#the laughter is more like. hysterical or disbelief

[leilakisakabiri]

Miami Hot Lap (CL)

Summary: You're forced to do a Miami Hot Lap with your boyfriend.

Warning(s): Just fluff.

A/N: Ahh I love this concept!! Requests are open for Charles and Lando.

Word Count: 800+

Masterlist

Being invited to an F1 race through a brand seemed like a fun idea at first. You would get to see your boyfriend for the first time in weeks, watch the race in your hometown, and somehow still be able to call it work. It was a win-win situation.

That was until they approached you with a video idea.

"So since you're working with one of our sponsored brands for the weekend, a Miami native, and dating a driver, we thought it was only fair to ask you to do the Miami hot lap video." The F1 content manager explained.

"Miami hot lap?" You questioned, unfamiliar with what they wanted you to do.

"Yeah y'know just go for a few laps on the track with a driver. For you, it would be Charles of course." She assured.

You shook your head rapidly, shrinking back, "No thank you. I don't drive with Charles."

"But he's your boyfriend? Surely you've driven with him before?"

You sighed, "Yeah in a city, where he's forced to follow the speed limit, I would never be able to handle going that fast. He's too scary without restrictions."

She furrowed her eyebrows, opening her mouth to respond before she was cut off.

"Spreading lies about me again?"

You felt your lips upturn in a smile as he came up behind you, fingers entwining with yours as he kissed your cheek.

You turned to face him, attempting to be firm, "I love you, but I'm not driving with you." You repeated.

One hour later you found yourself being strapped into the passenger seat of his car, cursing yourself for giving in after he convinced you it wouldn't be that bad.

The camera sat on the dashboard, recording the both of you.

"Go slow," You warned, as he got the green light to pull away.

"We'll get no views then." He argued.

You started at him in disbelief, "Would you rather have more views on a video or have a girlfriend in one piece?"

It was quiet for a beat too long and you put your hand up, "You know what don't answer that. I don't want to know."

"So how do you like driving with me so far?" He asked once you made it past the first lap.

You nodded, "Not bad, right now I feel like we're going to get food."

He smirked, "Well in that case go on and get comfortable."

You eyed him skeptically but you decided to trust him, "Okaaay," you dragged out the word as you slouched a bit more in the seat, letting your body relax against the seat, going as far as to admire the view outside the window.

The peace only lasted for a second before Charles was slamming on the pedal, sending the car lurching forward at record speeds.

While he got a shot of adrenaline, you felt your stomach somersault as your body jolted backward.

“Charles. Charles!!” Your voice filled with panic, fingers grabbing onto the side of the car for dear life, eyes wide as you refused to take your eyes off the rapidly passing road in front of you.

He laughed at your reaction, only stopping once he realized how serious you were. He dropped a hand down to squeeze yours, reassuring you, “Relax I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The supposedly sweet action had the opposite effect, “Keep both your hands on the wheel!” You shrieked, sending him into another fit of laughter.

You put a hand to your forehead in shock and disbelief, "We're going to die."

You felt hysterical, and his shit-eating grin only irked you further.

"We're not going to die. I promise." He swore, trying to calm you down.

You shoved his shoulder, "Your promises mean nothing to me anymore Charles. We're going to die and it's all your fault." you deadpanned.

“Y/n amor I’m barely pushing 90 mph.” He revealed.

Your body froze, before finally losing some tension, “Oh."

You checked the meter seeing that he was telling the truth, "It feels a lot faster,” you argued, “Especially with the sharp turns," you elaborated.

He agreed with you but not before side-eyeing you, "Right."

"So should we go faster?" He proposed.

"Charles," You warned.

"Why so formal?"

You glanced at each other for a second and already knew what would happen from the unfiltered excitement in his eyes, "Hold on amour."

You watched in horror as the meter rapidly rose hitting up to 130mph, you mouthed a "help me" to the camera.

“I think I’m gonna throw up everywhere.” You groaned once the car had finally come to a halt.

Charles patted your head affectionately as you laid your head against your knees, “You’ll be ok.”

“No. I’m going to projectile vomit on this dashboard,” you warned, “I’m never driving with you again.”

He furrowed his eyebrows at your comment but didn't say anything, instead facing the camera.

"Well thanks for joining us today, if you want more videos like this-"

You lifted your head off your knees when you noticed he hadn't finished his sentence, finding him staring at you expectedly.

"Like and subscribe?" you questioned, voice hoarse.

"Exactly. See you guys later!" He waved bye to the camera and moved your head to lay on his lap so you could rest.

[penvisions]

by the grit of sandpaper {chapter 5}

Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x Patrol Partner! Reader

Chapter Summary: Another overnight patrol, an asked favor, a miscommunication, a fleeting moment of pleasure and it all comes crumbling down. Even worse than you had anticipated, the allure of being a part of something bigger than yourself blinding you into believing it was finally within reach.

Word Count: 10.3k (!!)

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, illusions to past death, illusions to past trauma, blood, mild injuries, hurtful language, town gossip, rumors, negative feelings, pining, heart of gold joel, carpenter joel, woodworking joel, artisan joel, patrol partnership, lots of feelings, angst, hurt and comfort, joel miller's hands need their own warning, intentional flirting, unintentional flirting, casual intimacy, urges to kiss joel miller get their own warning, adult content, teasing, yearning, protective joel, fluff, this is so unbelievably soft, size kink unlocked in reader, (girl, i feel you), reader is described as smaller than joel (bc c'mon), reader has a commonly used nickname but no assigned name, joel and reader pov

A/N: holy shit, i am so sorry for the mix up with the original content. i'm so emotionally drained from today that i didn't realize it wasn't the final version of the chapter that i uploaded. but it's fixed, all scenes are complete and as they should be.

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

It was your fault, you realized. As you set about searching for something you remembered seeing in the house when you had first been assigned to it and moved in with Aiden. It had been one of those things that you stared at in disbelief, startling manic, nearly hysterical laughter that had turned into tears and uneven breaths. So ridiculous to have come across it over a decade after the end of the world.

A pack of index cards.

Index cards. Who needed index cards at the end of the world, when language was all people had. Skills like writing, reading, all faded away and dormant reflexes that could be called upon if and when needed.

It hadn’t mattered if you could write, had the ability to write or read when you were running for your life from Infected and humans, crashing through the remains of what was once a town or city, crashing through snapping and unforgiving forests, crashing through unforgiving open land in the hopes that you weren’t spotted a mile away by someone trying to protect what was theirs or looking for targets.

It was your fault he had pulled away to the point of beginning his…thing with Marsha. The way you had run from him, run from what you had both shared. But it didn’t mean anything, he was...Joel was…an important part of the settlement. Integrated far better than you ever had the chance to and you would just ruin it for him. He had to understand that because he too, hadn’t tried to bring it up.

Gathering them and a few of the cookbooks you had, you settled at the kitchen table. Taking the time to flip through the recipes to find simple ones that could be adapted to the more limited means the settlement could produce. Eager to find ones that Joel wouldn’t find too challenging and would like the end result of.

Just as your pen hit the paper, a knock sounded on your door. Sighing, you set it down and made your way across the front of your home to find Tommy with a crying bundle in his hands.

“Maria left me with ‘im for the day to handle some council business and he won’t stop cryin’.” He looked like he was about to burst into tears himself, but you didn’t say as much. Knowing firsthand how draining it was to look after a newborn.

“Well, good morning to you too.” You said as the man shouldered his way past you and took up half of the couch, an old backpack swinging from his elbow.

“You said to come to you for anything we needed, and I need your help.”

“How do you know I’m not bad with babies, huh? Maybe they hate me and I’m one of those women who don’t like them?”

“But you’re not. Right?” His curls were a frizzled mess, his eyes telling of his sleepless night as they widened and regarded you almost desperately. Rocking the bundle in his arms gently, holding it close, But his arms looked angled weird, totally not in a natural hold. “Joel always said I was too anxious around Sarah when she was super little and that’s why she cried for him for hours until she tired herself out. But he’s busy workin’ on finishing up that new roof before the snow really starts to come down.”

You did know who Sarah was. It had been a rather slow and somber conversation between you and Joel one day in the middle of summer. You had only been going out on patrols with him for a few months at that point. Him and Tommy focusing on getting as much done around the town upon his return, taking longer than usual to add a newcomer to the roster.

He had asked after you, if you lived alone. You had answered yes, saying you lost everyone in the initial chaos of the outbreak. Your city too densely packed for a chance to return home, the only chance at survival had been to immediately flee. He had told you something similar, that he had lost everything but his brother in the wake of the virus. You hadn’t asked after who, but he had told you of his daughter. His biological daughter with a wet chuckle at how she was too kind for this world anyway. You had looked away from his tears, knowing even back then that he needed to speak otherwise it would eat him from the inside out. To think of her constantly and not be able to talk about her must’ve hurt just as much as losing her. Mentions of her sprinkled future conversations and you were glad he trusted you with that part of himself.

 But you weren’t sure if Tommy knew you did beyond her name as chalk on a blackboard memorial in his living room.

“I’m good with babies,” You assured the man beside you. Slipping a full bottle from the side of the pack and asked him to dap it to your wrist. You licked up the milky liquid, immediately pinpointing the issue.

“It’s too bland, a little sugar mixed in won’t do any harm. But I prefer maple since it’s got the same qualities of honey but less of the local pollen. Both will help build immunity to the blooms come spring time.” Standing up, you carefully moved the baby to rest along your front, head on your shoulder and moved into the kitchen. The cap had been unscrewed by a watching Tommy and you stirred in a bit of maple syrup that had been collected outside the gates.

The bundle in your arms was still crying, though not as high a volume as when Tommy had first entered the house. Softly hushing and cooing to try and calm him. The second you touched the bottle of sweetened milk to his little lips, he quieted down and began to sip.

“Oh, thank god.” Tommy’s head was in his hands, elbows atop his knees. You settled beside him once again, smiling over at the older man. “Olive, if this is too much, I promise-“

“It’s okay, really.” You let him rest a wide palm on your knee, his fingers caressing the bare skin there as your dress skirt allowed for them to show. His eyes wide and beseeching, making sure you were really okay before he sunk into the cushions. “I’ve made peace with it a long time ago…”

It was his fault. The thought consumed him as he inspected the planks of olive wood, having brought them into the house after the first heavy coat of frost that covered the whole town after a particularly chilly night. He recalled having woken up, shivering as he yanked on a pair of thick socks and searched through the closets in the house for a spare blanket to throw over his bed. How he wondered if you were warm enough in your own bed as he donned his boots unlaced and jacket unzipped to drape another blanket he had taken from the closet over a passed out Ellie in her little studio.

And then he had wondered what type of clothing you wore to bed. When you had answered the door in your robe, it hadn’t looked like you had anything on underneath it aside from maybe underwear and a tank top. Not enough to keep your skin from the chill that tended to seep in through the panes of the windows all around Jackson, despite the blessing of functioning heaters.

He hadn’t gone after you, his attention being called away. You had run off, too startled by being interrupted and most likely embarrassed at being caught in such an intimate moment. But…it had been such a good moment until it had been shattered.

You had shown up at his door in a long dress, the skirt flowing down to your knees, thick fabric around your legs to combat the ever-present chill in the air. There was a whicker basket, handle draped over your forearm. That paired with your worn boots and wide brimmed had had been such a lovely image to open his front door to.

It had been hard not to stare at you and you talked and guided Ellie through dinner, faint music drifting into the kitchen from the living room as he set about cleaning up after each step and setting the table. It was all so domestic and he wanted for more nights like it. Just you and him and Ellie.

Sighing, you made sure to lock the front door behind you. Apron bundled up beneath your armpit and thrown in the general direction of the laundry room door on the other side of the kitchen. Filling and setting a kettle over the stove, you stood and looked out your kitchen window for a moment, taking in the fluffy snow that had attempted to stick as the dark, moody sky brought it over the town. It was still early, the sunrise more than likely about to occur, but it hidden in the overcast.

You shifted your gaze over the counters, logging the ingredients you had on hand for a possible breakfast even if you weren’t terribly hungry at the moment. When they landed on the broken mixing spoon that had decided to crack and splinter last night under your soapy hands as you cleaned up over dinner, you moved to rummage in the hall closet. The scrape of untreated wood along the floor sent a chill up your spine as your fingers closed around what you were searching for.

The thick slab of wood is covered with an old flat sheet. It had been from a tree last year, one that had lost a main branch in the same winds that had taken a whole one from your collection.

It was beautiful. Rich in color, the grain so detailed and curling in beautiful swirls. Burl added layers and looking pretty as it was set just so in the cut. You had kept it, unable to burn it for the soil. The thought of asking Joel to make you a set of cooking utensils had been in the back of your mind for nearly the entire time he had been here. But now with the crop of cutting boards artfully crafted, you were tempted to ask him to make of those from the hefty source in your hands.

But he hadn’t offered you one, hadn’t so much as mentioned that he had begun to make more and more ever since that first one he had been ‘trying out the idea’ in Tommy’s kitchen. You were hesitant to bring it up, but with the holidays only a couple weeks away…you were curious to see his reaction to the request.

You didn’t ask anything of anyone. Not even when you first got here, had taken the time to acclimate to the way life was led here within the settlement. Community, social circles, job detail, patrol. All of it had been taken in stride, and you worked for everything in your possession. Joel did too. You admired him for it.

A few moments later, you were rapping your knuckles against the man’s front door.

Ellie comes around the side, hearing it from her separate garage. She had looked frustrated, then curious, then excited.

“Hey, Olive,” She walks up to you, noticing the wood in your hands. “The old man’s not home, he went to help out with the lil guy.”

“O-oh, okay. I’ll just come back, I guess.” But when you began to inch closer to the porch steps, she ascended them with a small smile.

“Nah, come hang with me until he gets back.” She brushed past you with a soft touch to your arm. A key slid into the lock and then you were hesitantly following her into the house. “Feel free to make some of that god awful coffee you two enjoy so much, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

You saw her dip off down the hall, the sound of her rustling through something behind an open door allowing you the privacy to make up your mind on the offer of coffee as you stood on the threshold to the kitchen. With a determined push, you set about to search for the coffee grounds and mugs. He had only two, one with a detailed owl and another more simple one. It was a plain white one that was hefty and looked like it belonged in the full hands of diner waitress. 

It transported you back to late nights and early mornings surrounded by ruckus laughter and inside jokes, the scent of pancakes and bacon cooking on a flattop and the jingle of a bell to signal overflowing plates were ready to be dug into.

“What’s that in the cloth?” Ellie’s curiosity piqued by the bundle you had set down atop the kitchen table, her long thin fingers slowly unwrapping it. With a nod from you, she did so completely. Her eyebrows shot up, thoughts swirling behind her keen eyes. They flicked to the back room just on the other side of the kitchen wall. Her bottom lip was taken between her teeth and she looked like she was trying not to laugh.

“I know it’s silly, but…” You couldn’t help but feel nervous admitting it out loud, that you wanted to ask Joel to take some of his sparse free time for a personal project. You poured yourself a steaming cup of the finished coffee, searching for the sugar cannister. “This has been drying for nearly a year and I was gonna ask Joel-“

“Gonna ask Joel what?” His voice sounded from the doorway into the kitchen, startling you both. You rushed to put yourself between him and the table, a poor attempt to hide the plank of wood from his curious eyes. He looked tired, no doubt having been up more than resting all last night if he had been over at Tommy and Maria’s.

Taking that as her queue to leave, Ellie bolted out the back door with a hollered goodbye.

