However, unbeknownst to you something else is brewing and Steve has plans of his own. One unexpected breakup later and your summer now looks a lot more like trying to overcome heartbreak.

Author Note: I'm the only one to read over this, so me and Grammarly are all I have regarding editing. Also, I guess this is just what I write now! Inspired by my favorite sad girl songs, if you know them I'm sure you'll see them. I have ideas for a part 2 of this if anyone would be interested? All of this was supposed to be a one-shot type of thing, but it started getting long. Part two would be a resolution as we fade into a happy ending, and get some much needed answers.

Ao3 Link - In case you want to read it there

Steve Harrington is soft smiles passed your way over the tops of all the children he babysits heads. He is weekend movie nights spent curled up next to one another on his couch, so close that you sometimes think you could become one person if you tried hard enough. He’s not your first relationship, but sometimes when you can’t sleep at night there’s a reoccurring thought that he is going to be your last. Steve has been orbiting around your life since elementary school, close but never within reach. That was the way, only knowing him through rumors passed around the halls of Hawkins High, two passing ships in the hallway between classes. This last year though has brought him into your world, no longer is he a passing comet that you stop to stare at. Now he’s yours and your mom will chide and say it’s just high school love, but you can’t imagine a world where his hand doesn’t stay attached to yours. Call it whatever you want, but something about this just feels too real. The kind of love you hear about in novels, the kind people wax poetic structures about. You’re not sure what you did in a past life, or what karma you collected over time, but you’re thankful for the universe putting the two of you together.

The only bleak part of your future with Steve comes after summer ends. You’ve just graduated, and school is expected of you in a way that you know you can’t turn down. Steve has been more than understanding, it’s a pressure he recognizes from his parents. You have no clue what you want to do but your dad swears that you’ll figure it out when you get there. You manage to get into a good school but it’s 5 hours away from Hawkins. Your parents are ecstatic, they can’t stop talking about all the ways you’re going to grow in this next phase of your life. Your parents are the people who met in college, and even though they won’t say it there’s something about you needing to attend that feels a little like them trying to relive their glory days. You love them but you’re not sure if they know you or if they really listen when you talk.

You find that if you put on a smile and nod along to what they say though it gets you through conversations faster. It’s a small price to pay so you can escape the house and rush to Steve. Steve who you hate to leave behind, sweet Steve who has been there to hold your hand and be your rock through it all. You’re not sure if you’d be able to put up with your parents’ expectations if he wasn’t there with you holding you up. You worry you put too much on him like you weigh him down the same way your parents tend to do. Sometimes you tell him your concerns, and he’s always quick to quiet the fear.

The thing with Steve is he is so soft sometimes, and yet you can’t help but feel protected in his arms. Still though, even as he brushes your hair to the side, as his lips touch yours and he peppers you with affection and reassurance, you make a vow to yourself to try and reduce how much you complain. You can’t stop the anxiety that sometimes spikes up despite his kindness that maybe this all hurts a little too much for him. After all, his family held similar expectations for him. You know that his dad is a different kind of mean and demanding than yours. Your family feels like a small-time problem when put into the perspective of Steve’s parents.

You have a mantra you follow, reminding yourself that school, as daunting as it is, is still months away. You have a whole summer to forget about it all. A whole summer of nothing but your friends and Steve. You know you’ll be right next door at the arcade, your shifts and Steve’s always lining up because of a favor Keith owed you. There are plans in place that will carry you through. There’s the drive-in and their Friday night movie deals, sunny days that will be spent at Lover’s Lake, the regular Sunday brunch at your favorite diner, and so much more. You make sure to focus on those things, knowing that all of it will be enough to get you through that first semester of school once you finally go.

However, like with most things that seem to happen in Hawkins, your good luck runs out. You hate to say it, but you didn’t see it coming. Delusional bliss is apparently where you’ve been living and the rose-colored glasses you didn’t know you were wearing are snatched off your face without a moment of hesitation. Looking back the signs will be there in glaring neon colors, and you will hate yourself for missing them. For missing them to the point that you couldn’t even backtrack to fix where your so-called perfect relationship went off the tracks.

It's a week into summer and things are not at all going to plan. Your parents are pressuring you to cut your summer short and go to school three weeks early so you can settle in for classes. And honestly, it’s not the worst idea and if you were anyone else maybe it would be appealing. However, you’re on a fixed time frame and you don’t plan to give up one ounce of time with Steve and your friends before you absolutely must. Despite schedules syncing up, there’s a distance growing between you and Steve. At the time you understand, there are kids to be driven around and then his parents unexpectedly show up back home. You don’t blame him for the distance, you take it in stride and offer your support just like he’s been doing for you. The future version of yourself, will look back and call you an idiot for not digging deeper. But why would you? In all the time, though maybe it hasn’t been that long, Steve has never once been the cause of your anxiety. Never once has he ever done anything to make you question your relationship, or whether you can trust him or not.

After a week of only seeing Steve in passing and on lunch breaks, you finally get the chance to have uninterrupted time with Steve. He catches you on a break at work and asks if you want to get dinner once your shifts end. He doesn’t carry that same glowing smile he always does when he drops these moments on you, but you brush the thought aside assuming this is the residual damage from his parents. You’re just happy at the prospect of being with Steve so you’re quick to agree, and even quicker to pull him in for a kiss to seal the deal. In your excitement, you don’t notice how this kiss doesn’t feel like a welcomed hello, and later you’ll tell yourself that it was the first sign of goodbye. But in the moment Steve is pulling away, and he’s looking at you like he's tracing and memorizing everything about you. “I’ll see you after work,” is the parting sentence before he’s jogging back to Family Video.

Steve and you meet in the middle of your two jobs, and he holds out his hand just like he always does. He leads you to his car, asking you about your day. You tell him about the party coming in, and about all the different characters of teens who came in. You prattle on and on, all the way to your favorite diner. You ask him about his day and try to get him to talk more. A quiet Steve, with eyes not shining, is a version you hate to see. You want nothing more than to pick him up, hopefully, wash off all the grime that his parents so obviously threw on him in the short week they were home. It’s always hard doing this walk and dance, the scars his parents leave him with always cut deeper than you have an awareness of. But it’s never this impossible, by the time you’re leaving the diner you’re more worried about what happened during this visit home than you ever have been. You’ve learned with Steve that when it comes to his parents you can’t poke too much otherwise, he gets spooked. Normally, he finds a way to talk about it usually when you’re both back at his place and the light is off for the night. When it’s so dark in his room that you can’t see the way his face is lined with grief, and pain that he shouldn’t have to experience. You’re so used to the pattern that you don’t mind the car ride after dinner being just the sound of the radio. It’s not unwelcomed, it’s just a part of the pieces that happen, which is why you’re surprised when Steve parks in front of your house.

“Oh, are we not going to yours?” Your brow is furrowed as you turn in your seat to face Steve. Even when you don’t stay at his place, he still is always looking at you when you turn to leave. This time though Steve’s hands are still holding on to the steering wheel, and he can’t turn to face you when he finally gathers the ability to reply. “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

The radio is still on, and your ears pick up Whitney Houston singing a new song that’s been playing everywhere. “What do you mean,” your stomach feels like it’s falling right out of you and your brain is giving radio silence as you try to gain some understanding of what the hell is going on. You watch as Steve takes a deep breath like he’s centering himself before turning to face you. Every time Steve has ever looked at you it’s been with nothing but softness, an unquestioning gaze that always tells you what he’s thinking. The Steve before you though, these are eyes that aren’t that sweet look he normally gives you. Instead, this one is cold, one that you can barely recall. You have to pull at memories from his reign as King Steve to find some type of look that’s like the one you receive now.

“I just don’t think this is working,” he shrugs like this isn’t the biggest thing to ever happen before. Like he’s telling you something that should be common knowledge.

“I don’t understand, Steve.” There’s a burning feeling in the corners of your eyes. The sensation is a warning that if you don’t pull it together, you’re going to start crying. You don’t know how to pull it together because what little Steve is telling you sounds an awful like a breakup.

Steve sighs, something heavy like he’s just so tired of having to explain himself. It’s an odd sound and it rubs you raw because he hasn’t explained anything. How can he already be tired of a conversation that makes no sense?

“Look, I don’t want this to be harder than it is,” you cut him off before he can continue. “So don’t make it hard, just tell me what’s going on and why you’re saying all of this.” You don’t recognize your voice. The pleading tone sounds watery and not at all like what you know yourself to be. You don’t think you’ve ever begged someone in this way before.

“I just don’t feel the same way for you,” it’s so blunt and to the point that it leaves no room for argument.

“I don’t understand,” you’re repeating yourself and you hate that. You’re not stupid, you can usually piece things together faster than this. The phrase, ‘having the rug pulled out from under you’ rattles around in a way that suddenly makes total sense.

“I don’t know how to explain it any better. I don’t want to date you anymore. I don’t want to see you.” You didn’t realize before that the cold tone he was using still allowed for kindness. In this final statement, his words are ice, and you feel like you just took a plunge into Lover’s Lake in the middle of winter.

You have more you want to say, questions that you feel need to be asked. If you stay though you feel like you’re not going to get them, and honestly, it’s taking more energy to keep yourself together than it would be to stay. You’re not sure if you say anything else if there’s some kind of acknowledgement on your part. All you know is that your body is screaming at you to run. Staying in that car doesn’t feel like a place you belong, so you’re quick to get out. You don’t even make it to the door before Steve is peeling off and driving himself home. The action feels like the last break in any resolve you had. Your Steve would always wait until you were inside before leaving. Always telling you he'd rather know with certainty that you were safe before he ever left. It was one of those things that told you how caring he was, that showed how he loved you.

______________________________________________________________

In what will later be referred to as The Aftermath, you have the next day off. Your mom hovers at your door, knocking and knocking. The sound makes your head hurt and forces you to pull your covers over your head like it’ll drown out everything else. If you had anyone else as a mother, you might be able to convince yourself that she’s doing it from a place of concern. The truth is that this is the same woman who when you came in last night, uncontrollably sobbing and barely getting out the words ‘Steve’ and ‘broke up’, your mom was asking if this meant you’d go to school earlier like she and your father want.

The tears had stopped sometime around when you finally found yourself falling asleep. They haven’t picked back up and everything you ever learned in biology screams out you’re dehydrated. There are things you should be doing, things that you have done for yourself when other relationships ended that made it so the person you were dating was nothing more than a faded memory. Maybe if you go through the ritual of it all, the gathering of reminders, and the disposal of memories it’ll make you feel better. There should be phone calls to girlfriends, and movie nights set up to help push you through these feelings.

Instead, you continue to stay in bed. Your limbs feel like lead, weighed down and stuck, too heavy for you to move. Your curtains are drawn so tight that not even the hot Indiana sun comes through to ruffle you into motion. Your wall has your attention, and you find yourself using the texture of the paint to trace all the lines in your relationship with Steve. Maybe if you follow them to the end like a map, they’ll tell you where you are and where you go from here.

In the midst of The Aftermath, in the bed of your grief, you manage to make one phone call. Well… that’s a lie. You make two phone calls. In no surprise to the imaginary audience watching you grieve; the first call is to Steve. The phone rings and rings and rings. Steve never answers and it should be a sign. You get the standard Harrington voicemail. Steve’s mom’s voice becomes the soundtrack to your day. She tells you to leave a message, and that the family will get back to you when they can. You open your mouth, no plan on what to say but surely there’s something there in your head that will tumble out. The answering machine beep is met with your silence though, just your breath coming through, you wonder if Steve will know it’s you even if you don’t leave your name. Does he still have you memorized in all the ways that you still know him? Did he forget about you in just the span of a day? Worst thought of all, did he even really take the time to trace you down in his memory the same way you did him?

You hang up after that last thought, still no name and still carrying the hope that it could be enough. Your second call is made two hours later when there’s still no call back from Steve, even though he should be off today too. Even though, there’s a piece of your mind screaming over and over that he should have heard the silence in the message and been able to read through it. Maybe that’s unfair of you to place that on Steve, but it also feels unfair that he had the power and took action to bring you where you lay now. The second call is to Keith at the arcade, where you know he’s working since you’re off today. The favor you cashed in on is wasted because your request is for him to take back your schedule.

“I can’t work the day shift anymore,” your voice is hoarse and throat sore as the words stumble out.

“That sounds like a you problem,” you grimace as you hear Keith chewing what you know are those stupid cheese snacks he always carries around.

You hold back a groan and tell yourself your next move, while incredibly bratty, is the only way that you return to work. Your parents hate you working at the place anyway, but you like the independence, you like having your own money and you don’t want to give up another thing this summer.

“It’s going to be your problem because I’m not working any shift that overlaps with Harrington. I’ll quit.” You hate how Steve has transformed into Harrington. Hate how removed it sounds, not at all reflective of how close you had been. If you say his first name though, you know you’re going to cry.

Keith whistles, the tone way too low and drags out in a way that makes you feel a wave of creeping anger you’re not used to.

“So, you and Harrington are over then. Knew he was stupid but didn’t think he was that stupid.”

“He’s not stupid,” your defense is soft, it feels telling of where you are. It isn’t harsh in the way that it should be. It’s not your job to defend Steve anymore, he let you go from that position last night after all.

“I’ll change the schedules,” is the response you get back and it’s the nicest thing that you think Keith has ever said to you. However, you know Keith, and this feels a little too easy.

“Is there a catch?”

“Nah, just can’t afford to lose you so consider it your lucky day.” It doesn’t feel like your lucky day, but you don’t say that. Just mumble out a thank you after he tells you that your shift tomorrow will be the closing shift and Harrington will be gone by then.

True to his word, when you pull into the shared parking lot of Family Video there is no sign of Steve’s car. There’s an awareness that it won’t always be this easy, that Hawkins is too small to go all summer without seeing him. And despite Keith’s previous comments on how he couldn’t afford to lose you, there’s also a silent understanding that he’s still going to be an absolute shit about all of this for the rest of the summer. Keith doesn’t know any other way to be, and it’s a moderate price to pay for your ability to at least show up to work without breaking down.

Dustin is the first one you see in The Aftermath, and you can tell by the way he keeps glancing at you in the arcade that he already knows what’s transpired between you and Steve. You’re not sure if it’s the telltale sign of the obvious breakup look you’re sporting, or if it’s Steve’s own admittance to the teen. Could be a combination of the two though. You looked in the mirror before leaving today. You’re fully aware that you look and feel like shit, and there’s no way to sugarcoat that.

Normally, Dustin would come to chat with you. Whether he’s with the rest of the party or by himself, he always says hello. He would do it before Steve, and you hoped that he’d do it after too. Dustin doesn’t say hello though, he avoids your gaze when you catch him looking your way, and even though you know at one point, he should come to you to complain about a machine he just leaves instead. The act makes you sad, it’s the first divide between the friendships you created and thought you would get to hold on to. Dustin might be in high school now, but he’s still a kid. Rationally, a piece of you should be able to string together how his silence speaks more about how he doesn’t know what to say and less about a side he’s choosing. Reality rarely ever plays out as it rationally should, so instead Dustin just becomes the first domino that falls, and you feel like you should have known everyone else would go along with him.

______________________________________________________________

The next three weeks find you oscillating like a fan. Days spent hiding in your room, working up the courage to move and take care of yourself. Then nights of work or spent rummaging through polaroids that catalog your relationship. You always told yourself you put them in a scrapbook, something to hold the years together so in old age you’d have something to shuffle through. It sounds silly now, but the pictures sit in a shoebox of movie stubs from the Hawk, the receipt from your first date together, and the paper menu from the diner that you talked a waitress into giving you. There are notes scribbled on lined paper that were slipped into your jacket pockets when Steve would kiss you goodbye as he dropped you off at school, dried flowers from prom, and so much more. After a week of crying over the pieces, ink smudging thanks to fresh tears your body can create again now that you’re hydrated, you manage to shove the shoe box in the back corner under your bed. You had to slide it back there with the broom, but you know it’s not within reach now and that feels like progress.

You still dodge calls from your friends that you collected outside of your relationship. When they manage to catch you on the phone they whisper sweet condolences, but underneath it’s an unspoken blame of how you should have known. “He was the King of the school, he only knows how to break hearts,” your friend Val tells you over the phone one night. Val pops her gum on the other end of the line, and it sets off a chain reaction of emotions. You feel like you’re going through the five stages of grief in that moment. Val tries to invite you out and reminds you that Hawkins has more boys than just Steve Harrington. She promises you a good time, a night to help you forget all about Steve. You make an excuse and promise to go out next time, but both of you know it’s a promise you won’t keep.

Your parents seem to have set up some game plan amongst themselves. They’ve learned that they can’t tell you that your heartbreak is juvenile. Instead, they preach about how open you’ll be to new opportunities when you head to school. Your dad has the course list, where he got it from you don’t dare to ask. He tries to plan out your future over dinner, but you don’t even know what life you want for yourself. Before this you just saw Steve in the future, you had naïvely assumed you’d have time to sort out the rest. But Steve’s in the rearview now, and your parents want to know what life you plan to have in your passenger seat.

It's three weeks of juggling it all, but you still haven’t seen Steve. It should feel like the universe is still on your side, but really, it’s more of a cosmic joke. It should be finally time for some peace, instead, the world feels the need to implode again. Your parents are out of town, an annual get-together with their old college friends, and you’re home alone. It’s late, you’ve only been off work for 20 minutes when you get to the grocery store. The pantry at home is bare bones and you’ve been putting off the need to go shopping for the last three days. You’ve been supplementing meals through various fast-food restaurants on the outskirts of town. But you’re tired of driving so far away, plus the taste of grease has become less and less appealing as the days have dragged on.

The evening finds you shrugging off your name tag from the arcade and running into Bradley’s to do some shopping before they close for the night. The air conditioning hits you right as the doors open, it cools your skin in a way that summer nights never will. You close your eyes and pause for a moment, maybe you look crazy, but it’s late and you don’t anticipate anyone else is going to be poking around the store. You grab a cart and you’re on your way, trying to be mindful to be quick because you know how it feels to work a closing shift. You wander up and down the aisles of the store, with no real list in mind just grabbing what sounds good. Your diet is still in a post-break-up mode which means you’re either only consuming junk food or pushing food around on your plate still too sad to eat. Which means, it’s time to be gentle with yourself and just grab the food that calls to you. Now is not a time for healthy eating and hitting every food group on that pyramid they went over in health class.

Because of this though you aren’t paying attention to what’s in front of you. You move through the aisles of the store with your eyes on the shelves, still having confidence in the fact that it’s just you and the store clerk in here. But remember, Hawkins likes to implode both literally and emotionally. You swing your cart into the next aisle, already excited to be browsing the cereal options. You only make it a handful of steps forward, eyes already searching for the cinnamon toast crunch which you’re rarely allowed to bring into the house otherwise your mom will complain. Your cart jolts and pushes you back, and you look up to find that you’ve hit another person’s cart.

You feel silly, and your cheeks are warm in an embarrassed flush. “I’m so sorry,” the words tumble out as you drag your gaze up to see what suburban mom you’ve managed to piss off tonight. When you see who it is though you find yourself wishing it was a mom about to yell at you, instead it’s Steve, you find yourself in front of. He says your name, a hint of surprise, and what you might have previously labeled as nervous energy. You must look stupid, both of you really, just standing in silence as the hum of the grocery store lights buzz on and the radio station the store is set to plays out louder than it should. Steve’s cart is full of popcorn, and snacks that you can trace to each teen you know he babysits, there’s even Robin’s favorite chips and the beer that Eddie likes to drink. All of it slides together and reminds you that it’s Saturday, which means movie night at Steve’s.

You don’t know what to say, and you feel like a deer caught in headlights. Frozen so that you can’t even run to escape the impending collision that is about to take place. It’s Robin rounding around the corner, her voice loud and unapologetic in a way you have always admired. “Hey, dingus, should we grab some ice cream for Erica, or do you think…” her voice trails off as she catches sight of you. “Oh,” and you look to Robin, she raises a hand to give a small wave at you and smile. It’s enough to also jump Steve into movement again, saying your name and you don’t wait to see if there’s more.

You don’t say anything as you turn to leave, though maybe you should have, at least to Robin. But she’s the headlights turning off and giving you the freedom to run. You can eat another fast-food burger tonight, and you hate that you’re just leaving your cart in the middle of the cereal aisle. But you can’t, you won’t just sit there and let yourself wonder that store when it’s obviously not a safe place.

The air conditioning hits you again as you run out the doors. No time to pause this time, and you actually seek comfort in the sticky heat that greets you outside of Bradley’s. The crickets sing to you as you rush to fumble with your keys and drive away before your past tries to catch you outside. You got three weeks of no Steve, and you had been lulled into this fantasy of maybe being okay someday soon. This though, this small interaction, where you didn’t even really talk to him, has shown that you’re not close to that. When you finally manage to pull into your driveway, your hand bangs down on the steering wheel. You mumble to yourself, “that was so stupid, you just ran?”

You’ll eventually make your way into the house about 15 minutes later, after you had completely gone over the entire interaction about three times. You know it will continue to replay all night long. It’ll be inside that you realize you never even stopped to get food, too focused on seeking the safety that you can apparently only find in your room these days. Time drags on and you keep opening and closing the fridge and the cabinets hoping that food will magically appear the next time you start looking. It’s late, Bradley’s will have to be a tomorrow you type of goal. You know Steve and the group will be up late tonight which means the morning will be safe.

You’ve resigned that tonight’s dinner will be a pack of saltines you find buried in the back of the pantry when there’s a knock on your door. Your friends know not to show up unannounced, and if your parents managed to come home early, they wouldn’t be knocking. It’s Hawkins, you remind yourself as you creep to the door, but then the additional it’s Hawkins kicks in and there could be anything waiting for you. You grab your mom’s tennis racket from the closet by the front door and peek out the peephole, but your porch light isn’t on, and you can’t see anything. When you open the door, tennis racket at the ready, there’s no one there. Instead, sitting on the mat right in front of your door is three bags of groceries from Bradley’s.

The bags contain all the items you remember dumping into your cart, including the added addition of one box of cinnamon toast crunch. You can’t prove it, there’s no note, but you don’t really need it do you? There are only two people who would have had access to the cart you left behind, and only one of those two would have added in your favorite cereal. An internal debate rages inside of you, one side of you wanting to leave the food on your porch. Hoping that maybe later Steve will drive by and see it still sitting there. Maybe it will be an ounce of the hurt he's inflicted on you. The other part of you though, the part whose stomach is literally just growling at the prospect of food, wins out. You drag the bags inside and spend the night cycling between the incident in the store and what the bags of food on your porch mean.

The next day feels like a relapse, and you find yourself pacing by your phone, the internal debate to call Steve rages on in your mind. The number of times you pick up that phone and start to punch in his number is too many to count. There’s only one time when you get through the whole number, you only let it ring once before you’re slamming the phone back down and rushing off to your room. You throw yourself onto your bed, face first into your pillow, and you scream. It feels like every emotion that’s been building up since that night in Steve’s car just forces its way out of you. You spend the rest of your day in bed, Don’t Dream It’s Over plays on repeat as you stare at your ceiling and only recognize time passing by the light that streams in from your window.

When your parents come back a week later you say that you want to leave Hawkins earlier after all. They don’t even ask why you changed your mind. They don’t press the issue, which you figured they wouldn’t, but it still stings. instead, they celebrate. Your mom pulls you into her arms and excitedly tells you that it’s the second-best decision you’ve ever made. Your dad chimes in about how the first was applying to college in the first place, his hand feels heavy on your shoulder. The smile you wear feels like it was pasted on, like some macaroni art piece a kindergartener does. Your parents don’t notice though, they never do, they move on already making plans about your departure. The choice doesn’t feel right, but then again, you’re not really sure what the right choice is any more or how it should feel.

______________________________________________________________

You spend the rest of your summer forcing yourself into spaces you don’t want to be in, but it feels like you have to. You got to parties with Val, you spend summer days at the pool with your friends as you planned. It may not be all the friends that you had anticipated being with but it’s something. You feel like with each activity you do you’re adding another band-aid to your heart hoping that this time maybe it’ll stay together. There are times, like at the community pool, when you sit with your friends, and you don’t really feel there. It feels like you’re playing a part and you’ve never been a good actress, so you’re still surprised when everyone just believes it.

