#the spy head gets a cigarette as a treat

[dunkledog]

//blood and severed spy head [no gore]

just in case :)

they're smitten in their own ways

whoops i haven't posted in a while

here, take some messy sketches [imagine im tossing them at you like bird seed and you are pigeons in a park]

[powderblueblood]

YES, NURSE RATCHED - a hellfire & ice retelling of chapter eight's most pivotal moment, from eddie's pov

a special treat for my love @deadlynightshade-and-hyacinth eddie munson x f!reader, reader is nicknamed lacy, reader's last name is also mentioned, this is lore-filled and handsy so if that's not your thing keep it truckin, minors dni i do not like you go away warning for strong language, smut inthe form of public fingeringgggg, drug usage, extremely bad parenting (al munson klaxon), evoking the feeling of a comedown, billy hargrove gets his shit rocked, excuse all typos it's redacted o'clock and i'm a little buzzed word count: 2.6k

The first thing you should know about the following occurrences is that they are preluded by a whole lot of next thing Eddie knows. Things snapping his attention to the left, to the right, knocking him over the head, rearing up on him with little to no warning.

Number one? His dad showing up at Reefer Rick’s, eyes bloodshot and sleep deprived and frantic, putting on a pantomime of being so psyched to see his boy! Rick snapping to attention and falling into his role of affable associate of Munson Senior immediately, despite the apology he’d tried to press against Eddie right when Al crunched the gravel of his driveway. What followed was a bender that Eddie couldn’t help but give into. Al has that effect on people, even him, even Eddie in his angry, angsty resoluteness that he should know better. 

You try knowing better when you're all bewitched, bothered and bewildered and shit.

Cue cut lines and records blaring until daylight broke over Lover's Lake– then Eddie, rising at noon but barely landed from his previous (ill-advised and bad-parentally-supervised) high, got it in his head that he ought to show up for school. At least for a little bit. 

Because they’d tossed your last name around a little last night, Al and Rick. Doevski this, Doevski that, in weird, vague terms that Eddie didn’t all the way understand. And the more weed he smoked and the more Jim Beam that got passed around, the less he remembered.

Which, dumb, right?

You’d tell him that was dumb.

You’d tell him he should have stayed sharp, listened up, gathered information.

He passed out on Rick’s sagging couch, mind searing with nothing but thoughts of you nagging him for intel.

Eddie woke up cotton-mouthed with your name on his lips. 

He needed to see you.

To catch one of your avoidant, barely-there glances as you flit through the hallway or maybe even spy you smoking a cigarette on the outdoor bleachers, reading in silence with Ronnie or Wheeler.

He’d think of what to say to you in the moment; probably spurned on by the sneer you’d give him– which he’d totally have earned, for having the nerve to ignore you for so long. 

Forgive me, he'd say, hands held aloft in Christlike composure, I just couldn't look you in the eye knowing you were getting willingly boinked by some Ivy League sweater monkey.

And then you'd have to admit your little bullshit college boyfriend wasn't Ivy League, and he'd prod you with that for a while, and things would eventually ebb back to whatever shade of normal you two were pretending to be. So? Okay!

But.

Next thing Eddie knows, he’s peeling into the parking lot and the first thing that he sees, bada bing, is you. All however many feet of you, steel true and planted on the hood of Billy Hargrove’s fucking Camaro, wielding a baseball bat like a sword.  

Eddie’s heart stops for the full entirety of a what fresh hell is this filter-focused second before he skids the van to a halt and launches himself from it. 

He advances this helluva scene just in time to hear you holler out, right in front of God and everyone,

“One thing you can say for Eddie Munson, is at least the motherfucker can get hard!” 

Eddie’s tread stutters and he wonders if this is what people mean when they use the expression taken out at the knees. Can he get a fucking encore, please? 

But then there’s the issue of the rabies-ridden Hargrove, the kid who’s snorted so much of Eddie’s dubiously cut supply that it’s no wonder that word has gotten around that he can’t keep his johnson rigid. There’s a thread dangling somewhere that makes Eddie wonder how familiar you are with that concept but. Alas. Digression. 

Hargrove calls you a cunt, and Eddie’s vision is replaced with a swathe of red. 

How ‘bout you try playing it cool, hearing someone talk to your girl like that, after a night of fun family drug-taking? 

Wait. His what? Hold on--

Next thing Eddie knows, he’s side-swiping Hargrove like a dirty bumper car, yak yaks something kind of funny (he hopes) and does not turn to look at you standing backlit like a holy fucking statue. Because he knows you’ll look beautiful up there, white hot with rage, holding a weapon poised for minor automotive destruction. He can’t handle beauty, not right now. Because of that thing from before with his knees. 

“...now her snooty ass is spreading it for half of Hawkins! Desperate! Stringin’ you along like the dumb piece of shortbus shit you a–”

It’s impossible to say whose hair trigger that tugged first, yours or Eddie’s. That’s like chicken vs egg. That’s like Han vs Greedo. That’s like, irrelevant. 

That baseball bat clatters to the pavement, a hearty overture to Eddie’s surge of empowerment, of rage, of insisting that she isn’t, I’m not, she isn’t, I’m not, nobody talks about her like that–

Next thing Eddie knows, he’s sitting beside you. Outside the principal’s office. Hand split open and aching, nose backed up and a little bleeding, coming down like the fucking Hindenberg. Reckoning with the fact that he wouldn’t need to be a little morning-after zipped on coke to throw a punch for you, if it came down to it. If it came down to it, he would have tried caving in Billy Hargrove’s other eye socket. He would have made him look like the Elephant Man if you needed him to. 

He liked that Eraserhead movie you made him watch. 

“He needs an ice pack…”

The soft mumble from you makes Eddie take this breath that makes his chest feel like it might concave. You, you. Reckless, unbuttoned, unlaced, off-kilter you, that still had time to snap at him after he’d tried to freeze you out, that still had eyes that asked him did it hurt? 

Eddie eavesdrops on as much of your grilling with Higgins and the hot guidance counsellor as his damaged eardrums will allow. Temporary insanity. Disgusting prank. He wonders what that’s about… and again, didn’t even think to question what brought you onto the hood of Hargrove’s car. He just saw you. He just acted.

He just keeps doing that. 

And then he hears. College. Application deadlines are within touching distance. 

“I can turn this around.”

Of course. Eddie hadn’t even thought about that, because he’s him. And it was something you were probably worrying yourself sick over, because you’re you– you wanted out of here. To get up, go, be someone great.

“New York, ideally,” you’d said to him once, tightrope walking across the broken bleachers outside; you’d been waiting around for him to give you a ride home, but he had a deal to make first. You were weirdly patient, weirdly pensive that day. “Someplace I can go and burrow in and absorb everything and grow out of a crack in the sidewalk, new.” 

Eddie’d held your hand, helping you step over a gap in the bench, “Not taking Manhattan by storm? Hurricane Lacy?” 

You–and he remembered this–had held onto his hand for a few more minutes, a cigarette dwindling in the other. Your fingers were cold; they clutched at his a little tighter when you spoke again. 

“No. Not Manhattan, not midtown, not big business. I have precipitated a change in my weathervane.”

“What does that mean?”

“Means that someone taught me the difference between being important and being significant.” 

Back in the room. Eddie drawls out some stupid crack to Higgins, who he’s still supplying with enough benzos to take out Jonestown a second time, which is the only reason he hasn’t been booted out of Hawkins High for absolute and final good. And then you’re alone again, the two of you. Together. 

“Wanna get out of here?”

Next thing Eddie knows, he’s spending the last of his energy like it’s burning a hole in his pocket, horsing around on the nurse’s saddle stool while you rifle through her office. You are all edgy and commanding because you have no idea how to say sorry you got wailed on by Hargrove for me.

Good. He likes you better like this, at least for right now. Likes to watch you attempt to pirouette on the razor’s edge of your relationship to one another, mostly because your attempt is more graceful and easier to watch than his is. And he likes to watch you. Watch you do anything, really. 

Watch you snap at him to get on the bed. Fuck. 

Watch you tear and dab at his busted knuckles. Fuckfuck. 

Watch you talk about Cat People and press his hand to his chest and tell him he’s injured and wrong and watch you watch searing, singing alcohol on his split lip dry up. Eddie watches your eyes brighten and darken with curious affection, like those twinkle lights that fade in and out, steady as breathing. His breathing is anything but steady. His knees have come apart, letting you stand between them.

You dab and he lets this broken sound loose from him, because the proximity of your body to his feels like a fresh fucking spring breeze and god, god, the way you’re touching him with such gentle, measured movements, like you’ve choreographed every one–

You’re so exact. You’re so organized. He wants to unexact you.

Eddie uses his good hand, not that either of them are really any good, and presses as much of you into him as he can. The flush of your front, the flush of your mouth, he even has to stop those shorn denim-sheathed legs of his from wrapping around your hips. Eddie’s grip, it travels, hitching tweed up the curve of your ass. 

You don’t push him away like he figured you might, you don’t indignantly demand what is going on?! You don’t. You weave your hand up the line of his thigh, to the hard edge of his crotch where he is straining, a rigidity that’s been building since you went all Nurse Ratched on him. 

A rigidity that’s hard to keep down around you, badum-tsssss. 

Fuck.

Eddie almost knocks the word loose with a low groan that’s pressed into the supple flesh of your cheek, your lovely blushing fucking cheek, a cheek he goes to kiss or bite or something but misses by a hair because you’re straining your neck back. To look at him. Not soberly, he hopes. 

Someone down there is wishing him death by dick.

Not the wettest, wildest, filthiest dreams that he’s had about you (and categorically, there have been many) could have prepared Eddie Munson from the earth-shattering consequences of this tiny gesture. Your tongue, perfect and pink, darts to his lip, stinging and sore and comes away with the tiniest drop of ruby-red blood sitting on its tip. 

And you suck his bottom lip between yours, eyes fluttering closed.

Eddie’s cock jumps as his heart does, not a second out of time, as you clamber up, into his lap– so completely un-Lacylike, so totally… unexact. How, in all the vastness of Heaven and earth and Middle Earth and Hell and the Bookstore and the closet and his bedroom and the van could he be so fucking stupid?

“Just friends, right?” Eddie is deaf to how pained it comes out sounding.

His good hand travels. He finds your thighs, the softness there giving way to easy indents for his fingers and he knows, he knows that this is where his hands should be–unless, higher could be good? Higher, high up past those offending, incriminating lace top stockings that drilled through Eddie’s mind like an ice pick, giving him whatever the opposite of a lobotomy is. Haunting him with a fervour, begging him to snap them, but there’s no fucking time for that, god it hurts but there’s no fucking time for that because you. Two. Are. In. The fucking. Nurse’s. Office. 

But the world has ceased turning. 

Eddie’s mouth opens in a silent attempt at a moan as his fingers push past to the beating, radiating core of you that the throbbing, radiating core of him longs for. 

You’re so wet, and soft and lush and it rings through is head like a fucking hallelujah, you’re wet, you’re wet for him.

More than anything, he needs your encouragement–he needs to know that you want him to keep going. That you want him, that you want him, that–

You nod, frantic and undone, and Eddie kisses you for it just before he realizes he has no idea what he’s doing. But nothing in his body tells him to zoom out–in fact, the only thing he wants is more in. More you, more of you wrapped around him. He moves his hands with a clumsiness usually uncharacteristic of him, fucking guitar guy, fucking painting miniatures and shit guy. But it works, according to you and the way you keen against him with your beautiful, spit-shining lips parted and pulling against his. 

These little noises, chirps and swallowed moans of yours– it’s like music. He wants to choke on them.

Eddie’s voice kind of cracks open again, letting a little air and a touch of begging out. He strains, pained, cock aching against the hitch of denim. “Does he do this? Does anyone do this for you, Lacy?”

Because you’re lonely, and Eddie knows that, with his fingers stroking you deep. You’re lonely, or would be, were it not for him. And it feels like now, in the heady swirl of these few moments that are stretched into an infinity, that he’s using it against you, but he’s not. He should be the one doing this for you, he should be the one making you feel this way, making you tremble even as he clumsily thumbs at your clit, because he thinks knows you and he thinks you want it unmeasured and unshackled and washing over you in a wave of sheer blind devotion and that’s why his tongue is all over your neck. 

That’s why his knuckles are split. 

That’s why there’s no malice in Eddie’s voice when he croaks, “Just friends? Lacy?” as you rock and spasm, hands clutching him around the shoulder and whimpers barely deadened against his lips. He can feel the texture of your pinched brow against his own. 

He wants to clutch you as close as he possibly can, but he’s got one good arm and it’s between your legs.

Between your legs. Jesus fucking Christ. 

Sobriety hits like a tidal wave as your breath returns to its normal rhythm; Eddie’s doesn’t quite have the same rebound. He’s still huffing a little, out of exertion or out of nerves, as he slips his hand out from under you, brushing what was off on his jeans. A small patch of his own bodily fluid collected there too, making sure he’s wearing the both of you like Hester Prynne’s scarlet letter as he walks around for the rest of the day. 

Eddie, throat starting to tighten up, pulls you in for one kiss, to give you one last taste of where he’d been split open for you. Melodrama dances around it; shades of we shouldn’t have, but we did, but we can’t, but now I have to fucking live with the fact I cracked open this Pandora’s box and I’m sorry. 

Or something to that effect. 

And you see right through him, because you always do. Hair in a muss, lips flushed, adjusting your skirt, re-exacting yourself, you clean up any evidence that this had ever happened. At least, on a surface level. 

Eddie dares to look at you once more, and you dare to look back at him. And thank god he’s sitting down, because that look shoots him right through the fucking aorta. You, wide-eyed and small-looking, pupils darting and unsure, are asking him why. Pleading with him, why. Why do this. Why now. Why at all, ever, why did you have to. Even though you know. 

“I–”

“No, I know. I know. I certainly know.”

Because you’re Lacy. You know everything. 

Eddie does think about going after you for a second, after your curt nod and dash through the door but he knows that it’s a zero-sum game. He has nothing good to say. It’s not even you that’s rendered him speechless– funny thing, you usually do the opposite. You always give him something to say. He just has nothing good to say. Nothing worthy of you. 

So he sits there, on the examination table, waiting for the mythical Nurse Lydia to tend to his wounds. 

First he’ll will himself soft, then he’ll will himself sane. 

Famous last words.

[lokisprettygirl]

Brokenhearted (Daemon Targaryen x Female Reader) (Non Canon Modern AU) (18+)

Read Chapter 11 here // Series Masterlist

Chapter 12

Summary: Words spoken in anger are always cruel but often untrue.

Trigger Warning: 18+, Smut, Angst, violent thoughts, stalking,  Discussion of mensuration and Pregnancy, bloodshed, flashbacks of abusive relationship, toxic masculinity, sexual abuse, Samantha, traumatic distressing content, Daemon is a big time smoker so if it’s something triggering don’t read it, alcohol drinking, mention of past trauma and therapy, cigarette smoking, possessive behaviour, violence, baby needs therapy, baby is trying

You couldn't make sense of it, you didn't understand why he was smiling like that. The pictures appeared to have been taken in the morning, so why hadn't he called you and told you about Samantha? After thinking about it for a few minutes, you decided to talk to him and see if he'd tell you about what had happened.

When you called Daemon, he picked up right away, sounding exhausted but well "Hey babe"

You composed yourself as you heard his voice. He didn't sound stressed or terrified, normally he seemed a bit vulnerable whenever he'd come across her.

"Hi…what are you doing I just got back from work" you rubbed your forehead with your fingers, you didn't want to accuse him of anything, pictures can be deceiving you understood that well but why wasn't he telling you about her? Why was he hiding this?

"I was out with Viserys for an event darling, I'm back at the hotel now, going out for dinner with the team" he said

"Ohhh okay ummm..how was your day?" he chuckled as you asked him a generic question.

"Alright love, how was yours?" He raised his brows as he asked,

"Goodd..well.. actually ..ummm when were you going to tell me about Samantha? That you bumped into her this morning?" You finally asked him, unable to hold your anxiety for any longer and there was a complete silence on his side for a moment before he finally spoke, you could tell just by the tone of his voice that he was upset.

"How..how do you know that?" He asked, you could also picture the typical scowl on his face.

"Why does it matter?" Shouldn't have said that.

"It matters to me..are you spying on me or something?" Your mouth opened in shock as he said that.

"Daemon –"

"Don't try and patronize me now.. I do not appreciate you keeping an eye on my every move.. I have had enough of that alright?"

Your eyes welled up as his pitch got higher.

"I am not keeping an eye on you ..I just asked you a question..I'm not lying am i?" you tried to defend yourself but you could sense he was already deep in his head now to reason with you. A conversation like this wasn't meant for a phone call, especially not with him.

"A question regarding something you shouldn't have known unless you were spying on me like that bitch used to..who told you huh? Did you talk to my brother?" He said all that in one breath, making you scoff in response.

"Daemon you're being unreasonable" he snickered at your response. This was going as bad as you had assumed but it was about to get worse.

"Yeah I'm being unreasonable..it's always me isn't it?"

The tears started to stream down your face as you hung up the phone once he had raised his voice. You knew that even if you called him back and tried to talk, the conversation would devolve into another argument, one of you needed to stay calm for this but you didn't have the energy for that right now. Instead, you turned off your phone, hoping to give yourself some time to process what had happened and to calm down before reaching out again.

As your phone turned off, Daemon threw his own in anger, shattering it against the wall. He cursed under his breath, feeling a storm of emotions coursing through him. Why did he have such a short temper? Why did he immediately jump to conclusions like that? You didn't deserve to be treated like that, especially not by him but then you jumped to conclusions as well.

As he joined Viserys and the rest of his team, he glared at him as well, his anger spilling over. His frustration was palpable,

"I need a new phone" he said to his older brother and received an exasperated sigh in response. Viserys called Daemon's assistant and asked him to buy a new phone for him asap.

"Why did you tell y/n that I met Samantha this morning?" Daemon crossed his arms as if he was stating a fact instead of an accusation.

"What are you talking about? The last time I saw her and had a conversation was when she was with you"

Daemon gulped at the response, if Viserys didn't tell you about the incident then who did?

"Besides you should have told her yourself" Viserys said to him, making Daemon realise that he had fucked up again, as soon as he got back to his room late at night, he took out the sim card from his broken phone and inserted it in the new one.

His legs were shaking constantly so he took out a cigarette and lit it up as he waited for you to pick up the call, he didn't want you to miss the flight two days later just because you were upset with him. He really wanted to see you and have you by his side.

"Heyy" you mumbled as you picked up the call and his words died in his throat, for a moment he didn't know what to say or how to fix this.

"Ummm how did you know darling? I just want to know..I'm sorry i snapped at you..you didn't deserve that but I just…I don't want to be trailed" his fingers brushed through his hair in frustration.

"You really think I'd do that to you? Do you really think so low of me Daemon?" He was speechless for a moment, he had allowed his past to ruin it again and he had hurt you with his words. All over again.

"No you won't, I'm sorry I made that assumption" you breathed in heavily as he said that.

"So are you going to tell me what happened this morning because I'm making a few assumptions myself, I don't want to think of you like that" you asked him in a straightforward manner and then he was silent again. His anger turned on and off like a switch.

"What do you mean?"

You put the phone down as he said that, clicked the pictures of the pictures you had received and sent it to him and you only sent the ones where he was smiling at her, another mistake, because it clearly came across as accusatory.

"I received them in the mail this evening..that's how I knew..maybe she sent them to me..infact I'm sure she did it..I'm not the one trailing you here daemon " his eyes teared up as you said that, he should have told you especially when he knew what Samantha was capable of doing, of course it was a trap, she never did anything that wasn't meant for hurting him. He should have known better, he was going to apologize but then you said something that made him snap again.

"Do you still have feelings for her Daemon..maybe there's a part of you that-" he cut you before you could finish your sentence. Both of you were just not in sync in this situation.

"Shut up y/n..how dare you say that to me now after everything i have told you about her?"

"I'm just confused and you are not helping "

"You know what I don't want to talk about this right now" he stood up, the urge to throw this phone was strong but he controlled himself.

"You don't want to talk about this?"

"I don't..I'm not going to justify anything, if you believe that I'm still obsessed with the woman that destroyed me than be it"

"Daemon.."

"Noo y/n ..just no..I shouldn't have called" he hung up after that. Didn't even listen to you, maybe you should have allowed him to speak before telling him that you thought he was still obsessed with his ex.

"Gods"

After minutes passed, you felt a heavy weight settle in your chest. You realized just how much your words must have hurt him. You had asked him if he was still besotted with his abuser, a question that must have felt like a slap in the face. But you had been so wrapped up in your own feelings that you hadn't stopped to consider his.

You suddenly felt terrible for asking him such a thing. Daemon had bared his soul to you countless times, and you had always been there to support him. He had trusted you with the most vulnerable parts of himself, and you had thrown it back in his face now. You couldn't help but think that you had betrayed the sanctity of that trust. You were supposed to be his angel.

You waited for his call but he didn't call again, you waited a whole day before you decided to call him yourself, you hated how anxious you felt about this, you didn't want a stupid misunderstanding to ruin your relationship with him but you had no idea what you were supposed to do if he wasn't even going to talk to you .

He did pick up your call but he was very standoffish, he told you that he was out and very busy, he asked you if you were okay and safe before he finally hung up.

For the next two days you both just texted ..you had to take the flight he had booked for the next day but you weren't even sure if he still wanted you there or not so the night before you called him again,

"Heyyy" you mumbled softly as he didn't say anything once he had picked up.

"Did you pack?" He asked you and your eyes teared up,

"Do you still want me to come?"

"Ofcourse I do, do you not to come?" His heartbeat sped as you questioned him.

"I do…I just.." your voice choked on your tears, you couldn't get the words out because you felt overwhelmed.

"Just come tomorrow, we will talk okay?" he said in a soft calm voice so you hummed in response.

He didn't say much after that and you spent the night twisting and turning on your bed only to take an early flight to Vegas.

What if he takes a step back again? What if he doesn't want to be with you anymore?

With all the troubling thoughts you reached his hotel and made your way to his room. As you knocked, he opened the door and stepped aside for you, wearing nothing but a robe. You were just looking around and didn't even have time to react before he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. You felt yourself being pulled closer as he began to lay soft kisses on the side of your neck. You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to react. You wanted to reciprocate the gesture, but you were still reeling from your earlier exchange.

He finally put his head up to look at you, your eyes were moist and so were his so he cupped your cheeks and rubbed his thumb over your skin in a gentle manner.

"I was on my run when I met her, I wanted to turn around and leave but I felt as if I wasn't able to move at all. You were right, she does affect me still..but not in the ways you fear–" Daemon spoke slowly, as if trying to pick his words carefully. You could sense the conflict within him, the struggle to tell you what happened without causing you further pain.

"I didn't mean that Dae ..I'm -"

"Shhhh let me speak" he pressed his thumb on your lips before you could apologize.

"Everytime I see her I see everything she has done to me. She then walked closer to me and embraced me tightly. I didn't stop her either and then she cried, she cried so much, she wailed as she told me that she missed me..that her life felt pointless without me. As she said that, I thought of my time with her, and I remembered that I used to feel the same way when I was with her, my life felt meaningless with her. When she pulled away I looked at her, finally i really looked at her and for once I felt above her. I saw how shallow and vacuous she was, without any depth or soul of her own and then i remembered how happy I was in that moment because I thought of you, us, our life together.. and that thought made me smile..that's all it was darling, you were the reason why I smiled. You made me smile even when you were not there with me"

As he finished speaking you couldn't hold back your emotions any longer. Tears dripped down your cheeks but his thumbs wiped them away, he leaned down to kiss you lovingly before he pulled away.

"You have been ignoring me for two days" The words were small and weak, barely above a whisper. Your voice cracked as you spoke to him.

"I have been trying to avoid the confrontation, to protect you from my anger, i didn't want to talk to you about all of this on the phone" he said to you but he knew his actions or lack of emotions had once again hurt you deeply.

"That hurt me..that feeling that you won't talk to me when you're upset.. that hurt me alot dae.. I have.. i have insecurities too..I get hurt too"

Tears rolled down his cheeks and he immediately got down on his knees to wrap his arms around your waist.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry.. I don't deserve you darling..I never did but please forgive me..one more time please?"

This is exactly how he used to beg her for forgiveness, the difference was that he pleaded with her so she wouldn't cause him any further pain. With you however, he was pleading not because he wanted to avoid punishment but because he didn't want to hurt you more.

You got down to his level and your arms wrapped around his neck as you hugged him tightly, you were still upset with him but you really needed to hold him, not just to comfort him but to be comforted by him as well.

"Don't ever do this to me again..if you're upset then fight with me ..but you can't ignore me like that ..you just can't," broken whispers filled his ear so he pulled away and placed his forehead down on yours.

"I don't enjoy raising my voice at you or saying words that prick at the edges of your heart"

"I know you don't..I don't either..but i have realized that I'd rather fight with you and make up then have you pretend as if I don't mean anything to you and that you can go for days without hearing my voice" you cried again and he couldn't stop his tears either.

"I can't ..I can't go days without hearing from you..i was only trying to protect you but I see now how foolish that was" he said softly as he kissed your forehead.

"I'm not a little girl Daemon, I can take your anger but I can't take your silence"

"Okay okay I'm sorry I will never do that again i promise..i promise" he whispered in your ear as he immediately picked you up and laid you down on the bed, his mouth latched to yours in utmost desperation..he wasn't perfect and he didn't think he'd ever be perfect enough for you but he has been trying and knowing that you were willing to stay by his side even after he had fucked up plenty of times was enough to make him want to change for better.

You deserved the man he used to be before she destroyed him, you didn't deserve the broken shell she had left behind.

"I don't see you as a little girl in dire need of my protection but I'm going to protect you anyway love..I'd never do anything to betray you" he said as he placed soft kisses all over your face.

"I didn't mean to accuse you of anything baby"

"I know…shhh I know it's okay..pretty angel it's okay" he cooed in your ears "Missed you love, I don't want you to leave" you tilted your head as you caressed his scalp with your fingers.