“Oh, um. Hi,” You waved slightly at him, unsure of how he would take to coming home to his house and finding you in his kitchen. Even if Ellie had said it would be okay. You were nervous, knowing that asking for something was a tricky thing. Even if he was so willing to give to others; his time, his attention, his skills. “I ha-have this.”

Moving out of the way as he crept closer on heavy feet, you allowed him to see the olive wood you had hauled over here.

“I-I was wondering i-if you’d be able to make a set of cooking utensils out of this? But I understand if you’re too busy, or don’t want to work with the dense wood, or don’t have the time-“

"Of course, sweetheart. I’ll try my best for you." And just like that he melted all your worries away and a smile pulled at your lips.

He easily moved the chunk of wood from the kitchen to his workspace. The muscles of his arms bulging beneath his flannel, the muscles of his shoulders straining at the fabric over his broad shoulders. All for your viewing pleasure as you followed behind him. The room was smaller than you expected, on his ground floor, just down the hall from the kitchen. But it was such a reflection on who he was.

The main desk had a comfortable looking chair, thick cushion on the seat. Atop it was an open book, propped up on a few stacked behind it and open to a stunning photograph of a deer. In the center was a partially carved figurine of the deer in the photo, shavings around it and tools lined up in a half circle around the back of it.

“How many pieces did you want?” He carefully bent his knees and lowered the wood to the ground, atop a tarp that several long pieces of lumber were set on and leaning against the wall. Blocks of wood beside them and lined up against the wall almost like bricks.

“Oh, um, just however many you can manage.” The crack of his knees as he straightened worried you, but it happened to you more and more so you understood it wasn’t really painful so much as uncomfortable most of the time. 

"The cutting boards all around town...” Trailing off as a familiar scent caught your attention through the general smell of lumber, you moved toward the pile of wooden planks lined up along the wall like books atop a work table. There were many shades and types of wood, all different steps of being sanded down or stained, shavings nestled in a waste bucket beneath. Tools scattered over the surface and small cannisters of sealant and paint stacked neatly beside them. Two of the planks of wood were light, ashy and your attention honed in on them as you moved toward the table. “It was kinda my idea and I was wondering if-"

"Sweetheart, I can't make you one." You startled at the boom of his voice so close, blocking your view from the stack of them as he moved to stand in front of you. The hand that had been reaching out with the intention of caressing them fell back to your side.

"Oh, um, okay." You cast your eyes down, taking in the worn leather of his boots. Of yours. There were so many of them, easily two handfuls and yet he wasn’t willing to share one with you. But everyone else around town seemed to be worthy and you couldn’t help but wonder why you weren’t. You were friends, he had said it himself. But then…but then you had kissed him and fled.

No question as to why flowed from you. You were used to not being included, but you had to admit that it stung coming from him. In an attempt to mask it you tried to smile but you weren’t sure if it actually showed. Your chest ached, body feeling like it wasn’t yours. Like you were looking down on it as it stood in that workspace with the man who sought solace within it. Like you had intruded, and shame bubbled up for having made yourself comfortable where you shouldn’t have.

"Can't find a sealant that would hold up to those knives we found. You'd just cause damage to it."

"Okay, but-“ You tried to backtrack, to apologize for being so curious.

"No, Olive. I don't have one for you, so please quit askin'."

You didn’t say anything, your voice stuck in your throat. Turning and walking away from him without looking up, afraid to see his expression. You faintly heard his voice calling after you, but you ignored it, it was far away. It was as if you were down in a tunnel, like you had tipped over and fell down into one the second Joel had turned you down.

You wanted to move past it, to gloss over it, to stay and enjoy in the time he had been willing to give you on his one day free from responsibilities. But you couldn’t, your chest felt like it had caved in, like you were hollow, like you would never be able to break into the social graces of the settlement. Marked with the death of someone who had, someone who kept messing up and making it easy for people to turn you away.

He thinks about how hurt you looked when he tried to ward you off from the stack of cutting boards he had practiced designs on and different shapes. berating himself for being so harsh when he had been scared you would see the wood he had taken from you without your knowledge. You had been reaching for the planks made from it, drawn to them as if they were magnetized.

The way in which you had shut down, his soothing words after denying you falling on deaf ears as you turned and simply walked away from him. He had been under the impression you wanted to spend the day with him. You had been an unexpected guest but not an unwelcome one. It had been nice to return to his home to find you there, comfortable enough to have put on a pot of coffee and the errant scent of that woodsy, floral perfume that seemed to be a part of your skin from tending to the trees in your yard.

But you had just turned and walked away.

He watched you go, not liking the way you had shrunk into yourself at his denial. He had tried to be soft with it, you couldn’t know that you had been asking after the one thing he wanted to keep a secret from you. That you had given him the idea and he was practicing and making so many different prototypes all to ensure that when it came time to craft yours, that he would be able to do so easily.

He scrubbed a hand roughly over his face, sighing out as he dressed for patrol. His alarm had gone off an hour ago but he had already been awake, sleep evading him as the moment from the other day played in his mind’s eye over and over again.

Settling on the musty cushions beside you, the memory of the last time he had done so puffed up along with a cloud of dust. It had been a long day. Clearing the village and finding a place to hole up in for the night.

“I’ll take the first watch, try ‘n get some rest.” He murmured low, taking in the way you were already curling your legs up underneath your body on the other end of the couch. The scarf around your neck pulled up for you to bury your face into it, hands in their gloves and secure in the pockets of your coat.

You didn’t think you even responded, the cold of the day draining you and making sleep too alluring a respite even with the broad man beside you and all alone for the first time in a while.

Bird calls woke you up hours later, signaling the start of a new day. The warmth of sleeping was a lull to the chill you knew awaited outside, but you pressed into the bed further, burrowing even more into the lump of blankets you tended to scrunch up beside you.

But the lump shifted and your eyes flew open to find a different setting than you dark bedroom. You weren’t asleep in your bed, you were sunk into a decrepit couch and pressed into Joel’s right side, having sought out his warmth in the cold house. He was asleep too, his eyes closed despite his body still seated up with his feet resting on the ground.

You couldn’t help but rest your cheek on his shoulder, taking comfort in how close and warm he was, even if it had been an instinctual move to begin with.

He was so handsome. Beautiful. From the scar across the bridge of his nose, the one at his temple, to the freckles that littered his tan skin. Wrinkles relaxed as he slept, his plush lips parted slightly. His body sunk into the fabric where he had settled last night, long and lean. His mass so large you had shifted in your sleep to press up against him, partially on him to share the small couch and steal his warmth. His neck bent back a little as his head lulled onto the back cushions.

Your eyes roved down the strong column of his neck, catching on the way his adam’s apple jutted out and you resisted the urge to lean in and nip at it.

His hands, dear god, his hands. They were slack in his lap, his entire body completely lax as he slept slumped beside you. Veins and freckles decorated the skin, mind running with the idea of them tight around different parts of your body. How they would feel wrapped around your hips, your breasts, your neck…

You couldn’t help but reach out and lay a hand atop one of his, your palm over the back of his. Your stomach fluttered, the heat settling low. Your own hand looked so small, atop his. The difference so startling.

“Mm, good mornin’,” Joel’s gravelly rumble made you jump, realizing you had gripped two of his fingers in your hand. He jostled the hand in your grip and you felt heat flood your cheeks at being caught touching him. When you moved to take it back, he curled his fingers, catching your hand and pulling it up to his lips where he pressed his lips to the back of it. “Don’t act all shy now, sweetheart.”

You throb.

The gusset of your underwear suddenly dampens as you clench around nothing.

“I-I don’t know what came over me, you were sleeping and I shouldn’t ha-have-“ Trying to tamp down your less than friendly thoughts, the allure you felt wash over you at his sleepy timbre, to backtrack away from what could end up being another thing to have him avoiding you around the settlement.

But he surprised you, emboldened by the hazy thoughts displayed in the parting of your own lips, the heat he could feel rolling off of you, the pressure you tried to relieve between your legs with a clench of your thighs together. And then his thick, sleep coated words turned sultry, pitched low and velvet.

“Thinkin’ about my hands on ya, huh? Sweet little thing, what was it?” He guided your hand to cup his cheek and then rest against his neck. “Thinkin’ about my hands here?”

When he squeezed your hand around it, you felt faint for the way your blood was rushing and thundering loud in your ears.

“N- no.” You swallowed, voice breathy and pitched low as you struggled to find words.

“No? What about…” He moved your hand to his chest, right in the middle of his ribcage. His heart was thundering beneath the flannel, mirroring your own. “Here?”

Your breath hitched as he moved it further, not giving you the chance to answer this time. Down ,down, down past the hem of his shirt beneath his jacket to the denim of his jeans. Pressing your palm down atop the zipper, you could feel the long line of him, hot and semi-hard. It twitched at the pressure, and you couldn’t help the whimper that fell from your lips. Eyes having been dragged down along with your clasped hands.

“What about here?” His lips grazed the shell of your ear as his question was pressed close, nose brushing sensitive skin just behind it. Mustache and beard lightly scraping against you, causing you to shiver and press down your hand more firmly. He groaned out, the sound burrowing deep into you. He twitched again beneath your palm and all the air in your lungs whooshed out.

And then he was dipping his head to capture your lips in a hard kiss. His tongue trailed over the seam of your lips, and you let him in without a thought. Pleasure flared from the heat that had taken hold of your entire body, the air crackling with the need for him to be closer, to be pressed to you completely, pressed inside of you completely. Body buzzing, needing more more more from him you shift to cup his cheek with your other hand.

When he speaks next, his voice is all soft. Southern twang breathy and so close as his lips graze yours, his forehead pressed to your own. The press of hot skin only a prelude to what you hoped was more…

“Sweetheart, I-“

The sudden creak of the back door opening cut the tension of the room and your stomach filled with dread. Joel’s hands became almost painful on you as both your heads whipped around to stare at the kitchen threshold, waiting with bated breath for the intruding source to walk through it.

He was up off the couch in a second, his handgun in his palm and he stalked silently toward the kitchen, leaving you on the couch to reach for your own. But your attention was pulled to the front door of the house just as he disappeared through the threshold.

Two shadows crept into the house and your ducked down to avoid being seen immediately.

There were sounds of a scuffle in the kitchen and you took the opportunity to sneak around the couch in a crouch and stand with the gun trained on the larger figure of the two just on the other side of it.

“Drop your gun or I shoot.” You kicked his legs apart, hand patting him down as he listened to your command. He didn’t have any other weapons on him and the woman a few feet away didn’t visibly have any, her clothing tight around her middle, large jacket draping over her to keep her swollen middle warm.

You took your eyes off of her for one second to kick the gun away and behind you when she lunged. A shiny piece of something glinted in her hand and you shouted out as it cut across your own middle.

Grunting, you elbowed the man in the ribs, winding him and sending him to crumple to the ground in pain. You kicked out and wrapped your foot around one of the woman’s legs and tugged her close, ignoring the sensation of that same piece of whatever it was in her grip as it tore into your jacket sleeve.

You smacked her hand against the wall behind her, being mindful of her stomach and was about to wrap your hands around her neck when the man wheezed out a pleading cry.

“Don’t hurt her, please!” He tired to catch is breath, but you didn’t break your focus away from the woman you had pinned down. A wave of nausea rose over you, the only indication before you collapsed, blood soaking the front of your shirt in a dark, wet patch.

“Shit, I think you cut her too deep.” The man crawled over to you, his hands pressing down to try and staunch the flow. The woman fell to her knees beside him, her hands reaching out to grip one of your arms. The clatter of the weapon she had used was loud and you looked over to it. It was a piece of dirty glass.

“I-I didn’t me-mean to hurt you so badly! I’m so sorry.”

“Fuck, okay, go to my pack.” They shared a confused look, but the fact that they hadn’t run off with yours and Joel’s supplies to their remorse at hurting you told you they were good people. “Go! There’s a spare shirt, we need it to put over the wound.”

Just as she bent to dig into the pack by the couch, Joel’s quiet steps and low threat called as he entered the room.

“Get your hands off of her and step back.”

“Wait! They aren’t Infected!” You panted, voice sharp despite the effort it was taking to breath as your middle burned, knowing the man’s instincts had taken over completely. His steps measured. His gun raised. His reasoning marred by the sight of you bleeding on the floor.

“They hurt you.” His honeyed drawl gone, replaced with an air of authority that demanded attention, all dark, rich molasses sticking everyone in place.

“It was an accident, Joel, please. They…they have a baby on the way. We have to take them back.”

“That true?” He kept the shot gun aimed at the man hovering over you, the blood shining on his hands making his nerves twitch. But his eyes landed on the woman who had been rummaging through your bag for first aid supplies. She slowly stood from her crouch, revealing her swollen belly.

He ordered them both to take a seat on the couch, telling them he would deal with them once he tended to you, letting them know that he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot if they tried something. He then kneeled down on the ground beside you, one of his large hands going over yours holding the wad of fabric to your middle, the other going to cup your cheek.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” His eyes bore into you, stern edge to them. You were visibly shaking, skin looking sallow and sweat beading at your temple. He carefully moved your hands aside, eyes flicking from your pained expression to the injury as he slowly lifted the fabric you had pressed to it. And then the hem of your sweater and tank top underneath.

Lips a grim line and eyes dark as he took in the still bleeding injury. His brow furrowed deeper as a thick rivulet ran down your side to spill onto the floor and Joel cursed under his breath. The gash was a few inches long across your stomach, to the left of your belly button, rimmed and irritated red. Angry and no doubt already infected if the shard of dirtied glass abandoned beside you was any indication. Your blood stained it, the woman’s fingertips pressed into it in smeared, red marks.

“Shit, it’s already starting to get infected.”

You managed a weak nod, both in response to his question and muttered worries fighting off the tears as he pressed around the wound, trying to get a gauge of how deep it was. You held back a whimper at the prodding, bottom lip firmly between your teeth.

“Joel, there’s gau-gauze in my pack.”

“Find it and toss it to me, quick.” He raised a threatening look to the pair on the couch, their heads turned and watching everything play out. Worried that if you were to bleed out, the man wouldn’t hesitate to retaliate or leave them here to their own devices.

The woman rushed to dig into your pack once more, fingers finding the crinkling plastic wrapped around the sterile gauze. She tossed it to Joel, the hand that had moved down from your cheek to rest over your heart on your chest reached out to snag it from the air. He ripped it open with his teeth and urged your hands to hold it down atop the wound.

You could only watch through hazy eyes as he shucked off his jacket and then his flannel. With a smooth motion he removed his t-shirt, his most base layer. With his chest on full display, the dark hair over his chest and trailing down from his belly button you startled at the sound of ripping fabric. The knife he kept holstered on the back of his waist out of is sheath as he used it to cut a thick strip from the hem of his shirt. He gently urged you to lift up from the ground for him to wind it around your back and tie it securely over the wound.

Slipping two fingers below it to ensure it was tight enough to keep pressure but not overly so as to cause more problems. It felt a thousand times better already, your nausea waning as the blood stopped flowing from your body. But you would definitely need stitches and antibiotics once back inside the gates. Once he was sure the wound was okay for the moment, he took both your hands in his, a slight tremor to them. His thumbs rubbing soothingly across the backs of them.

“Okay, you’re okay,” He murmured. He leaned down to press his forehead to yours. Breathing in deep and your lashes fluttered as he sighed out. His eyes were clenched shut and he took a moment to ground himself before he pulled back and peppered chaste kisses over your face. Your forehead, each of your cheeks, the tip of your nose. The edges of your mouth.