Time and life keep moving forward and you wish it felt like you were too, but you still feel stuck. Your parents think that time won’t start moving until you’re away at college, and your friends believe that you need to start dating someone new to feel like you’ve moved on. You don’t think any of them are right but again you’re still stuck wondering what the right move is and how it’s supposed to feel.

What you do manage is to only catch glimpses of Steve for the rest of the summer. You see him at the movies dropping the party off, and you catch him one day leaving Family Video when he’s stayed too late. There’s another day at the grocery store, where you find yourself hiding behind a display stand to avoid the awkward run-in. You see him but you don’t think he ever sees you. You’re not sure if that’s exactly what you want, but if it is then why does it still also ache? A week before you leave you seek Steve out. You spend the morning giving yourself a pep talk, you take the time to perfect your outfit and ensure that you look better than you feel. This encounter is in your control, and you want to make sure it all goes off without a hitch.

You march into Family Video. You’ve been waiting for Robin to leave for her break and for a lull in customers to happen. When all the stars align you take a deep breath, shake out the nerves and move forward with purpose. You have a week left in Hawkins and all your teen magazines have told you that if you want to start college off right you need closure.

The bell above the door rings out in a way that feels louder than you remember. You don’t let it stop you though, you move forward and watch with some satisfaction as Steve’s head pops up and surprise washes over his face. Good, you think to yourself, finally, he knows what it’s like to be ambushed. You’ve planned out what you want to say so once you’re at the counter you speak before Steve can completely derail you.

“Harrington,” the last name comes out a lot calmer than you thought it would, you feel confident. “I leave for school next week…”

“Next week?” Steve interrupts, he looks like he has more to say but you send a glare his way which is enough to have him holding back words. If you paused long enough to just stare at him, you might wonder if he's disappointed, but you don't let the silence linger long enough to notice.

“As I was saying, I leave next week for school, and you owe me some type of closure or explanation for what happened. I’ll be at the diner tomorrow night, 7 pm and I expect you to show up.” You’re proud of yourself, your voice has an edge to it that leaves no room for disagreement.

Steve just says your name and he says it in the same soft way he did when you first started dating. You feel ruffled and some of that confidence feels like it’s being washed down a drain somewhere. “No,” you interrupt him. You can feel the tension in your forehead, you know your brows are furrowed and the frown on your face is reflecting your real emotions instead of some mask you’ve been wearing.

“You just dumped me, out of the blue and you gave me no explanation. I’m leaving next week, and you owe me this. You don’t get to dump me, say that you don’t care for me, and then leave groceries on my doorstep, Steve.” Something in your words must hit a soft spot that you know Steve still has inside of him. Even if his feelings for you are long gone, Steve has always been gooey and soft like caramel on the inside.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll be there.” You stare at him a moment longer, trying to figure out if you’re getting an honest response. Once you’re sure you are you nod and turn to leave. When you were dating you never liked saying goodbye to Steve, it was always a see you soon. Now when you leave there’s no goodbye, but it’s more because you don’t want to waste another word on him. Not when you need to prepare for tomorrow.

______________________________________________________________

The next night finds you showing up at the diner first. The waitress recognizes you and tells you it’s been a while since she’s seen you. You don’t have the heart to tell her the reason why, you just smile and walk to the booth that used to belong to Steve and you.

You don’t feel as prepared for your conversation tonight as you would like, but you do feel less fragile. Somewhere between yesterday and today, you’ve managed to slide into the anger stage of your grief. There are times when you’re not sure if you’re going to just hit Steve as soon as you hit him, or worse. Worse is that small intrusive thought that you have about kissing him one last time. It’s weird because you’re so angry, the angriest you think you’ve ever been before. You feel like a pot that was left on a burner too long, just boiling over the edge and sizzling when you hit the stove eye.

And yet, behind all that anger there’s still the part of you that loves Steve. That piece of you can’t even remember the last time you kissed. You have fuzzy memories of when it might have happened. Maybe a goodbye kiss as he dropped you off at home, something that happened underneath his comforter as you both tried to hide away from the world a little longer. Either of those or something more is possible. It’s just... how were you supposed to know you needed to remember it? You think that maybe this time if you knew it was the last, you’d feel more prepared this time. Maybe it’ll help you feel better.

You slide the salt shaker between your hands, watching as it glides over the table as smooth as butter. Another glance at the clock tells you that Steve is late, Steve who was never late to anything that had to do with you before. The heat starts to turn up, and you feel more and more like that roaring boil of the pot. Twenty minutes after the hour he was supposed to be there the bell chimes above the door.

You don’t give in to the urge to look, you watch the salt continue to glide over the table. You know already it’s Steve because that same waitress is telling him that his girlfriend is at the regular booth. Steve doesn’t even correct her, at least not that you can hear. Steve slides into his seat as easily as the salt continued to glide on the table. All the anger you felt feels like it whooshes out of you. You go from feeling like a boiling pot to a balloon that was blown up and then let go before the air could be sealed inside.

As you sit across from him, the silence stretching on like the miles on an interstate you find yourself spiraling. People, mostly your friends and parents, have implied that it was childish of you to assume that your relationship with Steve would be anything long-term. And maybe you were, maybe somewhere in it all you got swept up in teenage fantasies. Sitting across from him though reminds you how it happened. For all the pain he’s caused, Steve Harrington is still the prettiest sight you’ve ever seen.

The people of Hawkins can gather and label you as simple-minded for all you care. Slap a label on you and shelve you in the town library with all the other romance novels, you don’t care. Because for all that they say you saw yourself creating a future with this man in front of you. Sure, maybe you romanticized it all, but God… you would have married Steve if he had given you a chance.

It’s that thought that spurs you back into the anger portion of The Aftermath. Because you didn’t build your relationship up by yourself. Steve was there too, he’s the one that layered the cement for your foundation. Steve with his endless flirting, his soft compliments, his whispered promises of forever. And even at the end, Steve left you with no explanation for this exit he took. And you can’t start your journey until he finally tells you why.

“You never really gave me a why for what happened at the end. I hate that it’s been months and I can’t let go of you, and maybe I’m just oversharing here, maybe I cared more, but I have to know. Steve, what the hell happened to us?” You’re surprised how quickly the words come out, but you’re pleased that they sound so tough. If Steve is surprised that you had to break the silence, he doesn’t show it.

“We’re young, this wasn’t going to be forever.” Steve’s voice isn’t loud, but it feels like it echoes in the diner. You want to sink into the vinyl of the booth, but you know you can’t.

“See, you say that but,” you take a breath to collect yourself to figure out how you say this all. “We talked about plans, Steve.” You look up, it’s easier to stare into the fluorescents than into Steve’s eyes. Your nerves make themselves known as you feel your fingers picking at the dry skin around your nails.

“Maybe somewhere along the way, I was looking farther into the future than you were. And if I was then I guess that’s on me.  But I didn’t even know forever was an option until you gave me the words to use.” You shake your head like it’ll knock away your disbelief. Your gaze drifts from the lights to your hands gathered on the top of the table now.

“There was that time,” You lay your hands flat on the table hoping the action will stop the nerves from expanding. “We had only been together for like 4 months, and it was that really rainy day?” It’s a question, a quick uptake that doesn’t need an answer. You finally look to Steve again, waiting for some recognition to spark in his mind before you bulldoze on.

“We stayed in your bed for hours, wrapped up in one another. It was the laziest and softest day we had since we started dating. And there was that moment, and you told me that you wanted pause time.” A grimace of a smile forms, and it’s a bitter laugh that accompanies it. “You wanted to stay in that moment forever, do you remember that?”

Steve, who has been so emotionless through your every moment since you broke up, seems to finally crack. You watch emotions slide out of him as you wait for a response.

“I remember.” It’s a whisper, a barely audible acknowledgment of your past. If words could hold weight though, if they could carry more than a sound, you think those two would weigh a ton. They sound heavy at least, and for once you’re happy you don’t have to offer to carry them for Steve.

“So, when did that change?” You press on, encouraged by his response.

“I wish I could tell you. I wish there was a day or a time if that would help you. It was slow, and then it was just there and so I ended it.” Steve’s response is a rush of words, and his gaze isn’t even on you. It all collides together like a car crash. And just like a car crash once the collision hits, you can’t look away from it. It feels like a tragedy, and you know you shouldn’t stare, but human nature is human nature, and you can’t change that. Maybe there’s more to say after his confession but instead, Steve leaves without saying goodbye. His departure is quick and you calling his name is the only thing that follows him.

You stay stuck in that booth for a while, Steve’s words rolling around in your head like a tumbleweed. This was supposed to be closure, but it doesn’t feel like anything has been closed. You feel like you’re trying to piece a puzzle together but some of the pieces are still missing. Steve is the only one that has them but he’s refusing to let you see them, so you don’t even know what you’re trying to put together.

A small nagging part of you feels like there’s still more to this. Like something bigger is at play. But if Steve isn’t willing to share with the class despite all your opportunities for him to do so you’re at a loss. You have to, at a certain point, accept the fact that this is an unknown portion that you’ll never get answered. You hate that, hate how bitter it tastes, but you have no other choice than to find a way to work towards it. Because if nothing else, this night has shown that you can’t keep this candle burning when someone is actively blowing it out. It’s time to snuff the flame out yourself. You want to hope that maybe it’ll be easier once there’s some distance between Steve and yourself. Maybe if you’re no longer hiding from him at the grocery store that door that feels like it’s still wide open will start to close and you can move on.

______________________________________________________________

The day before you leave feels like a round of goodbyes. You hadn’t told anyone besides Steve that you’d be leaving early. Your friends are surprised, and you smile and tell them you’re just excited. Steve had always been your secret keeper, the only one that knew the fear you had around going to college. So, you know your lie will go over smoothly with your friends, and just like you’ve been doing for the remainder of the summer your mask of ‘I’m fine’ will help sell the story more.

It's the kids and Robin that you feel the most torn on, the ones that you struggle with when it comes to a goodbye. The breakup fractured a lot of things in your life, and it feels like maybe you lost them all somewhere this summer. They were never really yours though, so how you could have lost them you’re not sure. In the end, you solidify your resolve and even if it means nothing to them it does mean something to you. You’ve already worked your last shift, and yet you sit in the shared parking lot of your former work and the only place you’re guaranteed to find everyone you need all at once. Since the mall is long gone, this is the best place to be on a hot summer day. Unless you want to share the pool water with the rest of the Hawkins. You wait, you let Steve leave for his lunch, and you take that as your moment.

There’s no speech planned, nothing too major in your goodbye. Robin’s surprised face is what greets you when she looks towards the bell ringing. A soft exclamation of surprise escapes her and she looks confused. “I don’t want to waste your time,” you find yourself telling her. This is the quietest you’ve ever seen Robin.

“I just wanted to say goodbye. I know you’re his friend, and we haven’t really talked since… Well, you know when, but sometimes you felt like my friend too and so I just wanted to say goodbye before I left and that I’m sorry I didn’t say anything to you before this.”

All your words sound so unsure, and you feel like you should be phrasing questions instead of just statements.

Silence hangs over the store, and you feel like if you don’t leave it’s just going to grow more awkward. “Okay, well then.” You mumble to yourself, and you force a smile and a wave before you turn to go. You make it to the door, it’s open and you are half in the heat and half in the air conditioning when Robin finally speaks.

“I’m sorry,” it’s not what you expect, and you throw a glance over your shoulder. Her face reflects the apology she’s given you. “We were friends, it’s just-” You shake your head and interrupt.

“It’s okay, Robin. He was your friend first, I’m glad that he had you and the kids.” You smile, and it feels real this time. “Maybe when I get back for winter break, we could be friends again?”

 “I’d like that.” Robin matches your smile, and her nod is enthusiastic. You wave one last time and head fully out into the heat, you’ve got one more stop right next door and then your goodbye tour of Hawkins will be over.

The kids are right where you expect them. Tangled together around one of the games, with Max behind the controls. You wait until the losing screen comes on before addressing them. Your goodbye with the kids is just as short as your one with Robin. “You know I’m kind of gonna miss watching you all hold these games hostage,” Your tone is cheerful, not at all scared like you feel inside. The kids are quick to turn around and it’s Will that matches your tone when he calls your name. Will has always been the kindest of the bunch, and he’s quick to hug your side while everyone else smiles and says hello.

Max is the one to break the greetings, always the most impulsive of the group. “What are you doing here, do you work today?”

“Uh no, actually I came here looking for you guys.” You feel like you stumble over your words, especially as Mike gives you the most suspicious look you’ve ever seen him throw your way. He’s always hard to please, but you feel like maybe you shouldn’t have added him to the goodbye tour after all.

“I just wanted to say goodbye, I know we haven’t talked this summer but still.” You find yourself shrugging as you finish talking.

“You’re leaving already?” It’s Dustin this time, and you find yourself surprised. He hasn’t talked to you since the breakup, and you assumed that would carry over to this conversation. His tone sounds disappointed, and you find yourself feeling guilty for a reason you can’t name.

“I leave tomorrow,” there’s a chorus of groans and refusals that leave the kids. Something like regret swells up because sure these were Steve’s kids first, but they were kinda yours too. You knew them before Steve and had a whole weird dynamic with them before you even knew Steve worked next door. A part of you feels like you messed up this summer by not making more of an effort with them.

“I’m sorry about this summer,” the expressions they turn your way feel like they know too much for kids who are too young to be wrapped up in your love life drama. “We’re sorry too,” Lucas tells you. “You have nothing to apologize for okay,” you look at each one of them, the look on your face leaves no room for argument. It’s always worked with the group.

“Maybe when I get home for winter break, we could all do something together?” You offer them the same olive branch that was extended to Robin. Everyone, Mike included you’re happy to note, nods their head. You find yourself ruffling Will’s hair, he’s still the closest to you. “It’s a plan,” you tell them. “I’ll let you get back to the game, make sure you keep that top spot!” Max tells you not to worry about it, a smirk already forming on her face. You give them all one last smile and make your way out of the building.

You think you’re done, and you feel as at peace as you think you can manage under the circumstances of it all. You unlock the door of your car, plans already in mind for what is left to pack up for the trip tomorrow when someone is calling out your name. You look up and find Dustin running towards you. You meet him part of the way, and he’s throwing his arms around your waist and squeezing you tight. There’s a huff of surprise that forces its way out upon the impact, but you don’t hesitate as you return the hug.

His voice is muffled, and you rub soothing circles on his back. “Dustin, I can’t understand you.” You keep your voice soft like you’re talking to a startled animal. It’s just a moment before he pulls back, and you’re met with a teary face. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you this summer,” Dustin’s words are rushed and come out as almost one sound. You find yourself shushing him and pulling him in for another hug. “You’re all good, it’s okay.”

You give him a minute to just feel his big feelings before you push him back. Your hands rest on his shoulders and you find you don’t have to bend down too far to meet his gaze. You wonder when he started getting so tall and remind yourself it was probably sometime this summer.

“Dustin, I’m not mad or upset or anything okay?” You wait for him to nod along to what you’re saying. “I’m sorry you got caught up in all this,” there’s enough stress on sorry that you think it could take off like a jet with the force you’re pushing it out. “Steve and I were the adults, you shouldn’t have been caught up in the middle, okay?”

Dustin looks like he’s going to argue, “No arguments! This was between us, and we should have made that clear.” Dustin stares at you for what feels like a minute before he nods.

“I’m gonna miss you,” is what Dustin tells you next. “Keith is never gonna be as cool as you. Whose going kick all the older kids off the games for me?” You laugh, happy to see him joking with you now.

“I’m going to miss you too, kid.” You give his shoulders a squeeze, “I’m going to give you a secret, use it responsibly, okay?” Dustin gives you an excited look and nods his head quickly, “I promise,” he says.

“If Keith gives you any trouble, just tell him that you know about Lucy.” Dustin has questions you can tell. “Keith won’t ask you to tell him, he’ll be too embarrassed. If he asks how you know, then you just tell him I told you. He’ll do whatever you want.”

There’s a part of you that feels like maybe you’ve given him too much power, but Dustin’s always been a smart kid and Keith has always been a dick to him, so you don’t feel too much remorse. Someone should be benefiting from the information anyway, and Dustin feels like the right one out of the party to hold on to the information.

“With great power comes great responsibility,” You quote to him, it’s a quip he used to tell Steve all the time before you started dating. Something from a comic book if you remember correctly.

Dustin’s smile is blinding, “You were always too cool for him you know, it’s his loss.” You smile and hope it doesn’t come off as sad as it feels. “Thanks, Dustin.”

You ruffle his hair, just like you had done to Will. Dustin bats at your hands and you push him toward the arcade, “Go spend time with your friends. I’ll see you in December.”

Dustin starts to go but turns back just as quickly. “You promise?” The happiness that had been there before has been replaced with worry again. “I pinky promise,” you hold out your pinky to show him you’re serious. Dustin comes back just to seal the promise and then waves goodbye again returning to the arcade.

The next morning, when every spare inch of space in your car is covered in your belongings, you finally feel like you could actually leave this place feeling okay. Things are not at all the way you thought they would be when the summer first started. You also still feel a weird sort of dread about attending college, but it feels like you could conquer it. If you could do this, this weird limbo break-up, then you think college can’t be that bad.

Your parents aren’t going with you. Despite their excitement and all the ways they’ve pushed you into this decision, they have both told you they feel you have to do this alone. Everything is set up for you, your dad has given you a paper with your new address on it and a credit card for emergencies. You know in both their eyes they’ve done their job as your parents. They’ve paved the way for success and now it’s your responsibility to make them proud.

It feels fitting that you leave Hawkins the same way you started the summer, all alone. You tell yourself that this is what you need. You tell yourself a lot of things as you make your way to the town line. You try not to look in the rearview mirror, too afraid that you’ll see everything you’re leaving behind and change your mind. You remind yourself it’s a few months, and that you can do this. You just hope that you aren’t lying to yourself. You may not feel happy, but you also don’t feel completely numb either. Maybe that’s the right type of progress though.

[outpost51]

I'm still trying to imagine having 49 types of magic in one wip lol

Go nuts you say? 😏

6. COURAGE - What's the last word you had to google the definition of?

19. FEAR - What is your greatest fear as a writer?

31. LUST - Who is your hottest OC?

42. SOUL - What is your favourite WIP?

45. STRENGTH - What kind of scene are you best at?

49 Questions

starlit ilysm you matched the FUCK out of my energy

6. COURAGE - What's the last word you had to google the definition of?

wastrel, apparently! cannot for the life of me figure out....where i used it. hold on. OHO I NEVER POSTED IT HEY YOU WANT SOME ANGST I'LL SHOVE IT AT THE END

19. FEAR - What is your greatest fear as a writer?

despite overcoming the "i write for myself, and other people enjoying it is a nice bonus" fear (with a not-so-insignificant amount of emotional battle scars at the end), i can't seem to shake "but what if they hate it?"

31. LUST - Who is your hottest OC?

this is so hard (lol) just because i write erotica and therefore i design ocs that are (supposed to be) hot, but i think it's a toss-up between kadmos, rima, and zadimus?

42. SOUL - What is your favourite WIP?

hhhhhhhhh this changes from week to week tbh. right now, between a rock and a hard place is fighting me tooth and nail, so it's in the naughty box. helix? helix.

45. STRENGTH - What kind of scene are you best at?

fighting and ✨spice✨. those are the ones my friends go most feral over, and they're my target audience c:

anyway have some wlw grief-pining and some very yummy (subjective) waterlogged ghost imagery that takes place between chapters 2 and 3 of stellar parallax.

with mood music, natch.

★・・・・・・★

bitter bright wings.

this thing, all things, devours.

mature || 430 words || c/w: implied sexual content, vague gore?

Hannah didn’t sleep. Not since first contact, not since whatever other atrocities they’d had her commit in the name of exploration, expansion, extermination. As her physician, Dr. Chakwas felt the compulsion to nag her about it, offer sleep aids, ensure she got enough rest to properly harass General Arterius, or whatever it was she did in those meetings.

As her friend — nothing more, no-fuss, it had become her mantra, the thing that helped her sleep at night — Karin was perfectly content to settle for cold skin and trembling limbs wrapping around her and stealing a bit of peace in what narrow time frame they had left before wake-up calls started rolling out. Sometimes that cold took a bit more than no-fuss to chase it away; on those nights, she didn’t settle for anything, not until they were both breathless and laughing and the wake-up call had rang sometime between round three and round seven. They had better things to count, after all, as they drug them out of each other one-by-one.

It was another one of those nights, then, she thought as those cold limbs squeezed tight around her waist. “One day I’m just going to sedate you,” she scolded lightly.

A rush of frigid saline swilled over her back in response.

Karin spun violently in the embrace, already reaching for the phone’s blinking emergency call button — the deep, dark green eyes she once thought she could spend hours gazing into, that held an ever-raging storm like Jupiter’s Great Spot, had clouded over, turning them a milky jade.

Amazing how Hannah was still recognizable beneath all the discoloration and bloat one acquired when dropped into a watery grave. “Help her,” she rasped.

Her mouth opened to ask who, exactly, Hannah wanted her to help, but something jerked her out of bed and dashed her onto the floor.

“Dr. Chakwas!”

If Pressly’s shouting hadn’t managed to wake her from the nightmare, falling out of her chair certainly had. “Someone better be dying,” she grumbled, barely making an effort to rise.

“Shepard.”

That name had always given her wings, hadn’t it? “What happened to John?”

“The commander is fine.” A sneer twisted up Pressly’s features. “It’s his wastrel of a sister causing problems again.”

Karin’s jaw creaked with the effort of holding herself back. She’d taken an oath to do no harm. “Well, what are you standing here for?” she barked. “Clear a path.” Punching him wouldn’t help Jane, she told herself.

She imagined Hannah knocking his lights out instead as she snapped on a fresh pair of gloves.

[mcverse]

I want to ask for a Kaptain Krazee x female reader story in which the female reader who is in her mid-20s is transported from the real world to the Haunting Hour Series world. She is turned into a clown, and Chris's parents take her in. When she meets the other clowns, Kaptain Krazee in particular develops a strong, obsessive interest in her. The female reader has no desire to be romantically linked with Kaptain Krazee in any way because she finds him to be so strange and creepy. Even though he is aware of this, Kaptain Krazee still tries to capture her heart and make her his bride. The female reader thinks of him as odd and frightening, despite his attempts to show his love for her in his own unique and strange way. Also, the female reader will have a choice whether to leave the Haunting Hour Series World and return to her own or stay in it forever after 10 days. I think it would be interesting if Kaptain Krazee were to find out some kind of way because then he would try everything within his power to make sure the reader cannot leave him.

Note: This episode is known as “Afraid of Clowns” of the Haunting Hour Series and the full episode is available to watch on youtube. Note: Kaptain Krazee is the leader of Clowns and ringmaster of his circus.

Pairing: Kaptain Krazee x Clown F! Reader

Requested: Yes/No

Type: Part 1 out of 2

Word count: 3.6K

Sidebar: Had a lot of fun with this. Freaking love isekai stories. Was supposed to be a one shot but it’s too long for that.

Warning: Clowns, isekai reader, obsession, toxic behavior (Yandere-ish)

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It was a strange experience.

One moment, you're innocently clicking on a link sent by your friend, and the next moment, you find yourself transported into your phone, landing unceremoniously in front of a house.

Things only get stranger from there.

As you pick yourself up and try to make sense of what just happened, you notice that your feet have become unusually large and your hands have grown in proportion. It's unsettling to say the least.

A scream involuntarily escapes your throat as you examine your hands, treating them as if they belong to someone else. As you're caught up in your confusion, the front door opens, and two figures emerge. Well, not just any figures – they're clowns, wearing frowns instead of smiles.

Another scream escapes your lips as you fall back and start crawling away, desperately trying to convince yourself that this isn't real. But with each backward movement, the clowns advance, gradually lowering themselves to your level. It's a surreal experience, and in your panic, incoherent words spill from your mouth. The clowns simply tilt their heads and smile.

"Oh my God!" you gasp, a shiver running down your spine. It has been years since you last felt afraid of clowns, a childhood fear that you had overcome. But now, it all comes rushing back as you begin to hyperventilate. Your eyes roll back, and everything goes dark.

