#the final straw of saying fuck them all i’ll be better and smarter and i’ll show them

[eddienashtonn]

there’s something so autistic about the riddler as a character. the frustration of having no one really see you, the need to prove yourself smarter and cleverer than all of them to make up for the fact that you could never fit in with them, the compulsive joy of forcing others to play by your rules, the obsession with truth and answers, the comfort of having your own space where you’re in control, the fear of inadequacy, the isolation and loneliness, the need to be acknowledged in your reality to be satisfied but never able to reach that satisfaction.

[wayward-dreamer]

Strength To Let It Show

Pairing: Dean x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3,758

Warnings: Angst. Swearing, some sexual talk/thoughts about the other person, drinking, unrequited feelings, denial of feelings. (I think that’s it!)

Summary: Y/N and Charlie have a girls’ night in, where Y/N gets drunk and can’t stop complimenting Dean. On their brothers’ night out to the bar, Dean gets drunk and can’t stop complimenting Y/N. They’ve never acknowledged their feelings to each other, and Charlie and Sam are sick of it. They devise a plan, giving them enough time for feelings to be revealed. But will Dean and Y/N take the opportunity to tell each other how they feel? Based on this anonymous request: “Dean and reader get drunk, all they do is complement each other but when they’re sober, they deny their obvious feelings.”

Story title comes from “Can’t Fight This Feeling” by REO Speedwagon!

A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this, I enjoy writing a little angst every now and then. Hope you guys enjoy it; please let me know what you think! :)

It wasn’t often that Y/N got to spend some quality girl time with someone. So, when Charlie called, she invited her over to have a girls’ night in a couple of days, while Sam and Dean went out to a bar. She missed Charlie and it would be great to catch up with her.

Dean walked into the kitchen, as he shrugged his jacket on. Y/N stood at the kitchen table and collected ingredients for the margarita’s she planned on making for her and Charlie.

“You sure you don’t wanna come with me and Sammy?” he asked, as he eyed what she was doing.

Y/N smiled, shaking her head. “Positive. Charlie’s going to be here soon with the food, so say your ‘hi’s’ and then out. Okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay. Jeez, so eager to get rid of me. Should’ve known you wanted alone time with Charlie for a reason” he teased.

“Dean!” she squealed, as she reached over and smacked his arm.

Dean grinned as he shook his head. “Just kidding, sweetheart. I know you’ve got a big ol’ crush on me.”

“In your dreams, Winchester” she groaned.

She had no idea how right she was about that. Before Dean could respond, they heard the heavy Bunker door open, squeaking loudly.

“Hola bitches!” they heard Charlie call out.

Dean walked out of the kitchen to go meet Charlie. Y/N didn’t follow behind him straight away, as she thought about what he said. He may have only been teasing her, but he was right. She did have a crush on him. More than a crush; she was in love with him and had been since they first met. She just never mustered up the courage to tell him.

They met on a werewolf case, one that Y/N had been handling alone. She had killed it but not before the son of a bitch had scratched her upper arm, deep. The boys found her and insisted on bringing her back to their motel room to patch her up. One look at Dean’s green eyes and she was done for. As he patched her up, he was gentle, caring, and told her stupid jokes to distract her from the pain.

She hunted alone a couple more times after that, but the boys eventually convinced her to join them. That was now 5 years ago. In that time, she and Sam had become close, like brother and sister. She and Dean had become close too, and while she did consider him her best friend, Dean was a lot more, too.

She loved him, but she couldn’t tell him. It was never going to happen, so why should she embarrass herself by telling him the truth?

Y/N walked out of the kitchen, down the hall and into the war room. Sam and Dean were talking to Charlie. There were bags of take-out on the map table. Charlie noticed her come in and beamed.

“Hey!” she exclaimed as she hugged Y/N tightly.

Y/N grinned as she let go. “How was the drive?”

“Shockingly, not tiring. I think I’m finally getting used to driving all the way out here” Charlie replied, starting to take the boxes out of the bags.

“Glad to hear it” Y/N smiled.

“Alright, we got… nachos, tacos and quesadillas” Charlie said, pointing to the boxes.

Y/N hummed as she smelled everything; she couldn’t wait to dig in.

“Alright, we’re gonna get out of here. Leave you two to swap stories, braid each other’s hair” Dean said, checking his wallet and phone.

“Have fun” Y/N said, simply. She looked at Sam, with a pointed look. “That means you too.”

Sam shook his head, a small smile on his face. “I will, don’t worry.”

“Make good decisions!” Charlie called out as the boys walked up the stairs.

“Always!” Sam called back.

Y/N watched as Dean walked through the doorway. The door closed behind them and Y/N turned to Charlie. Charlie smiled as she watched Y/N looking at Dean. She was so obvious.

“Alright, you take a load off, put your stuff away. I’ll finish making the margarita’s and then we can eat” she said, as she picked up the boxes.

“And after the food, you’re going to tell me everything I know you’re hiding from me” Charlie said, knowingly.

Y/N frowned. “What?”

“Don’t even try to deny how you feel, Y/N. I want all the details” Charlie replied, as she picked up her duffle and walked out of the room.

“Great” Y/N mumbled, shaking her head.

She was going to need more than one pitcher of margaritas.

-x-

Dean and Sam walked into their usual haunt, the bar filled with locals and some college kids. Dean took one look at them and scoffed; maybe he could hustle the Abercrombie wannabes later. Right now, he needed a drink. He walked up to the bar where Donny was working.

“Hey guys. Usual?” Donny asked, wiping down the bar.

Dean shook his head, as he sat down on a bar stool. Beer wasn’t going to cut it tonight. “Whiskey first.”

“Jeez, Dean. Starting with whiskey… something’s up” Donny said, picking up the whiskey and pouring a double.

“Something’s always up, Donny” Dean mumbled, as he picked up the whiskey.

Donny poured Sam a double too and slid it over to him.

The boys clinked their glasses together, but Sam watched on as Dean downed it like a shot. He tapped the glass, signalling to Donny for another. He supposed his brother was starting early.

“What’s the plan, Dean? Get drunk before you start flirting?” Sam laughed, taking a sip. Dean usually paced himself through the night in order to be on his game to flirt, so this was unusual. Even for him.

Dean downed another double. “Nope, no flirting tonight, Sammy. Just… forget it.”

“Dean” Donny said, getting his attention. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d said this is about a woman.”

Dean rolled his eyes. Damn bartenders and their so-called therapy. He looked at Sam, who was smiling into his glass.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this is about Y/N” Sam smiled, knowingly.

Dean nearly choked on his drink. He coughed a few times, the whiskey burning his throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, sure” Sam scoffed. “Dean, come on, man. It’s been 5 years of you being crazy about her, ignoring it with alcohol and hook-ups. You don’t think I can see it?” Sam asked, turning on his stool to face Dean.

Dean shook his head. “Shut up, Sam.”

“Gotta say, I agree with Sam on this one, Dean. You guys have been coming in here for 5 years, and every time she’s here with you, you just strategically tell the guys she’s flirting with to fuck off” Donny chimed in.

“You’re both insane” Dean mumbled. “I’m gonna go hustle.”

Dean got up from the bar and picked up his drink. He walked over to the pool table, ready for a distraction. Booze and pool. It would have to do. It would have to be distracting enough to stop thinking about Y/N. That being said, it was a hard task because she was always on his mind. As much as he tried to deny it, he had been crazy about her since the night they met.

-x-

Y/N polished off the last bite of her quesadilla and sat back. She swirled the margarita around, and tipped her head back, drinking it down. Charlie sat in the same position across from her. They had dinner in the library, spreading the food out across the table.

“That was amazing” Y/N smiled. “Thanks, Charlie.”

Charlie nodded with a content smile on her face. “No problem. Man, I’m stuffed!”

“Me too” Y/N muttered. “But I think we can handle a few more marg’s right?”

Charlie laughed. “Definitely.”

Y/N got up and took the pitcher with her, walking out of the library. Charlie followed her into the kitchen and watched as she started putting stuff in the blender.

“So… I wanna ask you something” Charlie said, as she leaned against the doorway.

Y/N looked at her and smiled. “Shoot.” She poured tequila into the blender.

“How long have you been crushing on Dean?” Charlie asked, without missing a beat.

Y/N turned around, a look of shock and confusion on her face. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on, Y/N. I saw you checking him out as he was leaving. I don’t blame you, the man is gorgeous, even I can see that” Charlie replied, stepping down into the kitchen.

“Charlie…” Y/N shook her head, not knowing what to say.

Y/N turned back to the blender, putting in some more tequila. She needed it if she was going to deal with more questions about Dean.

2 hours later…

Dean was well and truly drunk, which was a hard feat these days. He was sitting at the bar again, having won a couple of games of pool already. The room had emptied slightly, just a few locals left. Dean stared blankly, his eyes not focusing on anything with a smirk on his face.

“S-She’s s-so fucking beautiful” he slurred, thinking about her. “I love her laugh. She’s hilarious, and s-smart, I mean, s-smarter than me for sure but she’s way smarter than you, too.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, she is.”

“And she always smells so good” Dean smiled. “Like fruit. Sometimes apples, but most of the time it’s straw… strawberries.”

Sam and Donny looked at each other, trying not to laugh.

“Man, the things I would do if she gave me a chance” Dean snorted, closing his eyes. “Her ass… I hate it when she goes, but I love to watch her leave.”

Dean slammed his hand down on the bar and chuckled to himself.

“Dean” Sam tried to get his brother’s attention, but Dean wasn’t listening.

“She could do whatever she wanted to me, I wouldn’t care what” Dean smirked, taking another gulp of his drink.

“Okay, I think that’s our cue to leave” Sam huffed a laugh, trying to grab onto Dean’s jacket. Dean swung away from him, frowning. “And… she’s just so nice, right? She never says… bad things about anyone. She’s so awesome. She loves everyone and just wants to help ‘em.”

Dean went to pick up the bottle of whiskey, but Donny swiped it before he could reach it. “You’re officially cut off, man. Should’ve done it a while ago.”

Sam took out some money and handed it over to Donny. It wasn’t enough to cover Dean’s pity party, but Donny knew they’d settle it later.

“I’m-I’m fine” Dean hiccupped.

“Dean, come on” Sam huffed, trying to shift Dean off the bar stool.

“She’s amazing… and I don’t deserve her” Dean sighed, looking down at his empty glass.

“Yeah, okay. We’re really going now” Sam said, practically pushing Dean off the stool. He grabbed his arm and hooked it over his neck, leaning Dean’s weight on himself.

“See you around, Donny” Sam said, staggering away with Dean on him.

“Drive safe, guys” Donny called out.

Sam struggled with Dean as they walked out of the bar and towards the Impala. Dean was swaying, and Sam was trying his hardest not to drop him. They got to the car and Sam leaned Dean against the side, making sure he didn’t fall. He reached into Dean’s pockets, trying to find the keys.

“Don’t you think Y/N’s hair is really shiny? I think it’s really shiny” Dean remarked, as he played with the zip on his jacket. “And it looks really good when it’s down.”

“Sure” Sam agreed, without really listening. He tried Dean’s jeans pocket.

“Sometimes though, She puts it up and she looks like a naughty librarian” Dean smirked. “Makes me wanna bend her over one of the library tables-”

Sam got the keys and quickly opened the car. “Whoa, okay. Sit down.”

He helped Dean into the passenger seat, before going to the driver’s side. As he started the car, he looked over at Dean, who had fallen asleep. He laughed a little to himself, before he pulled out of the parking lot.

-x-

Back at the bunker, the girls had moved to Y/N’s room. She was leaning back against the headboard, a glass in her hand with no salt around the rim. She gave up on salt half an hour ago. Charlie was lying on the end of the bed, propped up on her elbow.

“His arms are so strong. His lips should be a sin” she sighed, dreaming of the hunter she was in love with. “I bet he’s really good with them.”

“They are pretty great” Charlie had to agree. She may have been attracted to women, but she had to admit Dean was good looking.

“His face is just made for sitting on” Y/N smiled and started laughing.

“Wow” Charlie laughed as she looked at Y/N. “You’re so drunk.”

Y/N ignored that, as she stared at the wall. “And his heart… he just cares about everyone so much. He’s the most selfless person I know.”

Charlie nodded and lightly tapped Y/N’s legs in front of her. Y/N looked over at Charlie.

“You should tell him that” Charlie suggested.

Y/N tipped her head back, trying to catch the last drops of margarita in her mouth. She frowned when there was nothing left.

“He smells so good, too” Y/N smiled. “Like leather and… something just so… so Dean.”

“You’re not listening to anything I’m saying, are you?” Charlie asked.

Y/N giggled. “Nope.”

She laid her head back against the wall, as the alcohol started to make her sleepy.

Y/N frowned as she shook her head. “I can’t tell him, Charlie. What… what would he want with me? He can have any girl he wants. He already has. I’m nothing compared to those girls.”

Charlie took a deep breath as she watched Y/N’s face morph into sadness. “Y/N… you’re way better than those girls.”

Y/N closed her eyes, feeling overwhelmed by what she was feeling.

“Alright, you better sleep it off” Charlie said, getting up from bed.

“No!” Y/N yelled and reached for the pitcher, but Charlie took it before she could get to it.

“You’re done, Y/N” Charlie playfully scolded.

She took the glass out of Y/N’s hand and handed her the large one with water in it. “Drink that, it’ll help with the hangover in the morning.”

Y/N gulped the water down and put the glass on the bedside table next to her. She slipped down on the bed, and kicked her feet up, pulling the sheet up to cover herself. Charlie walked to the door and turned to say goodnight, but Y/N was already fast asleep. She smiled and turned off the light in the room, shutting the door and walking down the hallway. She heard footsteps coming from the other end, before she saw Sam carrying a very drunk Dean. They walked into Dean’s room and Sam carefully let him down on the bed. Charlie walked in without a word and took Dean’s shoes off, as Sam covered him. Dean snored softly as he turned onto his stomach and snuggled into the pillow.

Sam and Charlie walked out of Dean’s room after shutting the door and walked down to the kitchen. Charlie put the food into the fridge as Sam grabbed himself some water.

“How was your night?” she asked.

Sam scoffed a laugh. “I think my drunk brother is the answer. How about you?”

Charlie nodded. “Well, pretty much the same. Though, I finally got her to admit her massive crush on Dean.”

“Yeah, there was a quite confession at the bar on his part, too” Sam said, sitting down at the table.

Charlie shook her head as she crossed her arms, leaning against the counter. “I don’t get those two. I think it’s time we intervene.”

Sam nodded, thinking it over. “Maybe we head out for the day tomorrow. Give them enough time to be alone around each other; see if that works.”

“Yeah. They may even get something else out of their system” Charlie smiled.

Sam cringed. He didn’t need to think about that. “Sounds like a plan.”

He walked over to Charlie, offering his hand. She took it and they shook, firmly on it.

The next day saw Dean and Y/N incredibly hungover. She cursed the tequila and swore to never touch it again, and Dean wondered how he could even still get drunk enough to be hungover. Y/N got up before him at 11am, starting on the coffee. She had no appetite just yet and hoped the coffee would help. There was no sign of Charlie or Sam, so she enjoyed the quiet for a while. She rubbed her hands down her face, as she sat down at the table.

A few minutes later, Dean stumbled in, still in his shirt and jeans from last night. He was wearing his robe over the top and his hair was sticking up in different directions. Suffice to say, he looked adorable.

“You look like how I feel” he mumbled; his voice gravelly from sleep. He walked over to the coffee, after one glance at her.

She scoffed as she took a sip. “Trust me, you look just as bad as me.”

Dean sat down across from her, slurping his coffee.

“Any idea where the other two are?” she asked.

Dean nodded. “Sam sent a message; said they were going to Wichita to see some boring French movie.”

“Man. I wish I wasn’t so messed up right now, I could’ve gone with them” Y/N frowned.

Dean looked at her. He hoped she would be fine with just his company today. “Maybe we could have our own movie marathon.”

He may have been drunk last night but remembered what he said to Sam. Maybe he had to take this opportunity of an empty bunker to tell her how he felt.

She smiled, nodding. “Sounds good.”

After they had both recovered as well as they could, the hunger finally kicked in. Deciding to make sandwiches for lunch, they made their way to the kitchen to make them before they started their Indiana Jones marathon. Y/N took out all the necessary toppings, as they started constructing their lunch.

“I guess we’re sticking to soda today” she laughed.

“I guess so” Dean agreed.

“Hey, can you get the mustard out?” she asked, while he was standing at the fridge.

Dean took out the bottle and held it out for her. Without realising it, their fingers touched as she laid her hand over his.

“Sorry” he mumbled as he put the bottle on the counter.

“It’s okay” she smiled softly, as she went back to what she had been doing.

They ate their sandwiches through Raiders of the Lost Ark but got hungry again ten minutes into Temple of Doom. Y/N quickly made some popcorn and brought into the Dean cave in a big bowl. As they watched, they munched on the popcorn, engrossed in their mutual favourite franchise.

Dean looked over at Y/N, smiling as he saw how invested she was, despite having watched these movies so many times. He picked up a piece of popcorn, flicking it at her cheek. She looked over at him as he looked away, trying not to smirk. She shook her head and looked back at the screen. Dean did it again.

Y/N scoffed as she looked at him. “Cut it out, Winchester.”

“I didn’t do anything” Dean shrugged.

“Yeah, right” Y/N rolled her eyes. She picked up a handful of popcorn and threw it at him.

“Real mature, Y/L/N” he laughed. He flicked some up from the bowl at her, hitting her in the face.

“You’re so annoying!” she yelled. She picked up the bowl and moved it away, pouncing on him.

“Ah! Y/N! Get off!” she yelled in frustration as she started messing up his hair.

They started to playfully fight, Y/N trying to tug his hair as he tried to grab her hands and keep them away. He reached up and tickled her neck, causing her to scream and laugh uncontrollably. He grabbed her hands and held them against his chest.

“Dean, let go” she laughed, trying to free her hands.

“Never” he smirked.

She saw the twinkle in his eye, but there was something more behind it. His look did something to her, a tingle running through her body.

She stopped laughing as she looked down at him. With her Y/H/C flowing, she looked so beautiful to him. He saw something in her eyes, something that resembled what he was feeling. A deep desire; something he had kept buried until now. Maybe, just maybe… he had a shot.

She had to stop this. Y/N knew that as much as she wanted to see what happened, she couldn’t. She couldn’t handle the rejection. Just as quickly as the desire in their eyes shone through, it was gone from hers. She pushed herself away from him, his hands falling away from hers. Dean felt his hope fizzle out.

“I’m still not feeling so great, I think the tequila’s still making me foggy” she laughed slightly, downplaying what just happened.

“Yeah, um…” Dean muttered, not knowing what to say.

“I think I’m going to go lie down” she said, trying not to let her sadness show.

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I’ll clean up here.”

“I’m sorry. I can help-” she started but he cut her off.

Dean got up from the couch, as far as he could from her. “Nope, I got it.”

Y/N flinched as he moved away. “Okay” she whispered.

With one last look at him, Y/N walked out of the room. She made it all the way to her room before she let the tears shed, that she had been holding back. She threw herself on her bed, muffling her sobs with her pillow. She knew this was how things would end up between them. Awkward with no chance of moving forward into something new and exciting. She never should’ve fallen in love with Dean.

Dean swept up the popcorn, cursing himself internally. He had read the signs wrong, clearly. She wasn’t interested. She never would be.

They both knew that denying their feelings, as they had already been doing for the last 5 years, was the only thing they could do to protect themselves. That’s what you had to do as a hunter.

Even when you wished for the strength to show your feelings, you had to bury them.

It was easier that way.

Tags: @flamencodiva @deanwanddamons @winchest09 @katehuntington​ @akshi8278​ @hobby27​ @michellethetvaddict

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 122

122

Lance made himself comfortable in the infirmary room he’d be using for the next few days. Coran had gone to fetch Keith after hooking him up with an IV line. Keith would freak, but they’d deal with that when he came. Pulling the blankets up to his shoulders, Lance rolled to face the door, left arm extended so he didn’t hurt himself with cannula, and a bucket had been found up in case he felt nauseous. He wanted Coran to hurry up and bring Keith down so they could talk, and so he’d have his boyfriend’s scent instead of disinfectant and cleanliness... He also wanted Keith to arrive before he fell asleep again, which he was in danger of doing with the extra blankets Coran had brought him.

When Keith finally did arrive, Lance was fighting to stay awake. His boyfriend freezing in the doorframe, Lance knowing his anger loaf was leaping to bad conclusions

“I’m okay, come over here”

“What are you... Coran, you said he was resting...”

“Ah, yes, well. I did think it best to Lance explain things after our little talk. I’ll leave you boys be”

Keith continued hovering near the door as Coran left

“Babe, come over here. I can’t talk to you when you’re so far away”

“You’ve got an IV in... Did...”

Lance found the strength to answer firmly yet softly

“Nothing happened. I want to talk to you, and... It’s not bad. Please will you just get over here and hug me already?”

Keith finally moved. Coming over to him, his boyfriend took his hand, Lance interlacing their fingers so he couldn’t escape being close to him

“Why?”

That was a good question. One he didn’t blame Keith for. He’d be flipping out if their roles were reversed

“I’m going to stay here for a couple of days”

Keith’s face crumpled with guilt

“I...”

“No. Nope. Nooo. You are not to blame. I... I’m having a little bit of trouble with my mental health and I asked Coran if I could stay”

“Because I didn’t do...”

“Keith. I know you’re blaming yourself. You take such good care of me, but... Today really was the last straw. I lived alone for a long time. You know that. And I love all you guys, but I’ve been feeling... feeling suffocated. Today I wanted to have the scan with just us there, but I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings with how considerate of me you’re all trying to be. You aren’t to blame. You love me and you’ve been trying your hardest to show it and I love you for it. I love you. But I need... I need a little space from having someone always shadowing me. Rieva and Curtis... even Shiro, I was feeling so tired that I started directing all that inside me because instead of asking for what I wanted, everyone was trying to tell me what they think I needed. We both have issues, babe, and that’s okay, but mine are a bit big at the moment so I need to slow down... Coran was supposed to tell you I was okay, but I guess he really did think we needed to talk to this out together”

Bringing Keith’s hand up, Lance kissed the back of it. He knew the importance of making sure Keith understood that he hadn’t been to blame for Lance’s mental issues

“You are amazing. I love you. I’m not here because of you. I’m here because I need a bit of a break... but not from you”

Keith still looked downcast. Maybe he needed a tiny break from Keith worrying but not from his boyfriend

“I noticed... that you’ve been pulling away”

“That’s because I feel so many things and my head is going round and round trying to work it all out”

“I just want to be there...”

Keith had the softest heart. It hurt to talk, but things left unsaid would only fester

“And you are. You’re my precious boyfriend. It took me my whole undead life to find you. I’m not unsure about us. I’m just tired of being fussed over non-stop like I’m not trying or not listening to my body. The IV line is there so I rest and I eat. I know it doesn’t work like a human, but I do get nutrients from the blood bag. I really need to get my head around what’s happening with my body and work out how to move forward again with you to make a life for our babies”

Twins weren’t planned. Their first baby wasn’t planned. Two really threw him for a loop

“I don’t want to lose you”

God. Keith was so cute. So very sweet. How anyone could have hurt him was beyond Lance’s comprehension. Once things had settled down and if they were still together, he was totally putting a ring on Keith’s finger when the time was finally right. He’d finally settled with his feelings over being so much older than his boyfriend. Keith was so young with so much life. He might not age on the outside but they’d mature further together.

“You’re not going to. I’m not going to wake up and let you go. Everyone knows this pregnancy is a little different and everyone is worrying for both of us. I just need a break from their worry for a little bit to calm down. I could see it too, you know, how you worried over them worrying about me. I’m so tired all of the time that waking up to eat sometimes leaves me exhausted... but then I think about this and us, and I love you and them even more. So instead of sleeping at home, I’ll be sleeping here and it only until after Halloween”

Keith’s bottom lip quivered, his boyfriend finally moving to hug him

“I hate seeing you in here”

“I know. But you’re the love of my life, Keith Kogane. I’m going to talk to Coran some more. I don’t think I’ve told you how much he helped after turning. I’ve had problems off and on since... and I know I’ve told you that. I’m having problems with how emotional I’m feeling, but... I want to talk to you about it. And I want you to talk to me. Or to Coran if you want. You’ve got a lot of things brought back up by this pregnancy. People are too quick to pretend the traumas of growing up suddenly disappear. We’re going to be dads and both of us kind had very different childhoods. We’ve just gotta work out what to do next together, after I’ve had some sleep and can think straight”

“Mum... mum said she’d support us”

Right. Krolia had left with Keith and the others to talk. He was shocked, and kind of not, that she’d want to be part of all of this. She deeply regretted leaving Keith with everything he went through growing up. What happened with Krolia was still left to Keith to decide. Keith had to keep working through those feelings

“Yeah?”

“Yeah... it felt weird... but she said she wanted to be there for us... I don’t know I can let her in...”

“Babe. I’m not going to tell you want to do or feel. Yours and Krolia’s relationship is something you’re working on at your own pace. I know you planned to tell her yourself, but honestly I was so ill tempered by the time we got here I wanted everyone to fuck off and leave us alone”

Keith snorted into his shoulder

“I kind of felt that way too, then I felt bad for feeling like that”

“That’s what I’ve been feeling lately. That I’m too tired to keep my ego from being a dick. Honesty, sometimes I want to punch myself in the dick when I think about my behaviour”

“You’re going through a lot”

“So are you. Everyone keeps focusing on me and I’m like what about you. What are you thinking and feeling? But it’s kind of hard to have a private conversation when the others keep butting in with their worry. It’s strange. I didn’t think I needed more than I had but now I have more I don’t want to give it all up. I want to have these babies. I want to be a better man and a good dad to them. I want to sit down with you and decide everything together. You’re their father. No one else, babe. Your feelings are so important to me. I know we didn’t plan on me falling pregnant so fast, or so early, but I can’t help but want that whole big future with you”

“They asked if we had names... and if I was quitting work and I didn’t know what to say or do”

Lance assumed “they” were Keith’s family. Krolia was probably going to be someone he was going to have to sit down and talk with one on one in the future. No ordinary hunter would allow a pregnant vampire to live. Not with the risk of spreading the curse through Lance’s blood

“We have time to work that all out. I’m not ever going to tell you to quit your job. You have my full support in every single way I can help. I’ve seen how much better being at VOLTRON has been for your mental health. I’ve seen you finally start believing in yourself like I believe in you. I know you’re scared because you lost your dad. I know you think you can’t do it, but I feel that way sometimes too. Not that you can’t, but that I’ll be a bad father... or that someone will swoop in and steal you away from me, seeing I’m so much older”

“No... I don’t want anyone else”

“I know, but think of the times you’ve been really low, when the smallest thing feels like a personal attack. That’s how my moods have felt lately. So think of this like a vampire day spa. I stay a few days, rest up, get plenty of blood and settle down a bit... I’m going to be okay, and we’re okay”

Keith took a shaky breath as he sat up to look Lance in the eyes

“I’m... I really don’t know what to do. You’ve been so sick... and I can’t... I can’t take that away from you. I feel like I can’t make you smile...”

