#walking a groove in the floorboards thinking about this

[cosmereclysmic]

If emotional pain feels like physical pain could you replicate Odium-numbing-Moash levels of numbing with a Painrial? 🤔🤔🤔

[munsonsreputation]

I THINK THERES BEEN A GLITCH

CHAPTER THREE: SITUATION-SHIP

↢ chapter two | series masterlist | chapter four ↣

🎧 soundtrack

steve harrington x fem!baker + artist

word count: [9.5K]

warnings: no use of y/n, talks / mentions of self deprecation, mental spiral (overwhelming thoughts and anxiety), steve being an overthinking mess, overall fluffiness bcs we all need it rn.

summary: when Robin calls you with an impromptu invite to Hawkins you can't turn it down especially when you've been dying for an excuse to see Steve again. but it all comes to a daunting turn as Steve endures a night full of prodding and pestering by his friends. it gets the best of him, taking him down the familiar road of anxiety and fear, but that was before you strayed towards his side, showing him that this situation isn't as complicated as it seems.

“Look into his angel eyes, one look and you’re hypnotized…”

You hummed along softly with your hand on your hip standing in front of the kettle that boiled slowly on the stove. It was nearly midmorning and though you weren’t an early bird yourself, it felt nice to roll out of bed with the hope that today was going to be better…you were going to be better.

And better meant making an effort, one that probably would go nowhere, but at least you tried. It was about time you pulled yourself out of the slump instead of sitting around waiting for yourself to magically get yanked out of it with ease. Instead, you set the mood, turning your living room into its usual workspace that would hopefully help you get into the groove of things.

The curtains had been drawn letting the sunshine cascade the walls and floorboards of your apartment.

Your new ABBA record spinning on the turn table beside a freshly lit candle.

Paint bottles, brushes, and other material had been set on the coffee table, ready to be put to use.

A new canvas on the easel already primed and just waiting for you to step forward and bring your art to life.

“Okay,” You sighed, nodding to yourself as you took a sip of your hot coffee and walked towards your living room.

Setting down the mug after taking another sip, you reached for your sketchbook, flipping through the pages that you had filled over the course of the past few days. It wasn’t anything too out of this world, just scenes in your head that were committed to memory and couldn’t stop thinking about.

Four pages were full of rough sketches:

A piece of half eaten cherry pie on a plate.

A vase of flowers sitting on a window sill.

A pile of quarters sitting next to a jukebox.

And a silhouette of a man who looked way too much like Steve — shirtless and covered in beauty marks where he stood in your living room.

Who were you kidding? It was Steve. All four sketches had to do with him… the muse if you will.

The half eaten pie was a flashback to your first time meeting him and the longing gazes you two would share in his living room. The vase of flowers took you back to the day where he came over with summer arrangements in his hands. The pile of quarters reliving the moment he asked you to dance and gave you all his pocket change just so you could listen to your favorite songs over dinner.

And of course, shirtless Steve, a beautiful reminder that he was living in your head no matter how far apart you were and how blurry the lines between you both were drawn. Friends had a nice title to it, but there was that gnawing feeling of more, a kind of relationship you couldn’t quite place.

Embarrassingly enough, the sketch didn’t take you long. You even mapped out the littlest of details like the three moles he had resting on his stomach and the hair that decorated his chest.

‘It’s ten in the morning and you’re thinking about Steve, that’s so pathetic,’

Sure it was utterly pathetic and honestly downright ridiculous but you couldn’t sit there and pretend like you weren’t affected by him. Even if the sketch didn’t do real life Steve any justice, it was still Steve. The Steve that would send you into a love sick daze if you decided to paint him today so instead you opened for the slice of cake, just as memorable as shirtless Steve.

With the graphite pencil in your dominant hand, you used light strokes against the canvas, roughing out the original sketch and creating a guide that would make it easier for you to paint in sections. The details like the crumbs sitting on the plate and the mush from the cherries didn’t correspond the way you’d like just yet, but you know it’s part of the process and once the paint hits, it’ll come together eventually.

“Not bad,” You whispered under your breath, dropping the pencil down and stepping back to see the composition.

You had drawn the plate sitting against his wooden coffee table, a few crumbs littered across the dish with the fork resting on the edge. It’s a simple scene, something that you shouldn’t have to tilt your head at and begin to pick apart, but you do so without realizing it’s that incessant criticism again.

Even if it’s just a sketch, you’re already imagining the colors clashing together and looking murky if you even think about painting it. The pie itself doesn’t even look half eaten, instead it looks like it had been torn apart from the inside by maggots — disgusting and revolting.

“Nope, c’mon, get it together,” You shut your eyes tightly, shaking your head back and forth as if that would make the gnawing thoughts leave your head.

When you opened your eyes you could picture the slimy larvae creatures moving across the plate and onto the fork, making you groan as you flopped back onto the couch and ran your fingers through your scrap tugging at your roots frustratedly.

All of it felt so fucking impossible and you weren’t sure why. Maybe it was the fact that you weren’t strong enough to combat your own goddamn thoughts and pick yourself up or maybe it was beginning to dawn on you that your spark was gone.

The ideas that you had in your head and even the sketches that filled your book was just the remainder of what was left. Before you knew it, it was all going to be gone eventually and you’d have to settle for the fact that your dreams as an artist were going to be crushed. And not because someone else was telling you that you couldn’t do it, but because at the end of the day it was always you.

Where was the girl who was sitting across from Steve at the diner that she painted all by herself? Where was the girl who looked around that same diner and realized that her potential was not limited by herself? Where was that girl who powered through all that stress and walked away with all the experience that made her better?

Where was she now and how could you find her again?

RING! RING! RING!

The search party was over pretty quickly, you weren’t even sure if you would have been able to find her in the first place. Reaching for the phone from where you were sitting, you picked it up and pressed it to your ear while you relaxed your head back against the cushions.

“Yellow,” You answered with a heavy breath.

A gasp rang from the other line with excitement, “Green! Are we going in order of ROYGBIV?!”

The voice on the other line immediately erased the frown on your face, calming the anxiety that was brewing in your chest as soon as Robin came through when you needed her the most.

“Robs!” You greeted happily this time, “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” you asked, sitting up somewhat.

She let out a “mhm!”, and you could hear some noise, probably something on the tv that she was playing to pass the time, “I’m calling you from work actually. I hope you aren’t too busy.”

You let out a sarcastic laugh, glaring across the small space at the innocent easel and canvas, “Not busy at all, quite literally just giving my art supplies the nastiest glare in the world right now.”

“Still nothing new?” Robin wondered sadly.

You reached for your coffee mug, taking a sip and humming a reply before speaking, “Yeah, I think I’m throwing in the towel for the day.”

“Well don’t stress it, I’m sure it’ll come to you in no time.” She said encouragingly.

There was a special bond you and Robin had despite not knowing each other for long. For you, it felt like you have known her forever, possibly the bestest friend you’ve ever had because you didn’t have many.

Every thoughtful word came from her heart and you could feel it in the way she spoke to you with sureness even if you weren’t entirely sure of it yourself.

Your stress began to mellow, giving yourself the chance to finally breathe, “Thanks Ro. I miss you.”

“I know, I miss you too, buttttt we won’t miss each other for long because I was wondering if you’d wanna come down to Hawkins tonight!”

Her voice was always filled with excitement but this time around you caught the glint of hopefulness — as if you would ever turn it down even when you clearly had work to do.

You sat up wiggling your shoulders, “What the occasion?”

“Joyce and Hop are hosting a housewarming barbecue and because they’ve been hearing so much about you, they’d really love to meet you if you don’t have anything going on.”

You nibbled on your lip absentmindedly, “Hop and Joyce are the triplets parents’ right?”

You coined El, Will, and Jonathan under the nickname the triplets because of how similar they looked despite not being fully blood related. If Nancy hadn’t explained to you that the El was technically the boys’ step sister, you would have never guessed it.

You could hear the faint ding coming from what you assumed was the customer service bell followed by her saying, “Correct! So are you in?”

Glancing over at the time on the clock, you estimated that you had just enough time to start baking and then a little extra to get ready. From what you had heard, Hop and Joyce were the most laid back and involved out of all the parents. Knowing this you were more so excited than intimidated – if Robin and the rest of the group loved them, then so would you. 

“I’d be crazy to miss out on it, do you have an address?” You reached forward, picking up a ballpoint pen and napkin from your coffee table, ready to jot it down.

She mumbled under her breath, “Uhhh, hold on, I’m trying to remember.”

You were sure that you could picture the scene of her pinching her eyes shut and thinking especially hard with the “uh’s” and “um’s” from the other line. There was another voice in the background, a bit muffled yet closer and you wondered if it was Steve or their weirdo boss, Keith. Either way, you couldn’t hear what was being said, just the other person asking Robin something and her reply in pensive hums.

Then there was a slight shuffle, the phone feeling farther as she spoke. “Shit, here, talk to Steve while I try to get into El’s file.”

Your eyes widened and you sat up a little straighter, clearing your throat as you responded though you were sure she couldn’t hear you.

“O-oh, okay!”

Maybe it was because you spent a good chunk of your morning thinking about him and staring at the sketch of his shirtless body, but for some reason you had felt more skittish than normal. Almost debating on whether or not to hang up and let Robin call you back once she found the address. But it was just because you hadn’t spoken to Steve in five whole days.

It was Friday now and the last time you got to hear his voice is when he called you ‘sweet thing’ and you’d be lying to yourself if you said that you hadn’t been thinking about him saying it on repeat in your head — but that's besides the point.

It only took you five days of not speaking to him for you to realize that you missed him a lot more than you should’ve. That thinking about him the way that you were wasn’t entirely normal and the sketches even spoke for themselves. That night where he showed up to your gallery and spent the evening at yours was the catalyst to something inside of you that felt so foreign yet comforting.

By now it would be futile to try to pretend like you weren’t a plate of mush when it came to him.

“Hey, stranger.” He spoke smoothly.

His voice was cheery and you swore you could picture him leaned up on the counter with his phone pressed to his ear. A sight that you wish you could see with your own eyes instead of in your imagination.

You grunted out a short laugh, knowing there was no malice behind it, simply just trying to contain yourself, “Hiya, Steve.”

“How’s it going?” He asked with a short pause, “Being nicer to yourself?” There was a teasing lift to his voice that you caught making you roll your eyes playfully.

Laying back on the couch you kicked your legs up behind you, “I’m trying, but you know, I gotta say I’m a little annoyed at myself.”

He drew a breath in, voice coming out concerned as he spoke, “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“I’m a total idiot who forgot to ask the guy who bought me a dozen cronuts and my favorite latte for his number so I could thank him sooner,” you giggled, closing your eyes as you heard him laugh and the unease was replaced with humor.

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I’m an idiot for not leaving it. I just thought you wouldn’t want me flooding you with calls if I had your number.” He said it quietly trying not to be heard by Robin, but you ended up stifling your laughter as you heard her chirp in the background

“Oh, I already do that, and she doesn’t mind!” Robin quirked up as you heard him groan, hissing at her to be quiet.

“She really does and I don’t mind. one. bit.” You assured him, hoping he’d take you up on the offer and finally ask for your number. 

He chuckled, humming before he spoke again, “But seriously, how are you?”

You let out an exasperated sigh, prompting an “uh-oh” from Steve who picked up on your underlying mood right away. Even if he hadn’t asked, you probably would have ended up telling him anyway.

“I tried painting today. Didn’t really end up going well, seeing as though I’m sprawled out on my couch right about now.” You grumbled slightly annoyed at yourself for this reason.

He sucked in a harsh breath of air, “Yikes, sorry to hear that, but hey! You’re trying and that's what matters,” he tried his best to be encouraging.

“I guess,” you replied.

“You’re doing it again,” he warned.

You furrowed your brows sitting up, “Doing what?”

“The whole being means to yourself thing,” he said obviously.

“No, I’m not,” you defended yourself though you know that’s exactly the path you were about to go down and it just so happened that Steve caught you.

“But you kinda were.” You could feel the small smile forming on his face because you know he sees right through the facade even through the phone.

You paused, guiltily sighing, “Yeah, I kinda was.”

The two of you shared a short laugh, his coming from his chest while yours came from your throat. The tightening of the muscle loosening with the sound of his laughter easing all of the pent up stress and anxiety within you like an instant cure.

“Well, stop it.” He murmured, “I know whatever you’re working on is gonna be great when it’s finished. For now it’s just gonna take a bit of time.”

That’s what you were hoping for, just a bit of time to get you out of this funk so that you could return back to your regular self that didn’t see creating art as a task. You wanted to get back to enjoying it wholeheartedly instead of being so hard on yourself.

You smiled into the receiver tucking the phone closer to your ear, “That’s really kind of you, Steve, thanks for saying that… and I'm sorry for being—”

He swooped in before you could finish the sentence not knowing what you could possibly be sorry for.

“Nope, no sorries either. No more being mean to yourself and no more apologizing unnecessarily.” His voice was laced with determination like you should know this by now.

You giggled faintly, shaking your head, “Fine, it’s a deal.”

There was a short pause of silence, wondering if you should tell him that he could get back to whatever he was doing instead of keeping you company over the phone, but he spoke first.

“Are you coming tonight?”

You hummed wiggling the pen in your hand, “Yeah, unless Robin can’t find the address.”

“She’s gonna find it, she just sucks at using the computer.” He joked lightly before you could hear Robin in the background.

“Oh shut up, I found it. Give me the phone!”

You giggled, moving yourself to sit up properly with a pen and napkin ready in hand to jot down the address.

“Okay… here’s Robs,” Steve said, getting ready to hand off the phone to Robin.

“See you tonight, Steve,” you said bubbly, excited to see him and the rest of your friends later in the day.

You could hear the phone being passed back to her from the slight shuffling, but it was quickly retracted back to Steve’s hand followed by Robin’s gasp.

“Wait!” He said hurriedly taking you aback, “You’re gonna wanna take Cornwallis instead of Mirkwood,” he began.

“Huh?” You asked confused.

“On the map, Mirkwood is the shorter route to Joyce and Hop’s but it’s a sketchy back road so don’t take it. Cornwallis is the safer route, granted it will take you a little longer but it’s safer so just…please, take Cornwallis.”

You bit your lip, holding back a smile that was borderline self indulgent because he almost sounded distressed. Like the thought of you taking the shortcut would send him into full panic mode and who were you to do that to him? Never would you ever think about worrying him like that.

“Okay, I’ll take Cornwallis. Promise.”  You said firmly followed by a sigh of relief on the other line.

“Okay great, I’ll see you—sorry, I don’t know why, I’m saying that, I literally just said it five seconds ago.” He stumbled over his words apologizing unnecessarily. 

You grinned, biting back laughter. “It’s alright, Stevie. I’ll see you tonight!”

The nickname had slipped without you even realizing it. A sweet sweet nickname that rolled off your tongue innocently while it made Steve’s heart pitter patter a little faster in his chest, almost making him go dizzy because it was you saying it to him.

“Y-yep, gotcha, see ya tonight.” He stuttered, pulling the phone away from him.

“You guys make me sick,” Robin muttered jokingly, flicking Steve’s forehead as she took the phone and began reading you the address on file.

It wasn’t long before you and Robin said your goodbyes, reminding you to take Cornwallis once again after Steve had shouted it out from across the store. She whispered something about him being totally overprotective, but you didn’t mind, if anything you found it endearing as he was looking out for you and you knew Robs was just teasing.

So your productive morning didn’t turn out the way that you had planned it to be. Instead of fulfilling the blank canvas at home, you headed out to pick out some things for the party knowing it would be rude to show up empty handed.

At the farmers market you picked up a bundle of fresh rhubarb and a carton of strawberries — a gift to Joyce who made the best strawberry rhubarb pie according to her children. Then at another stand you picked up two bottles of cider, black currant and apple ginger for Hopper.

The rest of the things you picked up were little gifts like an assortment of freshly made jams that came in cute little reusable glass jars, a bundle of herbs, and a gorgeous bouquet of bright sunflowers.

Once you had arrived back home, you committed most of your time to assembling dessert. A trifle recipe that you had bookmarked in a cookbook yet hadn’t gotten the chance to try to bake until today — though in hindsight you should’ve picked something a lot simpler, but you always like to see how much you could crunch your time.

It wasn’t long before dessert was sitting in the fridge and you were covered in flour and pastry cream as you got to work personalizing gifts for the three siblings: El, Will, and Jonathan. Their gifts were practically free, coming from your collection of office supplies, yet also coming from your heart.

El’s was a baby pink spiral notebook, college ruled with over 200 pages she could write her heart out in. You had decorated the outside cover with silver and gold stars and in cursive letters you had written “El’s Secret Journal” inside of a heart.

Will’s was a tan sketchbook with thick pages where ink and paints couldn’t bleed through. You kept the cover pretty plain, using sticker letters to title it “Will’s Spectacular Sketches'', and adding a smily face in the corner.

Jonathan’s was a photo album that would store his developed film pictures that he had told you were starting to pile up in a random shoe box in his closet. You used newspaper clippings of letters to spell out “Jonathan’s Photography” in order to achieve the vintage sorta look you knew he was into.

All of the goodies were packed into a thrifted wickered basket that the family could repurpose whenever they wanted. And it also meant easy transporting for you considering how many things were stuffed into the basket. Surprisingly enough, everything fit perfectly and you were crossing your fingers that the family loved it just as much as you did.

“Okay, c’mon,” You rubbed your hands together before getting to work on cleaning up your place.

Once you were done you quickly got into the shower, rinsing your body off of the perspiration and baking ingredients that clung to your skin.

It wasn’t long before you were dried and throwing on a simple outfit: a floral cami paired with overalls and strappy sandals to match. You dabbed on a bit of makeup before throwing on your everyday jewelry and rushing out of your bedroom

The time on the clock read a quarter to six and by now you were supposed to leave ten minutes ago — way to go for time management.

Quickly you slung your purse over your shoulder before grabbing everything and hitting the road to what you hoped wouldn’t be too long of a drive.You couldn’t wait to meet Joyce and Hopper and most of all you couldn’t wait to see your friends again… and especially the person whom you saw more than a friend.

Meanwhile the sun was setting over Hawkins and in the Byers-Hopper front yard was a group of kids too busy screaming their heads off playing tag while the others finished setting up to get together.

Nancy and Jonathan were busy setting up the picnic tables, trying to figure out a way for the paper plates not to fly off. Robin was helping Joyce inside the house, getting the veggies cut up and plated, though both of them knew they were really spending more time talking. And Eddie and Steve lingered around the grill helping Hop with the barbecue duties.

El, however, was not participating in tag, tired from chasing around her friends and wanting to catch a break as she stayed close to her fathers’ side and talked his ear off about the girl from Roane who was going to be here any minute now.

“You’re gonna love her, dad.” El bubbled watching as her dad flipped the burger patties and Steve held an aluminum pan out for him.

Hop’s chest puffed out, peering down at her. “From what I heard she sounds like you’re grandma, so I’m a tad bit concerned.”

The young girl frowned sadly, detaching from his arm. “That’s what Mike said.”

Eddie and Steve both held back their laughs watching the way Hop’s face had fallen at the sheer thought of being compared to Mike. It was obvious that the man still had a hard time accepting the fact that his own daughter would ever consider dating such a little twerp — but to each their own.

Hop coughed, shaking his head regretfully. “Well, in that case, I'll take it back. She sounds lovely, all of you can't stop yapping about her so she must be nice,” he rolled his eyes somewhat though El didn’t seem to catch it.

“The nicest!” El gushed happily, clapping her hands together. 

Steve was smiling, not minding that the conversation was centered around you because… it was you. He honestly didn’t blame El for being so excited, after all they only got to see you a few days out of the week and when they did it was always something he looked forward to the most.

Eddie was the one who wiped the smile off his face, nudging him in the ribs with his elbow nearly making him drop the pan of burger patties,“Especially to Steve.”

“Asshole!” Steve shouted, regaining his grip on the pan and glaring at the metal head who shuffled a few inches away.

“Hey!” Hopper clanked the metal tongs together gaining the boy's attention, “Make fun of him all you want but don’t you dare drop the food. Spent way too much on all this crap and the last thing I need is dirt covered burgers.”

“Yeah, c’mon man, get it together.” Eddie chided with a grin as El giggled and shook her head, clearly amused by the grown men’s banter.

The sizzling of meat on the grill accompanied the shouts of the rest of the kids who were calling a timeout wanting to take a water break. The automatic porch light flickered on, giving light to the dim area as the sky turned darker with each passing minute.

“Isn’t she supposed to be here by now?” Eddie raised his brow, taking a look at the time on his watch.

“Probably stuck in traffic or something, Roane gets backed up pretty quickly.” Steve said, holding out the pan closer as Hop placed the cooked meats on top of one another.

Hop glanced around raising an eyebrow, “What’s so special about this girl, anyway? All I’ve been hearing for the past two weeks is Roane, Roane, Roane—”

Eddie snorted, crossing his arms over his chest, “Well for starters, she lives in Roane.”

The older man glared, responding sarcastically, “Wow, no kidding. Thanks Munson."

“Always my pleasure, sir.” Eddie saluted before patting Steve firmly on the back,“You. Why don’t you tell Hop about her since you two are soooo close?”

El giggled, reaching out to poke Steve on the cheek as he chuckled and shrugged away from her and Eddie’s teasing. But he couldn’t hold back his smile, not when it came to this and bragging about all the wonderful things that he had come to memorize about you.

“She’s an artist. Sells her own work at galleries and she gets commissioned for custom pieces from time to time.” He started, leaving out the bit about you painting an elaborate mural, knowing you’d like to tell them that yourself.

“And she bakes.” El chimed in.

