#as just people with weird skin colors or yellow eyes or hot woman with a fish tail

[radioves]

if you draw humanoid characters as just humans with a little bit of spice id hate to break it to you but your a complete coward

#fairy tale creatures i can Maybe understand depending on the circumstances #like if theyre purposefully supposed to look unassuming such as a fae or vampires needing to blend in to lure humans in #but if i catch you drawing aliens or werewolves or merms #as just people with weird skin colors or yellow eyes or hot woman with a fish tail #im gonna start biting #make that thang ugly !! #give that werewolf a messed up nose and way too much body hair! #make that merm look grossly fishy with weird big eyes and no ears! #MAKE THAT ORC GIRL BIG AND BUFF!!!! I WILL SUE #this post was originally about homestuck but it applies to so much more #[.txt]

[wolfoftheblackflames]

So I was browsing Tumblr since I like to do that sometimes, and bam! I got hit with a fic inspiration... Anyway here you go misfits! (This is set after the new hotel is built)

Girls' day feat. Angel Dust:

“Uh why the fuck is he here?”

Those words came out when the last of the invited arrived at Charlie’s little get-together. It was Angel Dust wearing a beautiful pink crop top and black shorts with sparkly neon pink heels as he grinned. “I was invited toots.”

“Ya got a problem with Angie?” Cherri growled at Vaggie, who lifted her hands in defense. “No, just thought he'd be with the guys..”

Angel Dust just laughed. “You're just jealous cause I can easily out girl ya toots.” He playfully sneered, fluffing up his sexy chest fluff.

Vaggie just growled a bit, though blinked as she heard the door only to see Charlie come back with the cutest looking outfit on, which was free flowing grey crop top with small sleeves that exposed her shoulders and a beautiful pair of casual jeans. Instantly she blushed a bit and looked away. “Ha, look at the blush on the fuckin’ munchkin!” Cherri chuckled, nudging her best friend Angel who joined in with a snicker. Even Niffty who sat on the couch couldn't help but giggle. “She looks like a lamp.”

Charlie pursed her lips clearly not liking the teasing. She flashed the others with her demonic red and white eyes to get them to stop. “Uh whoops, so uh what cha got in the box?” Angel laughed nervously.

“I'm glad you asked, since it's a girl's day I figured we could have a fun spa session!” The princess grinned, placing the box down and opening it.

Inside said box was a bunch of different skin care products, nail polish, scented body lotions, and much more. “I ain't one for just relaxin’ but Angie convinced me.” Cherri stated picking up one of the nail polish, a beautiful shimmering yellow like his eyes. Her face fell since it had only been several weeks since the battle with heaven.

“Seriously Cherri, ya needed it, besides we all miss our little snake.” Angel placed one of his arms around her. “Now let's see how this color looks on ya sugar tits.” He grinned trying to cheer up his best bud.

Vaggie smiled a bit. She knew the loss of Sir Pentious weighed on everyone. However, with the new hotel, it was a chance to move forward. She went over to the box and smirked. “He did like the smell of mint.” The angel held up some hand lotion to Cherri, who blinked.

“There wasn't a day where I didn't see that snake with either a cup of coffee or tea.” Angel mused as Cherri took the lotion with a nod. To her it felt weird, people actually being nice, to have had a man who complimented her mind instead of her hot as fuck body, and that kiss, fuck it had been kinda hot.

Cherri smirked a bit. “He was fun to pick on, the slimy shit.” She took off her gloves and casually applied the lotion. It really wasn't her style but she didn't mind it.

Charlie smiled a bit seeing how Cherri relaxed. She was hoping to recruit the bombardier but the woman had turned her down. “So Angel..” She smirked in a sing-song like tone. “I saw the eyes you were giving Husk. What's up with that?” She playfully poked the spider.

Angel blinked and cleared his throat. Even Cherri looked up at him and smirked evilly. “Don't you start too!” He groaned but blinked as Niffty giggled.

“I'm not one for the gay stuff, but I did notice ehehe. He always pours your drink first.” She smirked with her wide toothy grin. “I think that cat has grown soft.”

Angel blinked at Niffty, but then had a soft smile of his own. “During the before battle shit I wanted to stick by the guy and enjoy his drinks and company.” He admitted with a light blush.

“I saw you two flirtin’ durin’ the whole thing!” Cherri nudged with a grin.

Charlie squeed having the same look she had when Sir Pentious confessed his crush for Cherri to her. “I'm rooting for you Angel!”

Vaggie lightly punched his arm. “You got this.”

Angel just chuckled and hugged the girls. “Daww you ladies are makin’ me blush!” He grinned. “Now which of these would Kitty like?” He asked while releasing the girls so he could dig through the box.

Charlie smiled and picked out a gorgeous starry night nail polish. “This would look so good on you, Vaggie!” She grinned as Vaggie blinked. “Alright hon, go ahead.”

Angel chuckled seeing Charlie take out a nail care kit first. “Could you do my nails too blondie?” He asked “Sure!”

Cherri blinked being tugged on by Niffty who held up a very pretty perfume bottle. “Try this, it smells really nice!” The little maid grinned, spritzing some onto Cherri’s wrist. “Oh, it's kinda got a musky scent.” She mused as Niffty nodded. “It smells nice doesn't it?”

“Reminds me of the shit Pen would wear.” Angel replied with a smirk. “Where’d ya find that one Niff?”

“I got it from the store, I also sprayed every bottle so I could find the right one.” She snickered since she made the clerk really pissed that day.

“Ya turned the store into a mustard gas situation?!” Cherri smirked and ruffled Niffty’s hair. “Yer a fuckin’ freak, I like ya.”

Angel rolled his eyes but then looked at Vaggie and tilted his head. “Hey toots, why are ya sittin’ cross legged?” He asked with a playful smirk. “Are ya tryin’ to hide your tiny ass feet?”

Vaggie flipped him off. “I don't see you taking off your heels. So you don't get to say shit.” She retorted with a smug look.

Angel grumbled and flipped her off right back. He didn't exactly like his feet, hell when he did his pornos he begged Val to keep his sexy heels on mentioning that sick fucks would be extra horny for the mystery. Cherri looked over and got up. “Hey Angie?”

“Yeah?” Angel looked at Cherri. “Wanna try on these fuckin’ sexy ass heels?” She grinned showing Angel some beautiful black leather laced up heeled boots.

The spider demon's eyes lit up as he took the shoes. “Fucking hell Cherri Bomb, where did ya get these beauties?”

Vaggie blinked and tilted her head. “Those actually look nice…” She added seeing the beautiful pink trim along the top and sole. “I know right? Bought these bitches for Angie cause the fucker loves his sexy heels.” Cherri showed a wide grin as Angel chuckled.

Charlie giggled, seeing the heels. “What are you waiting for? Try them on Angel!” She playfully coaxed, having finished applying the nail polish to Vaggie's beautiful nails.

Angel blushed a bit however looked at the girls. “Turn around for a sec and I will.” He replied looking at his glittery heels.

Vaggie noticed his hesitation and sighed. She was going to regret this but took off her own heels to reveal cute little feet making Charlie squeak. “You want me to paint these too?” She asked as Vaggie nodded.

Angel blinked at the gesture, he then looked at Cherri who looked a bit surprised but smirked. “Don't worry Angie, I'll beat any dumbfuck who messes with ya.” The bombshell grinned patting her spider boi on the shoulder.

The pornstar gulped a bit but nodded as he started undoing the buckles of his beautiful sparkly boots. He gave Vaggie a small thankful nod as the latter smiled a bit. Soon his small cute spider-like clawed feet wiggled free, tipped with his pinkish white fur and small little claws. He looked over and spotted Charlie who had removed her own shoes revealing small red hooves. “Huh…” He smiled a bit, feeling a little less awkward thanks to the two girls.

“Here catch.” Vaggie tossed Angel some beautiful glittery neon pink nail polish. “Hey thanks Vags.” He smirked looking it over.

Cherri blinked but smirked a bit. These folks were alright in her book even if some were a stickler for the rules. “Here let me apply it.” She asked Angel who blinked. “Oh sure..”

Niffty easily grabbed one of Charlie’s hooves, making the princess yelp and started to look it over. “Ooo! Kinda like what Alastor has, except yours are smaller than his..” The maid giggled only to be accidentally kicked in the face when she touched a ticklish spot.

“Shit! Sorry Niff!” Charlie gasped, looking horrified. “Yay pain!” The maid cooed springing back up from the wall she had smacked into because of the power behind the kick. “Do it again!”

Cherri just laughed. “Damn, looks like the goody two shoes has some power. Ya practically punted the tiny bitch.” She smirked as Charlie groaned. “I didn't mean to!”

Vaggie had to shoo Niffty away to keep the maid from trying to get Charlie to kick her again. “Hey Niff, check this out, there's bleach in the next room!” Angel smirked as the maid instantly scurried off with a rabid expression and grin. “Thanks…” Charlie sighed in relief.

Angel winked at Vaggie as a ‘the favor has been repaid’ gesture. The angel smirked a bit and casually started to pamper those cute little hooves. “It's a spa day isn't it, you get some pampering too princesa.” (Princess)

Charlie blushed as Vaggie massaged the ankles. She then looked over at Angel who smirked playfully. “Aww ain't that cute, betcha two get into some fun kinky shit in the bedroom eh?” He teased as Charlie started to blush and sizzle. “I think they're those vanilla type fuckers. Looks like it anyway.” Cherri smirked as Vaggie grumbled trying to pay no mind to the teasing though her golden blush was starting to show again.

The more lewd duo laughed amused at the flustered couple's reaction, though Angel smirked a bit at his painted toe nails, he soon slipped on those beautiful boots looking more comfortable.

--

While everyone was chatting, Charlie got a phone call. “I'll be right back, babe.” She gave Vaggie a kiss on the cheek and left to take it.

Cherri and Angel smirked at Vaggie who gave a confused look. “What?”

“Hey feather duster, wanna spice yourself up for your girl?” Angel smirked holding up some lotions. “Don't cha wanna see yer blondie practically fuckin’ sizzlin’?” Cherri chimed in with a playful smirk. Niffty giggled seeing Vaggie squirm.

“I know what she likes, I don't need your help..” The angel turned away with a cute huff. Though the golden blush gave it away that she did want to.

Angel smirked and nodded at Cherri and Niffty. “This is gonna be fun.” The spider man took out a comb and some hair products. “W-wait!” Vaggie gulped while caught off guard.

After an hour Charlie came back into the room annoyed. “Husk says that my dad and Alastor are fighting again, and they nearly burned down the lobby with a cook off..” She groaned coming back into the room. “Huh?”

Cherri and Niffty blocked her view. “And done!” Angel grinned moving away. “Go ahead and let the blondie through.”

“Ehehehe, enjoy the treat princess.” Niffty bowed and scurried away.

Cherri gave a thumbs up and moved as Charlie looked very confused. “What are..” She couldn't finish her sentence as she then spotted Vaggie.

“Hi hon..” The angel blushed with her hair looking so fluffy and wavy now. There was even a braid that brought some of the bangs back to expose the soft features of Vaggie's face. Charlie just stared as the scent of both apples and lavender filled her nose. “Ha! She's speechless!” Cherri laughed and gave a thumbs up to Angel.

Angel chuckled but blinked, coming over to Charlie. “Uh hello? You there, blondie?” He poked her, and Charlie fell over red-faced. “Whoa!”

Cherri just burst out laughing as Vaggie ran over. “Ya made her a fuckin’ knock out Angie!”

“So… pwetty…” Charlie mumbled her eyes swirling with her tail out wagging. She looked like she was drunk. “Come on sweetie, let's get you off the floor..” Vaggie easily picked up Charlie who laid like a cute little snake, her face looking dopey and in love.

Vaggie looked at Angel who gave a smug look. She grumbled but fist bumped the spider twink who grinned at his work.

Though the rumbling of the hotel made this day come to an end as Lucifer was chasing Alastor who was laughing like a mad man, with Husk coming out and shaking his head, clearly not drunk enough for this shit.

(This all started because I saw Vaggie had tiny feet and remembered the fact Angel didn't like his own feet...)

#hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #vaggie #cute as fuck #cherri bomb #hazbin angel dust #niffty #girls being girls #spa day cause the babies need it #spoilers for the finale #cherrisnake #huskerdust #alastor being a pest #spoiler about Sir Pentious

[arctrooper69]

Can you add me to your tag list for From Enemies to Lovers? And could you write a romantic fluff request with Wrecker x female OC, 13 & 25 or just one.

Thanks! I love your writing!

Hey! Sorry it took me so long to get to your request, but here I am! ☺️ You asked for your OC!Summer x Wrecker so I hope I did both of them justice. Hope you like it!

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Unexpected Surprises

Prompt 13: "Since we're dating, does that mean I can hold your hand whenever I want?"

Prompt 25: "You love me?" "I always have."

Warnings: None. Just fluff. Also, apologies bc I haven't written in third person for awhile so it sounds weird to me.

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"Ey Mesh'la, watch out!"

Summer stumbled forward tripping over some rocks. She would've fallen if not for Wrecker's iron grip instinctively reaching out to grab her collar.

"Thanks Wreck." She mumbled, face growing hot with embarrassment. This wasn't the first time Wrecker had saved her skin in a situation like this and it most likely wouldn't be the last.

Maker, he must think I'm a moron.

"No problem!" He grinned widely. "Just be careful. There's a lotta stuff out here that could hurt ya." He clapped her on the back in a friendly gesture, nearly sending her flying forward tripping over her own feet.

"Oops. Sorry, Mesh'la," he said sheepishly as he once again pulled her to her feet, "I sometimes forget yer not as big as my brothers."

She rolled her eyes playfully then looked around the lightly wooded path the pair were travelling down. "So where are we going anyway?"

To say the current planet was nice would have been a very big stretch considering it was supposed to have been a dreamscape.

Rolling hills of bright blue and green grasses connected perfectly flowered areas of shady forest. Even the trees - whose richly colored leaves were vibrant shades of reds, oranges, and yellows - blew gently in the warm wind. The weather always seemed to be sunny and the skies were filled with the sweet sounds of the native birds. The perfect paradise -

Or at least that's how the billboard that Wrecker found described the place as.

"Well it...the holo said it was supposed to be nice and all." His face fell. "But this don't look nothin' like it did on there." He kicked at the rocks Summer had tripped on earlier. The uneven dirt path that wound through the trees, was littered with them. Wrecker sat down heavily on a large rock, looking miserable.

"I'm sorry, Summer."

A sudden rustling sound emanated from the bushes behind them.

"Hey, uh, Wrecker?" Summer sounded nervous. "There's something out there." She pointed with wide, cautious eyes, over to where the sound had come from. "Look!"

The bushes rustled again and something flicked in and out of sight - too quick to see quite what it was. Some kind of animal? Droids?

Wrecker frown and shuffled over to get a closer look, standing protectively over the smaller woman. The rustling started up again and once again something flitted in and out of view. Wrecker gasped.

"Did you see that!?" He whispered loudly.

"Yes," Summer whispered back, slightly worried, "It's probably just some kind of animal." She shook her head, "Nothing to worry about."

Wrecker's cybernetic eye was dwarfed by his real one widening. "I hope it doesn't eat people."

Summer chuckled.

"Nah," she teased, winking at him. "Tech told me about these things. They only eat clones."

"Oh good." Wrecker sighed in relief but then stopped short as if something had just occurred to him. "Wait. I'M a clone!"

Wrecker jumped to his feet. "Don't let it get me, Summer!" He wailed loudly and mostly in jest. Mostly. The rustling grew loud suddenly as whatever was in the bushes rushed towards them. Summer let out a startled shriek, latching onto Wrecker with both arms and legs. He pulled her close to his chest with ease and jumped up onto the rock he'd been sitting on as if putting the short distance between them and the supposed danger would actually make a difference. Summer peeked over his shoulder cautiously. Wrecker had a blaster out, pointing it towards the noise. "Get out here right now or I'll shoot!" Wrecker demanded with a snarl.

The bushes gave another small shake and a small grey creature skittered out of the leaves. A beat of silence, then Wrecker burst out laughing.

"It's.....it's only....a little bunny!" He guffawed, barely able to get his words out. His belly laugh triggered Summer's own hysterical giggles.

"Don't worry, Mesh'la," cackled Wrecker, "I'll save you!"

Summer wiped her eyes, stomach aching with laughter. "Oh maker, I love you Wrecker. We always seem to get into some sort of adventure together, don't we."

"Yeah." He agreed, sending him back into giggles. "You'd better look out for that bunny though. It'll get ya."

When the laughter died down, Wrecker sat, leaning against a tree. He looked around and after awhile, his smile disappeared, replaced with a solemn frown of disappointment. He scratched his head, trying to think. "I'm sorry this ain't turnin' out like I thought it would, Summer."

She sat up, leaning against his leg so that she could see him better.

"Wrecker, you don't have to plan a fancy trip to go on a date with me." Summer smiled, gently resting a hand on his large knee.

He looked down at her with his mouth half open in disbelief, "You mean.... we're dating!? This is a date!?"

She giggled shyly. Maker, he was adorable.

She felt her face grow warm again. "Only if you want it to be..."

Wrecker's face lit up like a kid at Christmas. "Well heck yeah, Mesh'la! Of course I wanna date a pretty girl like you!"

"You think I'm pretty?"

Wrecker gave her an incredulous look, I don't THINK you're pretty. I KNOW you're pretty." He chuckled, "Besides, Tech's the thinkin one. Not me."

The two were quiet for a moment, taking in the atmosphere. Maybe it wasn't so bad out here after all, Summer thought. Sure, it was a lot more rocky and the leaves on the trees were just a normal green, and maybe there were more than a few wild animals, but it was still nice. Especially since she was here with her favorite person in the galaxy. Wrecker made her smile even when nothing else could.

"Did..." Wrecker began somewhat timidly.

Summer looked up at him expectantly.

"Did you really mean it?" He asked softly, looking down, not quite meeting her eyes.

Summer leaned into him, resting her head in his lap. "Mean what?"

"When you said you loved me."

She sat up, crawled to her knees so that she was facing him, and placed her hands on his cheeks.

"Of course I do, Wrecker! I always have. Ever since I first met you."

It was his turn to blush. "Oh. Well, then I love you too, Mesh'la!" He stood up excitedly, causing Summer to squeak in surprise. He picked her up into his large arms and spun her around.

"Hahaha, you looooooove me!" he teased. Summer laughed and Wrecker thought it was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. To him, Summer's laughter felt like a warm summer evening and her eyes lit up and danced like fireflies. He kissed her.

"No clue why you'd love a guy like me," he confessed as he set her back down, "but I'm real glad ya do!"

Summer grinned. "So since we're already here, why don't we just do some exploring." she suggested. "Wanna go for a walk?"

Wrecker gasped suddenly, causing Summer to jump. "Hey! Since we're dating," he began excitedly, looking like a kid in a candy shop, "Does that mean I can hold your hand whenever I want!?"

Summer nodded enthusiastically. "I'd like that alot, actually."

Wrecker grabbed her small hand in his large one, pulling her close, "and don't worry, Mesh'la, if we see any more bunnies, I'll protect ya."

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@zoeykallus @ttzamara @nahoney22 @merkitty49 @viva-la-whump @agenteliix @dumpsters-little-matchbook @nekotaetae

If you want to be on my taglist, feel free to send me a message! Also, asks are open! Reblogging is very much encouraged and it makes me do a happy dance every time any of my writing gets reblogged 😂❤️

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #the bad batch #clone wars #swtcw #sw tcw #sw tbb #tbb crosshair #tbb hunter #tbb echo #tbb omega #tbb wrecker #tbb wrecker x oc #tbb wrecker x reader #tbb wrecker x you #wrecker x oc #wrecker x reader #wrecker #wrecker x you #the bad batch x oc #clone x oc #clone trooper wrecker #the bad batch wrecker #the bad batch wrecker x oc #the bad batch wrecker x you #the bad batch wrecker x reader #the clone wars #wrecker tbb #wrecker tbb x oc #the bad batch oc

[platypanthewriter]

Take On Me

Art by @fae-vorite​ for the Harringrove Big Bang!

When Steve pulled up in the drive, he had a mouthful of blue slushie, and he was watching the tiny old lady he’d been driving behind.  She’d barely been tall enough to see over the dash, and as he watched, grimacing, she barely swerved around a row of mailboxes, and then carreened through a four-way stop.

As he stared after her, there was a weird hissing noise by his elbow.  Steve yelled and threw his arm up in the air, spattering himself with slushie.  

“Bwah!” Max yelled, stumbling back, and smacking blue slushie ice off her arm.  “Steve!  What the hell.”

She hadn’t been in the driveway when he pulled in, Steve was fairly sure, and he stared around.  “Where are the rest of you?” he asked warily, rubbing flung slushie off his chin.  He glanced up, half-expecting Dustin to swing down on him with a vine from a tree.

Max squinted at him, her jaw working, and then glanced around.  “In the bushes,” she said.  “Get us inside, now, Steve.”