“Idiot. You always make me smile. Before you came I was thinking about how much I wanted you to hurry up and be here already”

“I got you pregnant...”

“And I pretty much enjoyed like every moment of that... the after shock is still... shocking. But if it was going to be anyone in the world, it was going to be the man who makes me feel like the biggest, dopiest, love struck idiot around. You’re smarter and so, so, much more amazing that you let yourself believe. You’re like a total bad arse...”

Keith flushed with a soft blush

“I don’t feel very bad arse”

“That’s because depression and anxiety are horrible sluts that dance around with no underwear making you pay attention to them”

Keith wrinkled his nose at him, but finally he was getting close to a smile

“That’s... I don’t want to think about that”

“Exactly. It’s not something you want to think about but they don’t care. I know I should have talked to you like this sooner, but it’s hard to find privacy when you have a werewolf living in your house”

“I liked it better when it was just us”

Lance did too. Some days. Some days he wanted to throw everyone out like he’d tried to do with Keith. He was so grateful his anger loaf hadn’t left

“Baaaabe. You can’t just kick friends out. No matter how annoying they make you feel. You’re like stuck with us and all our annoying parts. Like Pidge can be super annoying but I fucking love that about her. Don’t tell Curtis, but the smell of his feet has actually become kind of comforting. They absolutely reek, but they say that he’s alive and he’s around, and I love that. And out of everything, I love your scent the most. Your scent makes me feel safe. Like I’m wrapped up in Mami’s lap, hugged until the world no longer matters”

“I don’t know if I know how that feels... to be that loved like that”

“It feels like what I have with you. We’re not always happy and we’re not always happy at each other, but together we have a happiness that’s more than I ever thought possible. We’ve got a lot to work out, and right now I’m fighting not to fall back to sleep”

“You should rest...”

“I’m going to, but I needed to make sure you understood I chose to be here for the sake of us and our babies. Have you got time for a nap?”

“I should... probably go pick Kosmo up. And let the others know you’re okay”

“Alright. I’m proud of you babe”

Keith leaned in to kiss him softly, Lance melting into the affection in the kiss, sad when it finally broke

“Is there anything you want from home?”

“Blankets... and maybe my laptop”

“You’re supposed to be resting”

“But if we have my laptop I can watch movies with you”

Keith huffed

“You don’t get to look that cute and make demands”

“You’re the one who asked. Maybe a change of clothes too? I’ll let you decide”

“I don’t know if I can”

“You can. I know you can. Just bring whatever you think I need”

“I don’t think I can bring your house”

Lance smiled at his idiot boyfriend

“Maybe not. Okay, you better go. Then I can go to sleep and sleep through missing you”

Keith kissed him again, his kisses really were the best

“I’ll be back as soon as I can”

“I know. But no speeding and make sure you wear your seatbelt”

“Yeah, yeah”

“Keith...”

“I won’t. Not when I have you waiting for me to come back”

“That’s right. We’re waiting for you. Be safe, samurai”

“You too, sharpshooter”

Lance groaned at the nickname. You shoot one target in the one spot and they never let you forget it. He felt bad for sending Keith off, yet Keith needed a little reminder that it was okay to be independent. He could only hope Keith would remember he’d driven Rieva and Curtis up to Platt and that they’d need a lift home. Spending time alone with the others was good for Keith... and it’s not like it was forever. He wanted to rest. He didn’t want to ask Coran to have to bar Keith from visiting, so after Keith came back, they were going to have to have another conversation.

[pickalilywrites]

taking a break from my usual angst to update this erejean~ happy new year everyone ^^

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

How To Come Out as a Zombie

EreJean. Zombie Detective AU.

How to Be a Zombie Series

15422 words. 

Read on AO3!

Of all the places they have to meet Armin, of course, it has to be a coffee shop. Not just any coffee shop either, but the Cornerstone Coffee Shop. It’s the café that pretty much defined Eren’s teenage years. It’s where Annie stress-ate jelly-filled powdered donuts after every exam, where Jean and Eren worked until midnight trying to finish their calculus homework because Armin wouldn’t let them copy off his, and where Reiner gathered his friends to inform them of his twelve-step plan to ask Bertholdt to be his boyfriend. (Reiner only got to step three before he couldn’t stand it anymore and asked Bertholdt out. The two were inseparable even after they went to separate colleges, so Eren wouldn’t be surprised to hear if they were still together.) Once upon a time, Eren had once wished this little family-owned establishment would be replaced by something like Starbucks, if only so he wouldn’t feel like he lived in the middle of nowhere. After living in the city for so long, he’s come to appreciate the family businesses that populate his town, and even now it feels like he’s finally come home. Eren just wishes that there weren’t so many people around. 

He slouches down in the leather booth, keeping his hood pulled down over his head. “Did we have to go somewhere so crowded?” he whispers, keeping his voice low so that people don’t overhear. His words are barely audible over the sound of Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On,” which Eren swears has been playing in this café ever since the 1997 James Cameron film was released. 

“‘Cause if you try to attack me, I’ll have, like, twenty other people here to beat you to a pulp,” Jean replies, not looking up from scrolling in his phone. He takes a sip of his long black coffee; it’s already half-finished while Eren’s iced Americano (with a straw, Jean said, so as to not mess up his makeup) remains untouched. “Besides, I thought I didn’t have to worry about you trying to eat people because you’re a vegetarian.” 

“A vegetarian zombie and a vegetarian are two totally different things,” Eren hisses. 

God, he wants to kill Jean right now. Eren has wanted to kill Jean (i.e. devour him whole) the entire trip here, so eating him now would be kind of a waste. He should wait for Armin to come first before contemplating eating Jean because he needs at least one person to help him. But it’s not like he’s seriously considering eating Jean. No, not at all. Not even as he sits in front of Eren looking positively delectable, like a human burrito bundled up in his coat and wrapped up in his scarf. Not even as Jean scrolls through his phone, his long and slender fingers swiping across the screen. Not even as Jean jostles his leg up and down, the muscles of his thick thighs flexing against the fabric of his khakis. Eren has to keep reminding himself that, although the thought of chomping down on Jean’s firm thighs might be tempting right now, nothing will ever help him get over the trauma of eating his childhood friend. Also, looking at the baseball bat next to Jean’s knee also reminds Eren that his head is going to get bashed in if he even tries to so much as lick Jean. 

“I still think this is a bad idea,” Eren says. It would have been better if they planned this out more, maybe come up with a game plan and find a way to break the news to Armin slowly. “Do you even have a plan?” 

“No,” Jean replies. He doesn’t seem stressed out about this at all, which stresses Eren out a lot. “I figured it would just be best if we told it to him straight.” 

For some reason, Eren remembers Jean being a lot smarter than this. Jean was never booksmart, at least not in the way that Armin was, but he was smarter than Eren. Annie always said that between Eren and Jean, they only had two brain cells and Jean held both of them. It seems that Jean has somehow lost both brain cells over the past year that Eren’s been gone. 

“Full offense,” Eren says, “but that seems like the worst idea ever.” 

“Okay, let’s hear your idea then,” Jean says, finally putting down his phone. He sits back in his seat, arms crossed against his chest as he looks down at Eren expectantly. 

“... Maybe make him a pamphlet or something?” Eren suggests weakly. 

“Really? You have zero graphic design skills,” Jean snorts. 

What Jean says is, unfortunately, very true. Even designing a Powerpoint slide was difficult for Eren, who somehow always managed to put in unnecessary transitions between each slide which only made it more painful for him and every poor soul that had to sit through his presentations. His professors hated his presentations, and for good reason. Even though a pamphlet seems easier, Eren would probably fuck that up too. 

“I just don’t want him to run away in terror,” Eren mumbles, poking the ice Americano sitting in front of him. The condensation has made it to the surface of the table, making the coffee spin in tiny circles. 

“Just don’t try to eat him,” Jean says very unhelpfully. The little bell on the café’s front entrance chimes and Jean glances up. “Ah, Armin’s here.” He waves at the barista at the front — some high school kid that Eren hasn’t seen before — and says, “Light cappuccino please and another long black.” He gives a brief nod once the barista indicates that they’ve taken his order. 

Eren wants to look back at Armin. It’ll be the first glance he’s had of his best friend in a year, but he doesn’t want Armin to die of shock at his sudden reappearance. He’s also not sure how well Jean’s makeup disguises what he really is. Sure, Eren’s managed to walk through town undetected, but he’s mostly kept his head down and avoided eye contact with the townspeople. How Armin reacts to seeing Eren will be the true test of Jean’s ability. 

As Armin slides in beside Jean, Eren does his best to keep his head down and hide behind the napkin dispenser. Eyes fixed on the table’s surface, he takes in Armin’s reflection as best as he can. As far as he can tell, not much has changed aside from the fact that Armin has gotten his hair cut. Armin’s bob was cute back when they were in elementary school, but his undercut is a lot more mature and suits his job as a councilman. His face is a little skinnier, making Armin seem a little less boyish than he looked back in high school and college. Eren wonders if he’s been eating right. 

“I have a bunch of meetings today, so we kind of have to make this quick,” Armin says as he shrugs off his coat and lets it fall around his waist. He doesn’t seem to notice Eren at first. To Jean, he continues, “It must be really important if you took your morning shift off. What’s so important that you couldn’t wait until tonight?” 

Jean gestures at Eren, who timidly lifts his head but only so he can make brief eye contact with Armin. 

“Ah, I didn’t notice you. Sorry about that. It’s kind of hectic at work right now, so I’m a bit out of it,” Armin says. He extends his hand, waiting for Eren to take it. “I’m Armin.” 

Eren doesn’t take Armin’s hand. He just stares at it miserably, hating how he’s already analyzing the size and shape of it and wondering just how much meat is on it. Armin’s fingers are nowhere near as graceful and slender as Jean’s, but Eren still wants to pop them off and chomp on them like french fries. 

Wrenching his eyes away from Armin’s hand, Eren stares at the table and gazes down at his reflection. “I know,” he whispers raggedly. 

“Oh?” Armin raises an eyebrow and retracts his hand once it’s clear that Eren isn’t going to shake it. He glances at Jean and then back at Eren again. His lips quirk upwards in a confused smile. “So we’ve met before? I apologize, but I don’t seem to remember you …” 

“It’s … Armin, it’s me,” Eren says. He feels absolutely horrible for having to break the news to Armin this way, but Jean gestures for him to continue. He can’t really run from it now. Clearing his throat, he sits up straighter and, making eye contact with Armin, says, “It’s Eren.” 

“Eren?” His voice comes out in a hushed whisper and he begins to stand up only for Jean to yank him down by the arm. Armin's eyes are widened in disbelief and he blinks a few times, mouth wide open but no words coming out. “Oh my god,” he finally says, slumping against the leather booth. 

“I know. It’s a lot to take in,” Jean says, rubbing Armin’s back soothingly. 

“How long has he been back?” Armin asks before turning to Eren and asking again. “How long have you been back?” 

“Um, just since early this morning,” Eren says, awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck. He’s not sure he should proceed with the rest of his announcement. If Armin is this upset about Eren’s sudden return, hearing about Eren’s new undead status probably won’t make the blond feel any better. 

“Eren, you’ve been gone for an entire year,” Armin says. He’s sitting up now, thick eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed as he assumes his lecturing pose reserved for when he’s absolutely pissed because either Jean or Eren (or both) have done something stupid. Eren prepares himself. “Does your mother even know you’re home? You left without any kind of note. We didn’t hear from you for a whole year, Eren! Everyone thought you were dead!”

Some people glance over as Armin raises his voice, but quickly go back to their own conversations. Eren and Jean only glance at Armin, sitting there silently as Armin seethes. Eren can’t remember the last time seeing Armin so angry. He sits there staring at the table, picking at his fingernails nervously. A waiter comes by and places Jean’s order of long black and cappuccino on the table and Jean says a polite “thank you.” After a moment, Armin rests with his back against the leather seat and, eyes closed, takes a deep breath. As he breathes, his lips move wordlessly, counting seconds. Finally, he opens his eyes and looks at both Eren and Jean for an explanation. 

Jean cups his hands around his warm mug of coffee. He blows on it, the silence between the three of them so loud it’s almost deafening, and he takes a long sip. Jean sets his mug down and puts an arm around Armin, looks him in the eye, and says, “Well, we weren’t wrong about him being dead.” 

Armin blinks. “What?” 

“I mean … Eren died the night he went missing,” Jean says. He’s completely focused on Armin right now, so he can’t see the way Eren is currently sinking down in the booth, so low that he’s almost under the table. “He’s a …” Here, Jean eyes dart quickly around the little coffee shop to make sure nobody’s eavesdropping and, for good measure, lowers his voice as he whispers, “Zombie.” 

“He’s a what?” Armin practically screeches. 

Jean clamps a hand over Armin’s mouth and puts a finger to his lips. “Calm down. People are going to kill Eren if they find out, so keep your voice down.” He keeps his hand over Armin’s mouth until Armin, looking at Jean and then Eren, gives him a nod. Jean gestures at Armin’s coffee. “Come on. Drink up. It’ll make you feel better.” 

“Caffeine isn’t actually good for stress,” Armin mumbles, but he still picks up his mug and takes a disgruntled sip of his coffee, practically glaring at Eren and Jean. He’s drunk half of his coffee by the time he sets down the mug. Gesturing at the two troublemakers, he says, “Okay. You two, explain.” 

“Um. Well, there isn’t really that much to it,” Eren says, still slumped in his seat. He pulls his hood over so it covers his eyes and tugs nervously on the strings. “It’s just … I went hiking that night I went missing. Someone … knocked me out? And, like, strangled me or something. I must have died because when I woke up I was just … like this.” He sits up a little bit, pulling at his sleeves so that he can show Armin his hands. Jean had made sure to cover most of Eren’s skin with makeup, but the palms of his hands are still deathly pale with prominent veins of purple and blue running underneath. 

“Jesus Christ,” Armin says. On the bright side, he doesn’t look as mad as he was at the beginning of this conversation, but he does look very tired. Turning to Jean, he asks, “And he came to you? And you guys decided to tell me?” 

“That’s pretty much the gist of it,” Jean nods. He notices Armin hurriedly tapping away at his phone. Jean raises an eyebrow. “... What are you doing?” 

“Cancelling all my meetings for today,” Armin mutters. He looks up at Eren through his lashes. “This is more important than dealing with tourists stealing money from the fountain in the square.” 

Eren wrinkles his nose. “They’re still doing that? Assholes. I thought you guys were having a sign put in that told people they can’t do that.” 

“Yeah, well apparently they don’t know how to fucking read,” Armin replies, tucking his phone back into the pocket of his trousers. He takes another sip of his coffee, slower this time so he doesn’t down the rest of it immediately. His brow is furrowed in a way that makes little wrinkles appear on his forehead, which means he’s thinking of a plan. It makes Eren regret not going to Armin first instead of Jean. After a moment, Armin taps on the table and then points at Eren and Jean. “Alright, we’re going to talk to Annie.” 

“Wait, right now?” Eren asks, alarmed. He was all for letting Annie know when he first talked to Jean about it, but he was thinking about letting her know a little down the line, maybe in a week or two. Now just seems like … a bad idea. 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Jean frowns. It’s clear he’s still against it. “What if she …?” He makes a slice motion across his neck with a finger, tilting his head a bit. 

Eren knows that the gesture is supposed to mimic Annie cutting his head off, but he can’t help thinking about how Jean’s neck looks so delectable when it’s stretched out like he’s inviting Eren to take a bite. God, he really needs to stop. He forces himself to look at Armin so that he’s not tempted to suck on Jean’s Adam’s apple. 

“Why haven’t you killed him yet?” Armin asks Jean. 

“Well, because … Eren’s my friend?” Jean says, but his voice goes up at the end. 

Eren looks at Jean suspiciously. “Why did you say it like that?”

“Annie’s his friend too. Have more faith in her,” Armin says, ignoring Eren. 

“Okay, fine, but we shouldn’t go without proper preparation first,” Jean says. Eren thinks Jean is getting up to reach for a napkin and maybe scribble out some semblance of a plan, but he just waves Armin out of the way and, after Armin gets up, gets out of the booth and goes over to the counter to order something, leaving Armin and Eren alone for the first time. 

Eren fidgets in his seat, avoiding eye contact with Armin. He can see from Armin’s reflection in the table’s surface that the blond is staring at him with arms folded across his chest. He hadn’t really thought about how Armin would feel about all of this ― learning Eren died, that he came back to life, that he was afraid of telling Armin everything. When was the last time he had ever kept anything from Armin? Aside from the obligatory surprises hidden from Armin like Christmas gifts or unexpected parties to celebrate the little blond genius’ latest academic achievements, Eren always told Armin everything and vice versa. Eren had been so worried about keeping his new identity a secret, he didn’t think about how it would affect Armin. Of course, Armin would be shocked, but he would always accept Eren in the end. He doesn’t know why he thought Armin’s reaction would be any different. 

“Sorry!” Eren suddenly blurts out. He digs his nails into the denim of his jeans, still unable to meet Armin’s eyes. “I don’t know why I didn’t tell you first. I just … panicked. I didn’t want you to freak out or … be disgusted by me.” 

“Eren, I would never …” Armin’s voice grows soft and he reaches out, holding his palm upward as he invites Eren to place his hand in his. When Eren looks up, Armin’s looking at him with the most sympathetic eyes. “I’ll get over it. It’s not really about me anyway. I can’t imagine everything you’ve been through, especially since you had to deal with so much of this on your own up until recently. You know you can always tell me anything. No matter what happens, I’ll always be here for you.” 

Eren places his hand in Armin’s. His skin is so rough and cold compared to Armin’s smooth and warm hands. His hand is so disgusting in comparison that he’s afraid that Armin might pull away, but Armin just holds onto him tightly and Eren thinks he’s about to cry. 

“I really missed talking to you. Dealing with this all by myself … it was almost unbearable.” It’s embarrassing how choked up it’s getting, but Eren can’t help the tears that are beginning to sting at the corner of his eyes. When Armin offers him a napkin to wipe them away, Eren hastily accepts and dabs at the corners of his eyes before his makeup can be ruined. “I’m really sorry. I should have told you first. I don’t know why I didn’t.” 

“You were scared,” Armin says gently. He hands Eren a few more napkins and motions for Eren to blow his nose, which the zombie does obediently. Armin politely waits for Eren to finish before continuing. “Honestly, going to Jean was a good idea. He’s good under pressure.” 

“You are, too,” Eren insists, but Armin shakes his head with a smile. Eren clutches the used napkins in his fist. “I mean, you handled this a lot better than I thought you would. I honestly thought you would faint if you found out and I’d … I’d eat you if you were lying unconscious in front of me.” 

He expects Armin to be horrified, but Armin only shrugs. “I’ve been going to therapy after you, you know, disappeared. It helps a lot,” Armin explains. His hands cup the mug of coffee on the table, his index fingers tapping against the speckled ceramic. “I used to go twice a week, but now I only go once every other week. It helps me manage my anxiety and stress. Not just with you but everything in general.” 

“Ah,” Eren nods, a little dazed. He does notice that Armin is a little different from before. Armin used to always look at his watch, anxious about upcoming deadlines even if they were hours away. It was normal for Armin to always be moving. Maybe it was him jiggling his leg or tapping his fingers, the movements always jittery like he was a ticking clock. Now, he sits in front of Eren, a little concerned but a lot calmer than he used to be. “Has a lot changed since I’ve been gone?” Eren wonders aloud. 

“Hmm? Not that I can think of,” Armin replies with a shake of his head. His shoulder slump a bit as he tries to think of any news worth sharing. “I’m sure Jean must have told you most of it already. Annie still works at the bookstore with Hanji. Reiner still teaches kindergarten. He and Bertholdt are still very much in love, by the way. Ah, Historia …” His voice trails off and he looks cautiously at Eren. 

“I know already,” Eren says, casually waving away any concern Armin might have about bringing up the topic even though thinking about Historia still stings. “Don’t worry about it. Jean told me. It’s fine. It would have been selfish to expect her to wait for me for an entire year.” 

“Sorry,” Armin says. He takes a sip of his coffee, finishing up the rest of it. “If it’s any consolation, she was really distraught when you went missing. She took it pretty hard. Maybe if this all works out we could tell her …?” 

Eren only shrugs. He’s not sure how it would work out, him being a zombie and Historia being a human, but he appreciates Armin’s optimism. “It’s fine. My current condition doesn’t really leave me any room to think about any romantic entanglements.” 

Someone dangles a bag of donuts in their faces and the two friends look up to see Jean. 

“You’re right. Focus on not getting killed by Annie first,” Jean says. He gestures for the two to get up and follow him out the coffee shop. After generously tipping the barista, Jean leads Armin and Eren towards the bookstore Annie works at, donuts in one hand and his baseball bat dangling in the other. 

“Do you really think that donuts are going to be enough to get Annie to not kill me?” Eren asks nervously. 

Jean shrugs. “We’re just going to have to wait and see.” 

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

When they open the door, Eren is hit with the nostalgic scent of musty books and cinnamon candles. Hanji always described it as the scent of autumn, replacing the cinnamon candles with peppermint-, lilac-, and peach-scented candles in the winter, spring, and summer, respectively. Eren keeps his head down and his hood pulled over his face as ordered by Jean, but he can see that the bookstore has the same creaky floorboards and faded-red “Welcome!” mat. 

“Hey, what are you fellows doing here so early in the morning?” asks a voice, chipper and bright. It’s definitely Hanji, Eren thinks. “You guys don’t have work today? No important council meetings, Armin?” 

“We took work off today,” Armin replies quickly. He links his arm around Eren, trying to tug the zombie behind him even though Armin’s far too small to hide Eren. “Annie and Reiner’s old classmate came to visit and Reiner asked us to show him around since he has work. We thought he’d like to come see Annie for a bit before we show him the rest of the town.” 

“Oh, really? You’re from the city then?” Hanji asks, getting dangerously close. They almost succeed in peering into Eren’s hood, but Jean quickly yanks Eren behind him, standing in between them. Unfortunately, this means Eren is pressed up against Jean and while Jean’s thick coat hides most of Jean’s shape, it can’t hide Jean’s broad shoulders and Eren almost whimpers because not being able to take even one bite into Jean’s shoulder is killing him. 

“Yeah, but he’s, ah, shy around people. He has a bit of social anxiety when he meets new people,” Jean says, glancing at Eren. 

Normally, Eren would scoff. He’s the least shy person he knows aside from maybe Reiner, but right now he’s busy trying to hold his breath so that he doesn’t breathe in Jean’s earthy scent. One sniff and Eren knows he’ll be a goner, tackling Jean to the ground and nibbling on his ears. Hanji spends so much time staring suspiciously at Eren that the zombie thinks he might lose consciousness. 

“Ah, my apologies then,” Hanji says, convinced after seeing how Eren is beginning to sway unsteadily just trying to stand up. They take a few steps back and smile cheerfully at the trio. “Annie’s in the basement doing some inventory. Please feel free to come back up and browse if you’re curious. I’ll be sure to give you guys enough breathing space.” 

“Thanks, Hanji,” Jean says, already shoving Armin and Eren towards the basement. 

They shuffle down the stairs, nearly tripping over each other in their haste. It’s dark in the basement aside from the flickering light overhead. Eren’s only been here a few times; he’s never been an avid reader, but there were times where Annie or Armin would call a meeting at the basement of the bookstore because not many people visited and Hanji didn’t mind if Annie took the space for herself. Right now, Annie is sitting at the table in the center of the basement, glasses perched on her nose as she checks an order for a pickup. It’s only when Jean stops in front of the table and coughs that she looks up, bored. 

“Kirstein,” she says curtly. Annie raises an eyebrow. “You don’t have work?” 

“I had to take work off,” Jean says with a shrug. He glances at her and then at the open door behind them. “Do you mind if we talk here for a moment? Preferably with some … privacy.” 

“Without Reiner?” she asks. 

“It’s not something we can talk about with him,” says Jean. 

“But we can talk about it with … whoever that is?” Annie says, craning her neck to take a better look at Eren. 

Jean stands in front of Eren, blocking him from Annie’s view. “We’ll explain it in a bit just … if you could close the door.” 

Annie looks suspiciously at Jean, not budging an inch. 

“Annie … please,” Armin pleads timidly. 

Annie looks from Jean to Armin. It’s not that she has a soft spot for Armin, but she trusts him the most because, as she said once, “He’s the only one who has any sense in this stupid group.” There have been times where she’s disagreed with Armin, arguing with him because she couldn’t understand his thought process, but she always follows him in the end even if she does so grudgingly. It’s no surprise when she finally stands up from her chair, letting it screech across the wooden floor as she gets up, and stomps over to the door, glaring at the three of them the entire time. 

“Hey, Hanji! I’m going to need this room for a bit. Knock if you need anything,” Annie calls, sticking her head out the door. She waits for an acknowledgement from her boss before slamming the door shut behind her. Annie stomps down the stairs and stands in front of the trio, foot tapping impatiently and arms crossed against her chest. Even though she stands at a very short five feet, she’s still incredibly intimidating. 

“Um, so,” Jean mumbles, looking at the floor. He glances back at Eren and Armin for help. 

“Just spit it out,” Annie says. 

Jean stands there frozen for a minute before saying suddenly, “Eren’s back and he’s a zombie.” 

Annie blinks. Once. Twice. She looks at Eren, takes him in. He can see her analyzing him, piecing together all the pieces ― his height, the way he slouches, the way Jean’s clothes don’t quite fit him ― and he closes his eyes as she widens her, awaiting the inevitable smack that’ll knock him to the floor and crack his head open like an egg. It never comes. 

Someone moves swiftly in front of him and Eren hears Jean grunt and what he’s almost certain is Annie growling. Reluctantly, Eren opens his eyes to see Jean grabbing Annie by the wrist. In her hand is a hefty book that she must have grabbed from one of the shelves behind her. Annie’s glaring up at Jean, her eyes blazing a fiery blue, while the makeup artist struggles to keep her from bludgeoning Eren with a six-inch piece of literature. 