Steve nodded with a smile before turning back to Hop, “And she’s kind, like insanely sweet, even to Mike and that’s saying a. lot. But she’s also super generous, gave Will a bunch of art supplies and will probably bring some more tonight—”

Hopper couldn’t help but interrupt the never ending list, pointing at him with the tongs, “Are you and her seeing each other or something?”

Steve blinked, shaking his head vigorously and pursing his lips. “W-what, no, we aren’t—”

“You sure?” Eddie tilted his head.

Steve groaned, narrowing his eyes at the metal head. “You’re literally friends with us, I’d tell you if we were.” he replied with a sigh giving him that knowing look.

The metal head shrugged, a teasing smirk pulling up at his lips, “Yeah, but I didn’t know you spent the night at her place until the next day.”

“You spent the night?” Hopper blurted crossing his arms over his chest.

Steve swallowed, “I wasn’t planning to, but there was a road closure and she offered. And like I’ve been telling everyone, nothing happened. We talked, then went to sleep.”

“And you got her coffee and did laundry before you left!” El added innocently, before slapping a hand over her mouth after Steve had widened his eyes at her.

“How did you know that?” He accused suspiciously as the girl took off shouting a “I don’t know” behind her.

Hopper and Eddie seemed entertained by the information while Steve on the other hand was mortified as to how she would know that unless you had told Robin who then had told Nancy who then told Max who then told her.

Knowing Robin for as long as he did, it was most likely her. You on the other hand had no idea that Robin was a blabber mouth and the world's worst liar — but she was still his best friend so there was not much he could do about it. 

“Husband duties already?” Hop joked, snapping Steve out of his worries.

He snorted, gripping the pan tightly in his hold, “I’m sure Joyce would have appreciated it when you and her started seeing each other.”

Hopper’s chest rumbled with a deep laugh and his face fell with a smirk, “Yeah, kid, I’m sure she did, but the difference is Joyce was my girlfriend but you, my friend, haven’t even asked—”

“You know what… that’s not the point!” Steve pinched his eyes shut, shaking his head to himself before opening them back up to see the smug smirks on Hop and Eddie’s faces, “I’m not a slob, I wasn’t going to leave her place without cleaning up after myself and at least thanking her for letting me stay over.”

The two men looked between each other, letting their shoulders fall with a shrug, “Sure, whatever you say.”

Steve was about to respond, a snarky comment about how Eddie shouldn’t be talking because his dating life was about zero to none and how Hopper should help Joyce with carpooling instead of rushing out of the house to get donuts every morning. But the remarks didn’t get a chance to break free as the front door of the home flung wide open.

“She’s here!” Robin shouted, jogging down the porch steps and whipping past the men at the grill setup.

He watched as she waved her hands up in the air stopping at the end of the driveway where your car had been approaching with the headlights dimming. As the yellow beacon of lights died, the car parked and he could clearly see through the glass beginning to unbuckle your belt as you smiled and waved.

“I’ll be right back,” Steve muttered, hastily thrusting the aluminum pan into Eddie’s hands as he jogged over to your car to greet you.

You should’ve known Robin wasn’t going to let you get out of the car before pulling you into a tight hug within the cramped space of your driver's seat. But you didn’t mind one bit, even if you were straining your neck to fully reach up around her and hug her just as snuggly.

“I’m so happy you came!” Robin squealed against you before letting you go.

“Thanks for inviting me,” you spoke gratefully as you took the hand she extended to help you out of the car.

And again you were met with “hello’s” and “hi’s” this time in rapid fire from the kids who quickly flocked around your car the moment they heard Robin screaming her head off. You honestly didn’t know if you had gotten to say hello to all of them before they ran off to wherever they were headed.

“C’mon, I’ll introduce you to Hop and Joyce!” She singsonged, skipping away before she had heard you say that you were going to grab some things first.

It already felt a lot better being here with your friends than being stuck at your apartment all alone tonight. These days the thought of leaving your sacred space to hang out with your friends in the next town over didn’t feel so overwhelming. If anything it was a tempting every second thought that crossed your mind as you enjoyed their company just as much as they did yours.

For you, nights like this used to be so rare, filled with loneliness and pacing your apartment fighting the urge to cancel plans — if you had any, that is. It felt nicer to be wanted, even in a simple setting like this one on a week night that should’ve been spent at home with work being done.

If you lived closer you were sure nights like this would be more common than not.

“Here, I’ll help.”

You felt him before you heard him and it honestly was the best type of anticipation that you could sense in your bones. Something you had picked up on from the first time that you met him. The way that he was always near whenever you were around and it was safe to say that you liked it.

Turning your head over your shoulder, you screeched excitedly.

“Steve!”

Your arms threw themselves around Steve’s neck, pulling yourself to him as he braced you with his arms wrapped around your back. He could feel you smiling against his collarbone as you tiptoed to try to reach the rest of him before eventually giving up and standing comfortably in his hold.

The only kind of hug that you and Steve ever shared was the fully immersed one where you’re both chest to chest, every inch of exposed skin sweeping against each other as you took one another in. It’s the only kind of hug either of you know when it comes to each other, the one that feels the most comfortable and right.

“Hey, you,” He murmured into your hair, taking in the scent that his memory wouldn’t let him forget.

Though it had already been five days since he used the collection of Body Shop products that littered your bathroom, it felt like he couldn’t wash it away, even overtop his cologne. And even if it was just his mind playing tricks on him, like torture for being away from you for so long — it felt nicer when the smell comes from you.

When your hair danced in the wind and filled the air with vanilla like a cloud that smothered Steve. He didn’t even dare to stop his senses from committing the blossoming jasmine and ripened peaches of a garden that you’re standing in the heart of to memory.

Hugs like this are a sort of delicacy to him that he hoped is the same for you, though he’s not sure if his Old Spice even comes close to the allure that you are — he can only hope.

“How was the drive?” He asked, finally fighting the urge to stop taking your aroma in.

He loosened his arms briefly to pull back and catch a glance at your face that was tucked to his chest. You retract only inches, staring up at him through your lashes with a smile never ceasing.

“Wasn’t too bad! I did almost get lost but I took a u-turn and took Cornwallis like you said.”

You forgot to tell him that you nearly took Mirkwood after having no clue of where you were going and your eyesight is too bad for you to read the street names on the rusty signs. It’s was already buried in the back of your mind, too happy that you made it here safely… his arms and the home, of course.

His arms tighten around you at the admission, squeezing you gently as he gave you an apologetic smile, “Sorry, you know if I wasn’t working today I would’ve come and picked you up.”

It’s not just something he’s said for show, you know he meant it wholeheartedly and if only he wasn’t working you would’ve taken him up on the offer. The passenger seat of his beemer is way more comfortable, not because it was a luxury car, but because he the one sitting beside you getting you where you need to be safely. 

“That’s alright, Steve,” You reassured him before hugging him close again, “thank you though.”

It isn’t long before the hug is interrupted by the shouts from Robin who is clearly amused by the sight yet very hungry and ready to sit down and feast. Steve muttered something unintelligible while you turned your head and flashed her a half smile from where she stood in between the home owners.

Steve knew the pointed look Robin gave him from across the driveway, the one that reads “don’t start with me!” and because of this he knew it’s best to let you go even when all he wanted was five more seconds to hold you like this.

He tapped the small of your back with his fingertips before he released, “Go,” he begins, chuckling as Robin begins counting down out loud like a threat. “I’ll grab the rest of the stuff.”

“Okie dokie,” You laughed, letting your arms drop from around his neck, leaving behind the rest of the stuff for Steve to carry.

Your fingers twiddle on their own accord as you approach the couple, smiling shyly, “Helloooo.”

“Hey, kid.”

“Hi, honey!”

Robin held her arms out wide, motioning to them both, “This is Hop and Joyce. Joyce and Hop, meet my friend from Roane!”

“Thank you for having me,” you beamed, unsure if you should stick your hand out and be formal.

Thankfully, Joyce didn’t hesitate to close the space between you, wrapping her arms around you lovingly and giving your back a rub, “Of course, honey, we’re so glad you were able to make it!”

She reminds you a lot like Dorothea, only less intimidating and shorter. But she’s just as warm and inviting, making you feel comfortable as if you’ve been here a million times before. As she pulled away, she gave your shoulders one last kind squeeze before you looked towards the tall giant beside her.

On the outside he looked scuffy, a thick mustache and a mean scar above his left eyebrow. But you know he’s the father to three wonderful and good hearted kids who praise him for being the best in the entire world, so you know he’s far from that — if anything his Hawaiian print button down would’ve told you anyways.

He was the one who broke the short silence, tapping the metal tongs together as he smirked, “So you’re the girl my kids won’t shut up about, huh?” He said jokingly.

Will and El don’t miss a beat to whine “Dad!” from the picnic tables where they were ready to eat.

You grinned walking into his side as you gave him a small hug, “I suppose so, it’s nice to meet you.”

“You too,” He nodded, patting your back and letting you step away.

The car door slammed shut and Steve was striding over with his hands full, “You can lock it now,” he said with a chuckle. 

You nodded, digging your hands into your purse to find the keys as you clicked the fob and watched the headlights flash twice before hearing the beep.

“Thank you, again,” you said quietly, reaching for the goodie filled basket and taking the weight from him as he hums.

Turning on your heel, you held it out towards them, Robin already long gone and joining the rest of the group of watches from their seats.

“These are for you guys and the family,” You announced, letting Hopper take it from you as he began to inspect the contents.

“Oh, you didn’t have to,” Joyce pouted with gratitude.

You shook your head reassuringly,“It’s really no problem! I didn’t want to show up empty handed anyways,” you insisted.

“There’s a bunch of local stuff from the farmers market in there, but I also customized a few notebooks for the three based on their hobbies and whatnot.” You explained watching as he pulled out one of the bottles of cider and began reading the label.

“Can’t wait to add this one to the bar,” Hop snickered, waving the bottle around in front of Joyce as she scoffed and rolled her eyes playfully.

She looked at you, pretending to conceal her mouth as she muttered, “He added a bar cart to the kitchen and now he thinks he can collect all the alcohol he wants.”

The married couple's banter made you smile, happy to see that even in their middle age they were still finding ways to poke fun at each other without actually hurting the others feelings. 

Hop looked down at her with fake annoyance eyeing around the yard. “Yeah, well, this barbecue was actually supposed to be me giving everyone a grand tour but all everybody wants to do is stay outside.”

Joyce slapped  his arm lightly , “Hop, you’re gonna bore her, please,” she said embarrassingly.

You clutched your hands together behind your back, jutting your chin up with piqued interest, hoping to actually get a tour of the place. From the outside alone it looked cozy yet simple. Rose bushes lined the porch along with rocking chairs on the wooden deck.

“I wouldn’t mind a little tour, the place looks beautiful by the way.” You said cheerfully.

Hopper grunted, passing a smug smirk towards his lady before trading the cold dessert Steve was holding for his grilling tongs.

“You’re on meat duty. Come on, kid.”

The man began leading the way towards the front door before you offered Joyce another grateful smile as you followed along.

“Scream if he starts going on a home improvement tangent.” She called out half jokingly as you turned around and flashed her a thumbs up.

Steve chuckled to himself, flipping open the grill, “She’s too nice to do that. She’ll probably stand there and let him go on and on.”

Reaching for the aluminum pan that sat on the grill’s edge, he began taking off the last pieces of cooked meat hoping to get away before he smelled of smoke.

“She’s real pretty, Steve,” Joyce nudged him lightly with her elbow.

With a kind smile, he replied,“she really is, isn’t she?”

“So how long have you two been seeing each other?” She asked, genuinely curious and unaware of the circumstances around you both.

He furrowed his brows, lips twitching as he tried to hold back a grin, “We aren’t…I haven’t — we’re not dating, just…yeah, just not dating.”

“You haven’t asked her out yet?” She speculated.

He shook his head, shutting off the heat and closing it with a loud metal clang,“yes…well no, no because we’re just friends — friends, that’s it.”

The quietness from the picnic table should have been a red flag considering that everyone was usually talkative, especially the kids. But their silence meant one thing: eavesdropping.

“Now that’s just bullshit,” Mike barked out while Steve and Joyce made their way over with pans.

Steve glared, placing it down directly in front of the little shithead, “You Wheelers just love the word ‘bullshit’ don’t you?”

Truly, Steve put up with a lot when it came to the kids and while he had a soft spot for them, they were on thin ice these days because of their meddling. They stuck their noses where it didn’t belong, barging in on him at work to talk his ear off about dating advice as if they were the experts who could solve his problem.

“I mean he’s not wrong,” Max began shrugging her shoulders, “friends don’t hug or look at each other like that.”

He furrowed his brows, taking a seat in the middle of the open space,“like what?”

“You know what,” The red head retorted with a scoff.

He pursed his lips tightly tapping his knuckles against the grain. “No, please, someone enlighten me.” Steve challenged, looking at the faces around the table that looked away from his hardened gaze.

The last thing he wanted for tonight was to be pestered on by a bunch of fifteen year olds who thought that they had the whole dating thing down the tee. Half of them could barely even stand in the presence of their crush without fainting and the others were on and off again for stupid little things.

Lucas was the brave one, speaking up with his hands thrown dramatically in the air. “Like you guys long for each other! You act like you haven’t seen her in ages but it’s only been like five days.”

“You rushed the car like you hadn’t seen her in months,” Dustin added feeling less intimidated.

Steve’s eyes widened, pointing his finger at his best friend across the table, “So did Robin!”

She held her hands up in defense, letting her shoulders come up cautiously. “Because I’m like her closest friend out of all of us, you dingus! I have car rushing privileges.”

He clenched his eyes shut,“Oh my god,” he breathed heavily when he opened them back up, “what’s the big deal?”

It was a real question — what was the big deal about him being just as happy as everyone else to see you?

“The big deal is you obviously like her but you’re just sitting here not doing anything about it.” Mike gestured, half glaring at the man.

“Look, what we’re saying is you need to just take the chance and ask her out.” Max put it simply, glancing around at everyone else who nodded their heads.

“The worst she could say is no.”

It’s not their fault, the kids are young and don’t have much experience out of their little friend group that they’ve established, but what they don’t understand is that you saying no isn’t the worst case scenario — it actually quite the opposite.

Steve Harrington had been rejected many times before, and he had been to move forward with life, taking their answer for what it was and not trying to push. Sure, him asking you out and you saying no would totally leave him heartbroken for a few weeks, maybe even months, but he was never going to try to force you to feel the same way about him.

But that was the problem… he knows you feel the same.

Feelings are reciprocated between the both of you, something that had been developing and brewing over the course of just two weeks. And Steve’s no genius but he picked up on all the little things you do that affirm what he knows.

It like a looped movie in his mind, a compilation of moments that the two of you had shared:

Glances from across the living rooms when no one else is paying attention.

Lingering touches that feel like electricity sparking up his heart.

Gentle words of solace, like a sacred promise that you’d never break.

Laughter that is so contagious and never ending.

There’s no denying it, especially in the way that you and Steve acted when people were watching. A space or world that you two created and transported to whenever it’s just you and him. Nothing could ever be so easy to see through, it’s not even hidden in plain sight — just evidently clear. 

For once in his life his gut and heart worked in tandem, not trying to fight it off the feelings or fleet away. He shows it in the way he conducts himself around you, not holding back on the longing hugs or the sweet words, totally just letting himself be.

Things, however change when he thinks about moving further, like his brain switching and telling him to not trust his gut or his heart because it’ll only blow up in his face at the end. That this… whatever this was, it was too good to be true.

Steve could never see it in himself to be the man you would ever want to be with, even if you were all in already.

He can imagine that after everything you’ve told him about your past, that it can’t be easy for you to trust again, to give yourself wholeheartedly to another person after all those years yet here you were slowly giving yourself to Steve in the same way he was handing himself over to you.

You’ll hold him, give him the safe space to talk about anything, his awful parents and his stupid boring life, but he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to hold you. If he has it in himself to give you the kind of love that you deserve… if the love he has inside of him would even suffice.

You’ve been hurt.

He had been the one dishing out the hurt.

But you’ve healed.

And he’s grown.

Yet it still feels like the two of you could be dancing with your hands tied and he can’t live to see himself be the one to hurt you — he can’t.

When Steve lost Nancy, it ate him alive, being so stupid and selfish for pushing her past the point of no return all because he couldn’t put his ego aside. But he’d been long over that, receiving her forgiveness and knowing that Jonathan loved and cherished her more than he ever could.

Losing you would kill him, just the thought of breaking your heart was sending him into a spiral of his thoughts.

He doesn’t even hear Eddie and Jonathan hissing at the kids to shut their traps and stop being so nosey. All of it feels like deafening silence even with the crickets chirping loudly in the grass and the dying charcoal sizzle in the grill a few feet away.

There’s a blank stare across his face, the expression so dull and lifeless, like his soul just got ripped away from him. Like a scene in a movie where the world goes on and on yet he’s still sitting there waiting for something to change.

“Steve, hey,” Robin said panicked, beginning to sit up on her haunches to get closer to him, “Dude, c’mon.” She said again, this time waving her hand in front of his face trying to pull him out of there.

The only thing he sees in front of him is his worst nightmare: you sobbing with your head in your hands, shouting that you never want to see him again as you get up and point him out the door.

No matter how loud Robin called for him to snap out of it and Joyce shaking his arm almost pleading — he couldn’t escape it.

The monster he’d become if he ever hurt you.

“What did I miss?” You piped up with your hand coming down to rest on Steve’s shoulders as you took a seat next to him.

It’s only then that he felt himself coming back down to Earth. Grounded knowing that you were right here in front of him with a smile on your face rather than a frown with tears coating your cheeks. You were happy right here with him, not trying to get away.

But your happy face quickly dropped with concern, hearing as though no one is answering you, not even Steve. He can feel it, the question on the tip of your tongue ready to ask him if everything is alright, and he doesn’t quite know the answer.

“I’m gonna go get a drink inside,” Steve finally spoke, getting up and leaving without saying another word to you.

Your eyes followed him, taking in his quick footing that took him through the front door in a matter of seconds. With your eyebrows furrowed, your voice drawled out, “Is he…okay?”

Looking around the table, the kids don’t dare to meet your eyes, not even innocent Will and El and that’s how you know something is up. Eddie only flashed you an apologetic smile as he shrugged his shoulders and took a swig of his beer. Nancy and Jonathan don’t even meet your eyes, theirs zeroing in on the living room window, trying to see where he went.

It’s Robin who takes a deep breath and lets her shoulders drop, “We don’t know.”

Joyce brings her hand to your arm, rubbing it warmly as she grimaces behind her smile, “I think he just needed some air, honey.”

You swallowed, nodding your head as you brace your hands on the wood and begin pushing yourself up, “I’m gonna go check on him.”

They didn’t try to stop you, insisting that it’s best for Steve to be alone right now because they truly don’t know what to do. The conversation had gone from all in good nature to triggering in a matter of seconds. 

You stepped through the front door making a beeline towards the kitchen where you could hear the ruckus of cans and bottles being shifted around in the fridge.

“Steve?”  You called out faintly, creeping around the wall to peek at him where he was hunched over in front of the appliance.

He turned his head over his shoulder, his face softening with just you in his sights, “Hey. Umm did you want a water or a soda?” He asked, holding up the two beverages in his hands.

You shook your head, watching as he forced a smile and put them back into the refrigerator, shutting it closed.

“Are you ok?” You approached him as he straightened up.

Steve nodded his head as if he was trying to convince himself, “Y-yeah, I’m fine—”

You knew he wasn’t. His easy going aura was replaced with someone that was tense and passive, trying his very best to put up a front. 

“Did the kids say something stupid?”

‘Insanely stupid and it sent me into a mental spiral’,  he thought.

“When don’t they?” He joked, rubbing a hand behind his neck as he tried to advert from your gaze.

You tsked, biting your lip as you watched him closely. “You usually don’t storm off like that, just had me worried, that’s all.”

“You shouldn’t worry about me.” He assured you, as if that would make your concern disappear.

“But I do,” You professed, no hesitation behind your voice, just you and your brutal honesty.

There’s not much to say, not when you both know what’s brewing between the both of you right here all alone. But in all honesty, the pot was boiling over, the point of no return but to just let it all go.

There’s so much Steve wanted to say, like the way he worries about you too. How he thinks about you throughout the day, that you’re taking care of yourself and being kinder like you had promised you would. Or how he wants you to know you can call him whenever you’re feeling alone and need the company — he’d drive to you no matter the hour whenever you called.

“Are you gonna drive all the way home tonight?” He started, looking out the window where the dark sky already clouded over the town.

“What?” You asked, clearly taken aback by the sudden question.

He swallowed, looking back at you, “It’s dark and I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to drive home all alone. I mean you just got here, but by the time you leave it’ll be even darker and the roads are hard to see and—”

“Steve,” You whispered quietly, grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze.

It’s enough for him to shut up, to want to reel in the moment of your touch on his again, even if it’s just for a split second.

“Yeah?”

“Do you want me to spend the night at yours?”

He cursed at himself, realizing that’s what he must have sounded like. A pig who was trying to get into your pants when really that’s not what he was insinuating at in the first place. He just wanted you to be safe. 

“I—I’m sorry… you could ask Robin or Nance to spend the night at theirs if you want, I just really don’t want anything bad happening tonight if you decide to drive—”

“Steve,”  You started again, this time your voice firmer as you weaved your fingers through his and never letting up on your grip.

“Do you want me to spend the night at your place?” Your voice was sure, confident yet soft, letting him know that you’re not trying to make fun of him.

He knows you understand what he means. 

“I do,” he breathed, nodding his head and giving your hand a squeeze, “I really want you to.”