“I’m okay,” You promised, unable to ignore how shaky his breathing was so close. A nervous giggle sounded from you, unable to tamp it down as your head swam. “But maybe you should put your clothes back on before you freeze.”

“Can’t lose you, sweetheart.” The whispered sentiment washed over you, leaving you warm and light in the chest for a completely different reason. Only when you nodded in understanding, did he reach over for his flannel and shrug it back over his broad shoulders. The buttons closed up with deft fingers as he watched you take a mental stock of your body and how it felt. You said up just as his jacket was pulled back into place over the flannel.

“Good thing ‘m not goin’ anywhere then, huh?” His wet chuckle was the only response you got before he helped you to stand. He guided you over the couch with an arm around your shoulders, silently demanding that the pair move from the cushions to make room for you. Making sure you were comfortable with both packs beside you before he turned his attention to the people who had injured you.

A nurse took you in quickly, insisting someone else would do a thorough check on the brother and sister you and Joel had brought to them once leaving the horses at the stables. The backup shirt you had taken along with you in your pack tied to your abdomen with a scrap of fabric from the bottom of Joel’s undershirt. It was better than nothing, better than bleeding out.

You had insisted that the woman, Callie carefully got up on Lowry for the trip back. Joel had been worried about them sharing a horse together, the very real possibility of them taking off on it at the forefront of his mind. But you had assured him that they could be trusted. That they could’ve taken both your packs and left you to bleed out on the floor.

That was how you had found yourself once again sharing a horse with Joel for an entire day. The feel of his body pressed close to your back so different from when he had tried to keep his distance. His hands secure around your waist and resting atop the saddle horn. You tried not to let it distract you, carrying on casual conversation with them to get a feel for who they were. Every so often, when you grunted at particularly hard hoofbeats or a rough jostle, his right hand would press against your roughly patched wound.

Stitches, the nurse had said. At least four of them.

Joel was outside the hall, waiting for you to be released. He looked up from the notepad in his hands when you exited the room, brown eyes tired. You couldn’t read his thoughts, though you were too tired to begin to think what that could mean.

“Hey, what’d they say?” He surged up, the notebook going back into his pocket, the worn fabric snug around it. He retrieved the coat and sweater he had kept for you when the nurse had asked you to remove all outer layers.

You lifted the torn tank top, allowing him to see the clean, bright white bandage that had been taped over the injury. The fait outline of stitches could be seen through it. Two of his fingers brushed against it, almost tenderly.

“No painkillers, those are only for serious cases.” You let him help you put the sweater back on, his hands holding the head opening side for you to slid it on, gently tugging the fabric into place around your sore arms. “They gave me a shot of antibiotics and a pack of fresh gauze. Gotta come in next week to get the stitches looked at.”

“I’m so sorry.” He murmured as he held the coat up for your to slip your arms into. When you turned around to face him again, he pulled you to him in a loose embrace. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“Joel, it’s okay. We’re okay. I promise.” You leaned up, mindful of the new pull on your middle, and pressed your lips to his cheek. Sighing at the soft pressure, he walked alongside you out of the building.

Since there wasn’t anything they could give you for the pain,  you just wanted to lay in bed and rest. But you also wanted to try and find a reason to get out of the house later. Swallowing down your fear of rejection, knowing he was the one person who wouldn’t do that to you, you asked him for a drink later in the evening.

But he didn’t look up from the paper in his hands as he walked out the front door with you, scribbling something down on a page that only had two previous lines of script. The chill of the wind breezing past you both as you repeated your question in slightly louder volume, sure he just hadn’t heard you. You knew he was hard of hearing in his right ear and that was the side you were on. But what you didn’t expect was his haphazard response. So at odds with the tenderness and care he had shown you throughout the day.

"Huh? Oh uh, I can't tonight. Sorry, I'll see ya, Olive." And then he's off without so much as a glance your way, leaving you standing outside the infirmary. It left you more than a little concerned, whiplash at the sudden shift from intimate, to protective, to nothing so much as a glance all from the same man.

It’s early, the sun not even showing signs of rising. Snow drifted down, a perfect morning. You were humming to yourself, mentally planning out the meals you could make. A breakfast casserole that would allow for the use of root vegetables, eggs, some of the goat cheese that had been made perhaps. You were minding your own business, enjoying the walk to the mess hall and the kitchen that would allow you to work and forget the hollow feeling that hadn’t left you all last night. It was easier feeling nothing other than the faint pull of stitches on your abdomen.

You catch a figure walking out of a front door further down the street. The figure broad but their steps light as they descended the porch to Marsha’s house.

Oh.

It was Joel.

He didn’t have a utility belt, he didn’t have a toolbox, he didn’t have anything that indicated he had been there to repair something.

It was Joel Miller, leaving Marsha’s house. Far too early to mean anything other than the fact that he had spent the night inside, with her. Guess that's why he had turned down your offer for an evening with you. He already had someone to share drinks with, someone to spend his time with.

Turning, you tried not to follow his figure as he began to walk down the street, facing away from you.

You could only think that it was because of the way you had run the other night. Because of the way you two kept giving into yearning touches only for the moment to be yanked away. Three times now, far too much trouble for someone as busy as him. Someone with a life like he led as he cared for his family and the repairs that were needed around the settlement. You were desperate, for company, for attention, for him. It must’ve not settled well with him to realize how much you wanted him and that it never seemed to work out in his favor, only friend or not.

Deep down, you knew that wasn’t the reason. He was such an understanding man, and he wouldn’t put the blame on you. But the fact of the matter was that he was willingly spending his time with Marsha.

He wasn’t sure where you had disappeared to, your house dark safe for the light over the stoop light up in a warm tone. He had a box in his hands, something he had rifled through his, Ellie’s, and Tommy’s homes for to fit the finished set of wooden utensils you had asked him to make.

He had taken his time, sneaking glances at the ones in your kitchen when he dropped you off after patrol one morning and you offered him a light lunch. You had made grilled sandwiches, pairing them with some steamed vegetables that were beginning to wilt in the cold air of the house. You ran the heat on a good middle range, to ensure it didn’t get too stuffy and begin to take a toll on the record collection in the living room or the books you kept on every surface and crammed lovingly into the many bookshelves you had.

You seemed to favor spoons, though he did catch sight of a few rather flat spatulas. He had inspected the wood thoroughly before he even thought of measuring it. Admiring the way the dried wood looked and taking notes down on the pad of paper he kept on him at all times. Compared it to the two planks he had, noting the different feel and heft of them versus the completely dry specimen you had brought to him.

He let his thoughts wander as he took a seat on the cold concrete steps of your stoop. Opting to wait for your return for a few moments, hoping that you would return soon as evening had fallen, the set having set a few hours ago. He didn’t recall you mentioned evening shifts at the mess hall, opting for the mornings that you enjoyed. Something about the quiet of the town, less lonely than the nights, had been a quiet admittance. He had been too shocked to respond, you must’ve taken his silence as the end of the conversation. You had turned quiet alongside him, the only sound for the rest of the route back to the gates had been the hooves along the ground.

It struck him now, that you had been admitting even early on how lonely you were. How the town choosing to not interact with you had hurt, had been hurting you. A warning even then, that you were sensitive to the dynamic and went along with it even if you didn’t agree with it. You were such a lovely person. Kind hearted, giving, caring, and he loathed that people like Marsha perpetuated the agenda against you.

She was relentless in her attention on him and he was getting a little annoyed with it. But he was being cordial, the exact word you had used to describe the woman. He had finished the last of her shelving the other day. He had worked overnight to get it fitted and fastened to the wall. Securing it with bolts and weight holding supports, wanting to be done with the project that had been more of a coercion of his skills. She was a manipulator and he had played into her hands just like she had wanted.

He felt like a fool, knowing he had agreed to do it for your sake and out of a need to protect you.

Then he realized there were two people who allowed you into their lives. That spoke fondly of you, invited you to dinner, allowed you shares of what they could get the last of in down on main street.

Standing, he hoped to find you among his family. Making his way his way to Tommy’s, Maria was the one to answer the door. A finger to her lips to signal him to keep quiet as she slipped out the door to join him on the porch.

“They’re both sleeping, it took an hour to get him down and then of course Tommy slumped over.” She didn’t seem upset, but the news allowed for Joel to realize you weren’t here either. Clocking his silence and the box in his hand, she cocked her head up a little to examine his features. “Everything okay, Joel? Olive didn’t pull her stitches already, did she?”

“Yeah, everythin’ is okay. I’m actually looking for her. Have you seen her today?” He shuffled on his feet, aware of how they ached as the cold settled in to stay for the season.

“She’s at the bar, came by with dinner for us on her way out.” Maria explained, watching his closely. Able to pick up on his agitation. It was odd when she compared it to the almost forces nonchalance you had exhibited earlier.

“Can you hold onto this for me, I’ll be back to get it tomorrow.” He thrusted the box into the woman’s hands and was making off down the street before she could even respond.

The bar is a cacophony of sounds, of laughter, of conversation, the clink of glasses being lifted and then placed back on tables. The gurgle of more drinks being poured, of ice tinkling in glasses, all of it was so nice to just sit in and enjoy. Even if you were alone on your stool.

"Another round?" You disguised the clenching of your hand around your empty glass, the voice right behind you. His voice, the charming drawl pitched low and so so close.

“I don’t think we should be drinking with each other.” You shifted away from him, not wanting him to think you were open to spending time with him after his rejection, after his secret of seeing Marsha was exposed to you in the form of his leaving her house far too early for any reason than having stayed the night, for the way you had wanted to say yes to spending time with him but it hurt too much. For the way that it was getting harder and harder to resist the urge to lean up and kiss him, to run your hand down his arm or back in a soothing caress. “I’m waiting for someone.”

His brow furrowed as he regarded you, lifting his drink to his lips and taking a deep pull from the amber liquid inside. He sat down atop the stool beside you despite your words. His glass settled on the bar top, now empty. Your eyes were focused on the melting ice, not able to look at the man who was giving you his attention.

“What’s that?” He huffed, almost chuckled as he believed you were just joking, teasing him like you tended to do sometimes while out on patrol. But you weren’t, both of you seated at the long bar of the Tipsy Bison on the main street in town. When you still didn’t raise your eyes to him, he realized you weren’t, that you were turning him down and away.

“Tell me the real reason,” He leaned close, pivoting the seat of the stool so you faced him. Your insides whooshed with the movement. With the way he demanded your attention, with the entirety of his focus on you almost breaking your resolve to remain professional. Aware of all the eyes constantly watching you, judging you; all the eyes on him constantly watching for entirely different reasons, fawning over him.

“Because I like you.” You admitted, unable to deny him the truth. You could only lift your eyes as high as his lips, which was a mistake as you recalled the feel of them. They were so soft, so plush and you never had the chance to gently nip at his bottom one…

“Well, I like you too, Olive.” His nose brushed your cheek, moving impossibly close, his thumbs digging into your thighs as he held to the stool.

“No, I like you, Joel. And this isn’t a good idea.” You pulled back, aware that you were both in a very public place. That the looks focused on you both, your intimacy, combined with soft murmurs of voices that could be saying anything. Making notions in their minds that he was associated with you, that he spent time with you enough to feel comfortable engaging in this type of behavior. And that was bad, it was so bad for people to associate him with you. It would cause people to question him after everything he did for the town. It would begin to erase all the good he had provided.  “Joel, people are looking.”

“Don’t worry about them, just focus on me.” Your eyes snapped to his, taking in the way the brown of them was alight from the sconces around the bar. There was no hesitancy in them, no remorse. Only adoration and your stomach swooped, your heart fluttered. But you tried your best to resist.

“That’s not a good idea either.” You whispered.

“You thinkin’ of doin’ somthin’ to me?”

“M-maybe.” The admittance rolls off your tongue, his lips close enough that he can taste it.

“Sweetheart, I’d let ya if that’s what you wanted.”

“N-no.” It took everything in you to deny him, to deny the tension that pulled your muscles tight in every part of your body.

“No?” He leaned back, taking your words and heeding them, sensing that you meant them, even if it was a stuttered, breathy response.

“I don’t want to, I mean I do, but- this” You motioned between the two of you, how little space there was between your bodies. His body pivoted toward you and his hands still partially around the denim of your thighs. “Isn’t a good idea.”

His eyes roamed over you, seeing the nerves and truth of your demeanor. You did like him, and it was becoming a problem. He didn’t need a younger woman fawning over him, the friendly rapport riddled with holes. Of temptations that were tamped down by his unwillingness to share his craft with you, the time he had been spending with Marsha, the pull of his attention in so many directions, especially with the holiday hurtling toward the town tomorrow.

“We’re hardly friends, Miller. You barely started acknowledging me outside of patrol.” You reached for your drink so you’d be less likely to cup his face in your hands and throw caution to the wind.

“What makes you think I haven’t been tryin’ to keep my hands to myself, bein’ around you?” His voice tipped low, to avoid being overheard despite the closeness he had initiated. Closing your eyes at the visual, you shook you head as your throat bobbed with the sip you had taken from your drink.

“Because you don’t like me that way.” You scoffed, beginning to lean away from him. “You didn’t even get me anything for the holiday…You’re with Marsha.”

“Didn’t get your name in swap.”

“Oh.” And all the fight you had in you crumbled at his simple words. The reassurance in his voice that drowned out the hum of the environment all around you.

“But I thought - Ellie was asking so many questions I figured she was doin’ the work for you.”

“Maybe she got you?” He tapped the lip of his glass as the bartender wandered close, signaling for another when the man got the chance. His hand going back to your leg in a second.

“N-no. She got Jesse. Whoever got me most likely tossed the scrap of paper and picked another.”

“Marsha and I are just friendly, it’s nothing beyond that. Olive, I swear to –“

Someone cleared their throat unnervingly close. You both turned away from each other to face the person who had decided to break the currents flowing between your bodies, tension thick in the air with their approach.

Marsha. With a wrapped gift in her hand and a yearning look for Joel. Her attention solely on him.

“So much for just being friendly, huh, Miller?” You set your drink down, glass nearly empty and pushed off from your stool. The drag of his large hands over the tops of your thighs not registering as you quickly took off. Leaving him to the woman who seemed to be a constant companion as of late. Better company for him, you though begrudgingly as you made your way through the snow-covered streets and back to the safety of your home.

Sighing, you picked up the wrapped bundle of recipe cards. Joel’s gift.

The one you had spent hours pouring over, making sure your writing was neat and legible, the cursive loops delicately over the lines on the thick cardstock. You had debated whether or not he would be able to read the script, knowing how he squinted at certain things. No doubt needing glasses in his older age, an item you always kept a keen eye out for should it end up being a perfect match for him.

Your heart panged, the fleeting image of him tucked in bed beside you with a book or manual in his hands and a pair of reading glasses perched on his aquiline nose. His scruff catching the light of a soft bedside lamp and the silver sparkling. His curls damp from an evening shower, the scent of him so clean and pure beside you as you lay tucked in the other side. It hurt. It hurt to think you would never get to experience that, experience him in every simple, mundane way.

With a long-suffering huff, you reached for some of the dried leaves you kept from the trees when you last preened them. Fastening it to the top of the bundle with a piece of twine. You don’t write Joel’s nor yours. He would know it was from you from the writing inside, from the olive twig. A parting gift, you guessed.

This would be the last thing you would offer him before drawing back to your solemn life. He had brought color and life and laughter into it, but the hurt wasn’t worth it. Your heart and body aching for a man who had too much to lose.