When you regain consciousness, you find yourself in a different setting – a warm and comfortable home, lying on a couch. A delightful aroma reaches your nose, and you slowly sit up, searching for the source. To your delight, you spot a plate of breakfast on the coffee table in front of you.

Your stomach betrays you at first sight, growling at its alluring smell and appeal. Looking around you once more, you grab the plate to sniff it before starting to eat. You weren’t too surprised to see that the it taste as good as it look but you were still cautious after waking up.

However, you bite freezes midway as you hear a creaking sound. Slowly turning your head, you come face to face with two figures standing there, wearing unsettlingly sweet smiles. An overwhelming sense of eerie déjà vu washes over you, though you can't quite pinpoint where you've encountered it before.

The man and woman exchange glances, their expressions a mix of concern and reassurance. It is the tall and slender man who takes a step forward, crouching slightly to meet your gaze. His voice is calm and gentle as he speaks, "We're here to help you."

Confusion clouds your mind as you struggle to make sense of their words. "Help me? I'm sorry, but I have no idea what you're talking about," you respond, blinking in an attempt to gather your thoughts amidst the growing uncertainty.

The woman, sensing your confusion, crouches down beside the man, her eyes filled with understanding. "Do you really not remember, dear?" she asks softly, her voice carrying a hint of familiarity. And suddenly, like pieces of a puzzling puzzle falling into place, it dawns on you why their faces seem so familiar.

"Holy shit! You're those clowns," you exclaim, the plate slipping from your grasp and shattering loudly as it meets the floor. With a mix of fear and disbelief, you instinctively leap backward onto the couch, curling up in the corner as if seeking refuge from the surreal reality before you. "You're those clowns! But... but now you're human? What the hell is happening?"

Their smiles fade slightly, the woman reaches out a hand in a gesture of reassurance, "Please, try to stay calm," she says softly. "We understand that this is confusing and overwhelming, but there's more to the story than you remember."

Reluctantly, you unfold yourself from the corner of the couch, your heart pounding in your chest. The shattered plate on the floor lies forgotten as your focus shifts to the mysterious pair standing before you. They appear human now, but you can't shake the memory of their clown personas. Slowly, they approach you, their human disguises still intact.

"We're sorry for the scare," the woman says gently, sitting down beside you. "We are part of a secret clown society that operates in the shadows. We hide among humans, blending in with everyday life."

Confusion and disbelief swirl within you. Clowns with a secret society? It sounds so silly it didn’t seem possible. Yet, the sincerity in their eyes and the unusual circumstances you find yourself in make it difficult to dismiss their words.

The man continues, sitting down beside the woman, peering past her to you, "We were getting ready for bed when we heard your scream. Concerned for your well-being, we rushed outside to find you in front of our house, transformed into a clown. Before we could offer any assistance, you fainted."

You take in their explanation, slowly absorbing the strange turn of events. Despite the lingering fear, a glimmer of curiosity surfaces. You find yourself asking, "Why do you hide among humans? And how did I end up in this situation?"

The woman's smile is tinged with sadness as she answers, "Our society seeks to bring joy and laughter to the world, but not everyone likes clowns so we have to hide. As for you ending up here, well, we aren’t so sure..” she trails off, looking the broken plate on the floor.

Regret fills your eyes as you realize the unintended consequences of your actions. The plate shattering on the floor leaves you with a sense of remorse, hoping it wasn't a cherished possession to the woman.

“But I know who might!” the man exclaims, a spark of excitement lights up the man's eyes, and he enthusiastically rubs his hands together. The woman's expression mirrors his excitement, forming an 'o' shape with her mouth as she grasps his idea.

"Oh, that's right!" she exclaims, matching the man's enthusiasm. "We can bring her to him!" However, their excitement only deepens your confusion. Who is this mysterious person they are referring to?

Blinking in confusion, you interject, your gaze shifting back and forth between the two clowns. "Again, sorry, but who exactly is 'him' that you're talking about?"

Their smiles widen, and once again, you find their presence unsettling. You instinctively shift away from them, hoping to create some distance without drawing too much attention. Whether they notice your subtle movement or not remains unclear. Without further ado, they both rise from the couch, each taking on a different task. The woman stoops down to gather the broken pieces of the plate while the man makes his way towards the kitchen.

As the man disappears from your sight, the woman pauses and directs her gaze towards you. Her eyes hold a reassuring expression as she speaks, "Don't worry, you'll receive the help you need. I promise." She nods affirmatively, punctuating her words with a playful wink. With that, she straightens herself and gracefully walks away, presumably to dispose of the shattered remnants of the plate.

Left alone in the room, you find yourself lost in a whirlwind of thoughts. Countless questions fill your mind, but there are no answers in sight. The mere act of sitting there, pondering why you are here, who this mysterious "him" is, and how you can escape becomes a recipe for madness. The uncertainty looms over you, making it difficult to make sense of your situation.

The room feels confining, and you can't help but feel trapped. Each passing moment only amplifies your desire to unravel the enigma that surrounds you. You yearn to understand why this has happened and what steps you can take to break free from wherever you are. The weight of it all threatens to overwhelm you.

Just as despair starts to settle in, a glimmer of hope emerges. You hear footsteps approaching, breaking the silence that has enveloped the room. Relief washes over you, tinged with a hint of apprehension. They have returned, bringing with them the possibility of guidance and answers. It's a chance to find your way out of this perplexing situation.

"Come on. We're going for a ride," the man says, while the woman holds out a jacket, beckoning you to follow. They are both wearing coats, with the man positioned at the door. As you reach the woman, she kindly assists you in putting on the jacket, for which you express gratitude with a smile. Her gesture was thoughtful and unnecessary.

Once you step outside, the chill in the air becomes apparent, amplifying your gratitude for the coat. You snuggle into it, seeking both warmth and comfort for your nerves. Uncertain of their destination, you reluctantly enter the vehicle, gazing out the window as the house recedes into the distance.

Usually, someone in your situation would be scared. You don't know where you are, what happened last night, or how there's a secret clown group. You're not sure if the people in the front are telling the truth. But then you remember that you're an adult who can make decisions like an adult. Whether it was safe to fall, you were confident you can make the right choice when it comes. And if clowns really exist and you were one...

"Wasn't I a clown last night?" you inquire, shifting your gaze away from the window to fixate on the back of the man's head, hoping for an immediate response.

He affirms with a nod, "Yep…but you can't exactly walk around as a clown, can you??" His statement elicits a few soft chuckles from the woman, who rests her hand on his leg.

You hum in agreement, "I suppose not..." You divert your attention back to the window, only to witness the scenery abruptly morphing before your eyes. Shock causes your eyes to widen, prompting you to sit up in your seat. You desperately want to question if they are witnessing thing too, but as they appear unfazed, you figure that such occurrences are normal for them.

The car approaches, it passes through a grand gate, granting a view of a captivating sight: rows of colorful circus tents on both sides. Surprisingly, the entire place seems eerily deserted, leaving you to wonder where all the performers and crew might be. The car eventually comes to a stop right in front of the largest tent, positioned prominently at the center, demanding attention.

The couple exit the car first, and you follow suit, but at a more deliberate pace. Determination fuels your steps as you remind yourself that unraveling the mysteries and discovering the answers you seek is your primary objective. The once-intimidating presence of clowns no longer instills fear in you; it's a reassurance you repeatedly affirm within your mind.

Approaching the entrance of the large tent, a mix of anticipation and uncertainty fills the air. The flaps of the tent flap gently in the breeze, as if inviting you to step inside and uncover the secrets that lie within.

The couple reach the entrance, their expressions composed yet brimming with a shared understanding. They hold the flap open, gesturing for you to enter first. Stepping over the threshold, you find yourself in a different world altogether. The interior of the tent is a vibrant tapestry of colors, adorned with glittering decorations and whimsical props. The scent of sawdust and cotton candy lingers in the air, evoking memories of childhood circuses.

A scream escapes your lips when you turn around to see the couple pull off their faces, only to be amplified when a group of eerie clowns materializes behind you. The once-jolly atmosphere of the tent is now suffused with an overwhelming sense of dread. Grinning unnaturally, the clowns fix their intense gazes upon you, their presence sending shivers down your spine.

Without uttering a word, they part to create a path that leads you further into the tent. Reluctantly, you follow their lead, your heart pounding in your chest as you step along the trail. The air grows heavy with an inexplicable tension, as if the very fabric of reality is warping around you.

Finally, you arrive at a door adorned with shimmering lights and golden accents. This is the threshold, the gateway to the unknown. It beckons you to cross over, promising answers to the questions that have haunted your mind.

The clown couple, their disfigured faces twisted into macabre smiles, turn to address you. Their voices carry an eerie warmth, contrasting with their terrifying appearance. "This is where you shall find the answers you seek," the woman says, her words resonating in the air. The man nods in agreement, his eyes gleaming with a peculiar intensity.

Summoning your courage, you extend your hand and grasp the ornate doorknob. It feels cool and solid beneath your touch, sending a shiver down your spine. With a deep breath, you turn the knob, feeling a blend of excitement and apprehension coursing through your veins.

The door opens with a haunting creak, revealing a chamber bathed in a soft, ethereal glow. The gentle light spills into the room, illuminating a space adorned with cryptic symbols and ancient artifacts. Each object seems to hold a fragment of the enigma you've been yearning to unravel. It's a place where hidden truths lie, waiting to be discovered.

Compelled by an insatiable curiosity, you step into the chamber, and the door closes behind you with a resounding thud. The outside world is sealed away, leaving you alone in this mysterious sanctuary. The air crackles with a sense of anticipation, and you find yourself surrounded by a tapestry of secrets. In the center of the room stands a large, ornate mirror, its reflective surface beckoning you closer.

Approaching the mirror cautiously, you catch a glimpse of your own reflection, but it flickers for a moment, as if a veil of uncertainty hangs over it. Suddenly, a figure materializes behind you in the mirror—a large male clown, his face adorned with white paint, accentuated by a purple diamond pattern over each eye, red diamonds on each cheek and a blood colored nose. His long, fiery red hair matches the shape of his thinly painted unibrow and enlarged painted red smile, adding to his unsettling appearance.

The sight startles you, and the line between reality and illusion blurs. Doubts creep into your mind, making you question your sanity since entering this surreal realm. As the clown begins to walk closer towards you, a mix of relief and terror washes over you. You back away, unintentionally bumping into the mirror, your heart pounding.

Desperately, you try to assert yourself, mustering a threatening voice, "Don't come any closer!" But the clown seems unperturbed, his lips curling into a macabre smile. He continues to advance, disregarding your warning as if it were mere amusement to him.

Peering down at you, his gaze filled with unsettling curiosity, he mutters to himself, "What do we have here?" His tone carries a sense of eerie intrigue, leaving you wondering what his intentions might be in this mysterious place.

Your heart races as he reaches out his hand, the movement appearing in slow motion. The anticipation builds, contrasting with the frantic beats of your heart. His hand finally touches your cheek, sending a chilling sensation down your spine. The touch slides to the back of your head, his fingers entwining in your hair with a firm grip.

Shock and disbelief wash over you, rendering you motionless for a brief moment. The sheer horror of the situation freezes you in place as you try to comprehend the impossible, despite seeing it earlier once. Your mind races, searching for rational explanations, but none seem to suffice.

With trembling hands, you reach up to touch your face, expecting the worst. As your fingertips make contact, relief washes over you—your skin remains intact. However, your reflection in the mirror reveals a haunting transformation. Half of your face is covered in a ghastly layer of white paint, smeared with ominous splotches of red and black shapes that seem to mock you. The other half retains its natural complexion, creating an eerie juxtaposition that serves as a constant reminder of the encounter with the clown couple.

"What's going on?" Your words hang in the air, unanswered, as you lock eyes with the clown standing behind you. He remains silent, his mouth agape, seemingly as bewildered as you are. Yet, his intense and unwavering gaze sends chills down your spine, making you squirm with discomfort.

"You're no ordinary clown," he murmurs, his eyes flickering over you, confusion marring his face as he tries to make sense of your presence. After a brief moment of observation, he asks, "How did you find yourself here?"

You eagerly respond, "That's why I'm here! I was told you could provide answers." Your voice carries a hint of disappointment, and your head lowers in a slight pout, feeling upset and vulnerable.

The clown clicks his tongue and lifts your head gently by your chin, making you meet his gaze. He shakes his head, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing against your cheek. "You're one of us now. We don't look down, only up," he grins wildly as you peer up at him, a mix of awe and fear in your eyes. Being this close to him amplifies his scary appearance by tenfold. "You've come to the right place. They call me the ringmaster, Kaptain Krazee. And what's your name, doll?"

You recoil slightly, offering him a hesitant smile. "(Name)," you reply softly, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "Will you help me?"

His smile falters, his gaze shifting away from you to a book resting on his desk. His head tilts, as if engaged in an internal struggle. Eventually, he nods reluctantly, taking a step back and moving towards the desk to retrieve the book.

"This book ain't your ordinary read," he murmurs, his eyes lighting up with fascination. He turns towards you, his excitement bubbling over. "It's got somethin' magical about it, see? Changes its contents for whoever lays their hands on it. It's like a secret language only it knows." He trails off, then takes a step closer to you, extending the book in your direction. "I reckon it's got a page or two just for you. Care to take a peek?"

You hold the ancient book in your sweaty palms, unsure of what mysteries lie within its weathered pages. With hesitant anticipation, you carefully open it, and to your astonishment, letters manifest out of thin air, forming a message that appears as if by magic.

The words on the page reveal an extraordinary truth – you are one of the few individuals who have been mysteriously transported into this fantastical world. The book explains that you have been granted a precious gift of ten days to explore this realm, to unravel its secrets, and to determine your fate within it. After the allotted time, you will face a pivotal decision: whether to remain in this enchanting world or return to the reality you left behind.

As you read the words, Kaptain Krazee's impatience gets the better of him. He leans in, his curiosity piqued, and his frown deepens upon comprehending the significance of the book's message. Ten days seemed far too short for him. He had become fascinated by your presence and longed for more time to explore the depths of your connection.

Contemplating the book's message, the clown's thoughts race. He realizes that within these ten days, he has a chance to show you the joy and wonder of being a clown, to share his world and get to know you better. Perhaps, just perhaps, there is a glimmer of hope that you might choose to stay, not only within this realm but by his side.

When you lower the book, you notice his intense gaze fixed on you again. His eyes reveal emotions you can't quite grasp, leaving you puzzled. What is he trying to convey? You're not a mind reader, and even if you were, you're not sure you'd want to know his thoughts. There's an air of mystery and hidden intentions surrounding him.

"Okay," you nod, handing the book back to him. You turn away, deep in thought about what lies ahead. Ten days may not seem like much, but you have to muster the patience to endure this surreal experience. It's the only way you can make it through.

You flinch instinctively as his hands rest gently on your shoulders, uncertain about the intentions behind his seemingly affectionate gesture. You steal a sideways glance, meeting Kaptain Krazee's mischievous grin. His words, filled with an unnerving enthusiasm, make you question his perception of you.

"I'm here to lend a helping hand, my dear. We have plenty of exciting things to occupy your time," he exclaims with an exaggerated cheerfulness. "And trust me, with your natural charm and unique appearance, you'll be the star of the show."

His comment leaves you perplexed, causing your eyebrow to raise in skepticism. Charm? Looks? You've never regarded yourself as particularly charming or attractive, especially not in your current clown-like guise. The notion seems absurd, and you can't help but wonder what relevance appearance holds in the context of the circus. Everything within these twisted walls seems to serve a purpose, often a sinister one.

Your gaze narrows as you scrutinize Kaptain Krazee, searching for any hidden meaning behind his words. Is there something he's not telling you? The circus is known for its tricks and illusions, after all. You've learned a long time ago to be cautious, wary of what lies beneath the surface and knew you can take care of yourself.

He steps back, motioning towards the door with a slight bow. "Shall we?" he asks.

[jrow]

Fic year in review

@calaisreno and @raina-at both tagged me (and Raina said some really nice stuff!) so I figure, why not do this? For the record, I’ve stolen Raina’s format ;):

I am pretty happy with my fic output this year. It’s been a busy, stressful one in the non-digital world, and I was very glad to have fandom to unwind in. Things are getting busier and far more stressful in my offline life (work, volunteering I’ve started, young kids, stuff) but keeping some time aside to write/edit is pretty important for my mental health. Sometimes it’s just a couple hundred words a week (with millions of imagined words in my mind) or betaing a few pages, but it’s still very needed.

Total number of completed stories: 5

Total word count: about 110k published, but I know I wrote about 20k of that in 2021. Plus there is probably 10k or so words in WIPs (that may or may not see the light of day)

Fandoms written in: BBC Sherlock

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected?: Probably about what I expected. If I had put money on it, I would have said 100k. I’d make the same guess for 2023...

What’s your own favorite story of the year? Depends on the day....potentially Jam, because I’m pretty proud of the epilogue. But I suspect that The Man in the Cartier Frames is the one I’ll reread the most.

Did you take any writing risks this year?: I participated in FTH which was a little nerve-wracking, but it turned out really! I am not sure I would have overcome writer’s block if I didn’t have those pieces to work on. I like a bit of pressure sometimes. In terms of writing, I took fewer risks than I would have liked, but the alternating perspective in Jam certainly felt like a risk.

I also started beta’ing this year, which was a bit of a risk, I suppose. It also worked out really well though. It’s something I think I’m good at. It’s also easy when you are beta’ing for people whose stories you really, really like! And for the record, a co-worker of mine suggested earlier this year that I make an easy shortcut for em-dashes (I use them a lot in my work) and it’s honestly changed my life. It’s why I’m so quick to insert/correct them when beta’ing now! I do love an em-dash.

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year?: Post at least a part of an AU. So far, all of my posted works have been basically in canon. I have a handful of AUs sketched out or, in two cases, partly written. But, I have a lot more trouble sticking with them. I think it’s the world-building aspect (something both @calaisreno and @raina-at are amazing at!) and fear that what I develop won’t read true. I do a ton of research for all my fics, regardless of when/where they take place (I like to be accurate when I can), but world building is a step beyond researching. The reality is, that (at least some) of the AUs I want to write won’t be as popular as my regular stuff...I am fine with that most of the time, but sometimes there’s a worry you will be writing for no one but yourself (which shouldn’t matter, but some days does ;) )

Most popular story of the year?“ Hmmm...in terms of kudos and general love, it’s definitely The Man with the Cartier Frames. People love parentlock and I do think I write it well (it helps that my kids are good ages to model Rosie). But I got a lot of love and really amazing comments on Blue Plaques too.

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion: I’m not sure anything this year was under-appreciated. Possibly 5mm (a very short (and fluffy established relationship fic), but it’s the third in my That Time of Year series, so I expected small numbers.

Most fun story to write: Blue Plaques. Figuring out a ridiculous mystery that would give the ending I wanted (I knew the solution before I knew anything else), and researching about blue plaques and random spots in London was a ton of fun.

Most unintentionally telling story: Oooohhh. That’d probably be The Man With the Cartier Frames. There is lots of my daughter (M) in Rosie in this story. This includes a freak accident that made my partner (M’s father) an absolute mess at the hospital (that Sherlock sobbing scene was inspired by real life). M was totally fine (I still don’t know how but am so thankful) but that moment was the seed that led to this fic.

Biggest disappointment: Probably that I didn’t post an AU? But honestly, I am not really disappointed with this year’s writing or reception.

Biggest surprise: The engagement I got from some of my favourite authors (including art!!) this year. It’s a real honour when people whose writing you admire start commenting on your stuff. It’s worked the other way too, I have started reading people’s because they comment on my stuff and it ends up being amazing! I was going to tag people here, but I’m afraid of forgetting someone...if you’ve commented on my stuff and you write, I’m probably talking about you!

I’ll nominate anyone who wants to reflect on the past year :).

[skekilla]

https://www.deviantart.com/skekilla/art/Runaway-Train-Act-I-Scene-6-897483852

Sweet freedom, at last!

As he finally made it out of the forested train car, Johnny breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the new one he and Sally found themselves in was completely ordinary. Though he would rather have been off the train all together, the familiar seats and wallpaper was something of a comfort. Better than slogging through all that brush, he thought.

Sally seemed to think the same. “Ugh, finally!” she huffed. She stomped her heels off on the beige carpet, trying desperately to get the dirt off them. “If we ever have to go back there, it’ll be too soon! I’ve had quite my fill of mud and grime.”

“Me too,” Johnny sighed. They shouldn’t have to go back there, he figured. Although… His mind was suddenly clouded with worry at the thought of the woman they’d left behind. “But… w-what about Orla? She’s still back all that way—we ought to go back for her!”

Sally scoffed. She was already making her way down the aisles, not a care keeping her back. “Oh please, don’t even mention her! It's not worth the trouble.” She flicked her gloved hand dismissively.

Though she was nearly half way through the car now, Johnny still found his feet anchored where he was. “B-but…” he stuttered. “But she could be attacked by those things!”

“Oh, can it!” she snapped, whirling around on him. “I’m not in any mood to deal with her, let alone go back through that whole mess to find her. Let’s just keep going, she’ll take care of herself just fine. She seems to be very good at it.” The look in her eye made Johnny swallow his words. Could they really just abandon Orla? They couldn’t, surely, but… if it was between Sally or Orla, he still supposed listening to the former was the smarter thing to do. The thought nagged at him as he walked on, though.

Suddenly, a loud slam sounded from the next car over. Johnny jumped; what in the world—? It sounded like something heavy had been thrown against the wall… or maybe into the wall? Then he realized it; he gasped. He knew exactly what it sounded like: a door slamming shut, and a big metal exterior one, too. A way out! Finally! Hope overwhelmed him. This could be his escape! Finally, he’d make it back home, back to Polly, back to a normal life! Without a word, he broke away from Sally, running to the end of the car and flinging the door open.

“Shit!”

The scene he walked in on was nothing like he expected; he winced at the shouted curse, and his mind filled with fear as he saw where it had come from. On the floor was a man, strong and with a strangely tailored suit jacket, wrestling with a demon about his own size. His breathing quickened. Oh god… A flash of men, his friends and fellow soldiers, writhing on the muddy ground struck him. Their groans and screams mingled with the sounds of struggle, the enraged face of the stranger being replaced by the agonized expressions he’d seen. No… no!

Overcome with the memory, his legs seemed to move on their own, carrying him right to where they struggled. He needed to do something, even if it would be useless. He couldn’t just stand by. However, his prosthetic didn’t get the same idea; as he staggered towards them as fast as he could, that click click started like a ticking clock, counting down to the churck that sent him crashing down. Right into the fight.

In a mess of arms and legs, Johnny, the stranger, and the demon tumbled along the aisle. They’d all been caught off-guard; in the struggle, the man shot a confused and furious glance at Johnny, and the thing made horrible shrieks of surprise. However, the moment didn’t last long; soon enough, the two men found themselves held to the floor by the shadowy creature, staring up at its ferocious eyes. Oh god, oh god, I’m going to die! We’re both going to die! I’m such an idiot, I knew this would go bad!

Cwack!

A brown boot flew right into the demon’s chin, knocking it off of the two in a stunned daze. To Johnny’s surprise and shock, he looked up to see Orla, grinning back at Sally, who stood a little ways down the aisle. “Ha! Who’s not worth the trouble now?” she asked her, smug playfulness glittering in her eyes. “Must be glad I followed you two after all!”

Sally huffed, ignoring her quip. She rushed over to pull Johnny up from the floor, supporting him as usual. “You two should hide,” she said to him and the stranger, her suave smile returning to her face. “I can handle this fella easy.” Though she offered her hand to the man to help him up as well, he swatted her hand away.

The demon groaned, making Johnny’s heart race again. It stood, its eyes flashing, but Orla wasn’t at all afraid. In fact, her grin only widened. “Not if I can handle him first!” With that, she spun into action, parrying the thing’s slashes and striking it with grace. She twirled around and kicked, jumped out of danger—why, she was practically dancing around it! For a moment, Johnny forgot to be afraid as he watched her best the creature so easily.