“Then I’ll spend the night at yours.”

Your words were all it took for him to relax, forgetting why he was so wound up and anxious in the first place. 

All of it doesn’t seem to matter when his heart was already in your hands. You have all of him – his deepest fears and his wildest dreams. He’s committed to you like a promise, something he knows he doesn’t have to hold out hope for any longer because he’s strong enough. 

You knew it all along and he finally started to feel it. 

💌 reblogs, tags, comments, + likes are greatly appreciated! leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!! 💌

a/n: chapter three is finally here!!!! thank you all for being so patient and sticking around!!! we're finally seeing some momentum picking up when it comes to glitch reader and steve...i wonder what they did at his place ;) HEHEEHHE (yes i am evil cackling bcs i have tricks up my sleeve 'cowboy like me' style) as always, a big big big thank you to my sweetest effie @translatemunson for helping me out with proofreading and guiding me throughout the whole process of writing -- theres no one i'd rather spill my guts to other than you, I LOVE YOUUUUU!!!! happy reading to all!!! 🙈🩷

taglist: @translatemunson @kennedy-brooke @manda-panda-monium @tvserie-s-world @givemeth @steveharringtonswife @astolenkiss @loving-and-dreaming @awkotaco24 @engenelxver @elfiaaaa @pbs-theundeadmaggot @johnricharddeacy @gaysludge @scoopshxrrington @micheledawn1975 @ihatepeanutss @bakugouswh0r3

[ninjadeathblade]

Moulin Rouge Discotrain AU (part nine)

Summary: (Post-game canon) The Conductor and DJ Grooves agree to finally work on a movie together. They come up with 'Moulin Rouge', a musical drama filled with romance. Over time the two directors grow closer and discover that maybe they don't hate each other as much.

Beginning | Previous | Next

Word count: 555

Warnings: None

Author's notes: I wrote this earlier today because I want to get to Conductor's casting. But the chapters with him and Grooves being cast were too close together so take this. Not the best I could've done but better stuff will come soon. Enjoy. :)

Conductor scanned over what he'd planned for the end of the movie.

Satine would die in Christian's arms after they'd reconciled their love for one another.

The show would have been performed.

The Duke would end up alone, and almost everyone would get the happy ending they wanted.

Satine would use her final breaths to tell Christian to share their story.

And it would cut back to the narration at the beginning, with Christian using the typewriter.

Conductor flipped back to the beginning of the script and began writing in the opening monologue.

"The Moulin Rouge. A night club, a dance hall and a bordello, ruled over by Harold Zidler," he said as he wrote it down.

"A kingdom of nightmare pleasures where the rich and powerful played with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld."

A floorboard creaked and the Conductor looked up sharply.

Grooves guiltily stood at the side of the room, near the door, almost blending in due to his dark jacket.

"How long have you been there?" The owl asked.

"Long enough to find out you talk to yourself while writing," Grooves said, tone playful as he crossed over and sat down near Conductor.

"I don't always. Just helps sometimes," Conductor mumbled. "Shouldn't you be rehearsing?"

Embarrassment flashed across Grooves' features. "I thought I'd come check on you. I haven't seen you out of your office all day."

Conductor sighed, putting down his pen and resting his head in one hand.

"I'm fine. I've got yer jacket if you still want it back. Sorry I didn't return it sooner."

Grooves shook his head. "Hey, it's my fault for not coming here sooner to get it back."

"Can I be honest?"

"Always."

"It feels weird seeing you out of it," Conductor admitted, a sheepish grin on his face.

"Aw, Connie, you think so?" Grooves laughed, sunglasses slipping down his beak slightly as he leant forwards.

Conductor gently hit the penguin with his free hand.

"Don't call me that," he replied, trying to not start laughing as well.

"What, you don't like it…Connie?" Grooves teased.

Conductor couldn't help the laughter that burst out of him.

"Ha! I knew it!" Grooves shook with laughter.

A knock on the door startled them both as they tried to quieten their amusement.

Conductor strode over to the door, opening it a crack. "Yes?"

"I'm looking for Grooves. Have you seen him anywhere?" Snatcher asked.

Despite what he had said before, the ghost had stuck with his same regal look.

Conductor glanced back into his office, watching as Grooves shook his head.

"No. Did yer check his office?" Conductor lied.

"Not yet. I was about to but thought I should check with you first," Snatcher explained.

"Go on then. I haven't seen him so there's no point in you hangin' around." Conductor shut the door, walking back over to Grooves.

They sat in silence together for a few moments before speaking.

"Why did you really come here?" Conductor asked gently. Grooves sighed, taking off his sunglasses and rubbing his eyes.

"Where the little girl brought in a couple more of her friends, it just- the place feels like chaos. I just wanted somewhere quiet and safe," Grooves admitted, putting his sunglasses back on.

"Well, you can always come to my office if you need it."

"Thanks Connie."

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Please. I need more merman foul legacy. I needs him to be happy!

since yall seem to love the first part so much, here's part two!! hope you enjoy, also human Childe is kiiiinda in this a bit <3

Read Part One Here!!

~ * ~ Sea Monster AU HCs (Part Two)

Fluff

Warning for beaches, water, and getting sick

PART TWO

~ * ~

-It’s been days since you were able to go to the beach -Summer brings long days full of sun, without a cloud in the sky -Usually the beach is filled with tourists during this time of year and NORMALLY you wouldn’t be bothered by it -But this time it’s filled with hunters trying to catch and kill the “sea monster” -And you also happen to KNOW the “sea monster” personally so you’re not keen on something bad happening to him -Every time you try going back someone stops you, explaining that you must’nt enter because they’re so close to catching that dastardly sea monster -Yeah right. It’s been MONTHS since the hunt started and they haven’t made ANY progress -Still, they’re doing great at keeping you out of the beach and before you know it over a week has passed -Luckily you’re very persistent, and you finally find a night where everyone has gone home, tired and sunburnt from “hunting” -You climb your favorite rock and quietly call Childe’s name, but he doesn’t surface like he usually does -At first it seems like no luck, but your ears pick up the sound of someone groaning -You hop off and hide behind the rocks, certain that it’s someone coming to tell you off -But you hear no footsteps, only the waves splashing on the shore and quiet breathing -So you peek around to see what’s up, and your eyes fall on a man laying on the shore -You’ve never seen him before so you slowly walk over to get a better look -But when you get close he opens his eyes, and you’re suddenly staring into the deep sea -He leaps up and you jolt backwards, only to watch him stumble and fall back to his knees -He smiles brightly despite your wariness, clumsily repeating your name over and over again -You’re backing away slowly when you squint and glimpse his hair under the moonlight -It’s ginger, with a noticeable streak of white, something you’ve only seen once before -It seems like a bit of a stretch, but… -You whisper his name, as more of a question than a statement -”Childe…?” -He nods happily as you kneel beside him, wrapping his arms around you and smushing his cheek against yours -His attempts at trills and coos turn to happy hums now that he’s got human vocal cords -You feel him shiver with cold, goosebumps raising on his arms, and you draw back much to his dismay -He’s wearing only a pair of shorts and his skin is misted with seawater so you give him your coat and hurry him back to your house -When you get there you promptly wrap him in a soft blanket and make some tea -You sit next to him, rubbing your head to try and process everything, and ask him HOW THIS HAPPENED -He just shrugs- he seems very unperturbed by being human, so you decide that it’s late, you’re tired, and it’s probably just a normal thing for him -You can feel your eyes closing, and register a pair of arms pulling you close to someone’s chest -When you wake up Childe is snuggled into your side, arms loosely keeping you close. You nudge him and he blinks awake with a sleepy hum -The next week is you getting accustomed to having a human Childe following you everywhere -You teach him how to stand and walk, as well as how to talk a bit better- he’s not perfect but he can say his name and yours, and a handful of other words and sentences that he deems important -Your town is also in a tizzy seeing how the sea monster sightings have abruptly stopped, and you can only do your best to keep Childe out of sight -He’s curious about everything, and you showed him around your house as he looked around with wide eyes -But one day when you get home you hear pained whining from the living room, and you rush to see what happened -You find Childe laying on the ground in his merform, claws scrabbling at the polished floorboards -Apparently he can only keep his human form for about a week and he leans heavily on you as you rush to support him -You know he needs to go back to the sea, but a chill runs down your back when you remember the hunt -And even when you suggest it he whimpers so sadly at the thought of being separated from you -So you do the next best

thing: You help him slink up to the bathtub, fill it with water, and situate him there instead -He splashes happily around in the water, and you sit down next to the tub in relief, eventually falling asleep -You wake up to find the end of Childe’s tail draped in your lap as he naps next to you -You go about your days but check up on him whenever you can, watching as he visibly perks up when you enter the room -But you silently know that he doesn’t belong in a bathtub, so you’re not particularly surprised when he starts to act tired and listless -His scales and armor look duller and you can occasionally hear him coughing when he thinks you’re not listening -Eventually you straighten your shoulders, walk into the room, and tell him that he has to go back to the ocean -Not because you don’t want him here! But he isn’t made to live like this- he should be in the open sea -He cries out and clasps his claws on your arm, the end of his tail wrapping weakly around your wrist -You’re trying not to tear up yourself, leaning in and pressing your forehead against his as you quietly tell him that you’ll take him back tonight -He whines in dismay, nudging his head into your hands, asking for a hug which you gladly give -When night falls, you make sure no one is around before helping him out the door -You have to stop several times to makes sure he can breathe properly, but luckily your house is close to the beach and you arrive without any interruptions -Childe wedges himself in your arms and gives you a gentle lick on the cheek, then reluctantly slips into the sea -You watch him swim out, turn to glance at you one more time, then dive underneath the waves -You stand there for a bit, contemplating the moonlight, before leaving to go home -The next day the beach is empty, most people having assumed that the “sea monster” is long gone -You take a stroll up to your little rock and sit down, enjoying the sun -Something knocks against your foot, and you look down to see a perfect pearl settled in a groove -A deep purr threads itself around the splashing waves, a shining eye blinking at you, and you smile

[specialbrewbutterbeer]

Hi! Could you please write something for Regulus where he had to get the Dark Mark, so he breaks up with the reader, so that he can keep her safe, making sure there isn’t anything that leads them to her? She’s also in Slytherin and every time they pass each other he doesn’t even look her way, but it hurts her a lot, even if she knows it’s for her safety. At one point they get paired up in class and she can’t stand being so close to him without touching him so she gets up and runs off, hiding in a dark corner and breaking down. He knew she wasn’t alright so he follows her and they finally talk and she tells him that she doesn’t need him to keep her safe, because she can take care of herself, so they make up? Thank you and I’m sorry if it’s too detailed!!

Please (Regulus x Non-Pureblood Reader)

Word Count: 2329

T/W: Mentions death/torture, pain/blood

AN: I really loved writing this! I love a good request! The more detailed the better! So they're still open and very welcome, along with any feedback. :)

REQUESTS

MASTERLIST

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He just walked on by. It stung. He didn't look over, or shoot her some sympathetic glance. He just walked by, dressed smartly in his dark Slytherin uniform, with his bag, holding his Quidditch robes, slung over his shoulder.

He laughed with his friends as if nothing was wrong.

Couldn't Regulus at least look unhappy? She wanted him to be as heartbroken as she was, but she knew he couldn't do that. She hoped he felt it but Y/N knew it couldn't be shown outwardly. They'd talked about it, at length, she'd cried, hot burning tears had cut paths down her cheeks, and he had sat there, his heart sinking further and further. Her hands had pulled at his shirt, fists filled with the fabric.

She'd had stop herself screaming at him, begging him as they stood in his dorm. All he could do was hesitate, as he put his arms around her. He intended that to be the last time.

He stood there for a moment, savoring it, before he pushed her away.

"It's for the best." He'd said, as coldly as he could manage even as his eyes began to sting. "You'll be safer this way." He stared at her. She stared back, wide-eyed and hurt. "Get out." He instructed, his voice starting to waiver. "Go on!" He motioned toward the door and trained his eyes downward, focusing on the grooves in the floorboards instead of the redness of her eyes, and how her hands were shaking. She didn't want this. He wanted this. He needed it so that it wouldn't come back to her. So that the fact that he loved her wouldn't be traced and so that the drooling, hungry, dark fangs of those that served the Dark Lord wouldn't hunt her, wouldn't bite down on her and crush and tear at her. He feared that outcome.

She hated that he refused to look at her. As if she'd done something wrong. And yet she knew it was to keep herself safe. It was heartache for the sake of still having your heart beating.

She passed him in the halls, and desperately searched his demeanor for some sign that he was hurting. She found none.

He couldn't hate him, not really. She loved him and that was why she was angry. Angry at him? No. She couldn't be. In some ways she knew she should think of it as a romantic thing, he cared. But she didn't care. She was just angry at the world, at this separation that felt so unfair, at this war that raged so harshly.

In the Slytherin common room, she often heard his voice, and her day would be ruined. She couldn't move on from someone she felt such passion for, this connection was like a dream to her. She couldn't give it up. And yet here she was. Alone.

It all came to a head, just two months later in a potions class. She stood by her assigned bench, and waited for her usual partner as the class began and slowly people took their seats and gathered their books and materials.

Suddenly, she felt someone sit down beside her. This was not who she expected. Regulus put his things down on the desk and took a seat, just as the professor explained that she was rearranging the class seating.

Y/N had to pull her gaze away from his face, she tried to concentrate on the professors words, as they explained the steps.

Dart frog poison

Saffron,

Wild grass seed-

She couldn't focus. She returned to the curve of his face. His nose, the faint freckles and his lips. She thought she would never see those lips smile for her again. His pretty eyes. His hair, dark and curled and how she was so used to it being a mess, not combed and neat like it was now. He was a pretty young man, not rugged and handsome like his brother, but his own kind of pretty.

Regulus began to work on their potion, with a sterile and cold formality. He didn't look at her, or speak. He just waved his wand to start a flame under their cauldron and then crushed a small handful of seeds under the heel of his palm. He scooped the up and threw them in the cauldron, where they hissed and popped.

"Next step?" He asked, turning his head just slightly, but still refusing to look at her.

Y/N hesitated, but quickly opened her textbook and told him, though she stuttered a little.

He followed what she said and as he did, his sleeve lifted just a little. She saw that ugly thing that he was branded with. It was burned and tattooed on him somehow, dark and sooty and dirty looking. It sat under his skin as if it were ink that had been there for years and been done badly. It bled out in little fractal rivers, though it's design was clear. That mark would always be clear as day.

She hated it. She immediately felt nauseous when she saw it. She brought the back of her hand to her lips, as if she were going to throw up. She really thought she might. Quickly she gathered her things and hurried to the professor, as descreetly as she could. She nearly stumbled over a few things, and caught her side on the corner of the desk but didn't care. She asked to be dismissed from the classroom, saying she felt ill and the professor agreed, saying she did look a little pale.

In seconds she was out of the door, and went from walking to running. She grabbed the banister of the stone stairs down to the dungeons as in her haste she lost her footing. She dropped a couple of her textbooks, but payed them no mind and kept going. She found herself in an empty common room.

It was illuminated only by the sunlight reaching in tendrils down through the water of the lake, through the massive glass windows that made the walls of the Slytherin common room. Massive towering stalks of kelp waved their arms gently in the water, brushing silently against the glass. Small fish and freshwater crustaceans dwelled between the rocks and plants.

Occasionally, in the dark depths, and at more so at night, the giant squid in the lake would come close. It liked the candlelight and the slight warmth that the room gave off, with it's large fireplace. The students of Slytherin had some what made friends with it, and once, on a particularly cold and stormy night, it had wrapped itself around the entirety of the underwater building.

Today, it was nowhere to be seen and as Y/N watched the swaying plantlife and calm goings on of the lake dwelling creatures, she let herself cry.

Hot tears had streamed right down her cheeks and left big ugly red lines behind them. She wiped them away but they still came. She was curled up, leant back on the glass, with her legs at her chest and all her books in a mess before her.

She had so wanted to reach out and touch him. She just wanted that. To hold his hand again. To feel like he had ever loved her- even just a little. She couldn't. That would be a ridiculous thing to do, she knew. But she couldn't stop wanting it, nor knowing she couldn't have it.

Her stomach just churned as she thought about that horrible Dark Mark. All because of that thing.

She hated to cry, but she also hated that there seemed no other way. He wouldn't let there be any other way, because he wanted her safe. Better safe and not his than a corpse that bore his name.

Why couldn't there be? She was willing to take the risk. Whatever happened she would love him, and she was a strong witch, she could defend herself. She was sure of it.

"You dropped these." She heard and looked up as Regulus all of a sudden was there in front of her. He held out the books she had left on the stairs. He sat down beside her, against the glass, and put them with the other textbooks, in a stack in front of them.

"I'm sorry about all this. You know that." He said, softly. He didn't want to get to close, he didn't want to tempt himself into thinking he could be again- because he'd give in to that temptation. It'd be so easy to give in. Maybe he thought he'd never even try and resist. "I wish it'd never happened..." He trailed off as he looked down at his arm. He pulled up his sleeve and looked at the mark, ran a thumb over the raised lines of it and winced as he remembered what he had gone through to get it.

He'd screamed. As loudly and as long as he ever had. Nothing had ever hurt like that. It burned, like something under your skin scratching relentlessly to get out, biting and clawing and cutting. It was such deep pain, rooted so deep in his arm it felt like the bone was breaking over and over, each splinter of bone penetrating the muscles and splitting the fibers apart again and again. It might have been true- that last bit. It might have been exactly as it felt. He was a very talented student of the dark arts- he knew how these marks tended to work. Depending on what kind it was, that was a known side effect. It would always heal as if nothing had happened, but the subject would always get to feel that pain.

He just remembered screaming though, trying to twist his arm out of the vice like grip it was held in. He remembered dropping to his knees afterwards, with a hoarse throat from screaming. With a jaw slack and sore from being so tensed and grinding his teeth so hard with the pain. His face was covered in sweat and tears, his nose ran and his chin dripped with drool. His eyes were bloodshot and wide.

He expected to look down and find pools of hot red blood forming around him, his forearm should be thick and sticky with the stuff but it wasn't. There was nothing. He felt as if he'd just been killed slowly and the absense of any blood in the scenario felt strange.

He thought he was as close to an adult as he would ever be but then he was taken back to being just like a child, a helpless screeching heap on the floor. His father had dragged him to his feet, angry, and marched him off as his head hung low, saliva still dripping from his lips and his hands shaking.

He shivered to think back to then.

He looked up at her, tears in her eyes and such longing. He was supposed to be a loyal follower, and he had experienced all that. He couldn't bare to think of whatever she might face.

"But it has happened. And now you'll be safe..." He said quietly, attempting to reassure her somehow.

"I don't want to be safe. Not without you." She croaked her words out tearfully. "I want you again. I want you." She repeated and clung onto Regulus' arm, pressing her forehead into his shoulder.

"I want you. Alive. I want you more than anything." He told her, as calmly as he could without having to stop and bite his tongue and stop himself from joining her in her tears. "But I can't have you. I'm trying to give you a fighting chance. To be left alone by this war- go find someone else. Live. Have a family." He had to stop there or he would cry and he couldn't in front of her. Not anymore.

"I can look after myself!" She snapped and then buried her face into him. "I'm willing to face it to be with you Reg-" Y/N sobbed.

"I can't let you do that." He told her yet again.

"Do you not love me?" She looked up to him.

"Of course I do-" He began

"Then let me make this choice." She looked him in the eye. "Let me be with you. I want that. I want to face it." She begged.

Regulus sighed and placed his hand over hers.

"I can't just let you die for this. I love you- but this isn't worth dying for. Not when you don't have to. Don't die for me." It was his turn to beg.

"I want don't want a life without you Reg. All this time I've been dreaming of our life together- knowing that that's what's meant for us!"

Regulus turned and grabbed her by the shoulders.

"If you die- We can't have any of that!" He shouted, his grip on her shoulders tightened. His eyes glistened with tears and he ground his teeth as he stared her down. "Why don't you understand that?" He continued, loudly.

Y/N just looked at him shocked. She'd never heard him raise his voice at her. They'd argued, sure, but not like this.

Reg let his head hang for a moment, before pulling her into his arms and kissing her cheek softly.

"Please," He mumbled. "Please."

She shook her head.

"If I'm killed..." She whispered, trying to collect her thoughts. "If I'm killed for loving you Reggie, for wanting you and being with you- I'll have lived a life that made me happy..." She cupped his now red stained cheek, that matched hers, in her hand and looked him in the eye. "If I live without having at least tried to love you, to live the life we wanted- then it amounts to the same thing as dying. It'd be nothing but torture." She leant in and kissed him lightly on the lips, looking into his glossy, teary eyes. "So please let's try?"

[angelofbloodlust]

Bunny (Billy Loomis x Reader)

A/N: Long time, no see, y’all 😳 sorry for my disappearance, I’ve been going through quite a lot but I’m happy to be back! I apologize if this story isn’t the best, it’s been a long time since I’ve written something like this and I’m still trying to get back in my groove- but if this ends up being well-received I’d be happy to try writing a part 2! <3 hope u guys enjoy!!

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Your eyes scan over the backyard of the tan house sat in front of you once more, zoning in heavily on the blackened windows as your boots take hesitant steps forward towards the home of your fellow peer that you’ve been watching for weeks now. Shallow breaths escape you as your chest begins to pound, a flurry of both panicked and thrilled emotions swarming your stomach as your hand tightens on the butcher knife in your hold.

You were finally about to experience your first kill, after taking so many precautions and endless planning. You figured now would be the perfect time with the other murders that has had Woodsboro in chaos, the police department has already got themselves absorbed in solving the murders of Casey and Steve, if you manage to get through this unscathed you could easily let the other nutjob take the blame and get to work on your next plan.