You faintly heard soft voices trailing along the dark streets, the light fixtures doing their best to illuminate the way for any one who was out at the late hour. The sky dark with the added overcast that hadn’t waned during the day. Making everything feel pressed down and low, condensing the world to make it feel almost suffocating. Snow soft as it descended. Maybe it was just you, sensitive to the weather and things around you in your anxiety as you turned down the street Joel’s house was nestled on. Just as you turned the corner, feet scuffing on the weathered gravel packed down to create solid paths in the broken asphalt you collided with something hard and lost your balance. The built up snow making it hard to catch yourself.

The scrunch of paper you had wrapped the gift in was loud, ripping at the drag of thick fabric that made up someone’s coat. The index cards fly up into the air as you landed heavily on your side. Through the sounds of the fluttering paper, there was a gasp pitched high that gave way to delirious giggles and a grunt pitched low. Your own indignant noise floating amidst it all, the pull of your stitches uncomfortable.

“My apologies, didn’t see you the- Olive?”

You had run into Joel’s broad back, his front now facing you as the cards rained down to scatter all over the corner. Snow dampening them instantly upon contact, blurring the ink you had taken the time to put down to them.

Behind him was a bright-eyed Marsha, her hands holding tight to one of his. She looked flushed, no doubt from the drinks she had indulged in, leaning heavily into him. And Joel…he looked shocked as he stared down at your fallen form. Either unaware or uncaring of how the woman he was with tried to burrow into his side.

They had been the ones whose voices you heard. But what had they been doing just standing still in the middle of the street….and then it hit you. They had probably been kissing or sharing in casual touches as they walked back from the bar to one of their homes for the evening and your stomach lurched, dropping out from under you.

Joel detached from her, intending to reach down and help you back up. But you didn’t want him touching you with the same hands that had been soft just an hour ago, the same hands that had been touching her with the same intent.

“Don’t!”

“Just tryin’ to help you up,” He backed off immediately, his eyes alert, not used to you raising your voice nor the heat behind your tone. Especially toward him, the hurt making you unable to tamp it down to a polite tone. Tears burned behind your own eyes, in your throat. The perfect match to your insides feeling like they have just been set in a mixer.

“Don’t need your help,” You pushed up from the ground, legs tingling as you fought the urge to run from the awkward and tense scene. And then you realized you could. You did.

Leaving the two alone in the middle of the street, surrounded by white spots of paper all around, the wrapping that had been around them crumpled on the ground. The dried olive leaves that had been fastened to it with twine lay abandoned at their feet.

You ran all the way back to your house, the front door slamming behind you and the lock loud in the silence that followed. Your back thumped against the wood of it, sliding down until your bottom hit the floor.

And you let yourself break down, crying into your hands. Hating how you had begun to believe that your life was going to change, that Joel was going to be something good in your life. And deep down, underneath all the hurt and anger, you still believed he was. Even if he wasn’t meant to be anything other than a patrol partner.

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[stevespookington]

(part 2)

Eddie had people get cold feet about buying all the time so he just shrugged it off when Chrissy Cunningham wasn’t waiting for him after Hellfire and the basketball game. He drove home and went about his night. Nothing too unusual. The cash would have been nice, but also she had looked really rough, probably hadn’t need more things fucking with her system. 

The next morning Eddie headed out to Rick’s to pick up some more supplies. He hummed to himself as he strolled into the boathouse. Eddie had his system down by now, pick up some stuff, leave the cash, maybe relax by the water for a bit (it was relaxing, sue him). But just as he bent down to drag the tarp off of one of Rick's boat stashes, something tackled him.

He went flying backwards and slammed into a wall. A wall behind him and oh that was a wall of muscle in front of him.

Eddie blinked in surprise as he looked into the eyes of one Steve Harrington.

Eddie held his hands up and tried to look disarming, he knew how to handle folks on a bad trip. But instead Harrington just looked him up and down and stepped back with a ragged sigh.

"Please tell me you have a radio, Munson."

Eddie blinked, first he was slammed into a wall. Next he was just let go. And finally? Harrington knew who he was. Well, Eddie knew he didn't exactly have a low profile, but still. Having the former King of Hawkins High rough you up and then ask for a radio? A little confusing.

Eddie motioned over his shoulder and cleared his throat. "So I'm just going to, uh, go. You seem to be having a crisis and I'm good so..."

And Eddie was up against the wall again. Splendid. At least this time it was just a firm hand holding him in place instead of a tackle, but still. Not what he had been expecting when he left home this morning.

“Look, pal.” Eddie bit out, “If you are looking for drugs you got plenty to pick from here, you don’t need to push me around to get them. And no. I don’t have a radio.”

Steve deflated, head hitting the wall next to Eddie’s. And oh. This was causing all sorts of feelings that Eddie did not want to be having. He was so over his phase of crushing on pretty, straight boys. (He hoped.)

“Uhhh, hey… are you okay? Cause, full offense, but I really don’t want you all up on me. Jocks aren’t my thing, try to avoid them like the plague honestly.”

Harrington started to laugh, body shaking, hysterical laughter. That was probably not a good sign. He slowly pulled back, shoulders still shaking and Eddie watched as tears pooled in the corners of Harrington’s eyes. 

“Okay, I’m right there with you with avoiding jocks, these days at least. But I need to get a message to Dustin Henderson and I’m missing my radio, can you find him for me?”

Eddie raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “I’m not a fucking message boy, go yourself.”

Harrington winced. “Uh, I can’t. But! I can pay you, please.”

Eddie sighed, this really wasn’t what he was expecting when he woke up this morning. “Fine, what is it and where you think he is?” And! I get paid in advance.”

~

The door swung shut behind him, the bell still tinkling to announce his arrival. Eddie raised his eyebrows, sure enough there was Robin, Dustin, and the redhead, just like Steve had predicted there would be. All whispering furiously while pointing at the computer. 

Eddie cleared his throat, no response. 

"Henderson," he tried instead, a sing song note in his voice. 

Dustin looked up at that, hope sparking and fading in his eyes. "What." He said flatly.

Eddie sighed, he really should have charged Harrington double just to deal with Henderson’s attitude. "Friend of yours gave me a message for you, thought you might be interested in hearing it."

Dustin rolled his eyes, "We are sort of busy right now, it can wait." He turned back towards the computer.

Eddie shrugged, “Alright, but I’m not giving Harrington his money back so last chance-“

Dustin swung around, suddenly interested. He asked Eddie to tell him the message or something, his voice faded out of Eddie’s perception, he wasn’t listening. Instead he watched the TV screen with shock. His jaw dropped as he read the alert across the bottom of the screen “Body found, investigations ongoing.”

The news crew was outside Harrington’s house. 

[otomiyaa]

Tickle Fight

Kabru & Laios

A/N: A little thingie I made in my phone notes while traveling. These two are so cute hehe. I hope I got rid of all the auto corrects and typos....

Summary: Kabru's biggest mistake of the day = agreeing to have a tickle fight with Laios. Who in the right mind would actually...?! (Also on AO3)

Word Count: 1.1K

Oh god. Oh no. Run! Hide! Get help - aaaaah!

“Gu-gu-guuuuys?! Anyone?! Why aren’t you helping me?!” Kabru desperately clung to Rin's arm, panicked and out of breath.

She gave him a cold stare and didn’t even budge. “Huh? You agreed to it yourself. Go have fun.”

So cold! Kabru looked around and ran towards Marcille. She was studying her book and together with Senshi looked into how they could give their meal some more effects to boost their health, magic and strength, and didn't seem interested in helping him.

“I told you Laios isn’t someone to have tickle fights with. He gets way too into it,” Marcille said without looking away from her book.

Everyone else was also casually working on dinner and no one would even bother protecting him! Wah!

“B-but! I couldn’t say no!” Kabru cried, remembering how gentle Laios looked when he made the suggestion.

“Here he comes. I’d run if I were you,” Chilchuck said. Kabru looked over his shoulder to see Laios approaching with terrifying speed and determination. He already caught up! 

“N-n-no, Laios, can I still surrender -?” Nope. There wasn’t even time to surrender. Laios was like a huge excited dog, tackling him down as if he were ready to lick him all over his face. If only that was the case, Kabru wouldn’t even mind. 

“Gayaahaaaaaa hahahaha Laiahahaa!” he howled hysterically as soon as Laios started to tickle him. 

"Tickle fight, commence!" Laios sang, and all Kabru could do at this point was squeal and giggle.

"Nohoho Lahhahaios whaha-wahahahait!"

When he and Laios finished their cooking duty early due to their competitive spirit - who could chop the vegetables fastest? - Laios challenged him to a fun tickle fight immediately after, just to kill time until dinner. 

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” he said. Though hesistant, Kabru responded with “eh s-sure…”, not knowing this would transform Laios into an enormous tickle fanatic right away. There was no chance to back down now. He was stuck.

“Laahahahaios! Nohoho! Stah-ahahah!” Kabru laughed, suffering from the relentless tickle attack.

“Come on. Aren’t you going to tickle me back?” Laios asked eagerly, but instead of granting Kabru any good chance to do so, he caught both his flailing arms and pinned them over his head using only one hand. 

“YOU WOULDN’T!” Kabru expressed his disbelief, thinking Laios couldn’t possibly tickle him while he was in this helpless position, but oh he really did. 

“WAAHHAAH! Hehehehehelp! Aaaaaah!” Kabru squealed hysterically, his legs kicking and his head shaking desperately, but nothing he did convinced Laios that tickling his vulnerable underarm, ribs and side while pinning his arms down was truly a monstrous thing to do. 

“Look, Mr. Monster Lover has turned into one himself!" Kabru could barely hear Chilchuck's voice through his own laughter but he definitely heard that part and agreed.

“A tickle monster alright,” Senshi laughed before tasting the stew he was making. 

“Hmm, needs more herbs.”

“Nah, I’m not a monster! I’m just really good at tickle fights,” Laois said proudly while he clawed up and down Kabru's exposed and helplessly vulnerable torso. 

!!! This wasn’t a tickle fight in the slightest! It was a massacre!

“Plehehease nooooohoho! I gihihive!” 

“What was that? Give what? You’ll give it your all? Sure! Come at me!” Laios said excitedly. He did release Kabru’s arms there, only to start squeezing his sides with both hands. 

Kabru arched his back and cackled for his life. “I cahahahan’t! Releeeease meehehe!“

He reached for the hands executing the horrors and tried to pry them off his ticklish body, but he was just no match for Laios and his abnormal energy. All Kabru could do was laugh and flail.

“Ahahaha! It tickles- hehehe nahahaha!”

“It does? I’m glad!” Laios replied merrily, and he dug into Kabru’s ticklish sides with terrifying enthusiasm. Kabru thought he was going to die. 

… Was that possible?

Kabru was just going over the possibility of death by tickles, when the attack stopped suddenly. He opened his teary eyes and saw Rin and Marcille. Each held one of Laios’ arms, forcefully stopping his tickle attack on Kabru. 

“O-oh! Hello there,” Laios said, and Kabru flinched when he wiggled his fingers eagerly despite being unable to move his arms. 

“Are you joining the tickle fight?” Laios asked. Baffled that he would still give this slaughter such a term, Kabru crawled backwards and gasped for air. 

“Yes? You okay?” Rin asked, and as if they had agreed on this beforehand, she and Marcille both pulled Laios’ arms back, forcing him on his back with a surprised yelp. 

“What is happening now?” he asked, not even bothering to struggle yet. 

“Kabru’s turn to tickle you back! I felt anxious hearing his cries,” Rin huffed, using her knees to pin Kabru’s arm down. Marcille nodded. 

“You are too much, Laios! Learn when enough is enough!”

The blond blinked and sputtered: “E-eh eh? Whaha- what? Hey! That’s not fair! Let go of me!” He kicked his legs dramatically. 

“Very fair. Kabru, go ahead!” Kabru felt conflicted only for a split second; he didn’t like to have their sympathy. He felt embarrassed and humiliated, yes. But seeing Laios blushing already and squirming helplessly, ready to be at his mercy. Well… How could he resist?

“Good... Time for round 2 of this…. Tickle fight,” Kabru said, and while he would’ve loved to hear Laios’ desperate pleas before starting, he just couldn’t wait. 

“NO- nonono aaahahahah lehehehet me gooooaahaha!” he shrieked when Kabru already tickled him. He only just started and barely touched him. He was that sensitive huh! 

“Looks like the tickle monster is quite ticklish himself. Also, Dinner is almost ready,” Senshi announced. 

“No it isn’t! Take your time!” Marcille said, and that was the last bit of normal conversation that could be heard before Laios exploded in a loud, hilarious and hysterical laughing fit.

"KAHAHABRU!! Fohohorgihihive mehehe! MAhha-Mahaharcille lehehet go- aahaahah!"

Kabru was truly amazed that someone as ticklish as Laios, was such a fan of tickle fights.

"You're unbelievable," he muttered with a smile, and while he continued to tickle Laios, he analyzed every reaction, experimented on every tickle spot he could think of, and had a blast until they could finally eat dinner.

And well, they both did learn their lesson. Laios learned that he was a little too intense and behavior like that earned a proper revenge. And Kabru, he learned to not just accept any tickle fight challenge from Laios.

Although... He stared at Laios who, despite getting tickled to death just now, cheerfully munched on his food. Kabru blushed and covered his mouth to hide his smile.

To be honest, Kabru wouldn't really mind trying again. One day, he would be strong enough to beat Laios on his own, in a fair tickle fight!

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

hii brainrot i love your work :}}}

i was wonder if maybe you could do a lil drabble of muriel having to deal with his and mc's kid being an absolute wild card like constantly going to the woods or town to explore without telling, climbing things they aren't supposed and just generally giving muriel constant mini heart attacks

byee have a good rest of your dayy ^^

"What am I doing wrong?"

There's only one person in the world who can make your stoic partner emote like this, and it's the terror of a five-year-old peacefully dozing in their trundle on the other side of the hut. Muriel sits perched on the edge of your bed with his face in his hands.

"And I thought Asra was hard to deal with as a kid ..."

"What happened?"

You try not to chuckle as you sit next to him and lay a hand on his broad shoulder. It feels like touching a very warm boulder, the tension bunching the muscles there so tightly you'd think his back was made of knots. He turns to give you a wide-eyed stare of disbelief.

"They're not afraid of anything."

You suppress a snort.

"Isn't that a good thing? You always talked about wanting them to grow up knowing they're safe no matter what."

"I do -" He sinks his face back into his palms, taking slow, even breaths as the shoulder under your hand slowly starts to relax. "I do, but I-I can't. I can't keep them safe from everything. They're growing up so fast. I don't want them to lose their spark because I can't keep up."

You nod quietly. Muriel's right. Your child has a firmly rooted faith in a big, beautiful world full of love and wonder, and their own boundless curiosity calls them into all the places that would gladly shatter that dream. You want them to explore and learn and grow, but you dread watching a little of the light leave their eyes because you taught them wariness.

"I know." You start to rub your palm along his spine. He relaxes through another deep breath, eventually slumping over in the hard-won ease of years of closeness, laying his head on your lap so you can take out the day's braids. You card your fingers through his hair with a sigh. "I want them to hold onto that safety, too - I guess they're more ready to grow up than we are to watch it happen."

That earns you a fondly exasperated huff. "They chased a bee."

"They - what?" Your fingers pause in shock. You see the corner of his mouth twitch in a tired smile.

"I took them to check the charms. When I turned around, they were almost out of sight."