"I have to though..I'm sorry..i have missed you too baby"

"Mmmm Nooo stay..after the fight tomorrow..don't leave, stay with me..we will leave together after the finals"

"Daemon–"

"I'll find a job for you..If you want to work at the diner then I'll convince your boss ..heck I'll buy that fucking diner for you..I'll do whatever it takes..just stay with me please" he whispered between the small kisses so you cupped his cheeks and kissed him as lovingly as you could. His words brought a smile to your face.

"Okay..you don't have to buy the diner.. I'll stay" the smile on his face widened as you said that. There's nothing more he wanted in that moment than to have you stay with him.

"Besides i have to make it up to you"

"You do..I told you I'd make you grovel" you said sheepishly.

"Mmm make me grovel sweet girl I deserve that"

You smiled as he said that and cupped his cheeks to kiss him. You finally felt at peace, your heart no longer pounding in anxiousness and worry of the future of your relationship with him.

He had to attend a meet and greet event for the UFC so he left you by yourself in the hotel. You were in the balcony just enjoying the view when you noticed a woman down there near the pool who seemed oddly familiar to you.

You huffed and immediately went downstairs to confront her, she had sent that envelope to cause problems between you and Daemon and well you hated to admit it to yourself that it had worked in a way.

"You know i have never seen someone so shameless as you, it's like you have no integrity" you crossed your arms as you faced her, she had a binocular in her hands and you really wanted to grab it and bash her head with it.

"Did you get the pictures sweetie?" She asked you, a nasty smile curved her lips..

"Yeah and whatever you were trying to achieve didn't work ..you know he has moved on right? After what you had done to him you should have been rotting in a jail or worse be dead" the smile on her face faded as you said that. You despised her and you weren't afraid to tell her that.

"I had him first and he will always belong to me, I'd never leave him and if he can't be mine then I promise you ..I'll ruin him forever" she smiled again once she finished his words before she walked past you to leave, Daemon was right, it was as if she had no soul. Her empty threats didn't bother you though.

You just had to find a way to get rid of her once and for all.

As you made your way back to the room he was already there,

"Where were you sweetheart?" He asked as he approached you, you looked around the room and it was filled with several bouquets consisting of your favorite flowers.

"A stroll, you left me alone here" you didn't want to talk about Samantha especially after that emotionally heavy conversation you both had today because of her.

"That's rude of me to leave such a pretty lady all alone and cold in the bed isn't it??" He picked you up and you squealed as he threw you down on the bed.

"You can't… fight tomorrow " you reminded him so he groaned and squeezed his eyes.

"Is this how you're going to make me grovel?"

"Maybeee"

"Evil"

He kissed you sweetly before he laid next to you,

"Thanks for the flowers, I love them" he smiled as you said that.

"I have something else too"

"Let me guess..Another piece of jewelry?" He frowned in a playful manner at the comment.

"Am I so predictable in my gestures?"

"Yeah but I like that"

"Well I might just surprise you then…close your eyes"

"Fineee" you chuckled as you closed your eyes, he grabbed your arm and made you sit up, you heard his footsteps reaching for the closet and then he was back,

"Okay..open" you opened your eyes as he placed a sizable box on your lap. Looking at him sheepishly you unwrapped the gift. You gasped as you saw that it was a set of chef knives but they weren't some run of the mill knives you used in your kitchen, the handles were made from Ziricote woods and they were very expensive, again something you never would have bought for yourself.

"Daemon…" you smiled as you pulled one of them out and admired the handiwork and finishing.

"You like it?"

"It's beautiful" you felt awestruck in a way, you loved your job and to know that he wanted to give you something you'd use and cherish had warmed his heart. It was one of the most thoughtful presents you could have ever received.

"She is," he mumbled, his eyes never leaving your features as he adored how happy you looked by a set of knives. He wanted to spoil you with diamonds but they never brought such a smile on your face.

"Thank you really" you kissed him as tenderly as could. You knew he didn't like knives, you had noticed his discomfort whenever he was in the kitchen with you, they reminded him of times when she used to harm him with it all night long so him gifting this to you because you loved a good sharp knife was a big deal for you.

And Maybe you could use the knife to stab Samantha as well, win for all.

At night he took you out for dinner and you met Viserys, when Daemon was distracted he told you that there was something he wanted to discuss with you but you weren't supposed to involve Daemon in the matter, you had no idea how to feel about that, you didn't want to keep secrets from him but you had a feeling that whatever Viserys wanted to tell you was important and had to do something with Daemon. And Viserys would never say or do anything that would hurt his little brother.

Daemon was loved by one man the most and that was his older brother, Viserys had practically raised him like a father because their father had passed away when he was just seven.

"I know I'm not supposed to fuck you..but can you tease me a little? Get me all riled up?" He mumbled between the heated kisses so you sat him down on the couch.

"Mmmhm you know i enjoy teasing you baby..why do you want it though?" you asked as you unbuttoned his shirt and rolled it down his shoulders, fingers caressed the raised scars on his skin gently.

"Just so I'm burning for you all night and when I finally take you tomorrow after the fight ..the release would feel sublime"

Your hand trailed down from his chest to his abs and you finally cupped his bulge before you caressed him slowly over the fabric.

"Like that?"

"Mmmmm.. Yeahhh..torture me babe i deserve that" he mumbled softly, his voice was meak and low, you kept your eyes on his features as you didn't want to trigger him with a bad memory

"I don't want to torture you baby..you're my baby" you whispered before you kissed the soft supple bottom of his earlobe and a smile graced his lips.

"I know..It's okay..i desire it..you don't hurt me, you could never" his arms wrapped around your waist and breathing got heavier, placing his head down on the couch he took broken breaths in as your hand continued to stroke him slowly, the pleasure beginning to build in his core.

"That's good? You okay sweetheart?" You asked him softly and he moaned, his tongue slipped out to lick his own lips that were beginning to dry because he couldn't keep his mouth closed, your free arm wrapped around his neck and you pulled him closer to kiss him, lips to lips and then tongue to tongue.

"You are loved and cherished, you know that right?" You murmured against his mouth and he groaned before he placed his head down on your chest ..

"I'm cherished..by you?" He asked as if he couldn't even comprehend how adored he was.

"By me, by your brother, your mum and dad, all of those people who turn up for your fights and those who waited for you to return, everyone is so proud of you, so in love with you and most of all..mee..I love you"

"Mmmm darling " he spoke between his bated breaths, your fingers caressing through his neck heightened the sensation for him "Stopp please ..I will cum" you immediately stopped as soon as he said those words, you cupped his cheeks and caressed his face. Once he had calmed a little he pulled away to look at you. His eyes were teary,

"Promise me you won't give up on us, I know I'm not the guy you deserve–" you cut him off as he said that.

"Stop saying that please "

"It's the truth, you deserve to be loved better than this my love and I want to be better"

"Okay shhhh now..you are enough just the way you are, i have never been loved this way Dae"

It was hard to sleep that night for both of you, but especially him. He resisted the urge to hump against you like a horndog, you resisted the urge to ride him into oblivion.

The sexual frustration was evident the next day as he stepped inside the octagon, he took that frustration out on his opponent and bested him mercilessly.

After the fight while he was getting medical help Viserys approached you and then he told you something about Samantha that even Daemon didn't know, he had no knowledge of that night, he wasn't in his senses when it happened and now she was using it to blackmail Viserys.

Samantha wanted Daemon back in her clutches and she'd do anything to bring him back in her life, she was willing to ruin his career all over again. Turns out her threats weren't empty but you knew to protect Daemon and his dreams you'd have to step up instead of cowering down and giving her what she wanted. You'd never allow the love of your life to fall into her trap again, you couldn't imagine him being hurt again, especially now when he was learning to move on and heal from her abuse.

You were going to protect him and for that you were willing to do whatever it takes.

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

Note: Who wants Samantha to die? 🙋🏽‍♀️

Taglist (please check your setting if I’m not able to tag you)

@simbaaas-stuff @ajthefujoshi  @witchybitch2 @hypocritic-trash-baby  @mariaelizabeth21-blog1  @thefallenangel21n  @kmc1989

@stupidthoughtsinwriting

[dinums]

Secrets and Broken Hearts

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

Chapter 3

Thomas Shelby x (Writer) Reader

Ms. Bennett is a peculiar woman whose motives are always unclear, though, of course, she alone has grace this knowledge upon herself and none of anyone she knows. What happens when an inspector and his spy come to town? Shall she make due and quench her curiosity or finally learn to back down? Who knows, maybe at the end, she'll compromise. A conflicted woman will always be a surprise. You can trust that. It's Ms. Bennett afterall

Ms. Bennet's P.O.V.

...

"This is pointless as it is stupid." I mumbled to myself. Tossing and turning on my shared bed with William. If a national treasure really did get stolen, what treasure would it be?

Minerals? Gold? Jewellery? Some ornaments from the royal family? Placing my arm to cover my face, I groaned in frustration. Surely, these factors I laid out won't be considered. After all, all these can easily be replaced or would have no effect to be a threat to this very constitution. Treasure.

"What's a treasure besides Gold that once in the hands of others you would crumble..." I thought deeply, a world run by men surely limited me to a few other factors.

"My guess is, it's either illegal documents, ledger, guns, some proof blackmailing Churchill himself." Talking to myself aloud, I rolled on my stomach. My face buried in the pillows as I screamed internally.

"Thomas Shelby and Freddie Thorne, one of them might know a thing or two." As if hit with adrenaline, something clicked in my brain, I sat up and thought more clearly.

"Freddie either did or did not know what the national treasure is, nor who stole it. If he knew, he wouldn't have said those words to Thomas... but if he did, was it to catch Thomas with a bluff? What does bluffing get him? Anyway, he knew even if Thomas knew something, he wouldn't tell Freddie... meaning that rules out the second probability"

My thoughts turned to Thomas earlier, I decided that he would be the one I would use as lead.

"How in the world am I to get close to a mobster?" Without realising it, I started to bite my lip while my nails made their way to claw on my thigh. Once I tasted blood, I stopped and lied back down.

The Shelby's were people I was acquainted with, much like half the people in Small Heath. Jon Shelby and I were classmates. He and his brothers would cause mischief here and there before. I then remembered the time they would encourage cigarettes and alcohol to the students in school. That made me laugh, I remember Jon giving me a handful, which caused Arthur to smack him in the head, saying , "Oi! Yer only supposed to give em one of each! Then, after the second time, you rip their money off! It's what Tommy said!" Turns out it was a money laundering little scheme which got me a bit close to the two Shelby brothers. After that, they treated me nicely, Thomas, on the other hand... well, he was just there. Nothing more, nothing less. At least I can speak a bit freely than others would.

"Maybe I can use this closeness with Jon and Arthur to get close to Thomas..."

Looking up at the ceiling, I blinked a few times. If only I knew no bounds, then maybe, maybe I wouldn't want to stick my nose up in other peoples business.

"Morris Dawn"

My penname, a reminder of my other life. I had to write about something soon. If I were to investigate and yet not publish this, what good does it make? I'm risking my life and earning nothing. Must I be damned to be a curious writer by heart? I cursed myself under my breath.

Looking over my side, I see that night has already come. William isn't home yet.

"Make up your mind. You're wasting time." I groaned, talking to myself once more. Standing up, I walked towards the vanity, formulating every plan for every possible outcome already.

By the time William came home, I lay in bed, asleep. Brain fried. Odds and probabilities everywhere.

"Oh, love..." William chuckled, undressing himself down to only his trousers before making his way to bed and underneath the covers.

When I woke up, I was alone in bed. A note to my right that read:

"I had to go to the shop early today, made breakfast for you. Just the way you like it"

-William

I smiled at the note before making my way to freshen up and get ready for the day. Later that morning, I went and ran errands. Going to my usual go-to bakery, i smiled at the familiar woman handling the register.

"Oh, Ms. Bennett! What a lovely surprise"

"Hello, Mrs. Fer. How are you?"

I asked, as then she answered me. We go about our conversation as I picked out some bread and pastries from the older woman.

"Oh? By the way, Ms. Bennett"

"Mhm? What is it? Anything wrong? Maybe I can help, " I said kindly, the bag of food around my arm.

"I heard there's an inspector in town. He came last night... Best be careful, Ms. Bennett. My husband told me to stay quiet about this, but I just worry for you. Thought I ought to let you know that you're like the daughter we never had after all..."

My heart swelled with love for the older woman, reaching out to squeeze her hand to comfort her, I decided to ask more for purposes, of course.

"But Mrs. Fer, what about the inspector? Surely he wouldn't harm innocent people here, right?" The older woman only shook her head and sighed.

"My dear, you're far too nice for this town. Why not move away to somewhere safer with your lover? Get married, have a peaceful life -"

"And leave you behind? I'd rather not Mrs. Fer, I've come to love the people in this town enough to stay." I interrupted her, which made her frown deepen. I only shook my head and gave a soft smile. It was the truth, after all.

"The inspector called for a meeting, all the policemen and some new lackeys. Told my husband and the others that he would be cleaning this town up. Dear, a man like that -" She stopped herself and cupped both of my cheeks before continuing, "a man like that will stop at nothing, so it's best to keep safe, aye?"

I nodded as she released her hands from my face. Bidding goodbye, I walked out of the bakery with my freshly baked goods and onto my next errand. Mrs. Fer, an old lady married to a policeman sure does have its perks, added points that she's quite fond of me as I with her.

Though I did feel guilty using these people, masking and hiding beyond a facade of a sweet young lady. I stopped in my tracks before shaking my head, trying to get physically rid of these thoughts.

"Remember, if what you're doing is for their good... a little harm here and there wouldn't hurt, besides... it isn't like they know any of it"

The day went by smoothly, and I finally had something to work with. From the bakery I found out of the inspector, from the butcher I heard some men talking about what they knew of the said inspector whilst the women talked about someone trying to find the identity of the mysterious Author, Morris Dawn which in turn made me gulped, I had to be careful. lastly, from William's shop, I found out how there had been people, mostly wives gone missing. Feeling lucky, I put the things I bought inside the flat, there had been new things to investigate, so many things to know, getting a few breads I bought before putting them inside a basket. I decided to go to the Garisson, to at least visit Harry, I forgot that I hadn't had the chance to pay for my drink last time, hence the bread.

Walking down the familiar path down Watery Lane, I think of the words to say when suddenly, someone harshly bumped into me. My focus on the bread as I tried to save them, but alas, only one was left safe.

"There goes my luck then... shouldn't have spoken too soon..."

"You're luck, eh?" A familiar gruff voice said, whipping my head from the bread on the ground towards the person. My eyes locked into those blue crystallike eyes of him.

"Yes, my luck. Mr. Shelby. This was for Harry, I ought to give him an apology for not being able to pay for my drink-" realising I was giving out too much of my thoughts to a man who wo t even care, I shut my mouth, blinking a few times, what am I doing.

After an awkward silence, I stepped out of his way, noticing the alchohol bottle he was holding, knowing better than to ask him to pay for the soiled bread. Going inside the pub without another word, I walked to the bar. To my surprise, a young, beautiful, blonde woman came into view, working at the bar, pouring drinks instead of Harry.

"Oh- hello, you are -?" I asked kindly, though it was overshadowed by my surprise and confusion.

"Grace, Grace Burgees. I'm the new Barmaid," She explained, an Irish accent to her. I nodded and smiled.

"Do you know where Harry is? I ought to give him some bread..."

Just in time, Harry came I to view, to my relief. I explained to him why i only had one loaf of bread rather than more. Nonetheless, he accepted it with gratitude. When I gave him money for the drink, though, that was the time he refused. I shook my head and accepted defeat, still talking to Harry as Grace was on the side.

"I'm really sorry to give you a half-hearted apology, Harry. If only I'd look in the way Mr. Shelby -" I was cut off by Harry reassuring me once more that it was fine. After a bit, Grace looked at me, I gave her my name, which she responded with a smile. We talked for a bit, she told me which town she lived in back in Ireland, how life was like there while I told her how I lived my life here in Birmingham, saying words enough to satisfy her curiosity but not enough to give anything away.

"I better get going then. Next time I visit, I'll bring you some bread too!" I said, smiling at her before leaving the bar. She smiled and waved me goodbye.

A woman from the same town as the inspector, someone who came to Small Heath the same time the inspector did. It didn't take much to put two and two together, though that just means they'd do the job for me, correct?

"Maybe I don't have to investigate anything after all..."

Putting this 'treasure' to the side, I went to go look for any leads, common things between these missing wives. If I moved too slowly, either this incompetent policemen would forget about this or have more people killed than needed.

Putting myself with the burden of such heroic secrecy, I walked down Watery Lane. Knocking on the door of one of the husbands of a missing wife.

"Ms. Bennett?" The man asked, surprise he knew who I was.

"Oh- you know who I am?" The man only gave what little smile he could before explaining himself.

"There aren't many people helping around for the good besides that, Pastor." He said, shaking his head.

After a bit of small talk he led me inside, I told him that I wanted to help babysit for their son whilst the coppers try and find his wife since it was well known how he wasn't doing well takinh care of the little critter, that was a mere alibi of course. Though it felt nice to help, my motives were clear to me as the night sky. I am no saint, a mere sham. A lie and a lie I will always become. If a false Saint will be able to keep everyone I could help safe, I'd gladly be one.

[bingusmode]

Smoke and the Stars

Spy x Reader

AN: In this story, your class name is Vet, short for Veterinarian.

Being elbow deep in Demomans organs was a bi-monthly activity Vet had to endure.

Not that she was complaining, once she got her first paycheck, she would do this every week if The Administrator asked. Her free hand reached up to swat the bottle of bourbon Demo was trying to pick up

“Stop that, At least wait until I get the new liver in”

“Aw, you’re no fun lassie,”

“You know what’s not fun? Liver failure”

Demo huffed and rolled his eyes as Vet slid the freshly sourced liver into place. Grabbing the Medigun above to seal the wound. Vet removed her blood stained gloves and handed Demo his well earned bottle.

“It would really help if you waited a few hours before drinking-“

“See you at dinner lass!”

He was already out the door. Vet sighed and cracked the bones in her sore back.

While she had gotten her degree in Veterinary Medicine, Miss Pauline assured her these men were close enough to animals. So far, she was right, Vet was sure that animals would leave less of a mess than her team did.

One of Medics spare doves cooed around her, hopping on her tool tray for attention. Vet smiled and rubbed the birds head with her finger

“Oh I know, I wish I could treat you instead.”

The dove cooed again before flying off to one of the many treat trays she had set around the operating room.

Vet opened the double doors out to the waiting room, going over her checklist.

“Alright boys, who’s next-“

Scout shoved himself infront of her before she could finish, trying to look sauve as possible with missing teeth.

Vet side stepped him and went about with her business. With Medic handling Heavy after an ubercharge gone wrong, she was left especially busy.

“Engineer?”

The Texan shook his head and leaned back in his chair

“Just came here for painkillers, arms been acting up”

Vet hummed and gave him a small RX bottle, moving down her list.

“Spy?”

Spy was something to say the least, she had never met someone so elegant and standoffish in her life, not to the mention his nasty habit of chain smoking.

Spy pulled away from his cigarette, letting the smoke spill from his lips.

“Trouble breathing,”

Vet did a double take

“You didn’t say that earlier?”

“I had an appointment with my tailor,”

Vet groaned, and motioned for him to follow her back into the operating room.

As she got set up again, she warily eyed the cigarette he held.

“Please put that out while you’re in here, trying to keep it clean”

“I know what Medic has in his fridge, and it’s not clean at all”

“I’m not Medic,”

Spy put out the cigarette anyway, standoffish? Yes, but a gentleman first.

With the Medigun positioned, and his suit unbuttoned, Vet got to work.

“You wouldn’t have trouble breathing if you didn’t smoke”

“Do you harass all your patients like this?”

“Only the fun ones,”

She smiled warily at him, Spy could see the exhaustion etched permanently on her face. He knew this was adding onto her pile of never ending work, but addiction is hard to break.

“It’s my escape, how else do you expect me to put up with Scouts insufferable antics?”

“Ignoring him like I do”

“You have more patience than me,”

Vet carefully removed one half of a blackened lung, quickly going to search the fridge for a fresh lung

“Thats the first ever complement you’ve given me, I’m honored Spy”

“It was an observation, not a complement”

“Keep telling yourself that”

The conversation slipped into comfortable silence. Spy closed his eyes and relaxed while she worked, he would never admit it. But he preferred her work over Medics, maybe it was her gentle touch rather than Medics harsh treatment. Or the rare moments of quiet she offered compared to the rest of the base.

It was almost like he could let his guard down, almost.

“Done.”

Vet closed him up and repeated her cleaning process, Spy’s fingers immediately found a cigarette and lighter.

“Absolutely not,”

Vet snatched the lighter

“No smoking in here, anywhere else sure, but I told you not in here,”

Spy admired her tenacity and unwillingness to back down, it made for interesting conversation. Another rare find throughout the base.

But still, he rolled his eyes and made his way to the exit. Vet right behind him to bring in her new patient.

“You’re work is always appreciated Doctor, but I’m afraid your insight will be ignored”

“Nicotine patches are a thing-“

“Nicotine patches don’t have elegance,”

He held out his hand for his lighter snd Vet reluctantly dropped it in.

“Being healthy is elegant. I just want the best for you boys”

Spy came to the conclusion Vet was a wonderful Doctor, but would make a terrible Spy. Always so open and honest, her emotions worn on her sleeve and ready to help at a moments notice.

Spy nodded at her before making his exit, momentarily considering her words.

But the lighter still flicked on and smoke once more filled his lungs.

Vet watched, a disapproving look on her face.

Scout tried to approach again but was shoved out of the way by a frantic Pyro. Holding up a stuffed animal with a tear in it. She knew she still had a long day ahead of her.

Weeks later, Spy found himself on the rooftop of TwoFort. Taking a drag of his comfort while looking up at the night sky. Vet was right, this was a nasty habit, but damn if it wasn’t warning him from the inside. It seemed like she was on his mind more and more nowadays.

Spy hated it, he hated feeling distracted, he hated how he wanted to talk to her and be in her presence.

He chalked it up to finally having worthy conversation partner, nothing more, nothing less.

“Mind if I join you?”

Speak of the devil and she shall appear

Vet closed the roof door behind her, dressed in more casual clothes that Spy hadn’t seen before.

Giving her a once over, he decided that it was a good look for her. Something that she would wear more often in her down time.

“Please, by all means,”

To his surprise, she took a seat right next to him, not complaining about the smoke

“No condescending comments today about how cigarettes are ruining my lungs?”

“I can’t make you stop, and this isn’t the operating room. I don’t like it, but you can do what you like,”

He considered for a moment putting it out but quickly disregarded the thought.

“What beings you up here in the night? Not pulling an all night are you?”

Vet chuckled and shook her head, opting to lean on the railing.

“No, just couldn’t sleep, how about you?”

“Wondering why I ever took this job”

“I thought it was the pay”

“No amount of money could pay me to deal with some of our colleagues”

Vet nodded and looked up at the sky

“I can relate, but if you left. Who would entertain me?”

Spy barked out a laugh and rolled his eyes

“Surely I am not your first choice of company”

Vet shrugged, lazily looking over at him

“You’re quiet, I like quiet. Let’s me clear my head and just exist for a moment”

Spy’s fingers twitched, something foreign rising in his chest before shoving it back down again

“Then you are most certainly foolish,”

“I don’t think I am, I think you’re just used to being alone,”

How could she say that so causally? This would be a borderline declaration of love where he was from. But this was just how Vet was, always upfront and truthful.

“I prefer solitude,”

“Then why are you still talking to me?”

“…you are an exception,”

Spy refused to make eye contact with her, looking out into the desert. But Vet didn’t mind, she didn’t need to see his eyes to know his sincerity.

She didn’t press him about hie comment, something he was grateful for. Instead they spent the hours in the rare quiet, basking in each others company and the stars.

Smoke was everywhere, Vet couldn’t see anything but smoke. Wheezing, she stayed close to the ground, trying to find her way out of the burning inferno.

She could hear the screams of Sniper and Scout burning. The hot cement burned her skin, embers eating away at her slowly. Vet knew the opposite Pyro was coming for her next, but she couldn’t leave fast enough. The smoke entering her lungs and weighing her down. She was so tired, she just wanted to sleep.

Vet closed her eyes and rested her head on the floor, ignoring the pain going up her cheek.

She assumed the footsteps behind her was the Pyro coming to finish her off. A hand grabbed at her, pulling her up with little hesitation.

Fingers snapped in front of her face, trying to get her to focus.

“Vet? Vet! Answer me!” that lovely French accent flooded her thoughts. But she could only moan in pain.

Spy swore and swiftly supported her weight, trying to get her out of the smoke filled barn. He had never seen her like this, so hurt and so vulnerable. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t panicking.

Spy couldn’t ignore the tightness in his stomach and the growing dread in his heart, not this time. He was able to ignore every iota of emotion towards Vet up until now, now she was badly hurt. This wasn’t how he imagined his first time holding her, but he couldn’t think on that now.

“Come on Mon Coeur, just a few steps forward”

“I can’t-“

“You can, don’t say such a thing”

He picked up his space, offering her rare words of encouragement while he navigated their escape. Heavy was able to hunt down the Pyro while Medic treated Vet. Spy watched on, making sure the wounds healed.

Whether she knew it or not, Spy dedicated himself to her safety from then on. Of course, she could still Respawn, but he would rather see her unharmed rather than see her suffer from the hands of combat. This was how he showed his dedication and loyalty, and Vet knew it. It was something understood between the both of them.

“Out late again?”

Spy heard the door of the roof shut, a sound that brought him comfort now.

“The stars require my company Mon Coeur,”

“The stars aren’t the only ones”

Vet took her usual spot next to him, just a few inches of space between the two.

Spy put out the cigarette he had lit just moments before, waving the smoke away quickly before it could reach Vet.