“Annie,” Jean grunts through gritted teeth. His hand trembles and it’s clear that he can’t hold Annie back much longer. “Hear us out first.” 

“Don’t need to,” Annie growls. Her eyes flicker towards Eren and he flinches under her gaze. “I’ll kill him anyway, so I might as well just kill him sooner than later.” 

“Annie, he’s not like a normal zombie,” Jean says. He stumbles back a little bit, Annie beginning to overpower him, but regains his footing. “If he were, Armin and I would be eaten by now.” 

“Stop getting attached to a zombie just because he used to be our friend,” Annie snarls. She tries to yank herself free from Jean’s grip, but he doesn’t let go. “Jean, I can kill you and the zombie. Let go!” 

Armin stands in front of Eren, arms trembling as he holds them out protectively. “Annie, please,” the blond begs, bottom lip quivering. “I know it looks bad but just … you can’t kill him. I know he’s a zombie now but … he’s still our friend. He’s still Eren.” 

Annie’s hand is still up, the book raised as a weapon, but her eyes are softer now as she looks at Armin. After a moment, her grip on the book relaxes and she finally lowers her arm, and Jean lets out a sigh of relief. Her stance is still defensive, back stiff as she stands with her feet apart as if ready to attack if Eren shows any sign that he wants to eat them. 

“I hate all of you guys,” she grumbles, glowering at Eren. 

“We know.” Jean sighs and rubs his face. He picks up the bag he had dropped on the floor in his haste to protect Eren and shoves it at Annie. “Here. They’re your favorite.” 

Annie raises an eyebrow but accepts the bag. Peering inside, she asks, “Donuts?” 

“They’re the powdered ones,” Eren says, remembering out loud. His voice is shaking, still terrified that Annie might beat him to death with a dictionary or nearby textbook, but he thinks this might serve as proof that he remembers her. That he’s not like the other zombies that just go around eating people and groaning unintelligibly. “The ones with the jelly inside.” 

She looks up at him and he freezes, but then she sighs and walks over to the table, slumping back into her chair. When she gestures at the rest of them to take a seat, Eren thinks that he might just survive this meeting. 

“So, our childhood friend has managed to come back after going missing for a year, but now he’s a zombie.” Annie clasps her hands together in front of her and looks at everyone at the table, and the group nods at her in confirmation. She keeps the six-inch novel within reach beside her. Unlike most people, Annie doesn’t carry around a weapon to fight off zombies. She doesn’t need one. Jean has a baseball bat and Armin, who isn’t as strong as either of them, has a hefty wrench that dangles from his belt loop. Annie is one of the rare people who can fight off zombies with her bare hands. One kick from her and zombies get knocked down easily, brains spilling from their skulls like spaghetti spilled from a pan. It’s what happens when your dad owns the martial arts studio down the streets. Of course, Annie doesn’t usually fistfight with zombies, choosing to just take whatever object is nearby and bludgeoning them to death with it. Less blood gets on her clothes that way. 

“That’s … the gist,” Armin says. He chuckles to ease the atmosphere, but it comes out sounding forced. He clears his throat and says, “He really isn’t dangerous though. Jean’s been with him since last night and I met him this morning.” 

“He says he’s a vegetarian,” Jean offers. 

“I said kind of like a vegetarian,” Eren says, glaring at Jean. To Annie, he explains, “I’m not a cannibal or anything. I haven’t … I’ve never eaten anyone.” 

“Even if you did eat someone, you wouldn’t be a cannibal,” Armin says absentmindedly. He has a habit of correcting people without thinking about it. “You’d have to eat other zombies to be considered a cannibal because humans and zombies aren’t exactly the same species.” 

Eren blinks. He hadn’t really thought about that before. The thought of digging his teeth into another zombie, someone with half-rotted flesh like him, sagging skin over an emaciated body. He almost gags. Shaking his head profusely, he hurriedly says, “I don’t want to eat any of them. I don’t want to eat zombies or humans.” 

Annie doesn’t look convinced. “First time for everything,” she says dismissively. She rests her cheek in her hand and looks at Armin. “Look, I know you’re attached to Eren because we all grew up with him, but it’s in a zombie’s nature to eat people. He could give in to his urges at any moment.” 

“No, he’s different. I mean it, Annie!” Armin says as Annie rolls her eyes. He scoots up to the edge of his seat, hands beginning to gesture wildly the way they usually do when Armin is about to give a long explanation. “I’m not just saying this because it’s Eren. He’s fully conscious of what he is. He speaks, he thinks, he … he’s nothing like the other zombies we’ve seen before.” 

Annie slouches in her seat and folds her arms against her chest. Grudgingly, she says, “Go on.” 

“With Eren, we have a zombie that can listen and … and work with us! We’ve had zombies before. In fact, our small town has far more cases of zombie appearances than the city, but we’ve never looked into it because we’re too busy killing them!” Armin says. He’s bringing up a lot of good points that Eren has never thought about before. Letting Armin know about his zombie situation was definitely a good decision. 

“And he can help us how?” Annie snorts. “Is he gonna tell the other zombies to fuck off?” 

“No, nothing like that,” Armin says with a shake of his head. “In fact, we should probably keep the fact that he’s alive ― or at least that he’s a zombie ― from everyone, especially if we want to find out who killed him.” 

Annie does a double-take. “Wait, someone murdered you?” she asks Eren. She looks at Jean. “Why didn’t any of you guys mention this to me before?” 

“Ah.” Eren can only blink. He had honestly forgotten that detail between all his plans to reintegrate himself into his hometown and telling his friends he’s a zombie. It hadn’t occurred to him that his murderer still might be running around killing other people. 

“It … slipped our minds,” Jean says sheepishly, ducking his head. 

Armin rubs at his arm awkwardly. “We kind of forgot to tell you because we were a little busy preventing you from murdering Eren,” Armin mumbles as Annie glares at them like they’re the biggest group of idiots she’s ever met. “If someone killed Eren and he turned into a zombie, then maybe someone is actively killing people and turning them into zombies.” 

“Hm.” Annie plays with the silver hoop that dangles from her earlobe, rubbing the metal between her thumb and index finger. “It would explain all of the tourists that went missing only to come back as zombies.” 

It is a well-known fact in the town that an alarming number of zombies that appear often wear the clothes and share the same physical (although somewhat decayed) characteristics of tourists that have gone missing. Not many people batted an eyelash though. The townspeople figured that the tourists just didn’t heed warnings about hiking in the mountains late at night; only people who have lived in the town their whole lives went into the mountains at night because the paths could be confusing and difficult to navigate in the dark, and even then it was dangerous. Of course, the tourists never listened and most went up there anyway. Some never came back, but the most townspeople suspected that those that returned as zombies were doing some stupid satanic ritual or trying out some urban legend. 

“Wait, you think someone’s out there killing people and turning them into zombies?” Jean asks, wrinkling his nose. “Why would anyone do that? They always turn out horrific.” 

“Most of them, maybe,” Armin says. “But maybe they aren’t supposed to. Maybe they’re supposed to be more like … Eren.” He casts a side glance at the zombie. 

“Me?” He’s flattered that Armin believes him to be the highest quality of zombie, but he’s not sure he’s following everything the councilman’s saying. There’s nothing impressive about him. He’s lost most of his muscle mass, his eyes are wet and watery, and his breath always smells rotten. What would anyone want to do with him? 

“What’s the advantage of an Eren zombie versus other zombies?” Jean asks. “I mean, they’re not that much different.” 

Eren makes a squeak of indignation, but Armin ignores him. 

“You could essentially have, if you wanted, an undead army,” Armin explains patiently. “Eren doesn’t move the same he did when he was alive, but he’s a lot faster than other zombies. Also, as I’ve said before, he knows he’s a zombie. He knows his own weaknesses. He can dodge attacks that come at his head. We could probably stab him anywhere else and he’d be fine. As long as he keeps his head safe, he’s pretty much immortal.” 

Annie looks contemplatively at Eren, like she’s trying to decide whether or not to stab Eren in the thigh with her hairpin just to test Armin’s theory. 

“This doesn’t seem very well thought-out,” Jean murmurs. “There must be easier ways to take over the world.” 

Armin shrugs. “This is just a theory. We’d have to catch the culprit to find out their real motive. We should do some research first though.” He’s already pushing himself out of his seat and glancing at the shelves. “Of course, we should keep this all between ourselves. No need to cause panic right now, especially without solid evidence. No letting this slip to our parents or friends or … potential significant others.” He subtly glances at Annie. 

“I’m not going to tell anyone, so don’t worry,” she snaps with a roll of her eyes, but her cheeks are flushing a bright shade of pink. 

“You’re still not with Mina yet?” Eren asks incredulously. “I can’t believe you haven’t made any moves since I died, and it’s been an entire year.” 

“Maybe I want to make sure everything’s perfect before I ask her,” Annie glares. With a sigh she says, “Even if we were dating, I wouldn’t tell her any of this. It’d probably just scare her away.” 

“You never know,” Jean says in a sing-song voice, but he shuts up immediately when Annie snarls at him. He gets up from his chair, pushing it in, and re-wraps his scarf around his neck. “I should get going. Good luck with research!” 

“What!” Eren squawks. “You’re not going to help us?” 

“Nope,” Jean replies cheerfully, tossing his apartment keys to Eren who almost doesn’t catch them. He’s already walking up the steps, waving goodbye to Armin and Annie who hardly pay him any attention. “I only took the morning off today, so I can’t spend all day with you. I’ll see you at the apartment though. Take care of him, Armin.” 

“See you,” Armin says without looking up. He’s nibbling on his bottom lip, brows furrowed as he brainstorms his next move. Eren tries to keep his attention on Armin because looking at Annie, who’s currently looking at him like she’s waiting for an opportunity to kill him, is stressful. After a moment, Armin says, “I’m going to collect all the newspapers of the missing tourists, the ones that showed up later as zombies and the ones that were never found. Maybe they all have something in common. Annie, can you and Eren look at examples of zombies? It can be in humans or animals. It might be helpful to understand Eren’s condition more.” 

“I’m on it,” Annie says, already getting up to peruse the books on the basement shelves. 

“Okay, I’ll get the newspapers from upstairs,” Armin says, getting up from his chair. He’s about to leave when a panicked Eren grabs his arm and yanks him back. “Ah, is there something you need, Eren?” 

“Um.” Eren glances back at Annie, who’s staring at him amusedly from behind a bookshelf. He swallows nervously. “I … you’re leaving me alone,” he says stupidly. 

Armin blinks. “Annie’s here,” he points out, not making the connection between Eren’s knocking knees and Annie’s presence. 

“I … I know,” Eren stammers. He wants to get on his knees and beg Armin not to leave him alone with Annie, but he’s pretty sure Armin would insist that it was fine. Also, he doesn’t want Annie to see him looking so pathetic. Even if she does want to kill him, they’re still technically friends and he doesn’t want her to hold this moment over him if he does somehow manage to last five minutes alone with her in the same room. 

“Just go. He’s being stupid,” Annie says with a roll of her eyes. 

“Alright. I’ll only be a minute.” Armin gives Eren a reassuring smile, pries himself from the zombie’s grip, and disappears up the steps, making sure to shut the door after him as he greets Hanji upstairs. 

Eren turns around, arms held up in order to protect himself from whatever projectile Annie plans to hurl at him. The blow never comes and Eren, though still on his guard, slowly lowers his arms. He’s surprised when he spots Annie still flipping through books between the shelves, a few books clamped beneath her arm. 

“You’re really … doing research?” Eren asks, dumbfounded. 

Annie looks up, eyebrow raised. “Of course. I’m not crazy about the idea of letting a zombie walk around town, but I trust Armin,” she replies. She finishes flipping through the book she’s currently scanning through and puts it on the shelf with a shake of her head. Walking towards the table, she sets them down and shoves them in Eren’s direction. “And I know I did try to kill you a few minutes ago but … Armin’s right. You’re not like the other zombies. You’re … you. And we’re friends, so I should help you out if I can.” Annie pauses and then adds, “But I won’t hesitate to kill you if you eat anyone.” 

Eren feels oddly touched. He thinks it’s the most Annie’s ever spoken about their friendship. “Thanks,” he says. He approaches the table and reaches for one of the books that Annie had pushed towards him, frowning when he reads the cover. Wrinkling his nose, he asks, “Why do you want me to read about Haitian Vodou?” 

“Because it’s relevant,” Annie replies in a tired tone that’s oddly reminiscent of the one she’d use whenever he asked her for help on projects for school. She takes a seat and picks a book from her pile, checking the table of contents before flipping to a certain page. “They had a practice of resurrecting the dead.” 

“Like necromancy?” Eren asks. He also flips through his own book but all he sees are chapters on Haitian Vodou beliefs about the soul, which he finds somewhat interesting. His eyes wander across the page, distracted until Annie slams a hand down on the pages and forces him to look up. 

“Not exactly like necromancy,” Annie says with a shake of her head. She pushes her book towards Eren. It’s opened to a section about something called a bòkò. Apparently, they’re individuals that deal with the supernatural, although that’s the incredibly oversimplified definition Eren takes away from the lengthy paragraphs of text. Annie continues, “Necromancy comes from the practice of divination; it deals more with the spirits of the dead than resurrecting someone. A bokor actually revives someone after death.” 

“Ah,” Eren nods with a frown. He’s not sure how Annie got all that. The words in front of him are just swimming around, none of them making any sense. Eren’s never been that good at doing research. He just takes Annie’s word for it. “You know an awful lot about zombies already.” 

Annie shrugs, pulling the book back so that she can look through it. “I know some stuff. It’s good to know a little bit of everything when you’re working at a bookstore,” she replies, flipping a page. “Sometimes tourists come by asking for things on zombies. I haven’t done much research on it. Figured there wasn’t really a point until now.” 

“Hmm.” Eren flips through the book, stopping when his eye catches on the word “zombie.” Apparently, the process of turning someone into a zombie includes giving an individual a certain concoction and, after the person has passed on, revive them with another drug. Eren’s not sure if any of this happened to him. If it had, he can’t remember. “So you think this is what happened to me?” 

Annie wrinkles her nose. “Not really, no, but it might be helpful to know. It’s possible that, if someone did turn you into a zombie, they use a similar method,” she replies. Annie peruses through the book. Eren’s not sure how she’s able to take in any information looking if she’s looking through the book so quickly, but Annie’s always been better at research papers than Eren was. “Do you mind looking at these? I’m going to start looking for examples of zombie-like behavior in animals.” 

“Ah, okay,” Eren says. He feels a little overwhelmed when Annie shoves her stack of Haitian vodou books at him, but he doesn’t want to complain, especially when Annie and Armin are going above and beyond with researching for him. 

They don’t do very much talking after that. Annie goes in and out of the basement, piling more and more books onto the table. Some books are about animals — deer, carpenter ants, different parasites — while others are specifically about diseases — rabies and the African sleeping sickness. Eren’s relieved that Annie doesn’t ask him to take any new books; he feels like looking at vodou is going to take him all night, although he does feel bad about Annie looking at a dozen different topics. He’d offer to take one or two more topics just to lighten her load, but he feels like she’d just brush him off. This scenario is awfully reminiscent of when they’d be paired for school projects and Annie would end up doing all of it because she said Eren was just going to “ruin everything.” (To be fair, she wasn’t exactly wrong in saying that. The one time she had allowed him to help during a chemistry lab, he set off the fire alarm and they got an F. He can understand why Annie doesn’t let him do anything.)

As Eren is reading about the role of bokors in Haitian vodou, Armin bursts through the door, a pile of newspapers in his arms. The basement door falls shut behind him as the blond walks down the stairs. When he gets to the table, he lets the papers fall from his arms with a loud thud. 

“The good news is that I managed to obtain newspapers about missing tourists and every zombie sighting over the past five years,” Armin says, his mouth set in a grim line. “The bad news is -” 

“That’s a shitton of papers,” Annie finishes for him. 

“It is,” Armin agrees with a nod. He glances at the pile of books between Annie and Eren. “There’s probably more out there from previous years that the newspapers might have missed, but this is a good start. I’d suggest we’d split these up, but it looks like you guys have your hands full already …” 

“Ah,” Eren says, sitting up a bit. He motions to the pile of books in front of him. It’s considerably smaller than Annie’s pile. “Annie only gave me these. If you want, I could -” 

“No!” 

The combined voices of both Annie and Armin shouting at him make the zombie flinch in surprise. 

“I mean,” Armin coughs, clearing his throat. “That won’t be necessary. It’ll probably be easier if we all stick to a topic.” He smiles politely at Eren. 

Eren sulks for a little bit in his seat. Neither Annie nor Armin’s reactions are unexpected. Like Annie, Armin also knows how bad Eren is at schoolwork and doing research in general. However, Armin always let Eren do a fair share of the work, preferring to have Eren learn alongside him even if it meant lowering their overall grade to a B (and, on some occasions, a C). It makes sense that Armin wouldn’t allow Eren to take more work than he can handle. 

Eren slumps, knocking his back against the chair, and lets out a loud sigh. Both Annie and Armin ignore him, leaving the disgruntled zombie no choice but to do the work assigned to him. 

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

They decide to give it a rest by noon because none of the words Eren is reading make sense anymore and his constant finger-tapping on the table is so distracting that Annie makes it clear that she will absolutely kill Eren regardless of whether or not he’s a zombie. Although Eren insists on coming back after a small lunch break, Armin and Annie (mostly Armin) assure him that he doesn’t need to return; everyone (re: Annie and Armin) might work better if they do research on their own, Armin suggests, so Eren packs up the Haitian vodou books that he feels are most useful. Annie stays behind, but Armin also packs his things to walk Eren back to Jean’s apartment. 

The two of them say their goodbyes to Annie and head up the stairs. Armin does most of the talking with Hanji, thanking them for not disturbing the quartet’s basement meeting, and Hanji seems to accept Eren’s mumbled thank you as well as the zombie and councilman hurry out the door. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to buy something for you from the market?” Armin asks Eren once they’ve left the bookstore. It’s a bit difficult to hear Armin because he’s mumbling in his scarf, but Eren figures that Armin’s only doing that to prevent people from overhearing their conversation or reading their lips. “I could even grab something from the butcher if you prefer something fresh.” 

Something fresh — freshly slaughtered, the smell of the farm still lingering on it, blood dripping from a chunk of thick, juicy, meat. It sounds better than anything Jean might have in his fridge, but Eren doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want Armin seeing him salivate over raw meat. He doesn’t want to risk Armin watching him eating it, shoving raw beef hide into his mouth and nearly choking on it because he’s so desperate to gorge on any kind of flesh. No, Eren thinks with a shake of his head. Armin might be fine with it, but Eren certainly won’t allow his friend to see him acting so monstrously. 

“It’s fine. Jean says he still has some pork in his freezer that I could eat,” Eren says with a forced smile. It’s probably all dried out by now. Even if he does defrost it, the meat will probably have lost all its flavor. Still, it’s not as if he can be picky with his food. 

“Well, if you’re sure okay with that,” Armin says, sounding unconvinced. They walk a few paces forward, passing by the ramen shop and electronics store. “You’re fine with living with Jean, too?” 

Eren shrugs. It’s not like he has many options here. He doesn’t have money to rent a place of his own and he’s not sure how he’d go about getting an apartment without alerting someone’s attention about his presence. “I don’t have any other place to go.” 

“You could live at my place for a while,” Armin suggests. 

“You live with your parents. Even if they don’t recognize me as I am right now, it’s going to be difficult to explain why you have to buy so much raw meat or why I never eat in front of people,” Eren points out with a shake of his head. Out of the corner of his eye, Eren sees Armin open his mouth, but Eren knows the blond is going to suggest living with Annie, which is an even worse option than Jean. Holding a hand up to stop Armin from even letting Annie’s name leave his mouth, Eren says, “Don’t. Annie’s going to kill me if I even breathe wrong. Besides, Mina might get the wrong idea if she finds out a mysterious man is living in Annie’s apartment and then MinAni will never happen.” 

Armin kicks at a pebble, grimacing. “I guess you’re right.” He looks at Eren through his eyelashes, barely lifting his head. “You’re really alright though? You’ll tell me if you need anything, right? I really meant it when I said we were friends. Nothing has to change just because you’re … you know.” He gestures at Eren. 

Obviously, some things have to change, but Eren’s still touched by Armin’s words. “Thanks. I’m managing just fine now, but I’ll let you know if I need anything. You guys are all doing more than enough.” Eren takes a deep breath and sighs through his nose. “I mean, I always knew I could count on you guys but I never thought I’d find out like this.” 

“Right?” Armin laughs. He runs a hand through his blond hair, letting the locks fall into his face messily. “It’s not a situation anyone would want to be stuck in, but at least you’re not alone.” He pauses for a moment, thinking. “Reiner would have your back too, you know.” 

“I know,” Eren sighs. “It’s just that Reiner can be a bit …” 

“A bit what?” a voice says as hands suddenly cling to the chain fence surrounding the local elementary school. 

Eren’s frozen in surprise, but Armin lets out a loud yelp and nearly falls over backward at the sight of Reiner behind the fence. Hastily, Eren yanks Armin upward and shoves the small blond in front of him, trying to make himself as small as possible even though there’s no way that Armin’s tiny form can hide him. He takes a peek at Reiner from behind Armin’s shoulder and sees his old childhood friend looking curiously at him, craning his neck to get a good look at Eren. 

“O-oh, h-hey! I d-didn’t know you were d-done with your morning shift already, R-Reiner,” Armin stammers, blinking rapidly. He backs up, stepping on Eren’s toes. 

“Yeah, it’s noon. I was going to go out for my lunch break before the afternoon group comes in an hour,” Reiner replies. He tilts his head, a lopsided grin on his face. “Maybe your friend wants to join us?” 

Panicked, Eren shakes his head. 

“No!” Armin shouts, holding his hands up. “He’s in a … hurry. I was really just going to walk him to the station -” 

“Then I’ll walk with you guys!” Reiner says eagerly. “I love meeting new people.” Before either Armin or Eren can protest, Reiner starts to jog towards the gate to join them. 

“What do we do?” Armin panic-whispers to Eren, keeping a strained smile on his face. He looks at the zombie, blue eyes wide and terrified. “Eren, I think you should run.” 

“No way! I couldn’t outrun him when I was human and I definitely can’t outrun him now,” Eren says. He doesn’t mention that his knees are shaking way too much for him to even take a step. 

“Oh my god, I can’t do this,” Armin says through gritted teeth. He looks as if he’s about to cry even as he’s waving to Reiner. “I can’t lie to him. I don’t remember the last time I lied to any of you. He’s going to see right through me.” 

“God, Jean never should have left us,” Eren mutters, casting his eyes downward as Reiner stops in front of them. A hand appears in front of him — strong, sturdy, meaty — and Eren thinks it’s only a matter of time before either he or Armin blow his cover. 

“Reiner Bruan. I’m the kindergarten teacher here,” Reiner says in his deep rumbling voice. He still holds his hand out, waiting for Eren to take it. “I take it you’re here on a visit. It’s a shame you’re leaving before we can really get to know each other.” 

“Reiner, he’s really in a hurry so if you don’t mind -” Armin begins, trying to push Reiner back. 

“Wait a second,” Reiner says, easily sidestepping Armin and getting even closer to Eren. There’s something in his voice, something so close to recognition, and it makes Eren’s unbeating heart drop to his stomach. A rough hand clamps onto Eren’s shoulder, forcing the zombie to look up and stare at Reiner’s beaming face. “Eren Jaeger? Jesus, we all thought you were dead!” He’s opening his arms, ready to crush Eren and his delicate zombie body in a bone-crushing hug. Eren’s closing his eyes, preparing himself for the end, but he hears a grunt and the thud of someone’s body hitting the ground. 

“Oh my god, oh my god, I’m so sorry!” he hears Armin saying, voice shaking like he’s about to cry. 

Eren cracks open his eye to see Reiner sprawled out on the sidewalk holding his side. “Jesus, Armin, what the fuck was that for?” 

“You were about to hug him,” Armin says, shrinking where he stands. His head is beginning to disappear into his scarf like he’s some kind of turtle. 

“Yeah, because I haven’t seen him in literally a year,” Reiner replies, sitting up and brushing the pebbles sticking to the sleeve of his coat. He frowns up at Armin. “I don’t know why you’re trying to hide him. We held a vigil for him and everything.” 

Armin stares at Eren who only looks back at him. Armin blinks his big blue eyes at Eren and his mouth begins to open. Eren knows what Armin is about to say before he says it. He closes his eyes, bracing himself as Armin blurts out, “Because Eren’s a zombie.” 

Reiner doesn’t say anything for a moment. He just sits on the sidewalk, his head turning slowly to Eren and taking him in. The schoolteacher looks the zombie up and down and opens his mouth. “You guys are serious?” He looks from Eren to Armin and then back to Eren. When neither of them replies, he gets up with a sigh, brushing the rest of his clothes off. “Well, seeing as how both of you guys aren’t replying, it looks like you guys are dead serious.” He cracks a smile and Eren just wants to groan. This is precisely why he didn’t want to talk to Reiner.

“Okay, since you found out anyway do you mind if we … move somewhere more private?” Armin asks anxiously. 

“Alright, let’s go into my classroom then,” Reiner says, gesturing for them to follow him. He’s taking the news far better than anyone else had. 

“Really?” Eren says, hesitant to follow. “You’re not afraid I’ll eat anyone or anything?” 

“Nah, it’s empty right now,” Reiner says with a shake of his head. “And even if someone wanders in, I can just lock you in the crib.” The crib that Reiner is referring to is a wooden cage with an open top that Reiner’s students often liked to play in because it was at least a foot off the ground but, at least when you’re a five-year-old, feels as if you’re at least ten feet taller. Eren doubts that will be enough to hold him back if he happens to go on a hungry rampage, but Reiner seems pretty confident. 

“So, first things first,” Armin says nervously as the door shuts behind them. His fingers rub at the fabric of his scarf just to have something to do. “You can’t tell anyone.” 

Reiner raises an eyebrow. “Not even Bertholdt?” 

“Especially not Bertholdt,” Armin stresses. It’s not because telling Bertholdt will be more dangerous than telling anyone else but because Bertholdt is the person that Reiner is most likely to tell. The two keep no secrets between them. 

The schoolteacher clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “You know I tell him everything. He’s going to know something’s up sooner or later. Not keeping things from each other is one of the reasons why our relationship has lasted so long,” Reiner says. He huffs and leans against one of the classroom bookshelves. “One of the reasons why Annie and Mina haven’t even begun yet is because Annie just hides everything. She can’t even tell Mina how she really feels. I bet she’s keeping this whole zombie thing a secret too, right?” Reiner looks expectantly at Eren. 