But, that’s easier said than done.

You suck in a breath through your nostrils as you cautiously approach the cracked window ahead of you, the one you’ve witnessed be pushed open by the student’s mother each night before bed, just like clockwork. Though of course, you ensured that neither of her parents would be home that night, and you were glad they were dumb enough to trust their daughter enough to be able to defend herself with a psychopath on the loose.

Your teeth remain clenched as you slowly lift yourself up and climb through the window after pushing it open, being careful to not let your costume get caught and allowing your jaw to relax once you step from the marble of the countertops down to the wooden plank flooring below. Anxiousness to get upstairs and cut the girl’s head off stabs at you as your eyes find the stairs from your view out of the kitchen, though you force yourself to keep your pace as you take light steps on your path towards your goal, and feel relief at the fact none of the floorboards have creaked so far. Annoyance swiftly follows after as you notice the stairs aren’t carpeted, internally grumbling a couple curses while readying yourself to have to take your backup plan in case you accidentally make a noise and wake the girl up.

You make your way up slowly, begging in your mind for each step not to creak, and as you’ve made walked up all but 2 steps, you can’t help but feel a smug grin curl over your lips underneath your mask as you relish in the fact that everything’s gone so smoothly.

And immediately you regret that thought, once you and the short brunette standing in front of the bathroom door both freeze up in shock from the sight of the other.

“Shit, you’re not supposed to be awake!” You groan out, scowling at yourself once you process that you accidentally said that out loud.

Your body tenses as your words seem to have triggered the girl out of her state of shock, a blood-curling wail slipping from her lips at the sight of the knife in your hand before she runs to attempt scampering back into her bedroom to hide from you, sobs and screams pouring from her as you growl under your breath while bolting up the last couple steps and over the carpet towards her.

“Stop yelling!” You whine in panic from her loudness, before narrowing your eyes at your sudden idiocy with the situation. Why the fuck would she listen to you?!

A frustrated huff leaves you as she manages to slam the door on you, leaving you to violently push and slam on the now locked door while spilling out any indecent word your brain can think of in the moment. How could this have gone any worse? Your plan was all for nothing now!

Anxiety twirls in your gut as you look between the door and the stairs, having to make a quick decision as you’re sure the cops have been called by now and won’t take long to arrive. You exhale out, before making the final call to abandon the plan and speed back down the stairs, hopping over anything in your way as you head into the kitchen and back out the window.

Brief relief hits you as the soles of your shoes meet the grass again, taking a swift glance behind you while running for the patch of woods ahead of you. Your exhale out is interrupted as you suddenly collide into something, which you thought was a tree for a split second until the object ahead of you slips out a grunt once they stumble back slightly.

You look back forward in surprise, shock waving you as your vision is taken up by the same white and black mask morphed into a scream that you previously slipped on after making the discovery the other killer had worn it. A squeak leaves your lips as the man in front of you takes a rough grip on your upper arms, shifting around to face your towards the woods and push you forward as he gives a huff out.

“Go, I’m not gonna let you get us caught.” He hisses out, balling the back of your costume into his fist to ensure you keep moving as he leads you further way from the house while you struggle to wrap your head around what’s happening.

“H-How did you know I was-”

“We were in the area prepping, and we could hear that bitch’s scream from a mile away.” He huffs in response.

“Oh..” You mumble, embarrassment now filling your cheeks as he continues to guide you like you’re a disobedient child, wanting to pull from his grip but feeling unsure of how he might react. “...Did you say we?” You question suddenly as you shift your head to look back to him.

“Yes. No more questions, I think I have a right to be the one questioning you instead. Who the fuck are you?” He asks in a strict tone, and despite his mask covering his expression, you could somehow feel the rage radiating off of him at your presence.

You narrow your hidden eyes, “Why would I tell you that?? I don’t even know who you are!”

“I said no more questions.”

“I think it’s a pretty reasonable one if you’re gonna only ask questions I don’t wanna answer!”

“Fine, if that’s how you want to be then we can both remain anonymous. How about this, instead?” He hums, “Did you even kill her? I don’t see any blood on you.”

“..No.. She locked the door on me before I could grab her, I wanted to kill her in her sleep but she was awake once I got inside.” You admit in a sheepish mumble.

He scoffs, “A door stopped you?” You scowl as he chuckles in amusement at your actions. “I suppose that’s reasonable, you are pretty small. Wouldn’t expect you to be able to be able to break it down.” He teases, causing you to grumble out as you wiggle from his grip and turn to face him.

“Hey, it was my first time, and I was panicking! Take it easy on me.” You demand with a pout.

He crosses his arms as he looks down to you, “Tsk, you tried to do it all on your own? No wonder you failed.”

“I spent months planning it, I thought I would’ve done well..” Your voice cracks through your sentence, leaving you to attempt sighing away your urge to cry while you turn back to keep walking, your eyes sticking down to watch your steps while the man with you gives an exhale as he follows at your side.

“Alright, alright, I’ll quit being so harsh. But it takes someone naturally skilled to be able to do it on their own, you know? You think you have everything you need, but even the littlest thing that doesn’t go to plan can fuck it all up. Maybe for you, you just need a bit of teaching to make sure you’re ready for anything.” He shrugs.

“Are you.. offering to help me?” You question gently through the mix of shock and confusion in your chest as to why this stranger is willing to take you under his wing, tilting your head slightly up to him.

“Maybe. But you need to prove that you’re serious about this.”

You begin to question him on how you can prove it, before stopping at the beginning of your sentence once the two of you cross through the patch of woods and up to a parked car on the lone street in front of you. An unsure sensation fills your gut as he makes you stay back while he walks over to the driver’s side window, and you begin to question to yourself if this might really be a safe decision to go with the psychopaths that you were about to frame.. But at the same time, this might be your real chance to be able to finally learn the proper ways of murder.

Soon enough, he walks back over to you and gestures to your mask. “To go any further with this, I need to see your face if you’re going to see ours. It’s only fair.” He requests you in a calm tone, and you hesitate as you frown as you pick up sudden worried thoughts. What if he just wanted to be able to rat you out and let you take blame for everything?

“Hey, you know you haven’t really proved your loyalty to me, either.. What if-”

You freeze as his hand reaches up for his own mask, watching him pull it off to reveal his cold, yet neutral expression as the guy you recognize to be Billy Loomis from your school stands in front of you. Your face reddens at the sight, you know him enough about him to have a thorough crush on him, though you suppose you didn’t know him quite enough to have realized that part of the reason you had been so drawn to him was the fact you were more alike than you had known.

“I’m risking everything for this. Do you know how much this could fuck up everything with us letting you in?” He sighs, and you watch as his lips form in a displeased pout. “The last thing I want is you getting caught doing this dumb shit, and if you’re going to steal our costume you at least need to not act like a moron while you’re in it.” He huffs with narrowed eyes.

“God- fuck, whatever. If you guys end up killing me, I have nothing to lose.” You grumble as you pull off your mask, holding your own pout while he takes up a smirk while looking you over.

“Just as cute as I expected you to be, bunny.” He purrs out in a playful tone, which causes you to give him a questioning expression through your heated cheeks at the nickname.

“Bunny?”

“You’re small, cute and quick. Like a bunny.” He grins.

“I will actually deck you if you call me that again.” You hiss out while he starts to lead you towards the car.

“No, you won’t. I could tell you liked it.” He chimes in a proud tone, laughing out once you reach to smack his arm with your face on fire.

“Shut your mouth, Loomis! You’re so annoying!” You whine as your voice pitches up with your embarrassment.

“Get your ass in the car, Y/N.” He snorts out as he nudges you towards the backseat.

“..You know my name?”

“You’re in my Physics class. I recognize you.” He chuckles gently, flashing you a brief smile before slipping into the passenger’s seat.

“Oh.” You hum, feeling content as you feel joy at the fact that he recognizes you, holding your own smile as you get into the back of the car before pausing once Stu Macher shoots you a grin from the driver’s seat.

“Hey, Y/N! Billy says you wanna join us, that true?” He asks through his classic happy tone, starting up the car while you manage to get yourself to nod as you confirm to yourself that the man you had only ever expected to be the class clown to be Billy’s partner in crime, though you weren’t entirely sure why you were caught off guard with the insane amount of loyalty Stu’s always shown to Billy over the years you’ve watched them be friends.

“Yeah.. Uh, sorry, I wasn’t expecting to see you. Didn’t think you were this kinda guy.” You snicker.

He gives an unbothered shrug, “Well, people always have their secrets, don’t they?” He chuckles, causing you to quirk an eyebrow once he flashes a grin over to Billy and laughing out once he smacks his shoulder in a manner to tell him to shut up. Stu smiles back at you again through the rear-view mirror, “It’s nice to have ya join us, though. I’m sure it’ll be real fun for the three of us.” He purrs, and you can’t help but get an unsettling feeling from the tinge of malice in his smirk, which you couldn’t tell if it was meant to be towards you.

You could only hope not.

[angelz-dust]

Bro cowboy!jason with some smut would be beautiful 😭

yeehaw baby - minors avert y'all eyes 🤠

(as i was writing this i realized i was writing a female reader but if you'd like a male or gender neutral reader instead let me know and i'll come with up an whole new scenario!!)

minors/ageless blogs who interact will be blocked - read rules before interacting

what's a sheriff without his hat? (jason todd x female reader)

warnings: nsfw 18+ (no condom, pulling out - wrap it up y'all). angst if you squint.

...

"sheriff!"

you kicked in the doors to the saloon, gathering the attention of some of the patrons nearby. the place smelled of smoke and sweat, which was why you tried your best to avoid the spot altogether. however, it was becoming increasingly difficult to do so with sheriff todd making it his new hangout spot. the bastard could've picked a place with a bit more circulation as far as you were concerned.

"sheriff!" you yelled again, holding your dress up as your steps increased in speed. you saw the man in his booth with deputy harper and the rest of their little posse. they felt more like thugs to you.

"he's asleep," the woman, artemis, said to you as she opened her bottle of booze on the side of the table, subsequently chipping off some of the wood. you weren't sure if it was due to the poor structural integrity or her strength. probably both.

"i don't give a damn if he's neck deep in his grave," you spat, walking up to him. his seat was leaned back, which mean he was definitely awake. no one could balance their own weight like that and be unconscious. his hat was covering his face, some smoke coming out of the sides. asleep my ass.

you ripped the hat off of his face, bellows of cigarette smoke barreling out. his eyes shot open, the white slightly red from how he was abusing them just now. how he was still breathing, you didn't know. maybe the rumors about him coming back to life and being immortal were true.

"can i help you?" he glared, making an attempt to snatch his hat back from you. you quickly pulled back, making his seat lunge forward and his chest hit the table. you heard the deputy snort at the scene. "as my companion just told you, i'm asleep."

your glared right back at him, holding his hat behind your back. "you promised to keep those hooligans away from my place of business, todd."

"did i?" he asked you, giving you a fake grin. "well, i'm sorry little lady. it musta slipped my mind."

"don't get smart with me!" you snapped at him, the entire saloon getting quiet now. everyone was suddenly very interested in your little spat. "you're supposed to be protecting us and all you do is sit on your ass. i'm surprised you ain't collecting dust already."

"someone should sew that damn mouth of yours shut. maybe then we'd get some peace and quiet around here," he said back, getting a few chuckles from his little fan club. "give me my hat back."

you stared at him as your frustrations bubbled inside of you. that's all he had to say? his lack of concern for your issue just let you know what kind of man you already knew he was. he wanted his hat back? fat chance. you silently grinned at him before turning around and starting to walk out of the saloon. screw him and his stupid hat.

"hey!" he shouted as you continued walking off. you could feel the vibrations of his movement in the floorboards. he was coming after you. "get back here!"

you sped up, running out of the saloon and back towards the bathhouse. maybe if you got him off his sorry ass he'd be more willing to hear you out. that is, if the theft of his precious little hat didn't irritate him too much. if you weren't so preoccupied with outrunning him, you'd love to see the look on his face. you made it up the few step to the front door, where he quickly caught up with you. you pressed your back against it, securing the hat in between.

the sheriff glowered down at you, his hand pressed against the doorframe above you. you stared into each other's eyes, the sounds of your panting breath sinking up with one another. as much as he agitated you to no end, he was a very handsome man. it was the only thing that had kept you from shooting him in that pretty face.

"you've had your fun," he told you with a low tone, holding his other hand out. "now give it back."

you were surprised he hadn't just tossed you around and took it for himself. back when jas- the sheriff... first came to town, he seemed like a respectable man. you didn't cross paths very often, but every encounter with him was pleasant and memorable. he was kind, sometimes even a little flirty with you. he was a little rough around the edges. all those cowboys seemed to share that trait. but it was worse when when he returned after disappearing for a long time. you barely recognized him. it seemed he had been hardened by... whatever it was he experienced while he was gone. you didn't ask, nor did you care. he and his gaggle of dirty thugs had taken control of the town and it's been this way ever since.

"you don't deserve it," you decided to say, relishing in the instant gratification that came from seeing his expression change so quickly. oh, he was angry and you loved it. "you're no sheriff. you're an outlaw. you don't care about anybody but yourself."

you felt the hot air blow out of his nose and you had to fight back the smirk that was playing at your lips. you looked down and saw his hand moving towards your waist. the hell was he trying to do? before you could move or protest, you had fallen backwards into the bathhouse, right onto the freshly cleaned floor. he looked down at you from where he stood with a smile, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. you scrambled away from him, his hat still firmly in your grip. you got yourself off the floor, ready for whatever he was going to try.

instead of making his way towards you like you assumed he would, he looked around the place, taking in his surroundings. he eventually started walking in your direction. it was menacing watching him slowly approach you with an expressionless face. he stopped at the counter, looking down at the little bell. pressing his finger on it, it rung. he waited a few seconds before ringing it a few more times, looking over at you expectantly. your gaze narrowed as you made your way behind the counter.

"yes?" you asked with gritted teeth.

"i'd like to have a bath, please."

"... i'm sorry, sir, but we've had to close early today on the account of having no sheriff to protect my girls from harassment," you explained with a sickly sweet smile. "if we had a sheriff, which we don't, then maybe my girls would feel comfortable continuing to work. but since we don't, there's nothing i can do to help you. sorry for the inconvenience."

you saw a flicker of what appeared to be remorse on his face. he looked down at the counter, his finger tracing the grooves. "you're here, aren't you?"

"you must be out of your natural mind."

"why? because i'm requesting that the bathhouse worker give me a bath?" he asked with a snarky tone.

"that you're requesting anything of me after disregarding my concerns earlier."

he pulled some money out of his pocket, slamming it on the counter. "let's discuss it over a bath."

...

this was the last thing you wanted to be doing. you stared at the back of his head as he laid in the tub of warm water. you grabbed the rag from the bucket of soapy water, ringing it out and bringing it to his chest. as much as you wanted to be rough with him, your desire to not touch him at all prompted you to just be gentle instead. you heard him let out a content sigh as you scrubbed him down.

"you wanted to talk to me, didn't you? so talk," he said, resting his chin in his hand while you worked.

"i already told you what the problem was," you reminded him, lightly pressing against his back to get him to sit up. you scrubbed his back, watching as the dirt and grime disappeared, revealing his actual skin color.

"don't present a problem without a solution. what do you want me to do?"

"kill them."

he let out a hearty laugh at your suggestion, laying back down once you finished with his back. your fingers went to his hair as you poured some water of it, massaging it into his scalp. you could've sworn you felt him leaning into your touch. "isn't killing your clientele bad for business?"

"their existence is bad for business," you told him matter of factly, leaning down to wash his stomach. "i want them gone."

"now darling," he chuckled softly, turning his head towards you. his scruff brushed against your skin, making you shiver. "you know i can't do that. try again."

you could feel your face heating up, so you pulled away, washing his arms now. you dragged the rag along his muscles, revealing all kinds of scars as you cleaned him. "give them a stern talking to."

"about what?"

"respecting my girls."

"or else what?"

"use your imagination."

he hummed with a nod as you finished up with his upper body. "i can do that."

you threw the wet rag at his face, making him flinch. he dragged down his face, plopping into the bath water. "i'm not washing you below the belt. you can see yourself out."

...

after dramatically stomping your way up to your bedroom, you changed out of your clothes and into your nightgown. being around the sheriff was exhausting and you weren't going to waste anymore time on him. your only hope was that he'd stay true to his word. as you were getting ready to retire for the night, you heard a knock at your door.

"i want my damn hat back, y/n. i'll kick the door down if i have to," you heard him say through the door. you went and grabbed it off of your dresser, putting it on your head and looking at yourself in the mirror.

"i think i'll keep it for myself, actually."

"you have five seconds to open this door."

out of frustration, he start twisting the knob. unbeknownst to him, it was never locked to begin with. he opened the door, surprise on his face as he let himself in. he looked over at you, the same expression on his face, but for a different reason now.

"take it off."

"i actually quite like it, so i don't think i will."

he must have been fed up with you at this point, because he started approaching you with purpose in his step. you stepped back some, slipping on the length of your gown and falling back on the bed. the hat had fallen off of your head, onto the floor. instead of going around to pick it up, he found himself on top of you. the two of you held eye contact, but it was different from earlier.

"why do you do these things to me?" he asked you softly. "i'm starting to think you're doing it on purpose."

"i don't like you."

"you used to like me."

that may have been true once upon a time, but it wasn't the case now. the person you used to like didn't exist anymore. he was replaced with a hollow shell of a man and you wanted nothing to do with him.

his thumb made its way to the corner of your mouth and your heart started racing. "i still like you," he said with a small frown, his fingers tracing your jaw and moving down your neck. "i think deep down you still like me."

"no," you responded without missing a beat. his hand was on your chest, feeling the shockwaves of your pulse underneath. "i don't."

"i think you do."

you wanted to badly to smack him in his face but his response was different than you expected. the snark and smugness you were expecting was replaced with a tenderness you were unfamiliar with. or, more accurately, had forgotten he was capable of conveying. he sounded honest. genuine. like he really believed what he was saying. or wanted to, at least.

that's what caused you to let your guard down and let him in. his nose rubbed against yours before he leaned down, giving you a kiss. his large hand cupped your cheek while his other one lifted you off of your back and into his lap. you parted from him and he looked at you with a little smile. "see?"

"that doesn't count," you objected, despite not moving out of your new position. you actually found yourself getting comfortable, placing your legs on both sides of his lap. you could feel his erection growing beneath you.

"sure it does," he insisted, grabbing his hat and putting it back on your head. he laid back on the bed, starting to slowly undo his belt. you didn't dare look down at what he was doing, too stubborn to give him the full satisfaction, but you didn't stop him either. you felt your own arousal becoming stronger. it was hard to ignore when you didn't have any underwear on to begin with.

you soon felt his tip rubbing against your slickness and you sucked in a gasp, getting his attention. he stopped moving, looking up at you for approval to continue. still feeling stubborn, you just looked away and felt him slip inside of you. his hands moved up your thighs and to your hips, repositioning the skirt of your gown. it allowed the two of you to reserve a bit of modesty in your compromising state.

the first movements were shallow and slow, as you were both trying to adjust. it didn't take long for you both to find a rhythm. soft pants and moans came from you as you rode him, his hips thrusting upwards so you weren't doing all the work. you had been resisting from touching him, but as he bounced you on his lap, his hand went to yours. his fingers grazed yours, sloppily laced together as he brought it towards his mouth. he planted a kiss on your palm, placing it on his heart.

shifting your weight, you pressed your hand firmly against his chest and he picked up the pace, his hips snapping up into you. your arm was starting to grow tired and he picked up on it. he sat up, pulling you into him. his face rested in the crook of your neck, his breath fanning against it while his hands slid up your back, one at the top of your spine and the other at your ribs. you continued rocking against him while his mouth made quick work of your neck, sucking at the junction between it and your shoulder.

your moans became embarrassingly loud. you were just glad no one else was around to hear them. jason kissed up the base of your neck until he met your lips, swallowing up all of your sounds. you felt his hat slipping off of your head and you both reached back to catch it, his hand on top of yours. the two of you smiled into the kiss as he readjusted it for you.

feeling your release coming up, you slipped your fingers down to your clit, teasing it to help push yourself over the edge. jason moaned against your lips as he pulled out of you, making a mess on your nightgown. you were too blinded by your own pleasure to yell at him as you continued rubbing yourself. you felt his fingers probing at your entrance, thrusting in and out until you came all over them.

"sorry about the stain," he breathed out, pulling the skirt up in an effort to keep it from touching you. his other hand worked to untie the bow in the back, making it easier for you to get it off. he grabbed his hat from off your head and used it to cover his face while you slipped out of the gown. you set it aside, pulling your blankets up to cover yourself. "are you decent?"

"yes," you answered as he lowered it, giving you a grin before putting it back on your head. your eyes peered upwards at the brim. "i thought you wanted it back."

"i'll come get it later. there are a few men i need to give a stern talking to first," he said, fixing his pants and getting up. "you'll be here when i get back, won't you?"

you raised your brow at him, chuckling. "it's not like i have somewhere else to be."

"i'll be back soon," he winked before walking over to the door. "oh, and darling?"

"...yes?"

"leave that on for me, alright?"

[feelin-woozy]

Title: I'm Your Man

Word Count: 2,562

Pairing: Danny Johnson x GN reader

Warnings: Gunplay, referenced knife play, very toxic relationships, impact play, some violent imagery and threats of violence, under negotiated kinks. They making love but they're being freaks abt it,,,,, making love in a rly fucked up way.