He rolled his eyes, stalked over and held the front door open—and then swore and dropped his slushie right on the ground and ran over to help, because it wasn’t Dustin and the Chipmunks hiding in the bushes.  There was a woman, shaking, her hands stained with what looked like blood, and Billy Hargrove, who apparently wasn’t dead, barely staggering between Max and the lady.  He was bandaged, and half-naked.  

Steve elbowed his way in past Max, and got an arm around Billy, hefting his sweaty, shivering ass towards the door.  

Once Steve had Billy, Max ran ahead and kicked the slushie cup aside, ushering the woman into his house.  “Mom, come on,” she groaned, and it occured to Steve that he’d never wondered about Max’s mom.  It seemed obvious, thinking about it, that most people had a mom.  One of his girlfriends freshman year had had two, and didn’t seem to have a dad, which Steve had never quite figured out.

Billy looked dead, mostly, pale until he was nearly grey, like instant oatmeal.  “I thought you were dead,” Steve hissed at him, and he snorted a laugh.  

“Guess not,” he breathed, his head against Steve’s as he stumbled along.

When they got inside, the phone was ringing, but Max ran and stood in front of it.  “Don’t answer,” she told Steve, staring at him with wet red eyes.  He nodded, still half-carrying her undead brother, and trying to figure out whether the blood on Max’s mom could have come from under Billy’s bandages.  

“We should call somebody,” Steve pointed out, as he lowered Billy onto the couch.  Billy’s eyes were closed, and he didn’t try and get himself more comfortable, or anything, he just laid there.  Steve threw a blanket over him, feeling like he was covering up a body.  

Max’s mom looked like she wasn’t up for much, staring at her hands and the floor, and Max took a deep, shaky breath, rubbing her face.  

Steve beckoned her into the kitchen.  “We should call somebody,” he whispered, again.  Max set her jaw, shaking her head, and Steve made a face.  “At least a doctor,” he hissed, and she deflated, staring out at the limp shape of Billy on the couch.  

“H-he should be fine,” she mumbled, digging her fingernails into her forearms until the skin whitened.  “He—he didn’t get shot,” she gritted out, and her mom flinched, shivering, and rubbed at her bloody hands.  

“Wait,” said Steve, staring between them.

“M-my husband,” said Max’s mom, and then covered her mouth, and a shaky sob.

“You have a dad?!” Steve yelped, looking around.  “He got shot?!” he added, grabbing his car keys, because it seemed like somebody should probably find the guy. 

“He’s dead,” Max’s mom whispered, staring at her bloodied hands.  “He died right—right in front—in front of—”

“He wasn’t my dad,” Max said flatly, “—and we don’t need to go anywhere.”

Steve nodded, and then shook his head, bewildered.  He hung the car keys up by the front door, and then braced himself, and sidled over to touch Max’s mom’s shoulder, waving at the kitchen sink.  “Um, d’you want to…?”  

She nodded, and took a couple weaving steps to lean against a chair, which she drug to the sink.  Steve leaned down to whisper to Max.  “...so...somebody’s dad got shot?  That’s—that’s where the blood—” he asked, feeling well out of his depth.  His fingers itched to call a functioning adult—Hopper, or Joyce Byers, even, because it looked like Max’s mom wasn’t up for much more than staring at the bloody water in the sink.  “Should I try and find some...tea,” Steve hazarded, and Max snorted a laugh, rubbing her eyes.  

“Billy’s dad,” she whispered, watching her mom.  “The, um—” she dropped her voice further.  It rasped in her throat.  “—Mom let them in because they told her they were the CIA.”

“The CIA shot Billy’s dad?!” Steve choked out, trying to keep it under his breath.  

“They weren’t actually the CIA,” Max said, rolling her eyes.  “Obviously.”

“O-obviously,” Steve echoed, because it sort of made sense.  It did seem weird that the CIA would come to Hawkins, Indiana to shoot anybody’s dad.

“Mom thought they were just...checking on us, you know,” Max said, sniffling, and Steve tried to imagine assuming that the C-fucking-IA had banged on his door just to roll out the welcome wagon.  “Just—just like the FBI does, all the damn time,” Max mumbled, biting her lip.

“Wait, what,” Steve interrupted with a hiss.  “The what now.”

“We’re, um, we’re not really from California,” she whispered, swallowing, and biting back a sharp laugh.  

“Okay,” Steve nodded, raising his eyebrows, and watching Max’s mom cry softly with her arms in the sink, and her head bowed.  “Okay, yeah, no, hang on,” he told Max, jogging the couple of steps over to her mom.  He poked the woman’s shoulder gingerly.  “You all cleaned up?” he asked, keeping his voice soft, and she turned big watery eyes on him, but she nodded.  

“Come out in the front room and sit down,” Steve told her, feeling like sitting wouldn’t really help much, but crying into the sink had to be worse.  He reached in and turned the water off, and guided her by the elbow into the front room.  “Gonna get everybody something hot to drink,” he told them, hoping he still had...something.  Ancient instant coffee from the last time his dad was home, maybe.  Something old and dusty, probably, but Steve didn’t think Max’s mom would know the difference, not after having her husband shot by somebody pretending to be the fucking CIA.  

After he pointed her at the big recliner, Max started fussing around with the color-coordinated throw blankets Steve’s mom had bought and never used, and Steve stepped over to the couch to squeamishly lift the blanket off Billy’s head.

“I-I’m fine, honey,” Max’s mom told her, behind them, as Steve surveyed Billy’s pale, sweaty face.  His eyes were closed, but the skin around them was as red and raw as Max’s mom’s.  His eyelashes were stuck together with the fresh tears leaving trails down his cheeks.  

Steve dropped the blanket again, grimacing, and stalked back into the kitchen to find the teakettle, fill it, and put it on the stove.  He found some packets of hot chocolate Dustin’s mom had given him at Christmas, and dumped them into two mugs.  After a minute, watching the glow of the burner shine off the bottom of the kettle, he grabbed another mug, shrugging.  

 Max shook her head when he walked out and tried to hand her the hot chocolate.  “I’m not a little kid,” she said, glaring at him, but her mom took it with a soft sigh.  

“Thank you,” she said hoarsely.  “Max, sit down, I—I’m fine.”  She reached out and took the mug Steve had offered Max, and held it out to her, and Max sighed heavily, but took it.

Steve went back for the third mug, and then uncovered Billy’s head again.  “Hey,” he whispered, and Billy licked his chapped lips without opening his eyes.  He grimaced before he blinked and squinted up.  “Here, at least hold it,” Steve told him.  “It’s warm.”

“...you made me tea,” Billy growled, glaring at the mug, and then, warily, at Steve’s face.

“It’s chocolate,” Max put in.  “You like chocolate, asshole.”

“...made me chocolate?” Billy asked muzzily, frowning harder, and Steve sat it on the floor, in order to get his arm around Billy-suddenly-alive-Hargrove, and help him sit up.  

“Are you sure you’re not...dying?” Steve whispered to him, lifting the mug and pressing Billy’s hands around it.  “Like, right here?  I need to, uh...kidnap a doctor, or…?”

Billy snorted into his first sip of hot chocolate, biting his lips together as his chest shook with coughs.  After a few seconds, he took a shaky breath, and opened his eyes again.  “Don’t...kidnap anybody,” he rasped out, smirking.  “Didn’t know you had it in you, Harrington.”

“I know a guy,” Steve told him, letting go of the mug, and reaching out to tug at the bandages visible over the top of the blanket.  Billy went very still, holding his breath, which was creepy.  If he wasn’t sitting up, Steve would have checked his pulse.  “A doctor.  M’not gonna let you die,” Steve told him, eyeing the stretched pink scars under the gauze.  Some of the gauze looked wet, not red, but pale yellow, and Steve grimaced, brushing his fingers over it.

“It’s just the surgeries.  Fuck,” Billy creaked out, his hands shaking on the hot chocolate so it nearly spilled.  “They had to cut me open a few more times.  Stitch me back together.”  

Steve put his hands around Billy’s on the mug, to steady them.  “...I got some duct tape somewhere,” he offered, under his breath, and Billy’s breath huffed against his fingers in a laugh.  His mustache tickled, but Steve held steady, watching him drink the hot chocolate.  His cheeks were pinking up a little.  He stunk, kinda, sweaty, and sour from his bandages.  It was weird to be anywhere near Billy Hargrove and not smell his cologne.  “...I thought you were dead,” Steve said under his breath, and Billy shrugged a shoulder, wincing, and swallowing hard.

“Murphy’s law,” Billy hissed back, grinning, but his eyes welled up again, and he blinked rapidly.  “Whatever you least want to happen…”

 Steve helped him drink the hot chocolate, trying to think of something to say.  ‘Sorry your dad got shot,’ seemed wrong.  ‘At least your mom’s alive,’ didn’t seem right either, and then Steve realized he had no idea whether the woman was Billy’s mom.  Billy and Max’s family seemed complicated, and it was entirely possible both parents were Billy’s, and Max had been snatched from a stroller outside a grocery store.  

“So, um,” Steve started.  “You’re...not from California?  Why would you…”  

“Lie about that?” Max asked, flatly.  “The goddamn FBI told us to.”

“...the ones that…” Steve stared over at her, trying not to stare at whoever’s mom’s hands, where they’d been all over blood.  Max called her mom, he told himself.  Whatever she is, Max thinks of her as her mom.

Maybe they’re aliens, he thought, trying not to laugh, because why was the FBI checking in.  Maybe they’d all raised Max from an alien egg they’d taken turns sitting on.

She seemed okay, for an alien, he decided, as Max said, “We’re in Witness Protection.  Or we were, until the Starcourt Mall footage made the national news.”

“Ohhhhh,” Steve said, nodding.  “That makes more sense than aliens,” and Billy choked on his hot chocolate.  “Did you see a gang murder?” Steve asked politely, that being how it usually worked in Hawaii Five-O.

Billy coughed harder, and Steve patted his back, gently, grimacing as he tried not to break the guy any further.  

“Noooo,” said Max, and when Steve glanced over, she was staring at him.

“What?  Shit happens,” Steve said, shrugging.  “Sometimes monsters steal your brother.”

“They didn’t exactly steal him,” Max said weakly, and Steve blinked.  

“I was talking about Will Byers,” he said, and shrugged.  “No gang shootouts, then?”

“We lived near Portland,” Max said, like that fact made Steve’s question the stupidest question ever asked, and then she sighed.  “It’s, um, it’s actually...stupider.  Than that.  There, um, there was a...lab.  There.”

“Ohhh,” Steve said, nodding, and thinking of Hawkins Laboratory, and Eleven.  

“They wanted children to...experiment on,” she whispered, and trailed off.  Steve turned to see her glowering into her mug.

“Set up this machine to check the local kids,” Billy said, suddenly, near Steve’s ear.  He huffed a laugh as Steve jumped.  “At the arcade.  Looked like a normal arcade machine, but it was keeping track, high scores, you know.”  He took a shaky breath, then cleared his throat.  “Even had a fake name.  Polybius.”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know?!” Max shouted, suddenly, her voice wet and uneven, and her mom grabbed her close, squeezing her with white-knuckled hands.  “How the hell...we saw guys in suits parked around the place, we thought maybe the owner was like...running some kind of gambling with the machines and they were watching him, or something, how could I have—”

“Went to pick her up and they were shoving her in a van,” Billy’s voice rasped, and Steve jerked unintentionally, imagining it.  “I followed them to the lab and they tried to tell me it was some...class for special kids,” he hissed.  “Tried to tell us all to shut up.”

“They came and talked to N-Neil and I,” Max’s mom said.  “They were...we did what they asked, if they’d leave Max alone.  We couldn’t talk about it, not with anyone.”  

Steve nodded, familiar with the way laboratories worked, and filed away the fact that Max’s not-dad had been named Neil, before somebody’d shot him.  There was a long silence, then, as Billy bit his lips together, frowning into the nearly-empty mug of hot chocolate, and Max’s mom cried softly again.

“I called the fucking police,” Max said hoarsely into the silence.  “I—I called the goddamn police, they were—they were stealing kids, they—”

“Yeah,” Steve said, grimacing.  He’d found out more and more about what the lab had been doing, after he’d promised to keep quiet.  They’d even killed the nice burger man, he thought sadly.  His name had been Benny, Steve learned later, but at the time, he’d just been the nice burger man, the one who listened and advised as Steve told him about being terrible at college application essays, and his love for the smartest girl in school.  

Luckily, in Steve’s case, the sheriff had already been told.  “You had to,” he agreed.

“They shot the cop she told,” Billy said flatly, in Steve’s ear.

“They were kidnapping little kids—” Max yelled at Billy, her voice cracking with emotion and he raised his voice over hers, his voice wavery as he tried to catch his breath.  

“Shot him in the head.  They shot his partner, too—”

“The FBI helped us sneak out,” Max’s mom said softly, but they both shut up.  “We were shuffled around a lot…”

“Why bring you here,” Steve said doubtfully.  “Where our lab is?  I mean, it’s better, now.”

“Maybe our FBI guys weren’t as on our side as we thought,” Billy muttered, swallowing hard, again, and Steve realized he was trying not to cry.

Steve tried not to do anything, push Billy away, or anything weirder, like hug him.  He’d gotten too good at this babysitting thing, he thought with a grimace, if he was inclined to hug Billy Goddamn Hargrove.  The problem was, Billy’s inaudible, bitten-back sobs felt like when Nancy’s little sister was scared of the noises outside, while her parents were at the movies.  Steve was conditioned to pull that kind of thing against his shoulder, even when it was Billy Hargrove, with his broad, heavy, muscular shoulders, and heavier fists.

“Fuck,” Billy hissed under his breath, pulling his hand loose from Steve’s to rub his wrist across his eyes.  

“...d’you want...anything,” Steve whispered, as softly as he could, fairly sure Billy didn’t want him to sing Old MacDonald even if he was really good at all the animal noises.  

“How about my dad, alive,” Billy snarled, his unsteady breaths taking the sting out of it.  

“Thanks for letting us in,” Max said, hoarsely, and Steve turned to frown at her.

“Of course I let you in,” he snorted.  “I wasn’t gonna leave you hiding in my bushes.”

“We—we’ll figure out what to do,” Max said, as her mother squeezed her close again.  “Soon.  Before—before the lab people figure out where we are.”

“We need Hopper,” Steve told them, starting to stand, and then realizing he was holding Billy up, and he didn’t want to drop him on the floor.  He wasn’t sure how together Billy was under the bandages—he didn’t seem very...healed—and the thought of dropping him on the floor, and just accidentally jostling all Billy’s internal organs out through a big hole in his back made Steve shudder.  

“You can’t call him,” Max’s mom said bleakly.  “They were listening to our phones.  They said, as we...ran,” she choked out.

“...bet they aren’t listening to walkie-talkies,” Steve told her, absently spreading his fingers over the cool skin of Billy’s shoulder, to warm him up.

“Where’s yours?” Max asked breathlessly, and Steve gave her directions to his sock drawer.  

Billy was shivering harder, and Steve waited until his little sister and maybe-mom weren’t looking to pull the blanket away from more of his bandages.

There was red smeared on them.  “Billy,” Steve hissed, urgently, and Billy laughed wetly, wiping his nose.

“‘S not mine,” he laughed, a little hysterically.  “S’my dad’s.  He—he died right—”

“Shit,” Steve said, blankly, watching Billy try to wipe it away with shaking hands, tears rolling down his cheeks.  “That can’t…” he trailed off as Max brought the walkie-talkie down, and she and her mom started whispering about what to say.  “You need new bandages,” Steve told Billy, the one thing he was confident he could do.  “I need to clean you up.”

“I’m fine, fuck,” Billy panted, sniffling juicily, and Steve nodded once.  

“I’m taking Billy up to...clean him up,” Steve told the other two, and they nodded, watching him.  

“He’s still got stitches,” Max said, glaring.  “Don’t get him wet.”

‘Your dad’s blood got all over’ didn’t seem like the right thing to say ever, so Steve just nodded, and got Billy fairly upright.  

“How far we going,” he panted, swaying, and Steve made a face, then turned around.  

“Piggyback,” he announced, and Billy swore under his breath.

 “Fuuuck,” Billy whispered in Steve’s ear, as Steve made his way carefully up the stairs, steadying himself with one hand on the railing, and one hand awkwardly supporting Billy’s ass.  “Watch it there, Harrington,” Billy snorted, with a pained grunt.  

“Sorry,” Steve told him.  “Is this like how you can’t squeeze the donuts at the store unless you buy them?” he asked, because Billy was heavy, and his ass cheek was soft in Steve’s hand, and Steve’s tongue was on cruise control.

Billy coughed, his fingers digging into Steve’s shoulder and chest as he gave a strangled-sounding laugh.  “...yeah, Harrington, it’s exactly like that,” he gasped out.  “I’m...your fucking donut...now, asshole.”

Steve laughed so hard he almost dropped him, all the adrenaline of them showing up covered in blood draining out of him.  “Shit,” he panted, staggering up onto the landing, and taking a minute to breathe.  “Don’t make me laugh on the stairs—”

“You started this shit, I just finished it,” Billy mumbled against his neck.  His breathing was uneven and shuddery.

Steve took a slow breath to steady himself, and carried Billy just that little bit further through his plaid bedroom, and into the bathroom.

Billy didn’t even comment on the extreme plaid, his teeth chattering, so Steve nearly dropped him on the toilet in his urgency to get a few inches of really hot water in the tub to plonk Billy in.  It’d be just like with Holly, he figured, put few inches of water in there to keep her warm, but not enough so she could slide in and drown.  It wouldn’t be enough to get up near Billy’s bandages, he told himself, then, while the water was running, he realized he didn’t know where all the bandages were, so he reached over and yanked at the drawstring of Billy’s sweatpants.

“WAH,” Billy said, grabbing Steve’s hand with his cold, sweaty, shaking one.  “...what,” he breathed, his eyes falling shut, and then blinking stubbornly open again.  

“Come on,” Steve said, grimacing at how pale he was.  “You got any bandages below the chest?”  Billy just shivered and breathed, staring into the middle distance, and Steve finally bit his lips together and grabbed Billy’s cold face, turning it to face him.  “Billy,” he said.  “Billy?”

“...Harrington,” Billy whispered, focusing on him, and then looking around, his eyes welling up again with tears.

“Come on, stay with me, I’m gonna get you warmed up,” Steve told him, ignoring his own heart pounding.  He was aware of shock as a concept—he’d seen Joyce Byers after—after.  But Billy had bandages, he could be bleeding out, or something, and the thought made Steve’s fingers clumsy as he tried to lift the guy enough to get his sweatpants off, and pull him into the bath.  

“Come on,” Steve whispered, pulling Billy up until he was sort of standing.  Steve had to reach down and lift Billy’s feet one by one into the tub, and he yelped, opening his eyes again at the heat.  “Just gonna clean you up,” he muttered, pretty sure Billy wasn’t hearing him, what with the way he was slumped against Steve’s side.  Steve lowered him into the water, and Billy shook his head, mumbling inaudibly.

Steve held his shoulders for a long moment, watching his face, and then yanked at the bandages.  Billy still had some stitches underneath, but to Steve’s profound relief, it didn’t seem like any of the blood was his—or that the blood had seeped in anywhere.  From what Steve remembered of reading Johnny Tremain in middle school, gangrene was a possibility if stuff got past Billy’s stitches, and so he was very careful to wipe around them.  

Billy relaxed slowly against the back of the tub, his head tilting to rest against the corner as his eyes closed.  His hands occasionally lifted to touch Steve’s, and then fell away as Steve washed him all over, until he was pink and warm, and didn’t smell like sour sweat anymore.  Billy snored softly under his fingers, and Steve bit back a laugh.  

The bath water started to cool, and Billy’s shoulders started to clench again, his legs goosepimpling, so Steve ran the hot water again.  He pulled the plug on the cooler water, then when the tub was empty, replugged it.  As the hot water rose, he ran out to grab an old plastic cup from his desk—he had to dump the pencils out—and pour warm water over Billy’s legs.  

Billy screamed, this awful broken noise, scrambling to get out of the tub, and Steve yelped and turned the water off, helping frantic, naked Billy Hargrove out of the tub and half into his lap.  He was slippery and warm, and Steve tried not to think about it, stretching to try and reach a towel, but Billy was laughing brokenly into his hands, muttering “I’m me, Harrington, I’m fucking sorry, I’m the best you’re gonna get, I’m still me, I’m Billy goddamn Hargrove—”

“Shit, I know,” Steve told him, as Billy’s wet shoulder soaked into his t-shirt.  “You’re Billy, you’re okay, shit.  You were just cold, I wasn’t trying to—”

“Maybe I’m better as the Mindflayer,” Billy laughed, gulping and sniffling.  “Could’ve taken out that lab guy before…” he took a shuddering breath, wiping his nose.  “Not just...let my dad get fucking shot,” he whispered.  “F’I wasn’t such a waste of space I’d have answered the door.”

With a sinking horror, Steve realized he had his arm around a naked guy in his bathroom, a naked guy who’d once beaten him unconscious.  A naked dude who wished he was dead.  “Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference,” he said, after some thought.  “You don’t know he’d have gotten away.  Max’d be crying over you again.”