“Well, yeah but -” 

“You and Historia were like that too,” Reiner continues, not realizing that he’s now diverting from the original topic. He pauses and then gives Eren a frown. “Do you know about Historia yet?” 

“Jean told me,” Eren says, somewhat flustered. He doesn’t know how his zombie confession is somehow turning into a conversation about his (now dead) love life. “But what do you mean Historia and I were ‘like that’?” 

“Oh, you know,” Reiner says with a dismissive shrug. When Eren looks at him with a puzzled expression because he doesn’t know, Reiner sighs exasperatedly and waves his hand around. “I’m just saying that if you had told Historia you were going to disappear a year ago, maybe she’d still be waiting for you.” 

“Why does everyone always say I should have given them a heads up?” Eren says, wanting to tear his hair out in frustration. “I couldn’t! I died, Reiner, someone killed me!” 

For once, Reiner is speechless and, not knowing what to say, just blinks at Eren with a blank expression. “I’m sorry,” Reiner says, still gawking at the zombie. “Did you just say someone killed you? Eren, were you murdered?” He looks to Armin, scandalized. “Why didn’t you say something about this earlier?” 

“I was about to, but someone started running off on a tangent,” Armin grumbles, loosening his scarf. He walks over and pulls out one of the plastic chairs the kids use and sits in it, hunching over with his elbows on his knees. He looks comically huge sitting there with such a glum face. “Look, it’s important that we keep this under wraps because we still don’t know who killed Eren. They could still be running around waiting for someone else to kill. If they find out Eren’s still alive, they might try to come for him again.” 

Reiner lets out a low whistle. “I figured you just got lost in the mountains and died of hypothermia.” 

Eren glares at him, offended. “Why would I get lost in the mountains? I’ve lived here my entire life! I’m not some dumb tourist,” he huffs. 

“Not a tourist, but still dumb,” Reiner teases, always managing to find humor in even the worst situations. His smile fades when he sees neither Eren nor Armin are smiling back at him. Expression now sober, Reiner pushes himself off the bookshelf and continues, “So who have you told aside from me? I assume Annie.” 

Armin nods. “We’ve told Annie.” 

“She’s reliable. Not like me. I’m a bit …” Reiner cocks his head to look at Eren, voice trailing off to let Eren finish what he had been saying earlier to Armin. 

Eren hangs his head, biting his lip in embarrassment. “Sorry.” 

“I’m only teasing,” Reiner laughs. He was never one to hold a grudge. He folds his arms across his chest. “I assume you told Jean, too. So everyone in the old gang?” 

Eren nods. “I told Jean first, actually. He did my makeup.” He kind of wants to rub his cheek sheepishly, but Jean will probably kill him if he comes home with smudged makeup. 

“Wow, you told Jean first? That’s interesting. You guys used to be at each other’s throats all the time,” Reiner hums. He leans over to inspect Eren’s face, turning his head this way and that to look at the zombie’s makeup from different angles. Satisfied after taking a good look, Reiner leans back with a grin on his face. “He made you look better than you did when you were alive.” 

“Fuck you,” Eren replies as Reiner cackles. Reiner’s not wrong though. 

“Okay, so we all know and we’re all agreeing to keep it a secret for Eren’s safety, right?” Armin asks, clasping his hands together. He looks at both Eren and Reiner, but his stern gaze lingers on the schoolteacher as he waits for an answer. “Right, Reiner?” 

Reiner stares back at Armin, his mouth set in a thin line. They stay like that for a minute or two before Reiner breaks his gaze, breathing out a large sigh. “Fine, fine, I’ll keep it a secret. I won’t even tell Bertholdt, who is the love of my life and who I have told all of my life’s secret until now.” 

“Great!” Armin chirps, shrugging the messenger bag off his shoulder and throwing the flap open. He sifts through the contents of his bag and pulls out a handful of books from his bag, all of which he passes to Reiner. “I want you to read these.” 

Reiner’s face is one of pure revulsion. “You’re asking way too much of me, Armin. I’m your friend, but I don’t love you guys that much.” He looks curiously down at the book stack he’s holding, squinting to read the cover. “Why do you want me to read about carpenter ants?” 

“Zombie research. Annie’s doing mammals. I’m covering diseases,” Armin explains easily. “I’ll buy you lunch after I walk Eren home.” 

Reiner visibly perks up at the mention of free lunch. Unlike Eren, Reiner is actually good at studying. He wasn’t as smart as Armin nor as studious as Annie, but he was always one of the top students in class. There were definitely subjects that he excelled in over others; Reiner always preferred classes like literature over history and math, not understanding why he’d have to memorize the names of men who died centuries ago or what application calculus formulas would have in the real world. He never did homework for subjects he didn’t care for but would somehow score top marks when the exams rolled around. He just needed a good motivation to work hard. Since report cards and college entrance exams are no longer an incentive, food works just as well. 

“Only if we go to the barbeque house,” Reiner says, adding, “and you have to let me order as much as I want.” 

Armin purses his lips, not wanting to give in but wanting the man’s valuable research skills. He breathes out, blowing his bangs out of his face. “Fine, fine! But have a conscience, will you? I don’t make much money even working for town hall,” Armin huffs. He closes the clasp of his canvas bag with a click and sighs. “Come on, Eren. Let’s get you home. Reiner, I’ll meet you back here in a little bit.” 

“Don’t take too long,” Reiner says in a sing-song voice, walking out after them. He leans against the doorframe, smiling even as Armin scowls at him. “I’m looking forward to our date, Arlert.” 

“He’s going to burn a hole in my wallet,” Armin mutters as they walk away from the elementary school. 

“Sorry.” Eren can’t help feeling guilty. They wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for him. “Still, I’m a little glad we ended up telling Reiner even if it was unintentional.” 

“Yeah,” Armin agrees. 

The two walk in silence together. 

“You know he’s going to tell Bertholdt though, right?” Armin asks. 

“Oh, absolutely.” 

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

There really isn’t very much to do at Jean’s apartment, Eren finds. After eating a very sad lunch of hamburger meat he found in the freezer, Eren tries hard to look through the books on vodou that Annie had assigned him. He can’t find any highlighters in Jean’s apartment, so he ends up improvising by using different colored eyeliner pens in one of Jean’s makeup kits to underline sections he thinks are important. Unfortunately, Eren was never good at deciding what information is important and soon has whole pages underlined and eyeliner all over his hands. The words he reads don’t stick in his head even after he’s read a chapter over and over again, somehow making less sense with each read through, and Eren gives up after he runs out of blue eyeliner. 

Jean finally comes home after the sun sets and finds Eren sprawled on his couch staring at the ceiling. He raises an eyebrow, setting a grocery bag on the kitchen countertop, and unbuttons his coat. “Have you just been doing this all day?” 

“You don’t have anything in your apartment,” Eren replies, not getting up. “You don’t even have a Switch.” 

“Sorry I’m not accommodating your every need,” Jean snorts as he hangs his coat on the coat rack. He unravels his scarf from his neck and hangs it on the rack as well. “I bought you some meat by the way -” 

At the word “meat,” Eren immediately sits up and dashes towards the kitchen, grasping for the grocery and pulling it open to reveal a succulent cut of tenderloin beef, blood still fresh. The zombie licks his lips, hands reaching to pull the tenderloin from the bag, only to be sprayed with water. 

“Ugh! Stop, stop!” the zombie yelps, hands raised to shield his face. When he opens his eyes, Jean is standing in front of him with a very disappointed look on his face. 

“Don’t eat food like you’re some kind of animal,” Jean tsks. He puts the squirt bottle down and gestures at his face. “Wipe the makeup off your face too. It’s starting to run. The makeup wipes are in the top left cabinet in the bathroom.” 

“It’s your fault it’s running in the first place,” Eren mumbles, but he shuffles off to the bathroom anyway. He tries to avoid looking at his reflection in the bathroom. He does happen to catch a glance and winces; it looks like his entire face is melting. It takes about fifteen makeup wipes to get it all off. His bare face isn’t much of an improvement from his melting makeup, Eren thinks, and he kind of wishes that Jean taught him how to apply his own makeup so he doesn’t have to go out there bare-faced. Reluctantly, he goes out to meet Jean, making sure to pull his hood over his head so that Jean doesn’t have to look at him too well. 

The table is set for two. One side has a bowl of instant ramen topped with strips of honeyed ham, green onion, and a fried egg. Another just has a plate of tenderloin, blood pooling at the bottom of it. Eren salivates just looking at it and walks over, hypnotized. He sits down at the table, dropping into his seat with a thud and reaches out with his hand when he’s suddenly sprayed in the face with water. 

“Ugh!” Eren spits wiping the water off his face with a hand. He scowls at Jean. “Would you stop doing that?” 

“As soon as you pick up your utensils and eat your food like a normal human being,” Jean says, gesturing towards the knife and fork he had thoughtfully set out for Eren. He doesn’t flinch when the zombie growls at him, instead giving him a pointed look. “It was part of our list of agreements.” 

Among the agreements they had agreed upon for Jean to help Eren was that Eren would sit down at the dining table and eat with proper eating utensils. Eren thought it was strange at the time, but he agreed to it. He stares down unhappily at the fork in front of him and picks it up, stabbing the cut of tenderloin. The zombie raises the bleeding piece of meat to his lips, ready to take a bite out of it but he’s sprayed once more with water. 

“Uck! What the fuck was that one for?” Eren splutters. He’s so surprised that he drops his fork and his meat along with it, the tenderloin sending blood splattering out of his plate and onto the table. 

Jean doesn’t look disgusted, only minorly inconvenienced. “Use your knife too,” he tells Eren. 

“Fine,” Eren grumbles, taking the knife in his right hand and picking up his fork again. He cuts through the tenderloin (which is a little bit more difficult to do given that the meat is uncooked) and raises the piece to his lips but stops once he realizes that Jean is still sitting in front of him. 

It’s one thing to have your friend know you’re a zombie and eat raw meat. It’s another thing entirely to eat a bleeding piece of beef right in front of him. It’s not even steak, which would be a lot less embarrassing. It’s just uncooked meat: pink and bloody and raw. Jean doesn’t seem to have any qualms about it. He’s just sitting across from Eren and eating his ramen like this is a normal meal. Eren thinks Jean should feel a little bit weird about this whole thing. 

“Um,” Eren says as Jean slurps up a mouthful of noodles. “Could you maybe look away while I’m eating?” 

Jean looks up from his ramen, raising an eyebrow. With his mouth still full, he replies, “I’m still eating.” Even though Eren sits there not touching his food, Jean continues eating. When he realizes that the zombie hasn’t eaten yet, Jean sighs and motions for Eren to just eat. “Come on. You’re going to make it weird. We can talk about how our days went while we eat if it’ll make you feel less uncomfortable.” 

“Er, okay,” Eren says, sucking on his bottom lip. He looks at Jean again, but his friend has already returned to his noodles. The zombie stares at the little cube of meat on his fork and wonders if it’s really alright. He brings it to his lips, nibbling on it. The taste of meat on his tongue is so rich and savory that he almost moans. With less hesitation, Eren puts the tenderloin in his mouth, his whole body relaxing as he chews into the tender meat. It’s not as good as the livestock he’d eat when he lived near the farm, but it beats frozen hamburger meat any day. As soon as he swallows it down, Eren begins cutting away for another piece before he remembers Jean’s still there. He looks at Jean, but the makeup artist is still eating his ramen as if this is normal. 

He’s a few more bites into the tenderloin when Jean says, “I heard that you guys told Reiner.” 

“Armin told you already?” Eren asks, swallowing his beef down hastily. Jean might be fine with eating across a zombie, but Eren doesn’t want his friend to see him with a mouth full of raw meat. This experience is probably traumatizing enough already. 

“Yeah. Reiner made a group chat this afternoon so we could talk about what to do next,” Jean says, to which Eren rolls his eyes. It’s a very unsurprisingly Reiner thing to do. 

“Right, a group chat,” Eren says, pushing a cube of meat across his plate so that it soaks up more blood. “That’s probably convenient.” He has no idea where his phone went. It wasn’t in his pocket when he woke up in the mountains. He assumed that it had either been taken by his murderer or it had fallen out of his pocket and was somewhere in the woods. It might be for the best though. It’d be hard to explain why his phone was still active a year after he had gone MIA. 

“Right, you don’t have a phone,” Jean mumbles. His mouth twists into a frown as he twirls his chopsticks in his bowl. He spoons another ramen into his mouth and hums. Leaning back, he wonders aloud, “Maybe we could get you one? It might take a while, but it’d be more convenient to have you in the group chat, too.” 

Eren perks up. It’s kind of embarrassing to feel so excited about being included in a group chat when he’s been friends with everyone for years, but he’s been out of touch with them for a year so maybe his feelings are justified. “I mean, you don’t have to, but it would be great.” 

“I’ll look into it then,” Jean says as he prepares another spoonful of ramen for himself. He’s always so methodical about eating ramen, making sure to have a little bit of everything in each spoon. “And Armin mentioned that we were starting research.” 

“Ah, yeah,” Eren says with a frown as he thinks about the stack of books he still has yet to get through. “Did he give you anything to read?” If he’s lucky, maybe Jean will agree to trade with him. Eren doesn’t think he’ll ever understand this vodou stuff. 

“Mmm, Armin handed me the newspaper articles about missing tourists and zombie sightings. I might have to get a corkboard or something to work out a timeline on these,” Jean says as he chews thoughtfully. 

Jean follows by filling Eren in on the rest of the group chat conversation — with a roll of his eyes, he explains that most of the messages are just Reiner complaining about how it’s killing him to keep such a big secret from Bertholdt, the love of his life — and future plans that Armin has about dealing with their … situation. (“It’s really just about research and looking into anyone suspicious that might have wanted to kill you, although Annie said that the description was too broad because ‘who didn’t want to kill Eren at some point in their lives?’” Jean said.) It’s not long before dinner is finished and Jean is collecting the dishes to wash them in the sink. 

“I can’t believe I just have to sit in your apartment all day while you guys do all the work,” Eren sighs. He’s never felt so useless in his life. 

“Yeah, it must be killing you to let us help you so much,” Jean snorts as he pulls on his rubber gloves and turns on the faucet. His voice is teasing, but his words remind Eren of something Reiner said earlier that day. 

“Do you think I keep stuff from people too much?” Eren asks. “Reiner said something about that earlier, something about how it led to the demise of my relationship with Historia.” He attempts to say it lightheartedly, rolling his eyes, but he does not like the way Jean freezes up upon hearing the question. 

“Hmm,” Jean hums, pretending to be occupied with the dishes. 

“You’re not answering the question,” Eren points out, straightening his back. He glares at the back of Jean’s head, staring daggers so that Jean knows that his nonanswer is not appreciated. “I know I tend to keep things to myself, but I just don’t like sharing every little detail of my life with people. It’s not like it caused problems or anything.” 

Jean sighs and turns off the faucet, letting the dishes soak in the sink. He turns around, leaning back against the counter with a frown on his face. “Eren, you’re just bad at asking for help. Everyone knows this,” Jean finally replies. “It’s not like it’s the worst flaw in the world to have, but it has made being friends with you incredibly stressful at times.” 

“That’s stupid! I’ve never been a burden to anyone!” Eren protests. “Name one time I caused you guys unnecessary stress.” 

Jean doesn’t wait around to answer. “Once, you were sick and locked yourself in your room with a fuckton of Emergen-C and water because you were convinced you could get better by yourself and we eventually had to break down your door and drag you to the hospital because you got pneumonia.” It’s insulting how quickly Jean pulled that example from memory. It’s even more insulting how Jean can prattle off more examples without hesitation. “You got lost on a trip with Historia for two hours because you were too stubborn to ask for directions or call anyone for help. Eren, you would have failed all of our high school classes if Armin hadn’t insisted on group study sessions and convinced you that they helped him more than they helped you.” 

The last one is news to him. “But he said he studied better in a group!” Eren splutters. Then again, it makes more sense now that Jean is pointing it out to him. Armin made way too many study notes for Eren and Eren only in those study sessions. He doesn’t know why he wasn’t more suspicious about them then. Eren sinks down in his chair, pulling the hood over his eyes. “Is it a crime to not want to be a bother to people?” he mumbles. 

Jean doesn’t respond for a moment and Eren thinks the makeup artist has ignored him until the zombie feels the slightest touch on the top of his head. He looks up and sees Jean patting his head gently. It’s comforting. Eren closes his eyes and allows Jean to keep petting him.

“You’re never a bother, Eren. You’re our friend,” Jean says with the warmest smile. He lets his head rest on Eren’s head for a moment before removing it, returning to his dishes. “I have to say, though, it’s pretty funny to have you rely on us so much because you have no other choice.” 

Eren opens his eyes and scowls at Jean. “Funny for you, maybe,” Eren mutters. 

Jean snickers. He tends to the dishes for a bit, shaking excess water out of a bowl before placing it on the drying rack, and says to Eren, “Why don’t you take a shower while I finish these up? It might help you relax.” He pauses and Eren thinks for a moment that Jean might point out that a shower might help because Eren’s a zombie and perpetually gross, but he thankfully doesn’t. “Just grab some clothes out of my drawer or something.” 

Eren wants to grumble and resist, but he does feel grimy and gross. A shower might not help him feel completely cleansed of his filth, but it might help. “Alright,” Eren mumbles, shuffling to Jean’s bedroom and pulling open the drawer of Jean’s pajamas. It’s filled with plain cotton shirts and sweatpants. Not one to be picky, Eren ends up picking a long-sleeved shirt in a dark olive green and some black sweats, feeling more comfortable in more muted colors. Jean doesn’t say anything when Eren emerges with his clothes, so the zombie continues to the bathroom, avoiding his reflection as usual while he strips down to his skin. 

Eren shivers when his foot touches the cold ceramic of the shower and hurriedly turns the faucet to the hot water. The shower sputters on before a rush of water spills out and Eren gasps at how hot it is, but he doesn’t step away nor does he attempt to adjust the temperature. He sighs as the steam surrounds him and the hot water burns across his skin, almost like it’s erasing all the dirt and grime that had covered him while he was buried for the past year. Jeez, Eren realizes. It’s been an entire year since he’s had a hot shower. 

He begins to reach for the soap so that he can scrub away at his skin, but hesitates. It’s the same soap that Jean uses. Is that weird? He hadn’t asked Jean beforehand if he had extra soap and shampoo. Using the same shampoo is a little less weird, but the thought of having the same scent as Jean makes Eren’s stomach flip. It’s a little too late to ask Jean now though, so Eren reaches for the soap. It smells a little bit like pine, but the scent isn’t usually as harsh as it usually is. Jean doesn’t smell that much like pine, Eren thinks, but he does have a kind of forest-y aroma to him. Maybe the fragrance isn’t that strong once he steps out of the shower. Eren imagines Jean using the same bar of soap, running it over his firm biceps as bubbles run down his tanned skin. 

No, that’s weird, Eren thinks, shaking his head like a dog. Water splatters across the shower curtain. Stop thinking about Jean like that. Don’t think about him showering. Just don’t think about him at all right now. But it’s nearly impossible when Eren’s washing his body with the same bar of soap Jean probably runs over his body in the same shower. Why did it have to have a scent anyway? Why couldn’t that stupid makeup artist just use scentless soap? 

Eren hurriedly rubs at the rest of his body, trying to make sure he gets most of the dirt in between his fingers and behind his neck and other hard to reach places. He’s in a hurry, so he probably hasn’t gotten all of it, but he’s confident he’s got most of it. He doesn’t want to take too long lest he have more strange ideas about Jean. 

The shampoo is a little less troublesome. Now that Eren has less hair, it doesn’t take as long to wash it all. He kind of wishes he had gotten a haircut back when he was alive. Getting a trim to maintain a shorter cut was annoying, but long hair always got greasy so quickly and washing it was a pain. Also, he doesn’t think he’d be able to hold his breath while washing his hair without passing out if he had long hair. Holding his breath is a necessary precaution while showering now, Eren thinks, if only to prevent any unnecessary thoughts about Jean. 

It’s a relief when he’s finally finished, stepping out of the shower and drying himself  before pulling on Jean’s clothes. Like the jeans and hoodie that Eren had borrowed earlier, the shirt and sweats are a bit shirt, but they feel nice and warm against his skin. And they smell like Jean, Eren can’t help but think. He wipes at the saliva at the side of his mouth with the back of his hand. Somehow, drooling always seems to accompany Jean, like some kind of weird Pavlovian response. Eren needs to find a way to stop doing that. 

When he opens the door, Jean is sitting hunched over on the couch pouring over an open newspaper spread out on the coffee table, reading glasses perched on his nose. 

“Hey, Jean, I’m done with the shower,” Eren calls. 

“Alright.” Jean stretches and then yawns without bothering to cover his mouth. He removes his reading glasses and rubs at his eyes before setting his spectacles down on the table. He gets up and is about to say something when his eyes settle on Eren, mouth agape. Slowly, the brunet raises a hand and points. “Eren, what the fuck happened to your neck?” 

“My … neck?” Eren looks down before he realizes that he can’t see his neck. He raises a hand to his throat. “What’s wrong with it?” 

“There are, like, marks or something,” Jean says, stumbling over to get a closer look. He reaches out and pulls down at the collar of Eren’s shirt, exposing more skin. “Jesus, what the fuck? Why didn’t you show me this earlier?” 

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Eren yelps, pulling away from Jean before his friend stretches out the collar. He rubs at his throat with a frown. “It’s not like I spend a lot of time looking at myself in the mirror. Not after …” 

“Right …” Jean’s voice trails off as his eyes drift downward. He clears his throat and grabs Eren by the wrist. “Here, let me just show you.” He walks Eren back into the bathroom and forces him in front of the mirror that’s still foggy from all the steam. Jean wipes at it with his hand so that Eren can see himself. 

Eren doesn’t look, not immediately. He chooses to look at his feet instead, preferring to look at his bony feet and ridged toenails than his face. He probably looks worse without all his makeup on. 

Jean doesn’t force him to look up. He just puts his hands gently on Eren’s shoulders. “Hey, Eren. It’s fine. You don’t look as bad as you think you do,” he tells Eren, rubbing against the zombie’s shoulders soothingly. “

“You’re just being nice,” Eren mutters. 

“I’m not,” Jean says firmly. “It’s really not that bad. You look fine. Kind of like how you did in college during finals week, actually. So not your best, but you don’t look like a monster.” 

Eren sighs frustratedly. “Fine,” he says and he lifts his eyes slowly, He doesn’t look bad, he thinks as his eyes look up from his waist to his chest. The shirt hangs off his body a little too much, as if he’s a skeleton rather than a person, but that makes sense. It’s only when he looks at his neck that Eren realizes what Jean is talking about and he’s too distracted by the sight of it to look up at his face. 

Purple bruises decorate his throat, prominent against his sickly pale skin. They’re all around his neck like a collar, but they also look like something: hands around his neck, the very same that choked him to death the night he died. 

Eren raises his hand to his neck once more, touching at the purple marks lightly. “Jesus Christ,” he breathes. “What the fuck?” 

“Must have been from when that guy killed you,” Jean murmurs. He reaches out to touch them too, encircling his own hands to mimic the place the killer had wrapped their hands around Eren’s neck. His fingers are cool against Eren’s skin, making the zombie shiver. 

“W-what?” Eren stutters, backing away from Jean and accidentally bumping his hip against the granite counter. He clutches at his throat, trying his best to remember how to breathe. “What are you doing?” 

“Comparing,” Jean replies, somehow completely unaffected. He holds out his hand, but he doesn’t curl his fingers around Eren’s throat. A part of Eren kind of wishes Jean would. “Whoever did it has big hands. Not too much bigger than mine, but their fingers are a lot larger.” 

“What, so we’re just going to ask potential suspects to come over and put their hands around my neck?” Eren mumbles, rubbing at his throat. He hadn’t noticed his neck before. He had always avoided looking at himself and his bundle of clothes had always covered his neck until now. Now that Jean has pointed out the marks on his neck, it feels strange, like a light pressure squeezing around his neck even though there’s nothing there. 

“Nope, but it might be helpful,” Jean says. He reaches around in his back pocket, fishing out his phone. The brunet points it at Eren. “Hold still, I’m taking a picture.” 

“What? Why?” Eren yelps. He covers his neck with his hands, embarrassed for some reason even though it’s just his throat. 

“Come on, all of us have seen you shirtless at least once. I’m just going to send this in the group chat,” Jean tells Eren, swatting the zombie’s hands away from his neck. Reluctantly, Eren lets his hands fall from his throat and Jean takes a few pictures to send to their friends. It only takes a few moments before they send their replies: 

Zombie Investigation Squad

Reiner: kinky lol 🥵😩💦

Annie: never send anything like this to me again

But it’s Armin who sends the most hopeful message: 

Armin: Thanks for your dead-ication! Looks like we’re making progress! 😃

[lihikainanea]

The period smut

My babies, thanks for your patience with this. I hope it was worth the wait. I missed writing these two in a longer piece.

A few things, before you proceed:

1) Tiger has a safe word. She says no, in this. She pushes him away. But in their dynamic, she has a safe word and until she uses it--it’s a green light. She can say no as much as she wants, it’s part of it. She knows--and so does Bill--that if she wants it to stop, she just has to say her safe word.

2) I get that this kink isn’t for everybody. It’s why I’m tagging it as appropriate, so you can blacklist it if you want to. But that being said--friends, ain’t no kink shaming in my house. Life is too short.

***

It hit at the worst time.

There was never a good time for your uterus to attempt to kill you, but smack in the middle of a beach vacation was less than ideal. It usually never hit you too hard, but a lack of exercise and an overabundance of alcohol, of blissful sex most nights and an avalanche of Bill’s subliminal pheromones being exuded in your general direction meant you were in for a rough, hormonal ride.

You felt it the second you woke up, a deep clenching of your lower abdomen that had you curling in more on yourself as you roused from sleep. Bill took your shrinking form as a sign you were needing more affection, so he wrapped even tighter around you as you tried to make your way out of his arms and to the bathroom. It took a few seconds, petulant whining on his part as you undid every new limb he wrapped around you until you took to just smacking him away. 

“Quit it you dick,” he mumbled sleepily, and you rolled your eyes.

“Bill I have to pee. I can do that in the bathroom, or on you,” you snapped. He smirked, his eyes still closed, but you clamped a hand over his mouth before he could speak.

“No,” you said, “Just no. Don’t even.”