[AO3 LINK]

What you're doing is stupid, it’s dangerous, it’s audacious, it’s a million other adjectives that display your sheer stupidity, but most notably, it’s exhilarating. It makes your thighs quake, and your breath catch in your throat. Even when you have the upper hand, something about Danny never fails to deconstruct you to your more baser desires. And you know it’s not just you who feels this; as much as he loathes to admit it, you did something to him as well. It’s how you got him in this position in the first place.

Danny stares up at you, strands of blonde hair falling into his face and making his nose crinkle. There’s a murderous look swimming within his blue irises, like the moment you let your guard down, he will take matters into his own hands. To reaffirm that he is the one who holds power, not you, never you. To mold you back into that subservient little thing he’s worked too hard to force you into, but then there’s this spark within his eyes that overshadows the dark intent. It’s the look of how you feel, pure exhilaration.

His sharp cheeks are dusted with pale pink, jaw clenched till veins pop along his neck, and you can hear his teeth gnash together. In the dim lighting of the room, he looks dangerous, sharp edges highlighted by the way shadows dance over your face. It excites you all that much more, a true testament to how utterly fucked you were.

“I got a surprise for you,” You swivel your hips, leaning down to drag kisses along his jaw, the stubble catching along the soft skin of your lips. Despite the way his body tenses, his hips still involuntarily rock up into you, his cock throbbing. You lean back and smile at him before you pull off of him with a wet squelch. His cock bobs, the flushed skin shining with the remnants of lube.

Your legs wobble for a moment as you straighten yourself, the chilled floorboards creaking under your weight. You stumble over the clothing that litters the floor, your barefoot catching in the leg of tartan printed briefs. You kick it off to the side, clearing your path to the dresser across the room.

You feel his eyes on you as you walk away, and the air shifts around you. It becomes dense, and with each step you take, it feels as though you’re walking through jelly and over eggshells. You don’t let it deter you; you can’t. You were too far into this to back down. It would only reaffirm that you were nothing more than self-abasing, a toy that he could toss aside when he grew bored. You needed him to know you were more than that, that you were an integral part of his being. That throwing you away would be the same as throwing a few pieces of the jigsaw away, leaving him incomplete.

You rummage through the drawer of your shared dresser, careful not to crease the carefully folded dress shirts within. Spindly fingers wrap around the cool metal. Upon contact, you feel a sudden rush. Power swelling within your chest like an over filled balloon. It’s nearly suffocating as it scrapes along your ribcage, and you find it difficult to determine if you like the feeling. If you liked the side that Danny dragged out of you in the name of love.

Turning around, you look at him with as much of a neutral expression as you can muster. Trying not to convey fear or excitement to feed into his reaction. Your eyes carefully rove over his face.

Danny’s lips part slightly, and there’s something new within his eyes. Fear maybe? No, it was closer to indignation.

“Gunna kill me, baby?” He speaks with a sharp rasp, words dripping with equal parts venom and arousal. His brows knit together, a deep groove forming along his forehead as he stares at you with a narrowed gaze. You watch him try and get a read on you, trying to determine if this was how he’d meet his bitter end if he’d finally pushed just a little too hard and sent you tumbling down into madness like Alice down the rabbit hole. He settles his nerves, letting his words wash over you coldly. “I’m hurt you’d use a gun for it, after all we’ve been through together and you chose something so… Impersonal..”

You’re not sure what he’s trying to accomplish in saying this. Was he trying to goad you on? Send you into an uncontrolled frenzy that he could redirect to gain control? Was he trying to scare you? To make your hands tremble and quickly fumble with the zip ties that dug into the flesh of his wrists, constraining him to the wooden dining chair. Did he want you groveling at his feet and begging for forgiveness that he likely wouldn’t be kind enough to bestow? That one felt like a safe bet.

“No, I need you.” You let the words drip off your tongue like honey, lips twisting into a smirk as his hips buck up into nothing and his jaw goes slack. You walk back to him and situate yourself within his lap once more. Using the hand not wrapped around the grip of the gun, you position him carefully before sinking down onto him once more in a quick sudden motion.

The two of you moan, the sound melding together into something harmonious and beautiful. His arms flex against where they’re restrained, muscles rippling below pale skin. You know he must be going near crazy being unable to touch you, to have his way with you. To tear into you like a soft peach and have your juices messily dripping down his chin as he devours you.

“I love you,” You murmur, carefully dragging the barrel of the gun down along his jaw. His head tips back, letting you move the gun freely as a shaky exhale passes through his lips.

“Is it loaded?” Danny breathes, hips mindlessly rocking up into you in a steady rhythm. If it didn’t feel so good, you likely would have chastised him for doing so. After all, you were in charge. But you knew you were already toeing the line of what you could get away with; it was better to pick your battles than to face his wrath.

“Wanna find out?” You hook your index over the trigger as you drag the barrel carefully and nudge it against his lips. There’s a brief moment of hesitation before they part, and he slowly lets you force the pistol past. The two of you lock eyes for a moment, and you watch the way his tongue glides along the underside of the slide, taking the gun in till lips meet the trigger guard. “It is. Could blow your brains out right now if I wanted to.”

He moans at that, hips bucking up in a way that has you jolting, knocking the gun within his mouth and making him gag. A part of you expects anger to flood his face, for him to pull back and spit out the safeword, but if anything, it spurs him on more. Eyes closing as his cheeks hollow.

“You look so good like this, baby.” You whisper, raising yourself carefully before dropping once more and impaling yourself on his cock. You move at a leisurely pace, not entirely chasing your pleasure and more so fixated on the sight of him sucking on the barrel of the pistol like his life depended on it. And to some extent, it did; the looming threat, the implication that his brains could paint the wall behind you only served to turn the air heady with dangerous electricity. Danny didn’t seem to mind all that much at this moment, not with the way he bobs his head hastily, mindless bliss curling over his features and smoothing his brow.

You pull the gun out, making a note of how the color on his cheeks has deepened into a dark red. His pupils are blown till the blue no longer exists. His lips are slicked shiny with spit, and his chest rises and falls rapidly. “Gunna fuck me now? Done playin’ your little game?”

“Can I hit you?” A sliver of your usual timidness sneaks its way in, making your words falter enough that the glimpse of a predator can be seen in his eyes once more. He remains silent for a moment, letting your request roll around within his mind. You rock your hips, rolling yourself deeper on his cock and allowing an obscene little noise to tumble past your lips. “Please?”

“Fuck.” He grits his teeth, head tipping back as he soaks up the feeling of your walls clinging to his cock. After a moment, he looks at you once more, that dangerous look within his eyes that told you to tread lightly. “You’re getting too comfortable with this, babe.”

“You can carve me up real good next time,” You promise him, the words tumbling out almost desperately. His lips quirk slightly into a curve as you lean down, peppering the column of his throat in kisses and bites. You drag your nose along the curve of his neck affectionately, inhaling the scent of cigarettes, aftershave, and cologne and allowing it to wash over you like a blanket fresh from the dryer.

“Fine.” He lets out a sigh, trying his damndest to sound like this was more of a favor to you than it was exciting for him. You watch the way his face melts. An almost soft look crossing his features when your face lights up with the sudden excitement. “Be fuckin’ careful though.”

You let out a hum, moving from his neck to his face to capture his lips in a frantic kiss as you bounce eagerly on his cock. He meets your unbridled passion with his own, teeth sinking into your lower lip brutally till the taste of copper fills your mouth, and sticky warmth dribbles down the curve of your lip. You draw back, fingers curling around the grip of the gun in a firm grip.

Before he has any time to prepare himself, to think twice and go back on his word, you raise your arm before swiftly bringing it down with careful precision. A loud crack can be heard as the butt of the gun collides with the side of his face. His body thrashes, arms pulling uselessly against his restraints as his heels dig into the wood below. It makes the feelings of power wash over you once more in a torrential downpour, drowning you with the force of it and how it so thoroughly saturated your nerves and set fire to them.

The guttural moan that leaves his lips reverberates through his chest, and it catches you slightly off guard. You should have expected it, really; it wasn’t shocking that something like this was making Danny’s cock throb within you or having butterflies dancing within his stomach. You catch a dazed expression plastered over his face as his head lolls back on his shoulders. Unconsciously, you grip the gun again, finger curling over the trigger. As if waiting for him to lash out, to give you an excuse to fill his body with holes. Not that you could, the thought made your mouth taste of decay, and when he lifts his head and locks eyes with you, it only solidifies that you couldn’t do it.

There’s something beautiful about the way Danny looks with a busted visage. An angry medley of reds and purples has already begun to bloom over the right side of his face, the skin splitting and dripping with thick rivulets of red. It’s angelic, and you almost want to ruin this moment by asking to take a photo.

Your lips part, and a shaky exhale rattles through your diaphragm. You toss the gun aside, not bothering to flick the safety. All you do is pray it won’t discharge in a cruel stroke of misfortune. It bounces on the bed twice before settling without any issues.

One hand comes to cradle his face, fingertips pressing into the tender flesh as your lips meet his in a ravenous and all-consuming kiss. The way he winces under your touch momentarily before kissing you back makes your heartbeat a little faster, and you can’t stop the way you tighten around him like a vice.

“You’re fucking insane,” The words are panted out between kisses; they shake and fall so deliciously close to unhinged. “Like hurting me baby? Rile you up?” The comments are rambling, a true tell that he was just as delirious on pleasure as you were. You nod your head eagerly, the hand not on his face gripping into his shoulder as the two of you set a brutal tempo, the sound of your skin meeting echoing obscenely off the walls of the bedroom. “Should bring you with me one day, let you gut someone. Bet you’d look so fuckin’ sexy covered in someone’s blood.”

The proposition has you crying out, teetering so close to your release. It tears out a hysteric laugh from Danny, his hips faltering and becoming jerky and erratic.

One more thrust is all it takes for you to let a myriad of indiscernible noises, some sounding damn near inhuman as your orgasm, overtakes you. The force of it, the way your muscles tremble and you clench around him, drags him down just as violently. A cry of your name rips through the air, and you feel the way his cock throbs, painting your insides.

“You’re perfect.” Danny concludes with a wheeze as you slump forward. Your bones feel gelatinous, and you don’t want to move from where you were. Wanting to forever be suspended at this moment where you and Danny are so intimately connected. You feel the gentle dragging of his lips against the side of your head, the action so tender and only feeding into your desire to remain. “Need you to cut me free, baby.”

The way he speaks is commanding, and you know better than to ignore it for your own selfish means. Especially after something like this, you know you need to willingly hand the power back to him to soothe wounded egos and dark thoughts of losing control over you. So with a whine, you pull off of him. The wet noise that rings through the air as you pull, accompanied by the slow drip of sticky, viscous fluid down your thighs, makes your face scrunch up slightly.

Danny laughs fondly at you for it, watching you bumble around the room on shaky legs while you grab a pair of scissors before returning to cut free where each wrist was restrained to the back of the chair. You watch as he rolls his shoulders, trying to work out the stiffness that crept into the muscles and joints before he rubs at the red indentations that mar his wrists—another mark of imperfection that sends a strike of lighting through your nervous system.

You reach down, fingers carefully encircling his wrists as you drag the limb up to meet your lips. You press a gentle kiss into the angry red mark, smiling softly as you look at him. “Could never leave you, Danny.”

“Yeah. I know.”

[beauregardlionett]

i think i might understand the concept of home

AO3 Link

Yasha’s car had broken down on the side of the road in some tiny town she only meant to pass through. She hadn’t even read the welcome sign half-a-mile back, so gods knew where she was. Thankfully, there was a shoulder and a sidewalk, so she wasn’t stuck in the middle of traffic. She had the hood popped and stared helplessly down at the tangle of mechanics she did not understand.

Nothing was smoking, so she figured that must be a good thing.

“Need a hand?”

Yasha glanced up, catching sight of a woman standing just outside the coffee shop Yasha broke down in front of. She stood defined in the sunlight, composed of sharp lines and lean muscle, contained by planes of smooth, coffee-colored skin. She had on a simple grey sports bra under denim overalls littered with stains and distressed patches torn in random places on the legs. Her hair was in a low bun sat over what looked like an undercut all tucked messily beneath a backward cap.

Damn...she was hot.

The woman cocked an expectant eyebrow, reminding Yasha she had yet to answer.

“Oh, um...yes?”

Hot Lady smirked and stepped off the curb to stand at Yasha’s shoulder, leaning over the open hood and inspecting the mess. Yasha was busy inspecting the tanned slope of neck to bare shoulder, all of her quite a sight in the midday sunlight.

Gods, was that a tattoo on her back?

With abrupt yet easy precision, Hot Lady hauled herself up onto the lip of Yasha’s truck and shoved her hand between various pieces of metal. Startled, Yasha looked down at the engine, hoping she wouldn’t have to call emergency services for a hand lost in her car engine.

“The alternator might be shot,” Hot Lady said, squinting as she moved her hand around a little.

“What does that mean?” Yasha managed, only a little strangled.

“Means you need to get your car into a shop because you aren’t going to have much luck getting far without it.” Hot Lady removed her hand and gave a little hop back down to the pavement. She wiped her hand carelessly on her overalls and shrugged a little.

“It’s not a super challenging thing to fix, but it will take a minute. I can point you to a good garage if you need.”

“That would be very helpful. Thank you...um...”

“Beauregard,” the woman said, sticking out her hand with a grin. “Call me Beau.”

After hesitating a moment, Yasha grasped Beau’s hand and gave it a tentative shake, cheeks warm. Her face flushed even warmer when Beau raised her eyebrow again, clearly waiting for Yasha’s name.

“Yasha,” she blurted, horrid awkwardness muddying her chest. “I’m Yasha.”

“Nice to meet you, Yasha,” Beau said as she slowly took her hand back. Yasha already like the way her name sounded rolling off of Beau’s tongue - perhaps far too much for someone she just met.

“You might need to shack up somewhere for the night,” Beau said, pulling her phone from her pocket and texting someone. “Depending on how long the garage takes with your car. I haven’t seen you ‘round here before. You got a place to stay?”

“Oh...no,” Yasha managed. “I’m just passing through.”

“Well, I texted my buddy over at the garage to come get your car. He’ll be here soon. There’s only one hotel in this town, and to be honest, it sucks. My buddy Caleb moved most of his stuff out of his apartment, but he hasn’t turned the lease over yet. He got a big wig job two hours from here and they had him start early, despite the fact he still had a month on the lease. You can crash there if you want. I’m pretty sure he left his mattress.”

Yasha blinked, dazed and flabbergasted at the turn this conversation had taken.

“I...what?”

Beau looked up from her phone, fingers pausing in their rapid texting. She seemed to take in Yasha’s stunned expression and grimaced slightly.

“Sorry, that was a lot all at once.” Beau tucked her phone away and crossed her arms over her chest. Yasha recognized the defensive tactic attempting to look casual with ease. She performed that move often enough herself.

“This ‘helping’ thing isn’t my forte - more Jess’ thing. But uh...yeah. If you need a place to stay, you’ve got one. Promise there're no strings attached or anything like that.”

“But...you don’t know me.”

“True,” Beau shrugged. “But it’s not like there’s anything to steal from Caleb’s place. It’s basically an empty apartment he’s not getting anything out of. Might as well put the place to good use.”

“Okay,” Yasha said after a moment of strange quiet. What else was she supposed to say?

Beau blinked up at Yasha, then grinned, wide and delighted. “Cool.”

A few minutes later, a tow truck pulled up. Beau greeted the driver enthusiastically as Yasha watched on, wondering what she had gotten herself into.

--

“This is it,” Beau said, shoving open the door with her hip as she wrestled the key out of the lock.

Yasha followed Beau in, fingers curled tightly around the strap of her meager duffle bag. The apartment was near barren, as Beau had said. It had a small living area that faded seamlessly into a kitchenette. Down a short hallway appeared to be a bedroom and bathroom, both doors open. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. The only sign someone had recently been occupying the space was the old mattress just visible through the bedroom door and the sagging sofa in the living room.

“Sorry there’s no food in the kitchen, but there’s a store about a block from here if you’re up for a walk. I’d hang around but I have to get to a class.”

Yasha twisted to look at Beau, something bubbling up in her chest that felt a lot like gratitude and a little like something indescribable. She watched as Beau fiddled with her key ring, only realizing what was happening when Beau pulled a key off and tossed it to Yasha. She just barely managed to catch it and not make a fool of herself.

“That’s the key to the door for ya. And,” Beau pulled a crumpled, folded piece of paper from her pocket, holding it out to Yasha. “My number, in case you have questions or you need anything. I’m a night owl and an early riser, so chances are I’ll answer whenever.”

“Thank you,” Yasha warbled after a long moment, clutching the key so hard the grooves of its identity imprinted into her palm. The notches stung like she would never forget their shape. “I mean it. This is...a lot.”

Beau rubbed the back of her neck, scuffing the toe of her sneaker against the worn floorboards. “It’s nothin’ really...”

“No,” Yasha insisted. “It’s a lot. Thank you.”

Beau’s gaze met Yasha’s intense stare, her bright blue eyes wide as they took in Yasha’s sincerity. A handful of seconds stretched into eternity before Beau ducked her head, rubbing at the back of her neck.

“Yeah...sure.”

Yasha was getting the impression she wasn’t the only one completely out of her depth in this situation.

“I’ll come around tomorrow with updates...bye.”

Yasha watched her duck out the door, disappearing down the hallway before she shut the door behind Beau and clicked the lock.

--

The garage had Yasha’s car fixed and ready to go after two days. Yasha was still in town three months later.

In all honesty, she’s not sure how it happened.

The night she planned to leave, Beau had swung by and insisted on seeing her off. They ended up at a diner, tucked into a booth, talking like they actually knew each other. Next thing Yasha realized, it was nearing midnight, and they were being asked to wrap up so the diner could close. The chef had called to them from the window, an older looking man with bright pink hair who gave Beau a knowing look and a wink.

Somehow, that unplanned extra night turned into months. Yasha had taken on the lease from the absent Caleb for his apartment. She found a job at the local florist, a job she quietly enjoyed. The gravity of her situation only set in after she bought sheets for the mattress.

She met Jess - real name Jester, or Genevieve, but Yasha couldn’t sure - a bubbly girl with deep blue hair and the sweetest attitude ever. Her fingertips were permanently paint stained, and she left hastily sketched dicks everywhere she went. Yasha also met the tow truck driver from the first day, a guy named Fjord. They were a weird mix of individuals, but somehow they got on just fine. They ate dinner together every Thursday night at the same bar owned by the guy who tended the bar - one of those small town things. His name was Mollymauk - Molly for short and sometimes they instead of he - with inordinately purple hair and makeup to match.

Yasha never really spent a lot of time in her apartment. She didn’t see the point, not when she had access to the florist shop, or the diner, or anywhere else with Jess, Fjord, Molly, or Beau. Especially not when Jess’ apartment she shared with Fjord was so much warmer, much more like a home.

It took three months before Beau stopped mid-sentence of a story and blinked at Yasha over their pancakes in the diner.

“This is probably a stupid question, but did you have somewhere to be?”

Yasha looked up, confused. “Right now? Uh...no? My shift at the shop doesn’t start for another three hours.”

“No, no, I meant like outside this town. You told me you were passing through, before.”

“Oh,” Yasha set down her fork and looked out the window. Her chest felt tight. That afternoon seemed like a lifetime ago - a whole other person ago. “Not really.”

“Do...uhm,” Yasha looked over at Beau to find her pushing her food around her plate awkwardly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

This was difficult for both of them. If Yasha had learned anything in her time here, it was that they both struggled to convey their emotions eloquently. But that Beau tried meant everything to Yasha. The least she could do was meet her halfway.

“I was running, and I didn’t know where or when I would stop. But I guess this place is where I’m meant to be.”

“Why were you running?” Beau stared at her, gaze intense in a way Yasha found endearing. She watched like nothing else in the world could distract her.

“I...I had a wife. And I lost her rather abruptly almost six months ago. I tried to stay for a while, to keep what we had built together, but I wasn’t strong enough. So I ran and hoped that I would find something worth staying for again before I fell off the world.”

Beau stared at Yasha openly over their half-eaten breakfast, eyes wide.

“You stayed here. Does that mean you found something here?”

Yasha looked at Beau, at her messy bun and her undercut that needed a fresh shave. She took in the puddle of syrup, slowly saturating Beau’s pancakes and the half gone pile of bacon. Beau’s cellphone sat face down on the table so her attention stayed on Yasha. She realized the baggy sweater Beau had on was one Yasha had misplaced almost a month ago. Yasha lost her breath at the butterflies that fluttered to life in her stomach.

“I think so,” Yasha breathed, tethered and unhinged all at once.

--

They didn’t talk about it, because of course they didn’t.

But two weeks after their pancake conversation, Beau invited Yasha out for a night on the town. There were only two bars with decent night life here, and Yasha had been to both of them exactly once during her time here. (The daytime trips to Molly’s bar didn’t count, of course. She had only been to their bar for the night life once.)

She met Beau in the middle, and they walked together the rest of the way.

Beau had gotten her undercut shaved tight again, but it was hidden with the way her hair spilled loose and long down her back. She had a cobalt lace crop top on - the one with the built-in bra. The way it showed off the definition of her muscles was doing things to Yasha. The black cigarette pants didn’t help either.

A few drinks and way too many EDM songs later - or maybe only a few? Yasha couldn’t tell them apart - Yasha remained upright from adrenaline alone. Somewhere between the drinks and the beat of the music, Beau pressed up against Yasha, wiry arms winding around Yasha’s neck as they danced. Yasha wasn’t much of a dancer in any regard, but she was just tipsy enough to not care.

Beau’s hips fit comfortably in the space between Yasha’s hands, and Yasha resolutely tried not to follow that train of thought. For no other reason than she didn’t want to ruin a good thing, and there was no way Beau felt the same.