“Like she would,” Billy snorted, reaching for the toilet paper and loudly blowing his nose.

“She did, though,” Steve told him, and Billy glared over.

“Yeah, right,” he said, and then opened his mouth again, shut it, and wiped his eyes.  “...what the fuck am I doing here,” he grunted.

“Uh, well,” Steve started, “—you were um, playing an evil videogame in Oregon—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Billy laughed, wheezing with pain.  “Why are you...why’d you—” he mumbled, as Steve set his jaw determinedly and wrested him up from the floor, dragging Heavy-Ass-Hargrove out to his bed, and tipping him into the sheets.  

The bandages were an adventure, with Billy falling asleep--and he finally fell asleep again right on Steve, as Steve tried to get him dried off.  

He didn’t wake up for hours, until Steve was sitting up in bed, on the phone with Hopper.  Billy blinked big blue disoriented eyes up at him, frowning grouchily, and Steve held his finger up to his lips, listening to Hopper explain the situation.

“It’s okay,” Steve hissed to Billy.  “You’re with me, you’re safe.”

Billy stilled, watching him, then snorted a laugh as his eyes drifted shut.  “...’kay, Harrington, he mumbled, sighing contentedly as he curled into the warm pillows.

Steve smiled, and rolled his eyes.

#The Hargroves were in witness protection #But the scary people caught up #Harringrove Big Bang #harringrove #Hurt/comfort

[whaleofatjme1920]

Oh god please, more cheating and angst (hoodie? Tim? 👀👀👀) Idk u just write it so good and my aching heart feels better oddly because of it. I fuckn love angst djsjsjjdjdjd

Full Moon and Being A Horrible Person

[Masky X F!Reader]

[Warnings: language, physical cheating]

[AN: i love angst too]

The full moon makes us do weird things, it’s been well documented. From the people bouncing off the walls to inducing labor, all the way to making us make questionable decisions, the full moon is to blame, not him.

It was a full moon when he caught the eyes of a woman with dark, sweet chocolate colored eyes. She looked so beautiful under the lights of the bar, yellow illuminating her skin like it was gold.

She’d been flirting with him across the bar the entire night. Wry smiles, tapping her fingernails against the glass, twirling her dark hair and giggling when he caught her eyes and by extension, her attention.

“You know Reader isn’t gonna be happy with your behavior,” Hoodie had lightly chided him before downing more of his beer. “Why don’t you let me take over? I haven’t-”

“No,” Tim laughed, pushing at his best friend’s shoulder. “It’s harmless flirting,” he finished, watching Hoodie’s expression from the corner of his eye.

“If Reader was doing this, would you consider it harmless flirting?”

Kate excused herself from her conversation with one of the ladies from the booth behind the table she and her group shared, then turned her attention to her group leader. “He has a point,” she said, grinning when Hoodie leaned over the table to high-five her.

Tim rolled his eyes and began to lazily swish his drink. “It’s nothing, I promise.”

“You mean to say you haven’t emptied your balls in a few weeks and you’re desperate,” Hoodie deadpans, breaking his blank expression when Kate loudly laughs.

“Again, he has a point,” Kate smirked. “C’mon, let Hoodie or Toby take this one. Neither of them are in relationships and are less likely to get attached.”

Tim raises a brow at Kate. “Attached? What does that mean?”

Hoodie shares a look with the woman across from him who nods at him to explain what exactly she means. “She uh,” Hoodie awkwardly sips at his beer before biting the bullet completely. “C’mon man, you have an addictive personality. Pills, cigarettes, Reader…” He trails off before Tim hisses and punches Hoodie’s shoulder, roughly. Hoodie only barks a laugh and raises his hand up in submission. “I’m right, I’m always right!” He manages to choke out through remaining giggles.

“Can we just drop it for now?” Tim growls.

Kate rolls her eyes and then pulls a face to Hoodie, who stifles his laughter just barely before she turns back to her conversation with the ladies from the booth behind her. She’s up and out of her seat following a group of them to the other side of the bar, giggling and laughing as a woman with short pink hair holds her hand and weaves her through the crowds.

Hoodie feigns innocence before standing up. “I’m gonna find Tobes, who knows what he’s doing. Tearing up the dance floor, maybe?”

Tim watches as his best friend shuffles out from his seat, beer still in hand as he disappears into the sea of people. He sighs and crosses his arms over his chest. His dark eyes scan the bustling room full of bright, rainbow colored strobe lights and too loud music only to catch a glimpse of the full moon outside. It’s tinged pink, and seems to blossom the longer he looks at it. Due to where they’re currently at in the city, he can’t see the stars - much too much light pollution. A sigh is about to escape his lips when he feels a hand brushing over his, pulling him from the light of the full moon and onto the woman he’d been flirting quietly with all night.

“Never thought I’d get you alone,” she says, voice sweet like honey and smoother than silk.

Tim thinks about his words, his group’s chiding before mentally shrugging off all responsibilities. “I know, right?” He replies, voice low and deep, something charming and sweet.

She grins like the Cheshire Cat before playfully biting her lip. “I’m just passing through here,” she begins, “maybe we could… Have a few more drinks then head back to my hotel room?”

Tim feels a slight blush come to his cheeks before swallowing it back down. He smirks, leaning into her presence. “I’d love nothing more.”

The two of them knock back a few more drinks, the woman mostly choosing fruity things and Tim sticking to whiskey. Their touches become more and more bold, and their words more lusty and obscene by the moment. He has her sit on his lap and he whispers all the nasty things he wants to do to her and she gobbles it up, giggles and soft licks to the shell of his ear driving him up a wall.

And then, he follows her to her hotel. It’s a tangle of lips smashing against lips, hearts beating in sync and hands grabbing in the most inappropriate of places. Her clothes lie on the floor before getting covered up by his, her body following in suit.

Tim takes her. He drinks her in full and has her seeing the stars that were once only gazed upon by you. He touches her in ways you’ve never been touched and allows her to touch him in ways he’d always claimed were ‘too much’ for him.

When the deed is done, he’s cuddling her much like he would cuddle you, cigarette in his mouth and bliss on his face.

Tim stayed the night.

The next morning, he’s so groggy that he doesn’t even realize he’s still got her lipstick stains on his skin. He gets back in his car (failing to realize his group had to either walk back to the temp or hitch with someone else), and heads back to the only true home he’d ever considered.

It’s a few hours to your place, but he makes it, and that’s all that matters. Your car isn’t in the driveway, so he lets himself in. A quiet stumble to the bathroom and he sees he looks like a mess. The weight of what he did to you begins to sink in.

Tim turns the shower on and strips off his clothing - the clothes still linger with her perfume before he hops in and begins to furiously scrub at his skin. Tears well in his eyes. How could he do that to you? What kind of common sense was he lacking in that moment?

He continues to scrub, slowly coming to the realization that he’s going to do whatever it takes to hide this from you - you can never know. It was the light of the full moon, people always act crazy when the moon is in that phase, and he was drunk, like really drunk.

Excuses, excuses.

The water stops right when he hears the front door open. He hears your voice. You’re greeting him sweetly, like you always do.

He takes in a deep breath. You can never know.

It was only inevitable that you’d find out, though he’s surprised you went as long as you did without knowing. Tim hid it from you for months, and he probably could’ve kept it longer if he didn’t come with you to Target when you asked. You’d always been a fan of late night store runs, and he hadn’t gone on one with you in a while… What harm could it possibly do?

A lot. A lot of harm that surfaced the truth.

“I should’ve cuffed you when I had a chance!” The woman giggled as she came up beside you as you looked at the early Halloween decorations.

You raised a brow. “Excuse me?” You looked over to your boyfriend, whose face had gone pale. “I think you have the wrong…”

“You’re a lucky girl, y’know that?” She continued, brushing off your words. “He took me to the moon.” Her voice was so sultry and decadent. “Hope he takes you to the moon as well,” she says, her fingers trailing Tim’s arm.

He pulls away from her. “W...Who are you?” He says, attempting to sound confused.

The woman pulls a face before looking in between the two of you, her dark eyes glancing and putting together the pieces. Instead of being embarrassed or ashamed, she chuckles and begins to take off again. “I did you a favor, honey,” she calls over her shoulder, hips swaying as she turns down another aisle.

You don’t want to admit it, but now you know why Tim’s been so weird lately and nicer than usual. Sure, Tim is a sweet guy, but his behavior the past few months has been OVERLY nice, and now you know why. “What was that?” You ask, eyes narrowing and tears welling.

“Nothing, let’s just pay and get out-”

“I wanna go home.”

Tim moves to rest his hand on your shoulder, but you recoil as if you’d been burned.

A huge argument ensued when the two of you got back into the car, lots of harsh words were traded. He tried reasoning with you, he tried telling you how much he loved you, he tried everything in his power but he’d ruined a good thing.

You ended up pulling over on the side of the road, slamming the breaks, tears in your eyes and turned to him. “Give me the key to my house.”

“What? No-”

“Give. Me. The. Key. Tim,” you hiss, punctuating every word with stronger venom. You held your hand out.

Tim sighs deeply and reaches into his pocket, pinching the bridge of his nose as you harshly snatch the key from his awaiting hand. “It’s not like that, you know I love you-”

“Is that what you’re calling it? Cheating on me and then lying about it for months?” You rhetorically ask, growling and seething further and further. You feel rage wracking your system as it exhausts you further and further. You can’t bring yourself to look into his eyes, because if you do, you’ll melt.

“I’m telling you, it was to protect you,” he attempts again. “Let’s just, let’s just go home and-”

“Get the fuck out of my car,” you say, drawing in every remaining and residual strength you have as hot tears scald your cheeks.

“You don’t mean that-”

“I do.”

“Reader, baby please-”

“Get the fuck out of my car,” you repeat. You squeeze your eyes shut, shake your head and then turn back to the road. “Do it before I do something stupid.”

Tim feels his heart shatter, cracking on impact as it falls deeper and deeper. He shakily runs his fingers through his hair before sliding out of your car, slamming the door shut and watches as you drive off and out of his life. He wants to scream, or cry, maybe both at the same time? He’s not entirely sure yet. He just knows his world is crashing down and there’s nothing he can do about it.

He betrayed your trust and broke your heart all for one singular night of passion.

The emotionally distraught man looks up at the moon, finding no solace that it’s full again.

#masky #masky x reader #masky scenario #masky creepypasta #tim wright #tim wright x reader #tim wright headcanon #masky headcanon #tim wright marble hornets #marble hornets #marble hornets x reader #marble hornets headcanon #marble hornets scenario #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta scenario #angst #hoodie #kate the chaser #ticci toby

[cinnamonrusts]

together, we can make it out alive - 1

[a/n: originally posted on my Ao3 and I decided to revamp my series some with my updated writing techniques. Hope you enjoy.]

                                                                  ⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚

*BEEPBEEP BEEPBEEP*

The electronic chimes from your alarm clock blared loudly in your ear. Groans escaped your dry throat as the clock stirred you from your slumber, "Not yet--," your hand fished for the large snooze button on the top of the clock. Five more minutes, that is all you would need. Well, five minutes came and once again the alarm beeped in your ear. Your eyelids slowly lifted as you read the blurry red digits that stared in your face. "3:45 PM", it read. "Shit..." you cursed as you knew that you needed to get up and get around for your nightshift turn.

Your legs swung around the edge of your bed as you stretched with a loud yawn. Daylight peaked in through your blinds and shined directly into your eyes, "I really need some black out curtains," you mumbled to yourself as you made a mental note. This was just your daily routine now. You slept in the morning after getting off work from the Raccoon City Police Department and woke up around 3:00 PM. Ate, exercised, showered, and relaxed all before you pushed pencils on the clock at your desk.

Don't get it wrong. It was a job and you were thankful, but your duties weren't exactly what you expected them to be after the headache that was the police academy. You didn't hate your job, you just didn't -- like it. Also, you really fucking hated Raccoon City. It was not the same place that you remembered as a kid, not to mention all the weird things that had been going on lately. You just really wanted out of there. Maybe go to a warmer city... like Los Angeles or something.

You pushed yourself to a stand and turned around on the balls of your feet to head to the bathroom. When you reached the shower, you turned on the faucet and ran your fingers under the warm water. Just as it reached the perfect temperature, your phone rang. You ignored it and waited for the voicemail to pick up. But it just rang again.

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" you yelled at the telephone as you stomped through your apartment to the device on the wall. "Hello?" you answered.

A familiar, yet unwelcomed voice barked from the other end of the line. "[L/N]! Where the hell are you?!" It was Lt. Branagh. "Home. My shift doesn't start until 10." your eyes rolled as you pinched the bridge of your nose. "Get your ass over to the station! We've had reports all day of violent attacks all over the damn city!" He couldn't be serious -- it was 6 hours now until your shift! "I don't come in until--," Branagh cut you off, "I expect to see you soon, [L/N]." the call ended.

You kicked the open moving box that sat in front of you in anger. It flipped onto its side and the contents spilled out onto the floor. It was a bunch of papers that you failed to file away and as you picked them up, you noted a familiar picture on top of the mess. The photo displayed two very recognizable faces that had smiles displayed happily.

You and Leon S. Kennedy.

He was your partner in crime during the police academy. Leon was the only one who didn't see you being a woman as a weakness. The two of you hit it off immediately after he introduced himself and complimented your skills.

On top of your heads were colorful party hats that seemed to be a bit too small. Both of your arms were slinked around his shoulders as you pulled him in for a close hug. His right hand was rested on your waist and the left held up a large mug of beer that was about to spill out onto the floor. Your thumb caressed the image of his handsome face and a smirk spread across your lips. You flipped the picture over and in faded pen was your handwriting: "Graduation Celebration! JULY '98"

Leon crossed your mind often. The two of you lost contact with one another after something happened between the two of you. It was as if that party happened yesterday -- the night that he kissed you. Your eyes closed and you could picture Leon's face perfectly - the way that his lips puckered and the way that they felt.

The two of you stood outside of the bar on that warm summer night. Leon was leaned against his shitty blue car that was wrapped in faded paint and rust. You stood in front of him with your arms crossed and your eyes focused on the clear sky that hovered above. Then the sensation of fingers over your skin drew your attention from the sky, to the man. Your gazes locked and his lids were half shut but a smile was on his lips. "Leon, you're drunk, aren't you?" you chuckled. His fingers wrapped around your bicep, "Maybe," he cooed as he brought you close to him. You could feel and smell his breath, it was warm and stunk heavy of booze.

With his free hand, he moved it to your cheek and tickled it lightly with his knuckle. Your [E/C] eyes stared deep into his moonstone ones, Leon's pupils dilated before they closed. His lips met yours. They were smooth but a bit chapped - he must be an avid user of Chapstick, you thought. The kiss was quick but meaningful. When he pulled away, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him in for another. When the two of you broke apart, you noted the way those moonstone pools in his head looked at you -- you could get lost in them -- forever.

The fond memories brought warmth to your heart that you lost the track of time. Pounds from beneath you interrupted your reminiscence. Your neighbor below screamed through the floorboards. "Hey, you fucking idiot! Stop using all the hot water! You're not the only one who fucking lives here!" he continued to pound and yell. "Shut up, you fuck!" you screamed back as you scrambled to your feet. Your clothing was stripped from your body as you dashed to the shower, and jumped directly into the lukewarm stream.

You knew that Branagh was most likely boiled over in anger because of how late you were already. Once you finished your shower, you pulled on your police uniform, styled your hair into a neat bun, grabbed a bagel, and ran out the door. Your car was parked pretty far down the road and rain began to fall from the sky. What a perfect start to the day. You shoved the bagel into your mouth and dashed for your car. The key slipped in your hands as you fiddled with them to get the door unlocked. Just as you grabbed the correct one, they fell onto the ground and so did your bagel.

"I've already had enough of today," you cursed and sighed to yourself as you bent over to pick them up. When you stood back up, a woman came from nowhere and threw herself onto you. She cried in panic and spoke incoherently. You noted the large wound on her shoulder and blood was seeped heavily into her shirt. "P-Please! Help me!" she grabbed onto your shirt with blood stained hands. "Ma'am!" you yelled and pushed her off of you for your own safety. She stumbled back and fell to her knee, "Let me call an ambulance!" you started to run to a nearby pay phone but she stopped you with a stutter that it was too late. "There's more of them!" her head turned in the direction of an alley to the left, then she took off from the ground in a haste. "Ma'am, wait!" you yelled as you watched her run away around the corner and into the city.

"Who's coming?" you whispered. With curiosity, you walked toward the alley that the woman had looked down but saw no one. Maybe she was one of the crazy people that were noted to be around the city and around the Arklays... If you saw her again, you'd probably call in some backup... the crazy look in her eyes... it unsettled you. You managed to shake the image of them from your mind and focused on getting out of the rain.

As you walked back to your car, you noticed the red stains that were now stained into your uniform. Whatever. You would worry about it after you made it to work. Once you got into your car, the radio started talking about more and more unrest that had spread more and more through the streets. Your finger pressed the power off, "Enough of that." the news was just the same and you just knew that you had to deal with it first hand once you arrived at the station, it just made it worse.

In front of the parking garage for the RPD were several cars that seemed to have been in an accident. Your car couldn't go any further than where you were at, so you hopped out of the vehicle to walk the rest of the way. People dashed around the streets in a panic and it seemed as if it were the apocalypse. You tried to flag people down to stop them but they all ignored you. What the hell is going on?! When you entered the station, there was even more chaos. Officers ran around like wild and some seemed to be injured as well. You felt anxious and confused by everything that was going on. What had gone on in your brief time away?

Phones rang, people yelled, doors slammed, and everything soon overwhelmed you, you could feel yourself going into an overload. But a strong hand on your shoulder was a saving grace. "There you are, [L/N]!" it was Branagh and a brief look of relief washed across his face. "I left a stack of paperwork on your desk. Sort through it and then you're going out on patrol. Some crazy shit is going down..." he gave you a light push in the direction of your desk.

As you walked to the back of the office, you noticed the banner that was spread across the ceiling in blue and yellow.

"WELCOME LEON"

Your heart pumped in your chest and you could feel your skin begin to turn clammy. There was only one Leon that you know of that was a cop. The man that you shared a kiss with and so many more feelings... Leon -- Kennedy? Was he actually on his way here? He always told you that after the academy he would eventually come find you in the city and be your partner again. You thought that it was just a joke -- but now, it didn't seem that way. How could he come here without saying anything to you? No call? No email? Nothing?

Your eyes remained on the banner and you asked your co-worker who sat on the desk beneath it, "Hey, Rita. Who's this, Leon?" She didn't look up from her desk, "I dunno. Some new guy from out of town. Last name starts with a K or something like that. Ask Neil, I'm sure he knows." You could feel a knot in your stomach and you darted to your chair. The desk that was across from you was normally piled high with boxes of paperwork, but now it was cleared off. You leaned over the divider and snatched the piece of paper on the desk. Your eyes darted across the text:

"Leon S. Kennedy, we're putting you on a very special case for your first assignment. Your mission is to... unlock your desk! The key to your success is in the initials of our first names."

The note confirmed it. It was indeed that Leon. You plopped back into your seat and gnawed on the nail of your thumb. Your thoughts were now consumed as to how both Leon and yourself would react when he arrived. You could see it now...

He would laugh with the other officers as they shot the shit with him. He would be in the center of the group, they would slap him on the back and tell him how happy they were to have him on the force. His gaze would eventually land on you and he would excuse himself from them. Leon would smile and show off his perfect teeth. He'd saunter over and slowly shake his head, "I didn't expect to see you here, [F/N]."

You swallowed hard but your thoughts were interrupted when the sounds of glass shattered right outside of the office's door.

The chatter and hubbub in the office halted as everyone's attention turned toward the door.  An officer who wasn't much older than you rushed toward the noise, he couldn't make out exactly what it was from behind the glass of the door but drew his gun in preparation. He looked back at the office filled with you and your co-workers before opening the door slowly. "Hello?" he called out. His gun was pointed out into the hallway but found that there was nothing there. Then a sound of something you had never heard before or ever would forget echoed loudly in the empty hall.

It sounded like a monster, there was no other way to explain it. It pierced through your ears and then the sounds of the officer's shrieks shook your core. A loud gurgle erupted from his throat as he was tackled by a person onto the floor. This - person, dug their teeth deeply into his throat and proceeded to rip it out. Bright, red liquid sprayed from the wound across the floor. Two male officers threw themselves onto the assailant and tried their hardest to pull him off but soon were attacked as well. Gunshots blasted off in the office which then were accompanied by more sounds of broken glass. The assailant dropped dead beside the officers on the floor and everyone exchanged glances of pure terror.

"More are out there!" yelled Branagh as he held his weight against the door to stop any more of these "people" from killing everyone his subordinates. "Pistols aren't going to keep us alive for much longer," Rita cried out. "But Irons insisted we hide everything else away, remember!?" your fellow officers shouted at each other as tension rose - fear and panic began to set in.

"I know where some are," you piped up. "I have the keycard for the weapons locker," you reached into your shirt pocket and pulled out a white, plastic card. "Perks of being the newbie, I guess. I'll go." you walked toward the back door but stopped when Branagh barked at you, "You can't go alone!" You shook your head, "I will be right back, I promise." you disregarded his arguments and with a deep breath, opened the door and took off on your mission.