"Did you catch them?"

"Barely. They followed it to its hive in that old stump by the clover clearing and I caught them trying to climb in to visit."

"Good grief." You sit speechless for a moment, stunned into silence. Muriel's exhaustion finally catches up to him and his voice cracks on a hysterical giggle.

"They said the bee invited them to tea with its family and then they asked me to give them some treats to share with the hive."

You roll your lips in an attempt to fight your laughter. "And?"

"I told them we only have food for people, not bees. They came back to the hut with me after that, but then -" His voice breaks on a snort. You watch in sleepy awe as his eyes crinkle with amusement.

"But then?" You can hear laughter quivering in your own whisper.

"Then they put your shopping basket on their head and walked right back out the door. When I asked them where they were going they said Selasi the baker has food for bees so they were going to go buy some."

Muriel turns his head into your lap to stifle a wheeze. You clap your hand over your mouth and wait for him to recover. Eventually, he resurfaces with tears in his eyes, clearly at the breaking point of loving stress and pure exhaustion that renders everything hilarious.

"I asked them what they meant - they said - heehee - they were going to get - you remember those honey loaves?"

You gasp. "The ones he shaped like bees?"

Muriel nods, his weathered face crinkling up in new laugh lines. "They said Selasi would make them bee bread and they were going to go buy some."

You chuckle into your hand, watching Muriel's shoulders silently shake. "You know Selasi absolutely would if they asked him, though."

"I know," he pauses to clap his hand over another snort and continues, "I told them we'd have to wait until tomorrow to go, so they gave me their money for safe keeping."

You stare down at him in disbelief. "Where did they get money? They're five!"

Your partner lifts himself out of your lap, loose hair falling around his chin and jaw as he stands to rummage in his discarded cloak's pocket. He turns back to you with one large hand out, delicately cradling the small collection of treasures piled in it.

A pretty leaf. Some acorn caps. Two sparkly rocks. And one snow-white chicken feather with a tiny, blackberry-stained fingerprint smudged on the tip. You feel your heart melt at the earnest innocence and glance instinctively back to the trundle, dark tufts of fine hair and round, chubby cheeks happily snuggled into the drool-puddled pillow. You turn back to your partner.

"There has to be a way to let this tea party happen."

He hangs his head and sighs. "I'm open to ideas."

[cupidjyu]

jealousy, jealousy

(hyung line) when they get jealous over another member

genre: jealousy, jealousy, jealousy, a lot of kissing, hyunjae is a buff fool in this, im pretty sure you get yanked or yank him in each of these for some reason, slow dancing!!! shy! sangyeon! notes: eric summer fic🫥 word count: 1.7k

sangyeon

“Sangyeon?”

You poked your head outside of the door. Your boyfriend immediately looked up, his hair slightly damp from sweat and his previously focused expression quickly became a foolish, very-in-love one.

“Hi there,” He greeted, his eyes bright simply at the sight of you. He approached you, pulling you into a tight hug. “I missed you.”

“Eugh,” You groaned, pushing him off. “I have your drink balanced in my hand and you’re all sweaty from dance.”

He pouted and took the iced americano from you. “You didn’t say it back.”

You looked at him in disbelief for a second before sighing in defeat. “I missed you too.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” He sang, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek. You laughed bashfully, turning your head slightly. That was when you noticed another man, staring intently at himself in the mirror.

“Hyunjae,” You called out with a wave. 

He turned around and he immediately broke out into a friendly smile. “Y/n!” His voice was bright and loud as usual as he approached the two of you. “Actually, now would be a good opportunity to ask you a question.”

You tilted your head.

And to your surprise, he rolled up his sleeve to show off his entire arm. “Do you think I got more muscular?” 

You lifted an eyebrow. Hyunjae whined as he brought his sleeve back down.

“Why are you asking me?”

“Because I need another opinion. I worked out a lot for the past few weeks,” He explained. You thought for a second. As a perfectly good, moral friend, you replied earnestly.

“I see a lot of progress.” You patted his shoulder. “Your arm… muscles look great.”

Hyunjae nodded in satisfaction. “I treasure your opinion.” And then he was off to buy a snack from the vending machine. With an amused smile, you turned back to Sangyeon, only to be met with the most adorable pout in the world. His eyebrows were furrowed as he searched your eyes with sorrow.

“Sangyeon?”

“What about me?”

You paused. And then you burst out into laughter. But, before you could respond, he was pulling you out and into the hallway. You watched him with a fond smile.

“Jealous?” 

He only replied with an embarrassed silence. You chuckled.

“I think that your muscles are amazing,” You exaggerated. Sangyeon groaned, leaning forward to pull you into a hug so that he could hide his face.

“What else do you like?” He whispered. In the corner of your eye, you could see that the tips of his ears were red.

“Mmm…” You hummed. “Your lips?”

He pulled away at that, and he gazed at you, or moreover–your lips–with a sultry expression. “Oh really?” He muttered, leaning in. You sputtered slightly, completely forgetting your past remark about him being sweaty. In fact, he looked very attractive like this. 

And before you could even say a “yes,” he was already leaning in, pressing a deep kiss to yours. 

jacob

Humming happily to yourself, you and Jacob were cuddling in bed until you were interrupted by an excited yell from the living room.

“Y/n!” Kevin’s voice called out loudly. “C’mere! There’s a new music video!”

You widened your eyes, turning to look at Jacob who was only staring back at you with soft eyes. He always said that he enjoyed seeing you happy and excited.

“Go,” He mumbled. You smiled and practically jumped out of his arms to run over to Kevin who had turned on the video of your shared favorite music artist. The two of you laughed hysterically as you watched and soon enough, you found yourself dancing with him, holding up fake microphones to sing. 

Grasping hands, jumping up and down, you and Kevin, as perfectly good best friends, danced to the music. Little did you know, Jacob was watching from around the corner. Though he half enjoyed watching you have fun, he also half didn’t enjoy seeing you have fun with someone else. 

Once the music video was over, you looked over to Jacob who was watching with a serious expression. Slightly out of breath, you walked over, only for him to take you by the wrist and whisk you away privately.

“Is everything okay?” You frowned.

He shook his head. “No. I’m jealous.”

Your jaw almost dropped open at his words. He was never one to be so straightforward. But then your eyes softened as you cupped his jaw with your hand.

“Don’t be, you know that I love to dance with you the most.”

“Really?” He narrowed his eyes skeptically. “Because we never have before.”

“Then let’s do it now.”

“Aren’t you tired from all that dancing?” His gaze was gentle and kind.

You shook your head with an eager smile, taking his hand in yours and leading him to the middle of the room. Slowly, you began to slow dance with him, swaying and holding him close to his chest. 

“Oh,” He breathed out, a smile growing on his lips. “We should do this more often.”

You smiled, resting your cheek against his chest. “I think so too.”

It was silent for a moment, just the two of you stepping side to side, embracing each other’s warmth.

“I love you,” Jacob whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

You grinned, leaning up to instead kiss his lips. “I love you too.”

younghoon

“Ouch,” Younghoon muttered, massaging the spot on his chest where you had just run into.

You frowned. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to bump into you.” You cupped his cheeks, pressing small kisses all over. He was about to lean in to press his lips to yours until you heard a familiar cackle from down the hallway.

Panicking, you looked up at your boyfriend. “I have to go. Changmin’s going to get me.” And before he could even utter a response, you were already running to hide in another room. It was a simple game of chase between friends. Neither of you knew who even started it.

Younghoon watched silently as you laughed dearly when Changmin had found you. His heart warmed at the sight of your beautiful smile but, there was a frown on his lips when he saw how it was his own friend who made you giggle. With a sigh, he walked away, devising a quick plan in his head.

Breathing heavily, you burst into an empty room, trying to find a place to hide. Just as you walked past the walk-in closet, you felt a gentle, familiar hand grab onto your wrist and pull you in. With a yelp, you found yourself pressed up right against to Younghoon’s chest.

Before you could even ask him what was wrong, his hand was on your waist as he brought you into a soft kiss, tilting his head lightly. You were confused, but you easily melted into the kiss with a small smile.

“Younghoon…” You whispered, pulling away with a shy expression.

He lifted an eyebrow with an adorable frown, his hair slightly messy. “You’re having fun, aren’t you?”

You noticed that his voice was laced with obvious sarcasm and so you stared at him in utter disbelief. And then you broke out into fond laughter.

“Are you jealous?” You questioned, letting your hand trail down to his.

His frown only deepened, making you grin more. “...yes.”

“You’re so cute.” You smiled. “You know that you’re the only one for me, right?” He nodded silently and so you pressed your lips to his again. He let out a satisfied hum as he leaned in even deeper.

Stumbling out of the closet, red-cheeked and out of breath, the two of you looked up, only to see Changmin standing outside. He grimaced.

“Ew, oh my god,” He groaned before sticking his tongue out. “I won by the way. Since you got distracted.”

hyunjae

“Can you turn on the speaker?” Hyunjae appeared behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you into a tight back hug. “We have to practice.”

You eyed him with faux annoyance. “If you would let me go, I will.”

He smiled cheekily, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “In a minute.”

Sticking your tongue out, you wriggled out of his hold and approached the speaker, only to find it in the worst spot possible. Reaching in the weirdest angles, you couldn’t quite get the button. Immediately, Hyunjae, who always had his eyes on you, noticed.

“I can do it–” He called out.

“Here you go.” Sangyeon suddenly appeared beside you, getting the switch with ease. Smiling up at him, you thanked him.

“Such a gentleman,” You joked.

He rolled his eyes, walking away. “That’s my nature,” He remarked.

You laughed and walked back over to Hyunjae, only to find him looking at you with those puppy eyes. His lips were also pulled into a small frown.

“Hyunjae?”

He stayed silent, turning away grumpily. With a sigh, you took his hand and pulled him out of the practice room and into a separate room made for singing. 

“What’s wrong?” Your eyes softened.

“I don’t know,” He grumbled, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. “Why don’t you ask Sangyeon?”

That was when it suddenly hit you, your lips parting in surprise. Biting back a fond smile, you stepped forward and hugged him. He only sulkily looked down at you and refused to return it.

“You're… jealous?” You grinned. Immediately, he was blushing with a huff of breath. He tried to avoid your eyes but you only persisted, following his gaze. Finally, with a small squirm, he nodded.

You laughed as you leaned in to hide your face in his chest.

“Then can you maybe help me with something?”

Pulling away, he looked at you with excitement as if to tell you that he would do anything for you. Which he certainly would.

“What is it?”

You hummed with a mischievous smile. “My lips are feeling a bit unoccupied.”

He chuckled with a small smirk. “Gladly. Of course I’ll help you with that.” He pressed a kiss to your lips, holding you tightly by the waist. By the time he was done, your lips felt sore. He only smiled proudly at his effect.

“Would Sangyeon be able to do that for you?”

“No," You mumbled, your cheeks flushing.

“The only correct answer,” He teased before kissing you again.

[hitmewithsomebooks]

@jegulus-microfic Jan 3 - ruthless

210 words

~

James stared Regulus down, fists clenched at his sides. His glasses were askew, hair even more chaotic than usual from him pulling at it. Regulus’s grey eyes narrowed with his smirk.

“Don’t do it.” James warned, teeth gritted.

“You don’t have a choice in the matter, Potter.” Regulus replied, grinning manically.

“Regulus…” James resorted to pleading now, desperation seeping into his voice.

“James…” Regulus replied slowly, looking up at him from under dark lashes, “… Sorry!” He cackled, throwing down a card, and James cried out, watching as his piece was moved all the way back to the start.

“Noooo…” James wailed, dropping his face into his hands.

“Nice!” Harry and Regulus high-fived, and James looked between the two in disbelief.

“Really? You turned our own son against me?” He asked, incredulous. Regulus just grinned.

“You really are ruthless.” James grumbled, throwing his cards down.

“C’mon, it’s your turn Jamie.” Regulus cooed, smiling.

“Don’t wanna play anymore…” James huffed, crossing his arms and pouting.

“Ooo, looks like someone’s a sore loser.” Regulus chided, and Harry ‘ooo’ed along with him, before falling into hysterical laughter, bringing Regulus with him.

James hated Sorry, but looking fondly across the table at the two people he loved most, he supposed it was worth it.

[defectivehero]

Anonymous asked: can you perhaps do hero x reformed villain? thanks in advance :3

somehow I deleted this ask and it's gone from my inbox, wtf. anyway, make sure to read through the warnings before reading!

warnings: self-harm, blood, panic attack/hyperventilation.

The villain failed.

This isn't the first time they've failed—far from it.

But this is the first time they've failed... as a hero.

And they don't know what to do with themselves. The villain just knows they have to do something to quell the restless feeling prickling up their skin. Their ears ringing and buzzing, they hear themselves making a flimsy excuse to break away before practically running down the hallway and turning into the bathroom. The space is empty, hauntingly so. Everything about the room sends a prickle down their spine, from the spotless white tile to the perfectly clean mirrors. They have never been so strongly assaulted by a feeling of detachment.

The metal shard is burning a hole in their pocket. The villain pulls it out with trembling hands, eyes latching on the dried blood settled into the harsh cracks. The supervillain's voice echoes in their ears, reminding them of every mistake they've ever made. It's been years since the supervillain passed—since the villain was freed from the blackmail that bound them to villainy—yet they hear his voice everywhere they go.

There's blood dripping down their fingertips now, dropping to the floor and sending hollow echoes throughout the bathroom. The villain takes a shuddering breath in, welcoming the familiar rush of pain that rises to greet them. Their hands are shaking, their vision is tunneling, but they feel more alive than they have in days.

"What the hell are you doing?"

The villain nearly jumps out of their skin at the sudden presence of another person. They can't bear to look away from the crimson slowly sliding down their skin, coloring the spotless white sink with tinges of red. The villain doesn't need to look up to know just who is standing in the doorway: the hero, their former enemy, their new partner. The thought amuses them, for reasons they can't quite explain.

"Stop it." The hero orders, their voice cold. At their uncharacteristic tone, the villain does look up—only to find an expression of true shock, bewilderment, and helplessness on the hero's face. The expression quickly morph into stubborn resolve when their partner notices they're looking. The hero takes a step forward and the door slides shut behind them.

"Why?" The villain eventually remembers to ask.

"What do you mean why?" The hero asks, disbelief pervading their voice. "Because it's dangerous, because you're hurting yourself-"

"I deserve the pain," the villain interjects instinctually. They feel a wry smile crawling up their lips. "Crave it, even." That familiar voice is ringing in their ears still, urging them to inflict more pain and suffering to even the score.

"Stop," the hero repeats. "I'm serious. I don't know what you think this is, if you're trying to unnerve me or something... Please stop."

The villain feels hysterical laughter bubbling out of their throat, wrenching their lips open and infecting the tense air around them. They can feel the hero's incredulous gaze boring into their skin, but there isn't a damn thing they can do to change it.

In the blink of an eye, the shard of metal is roughly ripped from their hands. The villain doesn't realize that they're gasping for breath until the hero is shaking them by the shoulders, their eyes wide. And they're still laughing. The villain doesn't know where they first found the amusement. All they know is that they cannot stop, cannot let go of this twisted sense of joy that is so familiar and so novel at the same time.

"What happened to you?" The hero whispers.

"More like who," the villain thinks to themselves wryly. They don't realize they've spoken aloud until they see the way the hero's eyebrows furrow. They look truly unsettled, perhaps even disturbed; on a better day, this would please the villain greatly. Now that their role has changed, however... Now that they're a hero... the expression on their partner's face is less amusing.