Beau pushed onto her toes, shiny black boots creasing with the motion as her lace top rode up her enticing torso.

“I really want to kiss you,” Beau called over the heavy thrum of the base. Her voice nearly got lost in the din, but Yasha heard her. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t. The weight of her heart dropping into her stomach hit too heavy and real to ignore.

Fuck, she wanted to kiss Beau, too.

Yasha’s t-shirt stuck to random parts of her torso with sweat, a detail she was now hyper-aware of with how little space existed between her and Beau. The press of bodies around them was abruptly unnerving. So much so, Yasha wound an arm around Beau’s shoulders and steered them both free, ducking into the hallway that lead to the bathrooms as Yasha gasped for air.

Beau leaned her back against the wall for support, peering at Yasha with far too much clarity for someone who could barely stand upright.

“Are you okay, Yash?” Her voice was quieter now that they had moved out of the main bar, but the base still pounded like a heartbeat through the floorboards.

With more confidence than Yasha would ever possess in her life, she caged Beau in, a hand on either side of her head against the wall. As Beau stared up at her with unabashed awe, Yasha’s face warmed with flushed embarrassment.

“I want to kiss you so bad.”

“Then do it,” Beau said. It sounded like a dare, but she said it as if she were asking permission.

With a quick swoop into Beau’s space, Yasha pressed her lips to Beau’s with the barest amount of pressure. A feather-light, electric brush of a promise, a question, and an invitation. Yasha moved no closer.

Beau leaned in, and as far as kisses went, it was simple. Neither of them surged toward the other, or grappled for purchase to deepen the embrace. It was an easy press of lips, testing the waters despite the alluring tug of the tide.

Tipsy seconds later, Beau pulled back first with a soft gasp. Yasha’s eyes fluttered open, and she felt like a cheesy teenager when she realized they had closed without her knowledge.

“Do you want to do this?” Beau asked, voice soft and a little wrecked despite the chaste kiss.

Yasha, never one for many words, gave a quick nod and ducked back in. It wasn’t confidence, more like the beginning of a realization.

Beau held onto her, this time hands back around Yasha’s neck and fingers tangled deep in Yasha’s wild hair. Yasha took one hand from the wall to cup the back of Beau’s head, fingers sliding easily over the short hairs of Beau’s undercut.

It wasn’t a fireball kiss, but it tasted like the whiskey shots they had done half an hour ago. Beau’s lips were soft and a stark contrast to the way she kissed Yasha. It wasn’t falling stars and fire lit in her chest, nor was it a cosmic shift of puzzle pieces snapping into place. As before, it was a realization, a revelation of something that might have been there for a while.

Beau kissed Yasha back, and she thought about pancakes at the diner and memorizing the way Beau’s eyes scrunched when she laughed. Yasha rubbed her thumb over Beau’s jawline and Beau’s sharp grin burst to life behind her eyelids. A tug to Yasha’s hair reminded her of Beau offering to braid Yasha’s messy locks every time they all slept at Jess’ place. Beau licked into Yasha’s mouth and all at once, Yasha pictured her apartment. She saw the walls she had kept carefully bare, the sheets she had bought, but no other furniture. The echoing emptiness of a place abandoned for a better chance, and inhabited by the echo of who Yasha used to be.

And what did people say about echoes being louder in empty rooms?

Beau kissed Yasha, and Yasha realized she didn’t want to be an echo anymore.

Beau made her feel solid in a way that was undemanding. She merely held out her hand and asked for the pieces of Yasha that were real, the parts she was willing to share. She helped Yasha make them into a complete picture.

Yasha kissed Beau back with all the gentle strength she could muster through the weight of her epiphany and the whiskey.

This time, Yasha knew she found something worth staying for.

[josy57]

Philosophy 101 (reprise)

Philosophy 101

I.

It's now drawing to a close, This encore, this year as an echo I will depart again shortly and this time, it will be for good So this is a curtain call A bow so low my forehead grazes these old floorboards Their wood creaking untold secrets Splintering under the weight The compounded stampede of dozens of generations Layer after layer of teenage specters Hurrying down the hallways long after the bell has rung I watch them shuffle away Knowing I’ll soon join their fading ranks

This last month will unfold as a slow ritual Counting the steps of every flight of stairs Touching each wall, each yellowish stone Following the grooves in the bark of the chestnut tree in the courtyard Letting it memorize the swirling lines on my finger tips This place and I, united in shared remembering

II.

Yesterday I came back to your class For the sake of circularity So things can conclude as they began A page folding on itself in perfect Rorschach symmetry That day, the topic was freedom Whether such a thing even exists Whether man stands above Nature He alone, capable of choice Or whether we, like every other creature Are subject to the same cruel, unchanging rules Living on a tight leash A chain of causes and effects That, try as we might, we can never escape Are we tossed about in an uncertain flight By a thousand random happenings By our own misguided decisions? Or do we suffer to a precisely set tune As sure as water's boiling point Or the orbit of celestial bodies?

I jotted down your every word In a comfortably familiar frenzy But this time around, unlike I used to at seventeen I kept my mouth shut I did not raise my hand to offer my observations To remark that the question of free will can be rephrased thus: Is life drama or tragedy? Did we get a chance and failed? Was there a way out of the maze we missed? Or do we walk, from cradle to grave, in a trench so deep We never see the sky The hedges around us shifting Giving only the illusion of diverging paths?

III.

You don't say it, but I have an inkling what side you favor And so I’m curious what you think How you make sense of my presence here How you fill in the blanks In your attempt to unravel the strings of consequences That led me right back to where you first met me Part of the answer is that I love this place That in many ways, I was born here It was where my life first became something I actually wanted to live I emerged from the mire, a soot-black mass of clay And slowly took form Like a flipbook of evolution A fish out of water, growing lungs, legs And painstakingly becoming human Learning to stand, to pile each vertebra like a game of Jenga And see the horizon

Yes, these corridors, these classrooms That's where I discovered the great loves that shaped me Language, poetry, and him Because, of course, the truth is that he had a hand in it In my second coming I returned, not searching for myself but for a ghostly closeness to him Whichever spin you’d like to put on it He was my fate, the gravitational force pulling me in

I know you would not approve You never did like him But following your logic, you cannot blame me It'd be ironic for you to throw the first stone After explaining that a pebble thinks itself free Only because it doesn't know who cast it Pathetic as it is, it was all written from the start There is no alternative version of that story In which we pass each other by without a hitch Without some part of me getting caught and torn clean off The ripping sounding like a great gust of wind I love him and it's enmeshed in everything In the grief I feel at the thought of leaving once more No one in this world knows the extent of it How long I've carried it with me, How marrow-deep it runs But this place does It knew and held both him and me Enclosed together Two chambers in the same beating heart

You'd probably laugh at all my pretty excuses You explained that every action, even the seemingly gratuitous Is only us acting out some forgotten trauma Some imprint left on an impressionable mind So early the slate was wiped clean but the mark remained You'd most likely say that this fluttering in my chest Is just me trembling in the aftershock Of something from childhood that shook a screw loose Those insane recurring thoughts, merely its rattling in my brain And you’re likely not wrong It fits neatly, doesn’t it? The girl whom no one loved Choosing a boy who won’t ever look at her Because of the familiar dynamics The safe, distant yearning Or because of the mad thought That changing his mind would shift the whole world

IV.

Still, even if it did not come down To a simple game of mechanics If it wasn't ordained or predetermined It would still mean something That you and I stand here again That I have passed my disease along I can see it Kind as you are, it permeates our clumsy exchanges As we watch each other, you peer into me Trying, through the cloudy film of today Through the tarnishing of the last ten years To catch the gaze of the stubborn, bright, smart-mouthed girl Who once sat in the front row You wade against the current, And see the past, alive, squirming silver Strikingly vivid in the murky stream of present consciousness If I could speak plainly and turn the tables on you That’s the answer I would give That’s what I would teach A lesson like a curse Those who cannot seize the day Strive to recapture the eve Groping blindly for what couldn’t be grasped Closure or justice or vengeance Those who did not live the first time around are bound to return.

@lexiklecksi  @distilled-prose

[ddullahan]

hadestown au 1

HI SO My anxiety has been through the fuckin roof for the past few weeks and in a fit of stress I deleted the first look of the bees hadestown au that I posted a few weeks ago. I’m feeling much better now and I wanted to repost it because I really am super excited about it >< Anyway, second verse, maybe same as the first, here we go! ---------------- it’s an old song As all tales begin, there comes a moment of question. The precipice we all stand at, toes hanging over the edge, eager to take the plunge. The question, different for every eye and ear turned to the story, starts as a feeling. It buoys us through the long swathes of paragraphs ahead. It seeps into our minds, and pushes us off the edge. We have that moment of freefall. Of realisation. We have to trust in something to catch us. Like most fairy tales, it begins with once upon a time. There laid a railroad track.   If you've ever heard the rails sing on a good, windy day, you'd know the sound sticks to the back of your mind. There to stay until the dark of night, when it creeps up to whisper wanderlust into your bones. The song of the rails is a low and resonant thing, humming into the willows scattered along the railroad sides. They used to say the rails were the Fates groaning in your ears. Urging you along. Waiting in anticipation for the train to come to call. Waiting for the story to start its freefall. The metal likes to wail beneath blackened wheels on hot, summer days. Days much like the one in which our story begins. Once upon a time - Metal chatters under the weight of an ancient, scorch-marked train. Decorated with blacked out windows. Panes of glass soot-stained, like they’d been brushed with fire one too many times. Coal smoke bursts from its chimney with a grudge, flooding the gray skies in the type of black smog that you can taste in the back of your mouth, long after the train’s disappeared. It was painted white once, a long, long time ago. A gift from the boss man down below for his flowering wife; but it’s one of those gifts you shove in the back of your drawer. One of those things that you spend your nights lying awake in bed, thinking in guilty chords. The train still runs, but the old white sides are now black and cold. Like the panting of dogs on the skin of your heels, the wind still blows hot behind it. The only thing it tows are souls to their final destination, but it won't take you if you ain't got the gold to board. It’s a fact almost everyone knows. ‘Cause the old legends say the road to hell could lead you out of poverty, but you gotta pay the toll to get that good money. The wind cracks and snaps after the train; sends the short ribbons of inky black hair whipping. Snapping into the brown-skinned face of a hungry young woman.   Blake Belladonna’s eyes glint like knives with a debt to pay, and her steps are sure footed against the rolling rocks under her boots. She wears a weathered bag slung over her shoulder, and a once-warm leather duster now worn to shit and hole-y. She seems small among the billowing willows and smoggy skies. She doesn't know where she's going or how she got to the railroad at all - but she knows how to turn her collar against the wind. And she knows how to run.   Metal shrieks, pulling her eyes up like a hand to the chin. She’s left to watch as the ruined, black omen of a train screams past a small, dilapidated station. It’s the only structure for miles. The cicadas are screaming along to the wailing of the tracks in a symphony, until the locomotive vanishes over the curve of a distant hill. The station's dry, mud-caked windows send silt drifting to cracked, rotting floorboards. The coke-bottle thick panes rattle angrily in their fragile frames, and then come to find their peace once more. Damn this is a dump, the young woman thinks, approaching the station. But it'll have to do. The sun's rays sink into her skull and turn her warm brown skin hot to the touch. It's far too hot for April. Stepping into the shade is an immediate relief, until the hot wind kicks up again. It blasts in her face as if to remind her it's there. As if she could ever forget. She's used to the way it whispers starvation in her ears. She throws the door open and escapes from the wind; stumbles her way into the empty station. Small and dusty like it’d been forgotten, filled with only two benches facing each other and a single door hiding behind them in the gloom. There's a sign on the door that reads "End o  th  line Caf ". Faintly, she can hear music behind it. Blake doesn't hesitate, and heads for the door. The knob breaks off in her hand, but it feels familiar and solid so she pockets it and heads inside. Follows the hallway and the pull of her feet to the music. The walls grow darker and thicker with polished wood. Her steps don't seem to echo and the music has since paused. The quiet starts to make her anxious. She doesn't like dark hallways. She's dreamt of them enough for a lifetime. The further she goes, the more her unease starts to grow and the more she starts to wonder if she's been here before. It's ridiculous, really. This is the farthest south she'd ever gone. Or was she in the east? Her anxious heart speeds up for a reason she can't see, and it's like her feet already know where to go. The hallway turns suddenly and she finds herself standing at the rim of an amphitheater of sorts. The music fades back in. There's a band jamming to soft jazz in the stands, people crowded and conversing at tiny tables scattered about the flat floor at the bottom. There's a man at a piano playing a diddy, there's a flicker of gold in the kitchen beyond. It's alive in a way that she hadn't seen in a long time, and she finds her feet eager to join the dancing 'round the tables below. She takes a step and nearly runs into another woman, decked out in a crisp white and red suit. She’s older, maybe late thirties or mid forties - has this eternally kind, yet melancholy smile. Her features are fair, but tired. Her black hair is pulled back like Blake’s, but tipped with red like the ends had been dipped in paint. Blake apologises immediately - "E-excuse me, sorry," and starts picking her way down to the tables. "No worries dear," She hears faintly behind her, the older woman's face already blurred from her memory. She blinks and suddenly she’s on the bottom floor, with the movers and shakers rattling cups with their stomping jive. She wants to move with them, but she's already reaching for an empty chair, like her hand was following its own storyline. The flash of gold catches her attention again. Her feet slip into a shallow groove in the floor, and she is rooted. Something crashes, and her eyes follow the clattering sharp shards of porcelain. One piece with purple trim bounces off a brown boot. She notices a hole near the big toe. Blake looks up, and her heart decides to freefall.   All the way across the floor stands a young woman in an apron. A bucket of newly broken dishes lay at her feet.   Her eyes are so pale and pretty they have their own orbit amidst the aging lights above. Her blonde hair ripples into liquid gold, twisted messily into a bun. Broad shoulders are cinched into position with suspenders and there's an off-white shirt rolled up to her elbows, the hem tucked into a pair of trousers. The skin of her strong forearms are tanned and riddled with freckles, spreading constellations all the way up her neck and across the gradual slope of her nose.   Oh, there's something familiar about all of this. Blake feels it in her bones. There’s something familiar in the ‘o’ of her startled mouth. Something about the empty hands she hovers, still holding an imaginary bucket of plates. She's got those sharp lilac eyes pinned on something in front of her.   It's a jolt to realise she's staring right at Blake. Though suddenly, that older woman in the white and red suit sweeps by that freckled face, and it's with a smile and a wave that their staring contest ends. No one claims the victory as the spell breaks. The older woman asks something that Blake can't hear, but she knows her voice is soft and sweet. Her feet move like she’s skating on air, and Blake decides to focus on that. She focuses on that instead of the heartbeat in her chest. She doesn’t think about how her pulse no longer feels like it belongs to herself. The golden woman nods stiffly and turns. Follows the gliding woman to the back of the house, and Blake is left with a heart migrating into her throat. The hungry young woman quickly tears her gaze away, uproots her feet from the grooves in the floor, and sits at the table she'd claimed. Her skin feels clammy. Her body is buzzing. She shrugs off her bag and coat, then pulls her bag into her lap. As if there was anything in there worth protecting. It could be minutes, it could be hours. She's really not sure, when a shadow falls over her table, and the sight aches like an old friend. A bottle of some fizzy drink is set gently before her, the bottle cap rattling towards her side of the table. Sunflower Pop, it reads. She looks up. The poor young woman, with her liquid gold locks wrapped in a messy topknot, stares right back. They're both struck speechless.   If there was ever a moment where destiny fills the lungs, it was then. Anticipation strings itself between their ribs, the cords like telephone wires humming their universal tune. I found you. I found you. I found you. But neither of them say a word to each other. The anticipation feels closer to a noose than a cup-and-string, the longer they spend breathing in the other's presence. The hungry young woman with hair black as night, just couldn't look away. Couldn't make her voice work right. The gold haired woman's jaw seems to work, but there was still no sound to be heard. Eventually the woman just turns around and walks away, toddling and tripping like her knees were unsteady. Blake sits where she left her, feeling much more than sympathy. She feels like her chair would collapse with her if she tried to follow. And again, there are voices whispering in the back of her mind. The wind already found her inside this place, its voices groaning and hollow. It always finds her, and she knows. She knows it always will. But as her slender fingers wrap around the neck of the bottle left on her table, Blake tastes the fizz and hums. Feels the crackle of carbonation all across her skin as she tracks the tall blonde with her eyes. The wind doesn’t feel like a whip in this vibrant, lively place. That has to count for something. Maybe she should stick around, just for one day. Maybe she would stick around and wait for the band to play.

[ninjadeathblade]

Moulin Rouge Discotrain AU (part fifteen)

Summary: (Post-game canon) The Conductor and DJ Grooves agree to finally work on a movie together. They come up with 'Moulin Rouge', a musical drama filled with romance. Over time the two directors grow closer and discover that maybe they don't hate each other as much.

Beginning | Previous | Next

Word count: 1,307

Warnings: None

Author's notes: I DID IT, WE MADE IT TO THE ELEPHANT LOVE MEDLEY CHAPTER

"Are you going to kill me?"

The elevator doors slid open and the lights flickered into life.

Conductor felt despondent as he looked around at what had been a wonderful stage and dancefloor in the basement.

Boxes and old set pieces cluttered the room, seats and balconies only just visible at the sides of the room.

The once flashing sign bearing his name had fallen, one corner resting in the cracked floorboards of the stage.

Conductor smiled faintly, remembering when they'd fixed the basement up to shoot a ballroom scene for one of his movies.

The scene had ended up being scrapped but he couldn't bear to redo the basement.

"No. I could nae do that to my best actor," Conductor admitted, then looked back at Grooves, smile dropping. "Come on then Grooves. You wanted to rehearse."

The penguin nodded, tentatively following the Conductor into the cluttered hall.

"You know, this room could do perfectly for Satine's entrance," Grooves commented. Conductor hummed his agreement, kicking a stone out of his path.

"I suppose so," Conductor agreed, looking up at the high ceilings and conjuring memories of what it used to be like.

Before it became storage.

Before the battle.

"The place was meant ta be used for a ballroom scene," Conductor murmured, taking off his coat. "Right then, we'd better get started."

Grooves nodded in agreement, walking over and standing beside Conductor.

"How should we, uh, go about this then?" Grooves asked awkwardly.

Conductor took the initiative, climbing onto a large box, gesturing for Grooves to join him.

The penguin scrambled up beside him before reciting his first lines.

"Love is a many, splendored thing. Love lifts us up where we belong, all you need is love," Grooves said, words that he'd uttered over a phone call between one another what felt like years ago.

Who would've thought it'd become part of the movie?

Conductor turned away from him. "Please don't start that again."

"All you need is love." Grooves stepped closer and Conductor made sure to avoid eye contact.

"A girl has got to eat."

"All you need is love."

"Or she'll end up on the streets," Conductor pointed out, glancing at him.

"All you need is love," Grooves sang, walking to stand in front of him.

"Love is just a game," Conductor whispered, their beaks mere centimetres apart. He turned and began to walk off.

"I was made for loving you baby, you were made for loving me." Grooves followed as Conductor spun around on a pole that stuck out of the box.

"The only way of loving me, baby, is to pay a lovely fee." Conductor began to walk backwards after his single spin.

"Just one night, give me just one night." Grooves stared at him and Conductor tripped slightly over something, letting out a quiet curse before Grooves caught him.

The owl's hand held onto his shoulders while the penguin kept him in a steady grip, half way between falling and standing.

"There's no way, cause you can't pay," Conductor pointed out, counterbalancing his weight to stand back up.

"In the name of love, one night in the name of love." Conductor headed up some smaller boxes stacked like stairs until he reached the top of the next large box.

"You crazy fool, I won't give into you," Conductor laughed, the happiness of the song getting to him.

"Don't leave me this way. I can't survive without your sweet love, oh baby. Don't leave me this way," Grooves breathed, ascending the makeshift stairs.

"You'd think that people would've had enough of silly love songs," Conductor mused as Grooves reached him.

"I look around me and I see, it isn't so, oh no."

"Some people want to fill the world with silly love songs," Conductor mocked, jabbing Grooves in the side.

"Well what's wrong with that? I'd like to know. Cause here I go again!" The penguin walked over to the corner of the storage unit, balancing at the edge.

"Love lifts us up where we belong!"

Conductor sucked in a nervous breath as Grooves wobbled. "Get down from there!"

"Where eagles fly, on a mountain high!"

"Love makes us act like we are fools. Throw our lives away, for one happy day," Conductor continued.

"We could be heroes! Just for one day," Grooves sighed, head tilted slightly to the side as he stepped back and looked at Conductor.

"You- you will be mean," Conductor shook his head, walking back over to the makeshift staircase.

"No, I won't!" Grooves protested.

"And I- I'll drink all the time!" Conductor threw his hands up in the air, going down the stairway of boxes.

"We should be lovers," Grooves insisted, following him.

"We can't do that."

"We should be lovers - and that's a fact." Grooves placed a flipper on Conductor's shoulder, turning the owl to face him.

"Though nothing will keep us together," Conductor stated.

"We could steal time, just for one day."

"We could be heroes, forever and ever," they dueted. "We could be heroes, forever and ever. We could be heroes-"

"Just because I will always love you," Grooves soloed, flippers resting on the owl's waist.

"I," Conductor joined.

"Can't help loving you," they both trailed off into whispers and Conductor looped his arms around Grooves' shoulders.

"How wonderful life is, now you're in the world."

"You're going to be bad for business, I can tell," Conductor said in a hushed tone, heat flushing his face as he remembered the following stage direction of a kiss.