The hall was dark and quiet, the electricity must had been cut out in this section of town. You swallowed hard and with your pistol in on hand with the flashlight in the other, you took quiet yet brisk strides down the long stretch of hallway. All you could hear was the sounds of your bootsteps and the groans of those things that lurked just outside of the fences that kept the building somewhat safe. You needed these guns, no matter what. Or you and your co-workers would end up just like those officers - dead. Your breathing was heavy and your heart raced which could be felt in your skull, "Easy girl," you spoke out, "Just a few doors and you'll be there."

Time was not on your side, so you took off in a sprint. The feeling of being so vulnerable next to a stretch of windows worried you as you could fall victim to whatever those things were at any time. They weren't exactly "things" they looked human and most likely were but maybe they were deranged with some sort of illness. But nonetheless, they were dangerous and deadly... Just as you feared, one of them crashed through the window. Their greedy palms reached for you over the broken glass and managed to snag you by your hair. You screamed in pain and terror as their strength pulled you in but when you pulled away, you only pulled them closer. Your pistol flew from your hands and slid across the floor, too far for you to reach.

Their bloody jaws snapped as they tried their hardest to sink their teeth into your soft flesh. You could feel their breath on your skin and you struggled but could feel your strength giving way to theirs. There was only one thing you could do and it was to grab the knife that was attached to the side of your right leg. Your fingertips were just barely able to reach the handle but with one quick lunge of your body, you grabbed hold of the weapon. The desire to survive charged your strength and you began to saw through the strands of your hair that were gripped tight in the clutches of the creature. Tears poured down the sides of your face as you sawed through the strands that were the barrier between you and certain death.

The creature was now halfway over the window and their hand still had your [h/c] hair in between their fingers, jaws still snapped at you as they begged to taste your flesh. You scrambled on all fours as you attempted to gather yourself so that you could press on. Your foot slipped on a large piece of broken glass which sent you across the floor, you then landed onto a large chunk of broken glass. The sharp piece embedded itself deep into your knee and you cried in pain as you held your leg close to your chest. The creature dug its nails into the tile floor and started to crawl toward you with dead eyes, and bloody teeth. You took several deep breaths as you prepared to yank the glass from your leg and with one last deep inhale, you yanked it out. You cried in pain but knew that you had to keep going, your muscle burned as it now was exposed to the air. You made sure to grab your pistol from the floor before you continued on.

Your sprint was now resorted to a quick limp but you managed to make it to the locker room. To your dismay, it was mostly empty besides a couple of shotguns and some ammunition. "Fuck! Fuck! This isn't enough!" you screamed as you pounded your fist against one of the lockers. Inside one of the open lockers was a weapons bag which you were able to fill with the lackluster amount of supplies. As you zipped up the bag, the metal door to the room opened and the sound drew your attention. Your pistol was ready and you limped around the corner to hide behind a row of lockers to hide from who or whatever it was. The room was dark but a flashlight flipped around the room, whoever it was, they were there to look for those guns or you. Your thumb slowly pulled the hammer back on the weapon and rounded the corner, "Stop right there!" you yelled.

It was a man and he seemed to be normal for the most part. He complied and raised his arms in the air. "Turn around!" Again, he complied and did a slow 180. Through the faint glow of his flashlight, your eyes caught a glimpse of a set of familiar moonstone pools.

"[Y/N]?!" his voice raised in shock. The entire city was faced with an apocalypse scenario or even the whole world for all you knew and the one person you run into is Leon -- Leon Kennedy.

He dropped his arms and grabbed hold of your, then pulled you into a tight hug. Leon smelled of sweat and cologne, the very cologne that you bought for him as a graduation gift. You breathed him in as it registered to you that this was real, he was really here. But you pulled away, "Leon, we have no time for chit chat. We gotta get moving, people need these guns!" you pointed to the bag that sat on the floor by your feet. As you tried to throw it over your shoulder, you winced in pain. "Here, let me get it." Leon attempted to take it from your hand but you paused before you surrendered the precious cargo, "I can trust you with this, right?" your grip was tight on the strap, "When have you ever doubted me?" he asked with a smile, "You don't want to know that..." your grip released as you responded but also pointed the fact that your leg was injured.

"Sorry to be a liability," you apologized, but Leon pulled you to his side, "Nonsense. I got this and you, just keep an eye out for zombies."

You led Leon down the hallway that you had your close brush with death in, the zombie, as Leon called it, was now gone. But when the two of you reached the door to the office, it was eerily quiet. Not a good sign. You pushed the door open to find the office void of any life, nothing but blood. Lots and lots of blood. Your heart hurt as you felt a pain in your chest, was everyone dead? The lifeless body of Rita laid on the floor with her eyes opened, her brown orbs were absent of the vibrant life she once had.

Tears welled in your eyes but as you turned to flee, you bumped into Leon's chest. A look of horror on Leon's face matched yours, "I-I left them not even an hour ago..." you cried into his shirt for a moment as he held you lightly with one arm. When you pulled away, you wiped your eyes and Leon took your hand from your face.

"I'm happy you're alive, [Y/N]," you examined your matured features and you did his. His hair grew a little longer than when you had seen him last and he examined your frazzled locks. Just as you opened your mouth to speak, a door behind Leon opened and shut. A man walked out from the shadows and into the light, it was Branagh. He held onto his side and you could see he was injured with his shirt heavily stained with what was most likely his blood.

Leon pulled his pistol out and pointed it at your superior while he had a protective hand on your arm. Branagh coughed a wheezed laugh and shooed his gun out of his face. He looked over to you and smiled, "Good to see you're still breathing, [Y/N]." The Lieutenant approached your male companion and placed a bloody hand on his shoulder,

"You must be Leon Kennedy -- well, son, welcome to Raccoon City."

#resident evil #resident evil 2 #resident evil fanfic #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil x reader #ao3 original

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

But What If, Instead

Decided to give a go to posting my horribly named but hopefully very fun Beetlejuice fic to tumblr as well. This is an au where BJ is adopted by the Deetz family at a young age.

He’s twelve when he’s left on his own in the upperworld.

He doesn’t know he’s twelve, because he’s never celebrated a birthday, but that timeline seems to fit, later, when he thinks back on it. So he’s twelve. His mother has promised him a special treat that day, and though he’s skeptical to trust her, he follows her quietly through the door she’s drawn, the bone white stick of chalk a blaring contrast to the dark hallways of the netherworld reception office. She’d knocked, and the drawing was more than a drawing, suddenly, with white light and noise spilling through into his little corner of hell as it opened, and when he steps through, Betelgeuse sees blue skies and green grass for the first time in his unlife. He’d turned back to look at Juno, confused, curious, his big orange snake eyes watching her, waiting for the catch, for her to yank him back and punish him for being naive, and trusting her, but all the demoness had done was billow smoke from her slit throat, and nod encouragingly to him. He takes another step, and another and another, and suddenly he’s running and laughing and jumping and the air up here is different, but good, and he takes breaths he doesn't need because it feels nice, and he turns to her again to try and entice her to play with him- And the door is gone. He stands there, staring at the nothingness where she and it had been, and realization hits him hard, because he’s twelve, and he’s been left on his own.

He doesn't cry, both because he can’t, and because he knows it won’t change anything. It doesn’t take him long to find them. Pre ghosts. Breathers. Humans. The place is lousy with them, and the smell of them irritates his sensitive nose. He’s a dumb kid, sure, but he’s got some survival instincts, so he hides from them as they go about their lives, strolling around this place, completely oblivious to the little demon now crashing their dimension. Breathers look so weird, all flushed with blood and bright eyed and hearts beating, no signs of death or rot or decay on them. It’s a lot to ask a kid to get used to. The ghosts back home, the ones workin in Ma’s office, tell him stories about the world up here, sometimes, usually in exchange for him going away, and leaving them the hell alone. (Their words) If there was one thing he learned from them, it was that humans, living or dead, didn’t like things that were strange or unusual. He wanders the wilds of wherever he is for an hour before he finds a body of water, and stooping to peer into it, takes a look at himself.

His skin is pale, but not pink. The undercolor is purple, maybe, which he would have thought would be close enough, but compared to the living, breathing people walking around this place, he knows is too different. There’s not much he can do about that. His hair is a bushy mess, sticking up all over the place, but at least the color is currently green. It’s the eyes, teeth, and ears that really stand out. Yellow snake-like slits stare back at him, long pointed ears flick in the direction of distant sounds, and when he tries to smile down at his reflection, those too many too sharp teeth are all he can see. He’s not the best at magic, yet, mostly using it to play pranks around the office (and hey, maybe that’s why Ma left him here in the first place?) but he does what he can. He throws a glamour over himself, and it’s far from perfect, but the three big problems are taken care of. He looks more human than he did a minute ago, at least, and that’s something.

He’s less afraid to take the main paths, after that, and with that worry out of the way, he finds himself enjoying the afternoon again. So, ma left him here. So what? She’s done him a favor, probably the first she’s ever done anybody, because now he doesn't have to be around her just as much as she doesn’t have to be around him. It’s a win-win, Betelgeuse thinks stubbornly, trotting along the winding pathways lined with benches and garbage cans and other silly human things. He’s starting to get a bit tired of all the green when he reaches, quite unexpectedly, the end of it. There’s a big arched sign, and he can’t understand the language written over head, even though he’s squinting and tilting his head. Someone at some point had sat him down and tried to teach him letters, and he’d gotten far enough to read through the first page of the Handbook, but then that person had been reassigned, and was gone, and no one had cared to keep teaching him.

He’s holding his hands up at his sides, rubbing his red tipped claws against the palms of his hands, top teeth biting over his bottom lip, head tilted to one side in an extreme, when he hears a snort and then a soft giggle.

There’s a woman standing in front of him. Her hair is a sunny yellow color, but her clothing is dark and dramatic, and there are roosting bats dangling from her ears. She’s laughing at him. They stare at each other for a long moment, her hand raised in front of her mouth, her eyes crinkled pleasantly at the corners, and he finally breaks the silence by pointing at the sign, and speaking. “Wazzat say?” She blinks in surprise at his grating little voice, and then glances back at the sign. “Krap Lartnec,” she tells him. “Which is flipped around and backwards for “Central Park.” He’s been staring at the sign the wrong way. Of course. He feels his cheeks heat up with embarrassment. “Oh. Got it. Park. Right, yeah.” She lets out another laugh, and it’s so different from the sounds his mother makes when she’s guffawing at him, shaming him, that it almost doesn’t register as a laugh at first. There’s no cruelty to it, just amusement, and maybe curiosity. “Are you here alone?” she asks him, and he shrugs easily. “I guess.” She moves closer to him, cautiously, like he’s going to bite her, or bolt, but he doesn’t really feel the need to be worried over one breather. He knows he could rip out her throat if he needs to. The glamour only hides his demonic features, not takes them away. He’s still plenty capable of taking care of himself. “Where are your parents?” She's crouched down next to him now, one knee on the pavement, big brown eyes all sweet and worried, and he shrugs again. “Don’t have a dad. Mom’s downstairs.” She squints at that, and he gestures down with a pointed red claw tip. “Ya know. Downstairs.” The way he emphasizes it is meaningful, and when her eyes show understanding, he assumes she gets it. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” “Don’t be. I’m havin’ a good time.”

That doesn’t seem to be what she expects, but she just nods thoughtfully. “Are you staying someplace?” He can’t, for the undeath of him, figure out why she’s asking, and why she cares. He shrugs again, because things feel better in threes, and says vaguely, “I guess I’m stayin’ here.” That also doesn’t seem to be a good answer. “You can’t stay in the park overnight. There’s creeps around here.” He bites back the urge to explain that he’s the creepiest thing here, because suddenly she’s taking his hand, and she feels cool to the touch. “Good god, kiddo, you’re burning up!” she puts her other hand on his forehead, all the play gone from her voice, clearly concerned. “You might have a fever. Listen…” she worries her bottom lip with her teeth, smudging the dark color there, before she makes a decision. “Why don’t you come home with me? I’ll give you something to eat, make sure you’re alright, and we’ll figure out what to do from there, okay?” He isn’t sick, and he’s pretty sure he can’t get sick. It’s the hellfire in his veins that makes him hot, because he’s not like her, not even close, but the idea of following her seems like a fine one to him, so he just nods. “Kay. You got bugs where you live?” She snorts again, and stands, brushing off her dark, rose patterned tights. “Sure, what New York apartment doesn’t have a few roaches lurking around. You like bugs?” “Yeah, I like em. They’re crunchy an’ they skitter around an’ stuff.” “Yeah,” she agrees, nodding thoughtfully. “Bugs kick ass.” It’s his turn to snort, and then laugh, because she’d sounded so serious that it strikes him as funny. His hand is still in her’s, and she gives it a squeeze. “What’s your name, little buddy?” “Betelguese.” He expects a pause, or a comment, because no newly dead has ever heard his name without wrinkling their nose and looking vaguely sick, but her smile just grows wider. “Far out. I’m Emily.” And hand in hand, they leave the park.

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Beetlejuice decides quickly Emily might be the nicest breather who ever breathed. It’s a decision he makes only moments after they’ve left the park. Normally he’d be talking, and talking a lot, and his ma might throw something at him, a curse or a bottle, to try and shut him up. So he’s giving silence a try, here, even though it feels like it hangs like a weight around his neck. But Emily is the one instead filling the silence with sound, and he’s never had such unfiltered attention from an adult before. She’s talking about the park, then his hair, then his name, and everything she says is just… sunshine. She likes his hair. She likes his name. She even likes the loose fitting and filthy black and white striped shirt he’s got on, she says it’s deadlyvoo, whatever the hell that means, but it must be good, because Emily said it.

They’re walking down the street, his little hand still in her’s, when a smell hits his sensitive nose. It’s unlike anything he’s ever smelled before and if he wasn't tethered to her, he would have floated after it. As it is, he does feel his feet lift off the ground briefly, and he has to remind his body to obey gravity, before someone notices. Luckily, Emily only sees part of his reaction, namely the way he’s sniffing the air like a dog and drooling. “Hotdogs!” she grins, and she leads him over towards the smell before he can even ask what that word means.

There’s a little cart set up, and a short, fat woman is fussing over a fire. He quickly finds the source of the smell, those little weird shapes of meat she’s turning over, and he goes to reach for one, only stopped by Emily’s other hand over his. “Not so fast, little bug. To unlock lunch, you need the power of capitalism.” She nods gravely. He nods back, clueless, but after a moment he has the source of the smell in his hands, and he wastes no time in scarfing it down. It’s good. He wants more, instantly, and tugs at her sleeve. Emily has hardly put her wallet away before it’s back out again, and she’s bought two more hotdogs. He eats them just as quickly, but before he can ask for more he realizes she’s led him away from the woman and her meats and her fire. Clever breather.

The walk to her home isn’t so bad, and it gives him time to take in his surroundings. The park had been jarring enough- what little plants grow in the netherworld are perpetually gray and withered, sad little scraggly weeds that struggle and choke each other out for the privilege of what miniscule sunshine permeates through the perpetual overcast. But there’s enough sunlight and water and everything to go around here, and it all grows green and vibrant. The city feels the same way, sort of. Like there’s plenty of space to stretch out and grow, and so they did. In the netherworld, everything is short and cramped, but bigger on the inside, with long, winding hallways meant to confuse and trap the dead. The buildings here are so tall looking up at them makes him dizzy, but he hardly has time to admire them before Emily is guiding him this way and that, and finally, to another door. She presses a button and they’re let inside, and he experiences another first as they ride the elevator up a few floors.

They ride the first few floors up in relative silence, until - “Get ready to jump!” Emily says suddenly, crouching, and he follows her lead, and jumps when she does. There’s a brief moment of weightlessness before gravity catches up with them, and their feet hit the elevator floor again, in time for the doors to open. “Good job, Beetlejuice!” she praises, pushing that long sun colored hair out of her face, and he beams up at her. “Feels like flyin, kinda!” “Right?” she enthuses loudly, and he’s about to ask her how a breather knows what flying feels like, but a door down the hall opens, and the biggest man Betelguese has ever seen steps out. “Thought I heard you rattling the elevator,” he’s chiding Emily, who only gives her snort and smile in return. “Lydia isn’t even with you, do you really play that game when you’re-” his eyes fall on Betelgeuse. “Alone?”

“Charles, I made a new friend!” Emily tells him simply, leading the little demon into their apartment. The interior is dim, but he can see fine. He knows his amber eyes are glowing a little in the gloom, and he closes them, just for a moment, as Emily leads him down the hall and into a sunny, well lit kitchen. The big man, Charles, is tailing behind, looking mystified. “Where on earth did you find him?” a hint of nerves creeps into the breather’s voice. “You didn’t… steal him.. Right?” “Charles!” Emily laughs, like it’s an absurd question. Betelgeuse can’t tell if it is or not. Emily doesn’t seem like a child snatching witch, but he doesn’t know enough about such things to be sure. “I didn’t steal him,” she clarifies, busying herself with getting the boy a cup of ice water, and stopping by for a moment to touch the back of her hand to his forehead again. “I found him wandering around Central Park. He said he doesn’t have any folks, and he was all alone, and he feels feverish. I’m being responsible! I’m a responsible adult!” “A responsible adult who still plays the elevator game, despite being told by maintenance you might throw the whole elevator out of whack?” Charles askes, but he doesn’t look angry, more amused.

“I was teaching Beetlejuice how to play.” The pause he was expecting with Emily finds its home with Charles. Charles glances at the boy. Betelguese stares back with big amber eyes, sipping quietly at his ice water. Charles looks to Emily, who seems to be waiting expectantly. The silence stretches for another beat before Charles asks, baffled, “Is that… his name?”

Emily throws her hands up like he’s asked if the sky is really blue. “Of course it’s his name! Or at least, that’s the name he gave me. I’m respecting it. Respectful and responsible, that’s me.” She turns and winks at Betelgeuse. He returns the strange breather gesture because he likes Emily more than he’s ever liked anyone before.

The water cup is empty, and he simply lets it go, no longer interested in holding it. It bounces and rolls across the floor, and Charles wrinkles his brow at the boy. “Wh-” Before he can say much more, Betelgeuse is sniffing at the air, and he crouches on all fours, nose to the ground, like a dog in a cartoon. He’s caught the scent of some kind of upperworld bug, and despite all the hotted dogs, he’s still hungry. He’s on the prowl around the kitchen, weaving under the little dining table and three chairs, and then back down the hall, into the living room. Charles and Emily poke their heads out of the kitchen to watch him.

“I think you brought a feral child into the house, Em.”

She makes a psshaw sound and rolls her eyes, smacking gently at his lapels. “He’s a kid. Kids are weird. I was doing weird kid stuff when I was his age, too.” “And you never stopped,” comes the dry response. “Charles, I know you worry, but he’s a little kid, lost in New York. I mean, my god, it’s like a movie! I couldn’t just leave him, and I wasn’t just going to give him to some cop, he’s probably an undocumented runaway or something-” and the rest of her rambling is drown out by Charles gasping and grabbing her, and her own muffled gasps of shock, because Betelgeuse has caught the bug. And also, he’s on the ceiling. He may have been trying to blend in, but the second he caught the scent of that delicious crunchy upperworld bug meat, everything else was out of mind. He’d spotted it on the ceiling, and had followed it up there, ignoring gravity to get what he wanted, and right as he pounced on it, nearly catlike, Charles and Emily had gasped. Their breather noises distract him long enough for the bug to skitter away, and he loses his concentration, and drops to the living room floor with a sickening crunch. Emily shrieks, and Charles panics, sprinting for the boy, certain he’ll find a dead child with a broken neck. Instead Betelguise sits up, his glamour disturbed from the fall, and the breathers get an eyeful of what he really looks like. There’s a beat. They’re all staring at each other for a long moment. “I… I might have brought a feral child into the house,” Emily admits sheepishly. You can read the entire thing, right now, over here

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice broadway #beetlejuice fic #emily deetz #charles deetz #lydia deetz #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice found family

[zukump3]

fixated ✰ s. aizawa

aizawa takes interest after you, but he doesn’t really know how to go about it.

genre: fluff, some smut in the second part! fem!reader

warnings: two parter!! aizawa has a CRUSHHHH, he pins after you heavily, counselor!reader. zawa used to have a thing with ms joke, black!reader

a/n: this idea was super cute so i had to write it. i hope you guys like it!!

requested: yes!!

part 2 (coming soon)

Aizawa has never been one for dating. Honestly, he couldn’t even remember the last time he had a relationship.

Back in high school, when he sat in the very desks his students sat in, he was often teased at by Mic about getting a partner. The hero tried to set him up on dates, give random people his number and all types of other methods, but Aizawa was just never interested. No one really caught his attention that way... until Fukukado came along.

She was everything he despised. She was loud, she talked too much, and she never took anything serious. But somehow she made her way into his cold heart and he indulged in her.