Vet didn’t say anything about it, she just smiled.

“Are you ever gonna teach me French?”

“There is no such time to learn the complexities of my language with our occupation”

Vet hummed snd looked up at the sky, moving a little closer to him.

“That’s a shame, you speak it so beautifully,”

Spy had long given up at the suppressing the warmth in his chest that she brought him, it was his new addiction.

“Another day Mon Coeur, I promise you”

Vet nodded and leaned her head on his shoulder, the both of them looking up the stars.

The two fell into their familiar silence, they could have spoken more but they didn’t need to. Spy already knew how he felt, and Vet knew it too. She always had.

[rorichuu]

Hiii! (Feel free to ignore this, btw)

Could I request a tf2 scout x male!reader, where spy (with the help of other mercs like demo) tries to get the reader drunk, so that they make some bad mistakes? Basically spy is trying to get scout to lose interest in reader, because of how he has treated his partners in the past, and doesn’t want that for the reader? But in the end, scout and reader still end up in a relationship? Sorry this might be a little confusing.

rebel ; scout x male!reader

pairing: scout x male!reader

authors note: heya! i had sososo much fun writing this, like oh my god?! thank you for sending this in!

disclaimer: cursing in the mercs' native tongue, descriptions of being drunk, and Engineer/Spy being parents towards the end.

SIDE NOTE: if you don't like the Engineer/Spy ship, that is 110% okay! i can totally scrap it if you don't like it... i just thought it might be a cute addition. happy reading, my friends!

"C'monnn Y/n, take another wee shot with me, now will ya!" Demo exclaimed over the loud music that boomed throughout the base. They had won victoriously and declared a party to celebrate their winnings... and expectantly, Demo had brought drinks.

"Don't tempt me, I've drunken... a, uh... a lot!" You slurred, lips tasting of liquor, grammar non-existent at this point. The Scotsman booed loudly, his hand now (as best he could) waved in front of you. The potent liquid hitting your nose, you let out a drawn groan, quick to grab the shot from his hands as you downed the shot with ease. Soon after, the burn caught up to you, leaving you in a coughing fit as Demo slapped your back.

"I knewww you could- hic ... handle it, lad!"

Originally, it was Spy's idea to get you drunk. Unusual to think about unless traced back to past events... the Frenchman got sick over the idea of you so casually flirting with the Scout. The boy was smooth with his advances; a hand on your shoulder here, a horrible flirtation there... he couldn't let be anymore.

The reason Spy was stepping in was merely the thought of you two ending up together. His heart twisted at the idea that he may mess and wear at your heart tirelessly; a flirt only to be a flirt. Spy focused deeply on Scout's (seemingly) exterior intentions, quick to frown and wince at the failures he put upon Miss Pauling. Spy wished only for you to not get hurt... and though this is seen as unfair, it was absolute to him to bring this to an end.

Spy's advances would never have gone unnoticed; Spy isn't a drunk, and he doesn't take down shots like a certain Scotsman does... so when this was approached, Engineer was the first to speak and pull aside Spy after the announced party.

"Are you sure about this, Spy?" The Texan asked, voice full of question as the others observed... Scout and you being, of course, absent.

"Plenty. I know Scout and the same goes for all of you," he began, hand swift to pull out a cigarette from his holder. "I simply cannot let Scout and Y/n become an..." The Frenchman sighed, lighting his cig with a click of his lighter. He inhaled its smoke and allowed it to settle deep into his lungs. "Item." People spoke outwardly about this. Though Demo could partially agree... and Sniper simply without care... everyone else was against the idea aside from Pyro, who was continuously drawing in the back, happy in their own world of drawn-out gore and rainbows.

"Y/n has own mind. He is smart man, do not underestimate." Heavy rumbled, eyes furrowed in disagreement. But Spy shook his head, his hand snapping his cigarette holder shut before placing it inside his dress coat.

"If you will, I will carry on. I do not need anyone's input to sway my decision. Good day, gentlemen." And with that, Spy had left.

. . .

Demo was mindlessly helping... unbelievably drunk, but aware of his goal. He had to get you drunk! That was the easy part! But you were making drunken decisions that would make anyone gasp... and impressions of the other mercs was certainly new.

"YOU ARE A MAGGOT HATCHED FROM A- hic ... MUTANT MAGGOT EGG!" With one hand raised confidently in the air, holding a mug half-full of beer, you were partially crouched pointing at Soldier with your mocking taunt. While Demoman and Scout doubled over in laughter, you and Soldier remained yelling at each other... with your trying impression and his angered, drunken response.

"I DO NOT SPEAK LIKE THAT, MAGGOT!" Soldier exclaimed. "DROP DOWN AND GIVE ME 20!" You barked with laughter, hand at stomach as you nearly fell off the table... Heavy was quick to catch you. And as his large hands balanced you, you greeted him with a quick hello and a turn of your foot, intention to walk away... but before you could escape, his hands were rested on your shoulders.

"Best if Y/n drank water. Heavy will give you bottle." The Russian man advised, Medic close beside him nodding with agreement with a clipboard in hand. You shook your head, your giggling dying down, only if just a little bit.

"T-The party just started!" You began. "Plus, this is only my... what, my f... fuhhh, fourth drink?!" You yelled back at Demo as if to ask, he simply gave you a thumbs up as he continued to converse with Soldier.

"Y/n, z'his is your 11th drink..." Medic informed you, keeping note of your alcohol intake. Your lips purse together as you let out a 'pfft'. The German shook his head and sighed. "Please be more careful with your drinking. Demoman is enough proof alone to prevent alcoholism." Medic scowled, his sights on Tavish who was currently singing a Scottish tune... ungodly slurred and incomprehensible on his drunken tongue... and an arm wrapped around the Soldier as they danced cheek-to-cheek.

Medic then shook his head, a noise leaving his throat out of annoyance. "His liver is... surely, dead." Medic left a few scribbles on his clipboard, a head lowered down with his glasses sliding to the tip of his nose. Just moments later, Heavy had nudged Medic's arm, the German cursing in his native tongue from his jerked writing. "Was ist das?" (What is it?) He hissed before Heavy gently grabbed Medic's chin in his hands, turning his head to catch Spy conversing with you. You had slipped away.

"Scheiße." (Fuck.)

. . .

With Medic and Heavy's failed attempt to help you, it was then left to Engineer. The Southern and Frenchman were neck-to-neck, evident with their disagreements, and the intensity in the atmosphere was thick... but as Spy spoke with his silver tongue, suggesting decisions that were just downright rude, he cut through that air like butter.

With a cocky smirk and a swish of his hands, he ushered you up to Scout after his chat. Engie fired daggers into Spy's eyes, the sound of the beer bottle clinking loudly with the table before advancing towards the two. And every other merc, aside from Demo and Soldier who were clearly passed out at the bar, had their eyes on Engie. Pyro clapped their hands together and mumbled supportingly of his father figure.

But before Engineer could approach you, Spy slid in front of Engineer, hand placed on the left side of his chest. "Ah, I'll have to stop you there, mon ami." (My friend.) Spy spoke, his accent more pronounced the more pompous he got. Engineer glowered.

"I ain't gonna be your friend by the end-a' this night if you keep this up, pardner," Spy was caught slightly off guard by Engineer's translation of his remark. "You best leave that poor boy alone, his life ain't yours, and you got no right controllin' it the way you are now." As the two bickered and quarreled, the sound of you and Scout laughing alerted the two. Spy was the first to turn, looking over his shoulder as he found the two of you huddled close together... the Frenchman began to open his mouth but closed it soon after. Spy was defeated.

As his shoulders slumped, his face was, without a doubt, beat. Engineer huffed a soft laugh, hand patting his back as Pryo hopped over to offer him a beer. "C'mon, now. Let's have'a drink and talk, why don't we?" Engie said, Spy raised an eyebrow at the beverage in hand... his lip twitched in disfavor.

"Wine would be preferred." He spoke low, holding the drink by just its cap. The other man took the beverage for himself, twisting it open with ease.

"Not a problem, pardner."

. . .

The night swirled to an end. The loud snores of Demoman were overheard by Soldiers accompanied snoring. Every other merc had left for sleep, rubbing their eyes, intoxicated and hushed. All the while, Scout and you were slumped on the couch, entangled with a blanket.

Engineer was cleaning up after everyone, beer bottles put away, and sweeping up scrapped plastic cups. Spy, on the other hand, was leaning against the wall... observing the two of you in silent thought. Engineer caught wind of this, huffing before resting the broom against the bar table. He walked over to him.

"Somethin' on your mind, sugar?" He hummed, crossing his arms as he stood beside the man. Spy looked away due to the pet name, shuffling. Engie found this humorous.

"Non..."

"Does it have somethin' to do with Y/n and Scout? Perhaps?"

"N..." He thought for a moment. He sighed. "Oui." Spy found no reason to lie anymore, having found loss hours ago. Engineer sighed, his shoulder now leaning against Spy's, but just enough to not squish him.

"He'll do jus' fine with the boy. Y/n balances him out pretty well, yeah?" Engineer shared Spy's glance of the two. "Scout's happy with him. And the other way 'round... don't think we should be the judge'a that. No matter how much we wanna protect 'm." Engineer tried to reason, moving his shoulder against Spy's to sway his judgment... he knew he already succeeded, with the way Spy covered his face with his gloved hand.

"I suppose... you're right..." Spy grumbled. Engineer raised an eyebrow.

"What was'sat?" He egged on. "You. Were. Right..." Spy hissed.

"Did I hear a, 'you were right,' behind all that grumble?" With a smirk and a voice that spoke knowingly, the Frenchman lunged him off as the Southern man laughed.

"Shut up, just... just clean up like you were!"

And with the soft laugh of Engineer, the hushed mutterings of Spy... came around you and Scout, holding each other in sleepful peace.

The night ended. Just right.

.

.

.

rorichuu!

[doodlesbf]

Mafia chain & blind child

((Apologies for the late update everyone))

Tag @luimagines and @thesoftieanon

Chapter 2

Time is sitting in the car twilight is drive, time glance down in his arms to the sleeping child now that he can see closely. This child doesn't look good by the way their skin look since its rare to see anyone have two different skin color yet in very poor conditions that they have to wear the mask to get out of something.....time brushed the long bangs off the child face see small cuts cover some parts of their face made time feel angry that someone harmed a innocent child that's not even able to defend themselves or know how to fight yet he look back to the roads since time is being gently to the sleeping child as twilight drive on the dirt road.

Twilight: time.. what will you do with them? You can't possibly-

Time: the child will stay in our care and protection til they're healthy and well find the child's parents or a foster home....

The slient returns and even though time order it and possibly the deity favor is like a order but twilight still feeling nervous since he or anyone in the chain are not used to seeing this situation happen on or off a mission but something felt off about this failed mission... the drive took nearly a few hours back to base but twilight glad to be back as he park the vehicle and turn off the engine as he and time get out the car. Twilight goes to get the wild wolf that lucky is still sleeping and pick it up to head to the barn side of the base to secure the wild wolf in a animal stall and collar it with a tracker in case it got lose when he isn't looking or someone else watch.

Time walk to the base doors and it open by few normal staffs and they greet time back and they notice that the boys are missing and time look to the teen staff.

Time: I've return first and please have this child clean and their injuries treated before the boys return.

The teen staff nod and gently take the unconscious child from time arms as his jacket is taken off time shoulders by another staff and the teen staff.

Teen staff: as you wish hero. There's some letters for you in your office.

Time: thank you were is our messenger?-

Teen staff: Ethan have delivered the left what you ask of him in your office as well and his scarf is under repair by one of our members. He'll be with you as soon his scarf is fix.

Time nod and hear that and will respect that since Ethan can easily hide in the huge city to do some spy work for him that time knows the boys can't and time head forward to go to were his office is but he did glances back over his shoulder just in time to see the child the teen staff leaving to bring them to were the hall is to the bathroom is and it near medical so time knows, he'll get a full report on the child condition eventually but he needs to focus on the letters and reports before the boys return so he need to get it done.

Four,sky,hyrule and wind walk through the woods and follow the path that the deity have walk through/made so it's easy for them to move and eventually arrive at the nearly beat up house that bearly taken care of and sky lift his hand to single out commends to the others without use his voice in case the traitor can be around. Four and wind head to the house side to go secure of the house all around the house as sky and hyrule see the door is open and slowly move in to each each room of the house and clearly see the whole house inside is trash,glass bottles everywhere and smell is unbearable and faint smell of cigarettes did not help but the two can hear a man groans and what sounds like the wall shaking, crumbling and wood slowly breaking.

Sky and hyrule slowly enter the smelly home and can hear their target struggling upstairs and carefully head upstairs trying to be quiet to not draw attention to themselves as four, wind enter and wind cover his nose due to the smell and try not to gag and they move on the ground floor to make sure no one beside the target is here.

The target manage to force pushing himself out the hole he's been stuck in but fell face first on the floor hard that a bone break and the target roll to his back and raise his hand to touch his face only to blood and he realized that his nose is broken as he groan.

Target: damnit!dammit!! That brat!! Oh I can't wait to beat them!!-

A sound od a gun cocked made the man shut up and he slowly look over to see a two teenagers both have guns and wear green tunics suits as the man eyes widen to realize that those are mafia of courage and those two are links.

He try to get up but a sound of a gun fire made him stop and see the brown headed teen fire to the ceiling.

Sky: get the fuck back on the floor-

Target: fuck, I ain't going to tell you shit! Ya fuck-

Sky aim his gun to the target knee and fire his bullet to the target knee as the target let out a yell of pain and held his knee yet fell backwards to his butt as the two cock back their guns again and slowly enter the room to see the strange symbols on the floor,walls and even the ceiling but see a small drips were a small table is and sky knows that the blind child head was bloody and have the mask so still is the spot that they receive their injury at and he look back to see the target back up to a window and he aim his gun to him to show if he try to run, he'll shot him.

Sky: you'll be coming with us rat.

Target: hehe, ya think I'll go with ya-

Hyrule: we can always get information out of you now.

Sky nod though they both can see the target grin then let out a laught that even wind and four can hear his laughter downstairs.

Target: like I say I ain't tell ya shit. But I'll tell ya one thing is that your all going to regret taken that brat-

Next thing sky and hyrule know a sound of a rifle shot and window break and both see the target spit out blood then go limp infront of them and sky let out a curse word and ran to the window to see a shadow figure running away and he can't make out many features even the gender that ske curse again as hyrule check the corpse is alive but feel the target pulse that it's pointless and back away.

Hyrule: a one shot death.....

Sky: time isn't going to be happy about this...

Four: hey! Sky,hyrule! Wind found something, he thinks it's a basement!

Sky and hyrule head back downstairs and look for four only to find him inside the kitchen.

Sky: were is the basement?

Four: in were the pantry room is but the door is small so wind gone in to look but what happen upstairs, heard gun shots.

Hyrule: the target been shot by unknown figure but the figure escape.

Four: well shit...I'm ain't going to write this report and time is going to have our asses on this.

Hyrule sign and sky rub his eyes since he'll likely be writing the full report but the three go to were the pantry room is and see a small door on the ground is open and they can hear wind cursing and he doesn't sound happy too.

Sky: hey wind! Find anything?!

Wind: well ya not going to fucking believe me but-

Hyrule: but what wind? Pack goods or drugs?

Sound of footsteps came back to the small door and wind crawl back through and look to the three with a uneasy expression.

Wind: there's body bags in there..

Sky: yeah so there a body bags in some localizations wind-

Wind: the body bags are not adults.....there's childs sizes..........I think....

Four: wind please dont-

Wind: I believe those are the lost children of.....

The four boys stay in slient and sky look to four as four look back.

Sky: text warrior and time....tell them we found the lost children...

Four slow to move and grab his phone that have the four colors and open the screen to see a picture of himself and his colors brothers and go to the texting app to text warrior first since he have connections to the police and his zelda will likely help then text time and close his phone and return to see wind going back in so he join him too to help him to confirm on how many but find out it's the same amount that the lost children been missing and look around this dark,mossy,smelly room with only their phones as their light source.

[wonda-ch]

A little something from the everyday life in the fhr AU in which David and Ryder are quite comfortable.

As a small thank you to @m3k-fhr

With the help of my best partner in crime @westealtoys

About crumbs and suspicions

The sun was high above the busy city. Despite the cloudless sky, the polluted air made the sunlight seem pale. With Ric's words 'sunlight is good for your mental health' in mind, Cyn sat on a hidden bench in the dog park. Her layered clothing was too warm anyway, even the lighter shades of gray and purple she had chosen did not protect her from the heat. That's why she had picked the shady bench, but she was outside, so that would count.

The lemon muffins she had baked with the beautiful cream topping had become overly crumbly, which the Chihuahua hoovering between her feet noted with glee. It was thankfully quiet, most people had been in the park with their dogs in the morning, and noon was a good time to be here.

Only this man sitting on the bench across the meadow bothered her. No dog seemed to belong to him, he was just sitting there. Who goes to a dog park without a dog? He looked friendly, greeting every dog that passed by with a smile, but his elegant outfit was so out of place in this setting.

There was something strange about him, she couldn't read him, not like the others here, it was as if his mind was like an armor around him, protecting him. Her thoughts jumped from one idea to the next, was he a spy, an adversary, an enemy she didn't know about yet, or even one of those she was expecting? She felt her pulse rise, he seemed a little nervous, rubbing his hands together, looking over his shoulder. And then, on the other side of the meadow. Was he looking at her? Immediately he turned his attention back to the few dogs playing in front of him.

So focused on the supposed danger that could come from the man across from her, a sudden noise and strange touches on her legs made her jump and take a deep breath. Christ!

The Chihuahua had been engaged in a scuffle with a fat pigeon between her feet over the last crumbs of the muffin. Fluttering wildly, the pigeon flew away, and the triumphant mini-dog enjoyed the last of the treats before disappearing.

The man with the wavy black hair from the other bench had noticed her moment of shock and looked over with a sympathetic smile. She sat back down, smiled and nodded back briefly, but held her breath, trying to get her feet into an inconspicuous good position, ready to make her escape.

Suddenly another man, carrying a coffee cup, jumped from behind on the bench where her supposed enemy was sitting. Dressed more casually, more appropriate for this place, he gave the first man a quick peck on the cheek, handed him the coffee, and then leaned his head against his shoulder. His mind was also protected, she would have to break into it to find out something interesting. But even that was dangerous, they might notice that she was there, she would expose herself.

Was the second backup, called in because she had been spotted? Her muscles tensed unbearably as she continued to watch what was going on. They were talking, were they talking about her? She couldn't hear the words, but they both seemed nervous. Were they afraid of her? That would be an advantage.

Then they stood up, the first helping the second light a cigarette, seeming to tease him. Was that a quick glance at her? Without another look, they walked away. Was she really just watching a date between friends? Then all the nervousness would have been for nothing. Maybe she really was too rarely out and much more paranoid than she thought, but she wouldn't admit that to Ric.

She shared the last piece of muffin with the fat pigeon that was still sitting wide-eyed in front of her. Then she went home, to a safer place, that was enough fresh air for today. But just to be on the safe side, she took a few detours. ----

David waited for Ryder on the bench that had become their meeting place in the past.

Ryder loved the dog park, and David was beginning to understand why. The joy of the dogs was contagious.

There were few people there that noon, but one woman was giving him a headache. She was sitting on a slightly hidden bench in the shade, eating a muffin. Actually rather inconspicuous, except for the fact that she was almost as unreadable to his telepathic powers as Ric.

He tried not to show it, but remained alert. Just leaving was out of the question now, if she really was an enemy, he couldn't just let Ryder walk into the trap.

Hell, he cared about him, it had already come to that. It was good to have an ally. Even better to have an ally, or even a friend, from whom he had no secrets. Almost none, but he would sort that out later.

For now, he had to be cautious and not show it. Suddenly, the woman jumped up and he flinched, but he quickly caught himself before she could notice.

A pigeon had frightened the woman. Why was she so nervous?

He almost didn't notice when Ryder suddenly jumped over the bench and sat down next to him. A coffee, then a kiss on the cheek and his head on David's shoulder, the familiarity they'd gained over the past few weeks felt nice.

David drew Ryder's attention to the suspicious woman, but remembered to keep his smiling mask on.

Ryder was getting nervous, too afraid of getting caught. Not now, not when something positive was about to happen and they still had so much to sort out. Not until they could once and for all destroy their enemies and fight for their freedom, together. His hands trembled slightly.

Maybe together they could take her out quickly and unnoticed. But David advised him to stay calm. Maybe he was right, maybe not, they had to be careful.

Get some distance first. Another view of the situation. David lit a cigarette for him to keep his hands steady. He knew him so well already. It was time to show him his other side, time to reveal the last secret.

They left, walking slowly and inconspicuously into town. No one followed. No one was watching them. This time it was a false alarm and next time they would be even better prepared. They would work on it immediately.

[partyanimal167]

To Each Their Own- Sanji and Zoro

Another fic for my Spy Event! I think this is one of my first times actually writing for Sanji so that's exciting. I wanted to do a kind of "day in the office" situation with this prompt. Not every day is about escaping rapid gunfire or exploding buildings. The agents have other matters to attend to.

🔪 Gadgets, Weapons, and Training- Zoro and Sanji

cw: sfw, canon typical banter, cussing

A good spy should be well-rounded. You never know what situation you will find yourself in. Be ready to adapt and find a way to come out on top.

It was not everyday that Sanji and Zoro would be asked to stop by the training department together. As far as either of them are concerned, they knew what they were good at and could prove it at any given moment. However, there were rules and regulations. Health check-ins and new fancy tools were to be expected. And with Usopp being part of their graduating spy class, there was no way either of the men would turn down his requests.

So after stopping by the medical labs and getting poked and probed, they entered the lab and met with their good friend.

Usopp chuckled to himself as the two men waled in side-by-side yet were bickering about who knows what.

"Hehe, welcome gentlemen! Franky and I have some new things to test out." He stood from his desk and pressed on the glass table top. A button lit up before a drawer opened on its own. He pulled out a sword. Zoro reached out for it, but Usopp pulled it back. "This is not for you." he then tossed it at Sanji who caught it easily.

Usopp grinned before waving the clipboard in his hand. "It's a special sword, but the bosses wants an update on both your skills test." the men groaned in unison. "Oi oi, you know the rules. And then you will see the greatness of my creations." he laughed.

Sanji fidgeted with his pocket but fought the urge to take out s cigarettes. "Why are you giving this to me?"

Zoro stuffed his hands in his pocket as he watched his opponent observe the sword and switch it from hand to hand. "Moss-head, I think you better take a sword out before I put you in the infirmary." Sanji chuckled.

"Curly, if I had a sword with me, that'd put you at a disadvantage." Zoro barked back. "I'm a nice guy." Sanji scoffed in response.

Usopp raised his hands up. "Hey now, you two are ones who decided to switch fighting styles." he dropped his head and shook it. "Why can't things be simple between you two?" he muttered.

He then stepped away and blew a whistle. Immediately, Zoro took a stance while closing his eyes--waiting for his opponent to make a move. His eye twitched, and he swung his leg to stop the sword's swing with his boot. The collision caused some sparks before the men jumped and put distance between themselves.

Zoro chuckled. "Not bad, Swirly."

Sanji held the sword with both hands and rolled his neck. "Don't taunt me, marimo." He then turned the hilt and blocked a sudden kick. He swung under but kicked overhead--both motions blocked by Zoro.

"Hehe, so you need to use your feet and a sword." Zoro jabbed.

Sanji moved in for another attack. "Tch, treat this like a real scenario you idiot. Your enemies aren't going to stick to some dumh battle code." He swung and managed to tear the man's shirt.

"I don't need that lecture from you." Zoro then ducked as the sword's blade lengthened--increasing its range. Damn Usopp is always making some weird shit.

The men continued to spar even after Usopp blew his whistle again. He had enough notes to make for the their physical report as well as improvements to the unique sword and steel-enforced boots he gave Zoro. As much as the men had their unique preferences, they knew how to change their fighting based on what was needed.

By the end of it all, Usopp brought over bottles of water for the men who were arguing about the winner. They turned to Usopp to settle it, but the young man knew better than to answer that.

"So what do you guys think? Wanna take my gadgets out to the field?" Usopp beamed proudly.

"Eh~" the men dragged out.

"Come on! What was the problem!?" their friend whined.

Zoro only grunted while Sanji smiled gently and patted Usopp's shoulder. "They were great, thanks." he headed for the exit. Zoro got up to follow.

"We're just old school." he grumbled.

Usopp watched as the men left together. Only a minute passed before the arguing started again.

"You looked stupid holding a sword."

"Well fuck you too, if I was really trying then we would have had to call Chopper!"