He huffed, grumbling at you, as you promised him you’d be back in a second. He didn’t notice your discomfort on your way back to bed, walking gingerly with a hand pressing tightly into your lower stomach, and he was all over you again the minute you laid back down. You let him curl around you, his body heat helping soothe the deep cramps gripping your lower belly.

You thought—you hoped—it would get better the more you moved around, got some food into you, some soothing ginger tea. Advil would have been a smarter choice, but as the cramps got worse over the course of the day and started to nag at your lower back, you turned to your favourite pain relief: alcohol.

Sitting up gingerly from your towel in the sand, you stood slowly and looked for Bill out on the water. You didn’t have to look far, catching the glint off his mirrored RayBans as his long legs hung out the sides of the inflatable swan anchored in the ocean. You waved your arm up high and saw his head tilt, waving a hand back. You motioned to the hotel lobby where the best outdoor bar was—the one that had the heaviest hand when it came to the rum cocktails—and started to make your way over. You moved slowly, your back aching, your entire front doubled over in pain.

“Can I get a Pina colada, please?” You asked the bartender, folding your arms on the counter top and resting your weight on them. You hunched over as another cramp hit, the dull ache radiating to your lower back, and suppressed a groan.

You jumped slightly when a big hand rested on your back, your startled movement jarring you and you grabbed your abdomen as the tense muscles spurred another vicious cramp.

“Easy kid,” Bill soothed, crowding your space, “Are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

“I’m dying,” you groaned, “This is death for sure.”

“What’s wrong?” He tried to keep his voice even, calm, but you saw the creases of worry on his features.

“Death by cramps, this is the end for me.”

His brow pinched in concern.

“It’s your stomach?” He asked, reached his hand for it but you flinched and curled away. You winced as the dull ache from your back eased it’s way down your sciatic nerve.

“It’s not my stomach, bud,” you quirked a brow at him, arching your back to ease some of the pain.

“Oh,” you watched as realization clouded his features, “Oh.”

The bartender plunked your drink down then, and you greedily reached for it and managed a few hefty gulps before you felt the brain freeze start to take over.

“And is…rum…a good idea for that?” He asked skeptically. You tilted your head in contemplation.

“You know what? You’re right,” you tapped the bartender on the shoulder, “Can I have 25 shots of tequila please?”

“Tiger, no,” Bill said, his eyes wide.

“Tiger yes,” you insisted, clutching your pina colada and trying to gulp the rest down.

“Alright kid, that’s enough of this,” he pried it from your grasp as you clutched on, your mouth chasing the straw, “Go on upstairs, I’ll be there in a minute.”

But you kept reaching for your drink and he held it high above his head, laying a quick kiss on your lips when you lunged for it.

“Go,” he admonished again, giving your backside a light pat as you grumbled.

You slowly made your way back to your room, stopping every now and then to clutch the wall when a cramp hit particularly hard. When you finally made it in you stripped down to your underwear immediately, pulling on the shirt Bill had worn last night and tucking yourself under the covers. You heard his key slide in the lock a few minutes later, and he rounded the corner with two mugs in his hand.

“This might help a little more than rum,” he said, handing one to you as you sat up. You sniffed it, cupping your hands around the mug as you brought it to your lips.

“Thank you,” you said, the warm liquid soothing a bit of the ache as it settled in your stomach.

“What hurts?” He asked, wrapping his hands around his mug. You placed yours on the nightstand and flopped back onto the pillows.

“Everything,” you whined, “My entire lower abdomen is just…throbbing. My back is killing me. My boobs are killing me. Everything is killing me.”

“Do you want to take something for it?” He asked, but you just shook your head.

“I didn’t bring anything,” you said, throwing a forearm over your eyes and groaning as another cramp hit.

“I couldn’t find a hot water bottle,” he mumbled, pulling the covers down. He gently rucked up your shirt as you protested, and he tutted you softly. “But maybe this will help?”

Putting the mug on the floor, he lightly placed his hands on your lower abdomen, applying just a bit of pressure. His hands were hot from the mug, fanning out across nearly your entire stomach as he pressed down lightly. You groaned in relief, your eyes closing as you went limp.

“Oh my god,” you moaned, the pressure and the heat easing the tension.

“Good?” He asked, switching the position of his hands and rubbing lightly.

“Press down a bit harder please,” you begged, your eyes closed. You sighed heavily when he did, adding just a bit more pressure as he stilled his hands.

“Does it help?” He asked, hopeful. You managed a small smile as you tickled your fingers up his forearm.

“Big time, bud. Thank you.”

“You know,” he started, moving his hands to another position, “I heard an orgasm is also incredibly effective at relieving cramps.”

You opened your eyes, glaring at him.

“I swear to god,” you threatened, “My uterus is literally shredding itself into pieces. Shredding, Bill. And you are seriously proposing that I fuck your brains out for relief?”

He stared back, unblinking.

“No, I’m seriously proposing that you lie back and let me fuck your brains out, for your own relief,” he picked up the mug again, warming his hands for a few seconds before placing them back on your lower abdomen. 

“It’s gross,” you snapped. He shrugged.

“It’s science.”

You just shook your head, flopping it back on the pillow. A second later you heard the bedsheets rustle, felt the weight on the bed shift as his hands slid off your stomach.

He ran his nose along your jaw, steadying his weight above you with a knee planted on the mattress, before placing his lips on that sensitive spot below your ear. He sucked on it softly as you inhaled a sharp breath, willing yourself not to whimper. He released it with a lick, swiping his tongue over his lips before planting them again an inch down, sucking on your pulse point.

“Bill, no,” you sighed, but his hands came up to tangle with yours and you held on.

“Okay,” he mumbled into your neck, moving his lips down to kiss and suck at another spot. His mouth was warm and soft, leaving a wet trail in its wake as you tingled.

“Stop,” you whimpered, but he just nipped gently at your sensitive skin as you craned your chin up to expose more of your neck.

“Alright,” he conceded, moving his mouth to the hollow of your neck and down your collarbone, peppering suckling kisses along it. He made his way back up your neck and when he got to your sweet spot—a small spot halfway up your neck and a little to the back—he sucked on it a little harder as he softly rolled his hips down into yours. You gasped and moaned; you were already so sensitive, but now you were dialled to a hundred.  He rested his hips lightly against yours, keeping a lot of the pressure off your stomach but pressing down just enough to relieve some of your pain.

“Bill it’s…it’s gross,” you tried, but it sounded pitiful even to you. He rolled his hips slowly into yours again and you dug your nails into his biceps, moaning softly.

“S’not gross,” he murmured into your neck, “And it’ll help you.”

“It’s messy,” you bit your lip, but you could feel your resolve crumbling the more he pushed his hips into yours.

“We’ll put a towel down,” he moved his face from your neck, kissing down your nose before capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You whined into it, already worked up and hormonal, even more so knowing that the release you were now so desperately craving would have to wait a few days. You broke the kiss, frustrated, and tried to sit up.

“This is mean,” you started to push away at him, his lips softly pressing all over your face, “You’re getting me all horny and you know there’s nothing we can do about it for a few more days.”

“We can do something about it,” he insisted, kissing you again as you struggled, “I’ve done it before.”

That gave you pause as you looked up at him, and he held your gaze.

“You have?” You asked meekly. He nodded, and gave you a half smile.

“Yeah, in fact I had a girlfriend who was super into it. She swore it was the only thing that ever helped,” he wove his hands with yours again, kissing the corners of your mouth, “I was happy to do it.”

He bumped his nose with yours, kissing the tip of it as you contemplated.

“Which girlfriend?”

“Tiger,” he rolled his eyes, “Look, if you really don’t want to, then we won’t. But don’t hold out on relief because you think it’s gross. It doesn’t bother me, kid.”

 You stared at him long and hard, waiting to see a crack in his facade. But irritatingly, all you saw was kindness and sincerity. And as another cramp clenched your lower stomach, you caved.

“Fine,” you agreed, “But there’s no way I’m doing this without a shower first.”

Smiling, he moved off of you and pulled you up slowly. When you made your way into the bathroom, he followed but you put a hand on his chest to stop him.

“Nuh uh, buddy,” you pushed him back, “You wait out here.”

He whined petulantly but you shoved him back and slammed the door.

You took your time under the stream of hot water, both to gain courage and to soap up a few times. When you weren’t getting any cleaner, you shut the water off with a sigh. Running a towel through your hair, you wrapped it around you after and took a deep breath as you opened the door.

Bill was sitting cross legged on the bed, moving to his knees when he saw you. He had spread out towels—the dark blue ones, typically reserved for the beach—all over the bed.

“I thought the white ones might freak you out,” he reached his hand out and you walked towards him, taking it, “I asked the hotel to bring me these ones.”

“Good call,” you muttered, “Now get me off my feet before gravity takes over.”

Your attempt at grossing him out didn’t work, when all he did was pull you towards him, wrapping his arms around your waist as he captured your lips in a lingering kiss. He shifted, pulling you onto the bed and settling you under him, resting some of his weight on you. He moved his lips from yours to kiss your chin, nipping your jaw.

“I’m serious, bud,” you tried again, “It’s going to like…gush.”

“Okay,” he mumbled unaffected, sucking your earlobe into his mouth. You whimpered, craning your neck up to give him better access.

“It’s going to look like a crime scene,” you couldn’t keep the edge of a pleasured sigh from sneaking out as he nibbled on your ear.

“Alright,” he mumbled again, moving his lips down to suck the water droplets from your neck. He moaned, his lips vibrating against your sensitive skin, and pulled at the knot in your towel. He trailed his mouth over your collarbone as his hand came up to cup your breast, running his thumb over your nipple. He kneaded it softly, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger before pinching it lightly and you groaned. You were so sensitive already, the hormones putting all of your nerve endings on fire as he licked the hollow of your neck, dragging his tongue down the middle of your chest. He rolled his hips into yours as he sucked your nipple into his mouth, and you gasped.

“You know,” you started, pausing to moan as he flicked it with his tongue, “You really don’t have to uh, warm me up.”

“Mmm,” was his non-committal reply.

“There’s going to be enough…wetness,” you tried again, “But it’ll be blo—”

He cut you off with a rough kiss.

“You get an A for effort in trying to gross me out, kid,” he murmured, “But you still lose.”

He kissed you again, rolling his hips into yours again and you clung to him, digging your nails into his back. He sucked on your bottom lip, running his tongue over it as he laid his palm flat on your chest, dragging is down slowly to rest low on your belly. It knocked you back into the present.

“Whoa hey, hang on,” you broke the kiss and grabbed his wrist firmly, “Hands stay up top.”

He sighed and moved his hand, shifting to balance his weight on his forearms he looked down at you. 

“Why?” He asked.

“Because, that’s some next level shit I’m not ready for yet,” you said. He kissed you lightly, running his thumb across your cheek.

“Tiger, if you don’t want to do this, then we won’t do it,” he said as he stroked your cheek. You shook your head.

“No, I want to,” you insisted, “I’m just…I’m not ready for your hands to be all up in that mess.”

“Okay,” he acquiesced, “Are you sure? About wanting this?”

You nodded.

“And if you change your mind about it all? And you want to stop?”

“I’ll tell you,” you promised, and he smiled. Weaving his hands with yours, he placed them by your head.

“Good. So I’ll just keep my hands up here,” he murmured, “And maybe I just keep doing this, instead.”

And he thrusted his hips into you again, making you moan as he brought his mouth back down to your chest. Licking between your breasts, he nipped at your soft mounds before capturing your nipple back in his mouth. He rolled his tongue over it as he flexed his hips into yours, sucking hard on it as you whimpered. Releasing it with a pop, he dragged his mouth back to yours for a deep kiss while he let go of your hands.

“Take my pants off kid,” he commanded, “I’ll keep my hands up here.”

He moved them into your hair, scratching lightly as you fumbled for his pants and pushed them down over his hips. You used your feet to drag them down his legs, until they were low enough for him to kick off. Settling his hips onto yours, he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth.

“Line me up,” he murmured against your mouth, and you reached down to position his head at your entrance. He moaned at the contact, fisting your hair a little tighter.

“You good, tiger?” He asked, and it came out as more of a sigh. You nodded.

“Yeah bud,” you couldn’t help but grind up against him just a bit, making you both moan, “Yeah, I’m good.”

Removing his hands from your hair to weave back with yours, he kissed you as he slowly pushed into you. He groaned from deep in his chest and you felt him twitch, pressing in until his hips sat flush with yours and he dragged in a ragged breath.

“Bullseye,” he sighed.

You were clenching around him already, so worked up and hypersensitive, and now stretched so deliciously with him inside of you. His head rested heavily on that sensitive part of your walls, already pulsating against him and he squeezed your hands tighter.

“God, kid,” he moaned, “You feel fucking incredible.”

You took a deep breath in, tried to calm the tight coil you could already feel building low in your gut but it was no use. You felt yourself fluttering around him, your muscles clenching rhythmically as he pulled his hips back and slowly rolled them into yours again.

“You ok?” He checked in, and you raked your nails down his back as you craned your head up for a kiss. He moaned into your mouth, grinding his hips down and rubbing against your clit with his lower abs.

“So good,” you whimpered, tilting your hips up into his for more friction, “So good.”

He thrusted into you slow and deep, and you were already losing control. Burying his face in your neck, he sucked your earlobe into his mouth.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmured against you, “You’re ready to come already.”

You let out a frustrated cry and he felt you bear down on him, gritting your teeth to try and stave it off. He nipped his way back to your mouth, capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

“Oh no, kid. No way,” he groaned, rolling down into you with a bit more force, “Don’t hold back.”

Gently, he eased his thumb into your mouth as he ground his hips down onto your clit.

“This is for you, sweet girl,” he bumped his nose with yours and closed his eyes, cursing lowly when he felt you squeeze around him, “You let go whenever you need to. I’ll catch up.”

He thrusted deep into you again, staying in and rubbing his pelvis against your nub as you groaned. Your walls fluttered around him and you whined as you bit around his thumb.

“Give it to me, kid,” he coaxed. He gripped the bedsheets tightly in his fist, cursing and biting into the pillow to stave off his own release when he felt you start to clench rhythmically around him. Your back bowed off the bed as you stilled, everything tense and wound tight before it snapped. With a soft cry you clutched at him, biting down hard on his thumb as his hips continued to move slowly against you as you spasmed. He rested you gently against the pillows as you rode it out, not stopping his movements as you writhed and whimpered.

“Good girl,” he praised, a guttural groan clawing its way out of his chest, “God the things you do to me, tiger.”

Easing his thumb out of your mouth, he bit down hard on your bottom lip before dragging it into his mouth, parting your lips to glide his tongue inside.

The way he kept his movements slow and steady, not stopping as you came down from your high meant that you were soon climbing again. You made a strangled noise, feeble and needy, as you felt it start to build with his gentle thrusts, the rhythmic roll of his hips into yours, the slow drag of when he pulled back and the sweet satisfaction of when he filled you back up again.

“Wrap your legs around me kid,” he commanded breathlessly, “Nice and tight.”

You did as you were told, rewarded with a deep moan as he repositioned his weight on his hands, thrusting in deeper.

“Touch your clit for me, sweet girl,” he sighed, grinding into you, “Nice and gentle.”

You whined but he shushed you softly, licked the pads of your first two fingers before coaxing your hand down. You pressed down gingerly on your oversensitive nub, causing you to clench around him and he moaned, kissing you hard.

“That’s it, tiger,” he praised, “Just like how I would do it.”

But you whimpered, grabbing at his hand and placing it low on your belly.

“You do it better,” you whined, “Please Bill.”

“You sure, kid?” He asked, “I thought you didn’t want my hands—”

“Please,” you cut him off with your begging, feeling the pressure building in your stomach as your body thrummed, “Please just touch me.”

You didn’t need to ask again; he dragged his lips to the sweet spot on your neck, sucking on it as he gently pinched your clit between his thumb and forefinger. You were so sensitive, already so close again that you let out a loud cry and surged forward. He groaned, thrusting in deep and doing it again.

“Bill,” the whimpers tumbled from your lips as you started to tighten around him, raking your nails down his back. He twitched and thrusted in hard, slamming into you with a loud groan.

“Fuck,” it was loud, almost a yell, as he pinched your clit and slammed into you again. It was enough to send you over the edge, tumbling into bliss a second time as you dug your nails into his back and tightened your legs around him. The feeling of your spasms around him triggered his own release and his hand shot out, gripping the headboard as he let out a loud cry. His back tensed, his hips thrusting in deep and staying there as he crushed you to him, groaning as he twitched through it. He couldn’t hold his weight as the aftershocks took over, his muscles jolting as he collapsed on top of you. He sighed, his chest heaving with deep breaths that he struggled to take. He stayed like that for a few minutes, his full weight crushing you to the mattress as he tried to catch his breath.

He got his wits about him after awhile, and raised up as much as he could, his arms shaky and his jaw still lax with pleasure.

“Are you okay?” He mumbled. Dazed, you managed a dopey grin.

“I think we’ll be doing that more often,” you said. He smiled, his own lopsided and nearly drunk.

“Are your cramps gone?” He asked, and you nodded.

“You feel good?” He questioned, and once again you nodded enthusiastically. He laughed, pecking your lips briefly.

“Good,” he said, keeping a close hold of you as he rolled off and onto his side. With a deep breath he sat up, struggling to get his legs over the side of the bed. He stood up, wobbling slightly, and you shot up in panic.

“Bill, wait,” you said and he turned to you, but your face dropped in horror and embarrassment when you looked down. You had made a mess of him, blood staining his lower abdomen and his upper thighs, and your cheeks burned with humiliation.

“Don’t look down,” you begged, mortified. You scrambled to throw the sheets around yourself, grabbing at the towels to try and clean up, “Please don’t look down. I’ll clean you up.”

Two hands on your shoulders gently pushed you back down as you tried to stand, leaning over you to spread the towel back out on the bed and kissing your lips lightly.

“Tiger, relax,” he soothed, “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” you whined, “It’s gross. I made a mess on you.”

“Kid, you have literally thrown up all over me. Multiple times. A little blood is not going to gross me out,” he kissed you softly again, “It’s natural.”

“It’s gross. Can I at least clean you up?” You mumbled feebly, but he tapped your nose.

“No. Lie down, I’ll be back in a second,” and with no more room to argue, he shoved you gently back onto the pillow and made his way to the bathroom. He re-emerged a few minutes later, his front cleaned off and with a small container of baby wipes in his hand. Sitting beside you, he gently swiped between your legs with a wipe, cleaning you up as you groaned and threw your forearm across your eyes in embarrassment. But you let him work, dabbing you with another wipe before a crinkle of paper caught your attention, a gentle hand moving your legs further apart.

“Whoa, no fucking way,” you shot upright, grabbing his wrist and snatching the tampon from his hand as he looked at you with a bored expression, “Are you fucking insane?”

“You know, you can be a real prude sometimes tiger,” he quirked a brow at you, an amused grin tugging at his lips. You glared at him, incredulous.

“This is gross,” you accused, “How the fuck are you so okay with all of this shit? Who the fuck tries to put a tampon—” 

He cut you off with a kiss, holding your face to him as you struggled.

“You know what? You’re right, kid” he nipped playfully at your nose and you swatted him, “No sense in wasting one when we’re just gonna go at it again in a few hours.”

[tenjouu]

revolvere (2/?)

facetious plot summary: Lancelot loses his magic upon traveling back in time to the day of Alice the Second’s arrival. How will he save the world equipped with only his winning looks and charisma? Read on to find out! lmao!

1  |  2 : delegations

This time around, Lancelot learns to delegate.

No wonder he couldn’t come up with any good plans once he’d entered office. He was overwhelmed with the work and never could ignore the impending doom of his world, so it affected his productivity in some ways. Work smarter, not harder.

His officers reluctantly write yesterday off as an ‘off-day’. He’s back to his aloof persona, which gets them off his case, but he hires two aides to deal with the sheer mountain of paperwork on his desk, which gets them kind of back on his case, but they can’t really say anything about it since they know how busy Lancelot is.

It’s not unreasonable to buckle under the pressure. And with the war brewing, his work literally increases tenfold. Lancelot doesn’t have anything to prove about being able to do all of it himself.

(“What?” Kyle would probably say, if you asked him about it. “He’s obviously an impostor. The real Lance would never pass up the chance to be unreasonable about his workload.”)

But Lancelot begrudgingly admits being king wouldn’t take nearly as long if he didn’t have to read all this shit. The glorious part about kingship is really nothing. Sometimes, he has inspections, meetings with foreign dignitaries, trips to the Civic Center, but those are few and far between.

His daily work is more like managing the salt directed at Hearts Quarter from the Diamonds (claiming political favoritism), charters for new institutions by nobles who have money, grievances and civil cases to be scheduled for later dates, his pet project of reforming the criminal system, marriage proposals from wealthy families within and outside of Cradle, requests for funding, requests for money, requests for more land, requests for a peace treaty—

Necessary, but some of these things are not quite like the others. The problem is that Lancelot never knows which ones he can throw out on first glance because no one reviews the documents before he does. But Lancelot doesn’t really have to address all of these himself.

(He repurposes an unused chamber room into a new office.

“Reject all of the marriage proposals but diplomatically,” he tells his new aides. “If the charters are for a good cause, accept them. I will give you a list of my scheduled council meetings, so arrange court dates as necessary. I don’t care for the time, but not after dinner. Assuage Diamonds Quarter that there’s no favoritism here; I have no patience for either faction and therefore cannot discriminate on principle.” He pauses. “Maybe don’t put it quite like that. If someone asks for an audience with the king, determine for yourself whether it’s of importance and respond. If you have any documents you’re unsure of, place them on my desk, or just ask me.”

The two of them stare at him with wide eyes. The woman looks a little stunned. The man is positively flabbergasted. He must’ve wrecked their impression of him irreparably.

Once again, zero fucks.

Lancelot turns to survey the massive towers on his desk.

“And utilize paper organizers,” he adds as an afterthought. “Label the bins so I know what is what.”)

All in a day’s work. Now that he doesn’t have to read all of those papers himself, he easily has time to join his officers for dinner.

So he does. He never particularly was good at fitting in during social functions, and he might have been too ashamed to do anything about it once before, but he finds himself no longer caring.

Among other things that he says to them, one of them is: “I’m ordering you all to hire aides if you need them.”

Apparently, that’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back, because Jonah finally confronts him after dinner.

“King Lancelot, forgive my forwardness, but recently…” He grits his teeth, clenching his fist in the hallway. Lancelot looks down, impassive. “…Have you been well? My understanding is that you have decided to hold off on annexing the Black Army, but you’ve changed…your usual modus operandi.”

Lancelot claps Jonah on the shoulder, and Jonah jerks from the contact. “I appreciate your concern, Jonah. But this isn’t a worse way to do things. What good is it for a single man to make all of the decisions? It’s good to have fresh, young opinions in the state. It’s the only way we can evolve.”

“Then, about the girl, Alice…?”

“I want her company, even if for just one day,” Lancelot says simply.

Jonah is rendered speechless.

“Now,” Lancelot reminds him gently, “hire an aide. And tell Edgar to as well. Or I’ll punish you two for direct disobedience.”

— . . . —

“I could retrieve Alice for you,” Edgar offers him, like how he had the first time.

Lancelot shakes his head. “You’re busy as is,” he says. “I trust that Sirius Oswald will follow through.” He turns a critical gaze to Edgar. “You heard from Jonah, I assume?”

Edgar is amused about the whole thing. “Well, if my king orders me to, then I can’t disobey,” he says amicably.

— . . . —

Kyle clearly thinks the whole thing is out of character, but he shrugs. “I don’t know what changed, but good for you, Lance,” he says supportively.

Zero hums in agreement.

— . . . —

So the whole magic thing is a bit of a problem.

He had some kind of guarantee of holding his own against Amon, figuring he would use the power vested in him to beat the hell out of that deluded, infantile megalomaniac, but now he’s as magically conductive as a plain rock. And that plan evidently didn’t turn out so well considering he regretfully took his final breath in Harr’s sturdy arms.

Everyone still thinks he can use magic, so he’ll let them think that. Amon’s due to check in on him in a few days, but Lancelot isn’t worried about the timing.

Sirius doesn’t disappoint. Not even a week after the Central Quarter confrontation, and Lancelot wants to laugh when he finds the Black Army’s Ace and Alice being escorted down the hallway by Zero. He keeps himself composed though as he offers Alice a cool smile. Sirius must’ve thought the offer was too good to pass up—and he must have realized that it was a show of trust. That Lancelot was testing him.

“He seriously never does that,” Godspeed mutters to her. “Stay on your guard.”

Alice looks uncertain, nods to her guard, and follows Lancelot into his office.

He closes the door behind him, unfazed by Godspeed’s challenging glare.

“Please sit,” he gestures to the chair before his desk. “I’ve already poured tea. And I’ve prepared your favorite desserts.”

Alice blinks down at the tray in surprise upon registering that the pastries are indeed her favorite. It’s not as if Lancelot was unobservant during her time in Red Headquarters. Edgar was always busying about, finding ways to smuggle in her favorite things. He’d offer to let Lancelot have some too.

“Thank you,” Alice says, tense as Lancelot takes the seat in front of her.

“Relax,” Lancelot says. “You’re here as a guest. You will not be harmed.”

Easier said than done, he thinks wryly as Alice tries and utterly fails to loosen up. He can understand maybe why—he wonders just exactly how Sirius convinced her to come. What was it he said? ‘I would like to get to know her better’?

“I like baking,” she blurts, tracing the rim of her tea cup.

“I know,” Lancelot hums. He definitely knows. She’s damn good at it too.

Alice makes a face, opening her mouth to no doubt follow up with something else out of the blue, in a misguided attempt to let Lancelot ‘know her better’, but Lancelot holds a hand up.

“I actually already know you quite well, Alice,” he says. She doesn’t look reassured—in fact, possibly even more apprehensive than before. “Maybe I should tell you more about myself instead.”

“Please do, King Lancelot,” she says, smiling stiffly, finally looking up.

Lancelot resists the urge to smile at the humor in this situation. She must have a direly wrong impression.

Well, here goes.

“Do you know of the Magic Tower?” he asks. She nods. That saves him the explanation then. “I plan to overthrow a man who is currently looking down from a very high place in there. I’d like your help in passing messages along to the Black Army. The peace treaty needs to be kept under wraps so that this man doesn’t suspect anything.”

“Oh, thank god,” Alice breathes. That’s her first instinctive reaction. Her second is to blush, delightfully red, when she remembers where she is. “Oh, that was terribly rude of me! I apologize—“

Lancelot laughs. “You did well to be wary of strange men,” he commends her, “but you’ll find that there are stranger men out there.”