It was such a wonder to see that Johnny hardly noticed the stranger stand. He scoffed. “Like I’d just let you ladies deal with it,” he muttered, wiping a smear of blood from his lip. The unmistakable click of a pistol made Johnny’s blood freeze. With barely enough time to panickedly turn around to see what was going on, he stalked forward to where Orla was dance-fighting with the demon. And before Johnny could even really get a grip on what the stranger was doing, he sent a left hook barrelling right into its shadowy face. With another screech, it fell down to the floor. Wasting no time, he shot the thing while it was down. Johnny winced at the sound each time it fired. And then finally, all was quiet and still.

“Woah,” Orla said, finally breaking the silence. “Now that’s a fancy flintlock!” Though she was very enthusiastic, Sally wasn’t nearly the same; she stared down at the dead demon with shocked concern. Whatever it was that the other two were thinking, Johnny knew how he was feeling at least; he was absolutely stunned and deeply afraid of this stranger.

Looking over his shoulder with a cold glint in his eyes, the man took them all in. His demeanor was half angry, half weary, sizing them all up with suspicion plainly on his face. “Who are you all?” he demanded. “What is this damned place?”

Orla giggled, apparently immediately smitten with him. “I’ve got a better question, sir: who are you?” she asked, her tone oozing flirtation like honey.

He sighed. “Curtis Holmes,” the rugged man replied. He cocked his pistol again. “Now answer me. Or you’re not gonna like what happens next.”

[knights-unwelcommentary]

You're not sure why you left Gamzee behind, it just felt like something you had to do. You take in the place, it's something for sure. The carnival spans the size of a small town so much that you can't see the other end from where you're standing past the entrance. Behind you there's an unmanned ticket both gathering muck and a chilled out Gamzee waving at you in what his underdeveloped social acumen must understand as an encouraging gesture, but just looks in the same degree as stupid as it does flirty.

An obsidian plaque a few steps ahead reads "ioculator rex est" the words decorated with imperial red diamonds and gold threads. On closer inspection, the frames of the tents resolve into a mesh of various kinds of processed plastic, giving them a colorful spiraling pattern.

You step forward, wariness drapes over you like a cold, sodden rag.

A shrill scream of agony rises from the inside of a tent titled The Hive of Mirrors and goes on and on with no stopping in sight, until it's abruptly put to an end accompanied by a sound like shattering glass.

You recoil at that but keep yourself going, you're *not* going to turn back with nothing to show for the trip.

The sun won't rise again for many hours, you note, then shrug off that thought. That doesn't figure among your other more pressing concerns related to finding yourself here, with the expertly crafted high tops and the luxurious looking shops, and the uncanniness that the backdrop lends the unusual configuration of shapes and forms and dried up gore everywhere you look.

Your careful steps lead you toward and into the least imposing tent of the bunch, as soon as you do the fortune-teller hides her palmhusk like you just caught her slacking off at work. The candlelights flicker unsteadily as a result.

"Hello? You're part of the staff here, right? I'm supposed to meet with your boss." No response. You keep pushing. "Do you know where I can find him?" She looks you over with a disturbingly sharp gaze. She doesn't bother to stand from her seat.

You stare at each other for a long, uncomfortable while, you're relieved when she's the first to cave in.

"No invitation. No ticket. Yet you've found your way to us. A rubberneck perhaps?" the troll across from you smiles like she's remembering something funny. She looks somewhere around five sweeps old but talks like an old hag with a bad case of the flu.

"The HIC sent me. I don't fucking know."

"A rubberneck is one that comes in, to inspect the proceedings. They don't much feel like talking when they come back out. But that's not quite what you are, I don't think. Would you care for a reading, visitor?" She's too chuffed to use that deck on you for it to not be a trap ready to lure some schmuck lacking in common sense.

As you mull over your options you are abruptly overcome by a feeling not unlike the ones that plagued you constantly as the sweeps counting down to exile for you went down one by one and with them your naive hopes to earn your way up the ranks, social standing be damned. The ones that when put into words would sound something akin to "this is it" and "they know" and "it's over". It's crushing you for all of 5 second until you start berating yourself for fucking up so badly at everything ever, then the feeling settles into your regular fear, kicked up to eleven.

You don't crumble. You don't think you can, you're too familiar with it.

"No thanks, ma'am." You take your time checking around with your torso pillar half frozen, you find her name signed on some loose paperwork and file it down to use later for well-mannered points if you have to. "I don't need some cards to tell me my luck's a lump of dried out shit smeared under a cholerbear's muddy bottom. It's a widely known fact."

"Very well." She sounds impressed, it confuses you a little. "Very, very well." She disappears, only to reappear behind you a second later and nudge you further into the tent. "You may wait here, if you wish. I'll let the wringmaster know, of your arrival."

She exits the tent.

You're alone.

Holy shit what are you even doing here? What made you think this was a remotely good idea?! Oh god, this is bad. You need to get out, you have to fetch Gamzee and leave. Now!

Now...

You can't move a muscle.

You can't do anything.

You're stuck.

The clock ticking overhead is all that's left to keep you company in this surreal space that your own thinkpan has become, and the feeling of terror doesn't wane. You're still breathless, paralyzed. You realize a little too late that you're beside yourself with fear.

...

Karkat stays where he is, stiff as a corpse, despite his better judgment.

By the time the fortune teller returns and points him in the direction where he can find the Grand Highblood he's little more than a walking automaton.

By the time the cheers of the crowd inside the big top brings him back to his senses he's already being greeted by a different, even more menacing purple blood.

[fruggo]

I’m not gonna lie this would be the first time I requested something so if I do something wrong I’m really sorry,

Can I request Quentin, Leon, Steve, and Frank meeting a female reader who, before the entity took her, had already faced off her own killer?

And this made her kinda tough? Like she knows what she’s doing

oh my gosh thank you so much!! this is my first ever request to fulfill so we’re in this together :DD seriously i really appreciate you!

i decided to do a headcanon kind of format for this, i hope that’s okay! also these are my absolute favorite boys aaahhh this is so fun for a first request

the boys x tough f!reader (part 1) (part 2)

warnings: swearing, reader kicks frank in the shins

word count: ~700-1k each (sorry if it’s too long…i kind of got really excited and uhhh maybe i got carried away,, yeah. sorry)

(also i'll be honest quentin's is not my best. that was the one that got eaten by the tumblr abyss and i had to write all over again, and it just didn't come out the same way that i wanted it to at first :( i did the other boys hoping i'd get some inspiration to fix it afterwards, but i got kind of stuck. so it's not my favorite, but i hope you like it okay! i want to write better stuff for quentin in the future, he is my favorite sleepy boy <3)

𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇

when you arrived in the realm, everyone thought you would be the same as the others—frightened, confused, and overwhelmed. but you took this nightmarish challenge in stride, adapting to your surroundings quickly and learning far faster than anybody else had.

your past experiences had made you independent and sometimes distrustful, so once you had the gist of things, you didn’t need (or want) anybody to tell you what to do. and nobody was inclined to, either—your instincts naturally told you what to do and when.

the first time you met quentin was a little awkward, i wont lie. you were wary of speaking to the other survivors; you weren’t going to let yourself get hurt again.

it was the beginning of a trial. the nurse’s fatigued shrills could be heard all the way from the edge of the wrecker’s yard, but you immediately started work on a generator, unafraid. a few minutes passed, when soft footsteps indicated someone’s approach. it was quentin—he started to work on the wires without hesitation.

you were a little surprised, only because the other survivors usually left you to your own devices. you got the impression that maybe they were intimidated by you, which you didn’t particularly mind. but you wouldn’t particularly mind some company now and then, either.

it was comfortably silent for a while, before quentin spoke up.

“what’s your name?” he asked, gaze still focused on the wires.

hesitating a little, you told him. then you said, “and you’re quentin, right?” you already knew most everybody’s name just from observation.

“that i am,” he replied.

then it was quiet for a while.

very quiet.

well, what were you supposed to say now?

the silence was deafening and very, very uncomfortable to you. normally you were okay with a quiet atmosphere, but it was the kind of silence that buzzed in your ears, chewed at your stomach, filled the area as if it were something solid. man, what were you supposed to say—

it was then that you realized poor quentin had fallen asleep, his face smooshed onto the generator. his cheek was now covered in grease and grime.

it made you smile—only a little. you finished repairing the generator on your own, causing quentin to wake with a start and bang his head on the pole protruding from the machine. he swore like a sailor until he realized where he was, smiling sheepishly.

“sorry, i wanted you to have your nap. you looked really tired,” you said. you also couldn’t stop admiring the dark grease on his face—it was really quite funny. and no, you weren’t going to say anything about it. it could stay there a little longer.

you spent the rest of the trial running the nurse around the whole wrecker’s yard, only suffering one injury until the end. quentin had no idea how you had been here for such little time and already knew how to outplay the nurse, one of the most difficult killers to survive against. he still didn’t know how to do it well himself, so he was thankful for you.

however, once the exit gates were opened, you found yourself in a bad spot. the nurse had caught you in an empty clearing with nowhere to hide or predict her moves, and she downed you instantly. quentin cringed hearing your agonized scream as you were hooked.

there was no way you were dying on his watch. once he was sure the nurse was gone, he gently lifted you from the hook, pulling out his medical kit to begin patching up your shoulder.

despite the pain, you had enough energy to smile at him and say, “thanks, nap boy.”

quentin feigned offense with a wry grin, pulling out some gauze. “is that all i’m going to be to you? nap boy?”

you hummed, pretending to be deep in thought. “maybe you won’t be if you get me out of here.”

“that won’t be a problem," he smiled, quirking an eyebrow.

“show me the gates and then we’ll talk, nap boy.”

from then on, quentin became your go-to source for supplies and general comfort. you weren't scared of this place, but it was nice to know you had somebody who would really be there for you.

he would often fall asleep on your shoulder at the campfire--he really was a nap boy, and you would never let him live that down.

𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐃𝐘

leon could not tear his eyes away from you the first time you arrived in the realm. your presence was strong; he could tell you weren’t one to back away from a fight.

most of the survivors had been (rightly) confused and disoriented when they popped into the realm, but you tried to accept it quickly. you didn’t like it, in fact all you wanted was just to go home, but you came to terms with it and jumped into trials headfirst like an insane person.

that was the courageous part about you—maybe you were scared, but you did scary shit anyways. in fact, you did scary shit to spite the fear, to prove to yourself that you were strong enough to overcome it.

and leon couldn’t lie, that was cool as hell.

you had tunnel vision and didn’t pay much notice to the other survivors; you were too focused on learning about this place and getting out of trials. having gone through some real shit, being here hardly came as a surprise to you. if you were going to be here forever, what was the point in mourning? might as well just accept it and try your hardest to survive. maybe someday this sick game would end, but for now, you were prepared to fight for your life and that’s all you could really focus on.

your first trial was not the best. even though you were resourceful, you didn’t know what the objective was yet, so you weren’t sure where to start other than analyzing your surroundings. luckily for you, leon kennedy was one of your teammates.

after being downed immediately by bubba’s chainsaw and tossed onto a hook, you were amazingly resilient to the pain. leon was the one to lift you from the hook, and he took out his medkit to help patch your wound, but you flinched away from him before he could touch you.

he was puzzled. “what’s wrong?” he asked. he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but he wanted to help you.

you hesitated and looked him over before mumbling, “i’m fine.” and you tried to stand on your own, beginning to limp away. you didn’t want or need anyone’s help.

leon sighed, following after you. “let me help, that must hurt a lot.”

“i told you, cop, i’m fine. i don’t want your help, okay?”

leon opened his mouth to insist, but decided against it. if you didn’t want his help, then he shouldn’t butt in. that wouldn’t keep him from watching over you, though.

but then leon called after you (perhaps a little smugly), “do you even know what you’re supposed to do?”

begrudgingly, you stopped walking. no, you didn’t know what to do. “i’ll figure it out,” you said over your shoulder. and you would; you had been through enough to survive any situation thrown at you.

but maybe one pointer couldn’t hurt.

“do a generator,” he told you, giving you a cheeky grin when you turned around to look at him. he was lucky he was cute.

the first part of the trial had been rough, but after that first hook you were doing a lot better. you managed to find your own medkit from a chest, and you learned how to fix a few generators. you found it came pretty naturally, and were satisfied that you hadn’t needed anyone’s help (except leon’s. but you didn’t have to admit that yet). when the killer came near, you skillfully avoided him and stayed hidden as much as you could.

you were also pretending that you didn't notice leon hovering near you. he was not very good at being subtle; he was obviously trying to make sure you didn't get hurt. it was cute. you didn't want to ruin his fun, so you didn't say anything about it.

it wasn’t long before the gates were powered and in the process of being opened. you saw a red glowing light in the distance, and assumed that must be your destination. you put all of your remaining energy into sprinting to the exit, adrenaline pumping through your body.

but then there was a heartbeat. a heartbeat so loud it filled your head, splitting your concentration. it wasn’t your own heartbeat--it was the killer’s.

the sound of the cannibal’s chainsaw roared in your ears and pain tore through your body; you collapsed to the ground with a cry of agony. shit, that really hurt, and you weren't sure you could ever get used to it. eternity sure seemed a lot longer than you had first anticipated. would you really be here forever? doing this over and over?

biting your lip until it bled, you tried to crawl towards the gate, dragging the lower half of your body with much difficulty. it was no use, though--you hardly got anywhere, and you could already feel the killer picking you up. just like that, you were going to die? you had been so close..

but as you were being placed on bubba’s shoulder, you saw a flash of a police uniform and a blinding light, and before you knew it, you had been dropped to the ground, the exit gate looking awfully lovely and much more desirable than a meat hook. you gathered all of your strength and began limping forward, when suddenly you felt an arm firmly wrap around your waist and your own was placed around someone else’s shoulder.

leon. when you looked up at him, all he did was give you a calm smile, which you felt inclined to return. with him supporting you, the two of you made it safely to the exit and began the long traipse back to the campfire, where you would find yourself spending a lot of time together.

from then on, you always remained quite unfazed by the events of the entity’s realm—the only thing that ever made you feel weak was being around leon. he was just so cute :]

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐓𝐎𝐍

you had never met someone so persistent in your life. from the moment the entity stole you here, steve harrington was after you, and there was next to nothing you could do about it. he sure was living up to his self-proclaimed role of babysitter.

you told him you were fine, that you didn’t need him following you around, but the asshole did it anyways.

“how cool do you think you are?” you asked him at some point, to which he simply shrugged with that stupid grin on his lips.

“i can take care of myself.” “i really don’t need you to baby me, steve.” “steve, if you don’t leave me alone i’m going to break your kneecaps.” these were all things that had come from your mouth multiple times recently. you were seriously thinking about that last one now.

you knew you could make it on your own, and you only wished he would give you a chance to prove that to him so he would leave you alone. but it was like he had attached himself to your hip, and for some reason the entity seemed to really enjoy putting you in trials with him. great.

he was a dumbass and a sweetheart, and you weren’t sure which one of those took higher priority. you knew he only meant well, but god, you wanted to be independent for once. why did he think he had to protect you so much? you arrived here after running for your fucking life, fighting off your long-time pursuer, and living in awful, ever-changing conditions. you had seen your closest friends die, right before your eyes. you didn’t need to be sheltered or coddled, but you couldn’t seem to make steve understand that, no matter how much you fought with him.

steve would literally throw himself in front of the killer for you. he clicked his flashlight in the killer’s face if they were after you, and he would swear and cuss until they chased him out of pure annoyance. it got him killed countless times, and you didn’t know whether to call him stupid or selfless. probably both.

eventually you decided to just copy him and see how it worked out. you weren’t scared, you had no reason to be. you wanted to show him you could be just as flashy as him.

as you arrived into a trial, steve right across from you (of course), you smiled to yourself. you had brought your best flashlight, and you were prepared to use it. the two of you began to work on a generator together, making light conversation as usual.

“if the killer comes here, hide. i’ll take him away.” “fuck you, steve harrington.” “sure, if you really want to.” “why don’t you ever leave me alone?” “it’s a mystery, isn’t it?” “i could punch you right now.” “but you won’t. i’m too good to look at.”

you know, the usual friendly stuff.

you purposefully connected the wrong wires, making the generator spark and sputter. “oops. oh no, the killer must be on their way,” you dead-panned. steve gave you an unamused look.

and indeed, only a few moments later, you heard the sound of the hillbilly and his chainsaw roaring in your direction. the two of you split up, and the killer’s weapon collided with the generator, making an awful screeching sound.

and that was when the chaos started.

steve began hollering and flicking his flashlight into the sky as usual, and after a moment’s hesitation, you did the same. steve looked at you in astonishment, pausing, but then he started again, even louder. you tried to outdo him.

“HEY BILLY! FUCK YOU!” you screamed, ignoring steve’s attempts to get you to stop. “COME AFTER ME, SHITHEAD!”

steve started actually yelling, just yelling, while you continued to swear meaninglessly. the poor hillbilly looked confused and overwhelmed, and eventually he couldn’t take the noise anymore--he just left, opting to find the other survivors while the two of you sorted out whatever it is you obviously had against each other.

it was dead silent now that the killer was gone, and you and steve were both out of breath. but as soon as you made eye contact, laughter bubbled up from your chest, causing you to collapse against the tree and slide to the ground. your voice was hoarse from all the screaming.

and then he was laughing too, stumbling over to plop down next to you, and your giggling started up a whole new round.

after the laughter died down, you stared at your hands, ignoring steve’s gaze on the side of your face until you couldn’t anymore.

“what?” you asked, finally looking at him. he was smiling all stupid again. “what?” you insisted, fighting off a grin of your own. you hated when he looked at you like that, because it made you want to smile back at him.

“nothing,” he said coyly, laughing again. you punched his shoulder playfully.

“c’mon harrington, when have you ever held your tongue before? spit it out.”

he nodded, that was true. so he said it. “i just like you, that’s all.”

oh. oh.

realization dawned upon your face. “is that why you always--”

“yes,” he interrupted you. “i thought it was obvious. man, you’re clueless sometimes.”

oh.

huh.

you guessed…maybe…steve harrington wasn’t that annoying. maybe.

𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍

to say you were feisty was an understatement. frank hated your guts at first because you were so good at evading him, which he would never admit. but the thing that made him really mad was that if he ever downed you, you would kick at him and try to trip him over, like actually bruise his shins. it hurt like hell.

this lead to his decision to constantly tunnel you, and he would laugh at you while you were on the hook, too. so you hated his guts just as much as he did yours. it was a mutual guts-hating situation.

your teammates always felt bad for you, but they also thought you were a badass and knew you could handle yourself. you hadn’t told anybody where you’d come from or what had happened to you, but they knew it was something interesting. there was a reason that nothing that happened here really got to you.

sometimes things escalated even further than shin-kicking. there was one time where frank had managed to grab the back of your shirt as you tried to vault a window, and as he pulled you closer to himself, you elbowed him in the neck and squirmed out of his grasp. while he stood stunned and lost for breath, you kicked the back of his locked knee so that he fell to the ground and bonked his forehead on the wall—the classic dead leg.

this was very funny to you.

not to him.

while you ran away, laughing to yourself, frank’s anger built and built. he was tired of letting you make a fool of him, and it was time to be serious about things.

he ignored you for the rest of the trial, forming a plan in his mind. there was something he needed to do after this, so he made sure to kill everybody else to please the entity—he couldn’t get caught up, it would derail his anger train. he also didn’t feel like getting kicked in the balls or some shit, so he let you out without a problem.

frank did some brooding at the ormond lodge before he was ready to go through with his plan. and his shins really, really hurt, so susie helped him ice them before he left.

the masked killer made his way to the survivor camp rather hastily. when he arrived, he saw you pacing around, deep in thought.

so he threw a rock at you.

it was just a pebble, really. maybe it could be considered a rather large pebble, but frank insisted in his mind that it was a pebble.

“ow, what the fuck!” you cursed, rubbing your sore shoulder and looking around to find the culprit. and then your eyes laid on him.

he looked so sultry standing there at the edge of the woods, arms crossed and mask smiling, you could almost laugh at him. he acted so serious, when really, he was just an angry and misbehaving twink.

you put on your best serious face, genuinely trying not to be amused by this, and strode over to the killer.

“what do you want?” you asked confidently, mirroring his body language and crossing your arms.

frank bristled at your approach, as if trying to make himself look bigger. he wished you were scared of him like everyone else, it would really make him feel better.

“i want a truce,” he said.

you almost burst into laughter at that. a truce? what the fuck for?

he said was willing to stop tunneling and camping you if you stopped beating the shit out of him with your sticky little hands. he didn’t say it like that, but you knew that was what he meant. you, a survivor, could beat up frank, a killer, and it upset him and his little ego :(

just to humor him, you agreed. and frank nodded.

“but,” you continued, raising your eyebrows, “you have to give me something else.”

he started to say “no, no way—“ but you interrupted him: “you’re asking me to stop fighting for myself and just give in when you catch me. i think i deserve something other than just not being tunnelled.”

frank glared at you under his mask, thankful that you couldn’t see. “okay. whatever. what do you want?”

“i want to see your face.” you thought this was a good choice, something you could lord over him forever. it was surely only a win for you. his face was something private, and you would be the only survivor to know.

of course you wanted to see his face, frank thought. everyone did; they wanted to find out if he was good-looking. which, according to him, he was. if you ever asked the other members of the legion, susie was the only one to actually respond. she felt obligated to compliment him as she was basically his sister. so she would say frank is handsome in a ruggedy, jess mariano kind of way. you wondered how she knew what gilmore girls was, since that came after her time, but susie would never give away her secret.

so with a sigh, frank agreed to let you see his face. he didn’t really care, all he wanted was to stop having bruises on his shins. it was kind of miserable, and the entity never did anything to help him.

when he said that you couldn’t do it here, and you asked why the fuck not, he said it was because some other survivor might see. you decided he had a fair point, so reluctantly you let him drag you all the way to ormond.

when he took off his mask, your first thought, whether you wanted it to be or not, was “wow! he really does look like jess mariano! but with tattoos! hot!”

you were lost for words. you didn’t really know what you were expecting, but you sure weren’t expecting him to be that attractive.

he could tell your thoughts from the look on your face.

this had been per your request, and you were planning on this being something you could hold over his head, but the situation had turned into something that he could hold over your head.

oh dear. frank morrison now held pretty boy privilege over you.

and soon you would find out that he was going to keep tunnelling you anyways.

listen i've been watching a lot of gilmore girls and i just get jess vibes from frank, except our boy is more of a twinky idk shdjfhsf i love this guy sm

[arc852]

An Unlikely Duo Ch. 3

Warnings: Fear, panic and mention of treating a person like a pet

Word Count: 2426

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Read on AO3

________________________________________________________________

 Wilbur spent the hours leading up to dinner looking through his laptop trying to figure out what song he should play for Tommy. He hadn’t meant for it to take that long and had actually wanted to play before dinner was ready but picking a song Tommy might like was a lot harder than he thought. Not to mention, the more he stared at his own sheets of music, the more he hated every single one.

 He let out a sigh and shut his laptop, rubbing a hand down his face. He’d figure it out after he got back, he supposed.

 He headed down to dinner, only to see that they were serving spaghetti tonight. Wilbur smiled a little at the chance to bring Tommy some warm food. He could even give Tommy some bread with it as well. A full meal instead of just some deli meats he found in the fridge.

 He ate his portion of dinner, putting a forkful in a napkin and hiding it away in his pocket when the adults weren’t looking. He grinned to himself when they didn’t notice and then did the same thing with a whole roll of bread. The adults were none the wiser and when he asked to be excused, they let him go with no suspicions. Perfect.

 He closed the door to his room and kneeled down so he could place the food underneath his bed. He bit his lip as he stayed there for a moment, looking at the wall that Tommy was probably still behind. He cleared his throat. “Hey, uh, I brought you some dinner. Some bread and spaghetti. It was really good so I hope you like it. If not, I can always bring you something else.”

 He waited a moment, to see if Tommy might come out or answer him but when all he was met with was silence, Wilbur crawled out from the bed and stood up. That was fine, the little guy was probably still scared and Wilbur couldn’t blame him for that. So maybe some music would ease him.