"Oh really? Then why do you look like shit huh? Still breathing pretty hard I see-,"

Usopp shook his head and chuckled. Yeah some things never do change.

~~~

Wow this was also my first time writing Usopp. It's a different vibe for me, but I do love the dynamics between the Straw Hats.

Check out the other prompts if you want! I'm excited to see you guys' ideas!

[mlmxreader]

Don't Think Like That | Bridget Von Hammersmark x m!reader

anonymous asked: Hello there could you write "I love you, doesn't that matter at all?" whit an m!reader and Bridgette Von Hammersmark?

She's my best girl and I need more content whit her <3

Also thank you very much in advance!

summary: you want your last thoughts to be of her, but she's not going to let you think about dying just yet

tws: smoking, mentions of death

Winter was coming, the air was so cold that even five minutes out in it without proper gear would and could result in colds and flus and shivering for hours on end, with frost coating everything; hiding out in the woods wasn't any fun, but thankfully, your girlfriend Bridget had a little safehouse where you and your men could go. Part of the allied forces, you had been marched into the city during the spring, and although people had been expecting wintery conditions, they didn't expect anything like this in the slightest; your men were cold, and when Bridget welcomed them into her home, she made sure that there was enough firewood to keep everything nice and warm for you all.

But while you were snuggled up to her beneath a thick duvet and a blanket that was ever so soft and ever so warm, you couldn't help but to swallow thickly. "What'd you do if I gets shot and killed?"

"I'd mourn you," Bridget replied, "I'd mourn you until my last breath, Scharfschütze."

You nodded, knowing that it was a strong possibility; while she was working on your side, about to go and help a group of Americans in a few weeks, spying on behalf of the allies... you knew it was all too possible that you would never see her again. A sniper, you knew that it was possible that you could easily be shot at any given time, any given moment. Your days together were numbered.

"Maybe we should escort you," you started, "y'know, make sure that you at least safely meet the Americans."

But Bridget cleared her throat, and moved so that she was leaning on your chest, tracing it with the tip of her index finger as she shook her head. "Mein Mann... can you stop worrying for eins moment?"

You smiled, reaching up to tuck a stray hair behind her ear as you licked your lips and allowed your gaze to drop to your dog tags hanging around her neck. "It's my job to worry."

"Not right now," she insisted. "Later... I haven't seen you in so long, I want to be with mein (y/n), not the army's... be the army's (y/n) later. Bitte. Für mich."

"Es tut mir Leid," you whispered, gently tracing her jaw as you nodded. "I'm all yours, Schatz."

"Danke," Bridget leaned down, capturing your lips for a quick moment. A smile came to her as she pulled away, holding your chin as she studied your features as if she wanted to remember them until she had been dead for a hundred years. "Are you hungry? You've hardly eaten since you've arrived."

You shook your head. "We've lived off of less... we'll be fine."

But Bridget wouldn't accept that as she got up and made her way over to her wardrobe, digging through it until she found a small box; she smiled to herself as she brought it over. The perk of being famous was that her rations meant she could have extra treats, and there was no one she wanted to share them with more than the man she loved so dearly.

She placed it on your thighs, sitting on the edge of the bed as she lit up a cigarette and gestured for you to open it; inside wasn't much, just some cheese and some chocolates, but it was more than you had had for years. Since you had joined up in thirty eight.

You looked at her for a moment, wishing that you had a camera that would give you a picture of that exact moment; her smile, her hair slightly messy, your dog tags hanging around her neck. She didn't look like a film star, she didn't look like some immortal being; she looked like Bridget. She looked like the woman you always thought of when you passed by a zoo and remembered your first date. She looked like the woman who could make you laugh so hard that you had tears in your eyes and your stomach ached. She looked like the woman who could kick your ass and make you thank her for it.

She looked like your Bridget. And all you could hope for was that, if a fascist was going to shoot you, your last thoughts would be of her. Your last words would be a soft "I love you, Bridget" as your life was ripped from you.

"Eat," she told you. "You're starved, eat."

"I love you, doesn't that matter at all?" You asked with a soft laugh. "Can't I just take one look at you so if I get shot, this'll be the last thing I see?"

"Nein," she replied, "you mustn't think like that."

You smiled, maybe she was right.

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; spam likers WILL be blocked. as will blogs that refuse to reblog or to give feedback. if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM. don't just "like", REBLOG

[lovejustforaday]

2023 Year End List - #4

Maps - Billy Woods and Kenny Segal

Main genres: Abstract Rap, Conscious Rap, Jazz Rap

A decent sampling of: Experimental Rap, Political Rap, Lo-fi Hip Hop, Glitch Hop

As much as I enjoy a lot of the output of Armand Hammer, I have to say that Billy Wood's last two records under his own name have definitely been a considerable cut above. Less experimental, but more focused and cohesive in their vision.

Of course, this isn't really just a 'Billy Woods' record, which, then again, can be said about most 'solo' albums since a majority of them still have multiple credited producers. But moreover, going off of its own title, this record is also a Kenny Segal project; the second collaborative project under both names after 2019's Hiding Place.

I've already talked about Woods himself to the point that it's kinda beating a dead horse if I were to try summarizing the artist again. You can always go ahead and check out one of the three other reviews regarding his work that I've put up on this blog. TL;DR he's the king of abstract hip hop of the last few years.

As for Kenny Segal, I can't say that I'm awfully familiar with any of his work beyond this project, but some quick googling tells me he's worked on projects with other underground/alternative rappers like Open Mike Eagle and Milo. So he sounds pretty legit, and I'm certainly impressed with what he's laid down on this LP.

Woods' previous record Aethiopes was my first runner-up AOTY last year, so I was anticipating a real treat with this latest release. And hoo boy was I right. The man's done it again.

Aesthetically, Maps exists in a state of limbo between icy bitter cold nights in run down cityscapes, manifested through throbbing low-hum, lo-fi beats, and first class flyer luxury waiting lounges with tasteful jazz accompaniment. To me, the record is sort of an allegory for the great paradoxes of late stage capitalism, wherein a society can have so much and yet so little simultaneously. Seeing what's been happening in real-time here in my own city over the last two years just makes the imagery of this record so incredibly timely.

Woods' own official description of the record is "an album about trying to find your way home, after making your home wherever you lay your head." Fitting, because this album leaves me feeling a little lost in a fucked up world every time I listen to it.

One thing that really impresses me about this particular record is the versatility in atmospheres it can create from track to track. This might also be the most melodic and accessible project I've heard from Billy Woods, which still isn't to say that this is "pop rap" by any stretch of the definition, but more something you could readily recommend to your friends who aren't already in over-their-head under the murky waters of underground hip hop's weirdest beats.

"Soft Landing" makes me wanna rub the tired out of my eyes. This exhausted lo-fi beat got me feeling like I'm coming home late from work on a Friday night and I just wanna kick back with some low lighting and get a little tipsy.

The shaky big band jazz rap of "Blue Smoke" is giving me big "For Free?" vibes off of Kendrick's To Pimp A Butterfly but with a little more chill. Billy raps his way through gourmet food metaphors and references to situationist philosophy and FBI agents trying to spy on him.

"Babylon By Bus" is absolutely chilling. Underwater minimalist noises reverberate in the background to fill the void between hats and snares trembling and twitching to form a coherent rhythm, before some of the lowest notes on an old grand piano begin to stalk you from the shadowy depths of barely audible caverns below. All of this could easily be taking place in the dingiest abandoned subway station. This is the kind of track Billy Woods really shines with - bleak atmosphere so palpable that you can listen and start to breathe the unpleasant cigarette smoke and perceive the dim flickering glow of public LED white lights, with bars that immerse you in the familiar creep of your most cynical public transit thoughts.

"Year Zero" features Danny Brown in what is honestly probably the best bars he's laid down in 2023, despite having spearheaded two of his own LPs in the same year. Musically, this is just menacing - no other way to really describe the mood of this beat. It's very Billy Woods and I love it. Should be blaring out of broken old car stereos in a sketchy back alley.

After a series of much harder, murkier tracks, "The Layover" winds things down into a sprinkling piano beat that you could easily recline into. There's a real ebb and flow at work here, and I appreciate having these breathers to make the more grisly cuts go down a little smoother. Really does feel like a layover between flights.

"FaceTime" is like a puff of weed clouds that take on a humanoid silhouette and turns into a personal head masseuse. Bittersweet saxophones and lyrics, but also very soul cleansing. Also, WHAT THE FUCK THAT'S THE GUY FROM FUTURE ISLANDS SINGING THE REFRAIN? You mean, the same one dancing like your dad in the 80s on David Letterman? I mean hey, big respect. Sam's got a handsome fucking voice that could make public service health and safety recalled food announcements sound absolutely gorgeous. And just gotta add that the sound design here is absolutely flawless, mad props to Kenny Segal.

As it stands right now, I think last year's Aethiopes is still my favourite Billy Woods project, but this definitely comes damn close, and there's a little more variety put on display here. I think this would be a better introduction to his work for most folks.

I could comment on how the last stretch of tracks is a fair bit weaker than the rest, save for "Waiting Around". But on the other hand, that run of "Babylon by Bus" through "FaceTime" is arguably the best mid-section off of any album this year, and really just one of the best stretches of five or six tracks in general for the decade so far.

Maps is further proof that Billy Woods is one of the most talented artists in hip hop right now, criminally underrated by the mainstream but rightfully lauded by the underground scene and dorky hipsters alike. He's almost guaranteed a spot on my next year end list if he decides to drop anything else this year. In the meantime, I think it's my duty to start playing catch-up with his prolific back catalogue.

9/10

Highlights: "Babylon by Bus", "FaceTime", "Year Zero", "The Layover", "Soft Landing", "Blue Smoke", "Hangman", "Rapper Weed", "Waiting Around", "Soundcheck"

[ffxiv-swarm]

prompt 26: last

Tirus Family Salon hasn’t survived the war unscathed, but it has survived. It turns out that all those very, very flammable chemicals used for setting hair and painting nails are excellent for keeping people warm in the snow, and with heat sorted out they’ve managed to keep most—not all—of their block alive. Battered and bruised and broken, but alive. Portia nearly cries with joy when she realizes that the coffee shop on the corner is still standing, even with the sign gone and the owner getting treated for tempering.

But as she stands in front of the salon with her cousin Calpurnia, neither of them are smiling.

Calpurnia has the same dark brown hair as her mother, Portia’s aunt. The last time they’d seen each other—just as the civil war was breaking out, when Portia had been assigned to spy for the Alliance—it had been straight and shining all the way to Calpurnia’s waist. Now it’s cropped messily short, the better to keep it clean, and gets messier as she rakes a hand through it. “Well,” she mutters. “I guess this is the end of it.”

Portia inhales, wishes she had a cigarette, and exhales again. “We’re still holding on,” she murmurs back. It feels wrong to raise her voice in front of the tomb of their family’s legacy. “You could rebuild—”

But Calpurnia’s already shaking her head. “After all this? After all we’ve been through? Portia, you don’t know—you were safe in Eorzea! With Aunt Julia! You weren’t here watching this place die around you!”

Now she’s shaking, her fists clenched tight, and Portia lifts a hand to put it on her shoulder—only to drop it as her cousin flinches away. False gods, she really wishes she had a cigarette. Especially because the worst of it is that Calpurnia’s right—she’d been in Eorzea, malms away, and she’d had no idea just how bad it had been until she’d stood in the shadow of the tower. Her eyes prickle with tears at the memory of that day. I was too late. I was a fool. I should’ve taken the whole family with me when I had the chance, damn Loren’s complaints.

But recriminations won’t help either of them now. She mutters, “Aye. I wasn’t. But I’m here now.”

Calpurnia seems to be mastering herself a little, or at least seems less likely to punch someone. Then again, she’s still not looking in Portia’s direction. There’s a long moment of silence before she mutters back, “You are. And...I’m glad for it, truly. But Mum and Mama are right. We’re closing up shop, at least for the foreseeable future. Can you really say this city needs hairdressers?”

Portia stares up at the ruined facade of the salon and thinks.

They need food. Heat. Clothing. Next to those necessities of life, well...

It can’t hurt. She remembers living down by the Lominsan docks, subsisting on bread and beer and fish. It had been much more bearable after Alan had given her Macchia, after she’d had something to come home to. After she’d started, through taking Macchia for daily walks, to make actual friends.

Their family has run the salon for five generations. Hells, Calpurnia and her siblings were born in that apartment above the salon. She and Portia had grown up surrounded by people who knew them, who were nearly as close as blood. That closeness kept them alive—and sane—when their world was crumbling around them. When all other hope had been lost. When it seemed as though even the last flickering flame might fade.

“Actually,” she says finally, “I think it probably does. Come on, Callinetta. Are we going to let this stop us? Do you really want to be the last generation to live here, bringing a little bit of light into peoples’ lives? You’re the one who always used to say you feel better if you like th’ way you look! And if you ask me, everyone around here could do with a whole lot of feeling better.”

Her cousin is staring at her. Portia stares back. “What?” she finally asks, when it seems like Calpurnia’s been struck dumb.

Calpurnia shakes her head. “Fuck,” she mutters. “You’ve got to talk to my mums. Maybe we’ll work something out after all.”

[kaylans-imagines]

S2. Ep 1 & 2

Madmax & Trick or Treat, Freak

Word count: 7268

chapter warnings: semi follows the plot. lowkey kinda repetitive. cursing. halloween party.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Life in New York was nothing compared to life in Hawkins. She lived a luxurious, fast-paced life in the city that never sleeps. Indianapolis didn’t come close to New York’s skyline, which served as the first reminder of what would become her new life. The two were so vastly different, but she welcomed the change. The moment she was allowed off the plane, Y/N rushed off in search of her father amongst the sea of people. She groaned in annoyance, itching to push through the sluggish family walking in front of her. Her arms ached from the heavy bags she carried and from the desire to hug her father–for the first time in six years. She strained her neck, peering over shoulders, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Once she did, she couldn’t help but quicken her pace and speed toward him. 

Ambushing him with a hug and surprising him, she exhaled in contentment. She smiled upon hearing his grunt of shock, “hi, Jimbob.” 

He groaned and scowled, pulling away from the hug, “I told you to stop calling me that. It’s dad to you.” 

Y/N only laughed, “Hi, dad.” 

“Hi, Tulip,” he replied softly, unable to stay annoyed at his daughter, “I’ve missed you.” 

He pulled her into another hug and kissed the top of her head. 

“I missed you too, dad,” she muttered into his chest. She pulled away from him and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. 

“You ready to go home?”

“Absolutely,” satisfied with her answer, the two silently walked towards the doors. The cool autumn breeze of dawn blew through them, dragging the smell of cinnamon through the air.

“You want some breakfast? We have an hour drive ahead of us,” her father informed, “and we have to go straight to the station when we get to Hawkins.”

“I ate on the plane,” she said, “besides, nothing could possibly be open at seven in the morning.” 

Hopper hummed and helped her place her bags into the car's trunk. The two set out on the hour drive from the city to the small town, conversation filling the air as Hopper queried about her life in New York. The rising sun and its golden light glowed into the car while the morning autumn breeze drove through the windows. She didn’t know when she had dozed off, but her father interrupted her sleep after he pulled into the parking lot of the police station. Following his lead, she walked out of the car and smiled at the familiar man waiting for her father. 

“Good morning, Jim,” Murray greeted. Her father ignored him and continued his walk to the doors.

“Jim. Hold on a second. We need to talk,” Murray pleaded, walking behind her father. 

“Get away from me,” Hopper gruffed out, opening the door and urging her inside. 

“Okay, no…I think you really wanna hear this,” Murray continued.

“Get away from me,” Hopper sang, drawing a snort from her. 

“Trust me. I only want five minutes!” She silently applauded Murray’s persistence but respected her father’s stubbornness more. 

“Yeah, I want a date with Bo Derek,” he taunted, causing her to roll her eyes, “and to spend time with my daughter, unbothered. We all want things.” She greeted Florence with a small hug before allowing the older lady to pull the cigarette from his father's lips and toss it out. 

“This isn’t a laughing matter, okay?” Murray said, drawing an annoyed groan from Hopper and forcing him to walk away, “I really got something here. I’m telling you!” 

“Hey, morning Y/N,” Officer Powell greeted, “you just get in?”

“This morning, sir,” she answered.

“Got any proof on your butt-probin’ aliens yet, Murray?” Callahan teased. Y/N giggled. She settled in an empty seat and watched as Florence fussed over her father. Murray ignored their teasing and faced Hopper. 

“I believe there was, and very well may still be, a Russian spy presence in Hawkins,” Murray said, ignoring their taunting. Y/N furrowed her eyebrows and tilted her head. She knew Murray was prone to dramatics and storytelling. Still, Russians in Hawkins seemed extraordinary, and he once told her a story about an Alien race waiting for the perfect moment to invade earth. 

“Russian spies?” Hopper laughed incredulously, pouring her a cup of coffee and placing it in front of her before going back and doing the same for himself. 

“Are the spies in cahoots with the Aliens? Or how do they fit in here?” Callahan asked, “I’m confused.” Murray rolled his eyes. 

She tuned their conversation out, peering out into the streets of Hawkins. She was itching to leave the station and walk around the town she grew up in. She waited for Murray to stop talking before going up to her dad. 

“Okay if I go into town?” Hopper nodded his head and took a sip of his coffee. 

“Be careful,” he called after her, and she responded by throwing up a thumb on her way out. She bid Florence a goodbye before stepping out into the chilly streets. The town had only just begun to wake up. The roads were vacant of cars, and the only people visible were those opening up their shops. Disappointed, she ended her short walk and trekked toward the station. 

When she reached the station, her dad was getting into the car, “where are you going? Can I come?”

“I thought you were going into town?” her father asked, avoiding her question. She rolled her eyes and leaned into the door. 

“I did. Nothing’s open. Can I come?” She asked again. 

“Tulip,” he sighed, “you’re only gonna be bored. I have to check out some contaminated pumpkins.”

“I’d rather be bored somewhere else than here,” she stated and got into the passenger seat. Hopper groaned at her petulant behavior but got in. Any fight fought against would always prove futile. Any hill Y/N climbed would be a hill she would die on, and he wasn’t stupid enough to go against her stubbornness. He joined her in the car and rolled his eyes at her smug smile. 

“So, where are these contaminated pumpkins? And why does it require the chief of police?” Y/N asked after he’d gotten off the main road. 

“Merrill’s farm,” Hopper answered, “and because every minor inconvenience requires the chief in Hawkins. Apparently.” 

The drive to Merrill’s farm was silent. The song on the radio was the only thing. Y/N didn’t mind. Some of the best moments from childhood involved her dad and music. To her, a day well spent was with her father–even if he worked for most of it. After all, she started at Hawkins High the next day. Inspecting some pumpkins didn’t seem fun to anyone, not even her, but she was with her dad. That was all that mattered to her. 

The orange and reds that decorated the trees lining the road flashed before her eyes. It was cool enough to open the window and let the breeze dance through the car, and it was quiet. As much as she grew to love New York, she missed the scenic views of Hawkins and its silence. 

“Hey, dad,” Y/N called, reading the sign posted in front of the farm, “can we take some pumpkins home? If they’re not too contaminated.” 

“Aren’t you a little too old to be picking pumpkins?” Hopper asked. Y/N shook her head with a furrow of her brow. 

“Never,” she answered readily, mildly offended by what he had implied. Hopper scoffed in return and followed her towards the farmer. Y/N audibly gasped when they reached the blackened rows, internally gagging at the stench they produced. 

“You’re saying this was fine yesterday?” Her dad questioned, crouching down and poking at one with his pocket knife. 

“Fine? These were prize winners, Chief,” Y/N agreed. Merrill had the best pumpkins in all of Hawkins. A feeling of melancholy passed through her as she thought of the times her blended family would make it a day. She and Sara would spend hours seeking the best pumpkins before showing them off to their parents. She smiled bittersweetly, snapping herself out of the memory to watch her father. 

“For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what happened,” Merrill explained, “but then I remembered, Eugene.” 

At his vindictive voice, Y/N held back a laugh. 

“What about him?” Hopper asked, grimacing at the pumpkin by his feet. 

Her father had been right; she was bored. She wouldn’t admit it out loud; her father’s ego was big. Y/N let out a bored sigh and looked around, drowning out the conversation between the two men. Rustling in the field caught her attention while it caught her father’s attention. Worriedly, she watched as her father asked the older man a question before he stepped into the field. She jumped slightly upon hearing her father’s scream, inching closer to the entrance in the event of him needing help. 

Hopper rushed out, fear apparent in his eyes. Grabbing her wrist, he sputtered out, “let’s go. Merrill, I’ll investigate, okay?”

The older man looked at her father, gratitude laced in his eyes, “that’s all I ask, Chief.” 

Y/N followed her father towards the car without a word, rushing to keep up with his pace. She watched as her father got in the driver’s seat without a word. The car ride away from the farm was a tense one. Her father was hiding something from her, but she wasn’t one to pry. He’d tell her when he wanted her to know. 

“You mind if we don’t go straight to the station?” Hopper asked. Her gaze drifted from the window, sending him a crooked smile. 

“Not at all,” she replied, “after all, the excitement can’t stop just yet.”

“That’s my girl,”

Y/N looked at the changing scenery. Her eyes drifted towards the ugly building as her dad pulled into the parking lot. Her head tilted in confusion, but her dad ignored it. Instead, he stepped out of the car, and she followed after him. 

“Why are we here? What is here?” she questioned. 

“We’re waiting for a friend,” he dismissed, pulling out his cigarettes much to her distaste. She wandered towards the wildflowers growing within the cracks of the pavement and pulled one out. A car pulling in beside her father drew her from her studying. She turned her head in the direction of the car and grinned.

“Joyce!” She exclaimed happily. She swiftly ran to her, opening her arms for a long-awaited hug. Joyce grinned back and spread her arm to accept her affection. 

“Aw, look at you, Tully,” Joyce started, pulling away from her and gathering her face in her hands, “you look so much like your mother. You’re gorgeous.” 

Y/N blushed, “thank you.” 

Her stare turned towards the little boy standing beside her, sniffling to himself while he stared at the ground. A soft smile appeared on Y/N’s face, “hi, Will. I’m Y/N.”

“Hi,” he greeted. Y/N couldn’t help but swoon at his shy demeanor. 

“Hi, buddy,” Hopper directed at the little boy. Will replied in the same quiet tone. The four walked into the building together, questions running rampant in Y/N’s mind. She knew she wouldn’t get any answers, but that didn’t stop them from sparking. Y/N was left out in the waiting room. She had taken residence in the seat in front of the long hallway, hoping to catch sight of something other than the seemingly brown decor. With a bored huff, she picked up a magazine. 

She couldn’t pinpoint why she felt the room was strange; maybe it was the vibe. It looked like a typical doctor’s office, but something about it set off alarm bells in her head. She brushed it off as homesickness; after all, doctors in New York had their offices in the many skyscrapers that lined the sky. Shaking it off, she turned her attention to the astronomy magazine in her hand. She sighed, throwing it off to the side. It was too early to be missing her younger sister. 

The three walked down the winding hallway, tense expressions painted on their faces. Y/N sent them a smile, one they all struggled to return. She and Will led the two adults, the pair of them having a silent conversation amongst themselves. She couldn’t hear their conversation, and she wasn’t going to eavesdrop. If they wanted her to know, they would tell her explicitly. 

“You got any plans for tomorrow?” Y/N asked, making conversation. Will turned to her slightly and nodded. 

“Trick or treating,” came his terse reply. 

“Nice,” she said genuinely, “what are you going as?”

“A ghostbuster.” Their brief conversation came to an end when the adults reached their respective cars. A small piece of their conversation bled into their ears. Will got into the car, and Hopper motioned for Y/N to do the same. Obliging, she watched Joyce and her father finish their discussion. From the rearview, she watched her father light a cigarette. After a few moments, her father joined her in the car. 

“Is everything okay?” she asked, “with Will, I mean?” 

Her father nodded his head, “he’s fine. Just some check-ups.” 

“And you had to be there?” she asked. 

“Just moral support, Tulip,” her father said, attempting to trample her insinuation. 

“Sure,” Y/N snorted. 

~*~

The day bled into night, and the two left the station after bidding the other officers goodnight. The day's events had worn her out, and she hadn’t felt it in her bones until she was in the car, the destination clear in her mind. In her exhaustion, she hadn’t realized her father had parked the car until he was shaking her shoulder. She followed him out and grabbed her bags, her father grabbing hold of her other ones. 

“Wait, Tulip,” he halted her actions as they reached the porch of the cabin after having stepped over a tripwire and before she could open the door, “I have to tell you something.” 

She stared at him lazily; eyebrow raised, “what is it? I’m tired.” 

Her dad rubbed a hand over his face, “just wait, you’ll see. Seeing it will be so much easier than explaining it.” 

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows and nodded slowly, “okay? Whatever it is, will it explain why you moved to great-grandpa’s creepy ass cabin?” Hopper scowled at her but didn’t comment. 

“Yes,” he rolled his eyes. He turned to the door and began a rhythmic knock. Y/N shook her head in confusion but did nothing to prevent her from accepting it. Her dad was nothing if not weird. The lock clicked open, and Hopper motioned her in. The sound of the television filled the silence between them. He moved towards the tv set and turned it off, walking the small distance towards the kitchen. Y/N followed him wearily, wondering when he would explain his newfound weirdness to her. 

“Hey, what’d we talk about?” Hopper called out in question. An indistinct voice resounded. Y/N’s felt nothing but bewilderment. She turned to look at her father, but he only gave her a weak smile. The exhaustion she felt had gotten replaced with perplexity. 

“No signal,” came the same voice, except clearer. A little girl came into view, and Y/N gapped at her father. “It’s 8-1-5. You’re late.” 

Y/N had so many unanswered questions her father wasn’t about to answer. Hopper pushed back against his chair and looked at them both apologetically, for different reasons. “Yeah, I lost track of time. I’ll signal next time, all right?” 

Pulling herself out of her stupor, she glared at her dad. “What the hell is going on? Who is this child?” 