He enjoyed his time with her. Underneath all that goofiness she was a sweet woman who cared deeply for her job and her students. Aizawa felt emotions he had never felt with her, and was a bit peeved when they split. However, they remained friends. Since then, he hasn’t bothered dating with anyone.

“Have you seen the new counselor?!” Aizawa opened one eye to see Kaminari and Sero gushing as they entered the class. “She’s sooo hot. And she’s foreign!”

“Doesn’t she speak English and Japanese fluently though? She’s smart and attractive, jeez.” Sero huffed, and Aizawa furrowed his brow, zipping down his zipper on his yellow sleeping bag.

“Who are you talking about?”

“Miss L/N!” They both yelled, making Aizawa blink. “She’s our new counselor. She said parents were complaining that the students mental health wasn’t being cared about enough, so U.A hired her. She’s from America too.”

“America.” Aizawa groaned. He already had an image in his own eyes—a stereotypically one, but oh well. You probably had blonde hair and blue eyes. There was probably nothing special about you at all. His students weren’t as used to foreigners, so of course they would find you attractive.

Throughout the entire day he kept hearing his students chatter about you. About how kind you were, how pretty your voice sounded, how you looked so unique. He was getting peeved—why was everyone so hung up on you?

He carried the thought with him until the end of the day, when he headed down the hall to what seemed to be your room, just as you were leaving.

And—wow. He really understood why everyone was talking about you.

You weren’t blonde haired, blue eyed at all. Your hair was in a fluffy afro, like Mina’s but kinkier. You had the most supple brown skin and dark eyes that lit up when they caught his. His eyes widened a bit at just how radiating you seemed, your multi colored lips raising into a smile.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Aizawa! I’m L/N,” you spoke, your hand pushing out to shake his. He shook your hand silently, noting at how warm your palm was against his cold one. “I’ve heard a lot about you from your students!”

“You’ve met them?” he asked, voice deep with shock.

“Ahh, well, they kind of pranked me earlier,” you said sheepishly. “They came banging on my door and said there was a fire, and that I needed to leave as soon as I could. But then they said they were just joking when I was about to jump out my window,” you laughed, shaking your head. “They’re pretty goofy huh?”

Aizawa couldn’t help but note at how good your Japanese was. He knew English and Japanese were two different languages—you must’ve been pretty smart and hardworking to learn it.

“Well, I have to go do paperwork at my apartment-hopefully I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” you smiled once again. Aizawa only nodded and then you were off, with his eyes burning into your back.

His fists clenched. You were much more attractive than he originally imagined. But he wasn’t going to indulge—he knew that would only end badly.

Right?

The next day, Aizawa heard the same chatter about you. And the next. And the next. He didn’t see you again until about a week later, when he saw you chatting with Midnight and Mic in the lunch line. He cringed—the two were notorious for gossiping and he really hoped they weren’t telling you anything stupid.

“And then I—aye yo, Zawa! Good afternoon! Have you met L/N?!” Mic screamed, and Aizawa’s eyes went to meet yours ago. Your hair was styled differently to the point where he could see your eyes better, and it framed your face so nicely. You waved at him and he smiled sheepishly.

“We were just talking about our high school days~” Midnight’s voice rang out. “American high school is reaaaally different from Japanese high school, according to L/N.”

“The students here are really well behaved, especially in Aizawa’s class,” you smiled at him. “You’re doing a damn good job with them. They’re some of the most charming students I’ve seen! The ones in American high school can be really rude and nasty... I haven’t experienced any of that here. It’s nice.”

Aizawa breathed shakily. Thank god his students weren’t embarrassing him.

“L/N here’s got a degree in psychology and all that mental stuff!” Mic yelled once again as you all moved down the lunch line. “She understands da brain! We really needed someone like her here, with all the breakdowns our students have!”

Aizawa huffed. Teachers, too.

“I’m here for everyone,” you spoke. “Students, teachers, even the Recovery Girl if she’s got a lot on her mind. I’m just here to help everybody as much as I can.”

“Aizawa needs some of that help fo sure!” Mic yelled, smiling so hard all of his long, white teeth showed. “Motherheffa never talks to anyone about his feelings, keeps em balled up! That’s not healthy!”

Aizawa’s ears turned red. “No, I don’t need-“

“I’ll help ya!” you offered, moving so your body was right next to his. He couldn’t help but inhale your scent—it was strong and sweet, something he’d never smelled before. “Don’t worry—whatever we discuss in my room stays in my room. It’s something I pledged to do when I became a therapist.”

Aizawa laughed nervously, shaking his head. “I really don’t-“

“It’s okay if you don’t wanna have a session immediately, no worries,” you shrugged. “But I’m here whenever you need me. I have more work to do later, but I’ll see you guys later!”

And then you were off, with Aizawa’s eyes still on your back.

“You’re staring pretty hard Aizawa,” Midnight raised perfectly done eyebrows. “She’s pretty—I would stare too.”

“Be quiet.” He spluttered, his ears still red as he made his way back to his classroom to eat.

Another week had passed of Aizawa admiring you from afar. You always came into work with a smile on your face, greeting students with handshakes and hugs—the hugs threw him off a bit, but Kaminari told him it was an “American thing.” He didn’t know how much he would daydream about it until he started to long for hugs from you, thinking of how your arms would wrap around his middle before class.

He wasn’t obsessed with you, no, but rather infatuated. You were intelligent and easy to approach, and your appearance matched your personality. He was attracted to you but due to him not having a relationship in years and also not having the best social skills, he had no idea how to approach you. He didn’t even know much about you. His students knew you more than he did and you were his age! It made no sense.

Time after time during the third week of you being here he tried to talk to you. During lunch, when Midnight and Mic would force you all to sit together, he would want to open his mouth but he couldn’t. He’d come by your room to start conversations after school but the most he’d say was “have a good evening, L/N.” and leave you alone. He even found your social media and took a quick look through your pictures—leaving your page when he saw you in a bikini, his cheeks red.

By the time the fourth week came around, his students and his work buddies were noticing his changes in behavior. He was getting distracted much more than before and whenever someone would mention your name he’d go scarily silent and look deep in thought. It wasn’t until Mina chatted with the rest of the Bakusquad that his students actually began to do something about it.

“Miss L/N!” you heard Jirou’s voice rang out from your doorway, with some other students from Class 1-A coming in behind you. “Good evening~”

“Good evening Jirou! Hey everyone,” you smiled warmly at the students that were entering your classroom, confused as how many of them were coming in. “What’s up...?”

You had formed a pretty close relationship with the class of 1-A during your short time here. You had sessions with most of them and got to know their personalities and feelings pretty well—even Bakugo, who was closed up and rude at first, but eventually shed a few tears in your room.

“Mr. Aizawa said he needed your help with planning lessons today—he said he’s asked everyone else and they’re all busy,” Mina told you, and your brows furrowed in confusion. Aizawa needs help from... you? That was odd. “He needs you to come by as soon as possible!”

“Oh! Well, alright,” you laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck as you stood up and grabbed your phone. “Thanks for telling me—you all get to your dorms and don’t cause too much noise okay?”

You heard rings of “yes, miss l/n’s” as everyone left your room and you locked it behind you. You started to make your way to Aizawa’s classroom, your palms a little sweaty against your notebook. You hadn’t talked to Aizawa in a while and it was weird that he had requested your help, but you didn’t mind getting closer to him. Truthfully, he had been on your mind a lot the past few days—you found him pretty attractive despite his quiet demeanor. Although, you were a new teacher, and didn’t want to be involved with anyone too early in your school year.

Aizawa jumps a bit when he hears sudden loud knocks on your door, and sees your face come into view. “Good evening, Aizawa. You needed my help?”

“Huh?” Aizawa asked, his face twisted in confusion.

“Jirou and Mina came by and said you needed my help with lesson planning—I’m not the best with planning stuff to teach but I don’t mind offering my assistance,” you offered him your normal, gentle smile. “So where do we start?”

Mina and Jirou? Ugh. Of course they would tell you that.

“Um-um-well,” he stuttered, his face already starting to heat up. “I just need a new quirk training game... yeah. That’s why I need help with.” Fuck. He hoped that sounded believable.

“Okay!” you nodded, suddenly taking a seat that was in the corner of the room and sitting right. Next. To. Him. He had to clench his fists to keep his cool, not used to such an attractive woman being so close to him at all. “Where should we start?”

He spent two hours with you discussing new games to play with his students that would also train their quirks, and those were some of the best two hours of his life.

He so enjoyed the time he spent with you. You were so easygoing and natural to talk to—he didn’t feel awkward or nervous talking to you which is what he feared he would feel in the first place. He cracked more smiles with you in the span of two hours than he did the whole week.

“You can’t just make them play dodgeball with their quirks! They’ll get hurt!”

“We have a Recovery Girl for a reason.” Aizawa rolled his eyes, smirking at the glare he got from you.

“Still! You know some of them—Bakugo—are going to take out their anger on other students,” you huffed.

“But it’ll be fun to watch?”

You were quiet for a moment, but inevitably started smirking along with him. “...you’re right. It will be.”

Together, the both of you planned for Class 1-A dodgeball, with you and Aizawa as the referees. You two even planned to go by the outfits together—and now he was out at a sporting store with you, looking for a fucking black and white striped shirt. He couldn’t believe this.

“I’ve never worn one of these before—you think I’ll look cute in it?” you asked him, raising your eyebrows repeatedly and he couldn’t help but chuckle gently at your antics. “I’m serious!”

“I’m sure you will F/N,” he told you, not even noticing his slip up until a few moments later. “I—I meant-“

“So we’re on second base huhhhh? Don’t worry, I’ve accidentally called you Shota a few times to Mic and Midnight. I’m not used to calling people by their last names, we don’t do that in America.”

“You talk about me?” Aizawa couldn’t help but feel a little proud of the fact.

“What?! Of course not, no.” you quickly shook your head, and he grinned at the flustered look on your face. “The only thing I tell them about is how you need more sleep. Your brain doesn’t function correctly on a small amount of sleep.”

“My brain doesn’t function correctly at all.”

“Wrong. You’re pretty smart, Aizawa. Pretty understanding too,” you hummed, you two walking through the aisles so you could get whistles. “Your students are always telling me how much you care about them, even though you don’t show it. They really appreciate you you know?”

He was expressionless, but his heart did warm a little bit at your words. “I know.”

You two bought the items and soon enough you were back at the school. You got out of his car, sending him a wave and a quick goodbye before heading to your own car, and Aizawa let out the longest sigh of his life.

“Shit.”

#bnha x poc!reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha fluff #bnha #bnha fluff #mha fic #bnha fic #aizawa #shoto aizawa #shota aizawa #aizawa x black!reader #aizawa x reader #aizawa fic #aizawa fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #aizawa fluff

[ontheblock]

BABE U WRITE FOR SALLY FACE?? Anything with Travis (male s/o with him obviously) or Sally please :O your writing is amazing!!

YES I DO !! i used to have a bunch of wips i still haven’t finished but i figured i can still add sf to my list since it was such a comfort game when it came out haha. as per usual, this isn’t beta read, i fucked the formatting up twice but just squint when you notice any errors- also thank you love <3 i‘d give you a free bologna sandwich for requesting trav ily. 100% beef obviously /winkwonk

fabric

•warning: abuse, religious guilt, homophobia and f-slur use, bad first kisses, badly written fluff, travis being travis

Travis was meant to live a life molded for him by his father. The pattern was already placed on the fabric when his first cry shook the hospital room at 6:33am. He was supposed to be cut from his father‘s mold but Travis‘ fabric was already old and frayed, the intertwining strings of muted tones that held him together felt lose by the time he could run. Sometimes he thought about the reason why he was incomplete. His fabric wasn‘t strong enough to hold his family name, not stretchy enough to bounce back from his father‘s reactions. Travis‘ mother patched him up every time there was another bruise on his back or face. She would cut parts out of her own fabric to cover the ripped strings her husband‘s belt left on their son. But she had only so much left when the beatings got worse.

Travis was in middle school, attending a christian summer camp a few hours away from Nockfell. He never noticed how different the air was at home but the sky was so murky compared to literally everywhere else. His father thought it was a good idea to let the boy out of town while he took care of the Ministry business which was code for something Travis shouldn‘t stick his nose into. He never asked but someone went missing while he was gone. Tragic.

Not as tragic as the camp counselor calling Travis home on their last day. The boy didn‘t know about that but they told his father about some inappropriate behavior his son showed with a fellow camper - a boy his age, Kenneth didn‘t care for the name or where he was from. All he needed to know was what his son did with that boy. The counselor tried to calm the angry parent on the phone but as soon as the information was exchanged the line went dead. He didn‘t want to hear the washed up excuses. His son was young and it was best to get these urges out of his system before they could even develop - dig for the deepest root you could find and rip it from the still fresh ground before it bloomed into something ugly, even if that meant that the garden would never bloom at all. Kenneth was a man of action after all.

That evening Travis came home clueless while his father already stood in the hallway with his wife behind him, holding onto his hand and uttering whispered quick prayers but his thick fingers already curled around the leather painfully hard. The strain it caused in his hand only fueled the need for a release as he charged for his son who didn‘t even have the chance to slip out of his worn sneakers.

That evening his mother didn‘t stay when Kenneth told her to go to bed early. Travis asked himself if it pained her the same way it pained him when his skin split under the force his father put in his first few strikes.

“You want to hold hands with boys now?“

“My son isn‘t a faggot, is that clear?“

“I gave you a place in this filthy town. You will appreciate it and live a proper life!“

“You will thank me when you don‘t burn for being dirty.“

It wasn‘t meant for Travis to answer because by the end of the night he would not even think about a boy‘s hand to be soft and warm anymore.

Travis was older now but he never found enough of anything to mend the damage his father did that night. Travis didn‘t try to explain that he held onto the boy because they figured that they wouldn’t slip on the wet mud that way. Instead he kept quiet about it ever happening and his father was content with this as long as he pulled his son from the devil‘s path to sodomy.

And Travis thought so too until a thread of blue fabric pulled together a gaping hole in his fabric. It stuck out like a sore thumb - too vibrant but warmer than any patch his mother gave to him and when he sat on the grimy bathroom floor in school after Sal Fisher of all people gave him a fucking pep talk, it felt nice. The warmth let his tears evaporate so he could pull himself together for the rest of the day.

But it was short lived. The warmth spread through him so fast he felt like burning up whenever he sat in class with Sal. He tried everything to get that blue thread out of his life but pulling on it only felt like strangling himself and he regretted ever letting his bully persona slip in that bathroom just because Sal fucking Fisher found the note he threw away - the note that was about him but Travis never had it in himself to tell him that. He regretted his promise to be less of an asshole because he knew he couldn‘t. Not even three days later the heat in his belly was so hot that he boiled over when he saw Fisher talking to that ginger nerd by the lockers. He ended up calling him a faggot because how dare he be openly gay in the same town Kenneth Phelps lived? How dare he be happy like this?

Sal tensed at the insult. Did he actually think Travis could be better? And why was his freakshow friend not hurt at the insult when it still burned in his throat to say it? Why did it feel like the slur wasn‘t meant for Todd at all? Travis swallowed hard as he fled the hallway in such a hurry that the three folded up pamphlets in his barely zipped up backpack fell on the muddy vinyl flooring.

“Fuck, Phleps. Just wait. Travis!“ The boy in question tucked at his collar as he turned a corner just to slip into another empty corridor. They had a free period right after gym class and Sal Fisher was determined to finally talk to the boy who relentlessly bullied him to now avoid him like it was the other way around. “Jesus, I‘m not gonna pry but if your dad-“ Sally harshly bumped into Travis as he whipped around, finally coming to a stop. Shame crawled up the taller teen‘s neck when he didn‘t find the prosthetic nose digging into his sweater uncomfortable.

“Shut up! God, just stop!“ Sal was surprised that he would use his Lord‘s name in vain like that and if the situation was anything but this he would‘ve laughed. “Travis, I don‘t know how you feel but-“, Sal tried again but Travis was at his limits this time. “You don‘t and you never will, Fisher. Your dad would accept you being a dirty faggot but mine doesn’t!“ He tried to fill his words with venom but it all bounced back on the guy‘s mask anyway with how much his voice actually trembled.

There was a moment of silence that made Travis want to literally get struck by his God‘s angry lightning. He couldn‘t even leave. It was like all the root his father dug out slowly crawled back to feed on his shame and ground him in front of Sal who still had to react and maybe Travis should just tell him to fuck off so he wouldn‘t have to find out what he wanted to say next.

“Travis...“ Sal lowered his voice in a fake moment of privacy. “Are you-?“ Travis already shut his eyes as he clenched his fists. He didn‘t like where this was going but there was no more fight in him. “Nevermind. You don‘t owe me shit but I saw your back.“ Travis exhaled through his mouth until there was nothing left in his lungs. He knew where that question was headed. Are you gay, Travis? Are you the faggot and that‘s why you‘re so angry? He was glad that Sal changed his approach because even Travis himself was too scared to find the answer.

“So what, Sally Face? You‘re sticking your nose somewhere it doesn’t belong. If you even have one under that stupid mask.“ Travis harshly pushed his index finger into the boys chest and the sharp inhale he made almost made him freeze up and apologize. But he couldn‘t. He was too deep to go soft now. The look in Sal‘s eyes was enough to make Travis finally stumble backwards and push past him.

He didn‘t follow him this time.

His verbal fights with Sal Fisher were like a damn wake up call for the teen. The rush of warmth it spread in his chest and the cold shiver in sent down his spine were shaking his body every time. He started noticing that Nockfell wasn‘t that murky. Travis used to really like yellow as a child because it reminded him of his mother’s favorite sunflower dress. She was a different woman now. The vibrant yellow was fading just like her hair. Maybe it was just Nockfell, maybe it was because of her suffocating husband draining her of her life and slowly unraveling her fabric. It didn‘t matter now but to make a depressing story short, Travis didn‘t have a favorite color anymore.

But the sky looked like a pretty shade of blue on some days. He never noticed but his bathroom tiles had blue specks in them. He always thought they were just a weird grey. There were tiny flowers blooming in the most vibrant blue behind the school and he wished that they were behind the church too but nothing ever grew around that building. But he would pluck them sometimes when he was skipping gym class. His last fight in the empty hallway was weeks ago and he hoped that Sal finally gave up on his savior complex. But why did his chest sting at that thought? His fingers slowly clutched his sweater as he stared at a withering flower by his foot. Travis jumped out of his thoughts when the metal door creaked open.

“Yo.“ Sal pushed the door closed with his shoe as he held up a hand to casually greet him. His face scrunched up. “What do you want?“ Travis lowered his head again. The boy obviously noticed the fresh shiner on his face already but facing him still felt like he exposed himself. “Just wanted to confirm that the church boy was skipping class.“ Uninvited, the teen sat beside Travis on the grass, with a healthy distance of course. “Shut up. My faith has fuck all to do with school“, Travis spoke lowly but his voice was tired. Sal just hummed in agreement before silence draped over them. Not uncomfortably like the usual strained void of reactions when one of them dropped something they weren‘t prepared for. It felt ok like this and it felt like a blanket. To Travis that blanket was soft and blue but before he could shake it off and stand up there were strings of the obnoxious fabric already weaving themself into his personal space.

“We don‘t have to fight all the time.“ Sal didn‘t look at him and neither did Travis. He really didn‘t have a reason to disagree. Not one that wouldn’t blow his cover at least.

“Maybe I could come to your little church and-“ Travis head snapped up. “Don‘t“, he blurted out a little louder than he meant. “It‘s a joke. I‘m not religious.“ Sal snorted, plucking a few pieces of grass. “Yeah, because you‘re a sinner in the eyes of the Lord. You f-“ Travis had to physically stop himself by biting his lip. Sal looked over at him and Travis wished he didn‘t. “Sorry“, Travis mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes, or eye since he was pretty sure his other eye never moved before. “I‘m trying to not call people that anymore.“ because all I hear is my father saying it.

“It‘s cool.“ It wasn‘t. “Why are you skipping?“ Travis huffed. It was weird to not let the conversation derail into verbal abuse. “I don‘t know. I fell. Hit my head on the door pretty bad. As you can see.“ Sal just hummed. “That‘s why you‘re limping, too?“ Travis blurted out a “yes“ a little too fast. Why was he nervous? His whole school life already revolved around cover up stories about the strange aches and bruises he got out of nowhere.

“Right.“ Sal let it slide, again. “You‘re acing algebra, Fisher.“ It wasn‘t a question so Sal didn‘t say anything. “Hmm.“ Travis cursed himself for never learning proper social skills but his father didn‘t like him bringing strangers into the house and his teen years were a constant feeling of push and pull of picking fights with boys that sparked an ugly tingle in his belly.