Grooves stayed still, if gripping onto Conductor a little tighter than before.

They were both dedicated actors, it should be nothing for either of them.

So why were they both hesitating?

"Just kiss already!" Conductor pulled away from Grooves, head whipping around to glare at Snatcher.

Him and Hat Kid were both standing by the exit of the elevator, Snatcher holding a small camera pointing at the two directors.

"Get outta here you peck neck! And gimme that tape!" Conductor yelled, rage searing through him as he began to descend towards the two of them.

Snatcher's face fell and he gulped nervously, snapping the fingers of his other hand. The camera disappeared.

"Give it back!"

"Nope. I am scared of you but I can't die so whatever you do can't be that bad."

"I could fire yer!"

"No, you wouldn't. We've filmed most of my scenes already and you wouldn't find anyone as good as me," Snatcher gloated.

"The greatest thing you'll ever learn, is just to love and be loved in return," Hat Kid recited.

Snatcher grinned and high fived the girl.

"See, the kid gets it. Later lovebirds!" Snatcher cheered, before spinning on his heel and heading into the elevator, Hat Kid following close behind him.

Conductor stifled a wordless scream before slumping onto the floor.

"Sorry if that was awkward back there," Grooves whispered, coming to stand beside him.

"It's only gonna get worse once we start filming."

The words were harsher than he intended and Grooves drew a shaky breath.

"I'll go try and get the camera back." Grooves walked over to the elevator, pressing the button for it to be called back down to the basement.

Conductor was close to asking him to stay.

Quite why he wasn't sure yet.

But he had grown closer to Grooves, and liked spending time with him. He was slowly opening up about things he'd never talked to anyone else about.

"Bye Grooves," Conductor called instead, watching the penguin as the elevator doors closed.

Conductor lay down on his back, staring at the arched ceiling.

He liked Grooves a lot, that much was certain.

He cared deeply for him and regretted that he'd ever not gotten along with the penguin.

Conductor kept searching his feelings, staring at the ceiling as he figured out the extent of them.

"Peck."

[tarithenurse]

Spark - 16

Fandom: Enn Enn no Shouboutai / Fire Force. Pairing: Shinmon Benimaru x fem!reader. Content: Scheming, angst, pining, someone’s not good at dealing with a variety of feelings. Oh! It’s almost a tradition in this so no proofing. A/N: So...I should’ve been asleep and trying to rearrange my sleep cycle after a weekend of nightshifts, but meh! Much better to get this down in words. Feel free to ASK (or reblog) for tag – in fact: always reblog. Thanks to those who have already <3

16. Inferno

...   Benimaru   ...

The route might be different than the one [Y/N] had followed earlier, but the determination to reach the destination is just as great. Just short of running, Benimaru hurries down the street, takes a left down the alley, and finally two rights before he has to stop and wait for an inhabitant to let him in.

This is taking too long. I shou-

The door is opened by Mr. Ozaka who isn’t given a chance to greet the captain properly before the young man has rushed past, barely taking time to ditch the boots (not that it reduces the thundering noise as he races up the stairs) - Benimaru knows exactly where to go: he insisted on personally inspecting each and every single hiding place to make sure it would be safe enough.

And there’s the futon, easy to push aside. Must be nearly suffocating under there! It bounces off the wall from the force and he ignores as it plops against his skull, focusing instead on jamming a handful of fingertips into the groove along the floorboard and lift it enough to ensure better purchase. A section of the floor lifts neatly revealing the cramped hiding hole and...

“WHERE is she?!” Benimaru demands from the meek homeowner.

...   Reader   ...

You’re still not entirely sure you won’t get in trouble (actually, knowing Shinmon and his grumpiness: you’re screwed), but you’ve learned not to argue with the old woman who finally seems to be pleased with the situation.

“This is my favourite tea, dear,” O-bāchan smiles as she readies the leaves and waits for the water to reach the perfect temperature.

When she first pulled you out of the hiding hole (she’s surprisingly strong!), she had tutted at the sight and refused to listen to explanations or excuses while ushering you along. Then she’d drawn a bath for you (which had been lovely considering the sweat from the training and then the dust) and laid out a clean yukata to wear. Once you were re-freshened, she’d prepared a light meal for the two of you.

“Are you sure you don’t want me t-”

“Don’t you dare,” once more, her voice grows sharp as a harpy’s, “you’re my guest.”

You don’t dare point out that a guest normally has a choice of whether or not to go to someone’s home. Instead, you dutifully sit, knees and shins digging into the little cushion as you groan mentally at the constricting cotton from the protonationalistic outfit. You’ve seen a lot of women wear it around in Asakusa. It does sort of look pretty in the same impractical way the yellow sundress you’ve inherited does – the difference there being that the latter still allows free movement. And that’s the thing: for too long, you’ve had to think smart to get by on your own and clothes were meant to be practical; something that helps a person survive.

“Here you go,” O-bāchan hands you a cup of tea with a smile just as there’s a loud knocking on the door.

Are they still searching? Is the first panicked thought shooting through your head and you can’t help but wince as the banging is repeated.

“Oï-oï, such impatience. Excuse me for a moment, sweetie, and do try one of the cookies.” Your host is perfectly unfazed as she clambers to her feet (a few muttered groans proving her age) and shuts the door upon leaving the room.

You don’t taste the baked goods – don’t even have the wherewithal to put down the cup of tea as you listen for the muted sounds of voices. Oh...I know that one.

A quick glance around cements what you already knew: there’s only one way in and out. It’s tempting to grab the roll of dirty clothes and try to make a dash for it. Perhaps you can escape to another room and wait there until the hallway’s clear? You scrap the idea right away, resigning yourself to the inevitable.

At least O-bāchan’s delighted chatting warns you before the door slides open, revealing her and a blank-faced Shinmon. No, not blank. There’s a tick in his jaw and his eyes narrow the second he spots you sitting at the neatly laden table. He’s still wearing the same clothes as when you were sparring that very morning (something that feels like ages ago), stale sweat momentarily overpowering the more pleasant fragrances as  he too is ushered to take a place. Right next to you.

“I’ll warm bathwater for you, my lad,” Asakusa’s granny chirps.

“No need, we won’t be staying long.” It’s border-lining a growl, and her pointed gaze makes him add, “Thank you, though.”

“Well...fine...” Something is muttered under her breath that neither of you dare ask about. “I guess I’ll find a new cup for myself. [Y/N], be a good girl and pour Waka some tea.”

You do as she says and rush to free your hands, both because you’ve already learned there’s no sense in refusing her but mainly to do something, anything, to keep the awkward silence at bay. The pot trembles slightly as you fill the blue porcelain cup, and it’s much too loud as you replace it in the holder above the little candle.

...

O-bāchan had done most of the talking during the rest of you visit, but despite the unwillingness of her guests, she still seemed mighty pleased with herself when she waved goodbye. While the tea had warmed your belly and the sweets had made you think of happier days...well, nothing lasted long enough to tide you all the way back to Company Seven’s station.

Walking to your room with too short steps, bare feet silent on the wooden planks, you’re uncomfortable aware of Benimaru following you a few steps behind (probably on his way to the showers or his own room). Your fingertips greedily curl around the etched slit of the door, knowing that soon you’ll be in your own little sanctuary. Alone.

“[Y/N].”

You freeze, loath to turn around because you know he’s about to chew you out. “Shinmon.”

“I told you to stay hidden until I came for you.”

Sorry. “I know, but have you tried arguing with her? The old bidd-”

“Shut up. When you weren’t there...all I could think was...if they’d...” his voice is raw as he struggles with the words.

Too curious for your own good, you turn and find the normally stoic captain in a state you never expected. Hands flexing as his side and shoulders tense. His shaggy hair covering most of his face because he’s looking down as if searching for the root to the frustration that’s rolling off of him. He’s not angry? Or maybe he is but that’s not what’s prevalent right this instant. As if feeling your gaze, he lifts his face and allows your eyes to meet and there, just for a millisecond, there’s a flicker of pain and fear.

Then it’s gone.

...  Benimaru   ...

Ever since Mamoru had warned about the cops, it had either felt as if a fire was searing everything inside the captain’s chest or the sharpness of ice had pierced every organ there. No in between until he had finally stepped in and seen the woman – the source of all the trouble – sitting daintily and sipping tea. For a moment all he had felt was weightlessness. Pretty as the flowers on the yukata – obviously a borrowed item which his brain took time to comment that she ought to own instead – and apparently unharmed, [Y/N] somehow mellowed out the extremes battling inside him.

Now the internal storm is back and it’s all he can do to contain it.

“If they’d -” he bites back the urge to say what he wants, mentally stomps out the burning urge to grab the woman to make sure she really still is there. It’s not just hold her hand or grab her arm but a thirst for her lips and her body’s response if he were to melt into her.

Sensing [Y/N]’s movement, he does wrangles it all into submission by reminding himself that despite appreciating the safety provided by the “neighbourhood watch” she has made it clear as sunshine that she shuns him. Konro, the twins, hell even most of the guys are honoured with the friendship...but not Benimaru. Well, I’m still going to keep you safe.

“They wouldn’t be as forgiving or hospitable as we’ve been,” he grinds out before marching away.

[mandolovian]

1. kannida

part 1: i’m not a general

pairing: the mandalorian x f!reader

words: 3.2k+

warnings: some depictions of anxiety-inducing moments for the reader

a/n: thank u for all the love with the preview! if you’ve read that, the first part of this chapter is the same as the preview.

Felucia, despite the monstrous mountains and swathe of greenery, held seedy secrets within its city. Its flagship 84’s Cantina was hidden away in the depths of the city, and its front door was half sunk into the ground - as if the years of activity had resulted in the building slowly becoming one with the planet. Inside, the darkness was sticky and nauseating, and the bass of the cantina band was less good, rather more permeating.

The counter of the bar was fixated in the middle of the room - circular, encircling a twisted cabinet with shelves stretching towards the ceiling, heavy with half-filled bottles of spirits and poisons. The bottles glimmered in the dim light, the colours muffled by the considerable layer of grime that sat on the surface of the glass.

Towards the back of the cantina was a low-rising stage, only about a foot or so off the concrete of the floor. The wooden floorboards were sunken in the middle from years of use and, as the sleepy band played its final songs slightly out of key, the music was accompanied by the quiet groans of the yielding wood. Above the band was a string of bare lightbulbs thread haphazardly through the booms of the ceiling - many missing their glass casing, and the remaining bulbs flickered rhythmically with the kick of the drum.

There were a precious few patrons gracing the cantina - after all, there were but a few hours until the sunrise, so the ones that remained could not have been there by choice, but rather because of necessity.

The Mandalorian approached the counter. He was an imposing man. If the beskar didn’t intimidate you, it was his stance. The hand that rested against the blaster on his hip, casually, one of his fingers trailing against the edge of the trigger. The pulse rifle slung across his back that he hadn’t unclipped. The glint of the hard edges of his cuirass, polished enough so you could see your twisted reflection against it.

You put away the glass that you had been wiping in the cupboard under the counter, and walk towards him. ‘Can I help you, sir?’ you asked quietly. ‘We’re about to close up, but I can still get you a drink if you’d like?’

Only an imperceptible shift of the glinting helmet told you that he had heard you. He was silent for a moment, and you wondered if he had understood what you had said. You had precious little knowledge of the Mandalorians, and you couldn’t recall if you had ever interacted with them before. He turned his body slightly on the stool, and you were momentarily blinded by the reflection off of his armour.

‘I’m looking for someone,’ he said. His voice was gravelly, crackled from disuse, and although his words sounded tired, there was an undertone of commandment to it.

You pursed your lips. ‘I might not be of too much use then,’ you replied. ‘I’m not really familiar with anyone other than the regulars here. Maybe I can direct you to someone else who can help?’

The Mandalorian ignored your question. ‘I’m looking for the Chief Medical General from the Kannida Hospital.’

It was a miracle that you kept breathing.

You shifted uneasily on the balls of your feet. ‘I think you might be mistaken sir,’ you said. ‘That hospital doesn’t exist anymore. That city doesn’t exist anymore.’

He ignored your words again. ‘I have employment for her, if she accepts,’ he pressed on. ‘I understand that she’s recently become-’ he faltered a little, ‘-for the lack of a better phrase, unemployed.’

You bit your cheek, and winced when a metallic taste filled your mouth. The Mandalorian’s stance remained impassive as you struggled to keep your composure. ‘You can’t say… the tragedy of Kannida was… made unemployed?’

‘The Chief Medical General,’ he repeated, and you just stared at him. ‘That’s who I’m looking for. I won’t leave Felucia without a conversation with her.’

The audacity. There was a slight ringing in your ears, and you twisted the towelette under the counter. A strange heaviness began to settle in your stomach as you stared blankly at his visor. Made unemployed?

‘If she did… exist,’ you began, your tone measured. ‘If she was still alive, then she’s not here. No one like that has come through here. I’m sorry to disappoint, sir.’

Turning away from the counter, you breathed in deeply. The wave of nausea rising up inside you made your head spin, you gripped the towelette in a tight fist. In. Out. Counted the clean glasses in front of you. Eight. Counted them again. Still eight. Still eight? You counted them again. Eight clean glasses. Your eyes flickered between the rims. Definitely eight. You were sure of eight. Slowly, your breath evened out, and your heart left the lump in your throat to settle in your chest again.

‘Please.’

You turned, and the Mandalorian was sitting forward against the counter, with his forearms resting on the grimey counter. The lightbulbs crackled above him, and his armour gave off a muted glow as he shifted a little. Was he uncomfortable?

He let out a sigh, and it came out garbled and tinny through his vocoder. ‘I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important,’ he said. With a huff, he hung his head down. ‘I heard about Kannida from our covert,’ he said, speaking into his hands. ‘I think about it often. Destruction like that… it’s callous. Shameful. Pathetic. I’m sorry.’

You nodded slowly, not truly knowing how to respond. There was a modicum of strain to his voice, as if he was holding back, struggling to keep his words level.

‘I understand that it’s been a difficult time,’ he said.

He traced a groove in the wood of the counter with a gloved finger. Letting out a breath, he tilted his helmet to look up at you. ‘I don’t think I can fathom what it did to you. But all I ask is a conversation with you, and I’m truly not lying about employment. You can’t be happy here.’ He tipped his head to his left, and you followed his indication to see a portly man snoring on one of the booths, hiccuping intermittently.

You looked back at the counter, and you knew that your brain, somewhere in the recesses of your head, was counting the glasses again. You wanted it to stop.

‘The Chief Medical General isn’t here,’ you said weakly. You knew it was lacking conviction.

‘I know,’ said the Mandalorian. He stood up, his seat scraping against the concrete. In your periphery, the straggling patron snuffled in his sleep.

The Mandalorian tipped his helmet towards you. ‘All the same,’ he said, ‘my ship is in hangar nine. I would appreciate a conversation.’

-----

A year after graduating from university (just shy of first class honours - xenomedicine had never been your strong point), you were completing a rotation in Bingjai-Tin - a fairly forgettable merchant city on the Outer Rim. It was a dangerous rotation; the merchants and miners had questionable morals, and you were a fairly naive young graduate. Still, the entire planet was under Imperial control and skirmishes happened often, so from a purely medical standpoint, you had plenty of work to do.

It’s just an exercise in patience, your supervisor would say, after you had set your eighth broken limb of the shift and began complaining about the repetitiveness. You hone your skills while you can, young one. There are great things waiting for you.

One time on a slow day, as a challenge, your supervisor had asked you to examine a patient while blindfolded. She picked a patient that she promised was not dying, not about to stab you, just has an interesting heart. So you tied a strip of bandage around your eyes, promised her that you couldn’t see, awkwardly consented your patient (with a preemptive apology of I’m so sorry, my supervisor is an idiot) and began your examination.

The patient was quiet, mumbling a response to your request for them to sit up for auscultation. You put your hands on their back, expecting to feel smooth skin, and instead felt cold plastoid. You jerked your hand back.

‘Could I ask you to take your armour off?’ you asked. ‘It’ll make the examination a little easier. I can make sure all the curtains are drawn for privacy.’

You heard the patient shake their head, a soft clunking of a plastoid helmet against pauldrons. ‘I’m sorry, doctor,’ they said. ‘I won’t be able to do that. It’s against the rule of my commander to disarm in front of strangers.’

You whipped your head around to where you knew your supervisor to be standing, and glared as hard as you could at her through the blindfold. ‘How am I meant to listen for a murmur through plastoid?’ you hissed, gesticulating wildly at the patient. You could hear them laughing behind you.

Her reply gently teased you. ‘You figure out that murmur, I give you twenty credits,’ she replied in a singsong voice, and you heard her leaving the patient’s cubicle. The patient laughed uproariously behind you, and all you could do was let out a sigh.  

-----

‘I’m here to see the Mandalorian,’ you said. ‘Hangar nine.’

The droid at the hangar office lengthened itself to lean over the reception desk, and you took a step back in surprise. It burbled in beeps as it gave you a once-over, and you had half a mind to pull the exposed wires at its neck.

‘He did not approve of any visitors,’ it garbled out as it retracted itself, and you pinched your nose in frustration. ‘There is nothing in the hangar notes, nothing that I-’

‘Listen, you pathetic sack of metal,’ you began, bristling and defensive. ‘If that godforsaken Mandalorian hadn’t personally asked me to come here, I wouldn’t even be bothering you, so if you could just ask him-’

‘Not a fan of droids?’

The Mandalorian’s armour was much more reflective in the light, and you suddenly get the impression that you’re staring directly at a Coruscant skyscraper in miniature form. You blinked, looking up from his cuirass to the visor of his helmet, and he tilted his head at the eye contact.

‘I’d like to twist out their circuits,’ you said earnestly. He hummed in response.

The Mandalorian looked behind you to address the reception droid, who had now straightened up to attention at the sight of the warrior. You narrowed your eyes at the sight; fickle droids, you thought to yourself, stupid hunks of metal.

A quiet burbling noise to your left caught your attention. At the Mandalorian’s hip was a spherical pod, hovering off the ground, rocking with the back and forth of his vambrace. The pod was half-opened, and within the bundle of blankets inside, a pair of green petal-shaped ears peeked out. The ears were accompanied by what you thought must be the biggest eyes in the galaxy, sparkling and blinking up at you.

‘You have a baby?’ you asked incredulously, watching the ears flutter and raise. The baby cooed, and a tiny three-fingered hand grabbed the edge of the pod. The Mandalorian placed his hand against the edge of the pod, and the baby grabbed his finger happily.

‘I’ll be in the mezzanine room,’ said the Mandalorian to the droid, who hurriedly tapped away his words into the hangar log. ‘Don’t interrupt me. And keep the hangar closed.’

He then turned to look down at you. ‘Follow me, General,’ he said, inclining his helmet down the dark corridor.

‘I’m not a general,’ you muttered to yourself, but followed him all the same. The Mandalorian makes a soft sound of acquiescence, and you file the conversation away for another time. Instead, you watch the baby turn around in his pod to face you. He babbled at you, while waving his hands animatedly, his tiny voice echoing off the dark walls of the corridor.

‘How long have you had him?’ you asked. ‘I see he likes to talk.’

The Mandalorian sighed, slowing his steps so he was walking beside you, with the pod floating between you. The baby chattered gleefully and smacked both hands against the edge of the pod, sticking his tongue out at you. You stuck your own tongue out in response, and he fell back against the blankets in a flurry of giggles.

‘A few months,’ replied the Mandalorian. His voice sounded caged and distant, and as a silence settled between the group, you wondered how much of the crackle was the vocoder, and how much was his own.

The room into which the Mandalorian turns into is a balcony, stretching out between the two wings of the hangar bays. The piles and boxes of scrap metal and parts litter the floor, and you step carefully to avoid stepping on loose screws. The dust in the air of the musty room seemed to stick to your clothes, and you suddenly got an overwhelming urge to dust and tidy the area. You stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, flexing your fingers at your sides in an attempt to suppress the strange janitorial urges settling at the soles of your feet.

The Mandalorian indicated for you to sit on a crate, and he did the same opposite to you. He stretched out his legs in front of him, and lifted the baby out of the pod to set him on the floor. The baby wobbled a little on his feet and promptly plopped on the ground at the Mandalorian’s feet, grabbing onto his boot.

As you watched the baby, you wrung your hands together, unsure how to begin. ‘I know you wanted this conversation, but how did you know who I am?’ you asked. ‘How did you find me? I haven’t, I- it’s been years since…’

‘Kannida.’ The Mandalorian finished your sentence for you, and you nodded in response. ‘I wanted to apologise for how I talked to you last night. Possibly not the most sensitive.’

‘No it wasn’t,’ you said. The incline of your head was intended to be forgiving, and you let out a breath when he bowed his own in return. A clean slate. A new conversation.

The baby burbled at you.

‘You had a bounty on you a few years back,’ the Mandalorian said. He noticed your panic and held his hand up in surrender. ‘It got deactivated halfway through my hunt. I tracked you to Felucia and then had to let you go. That’s how I knew you were here.’

Your mouth was dry. ‘Deactivated?’

‘It happens sometimes,’ he continued, idly rubbing against a dull spot on his beskar. ‘It might have been withdrawn, the bounty setter might have died; either way, I didn’t ask questions. I followed the puck. ’

You didn’t miss the past tense in his words, and watching the baby’s huge ears perk up was enough of an explanation.

‘He’s a bounty,’ he said, referring to the baby. ‘I’m not exactly sure why, but it means we have to keep moving from planet to planet. He’s a target.’

‘Targeted by whom?’

With a soft groan, the Mandalorian stretched his neck from side to side. ‘Bounty hunters, mostly. We were up against Imperial forces a while back, and the recovery has been rough.’