The villain can practically see the moment the dots connect in the hero's mind—the moment the hero remembers the expression on the villain's face as they showed up bruised and battered on the agency's doorstep all those years ago, remembers the villain haunting the agency's halls like a shadow, waiting for the moment the supervillain would return and finish what he started.

The villain's bruises have faded. The scars have not.

The hero knows.

The hero places a hand on their shoulder, their grip tethering the villain to reality. It's a firm pressure—a reminder of their support. The villain desperately wants to shrug it off (they've trusted another like that once before, it didn't out well) but they don't. Something in the hero's eyes compels them to remain frozen, pliable under their grip.

"You've punished yourself enough." The hero states firmly. They leave no room for argument, and the villain is forced to believe them. Their eyes gleam with honesty—nothing more and nothing less. The villain feels robbed of breath. Their new partner brings a hand to their cheek, meets their eyes unflinchingly.

"I won't let anything like that happen to you ever again," the hero murmurs, their fingertips sliding across the villain's skin. The villain has forgotten the pain itching at their forearm, the blood slowly dribbling to the floor. All they can see is the expression on the hero's face—one so far past mere determination, one that reminds them of when they knew loyalty and compassion. "I promise."

In the quiet air, under the flickering fluorescent lights, the villain realizes that they believe their partner. A tight feeling at the back of their throat, the villain leans into the hero and the unconditional support that they don't deserve.

©2024, @defectivehero | @defectivevillain All Rights Reserved.

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[sorceresssundries]

Oh, What A Circus!

Pairing: Gale x gn Tav - SFW

Word Count: 900

Summary: The spawn of the God of murder and their Wizard boyfriend have a day out at the circus!

A/N: I've been writing a lot of smut/romance/angst and wanted to try my hand at something a little more light-hearted.

I hope you enjoy it!

“You look ridiculous.” Gale muttered with his arms folded.

Tav stood in front of the unimpressed wizard, towering above him at almost seven feet of rippling muscle, with eyes as red as bloodstone and tattoos that looked like carved, ancient curses. They were a trained, hulking barbarian whose blood-drenched origin had, until recently, been lost to tampered memory. They were the flesh of Bhaal himself, spawn of the God of Murder, flayer of innocents, and inspirer of savagery. Condemned to forever be whipped and tormented by the whispered urges that pulsed through their blood and haunted their dreams.

They glared at Gale from beneath their freshly applied clown face paint and waved their candyfloss at him. 

“You look ridiculous!” Tav snapped back. “We’re at a circus and you look like someone has pissed in your porridge.”

Their tiff was punctuated by squeals and laughter of children, and Karlach, revelling in the nearby circus games. Even Astarion seemed to be enjoying himself, hurling particularly cutting insults at a mime. It was hard to tell whether the mime was exceptionally talented at their craft or if Astarion had actually driven them into a silent breakdown.

Tav turned towards the merchant with whom Gale had been conversing. The small mephit, previously engaged in lighthearted banter, was now cowering in the shadow of the clown-faced elf.

“You buying something?” Tav asked Gale with a mouth full of candyfloss.

“Well!” Gale raised his finger and Tav mentally prepared themselves for an unnecessarily long explanation “This fine fellow here”, he gestured towards the now trembling mephit, “And his delightful wife are exceptionally talented artists and dealers of the finest, bespoke sculptures in all Faerûn! Isn’t that right, my friend?”

“Erm, yes absolutely.” replied the mephit, still not taking their eyes off Tav, “I was just explaining to your….”

“Boyfriend.” cut in Tav.

“Oh…right…” The mephit’s eyes flicked between the two adventurers, as though the pairing of the wizard and the barbarian was completely ridiculous. The tiny mephit looked over to his huge, hulking, earth elemental of a wife in disbelief. “For a reasonable fee, we can provide you with a completely bespoke creation in whomever's likeness you desire!”

“I was thinking…” Said Gale, who thought a bit too much for Tav sometimes, “We have enough coin to make a considered purchase, perhaps it would be a kind gesture to gift a statue to our brave, vampiric friend?” 

Tav glanced over to Astarion who was now in hysterics at the mime having to be comforted by some of the other circus performers.

“Right...”

“He has, after all, been through a tremendous amount of suffering, and throughout his decades of torture and islolation, has forgotten what he looks like.” Gale looked genuinely downcast at the thought of his friend’s ongoing trauma. “How poetic would it be, to gift him with a statue of himself. As pale and marbled as his own alabaster skin - complete with a face he will be able to gaze upon in place of the cruel void of an empty mirror.” 

“Yeah, sure.” Said Tav who had only been half listening. “I love poetry.”

“Excellent!” Gale clapped his hands together, evidently proud of himself for his empathetic use of wisdom “I’ll leave the coin with you, you are after all, a much more skilled negotiator than I!” He raised himself on his tiptoes and quickly pecked a kiss on the tip of Tav’s clown-red nose, before heading in the direction of an unimpressed looking Djinn. 

Tav waited until he was out of earshot before turning back to the merchant. “So, you’ll make me a statue.. Of whatever I want?”

“Of course!”

“Perfect.” Grinned Tav, in what they hoped was a friendly expression. In reality, their stretched, clown-painted smile was more intimidating than if they had offered their most murderous scowl. As such, they unintentionally managed to get a hefty discount and priority delivery as part of the deal. 

Tav handed over the coin, finished their candyfloss, and went over to join in the mime-baiting with Astarion. They were having an excellent day.

“TAV!” Gale’s voice was sharp with anger as it bounced off the walls of their quarters in the Elfsong Tavern.

“Yep!” said Tav, bounding over to where he was standing, where a delivery had just arrived.

“What in the hells is this?” Gale hissed.

“Oh great! It's here! They weren’t kidding when they said it would be quick” Tav’s eyes were wide with artistic appreciation. The statue was beautiful, crafted with such delicate intricacy it looked as though it was draped from silk rather than carved from rock. Tav could hardly believe that something sculpted from the unforgiving, stubborn hardness of marble could appear so soft. Looking at it, glowing in the gentle candlelight, they felt they could finally understand the deep, personal connection and enrichment of artistic skill and mortal interpretation. 

“Why is it of me?!”

“Oh, right.” Tav had forgotten they had completely ignored Gale's original plan. “Erm, I guess there must have been a mix-up” 

“Why is it nude?!!”

Tav grinned at him, delighting in the furious way his brow furrowed and lines of his face deepened. 

“All the most famous statues are, right?” Tav sighed in adoration as they looked back at the statue. “I like it.”

“Is that an accurate representation of the wizard’s penis?” Asked Lae’zel who had quietly appeared between them and made Gale jump. 

“Abso-fucking-lutely” Tav said with a grin, taking in Lae’zel’s impressed expression. “I love the circus.”

[snailsdraw]

[Start ID: 4 pages of HLVRAI narrative doodles following the Science Team's reaction to Gordon in the Mark V HEV Suit, AKA the one with the orange hip pieces.

Gordon pushes Benrey's head away from him and holds him at arm's length in tired response to Benrey's continuous prodding at the hip pieces on his HEV suit. This interaction is from a later part in the timeline as implied by Gordon already having a gun-arm. Gordon sighs: "Quit touchin' it, man." Benrey, sitting on the floor, resumes his prodding undeterred with a grin. Next to this is the start of the narrative doodles from an earlier part in the timeline, when the team enters the Black Mesa Locker Room. Benrey speaks as he's walking away from Gordon and towards the further end of the room: "why're you, why're you runnin' around with your hips accentuated like that? that's a workplace violation." He then shoots a pigeon perched on a locker room bench. Gordon holds a palm up facing Benrey in a "stop" sign, silent for a moment in disbelief before saying: "Don't look at me if you're gonna be having those thoughts."

Tommy walks up next to Gordon, saying: "But Mr Freeman, you're not- It says "no revealing clothing" in the labs dress code." Gordon gives him a confused look: "…I am in the HEV suit. Tommy, I am-" Gordon grabs Tommy by the arm, startling the taller man and continues: "There's barely any part of me that is exposed!" "Oh dear," Dr Coomer says, a hand to his chest, "Gordon, that is no way to dress in this facility. It'd do you good to change into something more appropriate."

"Wuh- HOW IS THIS MY FAULT? You're objectifying me!!" Gordon yells, arms spread in exasperation. Tommy clarifies: "It's lab safety!" Gordon ignores him, voice overlapping: "I am- this is LITERALLY the company suit, the one DESIGNED for me to do MY JOB! Take your qualms up with the designers or something!" Behind them, Benrey opens a locker door labelled with the name "Roswell" on it and looks in, remarking: "oh yo, they've got pictures in here." Gordon composes himself a bit: "Look, if I told a co-worker that her…" he stutters, stalling, "I dunno! That her skirt was too short or…something, and I told her to go change, you would chew me out for it." Dr Coomer cuts in, displeased with Gordon's behaviour in the made-up scenario: "Gordon, that is uncalled for." Gordon turns back to him, jabbing a hand in his direction: "SEE?! Yeah, like that! Why am I different??"

Dr Coomer tuts at Gordon, wagging a finger: "Now now, Gordon, that's no way to treat a co-worker. Clothing comes secondary to the good work we all do here. Do try to be more professional." Gordon is nearly at the end of his rope: "It. That was an EXAMPLE. Of what y'all were doing to me." He throws his arms up in the air, exclaiming: "Coomer, you said so yourself! Don't put words into my mouth-" Tommy interjects, rubbing his hands in discomfort: "Mr Freeman, that's against the Code of Conduct. I'm gonna have to report you to HR, uh, for workplace harassment." Gordon lets out a strained wheeze of laughter, dropping his head into his hands. He looks back up and gasps for air, letting a hand slide down his face. He mutters, on the verge of hysterics: "I'm being framed. I'm being framed for something I didn't do." "Oh, I DO love a good frame!" Dr Coomer reponds, obliviously chipper. A string of calm blue sweet voice floats in from off-screen and pelts Gordon in the shoulder. /End ID.]

Happy HLVRAI Youtube release day (falls into a hole, yelling)

[carpetbug]

ML Feline Blue AU Chapter Two: The Pont des Arts

1 • 2 [tw: blood and slightly gory imagery] • 3

ao3

The last time Marinette had felt such paralyzing anxiety as she traveled towards the Pont de Arts was middle school. It was the day she realized she had a crush on Kim, and Socqueline - her best friend at the time, who left Francois’s Dupont at the end of 8th grade - had almost immediately shut down the immature day dream that was their future together. Still, Marinette had made her way to the bridge after school to stare at the locks of all the couples that had been here before her and conjure up sickeningly sweet fake scenarios of her new heartthrob. The craziest thing she had done that day was silently wish that Kim would magically reciprocate her romantic feelings, and still it had felt like she was walking some invisible tightrope, putting her life on the line for some spectacular balancing act she knew she could never pull off. She can still remember the way her hands shook and stomach churned while she perused the locks that decorated the bridge's walls. The fear she felt that day, that heavy stone of discomfort that lodged itself in her stomach, she felt it now all the same. Only this time, instead of feeling like she was merely risking her life, she could have sworn she was marching straight to death's door. And the miniature ladybug creature, this ‘kwami’, was doing little to put her unease to bed.

“You’re not listening, are you Marinette?” the alien-like red bug questioned delicately with a slight inflection to her already syrupy voice. Her eyes softened with guilt when Marinette met her expression with a lost look, lips parted slightly as she struggled to respond.

“I-I’m sorry.. uh.. Tek…?”

“Tikki” the small bug smiled patiently.

“Right. Tikki. I’m sorry Tikki” Marinette sighed and adjusted her hold on the miracle box. What a guardian she would be, she couldn’t even remember this kwamis name. How was she supposed to do.. well, everything else?

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“I died. That old man pushed me into the seine and I died.” Marinette stammered in disbelief as her limbs pushed her away from these freaks of nature without waiting for her brain's command.

“Don’t be scared, Marinette! We’re your friends!” The ladybug themed creature said reassuringly, dropping the intense tone with which she was speaking seconds prior. She, along with all the other small beings, floated effortlessly in the air. “I am Tikki, the kwami of creation. We aren’t going to hurt you, Master”

“Master?” Marinettes throat went bone dry as the words rattled her brain. She was their master? “Oh my god I’ve actually lost my mind.” She chuckled under her breath. The chuckle morphed to a steady laughter, and soon enough she was doubled over in hysterics, hands clutching her sides so tightly she could feel her nails digging into her ribcage. “That OLD man PUSHED me into the SEINE and I DIED!” She shouted in a side-splitting roar of laughter.

“Good job Sugarcube, now she’s having a breakdown.” Marinette heard a much more sour voice taunt. Suddenly what seemed like a million more voices chirped in, each unique in its pitch and pronunciation, and each more desperate to be heard than the last. She could only hear broken sentences and words through the plethora of noise from the kwamis and her own uncontrollable laughter, an occasional ‘We’re doomed!’ and ‘Master Fu!’ catching her ear.

“Just hush, Plagg!” the ladybug scoffed in annoyance. She darted closer to Marinette, small fin-like arm extending to pat her shoulder in a comforting gesture. “Tune them out Marinette, you simply need time. Your bravery will surface soon.” She tried to soothe the frantic girl before returning her attention to the other beings. “Everyone, please listen! We can’t do this now, not to her.” Tikki spoke sternly, yet the words hung in the air like a plea. “I.. I’m certain none of us are ready to speak about Master Fu," a dejected tone began to cling to her small voice as she continued “But he wants us to go forward. And he needs us to guide the new guardian”. Marinette looked up as her voice began to catch in her throat, a pang of pity shooting through her unstable heart at the sight of the tears beginning to pool in the small beings eyes.

“Master Fu?” Marinette repeated softly, peeling her hands off her body and standing up from the rough cement platform that offered her safety. With a powerful shudder she became painfully aware that she was still soaked from the seine. Her hands traveled up to her hair, removing the smooth ribbon that held together her right pigtail - the left had come undone in the water. “Is that... was that the old man?” She asked the kwamis with a weary tone, eyes trained on her soggy shoes as her hands wrung out her dark hair of the water still wearing it down. “Why did he-?”

“Throw you in a river?” the sour voice chimed in again. It belonged to the black cat, who was now floating leisurely on his back with a yawn. Marinette was almost certain she could see sharp teeth in the kwamis mouth. Tikki shot him a deathly glare, but he went on. “I’m Plagg, kwami of destruction, lover of cheese” He stated with casual disinterest, as if nothing traumatic had just occurred. “Not his smartest move, I’ll agree. But-” he sat upright and narrowed his eyes, voice taking a more serious tone “-he did what he had to do to keep us all safe.” his long tail flicked, motioning to the other kwamis. “That includes you.”

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“I was telling you about the kwamis, '' Tikki chirped, following by her guardian's side while levitating in the air. Marinette nodded, quickly glancing up to check what street they had reached, then darting her eyes back down to the wooden box she had hugged to her chest. It was getting harder and harder to focus on the bugs' words, her mind occupied only with thoughts of Master Fu. Despite the kwamis, and the freezing water that seems to have seeped into her bones, and the distressed voices in her head yelling at her that she was alone in this, Marinette couldn’t shake the idea that this man was still alive. He would be waiting at the Pont de Arts, ready to retrieve his miracle box and kwamis, and he'd reassure her that she would never have to worry about any of this miraculous nonsense ever again. Marinette wasn’t going to find his body. She wouldn’t.