Alice doesn’t look like she disagrees. But her eyes narrow thoughtfully.

“Forgive me for my forwardness, but...why should I believe you?”

“There’s something that I need to protect,” he says with iron resolve. “I cannot give up on the future of this country. Even if it costs my life, I will protect the people. In another world, I would have tried to go it alone.”

In another world, he did.

“But I think it would’ve turned out differently if I had been honest from the start. I’ve decided to place my faith in the strength of others.”

He inclines his head.

“I cannot make you believe me. I can only ask you to trust me.”

She has always been a good judge of character. She was so good for Edgar. Lancelot finds himself strangely relieved when she finally nods, eyes shining with determination. She believes him.

“I’m telling Ray and the others,” she says. “They’re the ones who can make an informed decision about this.”

“I expect no less,” he replies. “But you must keep the details of our deal from any spies. I’m sure there are bugs planted in Blackwell’s army, just as there are in mine. For now, only tell him and Sirius.”

Alice acknowledges his command and takes a sip from her tea. Peering over the rim of the cup, she asks curiously, “Why are you telling me all of this, King Lancelot? You asked me to trust you, but it seems you’ve risked quite a lot to trust me.”

“I have nothing to lose by telling you,” he responded. “Either the Black Army chooses to believe you or they dismiss your words as ludicrous and baseless. The master of the tower thinks I’m completely under his control, and I’ve built up quite the reputation for belligerence.”

“But you know Sirius will believe you, and Ray believes Sirius,” she muses.

He knew she was clever. He wishes more than ever she’d stay in Red Headquarters. Now that he thinks about it, before death, he was so busy preparing for the final confrontation that the amount of time he had was impossibly little.

He hadn’t seen her for four days then. Now that he thinks about it, he missed the Alice of his world. And if his officers—Jonah, Edgar, Zero, Kyle—were here, they would miss the brightness that Alice brought with her everywhere too. As it stands, he’s the only one in the Red Army who remembers and knows to mourn the loss of her company.

“And I’ve told you already,” Lancelot interjects, amused. “I know you quite well. I knew I could trust you. I even know your birthday.”

“I was going to ask about that, actually,” she gasps. “How do you know everything? Are you psychic? Does magic make you psychic?”

“If you want to think of it that way.”

Her eyes are wide with wonder when he brings up the next topic.

“You will be in even more danger now that I’ve brought you into the fold,” he warns. “We’ll need a believable story, and I already have someone in mind who will protect you from the tower since they’ve certainly caught wind of your existence.”

Knowing better than to disagree about needing protection, she simply accepts it with a nod.

“So I’m to play...the Red King’s lover, who is a ward of the Black Army?” she says slowly.

“It need not be reciprocated by you.” Lancelot has no intention, after all, of actually making a move on Alice. He won’t be stepping over his retainer’s toes in the matter. “Given the public perception of me, it would be laughable for you to fall in love with me. So instead, I suppose I’ll have to fall for you.”

Strangely, her face looks troubled. “King Lancelot, you don’t give yourself enough credit,” she says earnestly.

“Says the woman who came in dreading my declaration of undying love,” he shoots back.

She flushes. “That was before I got to know you better! No one in their right mind would agree immediately, no matter how beautiful the other person is!”

“Thank you, Alice,” he says, dry as sand. “I’m not against pretending that the infatuation is mutual. But it’s better for my reputation if these tea parties appear to be against your will.”

“Isn’t it worse for your reputation?”

“Don’t worry about that,” he replies, unconcerned. “I don’t care for bettering my reputation in the good way. Now, if Blackwell’s Ace asks what happened in here, tell him that you were absolutely disgusted by my arrogance and domineering personality.”

“King Lancelot,” she sighs at him in farewell. He notes that she’s taking the tray of pastries with her.

“Be sure to play your part,” he says, letting slip a trace of fondness.

“I will!” she says, pretending defiance when she opens the door.

“I’ll send for you,” he calls calmly as she closes it.

One of his favorite people, going.

He didn’t realize this is what it’s like to watch the back of a person who is leaving you before you can leave them.

It’s bittersweet.

Godspeed’s repulsed scowl is sour icing on the cake.

— . . . —

The guard that Lancelot has in mind is someone that he knows is powerful. Now that Lancelot actually has time after dinner on week days, he goes to the cat alley in Central Quarter and lies in wait.

Loki shows up without fail.

“Oh,” he says, surprised but also unimpressed. “The King of Hearts.”

His love for cats trumps his wariness of Lancelot, because he doesn’t flee on the spot. He lowers his basket of goodies and the felines swarm him.

A stray cat, enjoying the warmth of Lancelot’s lap and the gentle scritch-scratch of Lancelot’s fingers, is the only one who stays back.

“Didn’t know you liked cats, o’ king,” Loki adds, trying to draw a reaction, when Lancelot doesn’t say anything.

A king befitting Lancelot’s reputation might’ve spouted some pompous line like, ‘They’re elegant, clever little creatures.’

Lancelot opens his mouth and what comes out is, “They’re nice and soft.”

Loki makes no effort to conceal his jaw dropping. “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t take it back. “I like cats,” he says. “I didn’t think it was mutually exclusive with kingship.”

Loki shakes his head. “It isn’t. The Black—oh,” he cuts himself off emphatically, realizing what he was about to divulge.

“How’s Harr?” Lancelot prompts suddenly.

Loki narrows his eyes. “Fine,” he huffs, tetchy, and ignores Lancelot for the rest of the hour.

—

.

.

.

—

Lancelot kind of has a schedule though. He said he’d send for Alice in a few days to give her time to convince the other two, so he simply can’t wait for Sirius to put him in contact with Harr when the truce hasn’t even been officialized in secret yet.

Without magic, he can’t see past Harr’s invisibility barriers, and therefore he can’t possibly hope to navigate the forbidden forest and find him that way.

So he comes back to the alley two days in a row. This time, he’s the one bearing gifts. Food waste after dinner in the barracks is a big problem, after all. Another thing he’ll have to fix when he topples Amon’s reign in the shadows.

“Cheshire Cat,” he says. “I need to speak with Harr. Tell me where he is.”

“I don’t know,” Loki says, eyeing Lancelot’s payload. “You could check Central Quarter. Can’t you sense him with your magic?”

They both know if Harr doesn’t want to be found, then he won’t be. Lancelot wonders if he can lure Harr out somehow. He has no illusions that Loki is a cunning young man who could just as easily turn the tables on Lancelot. The sooner he’s put into contact with Harr the better.

So he leans close and says casually, “I no longer have magic. And save some of that for Harr.”

“I—I was planning to,” Loki snaps, his face transparent with shock.

— . . . —

He’s a genius.

Harr confronts him two days later.

[petertingle-yipyip]

Sometimes It Rains In L.A. - Kol Mikaelson

//Requested:  Your stories Cheater and Detective (Pt.1 Pt.2), inspired this idea. Readers 4th year dating Kol and got a degree in Criminal Justice. She got a offer as a Federal Agent in LA. She wants to talk to Kol first. She then finds him in bed with Davina. She’s heartbroken when Kol tells her he’s been with Davina for a while now and they break up. She takes the job and moves to LA, leaving everyone a letter. As she’s on the plane, she gets several calls from Kol and the whole family to come back, but she refuses.//

//Pairings: Kolvina, Kol x Reader. Warnings: cheating, language, angst. Tag List: @akshi8278 //

//Part Two//

New Orleans. A city of booze, beads, and blood. Not everyone saw all three stories, but you did. You knew the nightlife, the constant inflow of tourists and spring breakers. Girls and guys that were freshly twenty one or the friend group that just had to spend Mardi Gras in NOLA. It was nice, constant chatter. The city truly never slept... And neither did it’s villains.

You had been in this beautifully historic city for about six years now, and were entering you fourth year of a committed relationship with a textbook sadistic psychopath. But it wasn’t as bad as it sounded.

He was clinically insane, you never doubted or argued that because you saw it. It was part of your job to notice and understand these behaviors. And quite frankly, your boyfriend was probably the prime example of a lot of those behaviors. Of course, he had his own trauma and experiences that contributed to it but he was just a lunatic, if you were being honest. And he knew that. He reveled in it more often than not but it was fun for you too. Well, at least he used to. Hes calmed down a lot since you two got together, at least that’s what his family tells you.

Now his family was a whole other can of worms. There were so many toxic traits between them all that you were honest to God shocked that they managed to stay together and not murder each other for the thousand plus years. Granted, that might have due to the fact that none of his family could really die but that was besides the point.

But, your relationship wasn’t your sole purpose in New Orleans. You moved to the city after you got your Master’s in Criminal Justice. With a minor in criminal psychology, which is how you noticed and knew how to handle the various personalities within the Mikaelson family. But your relationship did complicate the job, considering half of your cases were because of the Mikaelsons or their enemies. It was quite a sticky situation more often than not. That was, until you got the job offer in Los Angeles, the offer of a lifetime.

Los Angeles was a dream. Celebrities lived around every corner, premieres were every weekend. The clubs were fantastic, the concerts were unforgettable. And the pay would be a lot higher. The only thing was, you were in love. So, you thought you could ask him to come with you. Leaving his family would be healthy for him, a little space to be himself. But they were all so dependent on each other...

“Hey, Nik. Is Kol home?” You asked his brother as you skipped into the compound. Only Klaus and his daughter seemed to be home.

You liked Hope. You hadn’t known Klaus before but from the stories you knew, he was a maniac. An unstoppable force that no one could survive. A hurricane at it’s peak. But once Hope entered his life, he softened completely. The myth became just that, a myth. Every now and then, he could be a tornado, destruction following in his wake. Klaus Mikaelson had gone soft, all because he had his ‘littlest wolf’.

“Well, someone’s very excited.” Klaus laughed slightly. “What’s so great?”

“I just got offered a job in Los Angeles.” You gushed in excitement, unable to contain the news you wanted to first tell your boyfriend. “It’s a federal agent position and they need an answer tonight. I guess all that schooling really did pay off. Who’s laughing now, Klaus? Ha ha!” You joked.

“So you’re going to break up with Uncle Kol?” Hope asked from her dad’s side. She sounded almost... hopeful. She paused for a second after receiving a look from her father. “I mean... You don’t wanna do long distance, do you? I heard it’s really stressful. Plus a new job, a new federal agent job, that sounds stressful enough.”

“Um, no, I’m not. I mean. I hope not.” You laughed slightly. “I’m actually kinda hoping he’ll come with me. I already thought about the long distance and with how unpredictable Kol is, there’s no point in long distance, I guess...” You said somewhat awkwardly, not getting the response from the family you had wanted. “Okay! So, I’m just gonna go find him. We’ll do goodbyes later!”

“Wait!” Hope called as you headed towards his room. “So you’re taking the job either way, right?” She clarified. “Opportunity of a lifetime... A man can’t dictate what you do with your life... You have to do what’s best for you, even if it hurts...” She tried to convince you.

“Yeah, most likely.” You answered in slow confusion. “I can’t miss this opportunity. You know, I’ve wanted this since I was younger than you. Catch you later.” You winked and turned to see if Kol was in his room.

That’s when you heard it. Heard her. The dor was nearly shut, cracked about an inch. Your arm was raised to knock but you were frozen in your place. Your heart felt like it had literally stopped beating, if only for a second.

“Kol, she’s going to find out. I’m tired of sneaking around.” She said to him. “It’s been months. How much longer do you need?”

“I know, Darling. I just need to figure out how to tell her.” Kol’s voice answered.”I need you to understand that I do still love Y/N. I’ll always love her.”

‘Always love me, my ass’ You thought as you reacted silently, falling against the closest wall and staying away from the slightly open doorway. Your hand covered your mouth, the other clutching your suddenly painful stomach.

“Yeah, well, I love you, Kol. I’m not going to keep sneaking in and out when she’s not here. I hid in that attic for long enough.” She said plainly.

“It all makes sense now...” You sighed as you made your presence known, throwing the door open as you paraded in. Davina sat up quickly, pulling the covers up to her chest. Kol swung his legs to the floor and sprinted to your side. “This is why Hope wanted to make sure I would leave...”

“Leave?” Kol asked frantically. “You can’t go, Y/N.”

“I have to..” You said numbly. All of Hope’s convincing was making sense. ...what’s best for you, even if it hurts.... “I got a job offer, federal agent. I was going to ask you to come with me to- Actually, don’t worry about it. He’s all yours, Davina. Have fun.” You turned on your heel to leave before adding one final comment over your shoulder. “Oh, and by the way, if you want him to be putty in your hands, wear something maroon with an open back. He’ll be drooling all night.”

You kept your head down as you marched out of the room and out of the compound. You knew you couldn’t stop to talk to Klaus and Hope. Stopping gave Kol a chance to catch up with you which gave him a chance to talk to you. Stopping also meant all your emotions could catch up with you. You ran until you got home.

You locked the front door and leaned against it, letting a few tears fall as your head hit the wood. You slowly slid down until you were on the floor, knees pulled up to your chest and head hanging low. A few knocks sounded soon, followed by a strained, familiar voice calling out for you. Judging by his voice, it sounded like Kol had shed a few tears as well but you knew that was it. The final straw.

You had told Kol from the beginning that you knew his life was complicated and you understood that he would have to do things that any mundane would never consider. You knew he had a dark past. His current status was nearly as dark. But he said you were his light, you were his inspiration to be better. Through everything, you asked him to just never cheat. And he swore he would never. But it looked like four years changed things. And with Davina fucking Claire of all people.

Once to knocking had stopped, you had managed to compose yourself enough to call the agency and tell them you were accepting the job. They said they would have you on the first flight tomorrow and to watch your email for the flight information. Goodbye New Orleans, hello Los Angeles.

You knew you weren’t going to be able to sleep so you stayed awake packing your bags, cleaning your apartment, making lists of things to be cancelled and transferred. Most importantly, you wrote letters to the people you wouldn’t be able to say any last words to.

‘Hope, I don’t think you truly understand what you’ve done for your family. You were the one to change your father. You’ve heard the stories about the infamous Klaus Mikaelson, the first hybrid. But around you, he’s soft and loving. You have such a powerful, warming presence. I know you’re going to kick ass at whatever you choose to do with your life. You could rule the whole world blindfolded with your hands tied behind your back. I know I’m only a mortal and you’ll outlive me by God knows how long but I know for a fact that your impact on this world will never fade. I wish for you to grow into an even more powerful, stronger, smarter, kinder, and more beautiful version of yourself. Through whatever your future holds, never lose track of who you are or where you came from. You were right after all, Little One. I have to do what’s best for me... even if it hurts like hell. Much love. Xx’

‘Klaus, you made my life hell when I got here and I still think you did it on purpose. You were the suspect of nearly every case I had, but how I was supposed to arrest my (now ex) boyfriend’s brother? How was I supposed to arrest the man, the myth, the legend Klaus Mikaelson? Despite all of that, you were my closest confidant. I could trust you with anything, especially my life. I didn’t know you before your daughter, and maybe that’s for the best. I don’t know if I would’ve been as much of a friend to you if I had... But then again I fell in love with your equally sadistic brother so who knows? Look out for him, Klaus. He may not say it but you’re his brother and he needs you. He loves you. I know he can be the biggest asshole in the world, but he does have a heart... And his family takes up most of the space in that heart. So don’t let him go too long without knowing that you care about him... Have fun, be safe, and I’ll talk to you soon. Much love. Xx’

And that was it. The sun was rising and the airport was your next destination. You folded the papers and placed them in their own envelopes. You addressed them and on your way to the airport, you dropped them off at the post office. That was the last task you had left in New Orleans. Nothing was holding you there anymore.

With a heavy heart, you went through the usual checkpoints at the airport. Numbly, you checked your bags, boarded, and took off. You stared blankly out your window as the beautiful city of New Orleans that you called home for the past handful of years disappeared.

Your phone buzzed in your lap repeatedly. Flipping it over, you saw Kol’s name, along with his contact photo lighting up your screen. You were debating whether you should let it ring or decline it. Instead, you ended up accepting the call. You pressed it to your ear and listened silently.

“Who am I kidding?” He said sadly. “You’ll never answer. You’ll never forgive me. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, not by a long shot. I swore to you-”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” The flight attendant said kindly. “But you’ll have to turn off your cell phone. It’s airline policy.”

You smiled kindly and shook your head, lowering the phone and ending the call. “Not a problem.” You said and she smiled in thanks as she walked away. You turned on your airplane mode setting before dropping your head onto the headrest. You couldn’t help but wonder what Kol was going to say. Had he realized you picked up? Did he think it was your voicemail?

Before you knew it you were in Los Angeles and a whole new life was going to begin for you.

[bat-losers-inc]

Collisions in the Dark (Ch 13): Desperado

Summary: Tim suddenly finds himself surrounded by allies and enemies alike as he risks his own life to bring Jason back from the grave. 

Pairings: Tim Drake / Jason Todd

Chapter Notes: Desperado: A piece that seems determined to give itself up, typically to bring about stalemate or perpetual check. Also a threatened piece that sacrifices itself for the maximum compensation possible.

“You are a fever I am learning to live with, and everything is happening at the wrong end of a very long tunnel.” — ” Straw House, Straw Dog”, Richard Siken.

“Don’t move,” The metal pressed hard against his neck and Tim couldn’t help the gasp that escaped him. Fingers dug into his shoulder. Tim could feel the force on the grip, every finger discernible through the layers of clothes he wore.

There were more people now. Tim could sense them behind him in the shifting of air and clothing.

“Signal the Demon Head. Tell them to bring the helicopter around to our location.

The knife was removed right before Tim was kicked in the back of the knees, sending him crashing to the ground. Tim caught himself with his hands out of reflex. He didn’t need to lift his hands to see that the skin there was scraped raw. The throbbing sensation told him all he needed to know. The feel of grit in the wounds. Sharp. Taunting him.

One of the people behind him spoke quietly into a comm unit.

Tim didn’t dare to look over his shoulder, instead beseeching the earth under his burning palms. He turned his head ever so slightly, eyes on the shadow of the man, stretched across the ground across Tim’s shoulder by the midday sun.  “Please. Please. Just let me do this for him and then I’ll go with you. I’ll go.”

I’m so close, thought Tim. It can’t end here.

“No.”

Tim almost wanted to laugh at the cruelness of it.

Game over. No more moves to get you out of this one, Drake.

Perhaps there were more moves to be explored, but Tim didn’t want to play this game anymore. Better to lay down his King and surrender the board to his opponent. But still…

Tim thought if it was going to end it would have been more dramatic. Not this do-not-pass-go bulls—

The trio of gunshots sounded loud enough to cause a small rockslide. Tim cringed inwards, cheek pressed against the stone, bracing for some kind of  impact that never came.

A hand grabbed him roughly by the jacket and jerked him onto his back. A gun, still smoking, was shoved in Tim’s face, but it wasn’t the shiny instrument that could seal Tim’s fate that had his eyes fixed. No… it was the face of a woman with eyes dark, wreathed in smudged kohl eyeliner. The effect it gave off was like elegant war paint.

“Tell me your name.” Her tone was blunt and jarring enough to leave Tim staring at her like the words she was speaking weren’t English. They most definitely were, though there was an accent that Tim couldn’t place.

“Your name!” she shouted. Her hair, chopped roughly into an angled bob, blew against the side of her face. She dropped to her knees and pressed the gun to the center of Tim’s forehead.

Her voice lowered but her words were no less rough.  “Tell me your name before I kill you out of sheer impatience alone. I don’t have time to waste standing out in the open where anyone can see.”

Tim found his voice finally. “Tim Drake.” he said.

The gun fell away from Tim’s head, her grip losing all of its tension at once.

“Christ, it is you.” she groaned, eyes traveling to the dead men next to them. She didn’t seem to feel particularly bad about shooting them in the back.

Her gaze fell on Jason and lingered.

“You’re here to bring him back, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

She tilted her head, a scrutinizing expression evident in her gaze.

“Is he really worth it?”

Tim swallowed and said with some conviction. “Yes.”

The woman nodded then proceeded to yank him to his feet. He was pulled down a set of stairs that led into the dim interior of the cave. Tim wrestled around in her grip for a moment. He couldn’t just leave Jason lying out there in the cold. But as he turned to look back he saw two men lifting Jason’s covered form and following in their wake down the steps.

“If someone asked my father the same question about you, he would answer the same.”

She glanced over her shoulder, expression disinterested. “I’m inclined to say fuck both of you and your pledges of love if only so that the rest of the planet doesn’t have to suffer the consequences of your selfishness. The both of you would raze the earth to keep the one you love.”

Her smile was sharp and luminescent in the torchlight glow. “You want to disagree but I can see in your eyes that it’s true. There’s a determination lurking behind those pretty blue eyes that refuses to die out.”

Tim stopped walking. There was a lot to unpack in such a statement, but Tim started with the most pressing. “I’m sorry… your father? ”

She stopped walking and turned to face him. That disinterested expression was back though Tim was starting to get the feeling that it hadn’t ever left. Nor would it.

“Don’t play the idiot. We both know you’re smarter than that otherwise Ra’s wouldn’t be pursuing you to the ends of the earth. He doesn’t waste his time on anyone he deems beneath him.”

The pieces were fitting into place, like a jumbled up puzzle. Tim had been given the corner pieces and now he could figure out the rest of the image. Nyssa Al Ghul. Ra’s other daughter. Talia’s sister. It was no wonder Talia had told Tim to come here.

“You’re supposed to be dead.” he said.

Nyssa shrugged and started descending the rest of the way down the stairs. “And you’re supposed to be Ra’s’ heir, the one he would leave his empire to. So?”

“So, if you hate my cause so much then why are you helping me?” asked Tim as he rounded the last few steps and entered into a large cave cast in an eerie green glow. Tim’s stride faulted as his gaze fell on the swaying waters of the lazarus pit.

Nyssa smiled. “Simple. As much as I hate this selfish, teenage puppy love that you and Jason Todd have for each other. I hate Ra’s so much more. And if bringing Jason Todd back to life is what keeps you fighting against my father, then I’ll help you. If only to keep you from joining him. I don’t think the world is ready to see what two calculating minds like yours and his can do together.”

Tim hugged his elbows, eyes still glued to the lazarus pit. “I don’t think I’m ready to find out either.”

The men shuffled past them to the edge of the lazarus pit. Jason body was lowered carefully onto the ground. Tim had to force himself not to look away when Jason’s body was unwrapped, the sheet falling open to expose his face, pale and tinged blue around the lips. His eyes looked like storm clouds, covering out that pale green that Tim so adored.

Nyssa placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “We don’t have much time, but I need you to know what you’re getting into before you blindly agree to go forward with this.”

“What do you mean? Will Jason go pit-crazed like before?” asked Tim.

Nyssa shook her head. “The risk is not Jason’s. It’s yours. There is a reason that someone can only be brought back from the dead with the lazarus pit once in their life. You get one free pass, I don’t think anyone really knows why, but after that it comes at a price.”

Tim swallowed, mouth dry. “What— What’s the price?”

“A life for a life.”

“So to bring Jason back… I’d have to die?”

Nyssa smiled. “Not exactly. You’d just be giving up your get out of death free card.”

Tim stared into the depths of the lazarus pit. “So if I bring Jason back… I lose a life. And, later on, if someone tries to bring me back…”

“It wouldn’t be Jason. That’s for sure. He doesn’t have anything left to barter with death. But whoever does it, they’d lose their freebie, and then the next person, and the next… Ra’s has had his servants sacrificing themselves in honor of him for centuries. They give up their second chance in order to prolong his existence.”

“That’s vile.”

“It’s fitting. Death is a grizzly business. So why should thwarting it be a graceful affair?”

Nyssa’s eyed him as if he were a child. Compared to her, with what she knew about the world, he probably was one.

“So now you know the risks. Do you accept the terms of the pit? A life for a life.”

Tim nodded. “My second life for his. Anyway… I wouldn’t want a second life in a world without him. Who would I live for if not for him?”      

Nyssa smiled a smile all lips and no teeth.

“Good. Wade into the pit.”

Tim moved to the edge of the pit where a set of stone steps led down into the murky green water. He took the first step, water filling his shoes and soaking the edges of his pants. He kept walking until his clothes hung heavy on him as the weight of water saturated the fabric and clung to his arms and torso. He had expected a supernatural jolt to travel through his body once he’d immersed himself in the water. Nothing. It just felt like… water. Tim kept moving forward, only stopping when he was standing in the center of the pool, green water lapping at the top of his ribs as it rippled around him.

He turned, shivering, to face Nyssa. She was crouched at the edge of the pool, hands resting on top of Jason’s body.

“What now?” His breath frosted the air in front of him.

“Pull him into the pit with you and submerge the both of you under the water together. That’s when the pit effect’s will start to work.”

Tim waded over towards Jason’s body. He grasped onto Jason’s wrist. His wet hand soaked the sleeve of Jason’s shirt a dark blue. Submerged in the icy water, Tim’s fingers were almost as blue as Jason’s.

Footsteps hurried down the stone steps that led into the cave. Nyssa turned her head in the direction of the disturbance. Tim’s eyes slid past her head in the same direction. It was one of the men who’d carried Jason’s body down to the cave. He came around the corner of the stairs and jerked to a stop.

“What is it?” Nyssa asked, voice sharp and alert to the distress emanating from the figure. She got an answer, though it came in the form of a sword thrusting through the man’s torso.

Nyssa sprinted to the wall and yanked a spear free from the wall. She returned to stand next to Jason’s body, eyes glued to the man skewered on the blade.

The man stared briefly at the blade protruding from his body before he jerked forward, the blade dislodging with a horrible wet sound that had Tim’s stomach doing somersaults at he looked on. The man collapsed where he stood. Ra’s al Ghul scraped the bottom of his bloodstained shoe on the ground. It painted a red streak across the stone.

Tim’s grip tightened on Jason’s cold wrist. His fear was visible as the air before him fogged from his shaky breathing. Tim sunk his teeth into his bottom lip and tried to calm himself even though he knew that Ra’s had noticed it as well. Tim was terrified and they both knew it.

“Timothy, get out of the water.”

Ra’s stepped calmly over the bleeding man, bloody sword held easily at his side. His cold stare pinned Tim to the spot, like a butterfly under a magnifying glass.

“Don’t.” Nyssa hissed at him. She widened her stance, spear held at the ready.

Ra’s eyed her curiously. “Think carefully about your next move, Nyssa. I wouldn’t want to have to kill you right after finding out you’ve been alive for all these years.”

Nyssa didn’t so much look at Tim as angle her head in his direction.

“Remember to hold your breath.”