 Wilbur grabbed his guitar and sat on his bed where he propped open his laptop once again. He frowned when he realized he was right back where he was. Unable to choose a song to play for Tommy.

 He strummed absentmindedly on his guitar as he thought over his choices. He could try the song he was playing when he first saw Tommy...but the problem with that was that it wasn't actually a song Wilbur had written. He had just been messing around on his guitar at that point. He can’t even remember what he was playing.

 A thought suddenly struck Wilbur. Maybe that was it. Maybe the song didn’t really matter. Tommy seemed to like it when he was simply playing around with chords. Maybe that would be enough.

 Biting his lip, Wilbur pulled up a blank music sheet. Maybe messing around and writing a new song was exactly what he needed. 

 And hopefully it would be enough to ease Tommy’s mind and pique his interest.

***

 Tommy had been in the middle of bending his newly acquired paperclip into a hook shape when he heard the door to the human’s room open again. He had felt a lot more comfortable when Wilbur hadn’t been in the room. But of course, the human had to return eventually. Tommy expected that.

 What he didn’t expect was for Wilbur to actually try and talk to him.

 Tommy froze as soon as he processed Wilbur was speaking. Despite being muffled through the walls, Tommy had no trouble picking up on the words being said. He had been brought food, again. Part of Tommy, which he was pretty sure was his stomach, was happy at the chance to eat more food. The other part, the more rational part, was livid that the human would try it again.

 He knew he shouldn’t have taken the food. Because now Wilbur had taken it as an incentive to keep doing it. To keep pitying him. 

 Well, Tommy wasn’t having it.

 Overcome with anger and a sense of wanting to prove himself, Tommy marched out of the wall. He grabbed the piece of bread, ignoring the way the heat came off in fumes and the smell wafted around, making his mouth water. He ignored it all in favor of taking the piece of bread and coming out from underneath the bed.

 The music had just barely started when Tommy decided to interrupt. Cupping his hand over his mouth in order to make sure he was heard. “Hey b****!”

 Wilbur’s hand paused on the strings, his body tensing. A voice, Tommy’s voice, seemed to come from the floor. But that would mean…

 Oh so slowly, as if anything faster would make Tommy leave, Wilbur put down his guitar beside him on the bed and then leaned over said bed, glancing down toward the floor. And there was Tommy, small as ever, with a familiar glare pointed right at Wilbur. Wilbur swallowed thickly, wondering what Tommy was doing out of the walls. “Tommy, what-?”

 “I don’t need your f****** food, you giant prick! And I don’t want your f****** pity either!” Tommy yelled, all his anger put into the words. Wilbur, meanwhile, sat frozen, shocked at Tommy’s words. “I can do things just fine on my own! I don’t need you or anyone and I don’t need this f****** bread either!” And with that last yell, Tommy mustered up all the strength he had and threw the bread square at Wilbur’s face.

 To the surprise of both the borrower and human, the bread hit its mark and hit Wilbur right beneath his eye.

 The piece of bread fell onto the bed and Wilbur stared at it, not knowing what to do or say. He glanced towards Tommy, who was breathing heavily from anger.

 But, as the anger slowly pulled out of his body, Tommy realized what he had just done. The anger quickly turned into an overwhelming sense of fear as the borrower realized how much he just messed up. He talked back to a human, not even that, he yelled and cursed and threw something at someone who was so much larger than himself. A being who would have no problem getting back at him tenfold.

 Tommy wasted no time in scurrying back under the bed and towards the wall.

 As soon as Tommy moved, Wilbur snapped out of his frozen state. “Wait, Tommy!” He got down from his bed and did his best to follow the borrower under the bed. He got under there in just enough time to see the tiny entrance to the walls close, with Tommy already in them.

 Tommy pressed his back against the door, heart pounding and trying to keep his breathing steady. Seeing Wilbur follow after him had been terrifying. And even now, knowing Wilbur was right there, waiting outside his door made Tommy panic. There was no way the human could get him out of the walls...right?

 Oh god but he totally could. All it would take is a hammer to the wall and Tommy would be exposed. Caught like the stupid borrower he was, why did he have to go out and do that-

 “Tommy?” A voice cut through his panicked thoughts and Tommy tensed. The voice sounded close. Too close. “Hey, I’m not...mad or anything. I’m just a little confused. I gave you the food because I just want to help. Not because of any pity or anything. I don’t pity you, Tommy.” Wilbur’s words were gentle and calm but Tommy still felt his hands become fists at his sides.

 “Why else would you give me the food? It’s because you don’t think I can get any myself.” Tommy spoke, proud that he managed without stuttering.

 “That’s not true. I’m sure you’re plenty capable.” Wilbur said back and Tommy faltered a bit. “I just thought it would be nice for you not to have to go through the trouble of finding something. Besides, it’s cold. I figured maybe you’d want something warm.”

 “You don’t know what I want.” Tommy spit out but it held less fire in it than before.

 “You’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t have assumed but I couldn’t help it. And maybe part of it is because I...I feel bad for before. For grabbing you.” Wilbur admitted, looking down at the fibers in the carpet. Tommy blinked.

 “It was incredibly rude of you.” Tommy said, the fire from his anger all but gone at this point. A laugh escaped Wilbur, causing Tommy to flinch but he soon relaxed when he realized what it was.

 “That’s fair.” Wilbur said inbetween laughs. Tommy couldn’t help but smile a little but it quickly left his face when a question popped into his head. A question he had been itching to ask since it had happened, really. He supposed now was as good of a time as any. With the wall between them, Tommy felt a lot more comfortable talking to the human.

 “What was the deal with the whole three questions thing anyway? You could have just...kept me and forced me to answer all that you wanted to ask.” Tommy didn’t know why he was bringing up the fact that Wilbur could have kept him. Could very much still catch him and keep him. But the question was already out in the open.

 Wilbur was silent for a long time, to the point where Tommy was starting to get nervous. Did he just make the human realize his mistake? Was this where the hammer to the walls came in?

 “Tommy, I...I wouldn’t…” Wilbur was having a hard time collecting his thoughts. “I was never going to keep you. I was curious, yeah, and I definitely reacted wrong but you’re clearly a person and that’s...no, yeah, I was always going to let you go. The questions...I did that so I could get something out of our meeting before you left.”

 Tommy blinked, mind running with this new information. Part of him wanted to say that Wilbur was lying but at the same time...he did let him go. Was that enough to support what Wilbur claimed?

 “I...I didn’t think it mattered, if I was a person or not. Cause yeah, that s*** is obvious but other humans don’t seem to care too much about that. They see something small and ‘helpless’ and think, mine.” He remembered the stories his parents would tell him, of borrowers being caught and kept as pets even after they revealed they could think and speak for themselves. It was awful and did the trick for little Tommy to stay far away from outside the walls for the longest time.

 “...Well those people are right pricks then.” Wilbur spoke and the bluntness of the statement made Tommy laugh. Despite the underlying anger in Wilbur’s tone, he was pretty sure the anger wasn’t directed at him.

 “Couldn’t agree with you more, big man.” The nickname slipped out without him meaning to but if Wilbur noticed he didn’t say anything. Just let out a quiet snort. They sat in silence for a few moments and in that time Tommy realized his heart wasn’t beating as fast as it had been. He was still terrified but somehow...less, now.

 Wilbur stared at the little door, the one that blended into the walls so well he could barely even see it. Half of him hoped Tommy would come out and they could speak face to face but he knew that wouldn’t happen. And he couldn’t really blame him either. Not with Tommy’s line of thinking. It truly was awful though, especially since Wilbur knew full well that some humans were just that bad. It made Wilbur sick just thinking about it.

 He stared at the small piece of bread that he had taken with him, the one that Tommy had thrown and gently placed it back with the small pile of spaghetti. “I’ll leave you alone now. I know it was probably a bit...much, with me chasing you underneath the bed. Sorry, about that by the way. Um, but yeah. I’ll leave the food here, just in case you want it. Not out of pity or anything.” Wilbur felt the need to reassure further. “But just because.”

 Tommy didn’t say anything at that. But Wilbur smiled anyway. “And if you ever need anything, I’d be more than happy to help you out.” He let his words hang there for a bit, letting Tommy soak them up. “Goodnight, Tommy.” And with that, Wilbur crawled out from underneath the bed and climbed back on top of it.

 He stared at his guitar for a moment before picking it up to put away. It was getting late anyway. He should probably get some sleep.

 As Tommy heard Wilbur shuffling around, he couldn’t help but think about what had just happened. It had gone...better, than Tommy would have ever expected. He still wasn’t sure if he believed Wilbur or not but some part of him really wanted to. It was dangerous to listen to that part of him though. 

 As the noises out in the room died down, Tommy took a deep breath and opened the door. He half-expected to see Wilbur still under the bed, waiting for him. But of course, he wasn’t. Judging by the silence and how dark the room was, Tommy could only assume he had gone to bed.

 His eyes drifted over towards the small pile of food, still steaming. Hesitantly, Tommy made his way over to it and picked up the piece of bread he had thrown at Wilbur. It wasn’t as hot as before but it still held some of its warmth. It was soft in his hands with a spongy sort of texture. Tommy had had bread before but that bread had always been kind of old and stale. It was never like this.

 He took a bite out of it and tears immediately welled up in his eyes.

 Tommy had never eaten anything warm before. It was an unfamiliar but welcome feeling all the same. The dull cold he always felt was, for once, warmed by the food. It was amazing and that was just the bread.

 He wiped his tears away as he continued to eat.

 And later that night, as he laid on the ground with his thin blanket and a full, warm, stomach, he couldn’t help but think about Wilbur.

[aminiatureworld]

Shadowed Rationale

Characters: Albedo, Childe, Diluc, gn!reader

Word Count: 3,597

Warnings: Swearing

Premise: Some things aren’t terribly rational. And some responses are even less so. But what other option is there? Revealing yourself can be a terribly embarrassing thing, isn’t it better to hide it?

In which the reader is afraid of the dark.

Author’s Note: I’ve decided to write based off my own prompt every two weeks. Mostly because I realized I can no longer think of ideas, and also cause I’m a bit writer’s blocked and I’d feel bad writing requests right now. This premise is pretty cheesy, but sometimes simple starting points are the best to build upon! Besides it was a really a chance to work on my atmosphere, sometimes putting an image in your mind on paper is quite difficult, especially when it comes with an unsettling sort of mood.

All the characters I chose are characters I saw at least some point in the 1.4 teaser stream (Kaeya, Xiao, and Zhongli are tomorrow). I’m so excited! Although I have to apologize to Venti, sorry I have no idea how to write you so I chose not to.

I realize I idealize some of these characters (ie: Childe) quite a bit. I hope that they still keep their individuality, that they still stay in character. That being said I’m quite happy with how this turned out to be, so I hope you like it.

Albedo

It’s not that you didn’t trust Albedo. Indeed Albedo sometimes felt like the only person in the world you could trust.

It was simply that, though you two had been in a relationship for the past four months or so, you still wanted to impress him in some way. Or at least not seem like a total idiot. And to you the most idiotic thing you could think of was your fear of the dark.

It wasn’t that it was a totally irrational fear, of course humans were afraid of the dark, how else could they have survived this long? It was more that the fear felt irrational now. And besides, you had a vision. Your partner had a vision. You two were more than equipped for anything that might be lurking in the shadows. Besides it’s not as if your fear had a tangible image in your mind. It was more like a cloud, a miasma, which filled you with anxiety.

You knew you should tell him, knew he’d be nothing less than a perfect gentleman about the matter. But your pride was too great, or perhaps it was your embarrassment. Either you said nothing. And here you were now, in Wolvendom, in the middle of the night, desperately trying not to jump at every shadow you passed.

Albedo wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to your nervous disposition; once he’d found something to experiment with he developed the slightly unhelpful habit of blocking the rest of the world out completely. Not that that was terrible for you in current circumstances. Maybe you’d make it out of here with your dignity intact.

That optimism however was drowned out by the oppressive anxiety you felt. Though Albedo had assured you that his connections had managed to get Razor’s promise that no wolves would bother the two of you it was still difficult to contain the shiver up your spine every time you heard their distant howling. The landscape didn’t help, comprised of sharp drops and trees which seemed as if they’d never been alive in the first place. The long cavern in which you two walked seemed too vulnerable, too low to the ground with no way to protect yourself either from behind or above. The valleys were crawling with hilichurls, and you’d occasionally see the silhouette of a wolf or two. You could make out the old Monstadt as well, if you gazed westward, and the solitary, crumbling turret cut an eerie figure against the inky sky.

As Albedo studied the lamp grass that was the reason for your expedition – as he’d developed a curiosity in regards to their luminescence, how it was created and how it might be extracted and experimented upon – you looked around you. Though there was nothing in sight to be afraid of you still found yourself going to draw your weapon, though you were loath to actually do so, not wanting to look silly. After all, only a fool would attack the dark.

Luck, however, wasn’t on your side. You seemed to be spotting a figure, appearing at the other side of the valley in which you’d found yourselves in, walking straight towards you. You blinked rapidly, brain desperately trying to choose between whether or not it was a figment of your imagination. Surely it must be? What sort of cloaked figure would be wandering around in the dark? And yet the other half of your mind whispered that it must be something, something or someone, and that something or someone was fast approaching you. Was it? Or were you just imagining it? You truly couldn’t decide. Another howl echoed on the wind. Your senses were becoming too overwhelmed, too confused. Oh why were you there? Why oh why oh why?

You backed up slightly, brain now determined to see the shadow on the horizon as a human. Your hand clutched your weapon and you tried to remember if there was something, anything behind you. A ridge perhaps, so you might not have to worry about what was behind you, might be able in some ways to ground yourself.

Unfortunately luck wasn’t on your side, and instead of finding some point of security you found yourself tripping over your partner.

“Shit.” Albedo let out a curse as you fell backwards, hitting the ground with a loud thud. “My love are you alright?”

You said nothing, instead glancing back towards the other end of the valley. The figure seemed much skinnier from the ground, and for a moment you felt your brain cloud over in confusion. Then, as if all of a sudden your mind had put the pieces together, you felt a rush of relief, swiftly followed by embarrassment. A trunk. It was a tree trunk. Covering your face with your hands you groaned.

“Beloved?” Albedo asked once again. You looked up at him, a feeling of sheepishness and fondness washing over you as you saw the worried expression on his face.

“It’s nothing Albedo, I’m perfectly fine. It’s just… ah,” you let out a sigh, steeling yourself for the interaction you’d specifically hoped wouldn’t happen, “I’m, I’m afraid of the dark. My eyes were playing tricks on me just now, I thought I saw someone walking towards us. But it was just a tree.” You let out an embarrassed sort of sound, once more burying your face in your hands. Damn it. Now what were you going to do?

The feeling of fabric around your shoulders was a surprising one, and you quickly looked up. Albedo was crouching down beside you, having wrapped his coat around you. There was no sense of shame or embarrassment in his eyes, only love and a sense of caring.

“You should’ve told me.” He said, voice soft and warm. “I’m sorry I brought you along when it makes you so uncomfortable.”

“I’m sorry I’m being such a pain,” you replied, “it’s such a stupid fear of mine. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I felt like, like you’d think I was being irrational. Like I was being silly.”

“There’s nothing irrational about being afraid of the dark my love. It can be frightening after all, not being able to use all your senses to their full capacity. And even if it were an irrational fear, I wouldn’t look down on you for it. Alchemists, those who study the world, they cannot expect to always interact with what is perfect, what is always rational or what always makes sense. Neither are they infallible themselves. Besides,” he continued, brushing your hair out of your face, “I’d rather you be cautious over nothing than see you hurt.”

You found yourself unable to say anything, overcome by his words. It wasn’t that he’d said anything you hadn’t told yourself, you knew after all that being afraid of the dark wasn’t without a purpose, that it wasn’t utterly irrational in itself. But it felt different when Albedo said it. When you said it there was always your anxiety to counter it, when Albedo said it you accepted it as true. For it was Albedo who said it, and he’d never lie to you.

“Thank you.” You mumbled, hugging the coat closer around you, happy to be enveloped in something so familiar and comforting.

“Of course,” Albedo smiled, kissing you on your forehead, “I love you. So very dearly.”

The rest of the night you kept his coat wrapped around you. Although Albedo had quickly reverted to his informative sort of state he hadn’t forgotten what had passed, and every once in a while he’d give you a quick hug, or squeeze your hand in reassurance.

Overall it wasn’t such a terrible night.

  Childe

There was no hiding your fears from Childe.

The man was the nosiest – or perhaps most observant – person you’d ever met, and he’d quickly put two and two together as soon as you’d started living together.

Unfortunately for you Childe also had the kind of work schedule that would make a surgeon’s job feel envious. And a part of that schedule entailed you staying up at all hours of the night, trying desperately not to jump at every sound.

You knew that it was going to be one of those nights, and as of such you’d decided to take a nap in the afternoon, so the lack of sleep wouldn’t weigh on you too much. The afternoon sun had been strong, and though you’d decided not to close the curtains you also didn’t bother to keep any of the lights on. After all it wasn’t supposed to be more than an hour long nap or so, and keeping the lights on felt like a bit of waste.

Your regret came the moment you opened your eyes to the pitch black of your room.

How did something change so drastically from daytime to nighttime? All the familiar figures around you seemed to have disappeared, or perhaps it was more accurate to say they’d been transformed. Now even your closet door seemed to have taken on a life of its own, wriggling within its frame as if possessed. The unobstructed window cut harsh lines along your floor, but it was a cloudy sort of night, and every once in a while even the moon would be snuffed out, sending your heart rate skyrocketing once more.

You were utterly and totally paralyzed. At first you’d drawn the covers over your head, hoping to block it all out, but it was a warm evening and quickly you found yourself throwing your blankets off, needing some unobstructed air, met once more with the terror of the dark.

Childe, you wished Childe were here. He always knew how to chase away the dark, how to make the books and the lamps and the dressers go back to their usual selves. His teasing annoyed you sometimes, but now you longed for the distraction. If only he weren’t so late. If only you’d paid better attention to the time, if only.

Your eyes darted around your room, as if seeking out something you knew wasn’t there. You knew that whatever you saw was an illusion, the result of your brain trying to piece something together, something to keep it from getting bored. You knew perfectly well that it was an explainable phenomenon. And yet fear is so very difficult to fight, so though you continued scolding yourself for your nonsensical actions, you also continued to look around, sure that you’d find something if only you paid enough attention.

Time had frozen along with you, and you were so preoccupied with your fear that the door opening came as a terrible shock. You jumped, adrenaline racing through your veins, but the muffled “I’m home” was what you’d been waiting for. You just needed to go greet him. The moment you got out of your room and to the light of the kitchen it’d be alright. But you were still frozen, and though your mind screamed at your limbs to move you found there was no escaping the sort of spell that had been cast by your fear.

The sliver of light from the hallway finally began to eat away at your trance. The door opening to reveal Childe was what completely broke it.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” Childe asked, a look of concerned plastered on his face. You let out a strangled sort of cry as an answer, fumbling off the bed before catapulting straight into his arms, burying your face in his chest. Childe immediately reciprocated the hug, stroking your hair in a soft, soothing motion. It hadn’t taken much to put the pieces together. What else after all could it be.

“It was the dark, wasn’t it?” He asked, whispering a faint “ah” in response to you nodding your head. “It’s okay my darling, I’m here. You don’t have to be afraid anymore, alright? It’s okay, it’s alright. It must’ve been very frightening to be alone.” His voice was almost melodic, the sotto tone slowly coaxing you back to yourself.

How confused would people be, you thought to yourself, how confused they’d be if they realized how kind Childe truly is. But you were grateful for that kindness. Right now it was what you needed. There’d be teasing tomorrow, teasing and bantering, and everything that was the usual Childe. But right now there was only comfort and softness, and you thanked Childe and the archons for it.

The rest of the night was a sedate one. You were both tired, Childe from his work, you from not only yours but the terrible fright you’d had. The two of you had eaten a late dinner, chairs pulled up next to each other, hands intertwining intermittently. There wasn’t much talking, instead you two enjoyed being in each other’s presence; the familiarity and comfort it brought.

Though the night was still warm you found yourself cuddling, arms wrapped around one another, legs tangled together. The beating of Childe’s heart steadied you, his breathing reminded you that he was there, that you were safe now. You didn’t have to fear the demons that your mind imagined. He’d scare them away for you.

It was difficult to keep secrets from Childe, and in the beginning the urge had been there. Who would want a significant other who jumped at shadows and was always spinning tales of the dark in their head? Especially someone like Childe who was so confident, so self-possessed. It was shameful, a part of you told yourself, how could he bear it?

But you were glad he’d figured it out, that you couldn’t keep secrets from him. Because at the end of the day Childe knew you best, knew how to keep the fear and the anxiety at bay, knew that being afraid of the dark, although worth a little teasing, didn’t make you any less of a mature and intelligent human being. And for that you loved him.

You loved him so much.

  Diluc

“I know this might be sudden, but I want you to move into the Winery.”

That simple sentence had the adverse effect of completely messing up your life.

Your initial reaction had essentially been to buffer. Living together with Diluc, living with the person you loved above all others, it really seemed like a dream come true. Like something you’d wish to happen without any hope of said wish being realized. And yet it wasn’t a dream. He’d actually asked you. Diluc had actually asked you to live with him.

Once you’d gotten over your initial euphoria however a problem seemed instantly to present itself. That problem being that you were absolutely terrified of the Winery after dark.

I mean, who wouldn’t be? It was an old building, old enough for servants to whisper about lights that turned on without prompting, about footsteps coming down the empty halls, about people of old stepping out of their portraits and dancing the night away. It was absolutely terrifying to you, who already looked upon the dark with no little suspicion. And although the occasional night with Diluc was fine, you weren’t sure if you could deal with waiting in such a vast, creaking space alone.

But you didn’t want to tell Diluc that. Because though you were indeed a bit terrified, living with him did sound heavenly. It was something you dreamed of, and you didn’t want Diluc to come away with the wrong impression, the idea that you somehow thought he was being too familiar or going too fast. The thought of telling Diluc about your predicament never crossed your mind in the span of the conversation. After all it wasn’t as if he could do anything about it, he couldn’t very well redo the entire winery. Besides, it was such a silly fear, telling him about it would feel like you were making a mountain out of a molehill.

Eventually your mind settled on an answer: dragging the matter out. Professing your happiness at the idea you told him that it would require some mulling over, not to mention the paperwork in regards to the apartment you were currently living in. Diluc took it all with perfect understanding, assuring you that he could wait. “Besides,” he’d said, “what’s a little while when compared to the rest of our lives?” You’d blushed profusely at that, burying your face in Diluc’s neck. Yes, it would be alright in the end. And with that you pushed it out of your mind.

For the time being.

Although Diluc had many virtues patience was – perhaps surprisingly – not among them. Not more than three days had passed before he mentioned it again. Not that you were unhappy about it, no it wasn’t that. Nor did you feel pressured by him, you certainly didn’t. It was just the question of the Winery itself, and the fear that hung over your head like a sword. Just some time, a little more time.

The days turned into weeks, then almost a whole month, the whole time being wrapped up in your little song and dance. Diluc was evidently feeling dejected, but though you felt more than a little guilty about the whole matter, you still continued stalling.

Finally though things came to a head.

“My dear I understand if you don’t want to move in, but please just tell me!” Diluc burst out, voice dripping with frustration. “I understand if this is going too fast, I understand if you’re overwhelmed, I understand if you realize you’re not ready. But you must tell me, you must tell me what you’re thinking or else I’ll never be able to put this at rest.”

“It’s not that.” You assured him, shaking your head violently.

“Then what is it?” Your reply stuck in your mouth at his question. Why had it come to this? Conflicting emotions rose inside you, but all of them pointed towards one thing. You needed to tell him the truth. You needed to, or else this was going to turn into one of the stupidest rows you’d ever participated in.

“I… I’m afraid of the dark.” You replied softly, voice petering out to be no more than a whisper. Immediately the look of exasperation on Diluc’s face was replaced by one of concern.

“My dear?”