Her father only replied with a pointed look, “Uh, and it’s 8:15, not 8-1-5.” 

The little girl, dressed in her old overalls, took a seat in front of her father. The little girl seemed to ignore her presence, almost as if she hadn’t seen her. Y/N couldn’t be offended, her puzzlement getting the better of her. She wasn’t going to lie; the little girl was adorable. Her hair was curly and looked as soft as it could be, considering she was probably using her father’s three-in-one. Y/N felt a surge of protection course through her. 

“What the fuck?”

“Eight fifteen,” the girl repeated. The two started a small conversation, and Y/N’s heart melted at the sight of him interacting with the child. He spoke to her in the same tone he used to talk to her at that age when she was still figuring things out. He used to speak to her younger sister the same way. 

Tired of being a fly on the wall, she spoke up. “Uh, hello? Who is this?”

“Oh,” the little girl gasped. Hopper sighed. 

“Tulip, this is El,” he introduced, answering one of her many questions, “your sister.” 

“She’s my what?” Hopper stood up and dragged a stool towards the table, urging her to take a seat. Obliging, she stared at her father. She risked a glance at her supposed sister. El had been staring at her as if she were an enemy, waiting for the perfect moment to attack. 

“I took in El last year,” Hopper started. Her eyes grew considerably wider. 

“And you didn’t think that was worthy enough to tell me over the phone?” she asked, drawing an eye roll from her father for her snark. 

“Tulip, please,” he sighed, “look, she is the reason why I moved to the woods, okay? I had to protect her.” 

“Right,” she dragged slowly, “protect her from what? The world?” 

“Bad people,” El spoke up, “bad men.” 

Y/N turned her attention towards her and nodded slowly, “okay, so, the world.”

“I’ll explain everything, okay? I promise. But right now, I just need you to be as accepting as you usually are and stop with the dramatics so we can have a nice family dinner.” 

“Fine,” she sighed, looking at El with a friendly smile, “hi, El. I’m Tulip, your sister.” 

“Tuls,” El repeated, staring at her and gauging her reaction. The last thing she wanted to do was say the wrong thing. Y/N’s heart clenched in hurt at the sound of the nickname. Sara had been the first and only person to call her that. When she passed, she had taken that with her. Y/N wanted to correct El, but she didn’t. El wasn’t going to fill the void Sara had left in her heart, but that didn’t mean Y/N couldn’t make space for her. After all, El was her sister. 

“It’s nice to meet you, El,” Y/N smiled. El smiled back in return and looked at their dad. Hopper grinned before motioning for them to eat. As weird and confusing as her first day back was, Y/N knew she wouldn’t trade it for the world. It wouldn’t be Hawkins if it didn’t throw her odd moments. 

~*~

Y/N knew deep in her heart that her stubborn nature came from her father. As much as he liked to fight that title, it perfectly described who he was. Hopper had dropped the news on the two girls that they’d be sharing a room, and while Y/N didn’t have a problem with it, she wondered how sheltered El would do.

“Dad,” Y/N groaned, settling into the couch cushions with a fluffy blanket tossed over her legs, “I already told you I have no problem sleeping on the couch for the time being. I could’ve been asleep already.” 

Hopper stared at her from in front of the couch. His eyes narrowed. He had informed her of the lack of a bed in the bedroom. She knew she came on short notice and wasn’t bothered by the fact. She wanted to give El a final night of solitary before inevitably moving into her space. But her father was nothing if not pushy. 

“I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable, Tulip,” Hopper confessed, “I can sleep on the couch, and you can take my bed.”

Y/N made a show of laying back on the cushions, tucking herself in, and pulling the blanket up to her nose, “I am more than comfortable, dad. Please go to sleep.” 

Relenting, Hopper leaned forward and placed a kiss on her forehead. “Goodnight, Tulip.”

“Goodnight, Dad,” She watched as he walked away, eyes drifting from him towards El’s door. El’s honey eyes widened from the tiny sliver she’d been peeking through, not expecting to be caught. Y/N smiled at her and whispered loud enough so that she could hear.

“Goodnight, El,” the younger girl beamed at her before she repeated the phrase and shut her door. The exhaustion Y/N had previously felt washed over her as the darkness of the woods permeated the cabin. It swept over her like an unforgiving wave, unwilling to let her go. 

“Goodnight, Sare,” she muttered one last goodnight to her sister amongst the stars. With that, she closed her eyes. 

~*~

The dawn of the new day came a lot faster than Y/N wanted. The Hopper blood in her had her up with the sun, moving around in preparation for the day. She moved sluggishly, wanting to postpone the inevitable. While she had a history in Hawkins, she was still going to be regarded as the ‘new girl. She had grown up, and so had her childhood friends. 

“Morning, Jimmybob,” she greeted, plopping down on the table chair. 

“Why are you like this so early in the morning, Tulip?” her father asked. Y/N laughed and shrugged her shoulders.

“Because it bothers you, and I think that’s funny,” 

“‘course you do,” he rolled his eyes, “you excited for your first day?”

“Sure,” Y/N agreed sarcastically, “that’s definitely a word you can use.”

Hopper hummed from his place at the stove, “not excited, huh?”

Y/N dramatically dropped her head against the table, “not particularly, no. I mean, no one is ever excited about the first day of school, dad. Especially not if you’re the ‘new kid.’” 

Hopper snorted, “You’ll be fine, Tulip. You survived years in New York; you can survive this small town. Plus, you already have friends here. And when in doubt, flash people that pretty little smile of yours, and you’ll have them fighting to be part of your ‘clique.’” 

Y/N recoiled and grimaced at his choice of word, “don’t ever say ‘clique’ again. Also, it isn’t that easy.”

“You overthink,” Hopper chastised, “you’ll do great, Tulip because you’re you.”

“Thanks, Dad,” the two settled in comfortable silence. Y/N had busied herself with packing her school bag while her father watched over their breakfast. From the corner of her eyes, she caught sight of El draped in a white sheet with holes cut out for her eyes. She watched, stifling a laugh, as she innocently snuck up on Hopper. He turned and flinched, causing Y/N to let out the laughter she’d been holding in.

“Ghost,” El stated. Her innocence had Y/N’s heart softening. 

“Yeah, I see that,” Hopper gruffed, sending Y/N a glare.

“Halloween,” Y/N had chosen a bad day to return to Hawkins High. Halloween parties were popular in the small town. For many, it was the only excitement they could get. High schoolers would look forward to these parties, planning them months in advance. They served as a popularity tool—dividing the ‘in-crowd’ from the geeks and the nerds. She didn’t know whether or not she wanted an invitation. 

“They wouldn’t see me,” El said. Her voice caught Y/N’s attention.

“Who wouldn’t see you?” Hopper asked.

“The bad men,” 

Hopper looked at her, “what are you talking about?” 

“Trick or treat,” El informed. Hopper turned to look at her. 

“You want to go trick-or-treating?” He asked incredulously, “you know the rules.” 

“I don’t know the rules,” Y/N jumped in, wanting nothing more than to help El win her case. It was a wonder to Y/N how El hadn’t gone insane being cooped up inside every day for hours. She also knew firsthand just how overprotective and overbearing Hopper could be. “I don’t know many things in this house, actually. Why can’t she go trick or treating? I mean, she’s right; they wouldn’t see her.” 

Hopper turned to look at her, ignoring her and continuing his conversation with El. He was implacable in his stance. She had made her efforts in vain, and her pleas were wasted on deaf ears.  

El mugged at Hopper, a pout evident on her face. 

“All right, look,” Hopper sighed, his fingers rubbing his temple, “how about I get off early tonight, and I buy us a bunch of candy, and we can sit around and get fat, and we watch a scary movie together? The three of us? How’s that for compromise?”

Y/N pushed herself up from the table, “and on that note, I will be in the car. I’ll see you later, El.”

“I’ll be right there,” Hopper promised absentmindedly.

“Bye, Tuls,” El whispered. Y/N smiled and walked out, leaving the two to continue their conversation. Settling in the car, Y/N sighed. She let her smile drop and leaned back, closing her eyes. In the span of a day, she’d gained a sister and been forced to accept it as her new reality. She held no bearings against El, it wasn’t her fault, but she wished she had gotten notice before she was obligated to welcome her into her life.

Opening her eyes, she thought about the friends she’d left behind in Hawkins. The girls she’d run around with, picking flowers off the ground and rollerskating with until dusk. The boys who reluctantly welcomed her into their group (only because her father was an officer) with whom she would play basketball or soccer. And Steve. 

Steve who knew her better than she knew herself. The boy who she spent all of her hours and days with chatting about things off the top of their heads and sharing their elementary school gossip. The same Steve to who she’d said a teary goodbye. The one who had confessed to ‘like liking’ her before she left. Her Steve. 

She couldn’t help but wonder if Steve had replaced her in his heart, pushing her aside to make space for someone else. And if he did, would he let her back in?

“I need you to stop by the video store and pick up some movies,” Hopper rushed out. Y/N reeled back in confusion at his statement. It had done its impromptu job of knocking her back to reality, leaving her shocked. 

“Me? You said you would do it,” she reminded, crossing her arms, “compromise, remember?” 

Hopper rolled his eyes, “first of all, you’re an extension of me; therefore, I am doing it.”

Y/N gave him a blank look. Hopper ignored it and continued his spiel, “second of all, I don’t know what movies you girls wanna watch, so….”

“Okay, that is not how it works,” Y/N muttered, “and two, you could honestly pick whatever, and El would be fine.”

“El?” he questioned, “what about you?”

“I could have plans,” Y/N said, “my life doesn’t just revolve around you, you know.”

Hopper guffawed, turning to look at his daughter for a brief second, “what plans could you possibly have? It’s your second day back in Hawkins.”

Y/N gaped at him in offense, “I most definitely could have plans.”

Hopper’s laugh still flowed through the car as he responded, “you don’t have any plans, Tulip.”

“That’s rude,” Y/N huffed. Hopper’s laughter turned into light chuckles as he pulled into the high school’s parking lot. He turned to look at his daughter, who sported a pout. 

“Alright, I’m done,” he informed, chuckling one last time. “I’ll see you at home. And please get the movies. They’re for your sister.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” she dismissed, waving her hand. She reached for the door handle only to be stopped by her father. She furrowed her brow and turned to look at him, surprised by the serious look on his face.

“I just wanted to thank you, Tulip. I have a lot of explaining to do, I know, and I will. You were so accepting of and gracious with El; I know that eased her greatly. So, thank you.”

“What are sisters for, right?”

“You’re the best one,” Hopper stated, “now get out.” 

“Oh, I love you, too, dad. Have a great day,” Y/N responded sarcastically. The smile on her face betrayed her tone. From the open window, her dad chuckled and called out to her loudly. 

“Have a phenomenal day at school, Tully Wully Tulip.” 

Y/N paused in her step and rolled her eyes, sighing before calling back a response. “Bye, Jimbob. You have a fantastic day at work!”

Stepping into the high school felt like a fever dream. Y/N thought about the first time she’d ever walked through the halls of Hawkins High. It was during a field trip conducted by the middle school during her eighth grade. Back then, she had looked at the grandiose walls in wonder and excitement, muttering to Steve every thought that came to mind. They’d planned out what they would wear on the first day of school and how they would decorate their lockers. Y/N kept her word, but she doubted that Steve did. 

The thrill she once had of walking through the halls vanished. They were once magnificent and grand, but now they were daunting and unwelcoming. The fact that she was alone hadn’t struck her until she was forced to locate the main office without anyone by her side. She was left to walk the crowded halls, feeling like she was nothing but a fly on the wall. In a crowd of people, she was the only one without a friend. 

“Well, well, well. Look at what the cat dragged in,” She jumped at the sound of a snarky voice going straight into her ear. Wide-eyed, she turned toward the culprit. 

“Tina,” Y/N smiled at her former friend, “I see you’re stealing your moms makeup.” 

The brunette chuckled, “You get into your moms clothes again, Tulip? Look, I wanted to welcome you back to Hawkins by inviting you to my party.” 

Y/N looked down at the orange poster she’d been handed, reading the corny phrase, “come and get sheet faced?” 

“Clever, right?” the brunette laughed.

“Super,” she replied, “you come up with it yourself?”

“Yeah, actually,” the brunette confessed, proud of herself, “anyway, will I see you there?”

Y/N rolled her lips and gave her a terse smile, “we’ll see. I can’t be predictable.” 

With a wink, Tina walked away and left Y/N in the middle of the hallway. She breathed out and shook her head, asking for directions to her next class from some guy passing by her. The day had just started, and she was already over it. 

~*~

Truth be told, she was expecting the school day to be worse. What it lacked in excitement, it made up with dullness. She would take that over being the center of attention any day. Y/N was bummed not to have seen Steve the entirety of the day. Their paths failed to cross, and they seemed to have none of the same classes. Her only hope was that their lockers were near each other. She was left yearning for something- what it was, she didn’t know—but the feeling was rooted in her chest. 

She’d only seen a handful of her old friends from a distance. They had shared smiles laced with declarations of wanting to catch up and talk about their lives. Promising to find time amidst their busy lives. 

Y/N shuffled the brown paper bag of horror movies from one arm to the other, knocking on the door and waiting for El to let her in. The lock clicked open, and with her foot, Y/N pushed it open, eyes searching for El.

“El? I brought some snacks,” she informed, “I don’t know what you like, so I sorta brought everything.” She cringed at the sight of all the sweets on the table. Her dad was going to have a hernia. 

Joining the younger girl on the couch, Y/N crossed her legs under her and turned to the old show on the tv that had captured El’s attention. 

“What exactly are we watching?” Y/N asked, eyes glued to the actress with an overall sweet voice.

“TV,” was all El said. Y/N nodded slowly, accepting her answer. She decided to keep quiet and watch the television, despite not understanding a single thing. Her father had told her to be patient with El, and that was what she would be. It was nice being an older sister again. 

“School?” El asked. She had never initiated a conversation with Y/N before. She’d only ever stared at her with warm honey eyes and a gaze of trepidation. It startled Y/N. She welcomed the change of pace; if El was starting conversations with her, it meant she was beginning to trust her. 

“School was good,” Y/N informed, “but I’d rather be here with you than over there; people over there stink.” 

El turned back to the television, effectively ending the conversation. Y/N failed to take offense. Whatever reason El had for being reserved was hers and hers alone, and she wasn’t about to pry. She watched El from her peripherals. She seemed so engrossed on the acting that it almost made her feel bad for wanting to change the channel. Almost. 

One way or another, she would have to bond with El, and if watching weird old-time television was how El wanted to go about it, then Y/N would submit even if she was lost beyond return. Time drifted past them, Y/N struggling to keep her eyes open. She hadn’t realized how much time had passed or how dark it had gotten until El stood up and walked past the tv. 

“El?”

“L-A-T-E,” she translated, “late.” 

Y/N watched her, concern taking over after El seemed stuck in a trance. She called her name delicately and received no response. She stood up and slowly walked towards her, her hand outstretched. She placed it on her shoulder, softly shaking her out of her thoughts. Y/N gave her a warm smile. 

“You okay?” all she received was a nod. “Hopper’s going to be late? That’s fine. We can start the fun without him. How about you go pick a movie, whichever one you want, and I’ll get the popcorn going.”

El complied, walking over to the brown bag and pulling them out, laying them on the table with the covers on top. Y/N was almost certain she would decide which film to watch based on how colorful the cover was. The two settled in their respective spots on the couch after Y/N popped in the first film, almost forgetting that her father was meant to be there. Almost. 

Knocking from the door had El jumping a few feet into the air. Y/N chuckled as she glared at the door. 

Hopper’s voice rang through the wood, “Hey, kids. Open up, all right? Look, I know I’m late.”

El simply glared at the door. Her father continued, “I got candy here, all right? I got all the good stuff.” 

Y/N laughed at the vindictive look on El’s face. She had the Hopper Stubbornness, and she couldn’t be any prouder. Hopper pounded on the door, pleas falling from his lips. “Please, will you open the door? I’m gonna freeze to death out here.”

Y/N got up and unlocked the door, letting her capricious father in. He closed it behind him, eyes searching for El across the room. His eyes landed on his eldest door, who motioned towards the door of her bedroom. Y/N took that as the perfect opportunity to swiftly make her way to the bathroom to change. She would leave Hopper to deal with placating his youngest daughter. Y/N was going to a party.

She opened the door and smiled at her dad, “I’m off to a party. I’ll be home by 12:30, one at the latest. Good luck with El.”

“Wait, wait, wait, hold on,” her dad stopped her, “where do you think you’re going?”

Y/N stared at him, confused, “I just told you to a party. I told you I had plans, old man. As riveting as watching you beg for El’s forgiveness is, I’d rather not be classified as a loner on my first day back. So, I’ll see you later.” 

Hopper shook his head and sat down on the couch. Y/N waved at him as she grabbed his keys from the hook and walked to the car. She figured one party wouldn’t be the worst thing. She had been a partygoer and host in New York but wanted to cut ties with her old life. She wanted to be a new version of herself, one she actually liked. But, one mediocre party in a sleepy town wouldn’t hinder her change. 

~*~

She heard the house party before she saw it, Duran Duran playing loudly in the neighborhood. The single-family home was decked out in lights and vibrating with how loudly they had the music settings. A row of cars parked in and around the house’s driveway. She stepped onto the grass, rolling her eyes at the dick show that was the keg stand. 

“Oh,” she gasped as she entered the door, immediately being handed a red solo cup. 

“Well, if it isn’t Hawkins’ very own Debbie Harry,” someone said behind her. She turned and smiled at a familiar face, throwing her arms around the slightly taller boy.

“Jonathan!” 

“Tulip,” he greeted back, “when did you get back?”

“Yesterday, but today was my first day at Hawkins High. Tina invited me,” she informed. Jonathan raised an eyebrow.

“Personally?”

“Yup, gave me a flier and everything,” Y/N shrugged. 

“Chief Hopper let you come to a party?” Jonathan asked incredulously. 

“My dad isn’t much of a saint, Jonathan,” she informed, “and he definitely wasn’t one in high school. He knows he’d be a hypocrite if he stopped me.” 

The pair walked into the crowd, unintentionally losing one another. Rather than wasting time looking for Jonathan, she made rounds. Briefly keeping conversations with the people she’d left behind. She peered at everyone, hoping to catch sight of the one person she’d been missing. She wondered if he would recognize her or if she would recognize him. Six years was a long time. 

Her efforts were successful when his body bumped into hers, taking her by surprise as she dropped the liquid in her cup onto her shirt. “Jesus Christ.” 

She heard a spluttered apology leave his lips in a rushed tone as he swiftly passed her. Y/N rolled her eyes, glaring at his retreating figure. It hadn’t clicked for her that the body that had barreled into her was his. Not until she caught sight of his familiar warm eyes walking up the stairs behind someone. 

“Hey, Tina,” she greeted the bubbly girl after seeing her with the drinks, “do you have a bathroom?” 

“Mhm,” she replied, giggling slightly. Y/N couldn’t help but wonder how many drinks she had in her system, “up.”

“Thanks.” 

As she was going up, he was going down. Seeing it as her chance for confrontation, she held her hands out and stopped him. Cursing silently, she shoved some of the bodies hoarding the stairs in search of a bathroom.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” she questioned. She didn’t know if she was expecting an apology or an ‘I missed you’ from him. Either worked for her. 

“Look,” Steve huffed, “I don’t know you, nor do I owe you anything. I just want to leave this stupid party. Alone. Not with some girl.”

“Excuse me?” That was far from what she was expecting.

“You heard me.” 

She scoffed, “when did my best friend turn into such a douche canoe?” 

She didn’t have time to see the recognition fall on his face. She pushed past the remaining bodies lining up the walls, searching for a bathroom to clean her shirt under. Kicking out the couple making out, she took her shirt off and ran it under the tap. Profanities escaped her lips every so often. 

She couldn’t help but be disappointed at her best friend changing. He had turned into the thing he’d sworn he would never become. An asshole. He hated his father for being the way that he was, and he was slowly turning into him. She wondered if Steve knew what was happening. If he had anyone bringing him down from the sky and keeping him grounded. The chances were low. Grounding someone like Steve Harrington, a boy who had everything, wasn’t an easy feat. But it used to be her favorite. And she did it so well. But he’d changed. 

Pushing open the door, she walked down the mass amounts of sweaty and sticky bodies. Not wanting to go through the front door and its line of horny couples, she opted for the back door. The area was void of students. The boom of the music shook the ground, but it eased the forming headache. Y/N took a seat on Tina’s outside couch, rubbing her hand against her face. 

“Hey,” came a hesitant voice, “I come in peace.” 

Y/N rolled her eyes, “hi.” 

“You look nice,” he complimented, leaning against the house, “you Debbie Harry?” 

“Yeah,” she answered, looking at him up and down, “and you look nice too.” 

Steve chuckled and sat on the outside couch next to her, “not like a douche canoe?” 

“No, you still look like a douche canoe,” the two laughed, “but you make a pretty good Joel Goodsen.” 

Steve’s eyes lit up, “you know who I’m supposed to be?” 

“‘Course, I do,” she replied, half offended, “why wouldn’t I?” 

“Because no one at this godforsaken party did,” his tone had her furrowing her eyebrows. 

“Not enjoying the party, I take it?” she asked. Steve let out a breath and shook his head. 

“Not even a little bit,” he said earnestly. His answer explained his mood and his rudeness, “you?” 

“I was,” she laughed, “you know before someone spilled a drink on me and then refused to apologize.” 

Steve cringed, “fuck. I didn’t mean to make your first party in Hawkins a bad one. I’ll make it up to you.” 

“How do you know this is my first party in Hawkins?” 

“Because you haven’t been here in six years,” he said, “and I know you didn’t attend high school parties when we were kids.” 

Silence settled between the two. The night's cool air seeped into her, sending shivers down her body. The frigid wind met her wet shirt creating an icy feeling course through her body. Steve noticed her shiver, and before she knew it, he placed his blazer jacket over her. 

“Wanna take a walk?” he asked out of the blue. 

“I don’t know,” she started, voice teasing, “walking with a guy dressed like Joel from Risky Business doesn’t really settle my nerves of being a victim of the night.” 

Steve rolled his eyes and outstretched his hand, tugging her up, “you know I’ll protect you, Rosemary.”

Y/N groaned, “I already regret coming back to Hawkins.” Steve only laughed.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

previous / next

series masterlist / vol. 2 masterlist

join the series taglist?

taglist: @farfromharry @annabqths @thorlmao @linisskydiving @laneysmusings @rmeddar123 @ajdelilah @wandasleftshoe @justicefornatasharomanoff @ainandra @ilovereadingfanfics @siriusblacksso @freeshavacadoooo @manuosorioh @ariana05sworld @thepowerstoner @copycatrry @gyrxese @spillthetaesissy @tiaamberxx

[theteasetwrites]

Just One Wish

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader ❧ Era: Greene farm ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: **major warning for attempted sexual assault** (I will indicate where the scene starts and ends if you want to skip it <3) ❧ Word Count: 5.5k

❧ Requested by @lacilulu77 (hope you like it, and thanks for all the support!)

❧ Summary: Young love doesn't come to fruition, and it takes several years for two friends to reunite, during an apocalypse, no less. A chance encounter rekindles an old flame that never got the chance to burn.

❧ A/N: I really enjoyed writing this one. I love doing pre-apocalypse Daryl so we get a little bit of that, and Season 2 era Daryl which is also a treat. Also, in regards to the scene of attempted SA, I hope I handled it in an appropriate way. I've written one other scene similar to that in my series, but it's always so hard to write. Completely understand if you'd rather skip that part. Truly a horrific thing to happen to anyone that I could unfortunately see being very common in the post-apocalyptic world. Lmk what y'all think.

“Make a wish,” you said, sitting with your knees tucked into your chest atop the roof of your childhood home, Daryl Dixon, your friend since middle school, sitting alongside you.

You closed your eyes and smiled as the shooting star beamed across the night sky. One perk to living in rural Georgia, several miles away from any big city, was that there was hardly any light pollution, and everything in the night sky was so clear.

“You’re not making a wish, are you?” you asked him as you opened one eye to spy on him. He scoffed and reached into his pocket to pull out his Marlboros.

“Come on, Daryl. We never see shooting stars. Can’t you just make one wish? Look, it’s still in the sky. Just one little wish.”

He turned to face you, his cigarette wagging from his mouth as he momentarily looked down again to light it with a zippo. “Fine,” he said.

“Close your eyes.”

With an exasperated sigh, he did as you said, closing his eyes as he blew out the first puff of smoke. You waited patiently, watching his relaxed face as he wished, but soon you realized he was probably just messing with you.

“You didn’t wish for anything, did you?” you asked.

He opened his eyes and looked at you with a small half-smile, the same one he always managed to muster up just for you and these nights on the rooftop. “Didn’t say that. Maybe I did wish for somethin’. You ain’t in my head.”

You shrugged. “No, but I know when you’re messin’ with me. You’re always messin’ with me.”

He nudged your shoulder, causing you to rock back and forth a little. “Even if I did wish, can’t tell ya, else it won’t come true.”

You nodded. “That is the rule. But you know what? My wish just came true, so I can tell you what it was.”

He raised an eyebrow at your curious statement. You were always saying such strange things, but it kept him on his toes.

“I wished that I could make you smile, and you did. So you see, wishes really do come true.” You nudged his shoulder back.

He laughed as he took another puff of his smoke. “Guess so. Dunno if mine could ever come true, though.”

“Well, of course it can. Whatever it is, if you believe in it enough, it’ll happen.”

There you were again, talking like a Disney princess. You had always been like that as long as he could remember—so excited for the future and so determined that you could do anything if you set your mind to it.

But Daryl knew his wish wouldn’t come true, because he wished you would stay.

“Ya got everythin’ ready for tomorrow?” he asked.

You sighed. “Yeah, pretty much. Dad’s making us get up early in the morning, says he wants to get there as soon and as quick as possible. I’m just worried I’m gonna get there and my roommate’s going to turn out to be a psycho, ya know? I’ve heard horror stories about it. My cousin, Marilou—she got poisoned by her roommate. Put it right in her glass of water while she was sleeping. Can you believe that?”

“This the same cousin who got ‘er teeth knocked out at the watering hole?”

“Yes,” you laughed. “That’s besides the point.”

He leaned back on his forearms against the worn shingled roof. “That’s not gonna happen to ya.”

At least, he hoped. He was already anxious enough about you leaving town without having to worry about something bad happening to you.

A few moments of silence passed, and were dissipated by the feeling of you resting your head on his shoulder and wrapping your arm around his. He swallowed hard, still not used to you giving him such attention despite how long you’d been friends.

“Will you come and visit me?” you asked.

He looked at you and the twinkling light in your eyes. “I’ll try,” he said. “Dunno how I’m gonna get there.”

“You could take your dad’s truck.”

“That thing ain’t got a mile left in it. Better off walkin’ there.”

“Well, maybe I’ll just come back home to visit then. For the holidays, and the summer. That’ll be fun, right? We can go camping again. It’ll be good,” you assured yourself with a nod. “Like nothing changed.”