“There's nineteen kwamis in all, but two of us are missing. Nooro and Duusu are the kwamis of transmi-”

“Tikki, I’m- I can’t-” Marinette bit her tongue as she fought to find the right words.

“What is it Marinette?”

“I’m sorry but I just can’t talk about this with you. It’s just… too much” Marinette mumbled, wishing the earth would open up beneath her and swallow her whole. “Can’t this Master Fu just explain things to me when we find him?”

Tikki blinked in surprise and remained silent for a few seconds. Then, she nodded and feigned a weak smile. “Of course Marinette. If we find Master Fu he will explain everything” she reassured.

Marinette nodded absentmindedly, taking another brief glimpse at the street signs and sighing in relief at seeing they were close to their destination. Suddenly this all felt like some sort of fever dream, like she would go home and sleep tonight then wake up in the morning with nothing changed. Except maybe she would always think about being thrown in the seine, the cold and brutal water that had seeped through her skin, leaving her fingertips wrinkled and pruny against the wood of the miracle box. And sure, it might feel real enough that her knees still wobble a bit as she walks, but everyone has horrible nightmares sometimes - right?

“Marinette”

“One second, Tikki” she stopped the kwami, still stuck in her train of thought.

“Marinette!” Tikki had paused, and Marinette turned her head to see the small red kwami floating, arm extended to point at the bridge that suddenly seemed to appear in front of them. When had they gotten here?

“Oh. Great, we’re here! Let’s find this Fu-Man and let me get home so I can go to bed and forget all about this.” She adjusted her hold on the box and began to cross the wide bridge when Tikki darted in front of her with urgency.

“Wait! Master, I must tell you, thi-”

“Sorry, but please just call me Marinette.”

Tikki smiled and continued “Marinette, I have to quickly warn you that- even we kwamis are not sure of the lengths this villain is willing to go. We do not know if he acts with mercy, so this may be something you don’t want to see. If you’d like, I can go ahead without you and see for myself then come back?”

Marinette scrunched her nose as she thought for a few moments. Eventually she shook her head and smiled- a genuine and kind smile that made Tikkis heart ache. “No need, I’ll come with you. You’ve been here for me during all this, so I want to be here for you until you’re back in good hands” she promised.

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“He was being chased?” Marinette questioned, reeling from the information the cat kwami had just dumped over her head like cold water. Fu had been pursued by some unknown antagonist for several weeks, until they eventually found and attacked the guardian. Marinette had only been an innocent bystander, a stranger in the wrong place at the wrong time, and a helping hand when Fu was at his most desperate for any kind of savior. She was the only way to get the miracle box out of the villains' reach in such a short amount of time. And the seine had been the only way to get her out of danger.

“More like hunted” Plagg sneered in response and crossed his arms

“Plagg, you're scaring her!”

“She should be scared!”

While the black and red kwami hissed at each other, the girl's head was spinning, overwhelmed with this new world she was suddenly a part of. There were so many questions running through her mind, all begging to be answered. But the most desperate one came first “Can we go back to the Pont des Arts?” She asked softly, interrupting their argument.

Plaggs expression widened in shock, and he was about to protest when Tikki stopped him. “Good idea, I’ll have all the kwamis return to the miracle box.”

“Well, wait-” she stopped her “Will you stay with me? I would feel a bit better if I had someone more informed by my side”

The red bug smiled and nodded, still ignoring the bewildered look from the cat. Before he could say anymore, she turned back to the kwamis, leaving him grumbling and following after her.

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“God. It’s already three a.m, papa is going to be awake and getting started in the bakery soon.” Marinette muttered to herself while checking the time, her and Tikki moving at a slow pace across the bridge. It was dark, the moon providing the majority of the lighting cast down on them. And, it was almost entirely silent. Save for the constant rushing of the water beneath the bridge -the sound was making her hands begin to shake all over again-, and the occasional distant hum of a car passing nearby.

“A bakery?” Tikki whispered in response.

“Yeah,” she smiled. “My parents own a bakery. ‘Tom and Sabines’.” Her hands came together then spread like she was forming a rainbow in the air as she spoke, adding a loving touch to the simple name. Tikki gave a light giggle.

“Sounds amazing! What kind of sweets do they make?” the red bug questioned before suddenly gasping, “Do they make cookies?! I haven’t had a chocolate chip cookie in so long!”

Marinette was taken back by the kwamis sudden eagerness for one of the simplest sweets their bakery had to offer, but she couldn’t help but give an entertained laugh. “We make all kinds of cookies. Snickerdoodle, peanut butter, red velvet, oatmeal raisin, -”

“Yuck.”

“Don’t you dare say that about oatmeal raisin cookies.”

“Get to the good stuff!”

She stuck her tongue out teasingly at the kwami before continuing, “chocolate chip, chocolate chunks, and like a billion other ones I'm forgetting. Give or take seasonal and custom flavors my dad makes from time to time, too.” When she looked up, Marinette swore a line of drool was trailing from Tikkis mouth, but as soon as she had noticed it the bug was in her face in excitement once again.

“Wow!” Tikki exclaimed. “I can’t wait to try them.”

“How long has it been since you last had a cookie?” she asked. Marinette wondered what parts of human life the kwamis knew of and took part in, given the ‘secrecy’ about their existence. They were familiar enough to have opinions on cookie flavors, apparently.

“Oh, I'm not sure. I haven’t had a holder in a few decades, though I have left the miracle box during that time, - Marinette? Are you not listening again?”

Almost as soon as the kwami had started talking, Marinette had frozen her stare on something ahead of them, and she seemed a million worlds away. Tikki turned to look and her heart dropped.

Blood soaked into the wood underfoot, leaving a dark stain that seemed pure black in the night time. More sat in small pools and splatters, some spraying across the lock decorations and steadily drip-drip-dripping into the surface below. The longer she stared the more she realized the Pont des Arts would now always feel like it had been smeared with death. It was all too fresh, like someone had drained the old man of all his blood and used it like paint, spreading the viscous liquid on any surface they could. It seemed like both an introduction, and parting gift. The display was left with intent, the predator that had gotten Fu was leaving a warning for whoever tried to come to his rescue. It said ‘I’m here, look what I am capable of. Look at everything I did. Look at what I’m willing to do.’

Marinette took a step back, mouth agape as she realized breathing was becoming increasingly difficult. Her blood pounded in her ears, droning out the seemingly fraught help Tikki was trying to provide the panicked girl. Another step back and her legs buckled, dropping her directly into the glistening pools of gore. Her hands clenched into fists, now stained a dark red as she kneeled in the blood, and she panted in desperate need for air. It seemed to hang in the air now, the metallic tang filling her mouth and nose.

“Marinette!”

The screech - almost directly in her ear - snapped her attention back to the ladybug creature, whose voice was feverish with alarm. “Tikki..” she breathed, still struggling to keep from hyperventilating. “Tikki, this is him, isn’t it?” Marinette brought her hands up, now holding them raised in the air to shine in the moonlight. The crimson liquid trickled from her palm to her wrist, then down her elbow and back to the bridge. “This is Master Fu?” the tears began to fall down her cheeks now, the reality setting in. She was the guardian. She was alone.

“You need to get home.”

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Marinette gets home, soaked (though no longer bloody, thanks to an alley hose she passed on her walk), and exhausted. Her breathing still awkward and unbalanced, lungs aching from whatever water she took in from the seine. Her emotions bubble inside her, threatening to spill over from her eyes once again. It was bad enough you could tell she had been crying already, she didn’t need her parents to see her in the act. Tikki rested on her shoulder, tucked neatly into her hair as they approached the bakery.

“Home sweet home” she said, waving her hands with pretend enthusiasm as she tried to revive the playful energy they had earlier. Instead her voice felt deflated and hollow. Her hands reached for the doorknob, shaking slightly as they hovered above it.

“Do you not want to go in?”

“Its not that.”

“Marinette. You can talk to me”

Marinette took a deep breath. “I can’t hide all this from my parents. Not yet, at least. If I go inside now and they’re awake, they'll know I was outside then they’ll see I was crying and I’m terrible at hiding things from my maman so one word from her and I’ll instantly spill everything that happened and then they-”

“Slow, Marinette. Is there any way you can sneak in?”

“Only through a window or my balcony, both of which I definitely can't reach from down here” she huffed, the puff of breath blowing through her still damp bangs that hung across her face. She was about to grit her teeth and accept the inevitable interrogation her parents would give when Tikki spoke again.

“I can fix that.” the kwami gave a sweet smile before phasing seamlessly through the wood of the miracle box and returning with a small case in her arms. “These are the miraculous of the ladybug. If you put on these earrings and say ‘Spots On’, you'll transform and be able to get to your balcony undetected.”

Marinette hesitated, then reached for the box and opened the lid to peek at the miraculous. Inside were two round, red earrings each with five small spots, which she carefully plucked from their resting places. They went through her ears effortlessly and lacked the weight that many earrings came with. “Please don’t tell me this is going to hurt” she wheezed, eyes drooping with sleep.

“Definitely not.” Tikki reassured quickly. “When you’re inside just say ‘Spots Off’ to drop the transformation.”

“Well… spots on?”

Tikki flew through the air, this time as if she was being pulled by some invisible force - one coming from the earrings. Her vision exploded with pink as bubbling, glowing masses appeared out of thin air and swarmed onto her body. She held her breath and pressed her eyes closed, still awaiting a sting or ache to overtake her body despite Tikkis reassurance. Instead the magical clouds felt light and tingly on her skin as they passed over her from head to toe.

The buzz came to a stop in a few moments which Marinette took as a cue to open her eyes. Nothing around her had changed, she was still standing outside the bakery clutching the miracle box, only now she was dressed in a sleek red and black spotted suit from neck to toe. She was a ladybug.

Marinettes breathing hitched in her chest as she ran her gloved hand across the material, then up to her face where she felt the grooves of a mask across her eyes. Built in secret identity, cool. She felt refreshed, the soreness in her legs was now just a weak discomfort. She took a relieved breath, and slowly stretched her limbs as she gathered her bearings. A yoyo rested on her hip, also a solid red with five black spots like the earrings, but with the same honeycomb texturing of her suit.

“A yoyo? I’m going to… yoyo to my room?” she mumbled to herself as she gave it a few experimental tosses. Looking up, she took a few breaths and prepared herself. She took a step back and threw the yo-yo towards a neighboring roof, then gave a slight tug when it had wrapped around some solid object. It pulled her effortlessly from the ground, propelling her upwards while she struggled, airborne, like a fish out of water. In moments she landed, almost entirely flat on her face, on the spine of the rooftop.

It took a minute for Marinette to figure out her next step, which ended up being just to drop from the roof to her balcony. It had seemed much more complicated in her head, like she would have to be some ninja, hiding in the shadows. But she had left the trapdoor to her room unlocked, so it had required no more effort than opening a door. She landed softly on her bed, and subsequently threw herself back onto her blankets with an exasperated sigh.

“Spots off” she mumbled, already fighting the alluring call of sleep. Another flash of the magic light and the suit was gone, leaving Tikki in its place. She looked around, observing her new environment before turning back to Marinette.

“Home sweet home” She echoed the previous statement, then burrowed into the crook of Marinettes elbow as the girl groggily put herself to bed. With the miracle box held firmly in her grip, and the deep ache slowly returning to her muscles as the magic of the miraculous wore off, she mumbled a barely coherent goodnight to Tikki and let herself fall into the comfort of sleep.

[lollipencil]

Mare Phantom: Part 4

Hey @void-of-unparalled-chaos, sorry to hear about the pain. Hope you get better soon.

Enjoy and be gentle ---

It was after another bar with no information that Marc got the call. "Moon Knight here," he greeted on instinct. "I've found it," Reese's voice was thick and tinged with dread, "the Anti-Ecto Acts." "Reese?" "It's-," she audibly breathes deeply, "It's bad. It's really, really bad."

Instantly, Marc climbs to the nearest rooftop before he asks: "How bad?" "...Anyone who meets a certain threshold of 'ectoplasm contamination' is no longer considered sentient," horror coated each word, "It's legal to, and encouraged to- To detain, experiment on, and slaughter any who meet the criteria."

A vicious cocktail of anger, disbelief, and nausea swelled in Marc's chest, punctuated by the same feeling echoing from Steven and Jake. "How- How did anyone allow this to go through?" Jake asked, pleaded for an answer. "The bigger question is do the Avengers know?" Steven pointed out, but agreed regardless. "Ectoplasm as in ghosts, right?" Marc asked aloud instead. "Yes," Reese's voice shook slightly.

"Being dead's illegal now!?" Jake roared while Steven radiated the air of a man on the edge of hysterical laughter. "Right," Marc was beyond angry now, "I'd like you to do something for me, Reese." "Ok." "Print out two copies of the offical documentation for this...law, and I want you to attach a message to both." "What's the message?" "If I found out that any of you knew about this, the number of faces I've removed is going to go up."

---

When relief past over Danny's face after the dose, Greer gave a sigh herself. "I take it it's working?" Badr asked with a slight smile on his lips. "Yeah, can still kinda feel it but-" Danny cut himself off, and sighed as he relaxed into the sheets. "I'll be getting some more, then," Greer stated with a smile. The Mission delicately plumped up his pillow as he yawned. With in a minute, Danny was asleep.

"Thank you Greer," Badr relaxed minutely. "Of cource, I'll see if any of the others need me." "If Reese is having no luck, could you send her in? I think a brief rest is in order." With a nod, Greer left the room quietly.

Instantly, the Mission spawned a door on the other side of the hallway. Greer startled slightly but stepped through.

Reese looked haunted. Two envelopes sat in front of her, the same message scribbled on both. For a moment, Greer was afraid that she might throw up. "Reese, are you ok?" "No... I found it, the Acts."

Reese stood up almost robotically. "I don't want to think that the Avengers know about it, but-" she paused and picked up the envelopes, "Could you take these?" "Where to?" "Sanctum Sanctorum, and Avengers HQ. Don't look up the Acts yet, wait until these are delivered." "OK," Greer nodded and took them, "I'm getting some more medication for Danny. Badr's asked if you can take over for him." "Yeah, just give me a moment and I'll head over."

With a nod that is echoed by Reese, Greer walked away, worry bubbling in her gut.

[wandagcre]

Just watched The Marvels. Would you be willing to write Carol x Reader? After the line “death follows you everywhere” and Monica’s disappearance, Carol flees to Reader bc they are the only one who can lift the burdens Carol Carrie’s. Laughter and fluff when they reunite.

carol comes back to your shared home unannounced. she had the chance to see you candidly cleaning with the vacuum, singing on top of your lungs over the songs that carol once mentioned and she clearly can recall how you have called her cheesy for her choice of songs. yet, here you are.

the sight alone moves her heart.

"carol? oh my god!" you're put into a mild hysterics, jumping onto her figure in disbelief to see her safe and sound.

and carol couldn't be any more happier to be surrounded by your warmth again. the contrast between her home in space cannot come any closer to the actual home she has on earth. carol's home was there to remind her of the trinkets of life she has built after the brainwash in kree, each of your touch and voice is lilted with nothing but comfort, a loving one.

the new life she has grown better into. you are carol's source of sunshine – reminding her that she wasn't a bad omen.

"this is what i come back home to? i knew it was good of me to come by bearing fruits." carol pointedly looks at the chips by the table. "and i definitely know that you liked my songs!"

you gave her a sheepish smile. "yeah, yeah. the junk foods are kept on a minimal don't you worry. and don't get your pretty head get all big now, i may have grown fond of them."