“I’m afraid of the dark,” you replied, this time with more force, “I’m afraid of the dark and I’m really afraid of the Winery after dark. So that’s why I’ve been putting it off. Not because I don’t want to move in, not because I think this is going too fast, but because the Winery makes me uncomfortable after dark. It’s so creaky and open and old and while that might be charming in the daytime, at night I feel like someone’s watching me.” You hugged yourself slightly, the image placed vividly in your mind. Yes, you did feel like you were being watched. Everywhere you turned you were surrounded by the eyes of those who were long gone, and it frightened you, how terribly it frightened you.

Diluc closed the distance between the two of you, wrapping you in his embrace. You reciprocated immediately, inhaling deeply, comforted by his presence.

“I’m sorry my dear, I didn’t know. If I had I’d have never proposed it.”

“You couldn’t’ve known,” your voice was slightly muffled by his jacket, “besides, I didn’t want to tell you. Because I knew you couldn’t do anything about it.” Lifting your head up you gazed at Diluc, who cupped your face with his hand.

“You don’t have to move in my dear.” Diluc’s voice was soft but firm, there was nothing but sympathy and encouragement in it. You smiled softly, leaning into the palm of his hand.

“But I want to. That’s the problem Diluc, I desperately want to move in. And yet I don’t know what to do. I can’t have you hanging around me each night. You’re the Darknight Hero. I cannot expect you to give that up for me. Even if you said you would I wouldn’t let you. I know how much it matters to you.”

There was a pause before Diluc spoke again. “Then let me suggest this. We see ways that we might accommodate. Perhaps a night lamp or some such thing. Or perhaps I need to pay more attention to the structure of the Winery. We’ll see what we can do together, and if nothing can be solved then we’ll find another way. Is that alright, my dear?”

“That sounds lovely.” You replied, finally smiling in earnest. What did you do to deserve such a human in your life? It felt like too much sometimes. You were experiencing such happiness as you seldom had before, not to such a degree. And you cherished it with all your heart.

It was the evening. You two were getting ready for the night, you preparing to go home, Diluc preparing for the task ahead of him.

“You spoil me terribly, you know.” You said, planting a quick kiss on Diluc’s cheek. Diluc smiled slightly mischievously, leaning down to give you a proper kiss.

“I don’t spoil you.” He finally replied, expression softening to one of fondness. “And if there was anyone in the world worth spoiling it’s you. I love you my dear, I’d do anything for you.”

“And I for you.” Your reply was soft, you yourself overcome by the love you felt.

It’d be alright in the end. If you knew anything, you knew that. It’d be alright. Because you’d have the one you loved most in the world with you every step.

[honeyju]

home run; lee minho

The four times you try to ask Lee Minho to the winter formal, and the one time he asks you. 

genres: fluff, friends to lovers au, high school au, sports au (baseball player minho!!)

word count: 3.8k

a/n: merry christmas!! this is a christmas collab that i’m doing with my friend alice @jjacob​ in which we write for each other’s ult biases! (mine is juyeon, so if you’re interested in the boyz, i recommend reading her story here, especially since our storylines are a bit connected!) i had a lot of fun learning more about minho during the writing process, and i hope this story represents him well <333

TRY ONE: KEEP IT SIMPLE. 

If there’s anyone in the world who knows Lee Minho better than you do, it’s Lee Juyeon. 

The two of them have been joined by the hip for as long as you can remember, and if Minho is the relentless tease, spirited and carefree, Juyeon is the gentle thinker, all sweet smiles and wise words. So that’s how you end up frantically dialing his number at nearly one in the morning, too panicked to consider the possibility of him being asleep. You wait with bated breath as the phone rings once, twice, three times before Juyeon picks up the phone, his breathy laugh greeting you instantly. 

“I was waiting for this.”

Juyeon’s words cause you to let out a small noise of surprise, and his chuckle sounds in your ear, a little choppy and distant-sounding due to the poor connection, but bright nevertheless.

“What do you mean you were waiting for this?”

“Silly girl,” Juyeon says, and you can tell he’s grinning despite not being able to see him. “Don’t think I didn’t see you look at him when they announced the dance this morning.”

Your face turns red as you recall the mention of the winter formal during the school announcements and the way your head had immediately turned to Minho’s. You were certain that no one else had noticed the longing upon your face when you looked towards your close friend, but hearing Juyeon now leaves you unsure. 

“Was I that obvious?” You groan, burying your face in your hands out of embarrassment. 

“I wouldn’t worry that much, it wasn’t too apparent,” Juyeon assures you, and yet the spark of doubt in your mind still lingers. 

“You think he knows?” You question as you run your fingers through your hair. 

“That you like him? I don’t think he’d get that from just one glance.” Perhaps he’s right, for you know that Juyeon is just naturally more perceptive than others, and the things he picks up on don’t tend to be the same as what others notice. 

“I hope you’re right. This isn’t how I wanted him to know,” you groan.

“Oh? So you’re planning on telling him? That’s why you called, right?” You know Juyeon’s teasing you by the tone of his voice, and you resist the temptation to whine at him. 

“Help me ask Minho to the dance, Juyeon,” you plead, trying to let every ounce of your desperation show in your tone, praying that his response will be yes. There’s a pause, and you find yourself holding your breath in anticipation as you await his next words.  

“Well, I can’t exactly ask him for you,” he starts, “but I’ll try to give you some advice.”

“Thank you, Juyeon,” you breathe in relief, switching the call to speaker mode so you can peel it away from your cheek.

“Don’t mention it. First things first, though . . .”

Juyeon trails off without an explanation, and you understand why a few moments later when you catch a flicker of light erupting from your phone out of the corner of your eye. When you lift it up a little higher in your hands, you see that Juyeon has turned his camera on, his face just slightly too close to the camera and his smile filling the screen. You rush to turn yours on as well, switching on a lamp so your face can be seen in the near darkness of the room. After an exchange of waves, Juyeon clears his throat, and even through the blurry quality you catch the blaze in his eyes that suggests he’s gotten idea.

“Y/N, Minho’s at your place right now, isn’t he?” Juyeon asks, and there’s something about his tone that strikes you as a bit too bold for your liking. 

“Well, yeah,” you answer hesitantly, “but I think he’s asleep right now.”

“How about you just ask him whenever he’s awake?” Juyeon suggests, and you raise your eyebrows incredulously as you watch him shrug his shoulders like he’s just told you to do the easiest thing in the world.

“Are you insane?” You shriek, immediately slapping a hand over your mouth when you realize how loud you’ve gotten. Juyeon only laughs, his eyes morphing into crescents and his bunny-like smile widening. “You think I should just ask him like that, no preparations or anything?”

“Trust me, Y/N. It’s nice to make things special, but I think that Minho will appreciate your honest confession more than anything else.” Juyeon’s advice is laced with sincerity, and you don’t need to look at his face in the camera to know that he wants the best for you. 

“I’m blaming you if things go wrong, Lee Juyeon,” you sigh reluctantly. “But I suppose there’s not really any other way to do it.”

“Give it a try,” he encourages. “I think he’ll like it.”

“Thanks, Juyeon. For picking up so late and for the advice,” you tell him genuinely, and he smiles. 

“Anytime, Y/N.”

With that, the two of you hang up, and your head automatically drops to the table to rest in between your arms.

“Just ask him whenever he’s awake,” you mutter to yourself, “How am I supposed to do that? Oh, good morning Minho, breakfast is over there, and by the way, I was wondering if you wanted to go to the winter formal with me?” 

The words sound stupid no matter how you say them, and you can’t stop yourself from the feeling of hopelessness that strikes you as you trudge back to the bed where you find Minho laying peacefully on his side. You smile, tilting your head as you watch him for a moment until he suddenly turns over so he’s lying on his back, blinking repeatedly until his eyes focus on you.

“You’re back?” His words are hoarse and followed by a yawn, which you laugh at softly. 

“Sorry, Minho, did I keep you up?” 

Minho says nothing and instead pats the space beside him on the bed, to which you oblige, instantly climbing in to lay next to him. He inches closer to you, resting his head next to your shoulder and quietly snuggling into your side. Trying to ignore the way your heart has sped up in response to his figure latching onto yours, you recall Juyeon’s words from before, realizing that he’s awake right now, and perhaps you have a chance. 

“Minho?” Your voice comes out in a whisper, and you don’t dare to look at him out of fear for your heart. 

“Hmm?” Minho’s response is sleepy, slightly muffled from your shoulder but unbelievably soft. 

“Are you by any chance going with someone to the winter formal?” You ask hesitantly, squeezing your eyes shut out of embarrassment. Minho makes a small noise of disagreement, and you can feel his head shaking against your side as if in extra confirmation.

A relieved sigh falls from your lips, but your next words get stuck in your throat when you come to the realization of just how scary it is to confess. You can’t stop the swarm of worries that hit you, overcome by the question of whether he doesn’t see you as anything more than a friend, and if asking him to the dance will jeopardize your relationship with him. You know that you can’t hold your feelings in forever, though, and you think of Juyeon’s kind motivation when you say your next words.

“D’you maybe wanna go to the formal together?”

There’s a heavy silence, your question lingering in the air unanswered, and your heart sinks in your chest at the lack of response. 

“Minho?” You try again quietly. Dread overtakes you as you guess that perhaps his silence is a form of his rejection, and you can’t help but wonder how you’re going to get yourself out of this one. When you turn on your side to face him, however, you find that he’s already fallen back asleep, light snores emitting from his parted mouth. A small smile creeps up your face as you unconsciously lift your hand to stroke his hair, mindlessly dragging your fingers through the silky strands. He leans into your touch, eyes still closed as he mumbles meaningless words out of fatigue and shifts so he’s closer to you.

Maybe tomorrow, you think to yourself, resting your head on the top of his and letting your eyes fall shut as sleep overtakes you.

TRY TWO: MAKE IT SPECIAL.

Your heart pounds as you tug the door open to the café, peeking inside to find the area mostly empty save for a handful of students at the far end. You thank the heavens for appearing just on time, the familiar sight instantly soothing your nerves. You set the large plastic bag you’d brought along with you on one of the tables, laughing a little as you begin to empty it of its contents one by one. 

“Look at you, Y/N,” you mumble to yourself, “bringing this food and getting all dressed up for a man.” 

The last item in the bag makes you smile, despite yourself, and you pull out the small box of chocolates that you had bought in the morning, setting it down to complete the collection. You marvel at the assortment of treats you’d gotten for him, shaking your head as you sit down to try and calm yourself from the slight tension of it all. Glancing up to check the time in one of the clocks hung up on the wall, you realize with jittery anticipation that he’ll be arriving soon. 

Five minutes pass, and he’s nowhere to be seen. 

You think nothing of it until another ten minutes pass, and you begin to wonder what’s holding him up, trying not to let the feeling of unease get to you as you assure yourself that he might just be running a bit late. Your foot begins to tap quietly against the tiled floor, an anxious habit of yours you’d never managed to quite get rid of. 

Thirty minutes pass, and you pull your phone out from your side pocket, unlocking it to stare at his contact in part hesitation and part concern.

Should I call him?

You weigh out your options, wondering if you’ll sound too demanding if you call to ask if something’s wrong. However, your phone appears to solve the problem for you, the shrill sound of its ringing interrupting you from your thoughts. You jump at the sudden noise, but accept the call instantly upon seeing the caller ID. 

“I was just about to call. Is everything okay?” You ask, and your eyes widen in worry at the sound of Minho panting on the other end.

“Y/N,” he breathes, “I—I’m sorry. Coach is keeping us in an extra hour, and—”

“Slow down, Minho,” you urge, “first catch your breath.”

He hums in agreement, and your face falls when you process his words, realizing the true reason he called. Although you know he’s not the one to blame, you can’t help the feeling of disappointment that creeps up inside of you as you glance down at the chocolates and favorite foods of his sitting on the table. 

“You’re saying you can’t make it today, right?” The words come out softer than you mean for them to, and Minho sighs regretfully. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. You know we have that big game coming up tomorrow, and—look, if you want, I can leave practice.” His voice is gentle, apologetic, and tears sting your eyes upon hearing how willing he is to risk getting kicked from the team for you. 

“No, you can’t,” you shake your head frantically. “I’m not letting you suffer the consequences of that for something this small. Go have fun, okay? We do this regularly anyways, we can just meet up next time.”

You hear a rustle on his end, followed by the voices of his teammates calling out for him. “Are you sure?” Minho asks, a twinge of concern in his tone. 

“I’m sure! Now go, they’re calling you,” you encourage, trying to sound as cheerful as you can to convince him. 

It works, to your relief, for Minho’s next words are bright. “You’re a lifesaver, Y/N,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice before he ends the call. 

There’s a moment of silence as you look at the goodies once more, before your eyes land upon the box of chocolates, and you pry the lid open to find them already beginning to melt. Reminding yourself that you won’t be seeing him today anyways, and that there’s no use wasting a perfectly good box of chocolates, you pop one of them in your mouth. The corners of your lips tug upwards at the savory taste, and you let out a deep exhale as you remember that you’re not out of ideas just yet. 

“More for me, I guess,” you mutter, trying not to lose hope. “On to try three!”

TRY THREE: GO ALL OUT. 

The sign leaning against your legs serves as a constant reminder of just how whipped you are for Minho, and at times it amazes even you just how far you’re willing to go for him. Making sure no one else can see it, you take yet another glimpse at the cardboard sign you spent the entirety of last night making, lifting it enough for it to rest in your lap. You stare at the bolded words drawn on the surface in capital letters, surrounded by small designs and stickers in a variety of colors. 

I might strike out asking, but will you go to the winter formal with me?

An embarrassed laugh bubbles out of your throat and you find yourself yet again bewildered by the sheer cheesiness of it all. You can’t bring yourself to raise it, however, telling yourself that tensions are too high right now and that you’ll show him later when there’s no potential of the sign distracting him. You set it back down at your feet, and you look past the sea of people to search for Minho in the group of players on the baseball field. 

Murmurs of “the score is so close,” “we need a home run to win,” and “we’re gonna lose, aren’t we?” echo around you in the stadium, and your mind immediately flashes back to Minho’s words from before the game. 

“If I win, you have to do any one thing that I want for me.” 

You had teased him and asked him what he’d do if he lost, but Minho had only shrugged nonchalantly, telling you that he’d do anything you wanted if that was the case. 

Looking down at him on the field now, you watch as he readies himself at the batter’s box, and despite the near-impossible chance of him securing the team a win, something about the blaze in his eyes tells you that he won’t be losing today. Just before the pitcher can pitch the ball, he looks up towards the stands, his eyes scanning the crowd to find you. When he does, he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t mouth anything, but somehow through his gaze, you already know exactly what he wants to tell you: he’s going to win. 

The pitcher steps forward, raising his leg and leaning back with the ball before he throws it with a single fluid motion. The ball spirals forward towards Minho with immense speed, and you watch breathlessly as he positions himself to hit it. He swings the bat, and a gasp leaves your mouth.

What happens next is a blur, and by the time you can process what’s happening, Minho has already tossed the bat and reached base one. You squint your eyes as you search for the ball, managing to glimpse it right before it falls outside the gates of the field. You cover your mouth with your hands in shock as you look back down to Minho just in time to watch his foot touch the second base. 

“He hit it all the way out!” Shouts and exclamations of surprise reverberate around you as the audience rises to its feet eagerly. 

Base three. 

All attempts to stop him are useless at this point, you realize, for Minho’s already making his way to the final base, his features hardened by determination. Just before he reaches the end, Minho finds you in the crowd once more. His gaze remains locked on yours as he flashes you a small grin, his foot touching the home plate at the exact same moment. 

Home run. 

For an instant, there’s nothing but dead silence, and then the entire audience erupts into applause, the noise turning almost unbearable as it rings in your ears. The edge of the sign scratches against your leg as you stand up, and you’re reminded of the dance as you impulsively grab hold of the cardboard, getting on top of your seat as you prepare to raise it. When you inspect the field one last time to ensure Minho is still there, you find that he’s lost in the arms of his teammates, all shouting excitedly and clapping him on the back among cheers.

Your shoulders slump as you realize that there’s no way he’ll be able to see your sign with all the ruckus, and you dejectedly get down from your seat, making your way off the stands and exiting the stadium. 

As you trudge home, you wonder if you’ll even be able to face him without blushing, let alone ask him to the formal. 

TRY FOUR: NO INTERRUPTIONS. 

The next time you see Minho, you’re stepping through the open door of Chan’s house, and you’re met with the sight of the entire team laughing recklessly, joking around and shoving each other playfully over a set of pizza boxes. Small decorations and streamers are hung up in colors of red and green to highlight the approach of Christmas, and something about the setting makes you feel delightfully warm. It’s somehow exactly the kind of celebration you imagined, and when you look towards the team once again, you find Minho in the center of all the chatter, just as you always do. 

When he catches you standing before them, he freezes, and his gaze morphs into something different, almost hungry, as his eyes slowly trail over your figure from top to bottom. The intensity of his stare seems to burn into you, and you watch in quiet anticipation as he separates himself from the group to walk up to you. 

There are no excuses now, you think. No interruptions, no distractions, no reasons to prevent you from asking him. 

“‘Come to the celebration party at Chan’s place, and I’ll tell you there,’” you greet, quoting his text from hours before, and Minho smiles sheepishly. “Well, I’m here now. What is it that you want?”

“You look beautiful,” is his response, and your next words are forgotten as your face goes up in flames. 

“I’m glad you think so. It took me a long time to find this dress,” you mumble, staring down at your feet to hide your blush. 

“I’m not talking about the dress,” Minho says, and your eyes widen as you look back up to search his face. He turns away before you can look too hard, rubbing the back of his neck as his cheeks turn red. “Anyways,” he mumbles, avoiding your eyes, “you told me you wanted to ask me something too, right?”

“You first,” you blurt, still too flustered from his compliment to think straight. Your words, however, are drowned out by a particularly loud screech emitting from the other end of the room, followed by the booming laughter of the rest of the team. Furrowing his brows, Minho cups his ear and leans closer to you, prompting you to repeat the words in his ear. Another series of laughs sounds from the room, and Minho takes your hands in his to bring you to a more empty section of the house. 

“Finally,” he breathes when the two of you are safe from disturbances. “I swear, they can get so loud sometimes.”

You giggle at his words. “Tell me what you want for winning,” you urge him, trying to do whatever you can to delay your turn. Minho’s face darkens, and something about the way his gaze turns intense makes your heart race.

“Look up,” he whispers, his hands tightening around yours. You obey, your eyes drifting up as you find yourself staring at what you think could be one of the most beautiful bunches of mistletoe you’ve ever seen, hanging from the ceiling and twinkling under the soft light. You gulp upon realizing its implications, your tongue swiping over your lips out of nervous habit. You look back down to face him, and you find that his expression reflects the same desire he displayed before, his eyes sparkling as the corners of his lips turn up. 

“We can’t break tradition, now can we?” He teases, leaning forward just enough for your noses to touch, his lips barely ghosting over yours so you can feel the warmth of his breath upon your face. When you close your eyes, your own lips parting, he closes the distance. 

Time seems to freeze in place as his soft lips meet yours, his hands dropping to your waist as his lips move slowly against yours. There’s a passion in his kiss that you’re reciprocating before you even know it, and a slight smile shapes his lips that you can’t help but mirror. He’s the first to pull away, resting his forehead on yours for a moment as he catches his breath. 

“You have to do any one thing that I want right?” He breathes. “Go to the winter formal with me.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, your eyes flying open in shock and immediately finding his as you soften at the sincerity in his face. 

“You mean that?” You murmur, and a smirk graces Minho’s features, one you’ve become so familiar with after countless years of him teasing you. 

“’Course I do. That’s what you were gonna ask me too, right?” He raises his eyebrows knowingly. You blink for a moment, tilting your head slightly as you process his words. Then it hits you. 

"Juyeon told me I wasn’t being obvious!” You grumble, pouting in dismay. 

“Well,” Minho laughs, “I only had a small idea that you liked me. What confirmed it was that sign you made—I might strike out asking, right? I may have gotten a peek at it when you left to get water before the game.”

“I thought you said you wouldn’t look! That’s not fair,” you whine, hitting his shoulder playfully. 

“It’s the reason I’m asking you now though, isn’t it? So tell me, Y/N. Will you go to the dance with me?” Minho smiles softly, the light in his eyes is akin to that of the mistletoe berries gleaming above you. You can’t stop your mouth from pulling into a wide grin, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pull him closer to you, letting your lips answer his question as they meet his once more. 

LEE MINHO; TRY ONE: SUCCESS!

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 6

Helmetless + Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary: Three things happen at once. 

He pulls his glove off and tosses it aside. You forget how to breathe.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,114

Warnings: Swearing, backstory, angsty angst, fluffy fluff, mutual pining finally acknowledged, overuse of italics, don’t mess with Din’s Cupid or he’ll kill you

Author Note: Important please read this! Ok, so if you’ve been following along you’ll know I had no outline for this originally. And well, that’s come back to bite me. I had to make an edit to Part 2, a small one but still the very beginning will look marginally different if you’ve read it before today’s date Dec. 16, 2020. Basically, I took away the implication that You don’t know exactly how You became a Cupid. So, yeah. Hopefully moving forward I’ll be better handling all this *awkward shuffling*. As always, thank you for all the support and I appreciate every one of you so much ❤

Links to Part 1 and Part 5 and Part 7

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

Silence floods the ship in the wake of your admission, stifling and charged with enough tension you fear breathing too loud will set off a chain reaction with disastrous results. It makes the hair on the back of your neck prickle, every instinct inside of you screaming to teleport away, if only so you no longer have to see Din stubbornly trying and failing to hide his internal turmoil behind a mask of indifference. 

When he opens his mouth, you tense but the question slices through you all the same. “When?”

You hesitate, making a face. “Din, we really don’t have time for this. Let’s just move on—”

Without warning, the hand holding your elbow slides to your wrist and twists, turning your palm up for inspection. Din stares at the blank expanse of skin, then slowly his gaze lifts, and he releases you as if you’ve poisoned him.

“You’ve never lied to me before, angel. Did you honestly think now was the best time to start?” he asks, and something breaks inside of you when he looks at you as if you’ve become a total stranger to him.

But before any pain can begin to sink in, anger overcomes you as his assumption registers.

“I’m not lying, you asshole,” you say sharply, feeling a faint pulse of petty satisfaction when you notice the subtle way his stance shifts defensively, betraying his surprise at your boldness. Resting your hands on your hips, you fix him with your fiercest glare. “For all that you are a powerful ancient being of the universe, you are also the biggest, most ignorant fool I’ve ever met. You have absolutely no idea how Cupids become Cupids, do you?”

You don’t offer him even a second to respond, too wound up and fueled by the overwhelming desire to make him get it. To make him understand you’re not purposefully trying to hurt him. If it were up to you, you’d make sure he never felt any kind of pain. But that would require having a choice and that is the one thing the universe did not grant you as a Cupid.

“Every Cupid was once a mortal with a soulmate,” you explain, choosing each word with careful precision while watching his face to make sure his focus never wavers. “And every one of us was rejected by them. When we die, we’re transformed into Cupids, losing our soulmate markings in the process.” When you feel your bottom lip begin to wobble, you pause to take a steadying breath. “You asked me before, what is the true purpose of a Cupid? It’s to help others find the kind of love we never experienced for ourselves.”

Din stands there in front of you, still staring passively, and you’re scared for a moment your words have made no difference, but then his jaw clenches so tightly you hear his teeth grinding. 

“You were rejected?” he growls, vicious and guttural, the sound of a feral beast.

He pivots, fist colliding with the wall with enough force it dents the metal beneath his knuckles. You flinch at the noise, shocked at the abuse he’s inflicted upon his beloved ship. Every bone in his hand should have shattered upon impact, but because Death is immune to such damage he merely turns back to you, breathing raggedly and eyes blackened with rage.

“Tell me his name.”

You’ve already begun shaking your head before you say, “So you can go hunt him down? Hell no. Trust me, it doesn’t matter.”

Instead of pacifying him, this only infuriates him further. “How can you say that? That bastard broke your heart when he was supposed to cherish you, protect you, love you above all else.”

“You think I don’t know that?” you ask peevishly, letting your temper get the better of you. Sparing a moment to mentally count to ten, you quietly reveal, “I can say it doesn’t matter because I don’t even remember who he was. There is no point sending you to kill someone who’s face I can’t pick out of a crowd.”