She planted her boot against Jason’s hip and shoved. Tim was standing too close. The weight of dead limbs fell on top of him, hitting him in the chest and knocking him backwards off his feet. Tim only had enough time to gasp a breath and wrap his arms around Jason’s torso before Jason’s body weight pressed him under the icy water.

Jason was the anchor tied around Tim’s legs, dragging him to the bottom of the sea.

Tim’s eyes burned as he stared up through the water, trying to see Nyssa and Ra’s head off against each other, swords coming together in the clash of metal against metal. Tim’s back knocked against the rocky bottom of the pit, Jason’s weight crushing the air from his lungs. His mouth opened in a silent, watery gasp of pain, air bubbling up to the surface.

Nothing happened.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and for a frantic moment thought he might drown before he could bring Jason back.

Then Tim felt a burning sensation starting up inside of him. Flashes of white light burst behind his eyelids. The pit waters were starting to take effect.

Tim gripped Jason tightly and gave himself up to the pit’s power.

The flashes came faster now, shuttering bursts of light exploding behind his eyes until, suddenly, everything erupted into a single blinding light. Murky colors came flooding in from the edges of Tim’s vision. They swirled and danced before Tim’s eyes, never forming any image or shape.

Tim’s lungs burned with the need for air. A booming rattle reverberated through the ground. The water tremored around Tim’s prone form.

He opened his watery eyes to see what had caused it, but his vision was already fading to black.

Tim jerked into consciousness with a gasp that filling his lungs with water. He opened his eyes to dark water. Around him the world was exploding with distant noise. The sensation was similar to listening to far off thunder. A dull roar that you felt more in your bones than heard with your ears. There was the thud of something large dropping into the water and Tim turned his head to see a chunk of stone sinking to the pit floor next to him.

His body seized and twisted with the need to breath, but his limbs were so heavy they felt anchored to the pit floor.

Something seized his arm and yanked him upwards towards the noise and lights. Tim blinked blearily at the hand locked in a vice grip around his elbow and let his gaze travel upwards to the dark hair that shifted sluggishly with the motion of the water.

Jason, Tim had a moment to think before he was pulled above the surface of the water into a world that was falling to pieces around them.

Tim crawled up onto the steps, coughing up mouthfuls of water with every breath. He stared up through watery eyes at the scene in front of him. There was a wide rent in the cave ceiling, streaming sunlight across the ground, light catching on the craters left in the ground by fallen rocks. The cave’s interior had been turned into a battlefield, groups of people dancing in combat around boulders and dead bodies.

Tim was startled to see the Batwing parked in the cave’s interior, ramp dropped open at the back and left that way. His eyes found Bruce and Dick fighting beside Nyssa, the three of them alternating attacks between Ra’s and his ninjas. Dick caught sight of Tim as he was pivoting away from an enemy’s strike. He lashed out with a kick to his foe’s torso and risked turning back towards Tim, screaming out towards him. Whatever he said was lost among the cacophony of noise, but the jerk of his head towards the Batwing got his meaning across.

Tim choked up more water, wishing he could stop the shaking in his limbs enough to get his feet under him and head into the fray. As it was now, though, he’d probably only succeed in getting himself captured or killed.

He knew he needed to move. Instead he turned his head and stared at Jason, his body hunched next to him as he hacked into a fist. Water streamed from his hair and shoulders.

Tim gripped Jason’s wet sleeve with shaking fingers. He couldn’t believe he was alive, but the evidence was all there. Tangible under Tim’s fingertips. Shaking from the cold.

“Jason,” his name came hoarsely from his lips. Jason shifted, eyes finding him under a tangle of wet hair. He squeezed Tim’s fingers so tightly that it hurt. Tim was tempted to pull free, but before he could Jason was stumbling to his feet, dragging Tim up with him.  

They hurtled forward into the strife in a reckless, heedless way that was possible only for the truly weary and wounded. They clutched each other, fists knotted tight in jackets and sweatshirts, bodies pressed flushed against each other, using the other’s weight to keep themselves upright.

It was a relief when strong hands latched onto them, lifting their failing forms off their feet. Tim was hefted over a solid set of shoulders. He stared disjointedly at Jason as he was lifted into Bruce’s arms, head pressing against the hard line of Bruce’s kevlar suit.

Dick ran up the ramp of the Batwing, Tim’s head jostling with each step. He was placed on the floor of the aircraft, back propped up against a cabinet. Bruce shifted Jason off into Dick’s hands and hustled past them towards the controls. Jason couldn’t keep his feet for more than a minute before they crumpled under him.

“Woah, easy. Easy.” Dick eased him to the ground. His eyes kept flickering worriedly to the fighting that the bottom of the ramp. Nyssa and her men wouldn’t be able to hold them off forever.

“Bruce, get us out of here already!” Dick shouted. Tim stared at him as he slammed his palm against a button on the wall. The ramp started to close as the engines roared to life. The aircraft lifted off the ground, the ramp still hanging halfway open.

Dick turned just in time to see a blade spiraling towards his chest. He threw himself sideways and watched as the blade slammed into the wall by Tim’s head and clattered into Tim’s lap. Tim couldn’t muster up the energy push it onto the floor.

Dick was next to him in an instant, hands checking him for injuries.

“Are you alright? Did it hit you?”

Tim clutched at Dick’s wrist, ceasing his movements. He was so tired. He just wanted to sleep.

“Fine, I’m—”

“Timothy!”

Tim words abandoned him as he watched Ra’s, now empty handed, struggle towards them against the press of bodies. The last thing he saw was Ra’s’ savage expression fixed upon him  before the ramp closed completely.  

Tim’s body gave a violent shiver right before he passed out.  

[robinmagik]

Not A Minute Wasted (Part Three)

A/N: Uhhhhh enjoy! Also wtf @ DC @ Tom King??? pls enough is enough my heart is breaking like when I saw Asra cry in The Arcana Game??? Oh yeah and there’s two parts of part three bc it’s too long to just post the whole thing like that so i divided it

Recap: “That’s not…please stop crying, L/n.” He didn’t know what to do.“Excuse me.” She sniffles. “W-we’ll continue this conversation…I just gotta…go.” Tim was going to greet her but she passes by quickly. He turns to glare at Damian who was confused himself.“What did you do?”“Nothing, Drake. Excuse me.” Tim is left alone in the kitchen with an empty cup in his hand. “What in the hell?”

PART ONE  PART TWO  FINAL 

Like a child, Y/n hides in the green house near the rose bushes, and sobs. How truly horrible she is. Maybe Damian’s right. Breaking up with Bruce is best but then again Damian doesn’t like Y/n one bit so who is she to listen to a child who is crazy smarter than her. It was weird though, despite his dislike towards her, she sees him as her own. But she would never tell that to Bruce. 

Damian found her but he didn’t know what to tell her, what to say, or how to comfort her. Times like this was when Dick was needed. He was best with words and emotions. Such a hassle. Damian sighs. What would Grayson do? He left and then came back five minutes later. He gave her a tart. Children and women like sweet things so this should calm her down. 

“I-I did not mean to make you…cry, L/n.”

“No. No. It’s not you, papito.” She chuckles. “I woke up feeling sad is all. But I suppose you’re right, your father’s well-being is important and breaking up is better.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, L/n!” He says sharply. “I was simply going to suggest for you and him to take a vacation. I read somewhere that vacations help couples relax more and therefore get along better.”

She begins to cry even more. 

“What did I say now?!” He frowns. Emotions are troublesome. How can someone who is not a baby cry so much?!

“You’re so sweet, Damian!” She cries. “Don’t you hate me?”

“Please, L/n, I don’t have time for that. I dislike you, that’s all.” He hands her a handkerchief.

“Why?” She dries her tears. “Is it ‘cause I’m not your mom?”

He narrows his eyes at her before looking away. He began to pace back and forth with his hands behind his back. 

“I do prefer my mother, Talia Al Ghul, to be with my father but that simply cannot be because…it’s complicated.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“You apologize too much and for no reason at all.”

“What the hell else am I supposed to say?”

“Nothing.” Damian simply shrugs. 

Y/n giggles. “You’re the cutest boy, y’know?”

“I’m not cute.” He pouts cutely.

“No, you’re right. You’re handsome.”

He smiles a bit. 

“Well, vacation for both of us is…well…not going to be easy. Why don’t we start smaller?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Getting along for once?”

Damian looks offended by the idea but then nodded. “Fine. If that helps father then I am willing to get along with you.”

“Whoo, boy. You sacrifice so much.” She said sarcastically. 

“Now, eat your tart before Alfred finds us. I’ll get in trouble if I spoiled your lunch.”

Y/n giggles. The tart was the sweetest thing she had that morning and will ever have. She had a feeling that Damian’s thoughtfulness made it sweeter than it should’ve been. She savored every piece and moment with that boy. They even began to like each other after pretended to do so in front of Bruce. There was no more pretending. 

When Y/n stayed away from the manor because she was simply to tired to come over, he’d stop by during his patrol and stay for a while until he had to go. Sometimes he’d stay until the next day for her pancakes and scrambled eggs with tomatoes and scallions. It was different from Alfred’s cooking obviously, but he liked her food. 

One day, while he was eating the eggs, he over heard her talking to a friend over the phone. 

“Aw lucky! I can’t believe you got to pet a llama! I’ve always wanted one. They’re so cute!” She laughs. “Send me the pictures, okay? Okay, I love you. Besos. Ciao.”

“Who was that?”

“My girlfriend from college. Her class went to the Andes Mountains and got to meet some llamas.”

“Oh. When do you plan on going back to college?”

“Honestly, next year.” She took his plate and placed it in the dishwasher. “I’ll get a bachelors degree in engineering or linguistics. Or both. I got the time.” She shrugs. 

“I have knowledge in both majors. Whatever you choose I can always help.”

“Thank you God because you and I both know I’m not as smart but smart enough…y’know?” She laughs. “Anyway, you gotta get going. I have to leave for work and you have to sleep. You’ve been up all night, nene, you gotta sleep.”

“I can perfectly take a nap here, L/n.”

“Uh, no. Go home, besides I’ll pop up after work.” 

“If you insist.” 

As promised she went by to the manor only to find something out of place. 

“Is that a llama?” Y/n looks behind Bruce to see a white llama grazing on the grass. 

“Yes. Yes, it is.” He sighs. “Damian stole one from a zoo.”

“Pft, of course he did. You guys have Bat-cow and now Bat-llama. That’s just so cute. Is Ace Bat-dog too? Do-does he go on missions with you guys? Huh? Huh?” She couldn’t contain her giggles.

Bruce grunts one of his many grunts of displeasure yet he couldn’t help but crack a tiny smile as Y/n giggles. 

“Y-you gotta get a bat-bird…oh my god, a bat-bat!” She squeals, now laughing. “A bat-bat! Oh, I’m gonna cry!”

“You’re enjoying this a little bit too much.”

“Bruce, honey, please!” She laughs. Then she gasps in sudden realization. She slaps his very flexed bicep. “Where’s batboy?! You guys have Batgirls but no Batboy! Robin?! That doesn’t even make sense! I’m gonna have a fucking stroke! Hahahahahaha!” 

“Batboy was one of the names considered and so was Tonto—“

“Tonto?!” She shrieks of laughter. “Batman y Tonto! Ohhhhh gooooood! B-Bruce yo-you’re killing me! Y-you’re killing your cute girlfriend!”

“Cute?” He chuckles. 

His arms were crossed across his chest as she held on to his arm, bent over laughing with tears running down her face. He knew the llama had something to do with Y/n and it did when she fawned over the llama and Damian stood proudly. Sadly, the llama had to go back but not before they named him; Batboy The First. She held onto Damian as Batboy was shipped off. At least they could go visit him at the Gotham Zoo. This wasn’t the first or last adventure or trouble those two gotten themselves into. 

No one could believe it though. It’s been a year that Bruce and Y/n were together. They were the couple of the century, with how beautiful and wild she was and how he chased after in the tabloids. But it wasn’t really like that. They just put a show for the people of Gotham. 

She got terribly worried when he came back one night half dead and half alive. She wanted to cry but she couldn’t. She was too scared of loosing him and crying meant that she lost him. Anyone would’ve seen that as the last straw but no, not Y/n. This was what she signed up for. Dating Bruce Wayne meant dating the whole package. 

Y/n was part of the family even though she didn’t fight crime or did anything except cheer them on and just be there for the hard times. Dick, Barbara and Y/n always had mini dates whenever he was in town or just the two of them whenever he wasn’t. Jason would teach her about cars and guns and then they’d go shopping for some good books to read, or just hang out and do nothing. And Y/n loved Tim and she loved listening to his rants about whatever case he was on. It helped him hear himself and open up a bit because just like all of them, he overworked himself. Then there was Stephanie whom she adored so much. She loved how determined and strong-willed she was and how she took on the world. Cassandra was curious about Y/n and they quietly got along, she made Y/n laugh a lot and she even taught her how to kick ass just in case because this is Gotham after all. And Duke, she loved their nightly conversations. He was a good listener and so was she when it was his turn. 

There was something missing though. Y/n looks at Bruce who was talking to Lucius Fox. She could listen to him for hours and never get bored. Yet, she didn’t know why she felt this way. 

“I bought you this dress.” He says. “I saw it and I thought of you.”

She gasps. “Oh my God! Babe! This is gorgeous!” She was giddy. She took it out of the box and went to try it on. When she came out she lit up the room. “I love it!”

It was yellow, fitted dress with a beautiful trail and a slit on the right. The dress made her curves pop out even more. She looked amazing. It even glittered under the right type of lighting. She was truly the highlight of the evening. Bruce Wayne had the most beautiful woman on his arm. She was incredibly happy. Then she met Selina Kyle. 

A/N: Honestly??? Selina could murder me and I’d thank her???

[nanaswhispers]

Loyalty.

Day 6 KLAROLINEAUWEEK : Canon-ish.

Dark Caroline. Violence. Language. Mystic Falls gang lovers this may not be for you. Steroline-rs not really your cup of tea either I guess.

Please, enjoy!

Loyalty drove her. Pushed her to give everything of herself to help the people in her life. It also made her forgive many small and great betrayals, pushed to the back of her mind every misdeed those same people she gave everything to, committed against her. She endured every time they used her and belittled her. She swallowed back so many harsh remarks and hurtful words because her loyalty and caring immured her in silence.

And yet, they betrayed again and again. And each time she forgave, but never truly forgot.

One too many times.

Every moment of anger, hurt and rage she had pushed down for years invaded her like an unstopping tsunami of darkness. The darkness of her monster she had repressed into the deepest parts of her came to light by itself. Everything that made her the good human-like Caroline was put down by the true vampire nature awakened in her.

Rage and numbness danced in her mind, switching on and off, dancing to a music nobody heard.

When she first learned about this last slight against her, Caroline hadn't believed it.

How could they use her like this? How could they think they had omnipotence over her body? How did they come to the conclusion that she would simply bear smilingly the fact that they chose for her, instead of her, to be the host to those witchy babies?

Had she been too kind, too dumb all those years for letting them think that her loyalty equals to weakness? Did she not deserve to at least be asked her opinion? Was she not a person with her own mind capable of thoughts? Would it not be her body that would carry someone else's progeny?

Sitting in front of Alaric, his lecherous eyes observing her triumphantly, and Stefan, painting a false sense of remorse on his eternally contrite face, she felt ire rising, and climbing up her throat until she had to bite back the scream she felt like releasing. But she would not show any other ounce of fragility in front of them, they did not deserve that privilege anymore.

So she did something she had hoped to never have to do, Caroline gathered every feeling and emotion she had and shut them down. They watched her face get unconstrained, her posture dangerously relax and heard a frost they had never witnessed seize her voice.

“I don't care what you have to do, but you will find a solution to this. You have exactly 24 hours to get those leaches out of my womb, if you don't, you won't like the consequences. Consider yourselves warned.”

For the first time she saw doubt creep into their eyes, fear too, when the last thing they saw before she flashed away was a smirk so cruel, they were reminded of the ancient magic that changed her nature so many years ago. That transformed her from a puny, weak and insecure girl into a bloodthirsty creature of the night.

And yet, they hadn’t heeded her advice. (She should not have been surprised really, how many times has that happened?) A full day and a half an hour later Caroline stood in the middle of a pool of blood, hers, theirs, she didn't really know anymore, nor did she really care. 

There were definitively some perks to getting rid of those pesky little things they called emotions.

Bonnie was unconscious, only a small inconvenience. She had tried to hug her thinking it would mollify her, that she was the simpleton they all thought of her, and she was hit on the head for her stupidity. Objectively, a rather small punishment considering the offense.

Alaric would soon die if they didn't give him some vampire blood, having a missing kidney and perforated lung were not good omens to his potential survival. His whimpers and the sound of his labored breathing were music to her ears, too many times has he slighted her without any repercussion. (Hello! High school? Torture, anybody?)

Stefan was bound in vervain soaked ropes she had prepared beforehand. A sort of filet she threw at him with magically weighted stones keeping him on the ground, groaning helplessly under the gag tied around his head, watching his brother laying down next to him, a few fingers missing, his neck and spine broken and feet crushed. Caroline had to admit, for such a newbie in terms of torture, she did pretty good.

“I warned you, Stefan, that you wouldn't like what I had planned, and yet you didn't believe me, did you? You thought I wouldn't know that not any one of you took me seriously? That you could just do nothing and voilà! The problem would solve itself? That I, Caroline Forbes, would give up? Shouldn’t you have known better? I thought you were a little smarter than that… what a disappointment.” she tutted.

“Mhmmm mm mmmh!” came out of his mouth and Caroline grinned satisfied with his frustration.

“Little Stefie wanna talkie?” she mocked. “Sure thing, Care-bear will come to the rescue. As usual.”

She took the gag off, and immediately wished she hadn't, it was so much more peaceful without his whining.

“What the fuck Caroline?! Why would you do all this?!” she could only roll her eyes to the back of her skull when faced with such idiocy.

“Why, Stefan? As I have already said, I warned you. I told you to find a solution, you deliberately didn't even try to search for one. Now, you reap what you sow.”

“But why would you even wish to punish us?! Shouldn't you be happy to help? That's what you enjoy the most on this world!”

“Really?” her brow arched sarcastically by itself.

“Yes!” He seemed quite convinced of his words. “I know you Care, you live to help others! Help us with this situation too! Aren't you glad to have what every vampire mourns the most after turning: the possibility to have children? Think of all the possibilities! The things you will teach them! You would have someone to dote on, someone to dress, or even put make-up on if they’re girls... Aren’t you excited by the prospect of finding names, holding them to your breast, nurturing little persons?! You should feel thankful, honored to be the mother of two miracles Caroline, not make a scene!”

She almost puked right there.

“Had I even been capable of feeling anything right now, honor and gratitude certainly would not be at the top of the list Salvatore. And your attempts at manipulation are neither smart nor welcome.” she countered back matter-of-factly.

Her words irritated him. Her stoicism irked him up further.

“You ungrateful bitch! Why don't you just shut the fuck up like every other fucking time and be “good vampire Caroline” huh? Isn’t that your greatest pride? Don’t you have a speech about doing the good thing in this particular situation?” He paused a moment, and then carried on,his tone cocky and mocking. “Anyway, you have to bear it and carry the pregnancy to full term since you have neither a witch, nor the spell to transfer the babies to someone else, so quit with the tantrum while you still can, Caroline!”

“Or what Stefan? You'll punish me? You seem to forget the situation you are in, dear. “Good vampire Caroline” as you say, was a choice. I chose to be human, good, and loyal. And you never showed the tiniest bit of gratefulness. You never gave back your kindness in return. This is just the last straw. The last pebble causing the landslide. You brought the true Caroline out, Stefan, so now you have to bear the consequences… Still, you should be grateful, I'm going to let you live, I know that if I don't, when I get my emotions back I'll feel guilty for a bit of time, and I don't want to waste any of my time on you anymore.”

He tried to interrupt her, but she didn’t let him.

“Plus, it will give you a chance to stew a little bit. Shouldn’t you wonder how Klaus, you know, my last love, the Original Hybrid, will react when he learns about this little plan you had for me? And please, don’t act even dumber than you are, he has spies everywhere.”

He blanched. She grinned.

Caroline turned her back on him and walked to the small side table where she deposited earlier her handbag. She opened it and took the glinting serrated knife her father had gifted her for her fifteenth birthday. She almost felt guilty for not using this baby as much as it deserved.

Going back towards Stefan, she saw for the first time realization sink into his eyes.

She crouched down next to him and slowly brushed his skin with her weapon, painting with oozing appealing red. Quite fitting for a vampire. Klaus would be proud.

“Now, Stefan, I want you to remember what will happen very soon until the end of your days. Every action has consequences. Every betrayal repercussions. Today you lost a best, and most loyal, friend with your dumb actions. Oh, and Stefan, quick tip, it's not the 19th century anymore, you don't have any right on a woman's body without her consent... Actually, maybe it's just a Salvatore problem, which reminds me…”

Still on her knees, she just turned a few degrees right, and her hands took hold of Damon's jeans and tore them down. Stefan stared at her, winded, sputtering without any clear words getting out of his mouth, as she grabbed with her bare hands his brother's balls and tore them out of their original place on his body.

Caroline stood up and carelessly threw them down next to her rapist's head. The little sack bounced a little, like a dog's chew toy, and the image made her chuckle sadistically.

“He had it coming for a long time, didn't he?” she smiled down evilly at the other Salvatore.

She picked up her Dad's present she had previously put on the ground, and without any warning impaled herself with it in the lower part of the stomach. Deeply. Almost entirely through her width. She went left to right slowly but surely.

“CAROLINE! NO, DON'T! STOP! STOP!!!”

And as Stefan screeched and vainly tried to get out of his woven poisoned prison, Caroline plunged her hand in her bowels, taunted him by playing, jiggling her organs and finally grabbed the upper part of the uterus where the parasites were put against her will in her body, tore it out of her and smacked it forcefully down on the ground. 

She reveled in watching it explode in bloody fragments right in between Stefan and Alaric, putting to an eternal end the development of the future Gemini witches and the illusions the gang had about her.

Tears were silently coursing down her ex-best friend’s face as she calmly took Damon's discarded jeans to clean her red painted hands up.

She was only glad that she was smart and switched her emotions off, the physical pain would have been quite horrible she mused passingly.

“Adieu, Stefan. May we never meet again. For your sake.”

Klaus grumbled as he heard for the umpteenth time some idiot knocking on his front door.  He hoped for their sakes that the guards had a good reason for letting a stranger onto his domain. Or their heads will roll along with the unwanted visitor's.

He reached the door just as the smell of vampire blood reached his nose.

The Original opened the door abruptly and stood gobsmacked for a few instants, admiring the welcome surprise of Caroline standing on his porch, bloodied from head to toe, face composed and luggage at her feet.

Before he even had the time to say anything, she cut him off.

“Glad to see you're alive, I could have guessed otherwise with the amount of time it took you to get to the fucking door. Just so you know, I'm currently switched off, but I'll take a long bubble-filled oil bath and switch it back. FYI, be prepared, you'll have quite the mess to deal with for a few days.”

Even through the worry as to what led her to his door bloodied and without humanity, Klaus couldn't suppress a small smile from etching itself onto his lips. Only his sweet Caroline…

“Love…”

Again, she cut him off. He would have killed anyone else for that, but, well, she was Caroline Forbes, so she could do anything.

“Oh and if you have a current flavor of the month I suggest you get rid of it quickly, or else I will, and as you see, I can be a ruthless Queen, so it won’t be pretty. Tell them to go fuck themselves from now on, 'cause forever has just knocked on your fucking door.”

And she barged in, taking possession of the place, and Klaus could only feel satisfaction (dare he say happiness?) and excitement to see her take what has always been hers.

[twbfics]

Bar Sinister (pt 4)

Summary: You make a deal with Negan to save your friend Daryl’s life. But when you can’t give Negan the child he wants, you ask Daryl to help make it happen.

Pairings: Daryl x Reader, some Negan x Reader

Chapter: 4/?

Word Count: 3,086

Warnings: Language (like always), injuries

Six months. Six negative results. Six reasons why your deal with Negan was worthless.

You were sitting on the sofa in the harem, with Frankie on one side of you and Tanya on the other, each wearing their skin-tight black dresses. And then there was you, in the floaty (but still uncomfortably short) white dress that Negan had one of the workers sew especially for you. You were pretty sure the material it was made from used to be a set of curtains, but it wasn’t like wearing it was optional. It was a uniform. A reminder that Negan could enjoy you at the click of his fingers. A reminder that the Saviours were the “future”.

The future that was meant to be growing in your stomach. Except the pregnancy test that Negan had thrown onto the table in front of you showed ‘negative’ for the sixth time. His eyes were burning holes into you and you didn’t dare meet his gaze. Even the girls either side of you were tense, both of them holding one of your hands.

After two long minutes, Frankie tried to break the silence. “It can take a while. Six months isn’t—”

“HEY! Did I ask for your input?” Negan snapped. You squeezed their hands. “Go see Doctor Carson. Tell him to prep for a full examination. If we don’t have the equipment he needs, we’ll get it.”

Frankie hesitated like there was more she wanted to say, but you nudged her. There was no point in you both getting on Negan’s bad side. Frankie was smarter than that, she hadn’t survived this long by being a brat at every turn. So like a good wife she nodded and made her act of defiance the reassuring shoulder squeeze she gave you before she left. Negan looked at Tanya, daring her to speak. She kept her eyes down and her mouth shut.

Negan sighed and started pacing the room, rubbing his face as he turned to face you. “Is there anything you want to tell me before the good doctor gives you your examination?”

“Like what?”

He sprung forward, leaning on the arm of the chair so his face was level with yours. “I don’t know, like maybe you had an IUD shoved up there years before this all happened and conveniently forgot about it.”

You stared right back, no longer frightened of him like you used to be. Six months of being his ‘wife’ had desensitized you to those intense eyes. “You think I’ve been fucking you with contraception all this time and just faking it?”

“Well considering your first plea to save Daryl’s life was to marry me without the whole kid thing, I’d say it’s becoming more plausible every time you start raining blood. I should’ve had you tested when you first got here but being the trusting husband that I am, I thought: how could that sweet face lie to me?”

He grabbed your chin, tilting your face up to expose your throat which he’d been peppering with bruises the last couple of weeks. From the old yellow smears that were almost invisible now to the dark purple bruise he’d left last night. He was getting more frustrated the longer your tests kept coming back negative but until today, that frustration had been manifesting in ways you’d both enjoyed. Apparently this result was the last straw.

Frankie cleared her throat from the doorway. “He says he’s ready. He can do the preliminary stuff now and if he needs to do anything else, he’ll write a list of what he needs.”