“You need a tutor?“ The silence seemed to be enough for Sal. Fuck him and his open fucking hand. “Maybe.“ Travis flicked a flower with his finger, dismissing the clear offer because his stomach ignited at the fact that Sal didn‘t hate him enough yet. “Maybe there is a tutor in Addisons Appartement, Room 402, who‘s free on the weekend.“ Sal couldn‘t help but smile under his mask as Travis huffed. “Fuck you, Fisher.“

Sal already forgot about his offer when lunch passed and his dad stood in the kitchen, washing their dishes, enjoying the background noise of his son watching TV with his cat. They were so engrossed in the VHS tape Sal put on that he didn‘t hear the door until his dad whistled from the kitchen. “Sally, door.“

“Huh? Oh. Yes, dad.“ He jumped to his feet, leaving Gizmo to the slasher movie he seemed to like. “Weird, Larry said he‘s busy“, Sal mumbled, opening the front door. “Oh.“ It was a knee jerk reaction from Sal because he expected everyone but Travis Phelps to knock at his door and truth be told, he looked like he‘d rather be anywhere else with the way his awkward greeting caught in his throat and died on his tongue as a huff. His eyes followed the way the blue strands hung over Sal‘s shoulders, the mask straps upsetting the smooth texture as a few chunks hung over the elastics. Travis hasn’t seen him with his hair down. He looked smaller in big sweatpants and a band shirt too.

“Travis?“ The boy‘s eyes snapped back to the mask in front of him. “So, algebra?“ Sal tilted his head a smidge. A small habit he picked up to better communicate what would otherwise be shown in his facial features. But it made Travis want to scream for a multitude of reasons as heat crept up his neck. “Obviously.“

Anyone else would‘ve told him to fix his tone or fuck off but Sal held open the door for him. It felt wrong but Travis took the invitation, rubbing his clammy hands on his pants. “Who is it?“, a deeper voice called and Travis almost jumped. He had to remind him this wasn‘t Kenneth. Mr Fisher wasn’t anything like his dad and he didn’t have to be on edge around the boy. “A friend“, Sal replied shortly, only getting an approving hum.

A friend. Did Sal see him as a friend? He couldn‘t dwell on it since he was pulled into the boy‘s bedroom that looked nothing like his. “Just sit anywhere.“ Sal wildly gestured into the room and Travis sat on the barely made bed as Sall dropped his books next to him.

Travis felt like there was something breathing down his neck the entire time they sat on Sal‘s bed. His shirt collar felt like it was about to cinch his neck closed, the dangling cross necklace he kept under his shirt felt hot to the touch like it burned the shape of Jesus into his chest with every sinful thought that crossed his mind as Sal explained the most bland and unerotic subject.

“Travis?“ The boy almost choked on his own spit.

“Romans 1:26-27.“ Travis stumbled over his own words but the verse was engraved into his head after writing and reciting it for a month straight under the stern eye of his father. There was a briefe silence for a moment.

“What?“ Sal looked up from the book in his lap.

“What?“ Travis felt breathless as he stared back at Sal. “Nothing“, he quickly added before Sal could even say anything else. “Explain that again?“ But he didn‘t. Instead, Sal pushed the book off his thigh, still staring the boy down. “Did you really come here for algebra, dude?“ No. “Yes.“ Travis fiddled with the hem of his shirt, not knowing if it was anxiety, anger or just bile scratching against his stomach lining to crawl out of him.

When Sal didn‘t say anything else Travis just reached over the boys lap to take the book himself but there was already a hand pressing against his shoulder. Travis hissed as he pulled his arm back, making Sal pull back just as fast. They stared at each other for a moment before Sal‘s gaze darted to his shoulder. “You fell pretty hard on that door.“ Travis clenched his jaw. “Shut up, Fisher, and back the fuck up.“

The boy shook his head, scooting away an inch. “Listen, you can say no because I would too but I can at least get you ointment for that.“ Sal gestured to his back and shoulder and something in Travis just crumbles as he lets his hands drop into his lap, staring them down to not look at Sal. “Ok. If it gets you off my back you parasite.“

Travis didn‘t plan this when he knocked on the apartment door. He expected to maybe stay 20 minutes before something would make him see red but all he saw was blue. Maybe he was cursed. All these years of plucking out the roots his father couldn’t reach were rendered worthless now that he sat on the rough carpet, holding his shirt up as Sal dug out the ointment.

How did he even get here? His heart beat in his throat when he felt a presence behind him. He felt the need to say something. He wanted to make it clear that this meant nothing to not make it weird but wouldn‘t that make it weirder? Wasn‘t this the same as his mother putting a bandaid on his cuts and whatever herbal mixture on his wounds? It wasn’t because he never felt the sick urge to kiss his mother.

“Ready?“, Sal asked, kneeling behind him with a glob of cool ointment on his index and middle finger. Fucking hell, why did he have to make it weird? He definitely had to say something now.

“It was my dad.“ Travis spoke fast enough to mutter his words but the long pause probably meant that Sal heard him anyway. He wanted to melt into the carpet, leave behind a stain on the boy‘s floor to annoy him just one last time. He didn‘t know what he expected him to say to that and he also didn‘t know why that was the thing he had to say. But Sal made it easy on him by just not answering at all. Instead, he dabbed the cream on the first bruise, making Travis inhale sharply but otherwise biting his tongue. Sal figured that Travis wanted to act tough by not showing that it hurt but actually, Travis didn‘t trust his voice under Sal‘s soft fingertips.

“Travis“, Sal spoke again. Travis wasn‘t sure if he hated the heavy silence more of the fact that Sal was the first to say something while he was rubbing little circles into his back. He didn‘t answer but that never held Sal back.

“Are you gay?“ His voice was so quiet that Travis wouldn‘t have heard it if they sat a little further apart but it had the same effect as screaming it for all of Nockfell to hear. Sal felt him tense up under his touch, already expecting him to jump up or at least yell at him. But neither of them did anything. Sal‘s fingers rested against the heating skin, feeling it rise with every ragged breath he managed to take. “Travis-“

“Fuck, Sal. What? Do you want me to tell you about the times my dad beat the gay out of me or do you prefer that time I wanted to kiss you in that gross fucking bathroom?“, the teen finally barked, letting his words sink in first before he hissed a quiet “shit“. The fingers on his back pulled away as Sal sat on his heels. “You wanted to kiss me?“, Sal repeated, slower than Travis but he just pressed the balls of his hands into his eyes until he saw shapes and felt like the pressure would crush his face. He heard Sal shuffle around the room, probably getting ready to throw him out like he should‘ve done a while ago. But the shuffling stopped in front of him and something told him not to look but cold hands were already on his wrists to peel his cramping hands from his face. Travis opened his eyes just in time to see that mask uncomfortably close but before he could say anything, there was an odd sensation on his lips with minimal pressure. Sal was kissing him and it snuffed the flame in his stomach for just a moment, allowing the torched butterflies to unfold their wings and fly high enough to even make his heart pump overtime. But the feeling was lost just as soon when Sal inched backwards, pulling his prosthetic back in place before Travis could even take any of this in.

“Sorry.“ Sal threw it into the room for Travis to interpret. But the gears in his head threatened to jump out of place already so he reached out to Sal who already flinched backwards, holding onto his mask. “You don‘t want that.“ Sal pushed his hand back a little. “How would you know?“ Travis furrowed his brows at him but he was thankful. He wasn‘t sure if he could take seeing the boy bare like that but he was craving that feeling his father tried to snuff so desperately.

Sal just shook his head as Travis inched closer. “I‘ll close my eyes.“ Now it was Sal‘s turn to hole up in silence, knowing that neither of them could handle the mask coming off. Something made him trust Travis‘ words as he opened the bottom clasp which was the cue for Travis to shut his eyes. He did and seconds later he felt Sal on him again. One hand clamping over his eyes just to make sure and the other fisting the front of his shirt.

This time Travis felt the cleft in Sal‘s lip and the scar tissue ripping up the soft skin. He leaned into the kiss. Where were his hands supposed to go? When Travis didn‘t find the answer his body moved on autopilot. One hand threaded through the surprisingly smooth strands as the other clung to the small of his back.

Travis should‘ve been grossed out by the drool pooling out of Sal‘s torn lip but he wasn‘t. He should be grossed out by Sal being a boy but he wasn‘t. When Sal pulled back he kept his hand over Travis‘ eyes while the other wiped the spit off his chin. The kiss alone was enough to patch up his murky fabric with bright blue strings that dominated the colors his father painted him in. Travis didn‘t know what would happen after high school. Hell, he didn‘t even know what would be tomorrow. But he didn‘t want the bright fibers to unravel him again.

A knock on the door startled both of them, making Sal pull his arm away and Travis rapidly blinking. He didn‘t notice the mangled face first as the unruly blue caught his eye. His hand did that. His heart beat in his throat again as he overheard Sal‘s father say something and Sal shooting a hum of agreement back. His prosthetic was already on his face again before Travis could catch anything besides the scar tissue crawling up his jaw and chin before splitting his lips and exposing teeth and gum.

Maybe blue was his favorite color.

#tw toxic family #tw abuse #tw religious trauma #tw slurs #sally face #travis phelps #sal fisher #travis phelps x sal fisher #travis phelps x sally face

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Nancy Downs

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(I was so torn between what to do for the meeting hcs so if you want Nancy having a crush on the new girl hcs or whatever else, I’d be glad to provide)

- First things first, Nancy doesn’t like you. She doesn’t even have a valid reason as to why, she just doesn’t.

- It’s obvious that she has some sort of vendetta against you but you can’t for the life of you figure out what you ever could have done to make her hate you so much. After a while, you just stop taking it personally because; even though she seems particularly bothered by you, Nancy hates everyone.

- It isn’t until you have a rather nasty rumor spread around the school about you that she decides to change her tune.

- Deep down, Nancy is a softie and one that has a surprising amount of empathy hidden inside her. She just so happens to hear what people are saying about you while walking to class and against her own will, her mind drifts painfully back to the time when she was the one they were talking about.

- The two of you share a class at the end of the day which is where she’s able to stare at you, taking note of your deflated form and the subtle red rings around your eyes. It’s in that moment that Nancy stops hating you.

- Suddenly, She’s ready to burn the world down for you but she settles for doing something nice for once instead.

- She stalks after you at the end of the period, catching up with you outside of the school as you begin to walk home. For a moment you think she’s going to mock you like everyone else; it would’ve been the perfect chance for her to do so, but to your surprise, she invites you to go get a coffee with her.

- Even though you really don’t feel like hanging out with anyone, you agree and let her lead the way. The two of you talk for a while, awkwardly at first but soon enough you begin to warm up to her. You confess to her about all that’s happened and what’s going on, partly out of desperation and partly out of not being able to hold it in any longer. She gives you some advice; in typical Nancy fashion, and it for some reason actually makes you feel better. 

- By the end of the day, you’ve lost all of your old friends yet gained a new, much more unusual one.

- Over time, the two of you grow closer and closer, hanging out more and more until you’re near inseparable. She introduces you to Rochelle and Bonny, and suddenly you have a whole new friend group with people you genuinely feel accept you. Your life is better than ever, and all it took was a little public humiliation!

- You’ll definitely have to be strange, alternative or weird in some regard for her to really fall for you. She just doesn’t really connect with people who aren’t and she certainly doesn’t fall in love with them.

- To be honest, Nancy was always a little attracted to you but she never had actual feelings for you, not until the two of you became friends. It’s then that she realizes how much she actually likes you and how perfectly the two of you fit together. After that, it isn’t long before she realizes she likes you a lot more than a normal friend should. 

- Now, Nancy has no shame but this is the 90s and she likes having you in her life so she has to play her cards right. It’s gonna take a little while for her to actually confess but the two of you wind up acting like you’re dating; or at least she treats you like you’re her girlfriend, long before you actually begin to date.

- She confesses her feelings to you a few months into your friendship. It’s a bit late in the afternoon, the suns begun to set and you’re sitting with her in the little clearing that the girls do rituals in. You’re busy sleepily basking in the warmth of the sun while she’s busy watching the yellow glow of it light up your face. 

“Hey y/n/n?” She calls out softly and you respond just as soft, your eyes still shut. 

“Yeah?” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too Nancy.”

“No, no, I mean I love you.” She emphasizes the word and you roll over onto your stomach, looking over at her with a small smile.

“I know Nancy, …and I love you too.” Her face doesn’t change for a long moment but then a pleased smile spreads across it and she breaks your gaze to look out at the sunset like a weights been lifted off her shoulders. 

- The two of you shared your first kiss the same day she confessed her feelings to you. She was sleeping over at your house, the two of you sharing your bed like normal, the blankets pulled over both of you as your heads rested against your pillows. 

- You were both facing each other and talking a bit before going to bed when she slid closer to you and connected your lips. You stayed locked in a gentle kiss before you both pulled away, her lips moving to your forehead where she pecked your skin and whispered goodnight. 

- You woke up the next morning with a smile on your face and a weirdo girlfriend snuggled against you. 

- Pda? All the time. Her hands? On you. Her pride? Through the roof.

- People probably don’t realize you’re dating but suspect she’s a lesbian and gay for you. You’ve most likely been warned that she has “a weird thing” for you. 

- You’re like the only person she lets touch her. Whoever else tries to is on the receiving end of a grimace, glare or verbal beat down; unless it’s Bonnie or Rochelle. Occasionally, you’ll sneak up on her and she’ll turn on you with the fiercest glare before quickly dropping it once she realizes who you are. 

- Getting stolen gifts. You’re always a bit scared that she’ll get caught but you don’t have the heart to not accept them. 

- Walking with her arm wrapped around your shoulder. She pushes your heads together cutely before merrily dragging you along with her. 

- “I like a woman in uniform” ~ a direct quote from when she came to visit you at your lame fast food restaurant job. 

- Nicknames are used all the time. Sweetheart, hun, darling, baby love, doll face; you name it, she’s called you it.

- Beach dates. The two of you have probably gone skinny dipping in the ocean together.

- Bonfires. You may or may not share scary stories with each other like you’re on a camping trip.

- You need to get a leather jacket. No, no wait; she’ll get you one herself.

- Constant compliments but not the kind of compliments you’re probably thinking of. She doesn’t say normal shit like “you look beautiful” or “I like your hair”, instead, she’ll say something like “well look at you.” or just “hot.”.

- She’s probably pierced your ears or given you a stick and poke at some point; that’s just the kind of person she is.

- She would absolutely love cutting or dying your hair with you. Sitting in your bathroom and fucking yourselves up? Amazing. Life changing. Revolutionary.

- Letting her rant to you. Whether she needs to tell you about her craft not working or her home life, you always lend her an open ear. She returns the favor whenever she can. 

- She crashes at your place a lot; she never really wants to go home. The two of you are constantly having sleepovers with each other.

- Sneaking out to see each other. 

- Late night drives.

- Surprisingly gentle kisses. 

- Long makeout sessions. 

- Sitting outside with her while she smokes. 

- Coffee dates. She probably drinks exclusively strong black coffee and doesn't even wince at the taste, sipping it like it’s water. You’re slightly unnerved by the display.

-  Sharing sips from a stolen bottle of wine.

- Painting each others nails and doing each others makeup. 

- How you cuddle really just depends on the day. Sometimes you’ll be completely wrapped around each other, other times you’ll just be lying side by side and holding hands. 

- Thrifting together. What’s better than cheap, second hand alternative fashion?  

- She’ll call you a dork for doing something stereotypically girlfriendy and sweet but she’ll smile and accept whatever you’re doing while she says it. 

- She says “gross” jokingly whenever you compliment or do something affectionate with her. She’ll wipe her cheek like you have cooties after you’ve kissed it.

- Stifling a laugh whenever she makes a smartass remark.

- Making faces at each other. She sticks her tongue out at you or smiles exaggeratedly big a lot.

- Hickeys, love bites, and red lipstick smears. 

- She’s usually the more dominant one in your relationship but whew boy does she love sitting in your lap. She just plops herself right down on you whenever she feels like it without a single care in the world.

- Helping her relax when things aren't going her way. She has a tendency to keep quiet when somethings bothering her, letting her frustration build until she can hardly take it anymore.

- She’s always quick to stand up for you. She doesn’t let anyone belittle you and always interjects when she can see you’re trying to say something but no one’s listening to you. 

- The amount of times she gets in trouble for trying to talk to you in class is impressive. 

- Cutting class together. You’re almost sure that she’s determined to get you in trouble.

- She cannot stand being ignored so you’ll have to be fairly good at multitasking. If you’re hanging out and she has nothing to do then it won’t work out. She’ll artfully bother you until you give up and pay attention to her. Don't worry though, it doesn’t take much to satiate her. 

- That being said, when you both have something to busy yourselves with, you can just exist in the same room together for hours, barely saying a word to each other. Sometimes she’ll just sit and think about something while you do whatever you have to and that keeps her occupied enough. 

- She doesn't like when you act like whatever she did for you was amazing or something special. She gets mildly uncomfortable and tries to brush off your words of gratitude, telling you not to worry about it and that “it was nothing”. 

- You know how like midway into the movie she had a candy necklace or at least something that looked like a candy necklace? You were most likely the one to give it to her which explains why it’s pretty much the only colorful thing in her wardrobe. 

- Being a witch is objectively sort of Sapphic so being gay kinda just comes with the territory. The two of you most likely cast spells and do rituals together all the time.

- Nervously letting her perform rituals on you. Does she need to make a joke about sacrificing a virgin? No. Will she? Yes. 

- She’s pleasantly bothered by your younger siblings and/or pets; if you have any. They definitely exasperate her since they usually interrupt and harass you two, but deep down she’s fond of them. She likes to tease them and pretend to not like them while they giggle and smile at her. 

- One of the most jealous girls you’ll ever meet. She’ll either completely walk away from you and whoever is “flirting” with you or rudely interrupt whenever she pleases. Sometimes she’ll even “secretly” will something to happen to the person, causing them to leave you alone. She always gives you an “innocent” look once you turn to scold her.

- She’s definitely overprotective when it comes to you, almost ridiculously so. If something were to ever happen to you, she’d be out for blood and you’d undoubtedly have to wrestle her from exacting revenge in your honor.

- She’s fairly blunt and invasive yet tactful at the same time. She may ask you about an obviously sensitive topic but knows when to change the subject and shut up. 

- You’ve either gotten into a lot of fights during your relationship or little to none; there is no in-between. If you’re stubborn and stand your ground then you’ll butt heads and fight a lot. If you’re more of a submissive person who tries to appease people rather than argue, then you’ll most likely never go beyond her snapping at you for a minute. 

- She really doesn't know how to apologize so oftentimes you’ll just have to take her slightly shy “wanna go do x” after a fight as an apology. It’s easy to tell when you’re forgiven or when she feels guilty for her actions. 

- You may not expect her to say “I love you” all that much but she surprisingly says it a lot. It may sound more joking than sincere some of the time but she’ll still say the words just about every day. 

- There’s certainly a dark future ahead of her …but maybe you can change that?

#I love her so much #Nancy downs headcanon #the craft imagine #the craft headcanons #the craft headcanon #90s movie headcanon #90s movie headcanons #90s movie imagine #90s movie imagines #Nancy downs imagine #Nancy downs headcanons

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Keeping Vigil || Morgan & Eddie

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @specterchasing & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: When Morgan can’t carry her hope, Eddie is there to help. 

CONTAINS: body horror, discussions of death, mortality, decay

After reaching another dead end in her search for answers, Morgan broke down and took an extra long shower to get rid of her smell and wash the rough parts on her body that had been hurt or picked at by bugs. The water pattered on her just right, steadier and softer than rain. When she let it fall into her ear and make the room feel like underwater, she could hold onto the water and nothing else and the aches and cramps faded, and everything was fine. She savored the change in water temperature as it faded from hot to cool as much as the change in the sky from light to dark.

A little later, as she picked at cold fried rice and brains, the waistband on her sweats started to feel a little tight, and when Morgan looked down her coloring had gone another shade of wrong and when she touched her stomach (first in the middle, then all around) she got the sinking feeling she used to once a month: bloating. Maybe it was water damage, maybe it was just that time in the un-life cycle. It didn’t fucking matter, did it?

“Great. First I’m dead, then I’m falling apart and ripped up like a rag doll, and now I’m a dead ripped up balloon doll waiting to pop.” She thought about how she’d announce this latest development to Deirdre when she got home and decided she didn’t want to. So she made some tea, remembered all the chamomile in the world wouldn’t actually calm her and threw it against her studio. 

The mug bounced off the wall. Tea splattered the yard.

Morgan picked it up and holed herself up inside the four little walls where she was supposed to be alone. Maybe if she disappeared in a book or a playlist she could forget about what was happening to her body. Funny how she’d dreamed of feeling the world again every day for the last fourteen months; now she’d try just about anything to go numb and float off again.

As Eddie approached the front door of Morgan’s home, an unexpected sound from the backyard caught his attention. He took a few steps back and looked over the fence in time to see the studio door close. If that’s where Morgan was, it would be pointless to try getting into the main house. Admittedly, tracking her down would be a nonissue if she knew he planned to drop by, but Eddie had a sneaking suspicion she didn’t want visitors in her current condition. Be that as it may, he needed to see her. For all he knew, this might be his last chance.

Eddie reached over the fence’s gate and unlocked it from the other side, immediately re-locking it once inside. Even in his haste, he didn’t want to be the reason something unwanted took an open door as an invitation. Eddie quickly bypassed the garden that usually imbued him with a sense of calmness. Today, all it did was put more space between him and Morgan.