Your fingers began running up and down his arm, bare and exposed to the cool autumn air. He always wore those sleeveless shirts, even though you bought him at least two jackets to wear over them for chilly nights like this.

“You’re gonna forget about me,” he said. “Make better friends, meet other guys…”

That last part just came out of nowhere, but he thought about it a lot, how you’d go off to a nicer part of Georgia and meet fraternity boys and southern gentlemen in the making, boys your parents would’ve liked more than him, boys you would’ve liked more than him.

You raised your head from his shoulder and looked at him seriously. Even in the moonlight could you see his downcast features. You never knew him to be this sad before.

“How could you say that?” you asked. “You’re one of my best friends. I’d never forget you. And maybe I’ll make new friends, but you’ll always be one, too. I love you, Daryl Dixon.”

You knew you loved him for a long time. In your eighteen-year-old brain, you weren’t entirely sure what kind of love it was, but you were sure that you did love him. He was always there for you, and you for him. There wasn’t anything you couldn’t tell each other, and you saw that as love.

For Daryl, the feeling was mutual, but, in his eighteen-year-old brain, he knew he loved you in a way that he couldn’t quite express to you. At least, certainly not when you were about to leave. He’d loved you for years now. At first, he didn’t know what it was—pubescent lust or immature infatuation—but in recent months he had come to believe that you were the only girl he’d ever truly love.

“Daryl?” you asked, waking him from his anxious thoughts. “Earth to Daryl?”

He snuffed out his ashen cigarette and shook his head until he could fully understand you again. “I, uh… I feel the same.”

You smiled. “So you won’t forget about me?”

“Nah,” he said. “You’re pretty unforgettable.”

The night ended much like any other night you spent on the roof, with you returning to your room and Daryl walking back home through the woods that separated your houses. This night, however, was a little different, as he carried the knowledge that you loved him.

He wasn’t totally naïve. He knew that you could’ve meant many different things when you said it, but to him, that was the confirmation he needed to tell you his true feelings.

That night, as he laid sleepless in his bed, he decided he would arrive early to your house that next morning and have one last talk with you, in which he’d admit to the love he felt for you. Even if it was misguided, or juvenile, or hopeless, or just plain ridiculous, he couldn’t deny his feelings anymore. He loved you, and he at least wanted you to know that before you left.

If nothing came of it, if you rejected him and went off to school in Atlanta and never spoke to him again, he’d at least have some kind of relief. He’d be heartbroken for a while, perhaps forever, but he’d have that inkling of satisfaction.

Or at least he hoped.

There wasn’t anyone home when he reached your house around 6am. Your father wasn’t kidding around: he wanted to hit the road early, and Daryl wasn’t early enough.

Staring blankly at the empty driveway, he felt a heart wrenching sorrow that he’d never quite felt before, like he’d missed the last bus home and was forced to wander the streets alone and shrouded in darkness. Perhaps he was being dramatic, but he didn’t care anymore. He dropped to his knees in hopelessness, and tears welled up in his eyes.

What he said to you last night wasn’t enough. He hadn’t given you a proper goodbye, he thought, and the length of time in which he wouldn’t see you again already seemed unbearable. What if you had a boyfriend by that time? You’d never had one before, but college was different. That’s what people did, as far as Daryl knew. He couldn’t tell you then. It’d be wrong.

It was all wrong. And his wish didn’t come true. You couldn’t stay, and you couldn’t come back.

Your family made a sudden move shortly after you left. Daryl had heard that they wanted to be closer to you in Atlanta, so that’s where they went.

You weren’t able to visit that holiday, or that summer, and when you tried to visit after, Daryl was gone. He didn’t answer his home phone, and he wasn’t around to get the letter you wrote him. He’d been drifting around Georgia with his brother, making end’s meet and getting into trouble, as he often did when you weren’t there to distract him from Merle and his antics.

In that time, you realized you loved him in a different way than what you meant that last night you saw him. You loved him in every possible way, and you tried to find him, to at least rekindle your friendship, but he seemed to practically disappear off the face of the earth with Merle.

He didn’t forget about you, though. He thought about you often, wondering what you were doing, your whereabouts, your life… Despite his deep regret that he never told you how he felt, he hoped you were happy, above all else.

Still, for the years after that, he found himself spending more time outside at night, watching the stars and hoping to see one falling. He’d close his eyes and make a wish, just like you told him, and he’d wish that your paths would cross again, and that he’d finally have the chance to express his love to you. Sometimes, if the star seemed particularly bright, he’d wish that you shared his love, too, and that you’d finally be able to be together.

That was almost twenty years ago.

Now, the world had much bigger problems than two lovelorn teenagers.

You had much bigger problems.

“Gotta be somethin’ ‘round here,” the first man said. “Badger, deer, hell, I’ll even settle for a squirrel.”

You hunched below the brush, watching the three men trudge through the woods in front of you.

They appeared suddenly and without warning, causing you to have to hide until they left. Despite having met friendly people, you were going to risk these men turning out to be assholes.

Aside from that, you were alone. The last of your group, as far as you knew. There were some who got separated when your camp got overrun, but a lot of them were feasted on by the dead.

That was three days ago, or something like that.

One of the other men approached a nearby tree and unbuckled his pants to relieve himself, chewing tobacco all the while.

Typical Georgia rednecks, you thought.

“What I wouldn’t give for some hush-puppies right about now, or a peach pie,” he said.

“Shut up, Tucker,” the third man barked. “No use in thinkin’ ‘bout that shit no more. Ain’t no more hush-puppies and certainly ain’t no more peach pie. Come on,” he whistled. “Let’s move on. Nothin’ here.”

He seemed to be the leader, that one. As you watched them readjust their packs, you wondered if maybe you should show yourself. After all, you were alone, and no one could make it out here alone.

Then, they were men, and that was discouraging you.

Maybe it was a stereotype, but they were also clearly hillbillies, the kind you grew up around, and you knew the type.

Still, it was worth a shot. If things went awry, you’d just have to try to defend yourself. Or, more likely, run as fast you could.

“Hey,” you called out to them, rising from the brush.

They turned swiftly and held their rifles high, pointed at you. You raised your hands and dropped your knife in the process.

“Don’t shoot,” you said frantically. “I’m… I’m alone. My group was attacked.”

They slowly lowered their weapons and exchanged a look with one another. The man with the chew, Tucker, you presumed, spit his tobacco and spoke to the leader.

“Jus’ another damn woman, Ford,” he said to him. “Leave ‘er. Ain’t worth the trouble.”

“N-no,” you stuttered. “I can help. I’m not terrible at hunting. Please, I don’t wanna be out here alone. No one can make it like this.”

The leader, Ford, scanned you up and down. “Nah,” he said. “You wanna join us, little lady?”

You didn’t, but you needed some other people to watch your back until you could get out of these woods. They were the only living ones you had come across in days, and even if they looked straight out of Deliverance, you were desperate.

“Yes,” you said. “I won’t be a burden.”

(TW: attempted sexual assault)

“Nah,” Ford said. “Ya won’t… ‘cause you’ll be of use to us.” He approached you slowly, with the other men exchanging a knowing look between them. He fiddled with the belt around his waist, and glowered his dark eyes at you.

Then, you regretted ever getting involved with these guys.

You backed up, looking behind Ford to Tucker and the other man. “What’s going on here?” you asked, looking frantically between the three of them. The other two started coming closer to you, backing you up against a tree.

“Hold ‘er down,” Ford said to Tucker. “Jed, get ‘er weapons.”

Tucker grabbed you and pulled you away from the tree. He was the biggest of the three and much stronger than you. He kept your arms pinned behind you as Jed tore your other knives and your slingshot from your belt.

You squirmed and yelled profusely, trying to lure any nearby walkers, who you’d rather be bitten by than to be violated by these men. Soon, Tucker covered your mouth until it was all a mumbled mess.

“Can’t I go first this time?” Jed asked as he helped lay you down, spreading your legs with some difficulty as Ford watched on.

“That ain’t the rules,” he said as he unbuckled his belt and began to unzip his jeans. Your eyes widened and you kicked Jed’s hands away from your ankles, causing him to growl. “I always go first. That’s just how it is. We gotta have rules.”

It sickened you, of course. The fact that men like that got away with these things, even more so than they used to. This clearly wasn’t the first time they’d done this, they had a system, and you were terrified to be the latest victim.

Perhaps they even killed the others, or left them to the walkers afterwards. You weren’t sure if you even wanted to get out of this alive, but all you could think about was how you were going to get out of this, how you were going to fight them off. It was going to be difficult, and you couldn’t make out any clear way of doing so.

“Jus’ hurry up,” Jed said. “She’s squirmin’.”

Ford laughed, kneeling down over you and about ready to pull down his pants. You cried sharply, hot tears flowing over your trembling cheeks. You shook your head rapidly, screaming into Tucker’s hand all the while. “No!” you mumbled. “No! No! No!”

“Shut—”

(End TW)

The vile man’s sentence was interrupted by an arrow through his forehead.

Your tear-stained eyes widened as his limp body fell to the side. With Tucker’s hand loose over your mouth now, you bit through his fingers so hard you drew blood.

“Shit!” he cried, then flopped backwards and received an arrow to his head, too.

You sat up in confusion to turn around and look at his lifeless body. The arrow came from the other direction, so you turned back and saw another arrow pierce through Jed’s skull as he went running off.

You looked around frantically, panting and crying as you tried to locate the source of the arrows, anticipating it to also be a threat.

Wiping your tears and your running nose, you crawled over to Tucker’s body and grabbed his rifle. You planted yourself against the stump of the nearest tree and pointed the gun towards the shadowy grove of trees where the shots had come from.

“Who’s there?!” you tearfully yelled into the air. “I’ll shoot you if I have to!”

“Ain’t lookin’ for trouble,” a man’s voice called out, still not showing himself.

Great, you thought. Another redneck.

Though you couldn’t see him, you squinted your eyes to pinpoint a crossbow peeking out from behind one of the trees. Whoever he was, he was hiding behind the tree, seemingly just as wary of you as you were of him.

“Then why are you hiding?” you asked.

“Can’t trust no one these days,” he said with a scoff.

It can’t be, you thought.

The voice was familiar, gruff and yet strangely soft and raspy. It was tinged with the average accent of a Georgia native, not unlike the one you had, although yours was softer, polished by twenty or so years away from your rural home.

Though you felt like you could remember it, it was still different, much coarser and deeper.

“You all right?” he asked.

He… he sounds like him.

You swallowed hard. “Not really, if I’m being honest,” you said tearfully, choking up as you thought of the narrow escape from the assault.

“You need help?” he asked softly. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

You shut your eyes and shook your head, terrified of letting another person in. Still, the sound of his voice comforted you, its inexplicable familiarity to one that you could never forget filling you with the warmth and comfort you so desperately wanted after such a harrowing encounter with the scum of the earth.

“I guess,” you said quietly, but just enough for him to hear you.

“All right,” he said. “I’m gonna come out real slow. Don’t shoot.”

You lowered your gun just a bit. “I won’t shoot unless I have to.”

“Don’t blame you.”

With that, you saw his face gradually peek out from behind the tree, then his body as he slowly moved forwards, the crossbow lowered and pointing at the moss-covered ground.

He was filthy, raggedy, and covered in blood. Not a good sign, you thought, but at least he had a soft, sympathetic look on his face.

Then you really noticed his face.

It was dark, painted with dirt that had turned darker with sweat. A pair of deep-set blue eyes, narrowed yet gentle, glimmered amidst the grimy skin. His body was recognizable, too, of strong build and with bare, brawny arms exposed by cut-off sleeves that solidified the familiarity of the man.

With widened eyes and lips agape, you lowered the gun completely from the sheer shock of the resemblance. He seemed taken aback, too. His features softened even more and his crossbow was now dangling by his feet.

You knew it was him, it had to have been. Maybe it was some kind of cruel hallucination, but it was certainly him. He was older, of course. You were, too. He was more hardened looking, more visibly worn from age and the life he’d lived, but he was your Daryl.

Sweet, smartass, selfless Daryl Dixon.

“Daryl?” you asked the man.

His lips parted upon hearing your lips match with your voice, the one he swore he recognized, but couldn’t have been you.

Of course, it was, and life seemed to be playing its strange little games once again.

He couldn’t bring himself to say anything, and even if he could, he wouldn’t have had any words. All he could do was let his body run towards you, dropping the crossbow as you dropped your gun and raised yourself from the ground to meet him.

“Oh, my god,” you said as you tearfully embraced him. If it’d been anyone else, you couldn’t even bear to touch them after what had happened to you, but it was Daryl, and you’d dreamt of this moment for years. The moment when you’d finally be able to reconnect with him. “You’re here… You’re alive.”

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, taking in your sweet smell. It hadn’t changed. You still had the fragrance of a fresh spring morning, but maybe that was just in his head. Still, it was the sweetest thing he’d ever known, aside from your arms around him, holding him against you.

“(Y/N),” he said. His cries became muffled as he nuzzled further into you. His arms snaked around your back tightly, almost suffocating you, but it was the best you could ever feel while losing your breath.

He let you pull away ever so slightly to look at his face. He felt your fingers delicately grazing over his cheek, but he could only see them out of the corner of his eye. He was too busy getting lost in your glassy, teary eyes.

Just then, it occurred to him that you were the one who was being tormented by those men. He was already infuriated and disgusted by what they were about to do, but knowing it was you made him froth at the mouth.

“They hurt you?” he asked. His eyes scanned your body for injuries.

“No,” you said with a sniffle. “You stopped them before they did anything. I thought… I was trying to find people. I’ve been alone.”

“You’re alone?” he asked, now with his own tears welling up as he took all of you in. “You been out here by yourself?”

You wiped your tears from your cheek and felt his hands rub your back tenderly. “Just a few days. I had a group for a while, but our camp was taken over. Everyone scrambled or died. I’ve been trying to get out of these woods.”

“I got a group,” he said as he wiped a stray hair from your face. He looked at you with so much bewilderment and awe, like he was seeing something far beyond his comprehension. In truth, he couldn’t comprehend it. The only explanation for it was fate, and he didn’t believe in that. At least, before this very moment.

“We have a camp,” he continued. “On this farm, ‘bout two miles east. Got food, shelter, everything.”

You smiled softly through your tears. “Is that an invitation or are you just rubbing it in my face?” you asked.

Of course, it was the former.

He brought you to the farm immediately after, and the people in his group seemed a little on the wary side, but Daryl explained to them that you were his friend from before, that you were all alone and needed a group.

That, and he absolutely refused to send you back out there, especially considering the kind of people were lurking in the woods.

When he butted heads with the man called Shane, who reprimanded him for bringing you there and “putting them all in danger,” he all but knocked the man over for insinuating that you would hurt anyone.

Luckily for you, the rest of the group seemed amicable enough. Still, they decided upon keeping your presence on the farmland a secret from the landowner, Hershel Green, until tensions in the camp were lower.

“I hope my being here isn’t an issue,” you said to Daryl, who wrapped you up in a blanket as you sat by the fire that night. He had his own little setup away from the others. It was typical Daryl, the perpetual introvert who ate lunch by himself back in high school. Though you always joined him when your other friends weren’t teasing you for hanging out with him.

He looked at you as he tossed a few more logs into the fire before sitting himself down next to you. “It ain’t,” he said. “They’ll get used to it. Ain’t havin’ ya out there on your own. Just got you back.”

You smiled sweetly at him, though he quickly turned to face the fire in embarrassment of his statement.

“It’s been so long. We have so much to talk about,” you said. “I’ve missed you.”

The corner of his lip quirked up just a little as he faced you again. “Missed you too,” he said. “Thought… thought I’d see you again, after the night you left.”

You thought back to the last night you saw Daryl, how you promised you’d see him again, and that you would never forget him. The latter was always true, and now the former seemed to be fulfilled after years of your paths never quite crossing.

“I tried to come home,” you said. “Then my parents moved, and I didn’t have a way to come see you. Then I tried calling you… I even wrote you a letter. I don’t think you ever got them.”

“I, uh… I left. Not too long after that first year. Me and Merle… we were up to no good. Probably wouldn’t have wanted to talk ta me back then anyway.”

You scoffed. “Same old Daryl, always selling yourself short. You know, I never did forget about you.” He hoped the orange reflection of the fire distracted from the hot pink blush on his cheeks. “I never met anyone like you since. I don’t think I’ll ever meet anyone like you again.”

The heat of the fire was emanating a prickly warmth that ignited his skin, and that combined with your words, just as pure and sweet as those of the girl he once spent all of his time with, provided him with the fervor to tell you what he needed to tell you during all those years of not having you.

“(Y/N),” he said, being sure to pivot his body to face yours. He was going to do this right, earnestly and with the utmost clarity. No beating around the bush, no waiting for something to take you away again, especially not in the world where everything seemed to get taken away at some point. “Do you remember what you said to me that night on the roof?”

You studied his face as if the memory was displayed there as it would be on a projector. “I think so,” you said. “I told you I’d never forget about you, that you’d always be my friend… and… and that I loved you.”

Everything changed, and yet nothing had changed. You still meant every word. Maybe now you realized that the love you felt for him was much deeper and more intimate than what you thought you felt back then, but it was always there, and always would be.

“Well,” he said before clearing his throat, “I gotta tell you somethin’. I tried tellin’ you that next morning, but I was too late.” He looked down at his knees for a moment, contemplating if this was even the right time to tell you, but he couldn’t back down now, not after hyping himself up in his head. “You don’t gotta say anythin’, or feel the same way. I know you had a real, real bad day, and maybe you don’t want me sayin’ this, but I’m afraid… I’m afraid if I don’t somethin’ will happen and I’ll never get to say it.”

“Daryl,” you said, taking his hand in both of yours and resting it on your lap, “tell me. You could say anything right now and I’d be happy just hearing your voice again.”

Deep down, you had a feeling you knew what he was going to say. At least, you hoped he would say it.

“I love you.”

Your heart stopped for a split second, and you swore you could feel the hot blood pumping through your veins. When your heartbeat returned, it pounded in your chest like never before, like your heart had just regained its ability to function properly.

“I mean, more than anythin’,” he continued. “Always have. Just wanted ya to know that. You don’t have to say anything… or do anything.”

No matter how much he wanted you, how much he wanted to hold you and to know that there was no one else you could ever love, he wanted more to make sure you were comfortable, and that you didn’t feel forced to return the sentiment, especially after what you’d gone through.

“Daryl,” you said, squeezing his hand even tighter and scooting closer to him, “I love you too. Not just… not just how I made it seem that night I told you. I really love you. Really, really.”

You’d dated people before. You thought you’d loved people before, though it was never anything like what you felt for Daryl. It just pained you for so long that you couldn’t feel that love again, the love he so obviously had for you when you looked back on your adolescence. That was the only love you ever wanted, and he was the love you were constantly searching for but could never come close to finding. The way you were, it was real. It was always real with him, even if it was never romantic.

“So, now what?” he asked, genuinely not anticipating what he was going to do if you actually admitted to feeling the same way.

What he wanted was to embrace you like he never could before, to kiss you and touch you tenderly, the way he wanted to for so long. With age the urge had only gotten stronger and more intense. With the sudden presence of you back in his life, the beautiful glow of your face that was still so much like how you once were in your youth, but was more womanly and experienced, he just needed you even more in his arms and close to him.

“Kiss me,” you said bluntly.

He looked at you dumbfounded. He didn’t expect that, not at all. “Are ya sure?” he asked with concern in his voice. “I don’t wanna rush you. I know what happened today was… scary.”

You smiled sweetly, with a mist of tears forming above your waterline. He really was your friend, your Daryl, the boy who always put you before him, who wanted you to feel comfortable above all else. “It was,” you said. “But I know you’d never hurt me, or do anything like that. And… and I need your love.”

With a deep breath, you moved closer to him until your chests were touching. The warm, rapid reverberations of his heartbeat aligned perfectly with yours as you caressed his stubbly cheek, then traced your fingers up to his hair. You admired the light, ashy brown strands that seemed so much darker since last you saw him, when he was almost blonde. It must’ve darkened with age, and it suited him well.

“Is this what you want?” you asked him, trying to take into consideration his own desires.

How was he supposed to answer that? He wanted this for more than half of his life.

“Never stopped wanting this,” he said. “Wanting you.” He placed his hands on the sides of your waist to pull you in until your torsos touched in alignment with your chests.

He jutted his neck forward, and you followed suit until the gap between your lips was closed. The first feeling of your lips against his was that of pillowy silkiness, just like he’d imagined. He wasn’t terribly experienced with kissing, having only done it a few times, but your lips slotted so perfectly into his that it didn’t matter how stiff he was at first.

Soon, however, you moved your lips against his slowly and with great tenderness, allowing him to melt into the kiss. His lips softened and he relaxed a bit to let his mouth move naturally with yours. When you opened your lips ever so slightly, he took the opportunity to tongue at the entrance, wettening your lips even more.

Every nook and cranny of your mouth that he caressed with his tongue felt like it’d been touched by angel’s wings, and you nearly tangled your tongue in his when you returned to sentiment, letting your tongue swirl in languid movements around the inside of his mouth until you seemed to lose your breath.

Pulling away incredibly slowly, you continued kissing him, bestowing loving pecks upon his reddened lips. He looked so beautifully blissful when you pulled away enough to look at him, with his eyes still closed softly and his lips parted as if frozen in time, like he wanted to stay in that moment forever.

You lowered your hand from his cheek to his chin and closed his mouth, a movement that caused his hazy eyes to open and his lips to curve into a smile. This time, both corners of his lips rose and heightened those cheekbones you loved so much.

“My wish came true again,” you said. “I made you smile.”

~

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are always appreciated!

[hankwritten]

Quicklime

Demoman/Soldier, 9k (Abbreviated from FFNet Version) Warnings: Kidnapping, Claustrophobia, Executions

The Voice in the TV said if he didn’t cooperate, she’d take him out to a gravel pit and have him shot. She makes good on that promise.

The trunk’s lining smells like fear and caked blood.

My heart beats fast, far too fast, and I can empathize with that fear-scent because the dozens of people who have lain in this trunk before me must have known exactly how terrifying the dark is. There is a blindfold snared across my face, but even without it, the light deprivation would be absolute. Behind me is something heavy and unmoving—no doubt more bags of quicklime like the ones that keep me from fully extending my legs. The walls fold inward, crushing me down into the smallest manageable shape.

They’d raided my apartment with more mercenaries than I could handle, but only now—when I’m stripped of my ability to fight—do I finally feel the fear I’ve been keeping at bay.

I fantasize about sawing off the bindings around my wrists, of finding a spare shovel or torture device someone had carelessly left in the trunk, but I know the Administrator’s too smart for that.

The road rushes by. The throbbing of the lump on my head is my only company, the pounding of blood and the patter of desert road my only companions as I am taken far away from where anyone will hear my upcoming execution. I am alone. I’ve chased everyone away and the only one I can thank for that is myself, the decisions I made, the sacrifices I failed to take.

-

It is six months earlier and I wake up at five am sharp. I take a three minute navy shower under ice cold water (the boiler’s been out for months and I have neither the know-how nor the will to fix it) and shave in my toothpaste-spattered mirror. I wipe the lather off, check over my reflection, and determine everything to be satisfactory. My reflection salutes me back.

Breakfast is spam, freed from its metal prison with an army knife and dumped onto a griddle layered with grease. I’ll wash it some other time. Maybe when I remember to buy soap.

Morning drills. Uniform. Then the half hour walk to the end of my drive.

A rumble heralds the blue pickup truck, ancient but well cared for, wooden slats cadging its exterior so nothing will fall when transporting from one place to the other. It’ll hold until we get to Swiftwater.

“Hey there Sol,” Engineer greets as I clamber into the back.

I grunt in response.

To his credit, Engineer’s smile never loses his glamour, even when sticking out his self imposed task of talking to me. He glances to his right and offers amicably, “hey Smokey, why don’t you let Solly sit shotgun today?”

Pyro, half a box of the day’s matches littered around the passenger’s side, lifts their head and keens. The matches are black and curling, burned all the way down to the end as they’d let it caress their orange tipped fingers, chewing through them the way Spy decimates a box of cigarettes.

“I know you called it,” Engineer rebuts, “but wouldn’t it be nice to let someone else have a turn?”

More grumbles that I will never be able to parse. Engineer understands though, and he prods, finally making the other mercenary step voluntarily down from the cab and around to the back. I take their place next to the Engineer. It still smells of scorched phosphorus.

“So how was your weekend?” Engineer asks sanguinely, the long drive setting into my tailbone as the truck makes its journey over rougher and rougher roads while the mountains climb in front of us. “Didn’t get into any trouble at that convention, did ya?”

Inside my jaw, already clenched, frozen in its perpetual frown, my teeth grind. There are prices paid for a free ride into work every morning, and mine is that nine times out of ten Engineer treats me like a brain-dead geriatric. Like I’m Pyro. Thinks I’m one fig short of the whole tree and every minute detail is something to fuss over, thinks he has to watch over me the same way he babysits that idiot in the back of the truck who keeps lighting matches and then whining when the truck’s slipstream blows them out. That doesn’t stop them from lighting another one, nor bemoaning when the wind takes that one too.

“It was fine,” I grunt.

“Really now. Have a good time then?”

I almost want to say it. I almost want to tell it straight to his face that yes I damn well did, and that I met someone while I were there. That this someone isn’t like him, isn’t like anyone on BLU, who’s more fun than all of those bleating rubbernecks combined. Who doesn’t think of me as insane or a burden, but an honest to god friend, and has glimmer in his eye like he actually wants to hear what I’ll say next.