Negan didn’t bother looking around, he just tightened his grip on your chin. “Well?”

“I’m not lying,” you insisted, staring him dead in the eye. He couldn’t help smiling a little. It turned him on when you stood up to him, and if you were being honest with yourself you quite liked it.

“We’ll see… Tanya, make sure she gets there alright,” he ordered, walking over to Frankie and standing behind her, his lips brushing against her ear. He murmured in her ear, quiet enough so you knew it was just for her but loud enough that both you and Tanya knew she hadn’t gotten away with her earlier outburst. “You and I need to have a little chat.”

Carson pulled on his gloves while you sat back on the chair with your legs spread and just a small sheet draped over your hips to allow you a little modesty. Lubrication sputtered onto the speculum that you were trying your best to ignore.

“Any pain or discomfort during sex?” Carson asked, providing you with a small distraction rather than leaving the questions for later.

“No,” you answered hoarsely, while Tanya sat on a chair in the corner and gave you a reassuring smile.

“Good. This might feel a bit uncomfortable,” he said, taking the seat next to you and pushing your legs slightly wider so that the speculum slipped in easier. He pushed it in and widened the mouth before you had time to adjust but at least he was fast. “Well, everything looks healthy. Are your periods normal?”

“Yeah,” you said, closing your eyes so you didn’t have to watch him sticking the brush inside. It was only a few seconds before the pressure eased up and he’d pulled the speculum back out. He was good at his job.

“I’m going to analyse this and see if the cells are healthy,” he explained, sealing the sample in a sterile tube. He set a box of tissues down beside you and walked over to his work bench, giving you some privacy to clean up. “If they are, and we’re hoping they are, we can do some more tests around the time you—”

It was Daryl.

In the last six months you’d caught maybe a glimpse of the back of his head a couple of times, but you’d never been so close to him. You’d never seen the long-since healed scars that crawled up the left side of his face, thankfully just avoiding his eye. He seemed to be thinking the same thing because he put his head down, trying to stop you from seeing it.

He needn’t have bothered because your vision went blurry, eyes welling up at the sight of him. You choked out his name and held out your hand, silently begging him to close the gap for you. He glanced up through his hair, his eyes darting to Carson and then to Tanya and finally back to your hand. He swallowed hard and took a few steps back and as you got a better look at him, you realised he was cradling his arm. His bloody arm. You jumped off the bed but he rushed out of the room and Tanya stepped between you and the door before you could reach him, leaving Carson to follow him into the corridor.

“He’ll be fine. Carson will stitch him up.”

“Let me out!” you snapped but as you tried to shove past her she grabbed your arms and squeezed so tight it hurt.

“Is that…?” you heard Carson ask.

“Nah.”

“Look at me. Do I need to amputate?”

Your stomach dropped. There was only one reason he’d need to amputate.

He’d been bitten.

Tanya had slapped her hand over your mouth and shoved you further into the office before you could react. You hadn’t noticed the familiar sound of Simon’s thuds getting closer but Tanya was all about staying safe. She’d heard it. And she knew that if Simon saw you and Daryl in the same place, he’d go straight to Negan with a huge smile on his face as he reported you both. It wasn’t you who’d end up being punished. It’d be Daryl.

Once Simon was gone, Carson ushered Daryl back into the room. “You need to leave. I have another patient.”

“Were you bitten?” you asked, only for Carson to block your view of Daryl.

“You need to leave. Now,” he repeated and Tanya dragged you away, leading you back to the harem.

“You’ll see him, alright? We’ll make it happen,” she whispered, “but we’ve got to be smart about it.”

You’d been standing by the window for the best part of two hours while the girls chatted behind you, trying to keep up some sense of normality. Every now and again they’d ask your opinion on something you hadn’t been listening to and you’d just hum in response. The sun was taking its sweet ass time to set while you tried to stop torturing yourself with questions you couldn’t answer. And the worst question of all: what if they hadn’t amputated in time?

What if all you could do was stand here waiting for darkness to fall while he died alone in his room?

You hadn’t acknowledged Negan when he came into the room and it was starting to piss him off. After half an hour of flirting with his other wives, joking loudly and eventually making comments about you, all with zero response, he pulled Tanya to one side.

“She been like this the whole time?” he muttered, keeping his voice low so you couldn’t hear. Not that you were paying any attention anyway.

“What did you expect? She’s been good to you and you just shit all over her,” Tanya hissed back. Negan’s brows shot up.

“Tanya! Do I need to wash your pretty little mouth out?” he grinned. She smiled a little, pretending she was trying to hide it. Playing the sweet, nurturing role had its perks; it meant Negan never suspected her of manipulating him. “What did Carson say?”

“Not much, just took some samples. He wants to do a more invasive test tomorrow but he said she can’t have sex for 24 hours before he does it. We didn’t ask him to go into details but I’m guessing your little swimmers would tamper with the results. So… maybe that means I’ll get more than just a quickie with you for once?”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were gettin’ a little jealous.”

She laughed and looked away. It was amazing how she’d learned to blush on command and Negan bought right into it. “Well, I didn’t think I’d miss our nights together as much as I do.”

He beamed, leaning backwards and soaking up the praise. “You’re killing me here!”

“Just… give her a bit of space,” Tanya whispered and leaned into him. “She’ll get over it.”

By the time Negan came to get Tanya, darkness had already fallen. You were lying on the sofa facing the window, staring at the moon grinning back at you. You weren’t sure if it was a comforting smile or if it was a cruel laugh. It changed minute by minute – sometimes you imagined it smiling, telling you that everything was going to be alright. Daryl had been maimed for a second time but he’d survive – of course he would. But a minute later the crescent moon would turn to malice, laughing because he was already dead and you were all alone now. You’d ruined him.

It was a strange thing to imagine while you flip-flopped between optimism and pessimism but it was better to make up stories about the moon than it was to imagine what might have become of Daryl in the time you’d wasted waiting for it to be safe.

When Negan finally came to get Tanya, your heart skipped a beat. You sat up, eager to finally get out of this claustrophobic room but luck wasn’t on your side. Despite Tanya waiting for Negan by the door, he came and sat next to you on the sofa. Of all the times to show some compassion, not fucking now!

He sighed and rested his arm on the back of the sofa, taking his time like he always fucking did. Savouring every minute of the spotlight while all you could do was scream inside your head, over and over again: LEAVE. LEAVE. LEAVE.

“Look… maybe I was a bit hard on you this morning,” he grimaced, like a child being forced to apologise. “I’m sure whatever tests the good doctor’s performing aren’t your idea of a good time. Now Tanya over there is looking beautiful and it’s been too long since I spent a proper night with her… but to show you how sincerely sorry I am, I’m willing to spend the night with you instead. No funny business – even though I really like our funny business. I know you can’t tonight. So, what d’you say? I’ll keep my dick in my pants and you and me can spend some quality time together as husband and wife.”

Your blood ran cold. You stared at him, wanting to beat that stupid fucking grin off his face. Finally, you said in a quiet, dangerous voice: “Are you fucking serious?”

You could see in his eyes he was taken aback. Your voice had taken on an edge he’d never heard before and Tanya and Frankie shared a worried look. You liked it. They were scared, even Negan was shocked. It felt powerful. Now you knew why your darling bastard husband loved it so much.

“I know you must be—” Negan started, but as soon as you saw him trying to fix that smile back on his face, you cut him off mid-sentence. Something that no one dared to do.

You got to your feet, gaining the height advantage. “You think I’d want to spend a single fucking SECOND with you tonight?! Tell me Negan, when are you gonna get YOUR fucking fertility test?”

He jumped to his feet, his face close to yours and filled with disgust. The silence and hardness of his eyes stripped your power away, but did nothing to calm your anger. After a few long seconds of everyone holding their breath, he spat two words at you before walking away.

“Not. Okay.”

You ran to the infirmary first. It was empty but for a few bloodied bandages left in the bin. Your stomach churned at the lack of a limb, but it wasn’t like Daryl’s arm would be waving hi to you from the trash can. If they had amputated, it’d be out in a skip. Or maybe they’d feed it to the walkers outside. The logical part of you knew that but your rational mind wasn’t in the driving seat right now. Your heart was telling you that no limb equalled no amputation, which meant they were too late.

Only one way to find out. You ran to his room.

Negan had made sure you knew exactly where Daryl’s room was. He’d acted like he was doing you a favour by showing you how well Daryl was being treated – but you both knew the unspoken truth. He wanted you to know where the room was so that it’d drive you mad, knowing he was so close when you weren’t allowed to go to him.

Negan had paraded you around the room, taking great pleasure in making you imagine Daryl’s life in these new quarters – and what he might’ve had to do to earn them.

“You know, when Daryl was my prisoner the first time, he never came out of the hole. I offered him all of this,” he’d said, holding his arms out and turning like he was soaking in the Sistine Chapel instead of the bleak cabin room he’d crammed you into, “and he still turned me down. I respected him for that. Sure, it was a dumbass decision and we beat the shit out of him for it but he OWNED that crap!”

You didn’t want to play his games that day. You’d stood with your back to the wall, staring down at the carpet while you waited for him to finish his newest brand of mental torment.

“I just wanna thank you, sincerely,” he’d said as he closed in on you, “for giving him the motivation he needed to get his shit together and join the winning team.”

He’d stared at you expectantly, but when you refused to lift your eyes from the floor he put his hands on your hips and dipped his head to reclaim your attention. “Hey… you wanna fool around on his bed? Christen it for him?”

“Not really.”

“You sure?” he’d grinned. “Cos I can guarantee he’s gonna be bringing his women back here. Don’t want it collapsing on him in the middle of doing the dirty. We’d be doing him a service testing it out first.”

“You really think he’d be interested in any of the Saviours? You don’t know him very well.”

“And you don’t know how hungry a man gets…”

He tipped your head back, forcing you to look up at him. His face was serious and sensual at the same time. The look that pulled you in and made you hate yourself for it. When he continued, his lips were so close to yours that you could feel his breath.

“Which is why…” he muttered, leaning into you and smirking the way he always did when he knew he was turning you on.

Then he took two large steps back and bellowed, “I GAVE him a microwave! I mean a man’s gotta eat and trust me, as one of my new best men he’s gonna be hungry.”

He’d ignored your scowl, not letting you leave until he’d talked you through every single appliance.

It had been cruel at the time, but now you were grateful.

You knocked quickly, keeping an eye out for anyone turning the corner. There was no answer. You knocked again, louder this time.

“Daryl? It’s me. It’s Y/N.”

Still nothing. Your heart sank when you considered that you might be too late. He might already be gone. If he’d turned in that room you’d be fucked, because you didn’t have a weapon to defend yourself. But then again, if Daryl had turned, you weren’t sure you’d want to defend yourself anymore.

You twisted the handle and let yourself in.

He wasn’t there. All the equipment – microwave, stereo, gaming console – it was all perfectly clean. Exactly like it had been the day Negan had shown it to you, the morning before Daryl had moved in. The only difference was that the bed had been stripped and the sheets dumped in the corner, like they were waiting to be laundered for the next poor soul Negan got his fist around.

There was no trace of him.

None at all.

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[melanie-writes-supernatural]

The Stand-In Part 1

A/N: Hey guys! I’m doing something a little different today by breaking off of my prompt list. This is going to be one of my own stories! It’s an AU inspired by the statement:

She hated blind dates, but little did she know this would be her last one.

This is only the first part so it’s a little slow but I promise the later parts will be better! I hope you guys enjoy it!

Pairing: Firefighter!DeanXReader

Warnings: I don’t think I have any for this part, but maybe some in the future.

Word count: 1546

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

~

She sighs to herself miserably, swirling her straw in her soda absently.

As if to remind her of her suffering, the clock looming in front of her strikes eight.

A whole two hours since the dick that had messaged her was supposed to meet her.

She bites her bottom lip and, not for the first time, checks her messages to make sure that she hadn’t gotten something wrong by accident.

Meet me at six at IHOP? Christian says you like pancakes.

She turns her phone over in her hands, vowing to kick Christian in the dick the next time she sees him.

He had said that this guy was cool, nice, funny even. And tall, with dark hair and light eyes. Serious, with his priorities straight and a good head on his shoulders. A stable nine-to-five job with the means to provide for a woman. The abs and biceps would be an added touch, too.

“Just your type” is what Christian had said he was.

So, albeit reluctantly, she had agreed to a blind date with Lucas. She didn’t like blind dates, in fact she hated them. She insisted that they were a means for an easy kidnapping, but she was in a little part of town that knew her well and would notice her if she went missing.

And Lucas didn’t seem like the type to ruin a blind date. It was a nice name, she had told herself.

But that’s what she said about all the guys Christian set her up with.

That if Christian was a friend, they must not be too bad.

Of course, none of them had ever stood her up, though. Maybe Lucas was too good to be true.

Maybe her ideal man didn’t exist. She didn’t think it was too much to ask, because she had seen a lot of guys who could fit into the category.

Basically, her only requirements were to be taller than her and be a nice person. Didn’t seem like too much to ask, but then Lucas comes to mind.

She looks up when she hears the bell tinkle over the door a few feet away. She feels silly, but she’s looked up every single time it’s rang, hoping against all hope that maybe Lucas would show up with a somewhat decent apology.

The man that holds her gaze is about the only person that she can say for sure isn’t Lucas.

He’s shorter, probably only a few inches taller than her, and he has some tousled brown hair. He isn’t wearing glasses, like she had been told Lucas did, and she hated to judge a book by its cover, but she could say almost with certainty that this guy didn’t have a desk job.

He does have a few qualities that stand out to her, like his bright green eyes or his biceps just peeking out of his tee shirt. What really catches her attention is his legs, covered by a pair of dark wash jeans that just hug his thighs perfectly.

He’s nothing like her type, and yet she finds herself deciding that maybe he’s a type of his own. One of those lucky few that was just gorgeous enough to make her realize that even if he didn’t fit her ideal guy, he was still an ideal guy.

She catches his eye and she knows that he’s just seen her checking him out. His lips curl upwards, and she decides right then that his best asset is that killer smile.

Her cheeks fade pink as he strides to her, her entire assessment taking little over a few seconds.

“You look lonely,” he says confidently, rapping twice on the wooden table. “Mind if I sit?”

“No, go ahead,” she gestures to the booth in front of her that has been empty for a couple of hours.

“You waiting for someone?” he asks, cocking his head to the side slightly.

“I was,” she answers vaguely, hoping that he won’t ask because she doesn’t really feel like explaining it all, especially not to a stranger.

A hot stranger that probably couldn’t care less about her woes.

“Now what asshole in their right mind would think about standing you up?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I dunno, just a friend of a friend,” she shrugs, taking a drink of her soda to occupy herself so that she won’t drool over the fine specimen in front of her.

“How long have you been waiting, Sweetheart?” he asks, ordering a soda from the waitress that stops by.

“Two hours,” she admits quietly, watching his eyebrows raise. She wants to drop the topic before he realizes that something must be wrong for her to have been stood up and have waited so long. “You don’t look like a soda guy.”

“I’m not, usually,” he grins that killer smile, and she has to look away for a moment to calm her nerves. “I prefer a good beer any day. But I’m on call tonight, covering for a friend.”

“That’s nice of you,” she says, looking up as the waitress brings him his soda.

“You gonna eat? I’m starving,” he says, and she feels her cheeks fade slightly pink again.

She isn’t sure if she should just go with it, because she’s lucky as fuck that this gorgeous Adonis would stop and talk to her, much less want to sit and eat dinner with her, but she doesn’t even know his name.

“Sure,” she finally agrees, and he gives her a little smile, not quite as overpowering as the others but still enough to make her stomach lurch.

“I’ll have a tall stack of blueberry pancakes and a side of bacon,” he states to the waitress, who seems happy to have finally received some of his attention.

“Okay, and for the lady?” she asks, maintaining her cheerfulness as if she is barely fazed by this man.

“Um, the red velvet pancakes, nothing else,” she says, knowing that if Lucas hadn’t stood her up that would’ve been her order.

“Awesome, I’ll have that out soon,” the perky waitress states before walking away.

“I don’t even know your name and I’m eating dinner with you,” she tells him, to see if he realizes how this is actually playing out. It’s like a plot from a bad romance novel, and she can’t believe it’s happening.

“Dean,” he offers, winking at her. “But you can call me yours if you want.”

Her mouth opens slightly to release a small sound of disbelief. Did he really just say that to her?

“O-Oh,” she finally manages to stutter out. “Dean, nice to meet you.”

“You don’t have to be so shy,” he states with a half grin. “Just think of it like a blind date, and we’re just meeting each other.”

“A blind date, sure I can do that,” she nods quickly. “I’ve done plenty of those.”

“And you’re still single?” he asks, giving her quick once over. “What’s wrong with you?”

She laughs lightly, taking another drink of her soda to occupy herself. She finally manages to calm her scrambled brain down some.

It’s just a cute guy flirting with her, that’s all.

“Not sure. Maybe it’s because I scared them off with my knowledge of axolotls,” she finally says, sensing a way to turn this conversation to a topic she can actually contribute to.

“To what?” he asks. “You had to have made that up.”

“No! They’re really cute!” she gushes, flipping her phone over to show him her lock screen. “I spent three years researching them working on my masters degree. The filaments on their gills aid them in gas exchange with the environment, and before they were classified as endangered people would eat them.”

“Wow, looks kinda strange,” he states, glancing back up to her. “I can definitely see why all those guys left. They couldn’t date a girl smarter than them.”

“Oh,” she frowns slightly, wondering if he was implying something.

“I meant that in the best way possible,” he says quickly, noticing her sudden closing off. “It’s just that some guys find smart girls intimidating. I think it’s hot. I didn’t mean to offend you in any way.”

“Oh,” she says, but she’s definitely more hesitant now. She isn’t sure if it was an honest mistake with his wording or if it was a test to see her reaction to a statement like that.

“Tell me more about these weird little axo… whatevers,” he says with a small smile. “I’d love to hear what you did your research on.”

“Axolotls,” she states quietly, looking up to his deep green eyes. “I’m sure it would just bore you.”

“Not if it’s coming from your pretty lips,” he says with a small smirk. “You seem really into them. Makes me want to know more.”

“About me or about my research?” she asks him, watching him settle back with a smile.

“How about both?” he asks, and just then the waitress brings their food out.

“So, let’s start with the axolotls,” he states, smiling at her as he picked up his fork and knife.

“And then?” she asks, her cheeks darkening at his interest in her work.

“Then we get to you. And I am definitely getting a number when we get there.”

~

Tell me what you thought!

[jellyfishrambles]

Emotional AF

I started up this side blog with the intention of spilling...positive emotions, or funny antic-dotes... But not today. I’ve sat on this for a full 2 weeks, and I’m still not sure what to think of the situation. Overall, I think I still blame myself. Regardless, let me start from the very beginning. I have a friend. Fuck, he was my BEST friend. (We’ll call him ‘PB’). We met years ago. I was a sophomore in high school. He was a pivotal part of who I became as a person today. I can wholeheartedly blame him for pulling my from my cringy middle school obnoxiousness, and grow into who I am now. PB was literally my other half- even though we didn’t even attend the same school. At the time, we acted a like, we looked alike, we thought alike. And we did pretty much everything together. We celebrated halloween together, we excluded ourselves on our birthdays- so we could celebrate with just each other. We complained about all the same unnecessary shit going on in our workplace. He was, the one individual, who could pull me out of my deepest depressions throughout high school, 100% willing to drive to my house an hour before curfew, just to be with me through whatever I was going through. PB was the one I could genuinely, without hesitation, call my best friend. We had history, and memories, and experiences together that I’ll cherish forever.  But. We stopped talking, recently. On my behalf. Because I’m an emotional wreck. Because as we graduated, and took separate paths, we both changed. Now, let me preface by saying PB and I were (and still are) relatively critical, cynical, and sarcastic individuals. But as he went off to college, and I stayed at home doing nothing. We went in different directions. MY anxiety has heightened, and become more and more severe, while- I’m sure he only became more cynical and critical and sarcastic. Things really started to go awry when he came home for Christmas break of his freshman year of college, just last December. I felt- off, around him. I felt uncomfortable. I couldn’t place it. It was just- different. It was probably my anxiety, it was probably me just- wanting to stay on his level. Because throughout our entire friendship, I always saw him as...superior to me. He was stronger, smarter, just- more mature than me (Even though I’m older by almost a year). I felt like everything I did would make him mad. I suddenly felt like I couldn’t be myself around him. 

I didn’t really think much of it, until examples of this behavior started to trend. Example 1- I’ve used essential oils and crystals to help with my anxiety and depression- and it’s really helped! Especially during my senior year of high school, when I was at my lowest point. I had a rose quartz bracelet that I would hold through anxiety attacks. I wore it with me everywhere. And I broke it while on vacation. When I texted him frantically looking for something to ground me, he brushed off my concern because ‘you know all that stuff is just a placebo, right? You don’t need them’. It was the first time I was legitimately upset at him. Example 2- While on a skype call with him, we were browsing the steam store together, I was looking at games that I want but can’t afford (aka, all of them). And I brought up my desire to play Dangan Rompa. He looked at the game, scoffed, and told me it would be a waste of money, and that I should just play another game with the same concept. I was, kind of hurt, that he didn’t really give a second thought about my interests- despite my attentive ears whenever he discusses something he enjoys. Example 3 (and most recent)- AFTER I texted him, telling him everything I was feeling- to the effect of ‘I feel like I make you mad every time I talk, I feel like all you seem to do is berate my interests and passions, etc etc’ AND he apologized, he said he knew he was being an ass, he said he didn’t expect me to forgive him. But I did. Because he was my friend. I was talking on the phone with him, and let out the mention of vocaloid, and how I’ve been listening to a lot of vocaloid music recently, and I’ve found an interest in it- he questions me as to why, and brushes off my comment about ‘because I enjoy it, don’t fucking judge me’ to which his reply was a VERBAL eye roll (You know the kind. You can hear it in their tone of voice) and an ‘okayyy’ That was the last straw. These 3 major examples are all coupled with his constant ‘the anime you watch is trash’ and ‘the music you listen to is garbage’ and just- little things like that, that just piled up and I had finally had enough. Now, he’s just left for college again, his sophomore year, and before he left he wanted to see me- and admittedly, I wanted to see him too. We were gonna go see a movie. But the day of, the idea of seeing him gave me so much anxiety, I felt nauseous. Like, I didn’t want to eat I was so nervous to see him. BUT I didn’t want to cancel, because I knew he would grow suspicious. However my mom saw the effect it was having on me, and she convinced me to tell him I wasn’t feeling good, and that we shouldn’t go see this movie. Spoiler alert- I was fucking right. As soon as I said I didn’t feel good, and wanted to stay home. He barraged me with ‘you’re actively avoiding me’ , ‘you always drop off at the last second’ and things of that effect. It made my stomach drop. **Another thing you should know about PB- he doesn’t really take to the idea of mental illness. He believes in it, but he believes that it can be fixed with meds and therapy without any remaining side-effects.** I told him that it wasn’t physical, that it was mental, and I knew it was something he wouldn’t understand. It HAD been a rough week for me- as I’m currently on a job hunt, and that alone stresses me out beyond function. He then told me that he knows its mental, and he still wants to see me, regardless of my state, and that I need to get out of the house. He wanted to talk to me, and he was begging me to see him. Because he wanted to help. I said I wanted to be left alone. I do better if I’m alone anyway. I like being physically alone, with means of communication through text. Sometimes. Being around people exhaust me. ALL my friends know this... Now, I should mention, that my big brother (not- actual big brother, just- really good ass friend who I call my big brother) had come over upon my request, cause he was kind of in the loop of what was happening. I told PB that I wasn’t alone, and that I would be fine. I was so distraught that my brother took my phone and texted PB for me. Saying that my mom didn’t think he should come over today, but he was welcome any other day before he left. Granted, I had a packed schedule with other friends, who happened to SHARE my interests. SO I said I would see him Thursday, when I knew for sure we would in fact see each other. I thought it was over. I thought it was done and I could wipe my hands of the whole thing, until he drops on me ‘Am I ever going to see you after that?’ What? What the fuck does that even mean? I asked him when he was leaving and he didn’t even answer my question- he asked if I was EVER going to see him again. My throat went dry and I felt tears start to well up again. I up and told him that we would see each other again, but for the love of god please stop pressuring me to see you- it’s making all this 10x worse. WELL...He got pretty upset at that, and then spilled to me that he could no longer trust me, because I canceled on him too often. He prefaced with ‘I do love you-’ he said ‘but when was the last time you made an effort to see me’ , ‘you barely give me any consideration, do you do this with all your friends?’ and just- a bunch of stuff that I KNEW I was doing, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him that- HE was the reason I was doing it. He claims he knows I deal with a lot of personal stuff, and he’s not trying to insult me. Which. I...appreciate. He DID claim in his texts that he was mad at me for all of this, which- I also understand. Hell, I’d be mad at me too.  I had to take a day to process that last message from him. Eventually, I responded. I won’t bore you with my entire message here, but it was to the effect of ‘I’m sorry you’re mad, I’m sorry I’ve done all this to you, but you give me anxiety, and stress.’ I said I knew it was because of my OWN insecurities, and that he had nothing to do with it. I said I was legitimately scared of him, because I felt like I had to top toe around all my words to avoid making him mad. I FAULTED MYSELF. I knew it was me, I knew it was my anxiety. I said what was on my mind and how I felt. His reply was 2 days later. And it hit me hard. And I’m sitting here re-reading it (To relay all of this as accurately as possible) and I’m crying over my laptop right now.  His message back to me was something along the lines of ‘I have supported you 100% up until now because I care for you. I don’t know how you expect me to move on if I ‘legitimately scare’ you. And I don’t know how to continue and work around this unless you get your life together. When that point comes, I’m still here, but I can’t do anything for you if you don’t want my help, or my presence’  Unless I get my life together....I don’t even know what that means, but it hurts. It hurts SO much. So, now I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if this friendship that was SO important to me, is worth salvaging....or if it’s better left behind as I grow older and make new friends. I’m so torn, because I fucking loved PB. I loved my best friend. But best friends shouldn’t give you fucking anxiety attacks. I owe so much to him, because he’s done so much for me....I feel like shitty friend, for even feeling all this.  I can’t even wrap my emotions around all of this, and it’s killing me. His last message was pretty much a week and a half ago at this point, and it STILL gets to me. I still see memories on Facebook, and instagram, and I choke up every fucking time I see it. He meant the WORLD to me. And I hate myself for both putting us both through this, and for still wanting to salvage what turned into a pretty toxic friendship...