The sudden way Din’s whole body slumps in response to the news, like a puppet whose strings have been cut, expression scrunched and dumbfounded, would have made you laugh if the circumstances were entirely different. Being what they are, you can only meet his stare evenly, silently assuring him you’re not joking in the slightest.

“I don’t understand,” Din says at last, looking like he wants to approach but is unsure you’ll welcome his nearness so he keeps his distance. “You never told me you had memory loss before. What happened to you?”

You shrug helplessly. “I don’t know. For as long as I’ve been a Cupid, all my memories from my mortal life have dark spots, like something poked holes in them.”

Din glances away as he mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like ‘Or someone’ but before you can comment, his tone rises to its usual volume as he says, “Is this why you collect all those old newspapers? To try to help you remember?”

You recall with embarrassment him having previously commented on the pile in your living room. That moment feels like years ago, the two of you sitting in your apartment and Din asking...if Cupids were on the list of potential soulmates. Was that his way of asking if you were on the list? Surely not. He’s much cleverer than that.

...Isn’t he?

“I just,” you shake your head, refocusing on the current conversation. “I keep thinking maybe I’ll find something that fills in the gaps. I don’t like this pit in my stomach, this feeling that I’ve forgotten something important.” You huff a self-deprecating chuckle. “Other than my soulmate, I mean.”

He offers you a smile, small and lopsided, likely meant to be consoling, but you see right through it. You see his pain in the tightness around his mouth, in the way his fingers flex at his sides like it’s taking all his self-control not to reach out to you. Your confession has hurt him. Badly. It’s the kind of hurt no amount of bacta can heal.

The silence returns, different than the one usually experienced during hyperspace in that it wishes to be broken, for someone to say something, anything. You would grant its wish except your thoughts are a jumbled mess inside your head. Deep down, there is a part of you which knows there is nothing you can say that will fix this—this being the chasm forming between you and Din, widening with every passing second spent staring wordlessly at each other. 

Would telling him sooner have prevented this heartbreak? Probably. But looking back, you can’t think of an opportune moment. You had never thought your crush could be requited—not just because you were already matched, but also because it had always seemed so ridiculous, imagining the great and powerful Death feeling anything remotely close to affection for an unimportant, low-ranking Cupid. 

“Angel,” Din begins after a few minutes, his voice anchoring you back in the present. He’s staring over your shoulder, brow furrowed thoughtfully and you can practically hear the gears turning inside his head. “Earlier, you said you didn’t tell your boss I was your client. Why didn’t you?”

“I-I don’t know,” you stutter, before an unexpected wave of boldness comes over you. Digging your finger into the armor on his chest, you remind him, “You came to me first, remember? Not them. So, I figured you didn’t want them knowing.”

“I couldn’t care less who knows,” Din deadpans.

“Oh.” You blink, hand falling back along your side, because what else can you say.

“You want to know what I think?” Oh Maker, he’s stepping closer until there’s only a foot of space between you two. His voice is a low, raspy murmur, sending your heartbeat into overdrive. “I think you didn’t want them knowing because you like being the only angel who does.”

You start to squirm, fight or flight instincts at total war with each other. His theory isn’t too far from the truth, making it all the worse hearing it out loud because it practically oozes possessiveness which is exactly what you’d feared.

“Before you pull away from me again,” Din continues, knowing you and your mind too damn well. “I want you to listen when I say nothing that you’ve told me changes how I feel about you.”

“Din—” you try, only for your voice to crack.

Then three things happen at once.

He pulls his glove off and tosses it aside. You forget how to breathe.

“I’ve been alone my entire existence and I kept telling myself that was how the universe intended it to be. That I couldn’t love anyone because I kill everything I touch.” A smile pulls at his lips when he looks down at his bare hand and a note of awe slips into his voice. “Then you came along, beautiful and clumsy and unafraid to call me out for being an ass. I started looking forward to each full moon because it meant I got to see you and admire every new detail about your life you chose to share with me. And then when this appeared,” he nods towards the soulmate marking, gleaming faintly beneath the overhead lighting, “all I could think of was you.”

You feel your throat becoming thick as you blink back tears, inhaling sharply through your nose. “Why didn’t you say anything at the train station? Why would you let me try to set you up with matches if you liked me that way?”

Din grimaces, abashed. “Because after you said there weren’t any Cupids on your list, I realized you didn’t know I liked you. I convinced myself I had to show you how I felt, instead of tell you. Although,” he holds up a finger, backtracking, “I actually almost did confess, on our way to Sorgan, but you stopped me. And that just further convinced me actions spoke louder than words. I knew none of the people you found me could ever compare with you, so I thought once you saw each unsuccessful connection, you’d realize the only hand I want to hold is yours.”

“Din, it can’t be me.” Your protest is weak, on the verge of caving in, forcing you to try another angle. “I can’t have two soulmates.”

He inhales a breath so sharp and unexpected, it startles your poor heart into skipping a beat.

Din looks at you like you’ve gifted him all the stars in the galaxy, brown eyes blown wide with hope. “Angel, do you mean it? That you consider me—”

“Of course, you idiot.” You attempt a laugh, but it comes out sounding broken and forced. “As Death, as Din, as whoever you want to be, I’ll always consider you. But...what if what happened on Sorgan happens to us? What if the universe doesn’t favor us?”

“I just want to be yours.” Din extends his hand towards you. “And if that means breaking the universe’s rules, then fuck it. We’ll make up our own. Together.”

Time seems to stand still, like you’ve entered a realm separate from the rest of the universe where you’re able to forget you have a complicated past, filled with holes and a soulmate who rejected you. Here it’s just you, Din, and his offer to love you unconditionally. Here you have a choice.

And it’s the easiest one you’ve ever made.

You slowly lift up your hand to hover in front of his, fingers trembling as they uncurl.

“Together,” you whisper.

And then your hands are moving to meet one another, closer and closer until his fingertips brush yours, sending a spark of warmth through your nervous system. Oh, Maker, you had described what you imagined a soulmate connection was like, but you had no idea this is the true experience. It’s like a sunrise dissolving midnight skies, lighting up your surroundings with breathtaking vibrancy. You can’t fathom how you survived all this time being in his presence without feeling his touch.

“Dank farrik,” he mutters hoarsely, sounding just as overwhelmed and awestruck as you feel.

You open your mouth, but instead of words a whimper of agony escapes instead. That lovely warmth spreading from your linked hands has started to boil, white-hot and furious. It’s as if all your internal parts have caught fire and are slowly withering to ash—your organs, your bones, even your kriffing blood. 

Your body crumples and Din cries out your name, but you don’t get to hear him say it, unconscious before your head collides with the floor.

Tag List:  @leilei-draws​, @theocatkov​, @becauseican2, @vintagesaph​, @stardust-and-starlight​, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @adrieunor​, @remmyswritings​, @gallowsjoker​, @rhiannon-russo​, @randomness501​, @eleine-t1d​, @nicotinebirds, @sylphene​, @softly-sad​, @maytheglitter​, @melobee, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @eleinemk, @captain-jebi, @aerynwrites, @promiscuoussatan

[ragingbookdragon]

To Fear Or Not To Fear, That Is The Question PT. 1

Lantern!Reader x Lanternfamily

Word Count: 2.3K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst, Mentions of PTSD

Author's Note: I wrote this story a while ago, but this ask made me post it! I'll get part two out sometime later! Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

She gripped the arm rests of her chair until her knuckles started to whiten, her heart pounded in her chest, so harshly against her rib cage that it began to hurt. The flashes spread across her mind, and she squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to breathe as the mantra, “You’re home” flowed through her lips, though it didn’t quell the violent shaking in her body.

Their faces darted through her mind, expressions frozen in mixtures of shock, pain, and fear. She could feel herself slipping back there, could feel the heat of the sun beating down on her body, the sliding of her limbs in the burning desert sand, the splattering of hot blood from her teammates wounds, the smell of gunmetal and oil, of sweat—it was all coming back again, so fast, and all she could do was hold on and force herself to ground.

She had no idea what had set off the attack, but she did know that she was able to turn the lights off and sit down before it immobilized her with tremors. Clenching her hands into fists, she forced herself to bend over, pressing her forehead to her knees.

You’re home, (Y/N). You’re not in Afghanistan anymore. You’re alive. You’re here. The memories are there, but you’re not. Relax. Focus. Keep it together. Don’t give in. Hold—

An explosion rocked the side of the house, sending her to the floor and she gasped, automatically covering her head, waiting for the impact of mortar rounds and grenades. Another explosion sounded, followed by a bellow, and (Y/N) lifted her head up, crawling on al fours to the window. Gripping the window ledge, she pulled herself up and peeked over, eyes widening at the sight of two glowing figures throwing punches back and forth.

One of them was covered in a green glow, the other an angry red. She held the ledge and watched as the red one socked the other in the chest and they hit the ground, holding out their arms to protect themselves. The attacker lifted their hands and to her shock, a crimson block appeared above them. In an instant, she knew who the enemy was.

Her eyes darted to the lock box sitting on the shelf and forcing herself to get up, she ran to it, yanking it open and grabbing the contents. She sprinted to the door and shoved the clip into the 357 Magnum, pulling back the slide before flipping the safety off. (Y/N) slung the door open and ran down the front steps, kneeling in the grass as she raised the gun and closed one eye, taking sight of the target before her. With an intake of breath, she unloaded all nine rounds into the back of the glowing red person.

She wasn’t sure if it took them down because they started spurting more of the acid like blood, but it was the opening that the person below them needed, because the next thing (Y/N) knew, a flash of green sent the bellowing red enemy sky-high and out of sight.

Her arms suddenly felt weak, and she let them go slack, the Magnum landing by her hip. A groan sounded from the person in green and she stumbled to her feet, hurrying on weak knees to them.

They were laying in the grass, and when she got there, her jaw went slack when she saw their legs blown off a few feet away. (Y/N) went to her knees, already yanking her sweatshirt off, starting to tie tourniquets around the amputated appendages.

“Hey,” she breathed when they groaned. “You’re gonna be okay. I’m here to help.”

They opened their eyes and she blinked at how bright and green they were. “It is too late.”

(Y/N) shook her head. “No. I’ll help you.” She swallowed the urge to vomit as the blue blood started soaking through her sweatshirt and on her hands. “You’re going to be okay.”

They reached out and grabbed her arm. “You must take my place.”

“I—what?” she asked, tying the knots tighter. “You need to get to a hospital. You’re bleeding out.”

“I have been bleeding out.” They laughed, blood splattering their chin. “Atrocitus’ minion has chased me long through the stars.”

“Atrocitus? Who?” (Y/N) shook her head. “Look, we need to get you help.”

“Your human healers cannot help me. I am at my end.” They squeezed her wrist. “You must take my place amongst the Green Lanterns. If the ring is left alone, someone could corrupt it.”

(Y/N) stared at them. “Rings? What?”

They raised their hand free hand and she saw a black band, a glowing green symbol in the center—she recognized the symbol; the Green Lantern in the Justice League wore it. Slipping it off, they handed it to her.

“Find the Four Corpsmen in this city. They will help you.”

(Y/N) shook her head. “No. Right now, I need to help you.” Her eyes hardened. “I don’t know anything about alien physiology, but I will save you.”

Their eyes narrowed fondly, and they whispered, “I can see the fear you hold in your heart…that you could not save the ones you were supposed to protect from your enemies.” They swallowed, coughing harshly. “You can overcome this fear.” Holding out the ring again, they said, “The ring will guide you to the Four Corpsmen.”

She took the ring, flipping it over in her hand, and she caught sight of a dim green inscription. Squinting, (Y/N) read, “In brightest day, in blackest night, no evil shall escape my sight. Let those who worship evil's might, beware my power—Green Lantern's light.”

The green ring suddenly moved on its own, sliding onto her finger and an otherworldly voice commanded, (Y/N) (L/N) of Earth. You have the ability to overcome great fear. Welcome to the Green Lantern Corps.

A warmth washed over her body, and she watched in shock as her clothes were replaced with a skintight black and green suit, but it didn’t feel restricting. It felt comfortable—it made her feel safe. A mask flashed across her eyes and when she looked down at the alien, their eyes had glazed over, mouth frozen in a smile.

(Y/N) felt her heart tighten and she breathed out, reaching over, gently closing their eyes. She stood from the body and wandered behind the house, returning with a shovel. It didn’t take long to dig out the hole and she was surprised that she wasn’t tired from the exertion as she lowered the body into it, before covering them with dirt and standing over the grave, her hands clasped together.

Wherever you’ve ended up, friend…I hope you’re at peace. She opened her eyes, a firm look in them. I’ll continue your mission.

She looked down at the ring on her finger, then up at the bright city in the distance. Gotta go into the city. (Y/N) turned and walked into the house, climbing the steps to her bedroom. Glancing down at the ring, she said, “Okay, ring. You gotta power down so I can change my clothes.”

Nothing happened and her brows furrowed.

“Power down?” Again nothing, and a bolt of irritation struck a nerve, and she clenched her fist, commanding, “Power down. Now.” The suit on her body faded and she sighed in relief. “Okay, so commands work.” (Y/N) moved into the shower. “Clean up first, then get dressed and leave.”

***

She kept to the back alleys of the city, which, given that it was nine o’clock, most of them were empty, still, she didn’t want to find trouble before she found the…what had the alien called them? Four Corpsmen?

(Y/N) shook er head and looked down at the ring on her finger. It hadn’t lit up again since she told it to stop. “Ring! Uh…show me where the Four Corpsmen are!”

The symbol in the middle lit up and a started making flashes, and in a panic, she shouted, “Do it inconspicuously!” A small green line slide along the ground and she smiled. “That’s better.”

Following it, she sprinted through the back streets until she came to a bar; she rolled her eyes. “Of course, they’re in a bar. What men.”

(Y/N) followed the line into the bar and when it disappeared, she blinked, looking around for whoever could fit the description of supposed Corpsmen. There were a few guys at the bar, a few playing pool, some at booths and tables…she had no idea who could possibly be who she was looking for.

Someone brushed past her with a small, “Excuse me, sweetheart.” Another dart of green appeared in her vision, and she saw it attached to his back as he flowed through the bar and to the back where a trio of young men were sitting. They cheered when he got back and he smiled, passing out four beers.

“Them?” she murmured to herself and before she could move, someone had her around the waist.

“Hey, babe. Lookin’ for company?”

(Y/N)’s face pinched, and she shrugged away from them. “No thanks. I’m not here for fun.”

“Now don’t be like that.” The guy reached for her and before he knew it, he found himself being slammed face first into a wooden post, collapsing down onto his back, out cold.

She happened to look up just as his friends were coming over from the pool table and she rolled her eyes, already lifting her hands, ready for a fight. Two came at her and she swiped a beer mug from a server, sloshing the beer in one’s face before she sidestepped, slamming the glass into the second’s head. (Y/N) flowed into the next step and threw her elbow out into the first’s throat. They both fell to the ground, and she tossed the handle aside, but before she could do anything, someone had her around the waist, hauling her up then slamming her down to the ground.

(Y/N) grunted as she lost her bearings, and somewhere over the noise and music of the bar, she heard more shouting, but she paid it no mind, scrambling to her feet when one of them shoved her backwards.

Someone caught her, shoving her back up, shouting, “Get your head in the game, lady! We got some assholes to lay flat!” Four men passed her, already throwing punches and spurred on, she threw herself back in the fight.

Within seconds, the bar fight was over, and she panted as the four guys leaned against the bar, all laughing, each picking up a beer mug to drink from. (Y/N) felt a bit worn and someone laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, you good?”

She looked up at the man who had short cropped, ginger hair and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Glancing at the others, she said, “Thanks for the assist.”

One of them held out a hand. “You fight like a soldier.”

“Former special ops. Navy corpsman.” She replied, eyeing the dog tags around his neck as she shook his hand firmly. “Sergeant.”

“John,” he corrected with a smile, then gestured to his friends. “That’s Guy, Kyle, and Hal.”

(Y/N) shook their hands too. “Name’s (Y/N).”

One of them, Kyle, handed her a beer. “So, what brought you to the bar besides the bar-fight?”

She gazed into the liquid. “Uh…I’m looking for someone…multiple people actually.” Her eyes fell on them again. “But in the haze of the fight, I lost sight of whoever it was.”

Hal sent her a wink. “We’d be glad to help out a beautiful lady like yourself.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, but since she didn’t have a better option, she murmured, “I’m looking for some men who are known as the ‘Four Corpsmen’.”

Immediately the mood shifted as their friendly faces dropped, all solemn as they looked at her. “Where did you hear that name?” John questioned and she met his gaze.

“I’m taking from the seriousness that you’re who I’m looking for then.” (Y/N) held out her hand. “The alien said you could help me with this…I don’t know how to work it.”

They all glanced down at her hand, well, the ring on her hand, eyes widening at the sight; Hal grabbed her wrist. “Where did you get this?”

“The alien. It was being attacked by something in red and I…” she looked away. “I shot it, but the alien, it…I couldn’t save it. Its wounds were too severe.” (Y/N) yanked her hand back, clenching it into a fist. “It told me to take its place amongst the Green Lanterns. To overcome my fear.” Swallowing thickly, she admitted, “I don’t how to do that…but it said you four could help me with it.”

She could tell the were mulling it over, quite possibly communicating with one another by the way they seemed to shoot each other looks, and she cracked a smile at how Guy cocked a brow and then gestured to her whilst looking at Kyle like he was an idiot.

But (Y/N) grew tired of their mental conversation and yanked the beer mug from Guy’s hand, ignoring his shout, and she down it before slamming it on the bar. “Look, I don’t what I’m supposed to do with this, and if I’m left to my own devices, I’ll probably do more damage than I would help people.” She stared them down. “Even if you don’t want to, help me so I don’t get innocent people killed.”

For a moment, they all looked at each other, then Guy reached over and pulled her around the neck, smirking at them. “I think she’s going to do great things with us, boys.”

Kyle winced. “Guy, maybe don’t put your arm around the woman who was former special forces?”

(Y/N) huffed a laugh. “Don’t worry…I can handle whatever you throw at me.”

[anonymousfiction211]

I will make you a deal

Summary:

You are training to become an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., but are secretly afraid to go on missions. Loki who moves into the Avenger tower notices and makes you a deal.

Warning:

Swearing, smut, dub con

Word count:

2.193 words

You were training to become an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. who would also be a member of the Avengers. It still felt a little surreal to be living in the Avenger Towers. The training, while being extremely hard and tough, went well. You were not ready to go on missions yet, but you did not mind. The thought of going out there, after hearing some of the stories from the other Avengers, terrified you. You did not tell the rest of the team, because you were scared that they will replace you with another agent. You were determined to get over your fear eventually. You just did not know how.

It did not help when Thor brought his brother to join the team last month. Loki was supposed to pay his debt for attacking the city of New York by joining the Avengers. How Fury ever agreed to this arrangement was beyond you. You were not with the team when the attacked happened, but heard all the stories, which fuelled your fear. You remembered when Thor introduced his brother Loki to you. ‘I’m not your brother’ was the only thing he said. And it broke your heart a little when you saw the sad expression on Thor’s face. So, when Thor told you that Loki’s room would be across yours, you wanted to protest but did not have the heart to make the situation worse for him. While you were scared by Loki’s presence because of him being well.. him, you also thought he was quite handsome. He had a certain grace and finesse. And especially his eye colour and intense gaze have had you in a trance the first time he looked at you. It was not something you would have expected from a god who tried to take over the world.

When you broke away from his eyes and slightly inappropriate thoughts you decided the best thing to do was to avoid him as much as you could. You had to overcome one fear at the time. If someone found out you feared him, they might conclude that you would be scared to go on missions too and kick you out. So, for the next weeks you snuck out your room as quietly as possible and made sure you went to bed after Loki was already his room. To prevent you accidently bumping into him in the hall. It was not that difficult, because he was in his own room most of the time. If you were forced to be in the same room as him, for a team meeting, you could not help but to admire his figure. You thought about what a man, a god actually, like that could do to you. But after staring too long he always looked at you with such an intense gaze that your fear won and made you freeze in place or leave as fast as you could. You never exchanged a word with him, and it was not your intention to do that any time soon.

When you could not sleep thinking how to be less afraid, you decided to get up and get a glass of water. When you were almost in the kitchen you heard something break. With caution you looked inside to see what was happening. You saw Loki who is back was to you fixing the broken glass with his magic. Without turning around, you heard his deep voice: ‘And wat are you doing out of bed at this hour of the night?’ You felt a shiver run down your spine. He turned around and looked at you with his green eyes that almost seem to glow in the dark. Your thoughts were racing inside your head and you realized you soon had to answer something. ‘I- I was just getting a glass of water w-when I heard something break. But I am not thirsty anymore so, g-good night!’ Leaving as fast as possible was the best thing to do in this situation, you thought.

But after leaving the kitchen Loki grabbed your arm and spun you around. You were with you back against the walls of the hall, he had your hands pinned above your head with one hand. Your wanted was to scream, but before you could make a sound another large hand was covering your mouth. Loki looked at you and you froze. ‘Are you really that afraid of everything or just me?’. You saw the smirk on his face. He removed his hand from your mouth. Your heart started racing and you were trying to think of a way out of this situation. You were terrified but being so close to the handsome god did turn you on a little. You felt Loki’s breath against your ear, and he whispered: ‘Why would you want to get out of this situation when I can help you with both of your problems?’ You just stared at him, your mind had gone blank and you did not know what to say.

The thought hit you. He had been reading your mind this entire time and knew all about your fears. Worse, also all your inappropriate thoughts about him. ‘How long have you been reading my mind?’ You almost did not recognize your own voice, it sounded weak. ‘From the moment we met, and you decided it was best to avoid me’. You tried to push him off so you could run to your room and lock the door, but he had you pinned down hard. Then you heard him chuckle: ‘Such a scared girl. Don’t you want to know how I can help you, little one?’ With no way out you decided it was better to ask. ‘How?’ He crashed his lips against yours and you froze again, you did not expect him to kiss you. When you felt his tongue wanting to enter your mouth you let him. You felt him press his body closer to yours and a moan escaped from your mouth. This spurred him on as he began to kiss you more dominantly. He left your lips and kissed your neck and occasionally biting hard enough to leave a mark.

Your head was racing, and you began to breath faster. You could not hold back some of the moans and heard Loki chuckle at the sounds you made because of him. He then let go of your hands and lifted you up, so your legs were around his waist and his hands were supporting your butt. This time desire won, and you started to kiss him back while he was carrying you to his room. He closed the door behind him and threw you on his bed. You gasped as Loki ripped your shirt, unclipped your bra and took one of your already hardened nipples in his mouth. His tongue felt like nothing you ever felt before. You felt yourself grow wetter. Loki began to move down slowly, while his tongue traced your body and left goosebumps. He pulled down your pyjama bottoms and hummed in approval when he saw your thong. He undid that with his teeth, while his intense gaze never left your eyes. The eye contact alone could have had you cum right then and there.

He started to kiss your inner thighs as moans escaped your mouth. You felt his breath against your pussy. He did not do a thing and it was driving you crazy. You saw the smirk on his face, he had you where he wanted. ‘Still scared or are you going to let me help you with both your fears and desire?’ You then realized that this was Loki. The guy who could kill you with a snap of his finger. Your mind went blank. You could not quite remember how you got here. When you did not answer you felt his tongue slide against your fold, and you whimpered. ‘Answer me!’ he growled. The tone in his voice was so dominant it sends a strange sensation right to your core. ‘P- please Loki’ was all you could manage to say. He then circled his tongue around your clit. ‘Mm.. so scared, yet so wet for me and I’ve barely touched you’ he chuckled. You felt a finger slide inside hitting just the right spot. You arched your back while Loki’s tongue kept circling your clit. He was relentless in his attack and added another finger. He was pumping in and out of you faster and you felt your orgasm building up. ‘You want to cum, don’t you?’ All you could say was ‘Yes, Loki, oh my god yes!’. There was nothing you wanted more right now. But right before you could he stopped and pulled his fingers away. You whimpered at the empty feeling inside of you.