At the studio door, Eddie knocked only to enter without waiting for a response. The second he saw her, his heart fell into his stomach. Morgan, for the first time since meeting her, looked dead.

“I heard about what happened,” Eddie announced. He figured wasting time on small talk would be insulting at this point. “I wish you would’ve told me yourself, but I guess it doesn’t matter now.” As he spoke, he walked further into the studio. “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of people in your corner right now. Is there room for me to throw my hat in the ring?”

Morgan only managed a few minutes of stillness before she heard a knock. She flinched, dreading what she would have to explain to Deirdre, but before she could work up the nerve to answer, Eddie came in. She was so startled she forgot to cover her face. Her blue-purple pallor was growing new colors, black in some places, yellow in others. Somehow, her skin was peeling and shriveled and swollen at once. Her eyes, now clouded like frost on a window, looked smaller than they should and her lids sagged around the empty space. For a woman who would never age, she sure looked like she had outlived her time.

In the brief instant Eddie held the door open, three flies flew in and circled lazily toward her. They knew a good thing when they saw it. She should probably have been more grateful that maggots and fungi hadn’t found her yet, but the only thought she had room for was, Eddie shouldn’t be here.

“W--what? I--” It didn’t really matter how he found out, did it? “I don’t want to be one of those people that puts their bullshit on kids and makes them carry it,” she sighed. “And I don’t...know what I’m going to do about any of this. If I can do anything about this. I went through the books I had, I tried looking through some others and--” Nothing. She slumped back in her corner on the day bed and covered her face with a pillow. Then, feeling ridiculous, tossed it away and settled for pulling her legs up and hiding that way. “You should probably grab some air freshener from the kitchenette,” she mumbled.

Eddie had never seen Morgan look so small before. In the past, her petite frame always seemed like an act of misdirection. When she spoke, the weight of her words commanded attention. Her laugh charmed a sigh of relief from the world around her. Out of everyone Eddie knew, he couldn’t think of a single person he respected more than Morgan Beck. Seeing her this way didn’t change that, it only proved the severity of the situation. It was time for him to start repaying her for everything she’d done.

“Well, this kid would rather help carry your bullshit than let it bury you,” Eddie replied as he took her advice and walked over to the kitchenette. He wanted to tell her he didn’t mind the smell but lying wouldn’t make the situation any better. Eddie pulled the trigger and a clean-linen scented mist mingled with the smell of decay. It would have to do.

“So,” he continued, moving closer to her before taking a seat beside her on the day bed. “Catch me up to speed, I only know the bare minimum.” Eddie didn’t think being told the details would lead them to a solution but that wasn’t why he came here. Other, more capable people would help Morgan in that area. What he wanted to accomplish was simply to make sure she knew she wasn’t alone. Maybe it wasn’t as glamorous of a purpose as finding a cure but believed it to be important all the same. “You woke up and, out of nowhere, you were alive again?”

Morgan grimaced at the hiss of the air freshener. She had suggested it, but smelling it and knowing how little good it would do was another matter. “You might wanna go a little heavier on that,” she deadpanned. “I’m almost a week into this, and whatever is fucking with me the slow, painful way, has a year’s worth of decay to catch up on.” She let her head rest against the wall and closed her eyes. All her physical senses back, and she still had to endure this latest cosmic ‘fuck you’ in complete sobriety. No rest. No relief.

She curled up a little tighter as he sat by her, as if her death-sickness was contagious. “Uh, if you haven’t noticed, I apparently don’t need to be buried. I can decompose all by myself.” She worked his question thoughtfully, trying to find the right words for it. How stupidly excited she was for so little, and how suddenly it was a little too much.

“I wasn’t alive,” she said at last, face still buried in her knees. “No heartbeat. No warmth. I could just...feel again. The bedsheets were cold. And soft. Weirdly soft. And my girlfriend was soft and cold but different, and the carpet was...coarse and thick and plushy...it was like I’d never been on this planet before. Everything was new. The words I had weren’t enough to describe it. I spent a whole two days convincing myself that whatever was happening it wouldn’t be so bad. Some weird town thing we’d have to reverse. But then I got hurt and it took me forever to heal. And then I didn’t heal at all. And I ate, I had so many brains, but my body was shriveling up, turning color, smelling, all that gross stuff that’s not supposed to happen to me if I do everything I’m supposed to. And do you know how it feels, literally feels, to have your body dry up? Or to--” One of the flies landed on her cheek and began exploring the new terrain. Morgan raised her hand and let it, waiting til it reached her hairline where she wasn’t so sensitive. She slapped it dead and left the goo where it was. “Be food for the bugs? Because that’s something I know now. Can’t wait for everything else to go, or for whatever’s keeping me wide awake for the whole horror science show to...decide what comes next.” She didn’t want to die. She wouldn’t be this frustrated if she did. But being nothing but wobbling bones and leather and dust frightened her just as much as oblivion. She didn’t know which she was really supposed to hope for.

Eddie listened as Morgan described the past few days. At first, her condition sounded like a gift. He remembered when she told him how badly she missed being able to experience the world as a living participant. No heartbeat or warmth meant certain sensations were still off limits but, other than that, he imagined those first two days felt pretty damn good. A false sense of security, obviously. He hated this.

Morgan swatted the fly and Eddie’s lips pursed in response. “Hold on,” he announced, standing up to make his second trip to the kitchenette. Facing the counter, he tore a few paper towels from the roll and wetted them in the sink. After wringing out the extra moisture, he carried them back to the daybed and took his seat again. Eddie tentatively reached out and, as gently as he could, washed away the insect’s remains. When his hand lowered, he kept the damp wad of paper in his hand in case another decided to land on her.

“Morgan, do you remember what you said to me about hope, that it’s a choice?” Eddie asked. Of all people, he knew how unqualified he was to preach the importance of hope but he wanted to try. “You also said that to stop believing in the future is to stop believing in existing.” Even if he lacked the experience to explain the importance of looking for good, he knew Morgan didn’t. He could use her own words to help him navigate the situation.

“This isn’t the first time life’s given you its worst,” he said. “Obviously, you can roll over and accept hopelessness. Or, you can do what you do best and tell death to go fuck itself.”

“Yeah, this is an anomaly—so are you. Nothing is written, right? Don’t give up. Not yet.”

There were a lot of words Morgan had spoken in the past that haunted her now. Magic is going to save my life. All I need is to break the curse. Hope is a fucking choice. What was there to hope for when the only thing on the horizon was another shade of suffering? How could she continue believing in existence, when existence seemed to be shutting her down at both ends? Was she supposed to bone-jangle her way downstairs to breakfast every morning? Or be carried on a stretcher in so many pieces, to and fro? Or would the magic take away her mind too, and this was simply a farewell tour she didn’t have a say in? Morgan didn’t see much hope in that. What had all her suffering been for? A year of half a life, and then this?

Morgan scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and said nothing for a while. Then, just peeking over her knees with dead, swollen eyes, she said, “Death comes for everyone, Eddie. That’s what gives life balance. We end. We go...somewhere. Home. Even if it’s not until this planet implodes or gets struck by the right meteor. Everything is change. To stay stuck one way, that’s the biggest waste of what we have.” She shrugged. “But...stars in the fucking sky above…” Her voice drowned with held-in tears. “I couldn’t find anything about this, Eddie. I haven’t figured it out. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to imagine to hope for. And I’m so tired...I am so tired of climbing back up, of fighting the universe for one scrap of good. And right now...I almost wish I could give up. But I don’t even know what to give up on. All of it looks like giving up something right now.”

Eddie knew death came for everyone. Until recently, he clung to that fact with everything he had. Even now, his grip was only a little looser than before. Death, to him, sounded like a release. Morgan was tired, it made sense for her to want rest. A few months ago, Eddie might not have argued that it wasn’t the answer, but now he knew what loss felt like. If Morgan died, a piece of him would too. Ironically enough, the more he cared about someone, the more selfish he became.

“Lots of things that happen in this town don’t have books written about them. That doesn’t make them impossible to handle,” Eddie insisted before adopting a softer tone. “I know you’re tired. If anyone deserves rest, it’s you, and you’ll get it.” Eddie reached out with his free-hand and took hold of Morgan’s. “Like you said, death’s inevitable but it doesn’t have you yet. As long as you’re here, there’s a chance for things to get better. And—and, no, I don’t know what your pain feels like, but I know my own. Most days, getting out of bed is a fucking triumph, but I still do it; for you. For Alfie, for Bex, and Kyle, and everyone else who’s been kind to me. I don’t know what I’m hoping for exactly. Maybe I’m just hoping for hope.” Eddie paused before speaking again. “Think about that scrap of good, are you ready to let it go?” He meant the question genuinely and without pretense. “If you do, there’s no getting it back. No more garden, no more Deirdre, no more laughter, no more anything. Is there really nothing left worth fighting for?”

Morgan hid her face again as it crumpled with grief. But she let Eddie take her hand, and though her fingers were stiff, she squeezed his back. Mina had told her once that life was a curse of its own; Morgan had brushed it off as a flash of witty irony. But it came to her again now: was this living? Was crawling out of one hole only to fall into another what life looked like from the inside? She couldn’t think of a person she knew who wasn’t crawling out of something right now. The difference was only in terms of degree. When she was alive, human-alive, she had coached herself into accepting happiness as a stolen gift, a thing she would be caught red handed with and have to surrender. It would all be okay, because when the curse was over, she could have as much as she wanted and more. She could chase down every bright thing and know that however it turned out, it was fair as anything on earth could be, and she had given her best. It made her dry organs shrivel just a little more to suppose this was the way of all things, not just a thirty-nine-year blip of existence.

And yet there was no better choice before her. It was just like Eddie said. If she tried to will this bullshit to the end, she would be releasing everything she’d fought so hard to hold. And if she surrendered to the thought of an eternity of true living death, it would be much the same. The world struck no natural balance in the course of a life, and in White Crest it arched toward cruelty, and yet there had to be another horizon. These scraps of good had to be enough because they were all she had. And maybe In another week, a month, in a decade, things would be different. Magic always had a key to unlock itself. What was done might someday be undone. (Might, and with so little evidence to make it feel like anything at all.) She tried to imagine it, coming out of a stupor like sleeping beauty, kissing her own skin for holding its shape and keeping her here just enough to try and make a better balance in the world, kissing Deirdre, and the cats, and having every fresh memory from those early days to guide her toward contentment. She couldn’t hold the image very long. It burnt in flashes. Somehow, it hurt worse than either path of doom she saw. Morgan nodded and let hope in and sobbed, breaking with the weight of it.

She tried to muffle her cries with her other hand, but it was no good. She shook and soaked her sweatpants with her tears and turned Eddie’s fingers red with her grip. At last she noticed the change in the feel of his hand and let go. “Sorry. I’m...s-sorry. Um.” She wiped her face on her sleeve and tried to look at the boy. “You know you’re...a really kind, brave kid, right? And that’s why we all want you to be more careful? Because we need more of that around. We need you. And I wish you could be there for yourself like you are for me right now.” She heaved another dry sob and scrubbed her face again fighting for composure. It was always harder to show up for yourself, especially when you were alone.

“I’m not--uh, this isn’t because--” She gestured vaguely at the mess of herself. “I mean, you’re right. You’re right and I know you’re right and it’s just--” Kind of wish you weren’t. It would be so much easier if you weren’t. She shook her head, abandoning words in favor of meeting his gaze. What she didn’t know how to say was this: it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, holding out for hope and hoping for its own sake. But Eddie knew dark almost as well as she did; maybe he would know this just by looking at her, too.

When Morgan broke down, Eddie knew he’d struck a chord. He could only hope that meant something good and that he hadn’t made things worse. Her grip on his hand tightened exponentially but the pain barely registered. All he could focus on were her anguished sobs—he wondered how long she’d been trying to swallow them. Despair like that didn’t come to term in an instant. It laid in wait, brewing and accumulating more grievances both big and small until it could no longer be contained. If he had managed to help her rethink the release of death, maybe a release like this one would suffice for now.

“No, no, it’s—” Eddie’s dismissal of Morgan’s apology cut off when she spoke again. His expression slowly relaxed, brows raising in gentle surprise. A few people had called him brave now but he never seemed to get used to it. After spending so much of his life in hiding, he didn’t think he deserved that kind of praise. At the same time, he wanted to believe he was wrong. Eddie smiled sadly at Morgan. “One day, maybe. It’s a work in progress.” He didn’t know what to say about being needed but he tucked the compliment away somewhere he could find it when he lost sight of what mattered.

What she said—or, more accurately, didn’t say next resonated exactly as she expected it to. “It feels impossible, doesn’t it?” Eddie asked before his smile returned. “Kind of like when you’ve been in the dark for so long your eyes adjust to it and suddenly a light comes on and blinds you.” He gingerly rubbed the back of her with his thumb. “We’ll adjust to the light the same as we did the dark, just gotta give ourselves some time.”

Morgan nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Slowly, she unfolded her legs. There wasn’t much of her left to hide, and the second fly was already crawling along her skull. She thought about what Eddie said when it came to the light and the dark, and wondered how long it would take for her vision to get screwed up from so much back and forth that everything hurt. It would have to be a long time from now, wouldn’t it? She would have to make it that way.

After what seemed like a long time she said, “You know, for someone who lumped in hope with the evils of the world, you’re getting pretty good at being hope’s cheerleader.” Then after another silence, “You don’t have to stay with me though, okay? I’m not gonna go off the deep end, or do anything I shouldn’t. Deirdre will probably be home soon anyway.” Time had a way of moving funny when you were miserable, something Eddie was probably familiar with too, but the last thing she wanted him to carry was more worry about her. She nearly reached over to pat his arm, reassure him in a performance of her good ol’ self, but she remembered how she looked and let it fall empty instead. “Thank you though,” she said quietly.

Since Eddie last gave Morgan his opinion on hope, a lot had changed—was still changing. He didn’t find comfort in misery as much as he used to. Now, he understood happiness took a little elbow grease and that brains need to be re-wired every now and then. Some days were harder than others, he didn’t always believe his positive affirmations, but he was trying. For himself and everyone he loved, he was trying.

“When you’re wrong, you’re wrong,” he said with a shrug. “I thought I might as well give your outlook a shot. It’s going pretty okay so far.”

When Morgan next spoke, Eddie considered her carefully. He didn’t want to linger if she needed time to decompress but he also didn’t want to risk leaving too soon. Finally, he said, “Okay, if you’re sure.” Eddie stood up and took a deep breath before turning to face her. “If you need anything, anything at all, call me. I don’t care what time it is. I know it sucks to feel like you’re weighing people down but I love you, Morgan. I like helping you.” He leaned down to wrap his arms loosely around her. “Don’t ever feel like a burden.”

“I love you too, Eddie,” Morgan whispered. “Go on now. Be good and I’ll see you soon.”

Eddie straightened up and walked over to the kitchenette to toss the wadded up paper towels in the trash. Afterwards, he headed for the door. “See you soon,” he said, glancing back at Morgan before taking his leave.

#keeping vigil #wr eddie #wr chatzy #wr eddie chatzy

[kingbennyboyyy]

benny’s rwby rewrite: team RWBY redesigns

hello again! in honor of me actually getting some schoolwork done and subsequently having the time to rewatch the first volume of rwby for writing purposes, i thought i’d get out of the way some design notes that have been living in my head for the main girls. with how important colors and motif are in rwby as a whole, i thought that a little more care could be taken. i’ll go into the volume 1 designs most of all, and outline any consistent changes within the character’s notes. i’ll also go into why i’m changing what i’m changing.

with that, my thoughts as always will be under the cut!

ruby rose:

we’re starting strong with ruby’s design, and god do i have some strong opinions about this girl. let it be known that i actually like ruby’s clothing design: i think i’ve mentioned that i think the contrast of a fluffy petticoat and platform boots with a giant scythe and killing monsters is really interesting. that being said, there’s some fucked up geneology happening in the rose-xiao long family.

a big issue i have with ruby and her family members is the fact that despite the fact that yang and ruby are related through taiyang, neither of them have inherited his skintone. you’d think that with how literally their phenotypes are taken, that ruby wouldn’t be white as snow. with how low-contrast ruby’s design is as a whole, i think that her having darker skin would be welcome. adding the bonus of holy shit, a dark-skinned mixed girl is the protagonist makes me really biased toward this. complexion-wise, she should be somewhere between summer and taiyang, but still visibly darker than someone like weiss.

her hair being naturally black and red is perfectly okay for me. i think that it looks nice, and there’s a lot she can do with it. i can’t really complain about it being in her eyes after gushing over her combat cupcake skirt.

what i can complain about is her lack of pockets. like, she only has one little pouch to carry god knows what in. is she really expecting to be able to carry all of her ammunition in that one little pouch? god no. swap out the pouch for some kind of bag, or better yet, a bandolier of some kind to serve the same asymmetrical purpose that dingy little pocket does.  

finally, her eyes. in my ideal world, i would have done something a bit more dramatic to set ruby’s white eyes apart from, say, neo’s grey eyes. maybe making her pupils lighter than black, grey, or even just white. the animators made blake’s pupils smaller to set her apart, why not give ruby’s eyes a little something-something? also, with the contrasting color of her design being either a silver or a white, having her silver eyes be one of the lightest elements of her design is really aesthetically pleasing to me.

weiss schnee:

i’m going to be completely real here, i like weiss’ original design a lot. they really leaned into the weiss part of her: the girl’s white. she’s white as fuck. her dress is white, her little bolero is white, her shoes are white, it’s all white, with just a touch of icy pastel blue to make her feel more cold than sterile. i love it. i’m also a big fan of the other, brighter colors in her design, but i think the introduction of red should have waited a bit longer.

in her introductory outfit, the inside of her bell-sleeved bolero is this blinding, fully-saturated red that is really distracting to the eye. i’d replace this with a blue, sort of like the color of her eyes, and do the same with that little doily piece at the dip in her neckline. i also think that she should have been kept much more symmetrical, the most symmetrical of any of the cast. move that side pony to the center back of her head, put one of those little pouches on each hip, and have her stow her weapon across her back.

also, this isn’t even necessarily a problem, but i think weiss would have benefited from a much more conservative shoe. knowing the schnee family, i don’t they would have found it appropriate for an heiress to be running around in platform heels. i think that pointe shoes, or something familiar, would be really interesting, especially in conjunction with her ballerina aesthetic. her scar can definitely stay as it is; i think it’s both subtle enough to break her symmetry nicely, but also symbolically strong.

also, of all of the characters to give a dramatic haircut, it should have been fucking weiss. i’m all for bi bob blake, but imagine the dramatic potential of weiss just chopping straight through that shit to declare herself independent from her shitdick father. also, i think her hair should be naturally brown, like jacques’ is. the narravite element of her having to tirelessly keep up appearances is really good to me.

blake belladonna:

blake lives in a weird space for me. on the one hand, i would love for her to have dark skin as well, to sort of even the scale in terms of complexion. however, having a dark-skinned woman with literal animal ears being kind of problematic isn’t lost on me. in my opinion, the issue lies in blake being uniquely dark-skinned: in conjunction with ruby and yang, i think that her being dark-skinned is a little less uncomfortable. i think it would also remedy the problem of most of the dark-skinned characters in rwby being either dead or evil, so we’ll make her a bit tan.

with that out of the way, i also really like blake’s design, but she could certainly use some work. she, like many of the other team members, are pretty low-contrast save for the white tube-top thing she had going on. i think the white in her design should be toned down, either to a grey or a purple color. i also think that her arm situation needs to either be long gloves or wrapped-up straps, not both. that motif isn’t anywhere else in her design, and most of the lines are clean and smooth, not all jaggedy like the straps are. keep those bracelets on her upper arms, and make those gloves of hers marksman’s gloves. 

i also think that she should wear thigh-high boots. this isn’t just my bias showing; something about the way those boot cuffs cut off the line of her legs is just really irritating to me. have them attach to that swooping vest situation, this is anime, it doesn’t matter how she’d get into them logistically. also, that gradient situation on her is just terrible. having seen a lot of art of her without that gradient has converted me, her design is just so much more clean-looking without it, and blake really reads as someone who should have a much less complex design, opting for clean lines and nice shapes instead of the frills and textures someone like weiss has.

yang xiao long:

i’m gonna start with something i’ve already mentioned: yang should be brown. the fact that she not nary a fucking hair of melanin from her dad is a crime. ideal yang is brown, but so is her hair to start out. i had the idea of rather than her hair being naturally yellow, starting out brown and being bleached in streaks by the heat of her semblance, and as the show goes on, it gets more and more yellow, and eventually even platinum blonde.

with that out of the way, i do not like yang’s initial design. the puffed sleeves don’t make any sense with her as a character, that weird train situation she has on her belt is an affront to god, and why is she just wearing spats? i think that of all of the people to tear, or hell, burn the sleeves clean off of her jacket, it’d be yang. yang is a fuck sleeves kind of girl. she’s a “i flexed the sleeves clean off of my shit” kind of girl. also, she’s gonna wear a tube top and hot pants, but she’s gonna button up her jacket? fucking what? unbutton that shit. she’s a lesbian vest kinda girl. she can keep her little scarf, and her tube top is a look, so it can stay.

i actually really like yang’s boots. i think they compliment her really nicely, and she’s enough of a brute fighting style-wise to warrant those chunky monsters. the mismatched socks and little scarf are cute touches too, but i think the scarf should start out red. the purple can come in later. addressing the spats (bike shorts? spanx?) situation, there’s a very simple solution: give yang jorts. not even a fucking joke, give the woman jorts. look me in the eye and tell me that yang “t-shirt as a bandana” xiao long would not wear jorts. you can’t. it’s impossible. she would wear neon yellow jorts with that ungodly belt situation and i will not compromise this. the overalls she wears in atlas? also jorts. mistral? black, sure, but fucking jorts nonetheless. jort xiao long will outlive me, so help me god.