The Mandalorian let out a sigh, and all of a sudden, despite not showing a shred of skin, he seemed like he was years older than he was, as if there was exhaustion engraved on his bones.

‘A few weeks ago, we were attacked by a Cerean - just a little unassuming thing. Good with a knife, got a few cuts in.’ He rubbed subconsciously at his forearm at that. ‘But she had this weapon, and I still don’t fully understand how she used it - maybe her blades were tipped with some sort of delayed-action poison - I don’t know. All I know is that I was dehydrated and near-unconscious for days. Just laid in the hull of my ship. He was distraught when I came to.’

The baby babbled and raised his arms, and the Mandalorian lifted him up to set him on his thigh. Content, the baby grabbed the strap of his rifle and pressed his face against the beskar, and the Mandalorian sighed again.

‘This keeps happening,’ he said. ‘I get blindsided, and if I have enough time I can always recover, but just cannot leave him alone like that, not again.’ He ran fingers along the edge of one of the baby’s ears, and he let out a satisfied coo.

‘You want a medic,’ you realised, and the Mandalorian nodded.

‘There’s space on my ship,’ he said. ‘I can provide a place to live, food, credits - I know it’s a position that’s beneath you, General, but I-’

‘I’m not a general.’

It was a repetition. The second time you’ve said it. But you needed the Mandalorian to understand it. General. The word made you dizzy, as if you could feel each individual neuron in your head firing, as if a soap bubble was growing inside your chest, growing and pressing against your ribs without bursting, as if-

‘Are you alright?’

Your eyes just burnt. You blinked away dry tears, and left your hands in fists on your thighs. Slowly, you forced yourself to breathe raggedly through your nose. Two big breaths. You counted as they settled into your lungs.

‘Don’t call me that,’ you whispered. ‘If I work with you, you can’t call me that. Please.’

The Mandalorian nodded. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

There was a beat of silence. The droids in the level below whirred between the hangars, and you let your eyes shut. If you listened carefully, you could hear the baby’s rapid breaths huffing against the surface of the beskar, and you tapped your finger in time to his breaths.

‘Is there anything else I can do?’

You looked back up, into the tint of his helmet. ‘What?’

‘What can I do,’ he said again, ‘to make this easier?’

He looked interested. Involved. He leant forward, cradling the baby against his chest with one hand and leaning his other hand on his knee. He wanted to know what you wanted, what you needed, and seeing this war-hardened warrior tenderly stroke his sleeping baby’s ear tapped away at your resolve.

‘I’m not the best in small spaces,’ you began, only continuing when the Mandalorian gave an imperceptible nod. ‘I’m not comfortable with the quiet either, but I don’t think that would be too much of a problem with that little one.’

The baby snuffled a little in his sleep.

‘Could I come see your ship?’ you asked.

He was quiet for a moment, and you became worried that you’d crossed some fine line. ‘Of course,’ he said after a while. ‘If there are any alterations you’d like to have done to the ship, I’ll see that it gets done on Felucia before we leave.’

He stood up, and you did too. The baby had fallen fast asleep, his petal ears rising and falling with each breath.

‘Are you sure you want me with you?’ you asked. ‘You know what happened on Kannida. I- I just want to know that you’re certain about this.’

‘I know what happened on Kannida, but I also know your track record,’ he replied, and you could hear him biting back the honorific. ‘There are precious few strangers that I’d be inclined to trust my life with.’

-----

preview || next chapter

tag list (please lmk if you’d like to be added/removed!): @mndalorians​​

[vexing-imogen]

the persistence of 6/?

read from beginning | read on ao3

Vex doesn’t intend on leaving the manor grounds, not at first. She’s in a new city, despite having lived here for several years, and getting herself lost would only serve to panic everyone, and would be rather humiliating to boot. But, even with Trinket at her side, the garden that was so inviting last night has become unbearable. Oppressive.

She’s suffocating. So while she knows that leaving is probably a bad idea, she can’t bring herself to stay.

She stands, using Trinket’s shoulder for leverage, then scratches him behind the ears. “Let’s go for a walk, buddy.”

It’s still early enough that the streets are near deserted. The few people Vex does pass as she wanders give her a wave or a nod and go about their business. She deliberately avoids the streets that will take her back to the town square and those unnerving statues. There’s a castle on a hilltop to the north, so she sets off in that direction, her interest piqued.

She loses track of time while walking, and eventually she stops to take a break by a wrought iron gate. A faded signpost pointing to the right reads “To the Zenith and the Greyfield”. A raven caws, and she feels a pull in her chest, as if her subconscious is telling her that the answers she need lie at the end of this path.

Trinket makes a mournful noise as she walks through the gate and starts down the path, but he follows dutifully, glancing about for anything untoward. It is kind of creepy, she will admit. They pass a temple first, large and very old. The Zenith, if she had to guess. The sun shines through the stained glass window as she passes, bathing her in warm, colored light, and she places her hand to her heart and bows without thinking. A chill runs down her spine, but she shakes it off and keeps going.

The Greyfield is a cemetery, she finds. The eerie silence is only broken by the occasional raven’s cry. And if she’d thought the city was overpopulated with ravens, it’s nothing compared to this. The main group of them seem to be clustered around a mausoleum on the far end of the field, and her curiosity outweighs any fear she might be feeling.

There’s no name carved into the stone, no indication of it belonging to anyone in particular. The door is open, and she ventures inside. The air is cold and stale, and she realizes that someone has set this place up as a shrine of some kind. There’s an altar laid out in the center of the room, adorned with ravens feathers, small white flowers, and a bowl of some dark liquid. She dips a couple fingers in it. It’s cold and viscous and is most definitely blood.

She stares at her fingers, at the blood that drips from them onto the marble floor, an uneasy pit settling in her stomach. “What the fuck is this place?”

“Creepy, isn’t it?”

Vex shrieks and spins around, her heart racing in her chest. Keyleth is there in the doorway, regarding the mausoleum with disdain.

“Sorry,” she says, wincing. “I promise this place isn’t actually as bad as it looks.”

Vex takes a couple of deep breaths. “What is it?”

“A temple to the Raven Queen,” Keyleth says, and Vex doesn’t miss the bitterness in her voice, or the way she refuses to actually step into the space. “Percy had this repurposed for Vax, so he’d have a place to worship while he was in Whitestone.”

She doesn’t miss the way Keyleth hesitates before saying her brother’s name.

“You love him, don’t you?” she asks. “Vax.”

The way Keyleth’s eyes widen is all the answer she needs, but she nods after a moment. “It, uh, didn’t exactly work out, but...yeah.”

“Didn’t work out,” Vex repeats. “Did it have anything to do with Her?” She nods towards the shrine.

Keyleth laughs, wipes away a tear. “Yeah, you could say that.” She sighs. “It’s...complicated. He had to go. To serve Her. And I couldn’t follow.”

Vex hugs Keyleth tight. “I’m sorry, darling. I can kick his ass for you the next time I see him, if you’d like.”

Keyleth shrinks back out of Vex’s embrace. “That won’t be necessary. It’s fine, really. I’ve...made my peace with it.”

Liar she thinks, but she doesn’t push. “I guess we should probably go back, shouldn’t we?”

Keyleth takes her hand as they walk through the cemetery. “How are you feeling?”

She sighs, tries to ignore the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “Lost,” she says finally. “Have you ever...had a word caught on the tip of your tongue, and you know you should know it, and you know that once you hear it you’ll remember, and you’ll feel so fucking stupid for ever forgetting it?”

Keyleth nods.

“That’s what this feels like,” she continues. “Except it’s not just one word, it’s five years of my life, and I don’t know if I’ll ever actually remember.”

“We’ll figure this out, Vex,” Keyleth says, squeezing her hand. “There’s a solution out there, I know there is, we just have to find it.” She stops them, cups Vex’s face in her hands. “I promise you, we will fix this.”

Vex sniffles, looks away from her friend’s earnest gaze. “That’s what you all said yesterday.”

=============================================================

Percy feels like he’s going mad with worry. Sure, Vex is more than capable of taking care of herself, and Keyleth had done a quick scry before going off to find her, and assured him that she was fine. But he’s still tense and anxious, and he’s going to wear a groove in the floorboards if he doesn’t stop pacing soon.

They’d all been so confident in Pike, in her healing abilities, that none of them had been prepared for the spell to not work. Except for Vex he thinks. She’d accepted defeat so easily, seemed to have almost been expecting it, and that’s what has him truly scared. He’s never witnessed Vex give up quite so fast, and he doesn’t know what it means.

For him. For her. For them...

A knock on the doorframe jolts him out of his thoughts. Scanlan is standing there with a sad smile. “Hey. I managed to calm Pike down,” he starts. “She should be coming back soon enough. I think she was going to have a little chat with Sarenrae. How’s Vex?”

Percy shrugs. “Not sure,” he admits. “She took off just after you and Pike left. Didn’t say where she was going. Keyleth had to scry to find out where she’d gone.”

Scanlan nods, taps his foot nervously. “I had an idea,” he says. “And obviously we’d have to run it by Vex, and if you guys say ‘no’ I’ll never bring it up again-”

“Scanlan.” Percy cuts off his rambling. “What was your idea?”

The gnome sighs. “If, for whatever reason, there’s absolutely no way to restore Vex’s memories, I thought I could maybe use Modify Memory on her. To give her a highlight reel of the last few years. It would take some time, and I can’t give her everything, but she’d have something back. The important stuff, at least.”

Percy’s so overwhelmed with emotion, he does the first thing that comes to his mind. He hugs Scanlan.

“Can you really do that, Scanlan?”

Percy’s head snaps up. Vex is standing just beyond the doorway with Keyleth and Pike. He doesn’t want to jinx anything, but she looks almost hopeful.

“I can,” Scanlan says, turning to face her. “But only with your consent. And you’d have to trust that we wouldn’t give you any false or altered memories.”

She mulls it over for a minute. “I’ll have to think it over,” she says. “But, no matter what, it’s an incredibly sweet offer, Scanlan.”

“It might not even be necessary,” Pike says, stepping forward. “I spoke with Sarenrae, for a while, and she told me what we have to do to get Vex’s memories restored.”

“That’s great, Pike,” Keyleth says. “What do we have to do?”

Pike sighs. “Well, the reason my spell didn’t work is because Sarenrae doesn’t have dominion over memories. The Raven Queen does,” she explains. “I’ve been able to restore memories before because the effect was smaller, in Percy and Grog’s case, or it was a physical ailment, like the Gith we met in Pandemonium. What happened to Vex was bigger, and magical. It’s not something Sarenrae or I can fix.”

“But the Raven Queen can?” Percy guesses.

“Yes.” Pike looks up at Vex. “If you’re willing to try, I already got in touch with the Raven Queen’s temple in Vasselheim. We can go as early as tomorrow, and hopefully they can cure you.”

“I think it’s worth a shot,” Percy says. “But the choice is yours, dearest.”

Vex looks uncertain until her attention is caught by something outside. Percy follows her gaze to Vesper, playing in the garden with Rika. He looks back to Vex, and she nods once, firmly. “I suppose there’s no harm in trying.”

=============================================================

Her dreams that night are horrific. There’s no visual, just pitch darkness, but the voices are as clear as day. And they’re all awful.

The first is her brother, and she can almost feel him grasping her hand. Do not go far from me. If we are out of earshot, you are too far from me. Do not go far from me.

Her own tearful response. Do you think this is what mother saw before she died?

The next is a voice she doesn’t recognize, but it sends chills down her spine, sickly and oozing. Sweet, broken Vex’ahlia... a question, from her What would you ask in return? him again Your heart.

My heart is someone else’s.

Scanlan calling for her from across a battlefield. Her sobbing, casting healing spells uselessly into an unresponsive body. I’m not leaving Percy!

A cold room, a colder feeling in her chest. Desperate to do something, anything. But I don’t want to be here if you’re not. Whitestone still needs you, darling. I still need you here.

Grog’s voice, loud. Angry. Devastated. FIX HIM!

Then herself again. Having a conversation with someone, but the replies are static.

I feel like she’s taking part of me away.

I don’t know how to live.

Please. I love you. I don’t accept this.

I’m going to find you.

And, finally, on a maddening loop.

Where’s Vax?

Where’s Vax?

Where’s Vax?

Where’s Vax?

She wakes from her nightmares with a scream, thrashing against the confines of her blanket. Her foot connects with something, and Percy grunts.

“Vex’ahlia.” His hands on her shoulders ground her. “It’s alright, dear, you’re alright. It was just a dream.”

She catches his hand as it’s running through her hair. “Percy.” She stares at him, tears flowing, the weight of the truth threatening to crush her. “I need to ask you something.”

“Anything.”

“You have to promise you’ll tell me the truth,” she says. “Swear to me that you won’t lie to me.”

She sees the realization dawn in his eyes, but he nods. “I swear, Vex. I swear on our wedding vows that I will not lie to you.”

“Is my brother dead?”

[honestsycrets]

Mirror, Mirror II: Freydis, My Sweet [ Ivar x Reader ]

❛ pairing | ivar x reader, freydis x ivar (past)

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | the mirror cracks. what comes next is a mystery to everyone involved.

❛  warnings | past ivar x freydis, mention of congenital deformity, reader body swap, some horror elements, two ivars, 5A situation, time travel (?), Freydis’s soul is le poof, mention of blood.

❛  sy’s notes | thank you @laketaj24 for helping me fix the error on my gif.

The room, if it was a room, was black. It stretched as far as your irritated eyes could see. Your hands are the kind of red that stemmed only from digging knuckle deep in guts, the kind you get from bleeding a little too long, spilling, or tearing. It soaks into your skin, oozing into your mouth, bloody and deep. 

“Where’s my baby?”

The voice, gentle and soft, sounds nothing more than sorrowful. It stretches out like thin fibers of cotton that you usually rub your make up off with. Your tongue stretches out to moisten dry lips when you feel it-- those divots on your face.

“Ivar?” You tremble over the word with your hand traveling up your lips, realizing that it’s not just your words that are uncertain and strange, but the entire groove from your lips up, hooking up like someone had taken two fishhooks and dragged down your nose bilaterally. Like your baby pictures.

“Where’s my baby?!” 

It’s louder now. As if only a few steps behind you. 

“I don’t know, please! Leave me alone--” you answer, scuffling over your steps, rushing forward. Forward is better than backward. Back there-- the crazy lady shrilling her cries, and you regret hitting that mirror-- the pounding memory of Ivar’s words: I killed my son, I killed my son, I killed my son, ringing into a big ball of tension in one powerful uppercut. “Ivar, you ass!” 

At last a ray of light outlines the frame of Ivar’s wooden bed, draped in warm furs. His handle dangles from the ceiling, allowing him to pull his legs around when you both would wake up, and you’d tease about what he had on his great big day today, a whole lot of nothing! But he isn’t there. You stretch out toward the bed. It’s the only safety you can hope to cling onto. 

“WHERE’S MY BABY?!”

When you turn, she isn’t there, but her voice booms, shaking the whole foundation of your nightmare of your dream like a banshee. Everything bounces up and down and you fling yourself onto the furs, burrowing your knuckles into its soft and forgiving fabric and clawing yourself on his bed. Then, under the covers. “FUCK! Make her stop!” 

“--isn’t there!” his voice cuts through the darkness, mid sentence as if he had been saying it all along, but none of the words had gotten through. “Pull yourself free. It’s her illusion. An illusion of the gods!” 

The ringing and shaking of the illusion fizzles out to a steady hum. Then, pure silence. You grasp your shoulders and hold yourself tight as it numbs out. At last-- peace. You sit up in his bed. “Where are…” around you, the room pieces together, dropping in as if they are coins flipped into an ocean, manifesting in dark wood and horn. “...you?” 

“Here with you.” 

You slip out of bed, looking down at yourself. A long white grown tickles your ankles, your feet on scratched up floorboards. Everything is dull and brown and red and black. Too red and black-- “Oh god,” you turn around, whizzing like a top. “Oh god, oh god, oh god.” 

“I suggest you forget your god,” it’s his voice in your ear, as familiar as if you’ve held a phone to your ear, but he’s nowhere to be seen. “Pull the cover off the mirror.” 

In the corner of the room is a mirror with a thick blanket drawn over it. You tremble stretching out toward it, “No no no no. No.” 

“You haven’t touched it. Are we doing this again?” 

“No!” 

When you rip off the sheet, you recognize your very stupid looking king on the other side of the mirror. Except-- he’s there, in your room, by the fake flowers and shittily soft decor. And here you are in his abode, wringing your hands through your hair. 

“This is not-- no.” 

“It’s nothing,” he insists. “Calm down.” 

“Calm down? Calm down! I’m in your-- your weird Viking castle!” 

“It is a Great Hall,” he aptly corrects whilst shaking his gloved hand at you. “Not a castle.” 

“Why am I here!?” you shout at the mirror, hitting it this time. It hits back, reflecting your hand off of it with a painful sear. “Fuck!” 

“I would assume it’s because you broke my mirror which I didn’t need you to do.” 

There’s a rustle behind you. An anxious girl-- no more than ten, peeps in carefully. She bows her head as she looks at you, considering your thin dress shyly. “Queen Freydis?” 

“Freydis?” 

“Answer her,” he whispers. It sounds as if he’s in your head. And great, scribble that one down in the books, Ivar is talking to you in your head. That tops off this strange and unusual day. 

“Do I took like a Freydis to you?” you think back, snappy and short. 

“Hurry.” 

The young girl hurries to your side, holding your hand and easing you down onto the bed. You gaze into those warm honey brown eyes, sure that there is no greater sack of shit than you in that moment, lying to that pretty face. You clear your throat, “I’m feeling... ill,” you excuse. 

“Is it the baby?” 

“The what.” You shriek. 

“Perhaps you should lie down,” the young girl settles you in bed. “I can call a healer… King Ivar would be want you to rest.”  

Oh sweet fuck-- Ivar? There’s two of them? 

“No there’s not two of us,” he barks back in your mind. You turn your head toward the mirror, finding him motioning you to quickly lay down. He’s dimmed the lights to your room. Your room with a cushioned bed. Lights that flickered unlike the candles that the slave girl-- and god, a slave-- lit. 

“Should I find King Ivar?” 

“No!” you shout in unison with Ivar. “No,” you then amend, reaching out to console her with a hand to her arm. “I should rest.” 

The girl peers at your hand, almost confused, but then nods her head. Her short hair bobs with the loose collar around her throat before she disappears into the other room. You watch her walk out before knocking your forehead with your knuckles over and over again. 

Should’ve left him in the fucking mirror! you reprimand yourself. Because that’s the only way things really make sense. If you had left him there, you wouldn’t be here, knocking your head in trying to make sense of nonsense. 

“I didn’t ask for you to help me,” Ivar hisses, you turn your head over to look at him in the mirror, and he flinches. Initially, you don’t know why he’s acting so weird-- staring off at you like his breath was snatched clean out of his throat. 

What?

“Freydis?” The pillow is itchy under your head, the quills of a bird knocking into your hair, suspiciously pale blonde under your fingertips. It’s long-- longer than it had ever been. You look down at your long body, suspiciously round, and very well pregnant with a lump that knocks your thighs. 

Now you notice, you fold your arms over your chest. It’s just me. Sorry to disappoint. 

He snaps out of it, bowing his head down, and looking at your fluffy cat that is crawling all over his calibers. Surrounding him is the room that he’s seen so many damn times he sat on the bed, considering how he got in the mirror over and over again. Except now he can look at the angles of your room. He lurches for the crutch the mirror spat out in a bloody mess of glass. The mirror has pieced itself back together. No blood. No glass. Just… his crutch. 

“I’ll be there soon.” Ivar pulls himself up to stand, clacking around your room. “Mistr will tell me what happened.” 

Me? You’re right there, buddy. 

He rakes his fingers over his temple. “Not me as in-- King Ivar. Not me.”

Uh-huh, you think. That makes so much sense. 

“You look like my dead wife,” he says all at once. His fingers reach out to touch the glass. The glass bites back, repelling his fingers from sinking into the mirror themselves. 

Your dead wife? Great. 

“If you’re fated to be there…” be where? Ivar hisses, slamming his fist into the mirror. A shock runs through his body, knocking him away from the glass. “... in my wife! Then something has changed.” 

I’ll fucking bet. I’m pregnant. 

Before he could respond, he saw the shift in the leather pleats not so far away. “Cover me!” You peer over the furs-- which are wildly warm-- and stand up on your swollen feet to cover the mirror from prying eyes.

“Freydis? Ah, what are you doing?” there is a clacking behind you, snappy and quick. When you whirl around, there he is. In the flesh, standing tall. You point your finger at him, then turn to the mirror again. Ivar has shut up. 

“I--” the man before you looks like him. He is tall, more tall than you remember him being, with playful eyes. His tunic has a layer of heavy leather braided over top of it, darker than his hair. There’s a jovial youngness to the way he encounters you. When he looks at you it’s nothing short of adoration, love, and respect. It… scares you. It’s Ivar-- but Ivar was in the mirror-- so if that was Ivar, who was the man before you now?

You double take to make sense of it, and you’re doing that a lot, but Ivar 2.0 grasps your hand with the one not supporting his weight. “Come, lay down, lay down. You’re not well, my sweet. Has something happened? Have the gods visited you again?” 

“That…” your voice comes out pathetically soft. Freydis? No one answers your thought. She’s not here-- the girl, the woman called Freydis? Her soul had gone. You’re not sure if she had gone, or if you had ping ponged her to some other unfortunate shit body. His hand shifts from yours, cupping the back of your neck, forcing you to look into his eyes. You want to look away. But… you instead force a smile. “...doesn’t even cover it.” 

You couldn’t tell him. Not yet. 

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