‘Stop your whimpering, I’m not done with you yet’ he said. He stood next to the bed and you sat up. You looked at him, confused why he would stop. Just before you could ask him that he spoke. ‘You’re not just scared of me, you’re also scared to go on missions and fear that if the rest find out, they will kick you off the team’. You wanted to deny it, but he was the god of lies and reading your mind for the past month. All you did was nod. He grinned ‘Good, I will make you a deal’. He stroked your hair, shimmered his clothes away so he was standing naked before you. You were waiting for him to speak again while gazing at his body. But he did not say anything. He grabbed your hair and forced your head to be in front of his cock. ‘But first be a good girl for me and suck it’. You immediately obeyed and took his cock as far in your mouth as you could. You began to bop your head up and down, slowly. You heard Loki beginning to moan. Feeling a little bolder you decided to go a little faster and tease him by sliding your tongue over his tip. He growled and pushed his cock so far down your throat you almost chocked. ‘You like that, don’t you? You like the feeling of my cock against the back of your throat. And you take it so well’. All you could do is moan while you pussy was aching to be filled by him.

He pushed you back on the bed. ‘Spread your legs’. His voice was so low that it was almost animalistic. He crawled on top of you and without warning pushed his cock inside of you. ‘Hmm.. so tight’ he hummed. He did not give you much time to adjust to his length. As he started pumping almost immediately. The sensation of being filled up by Loki was incredible. He truly was a god you thought. He moved his head closer to yours and whispered ‘Now the deal.. I can protect you on missions. Even if I am not on them, if you are ever in danger, I will teleport to you and kill everyone around you so fast, you would miss it if you blinked your eyes’ he grunted. He was pumping in and out of you faster and faster. You felt your orgasm build while you were trying to concentrate on what he said. ‘W- what do y-you want in return?’ your voice trembled. ‘In return you will give yourself to me whenever I please, to do whatever I want with you. Like let me let me fuck you until I am satisfied, and by your reaction this night I can guarantee that you will like it’. He started pumping faster hitting all the right spots. Your mind was racing, and you could not think straight. ‘Now if you will accept, I will let you cum, little one, so do we have a deal?’. Your need to cum was so high you answered immediately ‘Yes, yes Loki I’ll accept’. He put his thumb on your clit drawing circles which send you over the edge. Your orgasm hit you and your legs begin to shake. With a few more pumps you heard Loki growl and felt him cum inside of you.

He laid on top of you for a moment, before pulling out. You moaned at the feeling and heard him chuckle. He grabbed a towel and cleaned himself and you. You sat on his bed, watching him put on his underwear, thinking how you should act now. You did not fear him as much as you did earlier but did not want to anger him either. He must have read your mind again, because right when you decided to grab what was left of your clothes and leave, he shimmered your underwear and one of his shirts and gave them to you. He went to lay in his bed and once you were dressed, he pulled you in a tight embrace. ‘Now get some sleep little one, you’re mine now and I’ll protect what’s mine’. You strangely felt safe in his arms and cuddled him more closely while he kissed the top of your head. Sleep came easily that night.

Click here for chapter 2

[blindingdutchy]

lamentation | ONE

{peter parker x fem!reader AU}

based on All the Bright Places by Jennifer Niven

SERIES MASTERLIST

word count: 2,725

warnings: thoughts of suicide! unsuccessful attempt! depression, grief, angst

18+!!! minors stay away! TRIGGER WARNING.

Nothing made sense anymore. The world was upside down, all messed up, and you were hanging by a thread. How could it have been a year since the incident? How could you be okay with being older than her now?

Grief is something that nobody expects to be easy, but you never expected it to be quite so hard. Every day people promised that tomorrow would be better, but it never was. It never got better. It never got easier. You were fairly sure it never would, because if it still hurt this bad after thirteen months, twenty-two days, and six hours, how could one more hour, day, month, or year bring any sort of respite?

It couldn't. It wouldn't. Sometimes you wondered if this was your punishment. Maybe you felt this way because you deserved to, because you had earned a life time of suffering when you let her die. Sure, big sisters are supposed to look out for little sisters, but at the cost of their life? That couldn't go unpunished.

Every day was the same since she died. Wake up, wish you hadn't, feel everything and nothing all at once, and go to sleep. It was a strange and horrible existence; people weren't meant to feel so many big things at the same time. The guilt, the shame, the anguish, the longing... it consumed every part of you like a black hole until you were left with nothing. Until you felt nothing, thought nothing, you were nothing.

They were all the same until today. It was your birthday, your eighteenth birthday to be exact, and for once that ever present black hole in your chest was gone. Instead of waking up to the constant weight of all those heavy emotions on your shoulders, you woke up with the familiar numb emptiness you felt at the end of every day.

There weren't words to describe how much that terrified you. Every single day since your sister died, you'd wished endlessly for those painful feelings to go away. You'd begged for relief, for peace, and you'd taken solace in the hollow of the evenings. Waking up already vacant and listless did not bring the comfort you dreamed of.

You were officially older than her. You'd finally reached that first milestone she'd never reach, and the thought of it punched a hole in your chest so large you wondered if there was anything left of you at all. It wasn't fair--how could you celebrate the big ticket birthday she'd yearned for so anxiously? You couldn't.

You didn't deserve to celebrate. You didn't deserve to achieve all those goals she never had the chance to. You didn't deserve to live through all the years, experiences, moments that she never would. You didn't deserve to live.

It was all your fault, after all. It was your fault that she was there that day, it was your fault she lingered behind, and it was your fault she died. If you'd just gone shopping like she'd asked instead of insisting on going to the park, she'd still be here. If you hadn't frozen like an idiot, she'd still be here.

With a mind swimming with all the reasons everything would be better if you just weren't around anymore, you snuck out of your bedroom window. It was finally dark outside; you'd managed to make it through the day for your parents. But, with the day over, you couldn't hold on any longer.

The letter you'd written for your parents to find was tucked under your pillow, and with one final glance around the bedroom you used to share with your sister, you made peace with your life. This was for the best. Everyone would be so much better off if it had been you instead of her, and now you were going to make things right. It wouldn't bring her back, but at least you wouldn't be there as a reminder of what should have been.

As ready as you were, you didn't really have a plan. There were a million possibilities as far as how you could execute your desires, but none of them seemed right. It had to be fast, though, and something that didn't require much work. If it took effort, conscious thought and execution, you wouldn't follow through. You'd learned that the last time.

That was how you ended up on the roof of one of the more swanky apartment complexes. It was a tall building, taller than those surrounding it, and a fall from that height would surely do the trick. Strangely, the moment your feet dangled over the ledge with your bottom firmly planted in place, your mind went blank.

All those thoughts of the stress and pain you caused went silent, and you finally could breathe. With a deep exhale, your body relaxed for the first time since the incident; you didn't feel any of the bad things anymore. There was no pain, no grief, no sadness, nor were there any of those empty or numb feelings. You just felt peace.

The peace was short lived as you looked down to the street far below, though. This was it, this was the end, and suddenly your mind was racing with all the what if's. What if it could get better? What if it didn't work? What if this made everything worse? What if this was a mistake?

What if, what if, what if, "Whatever, just shut up." you gasped, clutching your head in your hands to keep it from spinning. "Get it together, (Y/N), this is the right thing to do."

Pulling out the letter you'd written to your sister, you opened it and cried for the first time in months. You'd long ago stopped crying; despite how many horrible things you'd been feeling, the tears just never came. But reading the words you'd written to her, thinking of her as you came to terms with your decision to join her, it was as if a metaphorical flood gate opened.

Thirteen months, twenty-two days, and seven hours. You couldn't wait any longer. You couldn't do it, do anything, anymore; you just needed to rest. The clock was running out, and your time was up.

"You can do this." you whispered, "For once in your life, do something right."

With shaky hands and weak knees, you scrambled up onto your feet and stood atop the ledge. You weren't that tall, but somehow the new perspective made the drop look so much longer and your stomach heaved with fright. Sobbing, you stumbled back to your knees and threw up the little bit of cake you'd forced yourself to eat earlier that evening.

You wiped the sick from your mouth and stood up again, this time with panting gasps for air and knees that shook so violently you feared you might fall before you were ready to. Maybe that would have been for the best, though, because the longer you looked down the more doubts you had. No one would ever know it was an accident if that were the case.

A sudden noise behind you startled you, and your heart seized in your chest as your knees gave out and you tipped dangerously over the edge. You didn't fall, though, because a sticky substance latched around your arm and dragged you back over until you were laying on the roof. For a moment you just laid there, staring up at the empty sky where the stars were all drowned out by the city lights, and you tried hard to figure out what had just happened.

"Are you okay? Oh--oh my god, are you hurt? What were you thinking? Shit, oh shit, Karen, what do I do?" A masked head leaned over your face, blocking the starless sky from your view, and all the feelings came flooding back like a tsunami. "Um, can you hear me?"

One feeling stood out against the current, and your body tensed as you were overcome with seething, white hot rage. An anger like you'd never felt before; you were furious. How dare he stop you? How dare he ruin everything?

It was Spiderman, the friendly neighborhood hero who'd been gallivanting around Queens for some time now, and that made you even angrier. Spiderman was one of them, one of the ridiculous superheroes who'd killed your sister without a single care in the world. He was one of them, and he'd just stopped you from finally fixing everything they had ruined.

You stood so fast you nearly threw up again, but you swallowed the bile down and hissed, "You should have let me fall. I wanted to fall."

Spiderman pulled you back with a firm grip on the web that was still wrapped around your arm, stopping you in your tracks as you stomped back toward the ledge. "Hey, stop! I'm not going to let you do this." he shouted, but his voice was more nervous than commanding.

"Get out of here, Spiderman. You're not saving the day by stopping me, okay?" you snapped fiercely. No matter how hard you pulled against the webbing holding you back, you couldn't break free. It didn't budge when you pulled at it, clawed at it, or even pried it. "What the hell is this shit?"

He pulled you in further, and you stumbled over your feet as you tried to keep your distance. "I'm not going to let you do this. You don't need to do this." he repeated, this time more firmly.

For a moment you were silent, studying the masked hero as he stared back at you with a hidden face. "You don't even know me. Why do you care?" you tried again, but your voice was softer, more fragile. The numbness was creeping back in again and you knew that you wouldn't be able to follow through anymore, even if he let you go.

"I do know you, (Y/N), and you don't need to do this. We can--I can help you. Let me help you."

Your eyebrows furrowed as you narrowed your eyes suspiciously. How the hell did he know your name? Did you know him? Even though your mind was running wild with unanswered questions, you seethed, "You can't help me. Unless you can go back in time and kill me instead of my sister, you can't fucking help me."

The eyes of his mask widened at your shout, and he stammered, "I--no, I can't do that, but I can help you. I can be your friend, you... you can talk to me. I know what it's like to lose someone, (Y/N)."

You scoffed, "Do you know what it's like to watch a family member die right in front of you? Do you know what it's like to see someone get killed, and it's all your fault? You can't help me!"

"I do, actually." he stated.

Your entire body slumped at the revelation, the anger leaving you as the numbness finally took over completely. It was silent for a few long moments as you cried noiselessly, the only sounds being those of your still frantic breathing and the bustling traffic far below. "If you know, then you know why I have to do it." you whimpered.

Spiderman dropped the web keeping you in place as you collapsed onto your butt, your legs too weak to support you anymore from exhaustion. "I know why you think you have to, but I also know why you're wrong. This isn't the answer." he responded, tentatively taking a few steps closer to you.

You didn't respond, looking up at him as you wiped your cheeks and nose weakly, and he took the chance to continue, "I'm going to make you a deal. I'm going to take my mask off and show you who I am. If you still want to do it after, fine, but at least you'll know who will be blaming themselves afterwards."

True to his word, his fingers creeped under the edge of his mask as he stared you down intensely. Your breath faltered as you watched, completely still as you realized he was serious. Spiderman was going to reveal his identity to you, and you knew that once he did it was game over. As much as you felt the world would be better off without you, you couldn't bare the thought of leaving someone behind to feel the way that you did.

So, stubbornly, you squeezed your eyes shut tightly and refused to look. "I'll wait here all night if I have to. Besides, I could just say my name, you know. I'm pretty sure you know me too."

"Don't." you pleaded.

"Open your eyes, (Y/N). You want this, right? Knowing who I am shouldn't change anything, then." he urged, his tone soft despite his harsh words. "It's Peter. Peter Parker. I've sat behind you in at least two classes since freshman year, and I've lent you pencils before. You always give them back, and you always let Flash copy your homework even though he's a total dick to you. You--"

Your eyes snapped open as you cut him off, "Stop! Just because you know things about me doesn't mean you know me."

It really was Peter Parker, and the numbness faded a little to make room for anxiety and guilt. You knew Peter had lost too much in his life; his parents and his uncle, too. Could you add your name to that list? Could you jump when you knew he'd blame himself for the rest of his life?

You couldn't. You wouldn't. Peter's brown eyes were filled with worry and sadness as he studied you, his mask clutched tightly in his fist. When you remained silent, he sat down and spoke quietly, "I know enough to know the world would suck without you. I could be your friend, you know, you don't have to do this alone."

"I don't need friends." you huffed.

Peter frowned briefly, before rubbing his nose and hiding it again. "I did just tell you my biggest secret, (Y/N), so I think we kind of have to be friends now." he finally rebutted, a faint twinge of humor in his voice, "You might not want friends, but you do need one. I'll be your friend."

You stared back at Peter blankly, uncaring as he shifted uncomfortably in your silence. Why did he want to be your friend? He already got what he wanted. You weren't going to go through with your plan, and he wouldn't have to live with guilt like you did every day. So, why was he still here?

Part of you wanted to believe he really cared, because he seemed to pay a lot of attention to you to notice the little things you did, but you knew better. He didn't really care about you. He only cared that you knew his secret and now you had leverage over him. You could out him if you wanted to, and that meant he had to keep tabs on you.

"I don't need friends." you repeated stiffly, "Don't worry, Parker. Your secret is safe with me."

His eyes widened as he stammered, "That's not--"

"Save it, Peter. Can you please just get this shit off of me so I can go home? I want to go to bed." you cut him off with a deep sigh, gesturing to the web that was still hanging from your arm.

He looked like he wanted to argue, to further plead his case, but after a few moments he visibly wilted and gave in. "It'll dissolve in two hours. I'll... I'll see you at school, (Y/N)."

It was a statement, but it sounded more like a question. You knew he was still hesitant to let you out of his sight, fearful that you'd go back on your word and follow through, and this was his way of confirming you wouldn't do just that. Achingly stretching up off the ground, you muttered, "Yeah. Bye, Peter."

Peter tugged his mask back over his head, but didn't make any move to leave until you were opening the door that lead back into the building. As you stepped through the threshold he gave a forlorn wave, before jumping over the ledge and swinging away. The door shut behind you as the weight of the world settled on your shoulders once again. You'd failed, like always.

[the-bau-quinjet]

Memories, Pt. III

Summary: You were captured by Hydra. What did they do to your memories?

Warnings: mentions of violence, panic attacks, torture

Word Count: 1968

a/n: Part 3!! Honestly, I feel like this series could've been a one shot, but I wasn't feeling inspired to write the whole thing at once and I knew I would finish it if I posted part of it because I would stress about people wanting the next part 🙃

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

3 Years Ago

Bucky could only be described as a ball of nerves when you walked into the room. It felt like his brain shut off.

He had spent the last thirty minutes practicing what he was going to say to you when you arrived for your weekly movie night. Basically, it boiled down to six simple words: I'm falling in love with you.

Despite Steve, and a slightly out of character Sam, ensuring him that you felt the same, he was still skeptical. Why would you choose him when you could get any guy, or girl for that matter?

As he nervously stared at you, he could see your lips moving, but no sound could be registered above his own internal panic.

He didn't fully comprehend you had even said anything until he registered the panic on your face. Suddenly, his own thoughts disappeared.

"Oh no. No, no, no. I'm so sorry. You obviously don't feel the same. I'm just gonna go! I'll, uh, I'll see you later." You tried running out of the room, but Bucky was too quick.

"Huh? I don't feel what?" He was completely stunned that he had gotten so worked up in his own nerves that he missed what you said. He was supposed to be trained in observing people. He should be able to multitask, especially when one task is completely within his own mind.

"Bucky, really it's okay. I'll be fine. We'll be fine! I just, I need a minute... or a few to-"

"Y/N, doll, I'm so sorry." He sputtered as tears pooled in your eyes. What the hell did he miss? "I didn't hear a word you said."

"You... what? Why not?" The tears continued to pool as you did your best to hold them back for when you were alone in your room.

Bucky took a deep breath before he began talking faster than you'd ever heard him speak before.

"I'm falling in love with you." You honestly stopped breathing for a minute. "I was trying to think of how to tell you. That's why I didn't hear you. Steve convinced me that I should tell you. Sam a little bit too honestly. They kept saying it wasn't healthy to keep it all bottled up. And, I mean, I just-"

You cut him off, pressing your lips to his eagerly. The kiss was all teeth and tongue, soft smiles growing into wholeheartedly happy grins.

"You're an idiot." You chuckled, pressing your forehead to his. "That's what I said when you so graciously ignored me."

"I- You what?" Bucky's jaw dropped.

"I'm falling in love with you too."

-

Present

Waking up in Bucky's arms felt right. There was no other way to put it. His presence had a soothing effect unparalleled by anything you had ever felt before.

His face was relaxed, a slight smile pulling on his lips. You brushed his hair out of his face, slowly rubbing your thumb along his cheek and down his jaw.

A familiar ball of guilt grew in your stomach as you cuddled closer to his body. It may have only been two days since you woke up, but this group of heroes quickly found a place in your heart, almost like they'd been there all along. Lying to them about your past was gnawing on your heart, slowly breaking down your resolve.

You carefully removed yourself from his embrace, softly closing the door to your bedroom as you left. You knew he would want to talk about last night, and you just weren't ready for that. Not yet.

You wandered the halls until, three dead ends later, you eventually made it to the kitchen. Much to your relief, the common area was empty. You had just enough time to calm your internal panic about what food you could eat when Natasha walked in.

"I'm about to make a smoothie, want one?" She offered, much to your delight.

"Yeah, that'd be great. Thank you." The level of sincerity of your words caught her mildly off guard, not that you or anyone would have been able to tell.

"So, how are you feeling?" She questioned lightly, hiding her skepticism at your odd behavior. Call her a pessimist, but 3 months with Hydra and you're relatively fine? It doesn't quite add up.

"Oh, um, okay I guess. I feel like my brain is all jumbled." You settled for half truths again, knowing she would easily spot a total lie.

"Right, well that's to be expected after a few months with Hydra. You said they kept you in that room the whole time?" She kept her tone light, trying to empathize with everything you went through.

"Um, yeah... I-" You grabbed your head as memories flashed through your mind. You were in a room, it looked like a lab but it was dark and grimy. People surrounded you, but you couldn't understand what they were saying.

They poked and prodded at you, forcing you to lay down as they strapped you into a metal chair.

"Y/N? Are you okay?" She rushed to you, smoothie forgotten in the blender as you screamed, remembering the pain you felt in that chair. You didn't even realize you were muttering under your breath.

Her voice drew you back to the present. You abruptly stood up, backing into a corner as you glanced around the room.

Slowly, the past two days came back to you. Flashes of memories, old and new mixed together in your head, all out of order.

You were in the Avengers compound.

Your were buried in rubble, people screaming and crying surrounded you.

They thought you were one of them.

You were being arrested, locked in the room where Bucky found you.

They didn't know the truth.

"Y/N?" Nat questioned again, slowly moving toward you.

"I'm fine. I, uh, I'm okay." You took deep breaths, slowly calming all your nerves.

"What happened?" She pulled you out of the corner, leading you back to the island for your smoothie.

"I, um, I was back there." You stuttered, trying to make sense of the image. "But, it was different. A different room." You were too shaken to think about what could happen from sharing this new development.

"A different room? What did it look like?" Nat was eager to hear more. If you didn't remember everything from your three months there, maybe they did something to you, and that's why you've been acting weird.

"It looked, it looked like a basement. It was dark and grimy." You left out the part about the lab equipment. "I, um, I think I'm gonna go on a walk. Just to clear my head a little bit."

You left before she could respond, smoothie untouched on the counter.

-

When you returned from the walk, you could hear Nat talking to Steve and Wanda in the kitchen.

"I'm telling you, they must have done something to her. She's not acting right." Nat was firm, steadfast in her belief that Hydra wouldn't have kept you there without trying something.

You're heart rate spiked at her words, nervousness overcoming your body. They were going to figure it out.

"Nat, she just came back from three months of torture. Of course she's gonna act a bit different. She needs time to adjust back to her regular life." Wanda replied, figuring Nat was just a little too paranoid.

"You didn't see her in the kitchen! Wan, she freaked out. She looked terrified. She was muttering something about experiments. What if they messed with her head?" Nat rebuked, still trying to convince them.

"I mean, I guess it's possible?" Steve stated, clearly unconvinced but open to the idea. "She hasn't been acting that off though, not when you take into account what Wanda said."

"Steve, she hasn't told Bucky she loves him. That would've been the first thing out of her mouth if she was herself." Nat settled him with a glare, knowing her point was made.

You panicked. If they figured out you weren't who they thought you were, what would they do to you? Before you registered your own movements, you were running.

You made a break for the elevator, twisting and turning through the halls in what you hoped was the right direction.

Just as you turned the last corner, you ran right into something- no someone.

"Where's the fi-" Tony started to joke, but after taking in your expression stopped mid-sentence. "Whoa, what's wrong?"

"Nothing!" You replied far too quickly, trying to squeeze past him.

"Y/N, wait." He grabbed your arm, preventing you from getting away. "Talk to me, kid. What's going on up there?" He gestured to your head.

"Really, it's nothing." You wiped a tear from your face, knowing it wasn't helping your case. "I have to go."

"Nope. I'm not gonna let you bottle this all up. You're not going anywhere until you tell me what's wrong. Come on." He pulled you into the elevator, leading you to the lab.

Once he had you sat on the window seat in the back, he asked again. "Tell me what's got you this upset. You know we're all here for you, right?"

You couldn't take it anymore. They were all being so nice, and you were lying right to their faces.

"I'm not who you think I am." You barely whispered the words, overcome with a mixture of guilt and self pity. "I don't belong here." You refused to make eye contact until Tony lifted your head to meet his eye.

"Y/N, you probably belong here more than anyone else, except maybe Steve, but he doesn't count." He tried to lighten the mood, earning an attempt at a small smile from you.

"I really don't. I'm not a hero. I'm a murderer." You cried as you finally admitted the truth. The relief you felt was instantly weighed down by fear at what would happen next.

"What are you talking about?" Tony was clearly confused by your admission. "Y/N, your not a murderer."

"I'm not an Avenger." You moved your hands to cover your face, knowing you weren't strong enough to admit this to his face. "I wasn't in that room for three months, it was three years!" You missed the way his brow furrowed deeper in confusion as you continued to rant. "i don't know why you all think I'm some hero. Nobody was supposed to rescue me. I was in prison. I'm a killer."

You took a shaky breath, as you kept going. "I was in that room because I made a bomb that killed 38 people. I- It was accident, I swear! I didn't mean to hurt anyone... I- I think?" You started questioning yourself as memories flickered through your head.

"It's all fuzzy." You desperately shook your head, trying to make everything clear.

"It wasn't supposed to blow up! It was supposed to absorb energy and convert it into power, but it didn't work." You were nearly sobbing, picturing the people you injured and killed. "It exploded and people died! It was all my fault."

Your breathing quickened again, anxiety at admitting what you had done mixed with the guilt of lying to the only people who have ever shown you kindness causing the panic to set in again.

"Hey, hey! Look at me. You're okay. We're gonna fix this. You're not a killer, Y/N." Tony held your face in his hands, speaking firmly but not without compassion.

"Yes, I am!" You shouted at him, causing him to stumble backwards. "I don't know why you all think I'm someone I'm not, but it's true. I don't-" Your breath caught in your throat as you tried to get the words out.

You managed a mumbled, "I don't belong here." Before you passed out.

Permanent taglist:

@averyhotchner @jesuswasnotawhiteman

Memories tagist:

@otherglowcloud @dontxfearxthereaper