"mhmm. i don't think i'll let go of it now."

carol chuckled at your silly choice of words. you were definitely in denial of loving them, which put her mouth in a smirk. you kept rambling how it was you getting sick of your repeated playlist, so you had to listen to a new genre – carol's genre – all while having your arms wrapped around her neck and her own arms are tight around your waist.

the least carol wanted was to forget. but with your presence to remind her of the better parts of her, one that you have built together – all are something that she never knew she'll get again – only reminded the superhero that things will get better, eventually.

it's only a matter of time to grow around it and heal.

[tbcanary]

for arrowfam week day one: "ghost" and "grow"

(set sometime around ga vol 7, but not exactly accurate based on current timelines within the run. suspend your disbelief with me for a sec.)

--

There’s a girl sitting at Mia’s desk.

Not that that’s unusual, or anything. Mia might come from a family of famous caped crusaders, but the vigilante business doesn’t exactly pay well enough for Ollie to foot all of her bills in the heart of Star City. She has roommates – two of them, actually, girls who have known each other since college but needed a third while so-and-so is studying abroad for a year, blah blah blah – and they’ve been known to sneak in to use her desk so that they both aren’t stuck studying at the kitchen table like they’re in the opening scenes of a Dickinson novel or whatever.

The point is, people sit at Mia’s desk sometimes. It happens, and normally it wouldn’t bother her, even coming home from work this late. Even after she spent all evening cleaning up the cafeteria in the community center after some kind of Bean Incident none of the kids would blab about, no matter how much she tried to wheedle it out of them.

Anyway. That’s not what bothers her. The thing that bothers her, actually, doesn’t hit until the girl looks up at her. The hood of her sweatshirt falls back from her head, revealing a shock of bright pastel hair, and Mia doesn’t know anyone with that hair color but –

But she knows those soft brown eyes. She knows that dimple in the left cheek, accompanying the uncertain smile.

“Lian,” she says. “What. The fuck.”

And then she slaps a hand over her mouth, and the laughter spills between her fingers despite her best efforts. “I mean, shit, I shouldn’t — goddammit, Roy is going to be so mad at me for cussing, but I —what?”

“Um.” Lian shrugs. It is her, after all; her voice sounds exactly like Cheshire, somehow, but the way her eyes crinkle at the corners is all Roy. “Hi.”

Mia stumbles into the room, sets her duffle bag to the ground with a thump that feels more like an earthquake. She drops down onto her unmade bed and stares – not bothering to hide her astonishment, her disbelief – at Lian, somehow so much older, somehow exactly the same.

“If I’m being haunted, you legally have to tell me,” Mia insists.

Lian shrugs. The toes of her sneakers drag against the floor as she kicks her feet, hands gripping the sides of her seat. “Nope. Not a ghost.”

Well. It’s not as weird as it sounds, probably. Roy had come back, and Ollie had, too, hadn’t he? But Mia… Mia had been there when Lian died. Sort of. Or at least, it was her not being there that had done it, and she’d done everything she could to find a loophole, but there had never been one. Nothing. She’d been gone; it had sat in Mia’s stomach like a weight, like a rock she’d swallowed and couldn’t spit back out.

“Clone?” she tried.

Lian shook her head. “Mm-nn.”

“Hallucination.”

“Nope.”

“Prank?”

“Only from the universe.”

“Alternate dimension.”

“Maybe.”

“Well,” Mia said.

And then she swallowed.

And then her breath came out in a flurry of hysterical giggles again, a fountain she just couldn’t stop, and she dropped her face into her hands and let the flood come, let it pour out of her chest like an open wound.

“Fuck,” Mia hissed. “I—Fuck me. God. Lian, does Roy, does your dad know?”

Lian hums her confirmation. “He’s on the roof. He and Uncle Connor brought me to see you.”

“They’re…?” Mia pushes off the bed and stomps over to the window. She throws open the glass and leans out, looking upward.

Sure enough, a grappling hook arrow is hooked into the brick of her building with a rope dangling down. That must be how Lian got in. Mia should really start locking her windows, but it’s just so much easier to make a quick escape that way instead of going out the front door.

She doesn’t give a fuck about the neighbors, so she shouts as loud as she can. “Hey! Assholes!”

Two heads peek over the edge at her, one with shaggy red hair and one with a series of blonde braids. Connor, at least, has the decency to wave. Roy just raises an eyebrow at her, like she’s the one inconveniencing him.

Ugh. Brothers.

“What the fuck?” she shouts. “How did she get so tall?”

Roy snorts, and it echoes off the building next door. “Blame the multiverse, or something!”

“I can hear you,” Lian offers.

Mia waves a hand. “Shut up, I’ll deal with you in a minute. The adults are speaking.”

Lian huffs, and Mia can practically hear the eyeroll. As if she doesn’t get enough crap from the kids she works with all damn day, now she’s got a bratty teenager who’s going to be expecting a cool aunt she can come play hooky with, or whatever kids do. Mia wouldn’t know; she didn’t exactly have aunts and uncles to set an example.

“Can you at least come down here and walk me through it, instead of sitting around like two old farts at a chess tournament?” Mia demands.

On the streets below, someone must take offense to their big family reunion. Mia hears the distant – but distinct – sounds of someone telling her to shut the fuck up, lady! from the sidewalk.

Star City. Gotta love it.

“Fine, fine,” Connor says. He’s still smiling, though, and she watches as he pulls a rope arrow from his quiver. “Give us a second. Arsenal’s not as young as he once was.”

Roy lets out some kind of offended comment at that, Mia’s sure, but she doesn’t pay him any attention. Instead, she turns to face Lian again and all but tackles her, trapping her head in the bend of an elbow and ruffling her hair as she squeals.

“And you, you little brat,” Mia says, holding on tight as Lian laughs and tries to wriggle free, “are going to tell me everything.”

[otomiyaa]

Ticklish Xiao & Reader

Platonic + 41. “No, I’m not ticklish there.” Requested by @eliankrios for my 1K Followers Event🌻

Fishing. Generally speaking it was seen as mostly a quiet and peaceful activity. But not fishing with Aether and friends, nah.

"Heeeheeehee!"

"Don't you daaaare!"

"You're scaring the fish- don't touch me!"

"Oh nooooooo!"

"NOHOHO - n-no tickling-ahahhaah!"

You couldn't hold back the grin as you watched the chaos in and outside the lake. Aether's fishing rod was floating in the water. Sethos and Cyno were going after it and making it a race who would get it first, but ended up in some chaotic splashy battle with each other.

Meanwhile Aether was yelling and laughing for his life as Childe and Venti pinned him down and tickled him to death. You were sure Aether started it with the tickling though.

"They shouldn't have come here if they were going to be noisy."

You looked to your side at Xiao who just said that. The two of you were still at the fishing spot, your legs dangling above the water and fishing rods still in your hands, but with all the noise and the splashing, you were very unlikely to catch anything. You chuckled at his grumpy remark.

"They're just having fun. We're still enjoying ourselves, right? Ah look, they've really got him now," you said, pointing at Childe who was tickling Aether's bare tummy without mercy while Venti held his arms. Aether's loud contagious laughter was all over the place now.

Xiao sighed and shook his head. "He's exaggerating."

Pffft, that made you laugh. "Come on now, that would be you if your tummy was tickled like that!" you exclaimed, enjoying where this conversation might be going if you handled it well.

Xiao gave you a funny judgy side-eye. "No, I'm not ticklish there."

Ha! "Oh really?" You couldn't hide the smug grin as you reached out for him. He didn't even flinch when you reached for this tummy.

"You're not going to stop me?" you asked, pausing when he merely stared at you.

"Like I said, I'm not ticklish there. I don't see why I would stop you."

Oh. Your hand froze right before it reached its destination, and you hesitated for a moment. There was nothing more foolish than tickling someone who wasn't ticklish, right? Hmm... Never mind. You decided to try anyway, and you started to wiggle your fingers against Xiao's tummy.

"AGh," Xiao made a funny sound and bent forward. He caught your hand and glared at you.

"Don't you dare."

"Ooh? I thought you weren't ticklish?"

He was someone like that hm? Lying with a straight face? He was surely covincing, but not enough to stop you!

The struggle between the two of you was only very brief. He tried to run away for sure, but he barely got up before you caught him. Both your fishing rods fell in the water and floated after Aether's.

"Dohohon't!" was Xiao's first cute little cackle as you pinned him down and tickled his tummy.

"I can't believe you lie so easily, Xiao! Who's exaggerating now, huh?" you teased. He wriggled and squirmed but didn't seem too motivated to make a scene like Aether.

"I'm n-nohothing l-like thahat!" he protested through held back giggles. You glanced in Aether's direction again and alright yes, Xiao wasn't as hysterical. He also wasn't attacked by two people at once. But still, he was ticklish and laughing at your mercy. That was a win for sure.

"Heehee, I'm afraid I didn't catch that," you lied, clawing mercilessly all over his tummy and sides. More and louder giggles could be heard gradually as he squirmed and struggled, his arms wrapping around himself yet unable to protect every spot from your wiggling fingers.

"Not ticklish, tssk," you said with disbelief, switching to playful pokes in circles on his tummy. Xiao squealed adorably and arched his back.

"Ahahalright f-fine! I'm tihihicklish!"

"I can see you are ticklish, yes. Oh wait, did you say that, thinking it would stop me? It takes a little more than that," you said smugly. Xiao's lack of wrath was also your savior. If he really hated this, you would probably already be in the water by now.

"Gahahaha!" Xiao shook his head. "I ahaham s-sorry!" Smooth, smooth!

"For what?" you asked. You curiously scanned his torso and decided to test his ribs and underarms as well - which happened to be even more ticklish than his tummy, perhaps.

"WAHh!" Xiao let out a pitchy yelp and was then reduced to silent laughter. Hehe, it tickled that much.

"Well?" you asked, smirking when he was laughing so much he couldn't even answer you.

"F-for lyihihing!" he finally managed to say.

You raised your eyebrows. "I'm glad you admit it." You had never seen your friend Xiao laugh this much, so surely you couldn't help it and continued for a liiittle longer.

Then when you finally stopped, you held out your hand. "Apology accepted," you said with a smile. Xiao rolled his eyes tiredly and shook your hand sheepishly.

"Good," he said, breathing heavily as he recovered from the tickle attack.

"What do you say, should we go help our dearest Traveler?" you said, surprised to see and hear they were still caught up in the same tickle fest over there. Xiao frowned.

"Now why would I..." He stared at your smug face for a moment, and then sighed.

"Fine, I'll help."

Great! No one caught any fish that day, but there sure as hell was a lot of fun and laughter, and that was the whole point of your get-together, even ticklish little Xiao couldn't deny that!

[lotties-ashwagandha]

WE NEED MORE OF THE GODDESS WEEMS CULT IMAGINE THE READER ACTUALLY STARTING A CULT WITH HER STUDENTS AND DOING SOME KIND OF "PRAYER" WHEN LARISSA WALKS IN AND IS LIKE "I'm too old for this-" AND GIVE THE READER A GOOD SCOLD ABOUT IT BUT CAN'T HOLD IT AND EVENTUALLY LAUGH IT OFF BUT IS SERIOUS ABOUT ENDING THE CULT BUT READER IS LIKE "Hmm maybe" PLEASE STAND FOR THE GODDESS WEEMS CULT 🛐🛐🛐

HAHAHQHAGAG BYE I LOVE THIS OK HERE U GO ANON:

-

CULT ACTIVITY?

pairing: teacher!reader x larissa weems

word count: 809

notes and warnings: ok so I loveee this request but I edited the plot just a bit,, I’ve made it so that reader and her students are pranking Larissa w pretending they started a fr cult lol

You had never really intended for any of it to go this far.

It had started as a joke between a few of your students, that you were so infatuated with Larissa Weems that you would be starting a cult for her. Larissa had found out, and after ensuring that you were just embarrassed enough, she had let it go. You were sure she had already forgotten about it.

The semester was soon to be ending. After the incident with Marilyn Thornhill and the Hyde, everyone was a bit shaken up, and classes would only be continuing for another week or so. You had determined that your students were in desperate need of some fun — everyone was still so jumpy, and your classes were unusually quiet.

Every year, at the end of the semester, the principal of Nevermore was required to observe each class to check the teachers’ performances. Students were also meant to submit review forms for each professor, which had been submitted the week before.

Today was your day of inspection. Larissa would be sitting in on your last class of the day, for which you had prepared little homework for the students to do.

Instead, you had gone into Jericho and bought 25 black capes and 25 black masks. They were now in one of the drawers of your desk, waiting to be revealed as all of the students of your last class of the day filed into the classroom.

Once everyone was seated, you looked at the clock — you had only a few minutes before Larissa would arrive.

“Good afternoon,” you said, and within moments the classroom grew silent. “Today I’ve prepared for you all an extra special assignment.”

Murmurs erupted through the class, whispers about quizzes and essays. You held back a laugh, for your plans were so much different than what they had suspected.

“Some of you have been spreading jokes about a Goddess Weems cult. While I know it may be disappointing that such a thing does not and likely will not exist at Nevermore, Principal Weems will be joining us for this class period, and I think we’re all due for a bit of fun,” you explained, beginning to take the capes and masks out of your desk. “Today we’re going to be pranking our favorite principal.”

—

Larissa knocked lightly on the door to your classroom, giving everyone a moment to settle before she crept in.

She furrowed her eyebrows — the lights to the classroom were off, and the students stood facing her as shadowy figures, dressed in cheap Halloween masks and Dracula-esque capes.

Larissa flipped on the lights, and upon seeing you at your desk in a Jack O’Lantern mask and cape, she could hardly stifle a laugh. “Am I being initiated into a cult or something?”

A few of the students broke into quiet laughter, for which they got scolded by some of their classmates. After a moment everyone said in unison, “All hail Goddess Weems. We pledge our loyalty to the wearer of Crimson Lipstick Number 10 from Walmart. May her followers be blessed.”

Larissa glanced around in disbelief, crossing her arms. “Well, I suppose it’s about time you all realized how wonderful a principal I am.”

At this you broke, in hysterics as you took off your pumpkin mask. “We haven’t even gotten to the choreographed dance yet! Was it at least a bit creepy when all the lights were off and we were just standing there?”

“Oh, this was meant to scare me?” Larissa teased, coming to stand across from you at your desk.

“I thought it was very terrifying!” Said Eugene as he took off his zombie mask. “I haven’t been this thrilled since half of my bees flew away and battled an enemy tribe.”

“That’s…. so very interesting,” you nodded, attempting to picture how bees would have a ‘battle.’

“Class is dismissed early today,” Larissa announced, and your class broke out in excited whispers.

When you nodded, they all began to rush out into the halls.

“I’m not sure if I should be flattered or concerned,” Larissa teased. “I must admit, I’ve never been pranked by a teacher before.”

“I’m honored to be the first,” you teased, taking off your cape before going over to wrap your arms around her.

“I could fail your faculty inspection for cult activity.”

“You could, but then I’d get fired, and you’d have no one to bring you coffee to your office every morning.”

“I could get an assistant,” she teased.

“Yes, but they would buy the cheap coffee grounds. I splurge for the whole $7 pack.”

Larissa laughed, her voice airy and angelic.

“Besides,” you added with a small smile, “you like having me around.”

“What do you mean? All I did was marry you.”

You shook your head, grinning. “And now we have an entire cult.”

———

taglist: @cartoonpeoples @thedeconstructionist @cordeliass @paulsonsratched @goodeday2u @traumatisedfangirl @mayfair-fleur