I want to say all that, but REDs and BLUs aren’t friends, and the brief, bitter satisfaction won’t make up for the broken contract lying in tatters at my feet, scrapped like the shriveled matches. Besides, the Engineer would be the worst person to tell. He’s more tied with BLU than any of us; no, this is something I have to keep close to my chest. A secret even. A good secret, one that the tighter you hold the warmer it makes you, the memory that I’m going to be seeing him again tonight glowing like a cigarette burn on my chest.

“Yeah. Real good time.”

I smile. This, I can tell, puts Engineer ill at ease.

-

The Red meets me outside a casino with a smart looking button-down and an even smarter grin. I could grow to like that grin. He throws an arm sideways across my shoulders.

“Got you good today, didn’t I,” he says by way of greeting, half a second to squeeze tight and then fall slack again, and it’s surprising how little that bothers me.

“And I got you back Cyclops, don’t forget it.”

We should be more pissed at each other. Blowing someone to gibs and then those gibs to gibs should warrant retribution, not reconciliation, not lingering warm where his sleeve is still pressed to my uniform as he prattles on. The casino ends up not letting us in that night. We don’t mind, especially when the words we could blow them up fall out of my mouth so easily, and the Demoman stares at me for one blinding second before a grin crawls up the sides of his face. I was right about learning to like that grin.

“You’re barmy,” he says a little breathlessly.

“I didn’t hear a ‘no’.”

The smile grows, a little manic, a little intoxicating. “I’ve got some gear in the car.”

Later that night I’ll run from the cops with this man at my side for the second time in three days. We’ll drive out far into the desert and stall the engine laughing, and I won’t care that the only thing keeping me company during cold night in the badlands is a man I barely know whose clothes are slightly singed. I lean over and put out the fire that’s been smoldering on his sleeve.

“Fuck,” he laughs at the sky, then repeats, “you’re barmy.”

This time I say nothing, and we get high on desert air and the lingering scent of gunpowder.

-

That night I put extra boards over my windows. I double, triple, quadruple check the door bar and I keep my shotgun close when I move so much as an inch from my vantage point behind the couch.

From here I can see everything as long as the filthy light filtered through layers of gray curtains can touch it: the sliver of bedroom, a good chunk of kitchen, the bathroom grimy and caked with mold. No one can come at me. There is no angle I cannot see and right now I need that comfort because things have been going too well. There is some sort of plot afoot—I already knew the rats in my ceiling have been corroborating with the delivery man from the Italian restaurant I sometimes order from, I just need a few more months of intelligence to get my proof—but this is an entirely new plot. A plot to make me lower my guard. A plot to make me consider inviting Demo over because I heard somewhere a long time ago that that’s what you do when you make a new friend. You hold their dirt-covered hand in theirs and wrap your knuckles on the screen door to ask your mother if so-and-so can come in and she says yes and then the two of you sit on the floor of your bedroom asking each other what you want to do for an hour. That’s definitely a thing that has happened, I’m sure of it. To someone who is me.

But that’s what children do. Civilians. Not Soldiers. This is barely a home, it's my…bunker. My bunker with the leaky roof and the rats skittering directly above me and orchestrating their nefarious plots.

(I can hear them conversing. Dammit. Sounds like that deliveryman taught them Italian after all.)

If I sleep out here, behind the couch where I can see everything, maybe that will be a sound enough perimeter. If my base is secure beforehand then maybe…

I’ll see him again tomorrow. Across the other side of the gates sure, but it’ll be something. My heart beats fast as I drop my head on a commandeered pillow and lay flat on the floorboards.

-

“I don’t get it,” he says as we peer through the decal-plastered windows, glass so covered with rainbow silhouettes that we can barely see its innards.

I cock my shotgun. “What’s not to get, maggot? Inside these four walls is the greatest threat to America that this country has ever seen! Actually, wait-” The building is kind of weird-shaped, with various additions tacked on to the sides of the non-descript den of depravity. “Inside these, seven, eight, nine-” I shimmy my back against the brick so that I can lean around the corner. “-Ten, eleven, twelve walls is the most potent sort of depravity you will ever see in your likely very short lifespan, and you can bet your knee pads on that, Red.”

“And that depravity is…?”

“Disco.”

Demo frowns. “Disco.”

“You heard me maggot!”

“The music.”

“You underestimate the mind altering powers of song, and one day that will be your downfall!” I jam a finger at the vinyl stars obscuring my scouting attempts. “Here, they play that garbage for the youth, teach them how to gyrate their hips, spread lies about our national bird!”

“Is the turkey thing still bothering you? Look, I’m sorry I called it-”

“And then,” I press on. “They have the audacity to call that drivel music! It has rotted their brains to the point where I can no longer buy a decent pair of pants, so that is why we are breaking in and stealing all of their roller skates.”

“…I’ll admit, you’ve lost me.”

There’s no movement from inside, but that could change at any time. “Are you coming in or not?”

A second drags on, then he shrugs. “Eh, why not. Worth a laugh.”

The lock in the back snaps off easily enough. The lock on shoe storage is another matter.

“Oh, so it’s a roller disco,” Demo muses as I finally give up and shoot the thing off, yanking open the doors to reveal dozens upon dozens of rental skates. “Aw, these look fun. Blu look, this pair has stickers on it.”

He holds up a skate splattered with cartoon unicorns and a singular out-of-place pineapple.

“Careful private,” I warn, “first it’s ‘this looks fun’ then it’s ‘certainly it can’t be that seditious’ then next think you know you’re trying on skates and- Hey! Stop trying on those skates!”

It’s too late. In the half minute I’d lost track of my co-conspirator, he’d been seduced by the ways of Boney M., and is now struggling to his feet on red wheels.

“Bloody hell, how does anyone move in these things?” he asks as he uses the half-wall surrounding the dance floor to hoist himself up.

“I told you! It is the hip gyrations!”

“Ah, alright.”

“No! That does not mean do them!”

“I think it’s working though,” Demo says as he steadies, stepping out into the rink. “Oi! This isn’t so bad…ye can like, build up speed with these things, aye?”

“I would not know and it is not in my interests to find out!”

But despite my protests, my multiple warnings to the dangers of roller disco, my friend is lost to me, escaping out onto the ten thousand square-feet of smoothly polished hardwood.

I watch him mournfully. “I should have known your civilian-grade heart was not up to resisting the pull of funk. Defeated, before we even begin.”

“Don’t think of it as defeat, laddie!” he calls, halfway around the circuit, looking like an idiot as he struggles to keep himself upright, a smile imploding his face in hitherto unknown realms of joy. “We’re using their own skates against them! Their er…tools of destruction or whatever. It’s sabotage.”

“Better sabotage would be taking all these skates and throwing them in a lake. Or a volcano! Or a lake inside a volcano!” I say. “And their damn music too!”

“This music?” he asks. There’s a radio resting on a bench just outside the rink. There is suddenly no longer a radio on the bench as the Demoman zooms by and scoops it up. “Well would I look at this mate! They left one of their tapes in!”

“Do not push that button, Red! Do not think about pushing that button! Do not even think about not pushing that button!”

He slams the green triangle with his full fist. Immediately the barely lit amphitheater becomes a testament to the powers of Earth Wind & Fire, the disco music oozing in toxic waves from the now-in-motion radio, hitting me with its salacious shock wave.

“Noooooo…the unamericanness of it all…powers…weakening………”

“Don’t be such a baby,” Demo whizzes by, a fast learner of the ill omened. “You know what your problem is? You don’t know how to vandalize private property properly. It’s supposed to be fun!”

“I will have fun when you turn that racket off!”

“You want this?” He holds up the radio, fist around the handle, dangling it in a taunt if I ever saw one. “Come and get it.”

He scoots away on his stupid little shoes.

I will not let this Red beat me. He’s toying with me now, that maddening smile lighting up his whole face; it’s a bit crooked and I hate what it does to the warmth in my face and the pace of my heart. He shouldn’t be doing things like that to my ticker. I have a condition.

“You.” Each word comes out trodden and growled, forced through gritted teeth so he knows exactly how much he’s going to regret this. “Are going to regret this.”

I walk over and arm myself. Leg myself. Dammit, whatever, I put the stupid shoes on.

“CHAAAARGE,” I scream as I barrel onto the floor, my newly acquired skates immediately shooting out from under me and sending me sliding forward on my ass. “Dammit! Red! Reveal the secrets to these things at once!”

“Gotta find a rhythm, laddie,” he says as he slides past, going backwards now, the showoff.

I’ll never catch him at this rate. More delicately this time, I get to my feet, holding out my hands in case the treacherous footwear decides to turn on me again. Demo skates circles around me, the music yet playing, joy on his face that’s making my heart pump in time to the beat. With a battle cry, I lunge at him, but he only steps aside, and I go skittering past. Like a bull against a matador. A bull who is also on rollerskates.

“Try to stay upright before going forward,” he says. “Here.”

Here is all the warning I get. In the brief lapse of seconds, an arm loops under mine from behind, and I am helped to my feet as he chuckles in my ear.

I should make a grab for the radio. I should, but he’s the only thing holding me up and suddenly I don’t care as much about the stupid music box as I did a moment ago. Not when my skate keeps slip-sliding in-between his and it brings us chest to chest.

“Careful. Careful. There you go, nice and steady.” His arm is firm around my waist, and though I’m steady I’m finding it difficult to concentrate when his amused snort blows warm air on my neck. “Can I let I go?”

No. “Yes,” I grunt. “I am aaah-” Balance gone, quickly regained. “…I am fine. I have mastered your infernal sport. I am the supreme champion of roller disco.”

“Well looky you!” he snickers and I should use my shovel to smack that sarcasm out of him. “We should have ourselves a wee race then, if you’re so cocksure!”

“You’re on, Buster!”

But he’s off already, and maybe I’ve been hustled because there’s no way he can be this good when he’s lapping me, two, three, four times by the time I make a single revolution of the neon splattered auditorium. He’s left the radio on the red star in the center of the floor and whatever space-drugs they deal in this place must have lingering fumes because I don’t even want to go kick it over. I want Demo to keep shouting useless hints at me. I want him to run into me every now and again as he tries to help my posture and end up knocking us both over.

Somehow we’re back in the center again. He nearly falls over and this time it’s my turn to snicker, a meandering rumble that won’t stay in my chest even as I close my lips to it, and eventually I give up and laugh outright. He does too. His momentum comes towards me and mine towards him but instead of crashing the two of us catch each other, spinning around in opposing velocities, skates scratching half-moons in rubber.

So I keep laughing. I’m not even sure what about anymore. We're in orbit.

He presses his forehead against mine. I hold him more than strictly necessary. It’s hard to breathe, and Demo must not know why he’s laughing either because he keeps doing it. The music thrums, perfect and joyous, and I keep spinning.

The whirr of distant police sirens cuts through the din.

Demo pulls back. “Guess that’s our cue.”

“Always is.”

I didn’t manage to destroy any of the skates but, who knows. Maybe there’ll be a next time. It doesn’t seem so important now as Demo’s car makes the long journey up my driveway, my heart thumping away the giddy adrenaline while my head becomes clearer in direct relation to my distance to home. I’m painfully aware of it as I stand there at the stoop, needles on my skin, broken filaments winding their way around my fingers. Raw, weeping, shockingly aware, but still I ask anyway.

If he wants to come in.

He does.

I show him my magazine collection, my seven unique army knives (for opening breakfast each day of the week, so by the time I come back around to Monday Knife all the dried meat has flaked off), my various recruitment posters that the pawn shop was just going to throw away—treasonous bastards. There are medals on my mantel. I take them down one by one and explain what they’re for, but halfway through I notice how he’s stopped looking at the medals and is looking at me instead.

I stop talking. He keeps looking.

I take his wrist. He doesn’t pull back, doesn’t press forward either, just looks at me with a tilt to his head. There is no skate-induced orbital momentum pulling us together this time but still my forehead brushes against his again and my breath falls from my lungs into his. It’s no longer jittering, no longer giddy, and he is leaning further to get as much surface area of me as possible. My chin, my lips; but he makes me be the one to make that final plunge into the abyss where our mouths connect.

-

Pyro wouldn’t know if it hit them upside the head, but Engineer catches on right away. I’m smiling too much. It feels weird and foreign on my face but I can’t help it, even when he shoots me looks for the next four months on morning drives and rides home. I don’t care. BLU, the Administrator, the whole damn world—I don’t care about any of them. Sometimes the bond between two men who steal roller skates is an indescribable thing, and no one can take that away from me. We can chuck grenades and fire artillery at each other as much as we please, him standing over what remains of me in his detonated stickie trap and giving a smart little two-fingered salute, and it won’t mean anything. I grin, blood on my teeth and dripping out my mouth, and I tell him I’ll get him back.

-

“We could blow them up,” I say.

“Sounds like we’re repeating ourselves already.”

“I didn’t hear a ‘no’.”

He grins, that delighted, awe-inspiring grin that I love, and kisses me brusquely on the mouth before heading to the car. It’s a wonderful, steady rhythm we have, and he loads explosives into my arms until I can barely move. Tavish knows the most efficient places to kick out structural supports, wisdom laid out like a map on the back of his hand, says that he used to do normal demolition work a long time ago, between jobs or when the work itself slowed to a drip drip drip. The faucet in my apartment does that sometimes. All the time. It lets me know that the water’s still there, that it hasn’t been replaced by Feds with something worse.

The Feds haven’t bothered me of late. This occurs to me as I’m retreating to a safe distance, behind some cars near the soon-to-be-leveled autopark. My employers don’t take issue with my extracurricular activities—legality is a case of not throwing grenades in glass houses—but tangoing with law enforcement can sometimes get hairy. Maybe someone else is on my tail then. Nazis, or Commies, or Commie-Nazis-

I gasp. Men in coats—coats and red hats!—are entering my targeted location. Every suspicion confirmed! Those commies are on to me. Who else would be wearing red hats but them?

I will need to intercept them immediately. Quickly, I dive from my hiding spot and sprint after them, already running through scenarios on how I’m going to squeeze information out of them, twisting their arms until they tell me exactly how they found where Tavish and I were planning to-

There’s a sharp crackling to my left, just inside the garage’s door. It hits me suddenly that this might have been a bad idea.

“Crap,” I say.

The first detonation knocks out the office from where I came, and I don’t give it a chance to catch up to me. I slam into the emergency exit, back between rows of metal shelves, only familiar to I since my foray brought me through here less than an hour before. Another few feet is all I’m able to cover before the shockwave ripples out, heat catching out from under me and flinging me forward into the pavement outside.

I get some nice skid marks on my face. Not fatal, but I groan as I push myself up.

The autoshop is in ruins. Great, fiery ruins that resemble more a burning oil pit than anything a human could inhabit. I watch it, for a while, maybe just maybe getting why Pyro keeps lighting those matches only to let them go out.

“Jane! Jane, please, oh god please, Jane where are you-”

I’ve never heard Tavish sound like that before. Pain, pain I’ve heard, I’ve felt, I’ve caused, but the screaming skirting the edges of the fire is terror like I’ve never been witness to. I call out, because of course I don’t want him to be worried, I’m just fine after all, but then that call is filled with more coughing than I thought there would be.

I try again. “Tav…” Then dissolve into another fit.

“Jane!”

Now he’s closer, finally scrambling into view, and my ears did not deceive me because pain is exactly what his face is too. He runs at me full tilt, crashing down beside me and practically hauling me into his arms. It’s a rough way to be returned to a sitting position, but I don’t have enough strength to do more the lean my head against his chest.

“Fuck. Oh fuck, Jane I- oh god I thought I did it again, Jesus-”

The crying I’ve heard too, but mostly when he’s drunk, long and bemoaning and a few firm hugs will usually get it out of him. This is not that, nor intemperance—more like he keeps forgetting he’s crying at all, tears only flowing out in between the gaps in the panic. It feels a bit much. Sure I’m a little singed, but not enough that he needs to squeeze me like he’s going to keep me from being dragged off to hell himself.

“I saw you running back in, but by then the fuses were already lit and I- Fuck,” he hisses. “What in the bloody hell was that about!? Why on Earth did you go in there?”

“Saw some Commies,” I explain, now that he’s not holding me so tight and I can breathe a bit better. “Followed them. Needed to figure out what they’re doing here, how much they know!”

“…Commies?”

“Communists! Ruskies, Tavish. Those men that went in with the red hats!” This is followed by a cough.

“…The firefighters?” The pain is melting, something uglier underneath as Tavish leans back and grits his teeth. “You ran back into a building rigged to explode because you thought the firefighters were communists?”

“I did not think, I know!”

“Damn right you didn’t think.” He gets to his feet, pacing around I and tearing off his beanie one-handed so he can rub his nails along his scalp. “Goddamnit Jane I thought I-” He lifts a hand in my direction as though to make some elaborative gesture, but none comes, and he lets it fall back down to his side. “Damn you.”

“I do not know why you’re getting mad at me. I was doing my American duty.”

His silhouette against the crackling building is inscrutable and everything smells like extinguished dynamite.

Tavish is silent as he drives me home. It’d dark inside, out later and more disastrously than most of our excursions. Tavish reaches for the light switch, but I bark at him, “are you crazy? Keep those that damn things off! Do you want to give away our location to every sniper in the closest mile?”

“Me?” And crap, I knew this fight was coming, could taste it like copper on my tongue. “I’m the crazy one? Bloody hell Jane, what in the hell were you thinking out there? You could have- I almost-”

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” and maybe I don’t. I fold my arms. I don’t look at him. If I could see it, I choose not to. “What’s done is done maggot.”

“Oh really? Something like that’s never going to happen again? Never happened before?” He throws his arms about wildly. “Jesus, I never minded, you know. All ‘o this. It was even fun at first.”

“Oh it was fun was it?” I snap. “When it’s all explosions and minor property damage it’s fun, but as soon as the going gets tough I’m too much for you, private?” The words spit like acid, too real--I was never good at clouding in metaphor, hiding what I wanted to say even as it stings leaving my lips. “Go on! Say it! I have heard it a thousand times and once more from your sorry excuse for a pie-hole won’t make a difference.”

“Don’t you dare try to make it about that,” he snarls. “I had to watch. I thought I killed someone I love again and-” He sputters to a stop. “I...I make it worse don’t I?”

“The hell are you talking about?”

“You. I encourage you. I make it worse.”

“This is not about you.” But he’s already withdrawing. I can see it in his eye that I’m losing him. I know that if I don’t say something now it will all fall apart.

Instead, I do the worst thing imaginable: I cough. I keep coughing.

He looks away in shame. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this.”

It feels inevitable. A blade moving slowly toward you that you have no power to stop, but tears into you all the same. The hurt is so strong I file it into a fine point of rage and stare it into him.

“Figures.”

All of him withdraws. “Jane…I need to…take some time.”

“Just go.”

“I...I don’t want to end things but I need-”

“Go,” I repeat.

He does. The apartment is empty. The way I always wanted it.

-

“Something the matter, Soldier?” Engineer asks, too delicately, too everything, and it makes me want to reach over and strangle him.

I curl my lip at the dashboard, and say, “I’m going to sit in the back.”

He doesn’t utter a word as I open the cab door and drop onto the packed badlands sand.

No reply when I clamber into the truck bed either, from he or Pyro, a thick rumble of the ignition turning over as his response. I should talk to him. It could help, maybe with the guilt, maybe with the questions that chase each other around inside my head—but I can’t bring myself to, not even when it looks like things are over. I’d have to explain I’ve been cavorting with a Red, and I can’t sink to that sort of betrayal. Of myself or of Tavish.

So instead I sit, silently existing next to a squirming rubber suit as the truck takes the three of us into work. Today Pyros has a lighter rather than their matches, and they can keep it lit for around fifteen seconds at a time before the wind takes it away.

They’re awfully quiet. I’ve always thought that, but it’s not exactly true, not between their joyous coos and their equally despondent wails when the light finally goes out. It’s just that they don’t have a lot to say, at least not that anyone besides Engineer can understand. They depend on him to translate; they depend on him for most things, actually.

“How do you stand it?” I ask them.

Pyro, having not actually engaged in a word of conversation with me before this, looks up from their lighter. They tilt their head, noise of confusion tumbling through the mask.

“Engineer. Always having him…fuss over you. Drives me goddamn crazy.”

They shrug, humming something happily, cheerful even though the flame has gone out. They know they can just light it again.

“It doesn’t bother you that he thinks you’re too incompetent to be left on your own?” I don’t mean it to sound so bitter, so projected, or to reveal that’s what think about them too too.

The string of words is accompanied by a shake of their head. I even catch some of them, something along the lines of not like that. That’s what friends do. They tug on my elbow slightly.

“Me? I don’t need anyone looking out for me, Smokey. I already have a friend, and it’s not like that.” I stop, a tightness in my throat. “Had a friend.”

The oh noooooo is clear enough to anyone, especially since Pyro has a habit of over-emoting—I’ve never been sure if this is compensation for the mask, or if they’ve always been that way. The tugging on my arm increases to practical shaking. They want to know what happened.

I intake through my nose. It’s still inside of me, the confusion, the knowing that something’s gone wrong. It all wants to come out but…

Pyro’s quiet. If anyone can keep a secret, it’s them.

“Alright here Pyro, this conversation does not leave the back of this truck.” I glance furtively through the rear window, but Engineer’s eyes are locked firmly on the road. “I have been…fraternizing. With a Red.”

They put both hands to their face and gasp in horror.

The whole sordid story comes out. I talk until my mouth is dry, which is an accomplishment because usually I can spend a whole day shouting myself hoarse with no ill effects, but some time during the telling I find that my throat has swollen up.

“I wish that…” I stop myself. Wishes are for children and hippies and I am neither. Not some snot-nosed kid anymore. “I…want whatever it was before. When shit made sense and there weren't these damn...questions.”

Pyro murmurs in agreement. Before I have a chance to stop them, they wrap their arms around me with the force of a train.

“Oof,” I say.

In response, they reply something to the effect of you still have us.

“We are not friends, cupcake,” I say.

They giggle, and I don’t pull them off. Engineer shoots the two of us a look when he finally gets out of the truck, but all I manage to is sigh. He chuckles empathetically.

And, well. I do feel better. I’m still not sure…if Tavish is ever coming back. Maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe he was right. Maybe I’m too far gone, and fellow lunatics are all I deserve.

-

The Voice shows me a video that proves beyond the maybe.

“A fraud,” I seethe. “How dare he. How dare he, I’ll-”

It’s not his voice. Even I know that. I know lots of things, rattling around in there, but they’re like old knick-knacks in the back of the garage. Knowing how things should be or how I should act do not weigh the way they should, and rage is a far more powerful shaper of a man’s actions than the things he has shoved away.

“I will rip him limb from limb! I will string him up by his own intestines! I will tear off his head and beat him to death with it, he promised he-”

She is pleased with the barely intelligible tirade as I pace about. The TV man does not leave.

After a while it occurs to me that she’s waiting for something.

I turn. “When.”

“When what, Mister Doe?” She is now less pleased.

“When did he say that. When is this video from.”

She wasn’t expecting me to ask that. One of the little things rattling around in my head tells me that much.

“Does it matter?”

A man who left rather than think he was hurting me, even indirectly. When would he have said that. What would have prompted it.

The Voice is like the rest: she thinks me one short. Barely worth the effort. Someone who dances to her tune with the barest of prompting.

“...It doesn’t matter what he said,” I conclude, and the background voices cheer. “I won’t do it.”

“I assure you Mister Doe,” the woman inside the little box attached to the scrawny civilian says. “This man has taken a contract on your life. Your choices are to defend myself using the weapons we provide you or-” Her eyes are cold, even through the screen. “-We will do his work for him.”

He said he never wanted to hurt me. I never wanted to hurt him. I snarl in her direction. “I’d like to see you try, lady.”

-

In the end, there were far too many of them. I valued my bunker for its difficulty to locate rather than its own merits, and though that had served me well for many years it was never meant to be unassailable. I killed seven of her men before someone brought a baton hard across the back of my helmet.

I can still feel the welt.

It throbs in time with the car’s engine, close as I am with my cheek pressed against the fuzz of the lining, thinking about my missing helmet, my smashed medals on the mantle. The apartment that I’ll never see again. The Demoman that I’ll…

I’ve never been a quitter, but it’s hard to see a way out of this one. I chose my side and my side was not betraying my best friend—this is my prize for that. If only her people been as lazy with the bindings around my wrists and ankles as they had been with the gag that now hangs around my chin, damp and tasting vaguely of motor fluid, but they know where to put their priorities. I don’t bother screaming for help. I can tell from the long stretch of straight road that I’m far outside of civilization. It won’t be long now.

“God damn it,” I say, words so bitter I want to sandpaper them off my tongue, scrub my eyes until the shame behind them goes away. But I don’t have that ability, so I hiss quietly to my audience of no one.

Which is what I think until the bags of quicklime behind me move.

There’s another person tied in this trunk with me. My heart hammers as the jolt of dread forces itself into me like an ice pick behind the eye, because the only person in the world they would bother executing at the same time is-

“Tavish?”

The object behind me, halfway through the process of waking from its own concussion, pauses.

“Hmmn?” it groans.

The shame I’ve been trying to hold back reigns victorious.

“Fuck,” I say, grieving the single word.

It takes some minutes in the dark trunk, but try as we might there is no space to turn around, no way to angle ourselves to get at each other’s restraints. Some friction and a few banged skulls, and Tavish manages to get the gag out of his mouth.

The only thing that follows is long seconds of silence.

I’m painfully aware that we have precious few of those, and I feel them slipping away like sand down an hourglass. I can’t break the silence, though, not with how his breath is shaking, not when I know too well what trying to hide tears sounds like.

When he finally speaks, it’s with his face pressed against the PVC while he says, “I’m so sorry.”

“What?” I ask, because it’s the last thing I expected him to say now.

“I had these photos. I just wanted some memories of us, but I kept some of those photos of two of us together, and they must have found them, I’m so stupid I-”

“Tav,” I say. “Shut up.”

He hiccups into silence.

“I’m not letting you blame yourself for this too,” I tell him. “We’ve both been careless as shit, and- fuck- I never got to say sorry either. For running into that building. I know I’m not…all together sometimes but...thank you. For coming back for me.”

I want nothing more than to put his hand in mine.

He’s crying. Quietly, but there isn’t much room that he can hide it from me. After more seconds and more sand he says, “we’re really going to die, aren’t we?”

“Yeah. Seems like it.” I swallow. “So. They offered you the same deal, huh?”

“Looks like. I thought something like this would happen, but when I heard what they were asking me to do I just…I couldn’t.”

“…Is your Mum alright?”

He breathes in sharp. “I-I dunno. They got me good and I don’t know if…”

I regret asking. I regret more not being able to bury my face into his chest. “She’s fine. I’m sure of it. She’s a tough old lady.”

“…Aye. That she is.” And there’s no use worrying otherwise, not any more.

More silence, thrum of an empty highway.

He says, “maybe we should have just said yes.”

“Really?” I ask.

“Aye. Knowing what we know now, don’t you want to go back and take the deal? We’d probably tear each other to bits, but at least we’d still be alive.”

“I don’t think I would,” I say after a while. “I love you Tavish. I wouldn’t trade that for the world. It was all worth it, in my book.”

“Oh,” he says. The sniffles get louder, then slower again, rising and falling like a tide. He croaks, “I think you’re worth it too. And if…if we’d had more time, I would have tried harder. For us.”

“I would have tried harder too.”

When the Administrator’s men finally lift the lid of the trunk, we both have to quell tears before facing the woman on the screen.

It’s a gravel pit, just like she promised. People I don’t recognize—dressed like the ones who raided my apartment with their purple jumpsuits and black masks—surround us as white light and grey gravel fill my vision. We’re not even given the dignity of standing up, simply grabbed under an arm on each side and hauled bodily into the waiting pit below. Another man, another TV screen. We’re thrown on our knees before it.

“Mr. DeGroot. Mr. Doe. I would like you to know it is a vast understatement when I say this outcome is…disappointing.”

Her expression is just as chilling as it was a few hours ago, leaned over her switchboard like she could reach through the screen and strangle me with her press-on nails. I’d like to see her try. If there’s one thing I could out-strangle it’s a single arm coming out of an idiot box.

“Our mercenaries are expected to maintain a certain standard of conduct,” the Administrator goes on. “Of loyalty. And yet here you are. You have both betrayed me and your employers with your open disregard for self control, with your friend-making. The only glimmer of salvageable material from your foolish breach in contract is that when your long and excruciating deaths are complete, your coworkers will learn from your example and think before toeing the line in the future. You could have listened to your conscious-”

“Jesus lady,” Tavish cuts in with an exhausted eye roll. “You’re jealous, we get it.”

I snort. And why not? It’s not like I have anything else to lose at this point, why not get in a little gallows humor. Tavish shoots me a grin that lets me know that jibe was just for me.

The Administrator is less amused. “Shoot that one first.”

The man closest to Tavish lowers his shotgun, and in less than a second after the order the Demoman jerks as a shot louder than a rocket reverberates through the gravel pit. I can’t even flinch. All I can do is stare as Tavish crumples to the ground, groaning as blood and worse flows from his abdomen. Just like that. Snap of the fingers, and the smallest victory turned back into a nightmare.

“If we can continue,” she says. “As I said, your gross insubordination will be-”

My mouth works silently. She keeps going with her petty, nearly childish speech, but I can’t hear it. Too busy staring at Tavish’s prone form, watching as he tries to clutch his stomach while his hands are bound around his back. All he can do is bring his knees close to his chest as he spills blood onto the gravel. I’m pulled from my shock enough to try and squirm feebly toward him, but the hand on the back of my neck holds me firm and all I can do is watch.

He looks up and tries to find my eyes. Then a wave of pain rolls over him and he whimpers, curling in closer until I can’t see his face.

“-the lack of respect for ones employers-”

“I am going to kill you!” The certainty of those words finds me, and through them my voice shakes loose, reality tossed to the side as rage takes his place. “I will not die here, do you hear me you pathetic, maggoty little crone? I am going to find you and tear your throat with my teeth! You can take every single weapon from my hands but that will not protect you useless, shit-eating, worm.”

My lungs wheeze just from that effort. She blinks tiredly in my direction. “Beat that one until he stops talking.”

A boot takes me in the side of the head.

I don’t stop shouting though, and if they’re going to beat me until then, it’s going to be a while. The need to go to Tavish is overridden by the desire to tear every single one of them to pieces, to a pile of human remains their mothers wouldn’t recognize. They throw me to the ground, raining down far worse than what I received at my apartment, worse than I’ve ever received. Ribs shatter like glass light bulbs, splitting open and lodging themselves in my insides as a blow to my head is joined by a dozen more. They kick my groin, and when I curl up defensively they instead go for my spine, digging steel-toed shoes until I can barely feel at all.

I only stop yelling when breathing becomes more important. By that time, my nose is too much snot and broken cartilage to use, and my mouth is too much smashed teeth.

Briefly, I catch sight of Tavish, when my face comes to the ground and the two of us am at eye level for once. He can’t see me anymore. His eye is open, dead and glossy, and a new wave of anger and grief wells up inside of me and I will kill each and every one of you. You will all goddamned pay. How dare you, how dare you. In a second I will stand up. I will avenge both of us. I will make them pay, I will kill them for ever having made us hide in the first place.

But I can’t. I’m going to die. All that working on breathing and it’s just getting slower, a hand on the back of my neck picks me up and slams me down again, and me and…

Couldn’t save him, just like he couldn’t save me from myself.

No one will even know. Miles from civilization, from water, from anything, the only thing I had was him and no one will remember me. As the darkness closes in on my vision, I think that there’s no one out here but us and our executioners.

So then why’s the sound of a car getting so loud?

It takes exactly four seconds for everything to change. One moment I’m lying face down while a knee presses into my back, the next the engine’s thrum becomes an ear splitting roar as a blue flatbed truck comes fuming overhead, clearing the pit as it goes tearing through space. Well, mostly clearing. It clips the man holding me, missing me by feet and tearing him off me. A second later the truck lands, taking out the farthest men and splattering them like particularly mushy bowling pins. The air is screaming. My nostrils fill with engine oil. I lift my head in sheer incredulity.

The entire gravel pit jumps to action as the mercenaries now have something much more pressing to deal with as a blue-suited maniac jumps out of the passenger seat and shakes a flamethrower over their head.

“…Pyro?”

My question, spoken in disbelief, is answered by a belch of flame from the thrower’s end, engulfing the nearest huddle of TF mercs who’ve only now drawn their weapons. As they scream, another figure leans out the driver’s side window and fires a shotgun shell into the closest bystander.

One of those mercs initially crushed under the truck’s tire was the one sporting the television screen. I know, because as I feebly try to lift myself and comprehend what just happened, I can hear, “what is going on out there?” The screen rolls further into the pit. “Mercenaries! Answer me!”

In reply, the nearest three mercenaries scream as they’re burned alive.

“Too many!” Engineer yells, a return shot taking off his side mirror. “Grab him and let's get out of here!”

I still haven’t processed the truck’s arrival, let alone that I’m the him in question. Not until a pair of strong, gloved hands are haul me to my feet, and a fire axe cuts the bindings around my wrists and ankles. I stagger. Pyro catches me.

“No, wait,” I wheeze. “Give me a shovel. I will disembowel every last one of them.”

Pyro hudda huhs in the negative. They drag me, but will I kill them, every last one of them, I will…

The truck revs its engine, and my heart lurches as I remember-

“No! No wait!”

Pyro’s taking me away from him. Tavish is still curled on the ground, and I will not leave him, I have to go back, to stand over his body and kill anyone who tires to touch him. Pyro follows my gaze.

“Please,” I say, because they know, they have to understand. “I can’t leave him.”

“We don’t got time for that!” Engineer calls out his window as he provides cover fire, the two of us almost into the truck. I can’t let them take me away-

Pyro shoves me the last few feet upward, into the truck bed. “No,” I beg. “I can’t-”

But Pyro, blessed, godsent Pyro does not join us. They turn around, locate the best path back into the bottom of the gravel pit, and charge in.

“Dammit,” Engineer calls. "Pyro he's a goner just-"

Pyro runs back into the line of fire still aimed in the truck's direction, immediately dropping to their knee and fireman-hauling Tavish onto their shoulder. The air is so full of bullets yet still they run, gravel splashing underfoot, their flamethrower offering no protection as they storm the last few feet to the truck.

They crash clumsily into the back, shoving Tavish into my arms. There is a noise in my throat—what kind it was meant to be I can’t be sure with my broken face and broken body but oh god he’s still warm.

“Tavish,” I breathe. “Tavish, please, oh god please…”

My arm is broken but goddamn if I don’t pull him as close to me as I can, burying my face in his neck, silently begging him to still be in there. My hands find his wound, putting as much pressure as I can, thinking how if I can just stop the bleeding everything will be OK.

“Go go go!” Pyro says, and the truck speeds up and over the lip of the pit in a hail of gravel.

Gunfire recedes behind us. They might follow us, but I’m pretty sure Pyro torched their rides in that first round of flamethrower-ing. Good. I fucking hated that trunk.

A minute of silent car ride passes. Then two. It might as well have been another friendly carpool to work.

Pyro scoots closer, mumbling, “is he…?”

“I…” I say.

Tavish stirs, fighting back to consciousness.

“Tavish,” I say. “Tav you’re alive. Christ we’re alive.”

His eye flicks open, those long lashes fluttering for just a second before closing again. “Oh. That’s good.”

I lift my head to look at the two around me, the ones I have to thank for that. People who were barely coworkers. People who maybe should have been my friends but…well, I didn’t think they actually cared.

“How did you…?” I ask, not sure how to finish. But then my eyes fix on the back of Engineer’s helmet, unmoving as he stares ahead at the road. “You. Your family.”

“Yeah me,” Engineer snorts derisively. “And I burned a lot of bridges taking advantage of those family connections, all just to save your sorry ass. What were you even thinking getting mixed up with a Red?”

My head spins to Pyro, somehow mildly betrayed even under the pain and the…everything else. “You said you wouldn’t tell him!”

“Nuh-uh. Said it wouldn’t leave the back of this truck. I told him in the back.”

I’m flabbergasted; not only by Pyro's blatant misinterpreting of friendship confidentiality agreements, but by the fact that I understood most of what they just said.

“Hmph,” I mutter. “Well all that bridge burning is going to go to waste if we don’t get a dispenser back here soon.”

“Can’t drive and build a dispenser at the same time, now can I?” We’re moving slow enough now that I can hear Engineer when he shouts out the open back window. “I figure we go straight to Medic. Who knows, maybe he’ll throw his life and career out the window too, just like all of us. You realize that right? That ‘cause we’re doing this for you, me ‘n Pyro are out of a job?”

“Oh, out of the job,” Tavish says faintly. “Must be real terrible for you.”

This reminder, that he’s here, that he’s still breathing, prompts me to pull him closer if that were even possible. The chuckle I want comes out as more of a dry sob. I kiss Tavish’s cheek, still not quite believing this is real. Sure we’re now fugitives from the two most powerful companies in America, but we’ve got a truck and some friends and a lot of open highway.

“I love you,” I say so Pyro and Engineer don’t overhear.

He reaches up, and pulls me down until our foreheads touch.

“I meant what I said about trying harder,” I tell him. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Aye.” His hand is warm against the side of my neck. “I think we’ve proved that we’re both too thick-headed to give up on this.”

I kiss his lips, flakes of blood falling away.

[thetriggeredhappy]

(I love all of your writings) one of Scout's voice lines literally broke my heart. The one in the Birthday mode which said that no one came to his birthday :"((( the fact that he called everyone his best friends make it sadder. Can you write about that a little bit. I know that you have written about his birthday before but can you do one more pleaseeeeeee

birthday boy time

(warnings for alcohol mention, mention of violence, and injury)

-

“Happy birthday, lad,” Demo greeted, clapping him on the shoulder as he passed by. Scout lit up, calling back a greeting in return.

Call him a sap, but he hadn’t quite given up on having fun birthdays yet. He’d heard it a hundred times from most of the rest of the team, that you stop focusing so much on your birthday when you get older, but not this guy. Scout was determined to actually have a nice birthday.

That being said, he knew by then, after those first few years working with the team, that they had a bit of a history of not necessarily being 100% on board with doing a whole thing purely because someone was a year older, and he mostly settled for bugging some of the team into going out for drinks or ordering a bunch of pizza and playing board games, stuff like that. A hundred times more low-key than what he’d do if they were in Boston, but hey, he took what he could get, and it usually ruled anyways.

To be honest, he didn’t even really have plans that year. He’d said as much when he was asked earlier that week. It was the middle of the week, not all that close to the weekend, so going out with everyone was pretty much off the table, as was getting drunk considering they all had work the day after. He was gonna head into town and get himself a gift, that was most of his plan, maybe hang out with everyone later on too. He’d been saving his money for a while, a just-in-case fund that he’d been working on for a few years, a luxury he didn’t have growing up, and didn’t tend to spend much money on himself outside of snack food and Bonk and sometimes comic books or little things like that. It would be nice to get himself something he really liked. That alone was plenty of excitement. Not an adrenaline kind, just a regular, nice sort of thing.

Overall, he was honestly just thrilled that apparently everyone actually remembered this year, greeted all morning by similar casual “hey, happy birthday”s, including a particularly excited one from Pyro, who hugged him and spun him in a few circles outright. He had plenty of time next year to do some really sick birthday stuff, but overall, he was just gonna chill out, treat himself for once, and relax.

-

“Alright everyone,” the Engineer said grimly, half an hour previously, casting a look around the room. “Here’s the plan.”

The team minus their fastest member were all gathered around the debriefing table, and this time, rather than Miss Pauling with official orders or Soldier with the latest new strategy, it was the Engineer standing up front holding a piece of chalk.

“We’ve been over this, Toymaker, twice weekly all month,” Demo drawled, rolling his eye.

“I know that, but this is important,” he stressed.

“It is true,” Heavy rumbled, nodding solemnly. “This is big deal.”

“We can’t afford to let this one get mucked up considering our history,” the Engineer said firmly. “Every year it’s somethin’. This year we aren’t taking any chances, especially after that catastrophe last year.”

A groan from the team as they collectively remembered. A nod from the Engineer.

“We’re lucky Firebug was the one to ask why Scout was in the kitchen combing the cabinets and not one of us, otherwise he would’ve found out for sure. If he knew we all forgot his birthday, it would crush him,” he said emphatically. The team looked embarrassed as a whole, while Pyro looked particularly mortified. “And we can’t just buy the damn kid a few pizzas and hand him alcohol like that was the plan again this year.”

“Fortunately for all of you, I’ve been so generous as to look into a few things,” Spy piped in, pausing to take a drag from his cigarette.

“As if you won’t take any excuse to snoop,” Sniper mumbled, and was glared at.

“I resent that remark,” Spy scoffed. “Regardless. I happen to know that we’re in luck, and that Scout is planning to go into town for a short period of time this afternoon. For what purpose, I’m not sure. But it should mean we have plenty of time to set everything up.”

“I trust you all have gifts ready?” Medic asked, and received a general murmur of agreement, and made a check on the paper he had attached to a clipboard. “Ja, ja, that is good. Herr Demoman, Pyro, you are done with your baking?”

“Cake is baked, iced, and decorated,” Demo nodded, Pyro giving a thumbs up of agreement.

“Soldier, how are decorations?”

“Acquired and prepared for deployment!” Soldier barked, holding up a hand in salute.

“Doc, Heavy, you two were meant to run interference,” the Engineer said, and the two nodded. “With that not a worry, how about you help with the cooking and decorating?”

“Heavy can do this,” Heavy agreed, and Medic nodded as well, jotting down a few notes on his clipboard.

“And the snake was gonna help with anything that went wrong, and Sniper, you were gonna help with headed into town for anything we needed last minute,” the Engineer said, and received nods from the two of them.

“Do we need anything so far?” Sniper asked.

“No, we’re fine for now. And I’ve got my own setup handled,” the Engineer said, and nodded a few times to himself. “Alright. Sounds like we’re golden.”

“Ja, very good. Herr Spy, would you keep an eye on Scout and let the rest of us know when we can begin getting ready?” Medic asked.

“Obviously,” Spy said.

“Alright. Now go on, get, he’ll be wondering why we’re all running late, act natural,” the Engineer said, shooing them all from the conference room.

-

Later that day after battle was over, Spy dispersed news not long later that Scout had gotten changed into civvie clothes and gone into town on his bike, and they all leapt into action. Within half an hour, the decorations were ready, streamers and balloons in every direction, the table unfolded from their storage (only used when they needed to seat the entire team, which wasn’t often) and was set up with the cake, ready to have candles lit, the presents were stacked neatly, the Engineer had set up the new sound system he’d been working on (put into crunch time to have ready for the occasion), everything was set up and perfect. The only thing they still needed was Scout.

They settled in to wait, knowing town was a good twenty minutes away, thirty if he was headed to the better one. By the time he found everyone, Spy said that it had been about ten minutes, and they took around thirty to set everything up, meaning that Scout would probably be at least another ten minutes, maybe as much as half an hour. Spy would keep his eyes open and warn them when he came back, but in the meantime, they could relax while they waited.

In the meantime, Soldier and Demo attempted a few ‘finishing touches’ (putting party hats on his more docile raccoons and setting out some firecrackers and sparklers, respectively), and some of the other members of the team sat to play cards for a bit. Pyro, easily the most antsy, burned their way through the box of matches that sat waiting next to the cake one by one and started idly playing with their lighter when they ran out, occasionally lighting some of the extra candles.

Half an hour came and went. Forty minutes. Fifty. An hour.

They asked Spy if he had any word yet. The answer was no, and the visual of a few cigarette butts littered around Spy’s feet and a scowl.

The Engineer played a few song requests on the sound system. Soldier switched around party hats on the raccoons to better suit their personalities. Demo lit a sparkler and let it burn out. They switched card games.

At the two hour mark, the concern was starting to build in all of them. Maybe Scout went even further than any of them had expected. He hadn’t told any of them to wait up for him, to be fair. But he always told them outright if he wouldn’t be back for supper, and he hadn’t said anything, and should’ve been back by then. It was getting well into sundown.

“I am preparing to declare Scout as officially AWOL,” Soldier mumbled somewhere near the two/and-a-half hour mark, just a bit angrily, adjusting the party hat on Corporal Munch where it was crooked. Demo patted him on the shoulder to console him.

“He’ll get here when he gets here,” he assured, going back to fiddling with a party popper.

“Don’t waste those,” the Engineer warned. “And no queens, Go Fish.”

A groan from Medic. Demo shrugged. “We have some extra. Here, just to liven her up.”

He tugged the string on the popper, setting it off and sending a short shower of confetti onto Soldier, and that was where it all went wrong.

Corporal Munch, startled, made a little yelp-like noise and quickly clawed up Soldier’s chest, startled and attempting to escape. Soldier tried to grab on harder, but that just made the raccoon even more alarmed, and it rushed to clamor faster, digging claws in hard. Heads turned in time to see Soldier losing his grip and the animal rushing away towards the nearest enclosed, dim space, which just so happened to be the table Pyro was sitting at with the cake.

Pyro leapt up from their seat, battle instincts kicking in for a moment, and the movement startled the Corporal, who veered suddenly and crashed directly into one of the chairs, toppling it and the one directly next to it and making the entire table jerk.

Pyro, panicked, quickly grabbed the cake stand before it could fall over, dropping their lighter and the candle in their hand. The two things landed on the tablecloth, and by the time Pyro realized their mistake, they’d already lit the thin paper tablecloth on fire.

Shouting around the room as teammates attempted to leap into action, Pyro trying to save the cake from the fire first and foremost, Soldier attempting to catch the Corporal, who was only becoming more freaked out over time. Heavy moved to snatch up some of the other flammable items off of the table, but misjudged where Pyro was moving, and Pyro collided with him, the cake tumbling from the stand and directly across the both of them. The Corporal, entirely confused on the commotion, attempted to claw into the space under the cards table, making Medic yelp as his legs were torn into, Sniper rushing to try and catch the animal as well. Demo, having found the fire extinguisher, realized he was a bit late as he tried to put out the table, most of the tablecloth gone and the fire having spread across the streamers, and he tried to put out what he could, and it was only with the Engineer’s cry of dismay that he remembered, oh, right, those streamers were on top of that shiny new sound system, weren’t they. With a final puff, the ‘Happy Birthday’ sign went up in flames and was gone, and the team was left there in the wreckage.

Spy rounded the corner into the room, eyebrows furrowed from the commotion he’d heard. When he saw the smoking, foamy, cake-y remains, all he could do was sigh, kneading at the bridge of his nose. “Something new every year, is it?” he drawled.

-

It took them the better part of forty minutes to clean up the mess, and even then, the room had a weird smell to it. By the end of everything, all they had was one of the undecorated practice cakes Pyro had baked, some party hats, and some poppers. And by the time they were done cleaning up, Scout still hadn’t returned.

“At least he doesn’t have to see what a damn mess we made of things,” the Engineer sighed, and that seemed to be the consensus.

It was much later that Spy finally let them know that he’d seen the headlights of a motorcycle coming up the road, and the team just sighed, too tired to work up much energy. Some of them at least planned to call out a ‘happy birthday’ at him, but all they could do was stare when he walked into the room.

“Hey, guys,” Scout croaked, attempting a smile through a bruised lip.

“What the hell happened to you?” Sniper demanded, taking in the sight.

Scout was busted up in a number of different ways. What looked like a former bloody nose and a swollen lip seemed to be the worst of it, an amount of blood all down Scout’s front, staining what looked like one of his nicer civvie shirts beyond repair. There was also a dampness to his shirt and hair and a stain that implied he’d been splashed with something, practically drenched by the look of it, and he carried himself just slightly off-balance and held a bag in the arm not cradled to his abdomen.

Despite that, he managed a laugh, a lopsided grin. “Man, what the hell didn’t happen to me is more like it,” he said, shrugging. “Had a weird one.”

“Are you alright?” Medic demanded, already standing up, from his chair, and Scout shrugged again.

“Just bruises and all, it’s not an emergency or whatever, but I’d appreciate a heal or somethin’,” he admitted, and Medic left the room, hurrying towards the infirmary. “Forreal, though, what a fuckin’ night.”

“What’s on your shirt?” Spy asked, entirely deadpan, looking vaguely disgusted.

“Uh, I think it’s a margarita?” Scout said, glancing down at it and picking at his shirt vaguely. “I, uh, I should start from the top. Okay, so I went into town, right? I was just gonna buy some stuff real quick, and I got, uh… I got a little lost.”

“A little? Scooter, you’ve been gone all day!” the Engineer admonished.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. There was construction on the usual road, I think they’re fixin’ a bridge or somethin’. Anyways, I got pretty far off track, but I got to town eventually. Just took a while. Anyways, I do my shopping, but because I was all rattled from havin’ to take a hundred detours I totally forget that there’s this one guy at the store that hates my guts, and I’ve gotta split pretty fast before he knocks some teeth out, y’know?”

“Do we want to know why he hates you?” Demo asked, a bit of humor in his tone.

“Nope,” Scout said simply, grinning right back. “So, yeah, but on my way into town I saw at the bar they have some kinda thing goin’ on, right, some kinda weird drink special. So I figure, hey, I’ll walk in, get the new drink, then I’ll leave, y’know? I don’t wanna have to drive home after dark and drunk. So I order, and as soon as I order some guy who’s been at the bar too long already starts tryin’ to pick a fight with me, right? And it’s a whole thing, and I finally get my drink but now there’s a whole thing, and I kinda make this offhanded comment at this gal nearby, y’know, tryin’ to make sure he knows we’re in a public place, all ‘hey, you’re really gonna embarrass yourself by pick in’ fights right in front of this real pretty girl?’, right?”

“Oh no,” Sniper sighed, already seeing where this was going.

“Well, yeah, bad luck, turns out that’s his girlfriend, and he shoves me into some guy, and I get a whole drink all over me, and mine is all over some third gut, and this whole brawl breaks out—anyways, busted lip and no drink and I’m probably not allowed in that bar anymore, but whatever, I finally start headed home.”

“Right,” Spy said, suspicious.

“And, uh, I never wanna drive at night because there’s all these animals out here, right? And the roads are shitty. And I’m headed back, and it’s dark as dicks, and I think I see this rock and I try and go around it, but then the rock moves back in my way because it’s a lizard or whatever and I hit the breaks and swerve straight into a pothole and just barely manage to keep on my bike, but I donk myself on the handlebars and totally throw my leg out of wack and all that. And, uh, and now I’m here.”

“Christ alive,” the Engineer marvelled.

“Bad day to have,” Heavy said, also stunned.

“Hey, it’ll be a funny story to tell later,” Scout shrugged, still grinning. “Got those new shoes at least, though.”

He pulled a shoebox out of the paper bag, and the box was dented into some kind of new parallelogram, barely resembling its past shape. Scout, meanwhile, was still smiling.

Silence in the room. “Well. While it is unlikely you need any more excitement today,” Spy trailed hesitantly. Pyro, understanding the cue, leapt up and hurried off into the kitchen, coming back with the cake.

“Woah, seriously?” Scout asked, eyes lighting up. “You made me a cake? Mumbles, you’re the best!”

“We, uh… we had more planned, but, some things went a little wrong,” the Engineer admitted, and trailed off as well as he looked at Scout.

“Not that we get to complain,” Demo laughed, seeming to come to the same realization as the Engineer.

“Are you joking? This rules!” Scout said, and lit up further when Medic returned with his Medigun, shaking off his injuries within a few moments. “Hey, thanks guys, seriously, no idea what I did to get such cool teammates. You guys are awesome, I mean it.”

“Dunno how we got a bloke like you, either,” Sniper shrugged, voice quiet compared to the rest of them. “Not many people can laugh after a day like yours and still have the energy to be pleased with anyone.”

“Aw, hey, I mean… y’know, it’s nothing,” Scout shrugged sheepishly, glancing away for a second. “Hey, you guys are playin’ cards? Deal me in! Oh yeah, hold on, we need plates and stuff for cake—“

He dropped his bag near the door and hurried into the kitchen. The room was quiet behind him. Demo held up a party popper, glancing around the room. The Engineer took it from him, shaking his head.