... i got a bit carried away there, but i hope you enjoyed my thoughts! i may at some point get around to actually drawing these redesigns, so keep an eye out for that in future!

#benny's rwby rewrite #team rwby #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #characters

[dudeandduchess]

Kyōjurō x F!S/O: Bath Time (Fluff, Modern AU, Slight NSFW Scenario):

Summary: Kyō comes home from a long day at work, only to find out that his wife is having an even worse time— to the point where she had to take her work home with her. He then takes it upon himself to get her to relax— in one of the sweetest ways possible. Note: It’s time for some Kyō loving. Enjoy, bbys. 💜✨ Words: 2,365

***

Warnings: Heartwarming Fluff, Suggestive/Adult Themes

To say that Kyōjurō was tired was the understatement of the century. He could barely manage to keep placing one foot in front of the other, as he hiked up all the way to the third floor of his apartment building— since he couldn’t find it in himself to wait for the elevator to come down from the seventh floor.

All he wanted to do was fall face-first onto the sofa, even though his wife would most likely chew him out for ‘rubbing all of the outside world’s filth on her new couch’. He didn’t get it as well, but he just went along with what she wanted, because a happy wife meant a happy life.

However, when he opened the door to their home, he wasn’t greeted by the sight of (Y/n) peeking out from the kitchen door to greet him with a warm smile; nor was he hit by the scent of whatever she had been cooking for dinner.

Instead, all he could hear was her feet padding against the hardwood floor, somewhere inside the house, before being followed by a snappy sentence that had his eyes widening a fraction of an inch in surprise.

He knew that his wife was cutthroat and blunt, but he didn’t know just how greatly that quality of hers was used when she talked to others.

And so, he took his shoes off and wordlessly listened to his wife prattle off about words and terms that made no sense to him. He understood what acquisition costs, stocks, and capital assets meant on their own— but with the way (Y/n) used them, he might as well have been listening to a foreign language.

“I know that it’s going to be difficult to get the major shareholders to approve of our plan, but we have to try. Highlight the long-term benefits for it; it will be expensive, but we can guarantee them that there won’t be any major losses with our proposal.” (Y/n) sighed heavily, all while running a hand through her hair and tugging slightly at the roots to reign her temper in.

She wanted nothing more than to already drop the call, but doing so would just prolong the conversation with her secretary that needed to be had— so she endured explaining her business proposal to the younger woman… for the third time.

And when only silence answered her words, (Y/n) sighed once more and asked, “Are you still with me, Reiko?”

“Ah, yes, yes, Rengoku-san. I’m still here.” A quiet moan tacked off her secretary’s words, which made (Y/n) roll her eyes in mild disgust. Mild, as she had subjected other people to such noises before— all because her husband was an insatiable lothario of a man.

“I’ll get started on making the graphs, then forward them to you when I’m done. Make sure to organize them neatly into a presentation.” And with that, (Y/n) immediately dropped the call, since she had heard the telltale sound of kissing in the background.

Before she could set her phone down on top of her work table— which she had pushed to one corner of hers and Kyōjurō’s bedroom, two knocks sounded on the door, which was followed by the quiet opening of the door.

Kyōjurō gingerly peeked into the room— checking to see if his wife was still busy— and when he saw that she wasn’t preoccupied anymore, he stepped into the room and shot her a small smile. “I’m home.”

(Y/n) returned her husband’s smile with a tired one, then closed the distance between them to wrap her arms around his middle and to also press her face against the crook of his neck. “Welcome home, Kyō.”

For all of the scathing words he’d heard earlier, it was a surprise for Kyōjurō to suddenly see her be docile. Still, he wasn’t complaining at all, as he pulled his wife closer and pressed a kiss to her temple. “You sounded really frustrated. Do you want to talk about it?”

The young woman shook her head idly, before curling her hands around the back of Kyōjurō’s suit jacket to get him to stay where he was; not that he had even made a move to indicate moving away from her. “It’ll just give me a headache if I had to explain it again. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry, baby. You didn’t do anything wrong,” He answered softly, then lifted a hand up to pat the top of her head affectionately. “How about I run you a hot bath, while I make dinner for tonight? Would you like that?”

“I’d love the bath, but…” (Y/n) paused, considering the weight of her words greatly, and then saying, “How about we just order something from the ramen shop down the street?”

Instead of getting offended though, the blond merely chuckled at his wife’s words, before nodding. “If you didn’t want to have my charred omelettes for dinner, you should have just said so.”

“Charred omelettes. Senjurō would cry if he ever heard you say that.”

“Other people purposely char meat for the smoky flavor, it just so happened that I char eggs for the same reason.” He was just messing with her, so he really couldn’t help but burst out laughing at his own harebrained excuse as to why he always managed to burn even the simplest of dishes.

(Y/n) snorted at that, but hesitantly pulled away from her husband to press a kiss against his lips. “Okay, whatever you say, Kyōjurō.”

“I know that you’re being really condescending right now, but I’ll let it pass— just because I love you so much.” With that, he gave her one last smile, then stepped away from her. “I’ll go and run the bath for you.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course, anything for my wife.”

***

(Y/n) had never been one to be stumped by anything but, for once, the financial reports that she had been reading and making into graphs made no sense. It wasn’t that they were wrong, but it was simply her mind that didn’t want to cooperate.

So, she was left cupping her face in her hands in front of her computer, as she willed herself to hold on— only until Kyōjurō came back to tell her that the bath was ready.

He had already been gone for a good while; around half an hour or so, which was weird, as it usually only took him ten minutes to set the bath up. So, she was just about to get up from her chair, when the bedroom door swung open and a slightly disheveled-looking Kyōjurō walked into the room.

“Did you wrestle a bear while you were out there? What happened?” (Y/n) asked, almost frantic as she took in the dirt stains on the front of her husband’s white button down. He had taken his jacket off, and had even taken to loosening his tie and rolling his sleeves up to his elbows— and while she couldn’t deny that he looked absolutely mouthwatering like that, she was also curious as to what had made him get to that state.

“Don’t mind that, it’s time for your bath,” Kyōjurō answered with a grin; one that had (Y/n) smiling the slightest bit— all because she couldn’t help the reaction. Seeing him look so happy like that made her smile; always.

And with one last glance at the graph she had been working on, she got out of her chair and placed her hand into her husband’s outstretched one. He then led her down the hall— which had become surprisingly dim, as opposed to the usual brightness he preferred— and turned the corner to get to the door that led to the bathroom.

“Why is it so dark out here?” She asked aloud, all while admiring the broad set of her husband’s shoulders as he continued leading her towards the bathroom.

“I was trying to set the mood.”

“By turning off most of the lights?”

“I had to make do with what we had,” He answered a little too happily, as he turned on his heel and pulled (Y/n) up into a kiss— cupping her cheeks with both hands and letting his hands glide down to her shoulders to knead the tense muscles there.

“I can strip by myself, Kyō,” The young woman answered with a breathless giggle, especially when the aforementioned man trailed his lips down to her neck and began lavishing the smooth column with open-mouthed kisses. However, just as she was about to move to slip her shirt over her head, Kyōjurō’s hands immediately grabbed hers by the wrists and pressed her hands up against his chest.

“Just let me take care of you.”

And with those words hanging in the air, (Y/n) gave in and let him strip her of her clothes. He was surprisingly gentle and sensuous as he took everything off of her; especially when it came to her underwear.

Kyōjurō wasn’t a very patient person in bed, so he almost always ended up just pushing her bra upwards before sucking on a nipple; or just ripping her underwear off of her before proceeding to eat her out until she was nothing more than a shaking mass of limbs. So to feel him actually take his time, even reverently gliding his fingertips against her skin, threw her for a loop— in the most pleasurable way possible.

“Come on, baby… before I end up fucking you out here,” He whispered with one last press of his lips against her own, before taking her right hand into his own and using his left one to open the bathroom door.

Immediately, (Y/n) was hit by the scent of her favorite candles— the ones that were so expensive that she had taken to hiding them at the very back of the kitchen cupboards so that she wouldn’t be tempted to burn through them quickly. And, instead of the normal fluorescent white color that bathed the bathroom, a warm yellow glow illuminated the small space.

When she looked around, she saw a couple of tea candles smattered here and there to help ‘set the mood’ as Kyōjurō had mentioned before, and right at the foot of the tub sat her half-diminished scented candle; flickering away as it bathed the room with its calming scent.

“You like it?” (Y/n) looked up at her husband at that; her eyes glossy with unshed tears, as she nodded idly.

“Thank you.”

In response, the blond closed the distance between them and pressed a tender kiss against her forehead— so at odds with the sensuous kisses that he had given her while he was stripping her; but heartwarming all the same.

Then gently, he tugged her forward and helped her get into the tub— and once she was submerged in the warm, bubbly bath, he moved to sit down on the floor. Only, (Y/n) tugged on his wrist before he could sit. “Join me?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” With that, Kyōjurō made quick work of his own clothes and left them where they fell on the floor. He would have quite a bit to clean up later, but he didn’t really mind.

“Oh, someone’s happy,” (Y/n) teased with a saucy lick of her lips, as she eyed his steadily rising erection. She then scooted forward to make way for her husband in the tub, and leaned back against his chest when he was fully settled in with his legs resting on either side of her.

She could feel his stiff cock pressing against her back, but she said nothing more as she felt his arms wrap around her middle— all while he leaned down to pepper her right shoulder with light, fluttering kisses.

“Now, do you want to tell me what has you so stressed out at work?”

(Y/n) sighed at that, but let her head loll to the side as Kyōjurō kept trailing kisses up the side of her neck. She figured that it would do no harm in telling him what her proposal was about, and that he might be able to help her with it. “We’re trying to get a new client to sign with us, so that we can build a ‘dreamland’ amusement park. It’s where kids, and even adults, can go to fulfill their dreams— even if it’s for just a few hours.”

“But?”

“But convincing the board of directors will be difficult, because most of them are soulless bastards. So we did a survey with a few hundred people to see if most of them would like to experience something like that— to fulfill a childhood whim that they couldn’t.”

“And how did your survey end up?”

“People are open to the idea of it, but some answers said things like to marry their first love; and it’s just frustrating because that’s about two percent of the data down the drain.”

Kyōjurō held her tighter at that, and then pressed a comforting kiss against her cheek, before answering, “Well, those are valid dreams too. I had the same dream; to marry a woman that was so beautiful and perfect for me, that I wouldn’t even be able to think of living the rest of my life without her beside me.”

(Y/n)’s eyebrows quirked up at that, as she tried her best to give her husband a narrow-eyed stare over her shoulder. “Excuse me?”

He only laughed at that; such a warm and hearty chuckle that didn’t fail to make butterflies flutter around in the young woman’s stomach. And when his laughter had died down into a playful smile, he placed his lips right by her ear and whispered, “I did manage to fulfill that dream, though… when you married me."

And with a playful nip at her ear, he added, "My greatest dream was to marry you, (Y/n).”

#kyoujurou rengoku x reader #rengoku kyojuro x reader #kyojuro rengoku x reader #kyojuro x reader #kyojuro rengoku #rengoku kyojuro #kyojurou x reader #demon slayer kyojuro #kimetsu no yaiba kyojuro #rengoku kyoujurou x reader #rengoku kyoujurou #demon slayer rengoku #kny rengoku #demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kny x reader #demon slayer fanfic #kny fanfiction #kny fanfic #jen writes

[bansept]

Protector

Part 2

Now this one... It’s a bit difficult to make a relationship believable, honest, not rushed and beautiful in 5 parts, but it’s the challenge! I won’t spoil anything, but I like writing fluff, and this fic is the perfect excuse for an overdose of it hehe

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

If the outside of the house had seemed particularly old and invaded by plants, the inside of the small cottage-like house was modern, with touches of colors everywhere. Old and new objects shared the shelves, silly magazines and philosophical books scattered on the small coffee table in the main room. The entrance, the living room and what seemed to be the start of the kitchen were harboring persian carpets, intricate and deep shapes almost hypnotic.

Nature was not just an outside thing, with a pot of roses on a dresser, some small ferns hiding an old plushie, and more box trees scattered here and there, next to modern lamps.

It felt homey, comfortable. Lived-in. Nothing like Ichigo’s sad apartment, that he never really cared to decorate.

Orihime Inoue sat on her grey sofa, the soft red and white check plaid to her side, and patiently waited for Ichigo to sit down. The young man certainly didn’t make her wait, sitting in what seemed to be a Chesterfield-like armchair. The cushions were a great help soothing his back pains.

“Alright, um, Miss Inoue I only need you to tell me what happened at the bakery. Or anything you can remember.” He clicked his pen to life, taking a notepad from his vest pocket. Orihime seemed to frown a little.

“I thought you said you had already read a report on this?”

“I did, but only the official parts : who were the victims, what age they were and what were the damages. Knowing what you saw could greatly help my colleagues on the field.”

She nodded in understanding, hair bouncing on her shoulders, before getting more comfortable in her seat.

“I was doing my normal and daily routine : waking up, washing up and going for a walk before heading to the bakery. Not many people are there at the time, which was around 7 if I’m not mistaken.” Ichigo nodded, confirming silently.

“I arrived and waited behind Miss Parker. We were chatting and it was her turn before I heard a scream behind me. I turned around and ran to the place I thought it came from, but before I could do anything… It, it exploded. And the owners died, Miss Parker is wounded, I heard.” Her grey eyes blinked rapidly, as if to stop tears from falling. Ichigo awkwardly shifted, placing his pen and notepad back in his pocket before managing to get a clean and unused tissue to her.

“I’m sorry you had to go through all that, Miss Inoue. If it can make you feel better, I know none of the injured are in critical conditions now. Even older customers like Miss Parker will be fine.”

Orihime wiped a tiny tear off her eyes quickly, and Ichigo remarked with awe she was not wearing any kind of makeup. This woman was beautiful like that while doing nothing with her face… He cleared his throat to see her nod, taking a shaky breath before smiling.

“I hope the injured will be alright. And that the culprit will be caught.”

The steel in her eyes hardened, sending a chill down Ichigo’s spine. He had seen harsh looks, murderous ones and angered glares, but Orihime’s was by far the scariest. The man peeled his hand away.

“We will work hard for it. And thanks to your testimony, the investigation will be easier. Hopefully.”

She chuckled at the last word, and by all the goddamn beautiful things on this earth, he swore he was hearing some kind of divine bells. Like an angelic sound coming to bless his ears. He was not even going to think about how her face had crunched up at her laughter. The policeman scratched the back of his head quickly, nervously looking around.

He heard her stand up and tried his best not to follow her moving around in her dark jeans and pink oversized shirt.

“Would you like anything to drink? Or eat?”

Ichigo managed to not choke on air at the ask, because then his fear of being viewed as unprofessional would have come true.

“Um, yes, some coffee please.” His voice was shaky and he internally hit himself for being stupidly crushing over the girl he didn’t know anything about. Except that she was the victim of an explosion that had occured yesterday morning and he was there for WORK.

“Alright. Make yourself comfortable, Mister Officer.”

And now, Ichigo turned crimson, heart going too fast, but thankfully she was out of sight, he told himself, not knowing she was the same kind of absolutely wrecked by the other.

.

.

.

After the first talk in Orihime’s wonderful home, Ichigo had hardly let her out of his sight, only leaving her side to go to his apartment and gather some new clothes. Because, yes, as weird and delightful as it was, he was guarding the young woman day and night now.

Which meant being near her as long as the investigation was rolling.

According to Orihime, nothing or no one was running after her in particular : she didn’t have any enemies, nor was her work important enough for someone to physically act against her. In front of her beautiful grey eyes, Ichigo had decided to trust her, the honesty and sincerity shining bright through him.

Still, it didn’t explain why certain things happened.

One morning, Orihime found one of her shoes, who was always tidily placed near the other in the entrance hall, on a bookshelf, dust slowly growing on it. She had giggled a “silly me”, but the young police officer frowned : there was nothing silly about that.

Another time, a vase she loved had been buried in her garden, the only way to see where it was hidden being the stray cat that often visited the normally calm house scratching the ground curiously.

“You’re thinking too much of it! Really, sometimes I don’t remember where or why I put stuff in weird places.”

Her words did little to soothe him, and only her gentle hand on his arm got his mind out of his working gutter. Ichigo felt his skin react before his muscles, his face turning vermillion and his arm longing for more. More of her, more of those innocent stares and vibrant smiles.

The orange-haired scratched the back of his neck rapidly, scanning the room quickly before nodding, a timid smile on his lips.

“I-I guess…”

Orihime smiled again, even brighter, and turned her head to look at the clock, the auburn mass of hair sending a wave of mouth watering strawberry shampoo. Early afternoon, the sun was shining and that meant one thing to her : gardening.

He suspected her to work her actual job at night, when he was sleeping deeply in his own room, so Ichigo could not interrupt her, or sneak a look at confidential documents. Alone in her room, one light shining on the young woman while her eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, the time when her hyperactive brain could entirely focus on whatever an astrophysicist worked on.

The two walked out of the house, one with baggy clothes she wasn’t afraid to ruin with grass, dirt and others, while the other kept his pastel yellow t-shirt with his jeans, the best Ichigo could do against the hot weather of the late summer. Orihime immediately tended to the flowers, carefully handling them, talking to them like she would to old friends, making jokes to Ichigo. It was as if the two were friends since childhood, the discussions so easy it would scare the man.

“Do you believe in other lives, Officer Kurosaki?”

“Hm? Oh, well, I’m not much in religion, so I would say no.”

Her face shivered with a giggle, batting her hand as if to call him silly. He tilted his own head to the side.

“I meant… Other lifetimes. I used to not really think about it, but, since a few months ago, after reuniting with a long-lost friend, I started believing. And now..” Her eyes batted to the sides, probably looking for her gardening kit.

“Now… I start to believe that you and I might just have known each other in another life. A simpler one, with no-one to hurt good people while young and old people enjoy their lives.”

Head down, fingers playing with the stem of a voluminous pink rose. The sun radiating on their backs, hiding their reddening selves.

How much either one of them wished for that.

#bleach #ichihime #ichihime fanfiction #ichihime writing #ichihime headcanon #ichigo x orihime #protector #part 2

[dannyphannypack]

DP/PJO Crossover

Hello losers and welcome back to Taylor Writes A Teaser and Later Deletes the Entire Thing Because She Decides She Doesn’t Like it but She Wants to Put the Teaser Somewhere Else Where Her Grimy Little Hands Can’t Reach it so the Teaser Isn’t Lost Forever to Time! The Series. Today I’ve got a prologue for my upcoming fic, The Phantom Recollection. Enjoy!

“Woah.”

Daniel Fenton, newly fifteen, stood outside the Washington Square Park in lower Manhattan with a cardboard box overflowing with weaponry. He stood in front of the park’s Roman triumphal arch, where two statues of George Washington stared down at him. Behind the president on either side were two other people Danny didn’t recognize.

Jasmine, Danny’s older sister by two years, came up behind him toting another cardboard box labelled ‘Samples.’ She nodded toward the eastern pier. “That’s George Washington as Commander-in-Chief, Accompanied by Fame and Valor.” Jazz recited the words as if reading straight out of a textbook. “And the other one is George Washington as President, Accompanied by Wisdom and Justice.”

“Ah, yes,” Danny said as he adjusted his box. Guns were heavy. “My four favorite people: Fame, Valor, Wisdom, and Justice. Love those guys.”

Jazz nudged him with her shoulder and continued through the arch, where a crowd of people were gathered around a large fountain with jets that spewed water 45 feet into the air. A few adults sat around the fountain with their feet in the water and kids ran across the surface in swimsuits and trunks. Danny watched as one kid walked a little too close to the fountain and got pummeled by falling water.

The perimeter of Washington Square was decorated in booths. While one half of the square was shaded by the surrounding trees, the other half was enduring the hot July sun. Some people had been smart enough to bring canopy tents. Others were already baking.

“There,” Jazz said, pointing. A single empty fold-up table on the other side of the square sat in the sun with a sign that read, “RESERVED — Fentons.” Danny used a hand to shade his eyes in an attempt to get a better look at it.

“I told you that you should’ve brought sunglasses,” Jazz said. Danny figured she was rolling her eyes underneath her own pair of aviators.

“Yeah, yeah,” Danny huffed. “Let’s just go before I drop this Fenton-Tech all over the ground.”

A big guy in a bright orange neoprene HAZMAT suit ran into Danny from behind, almost making him fall over. Jack Fenton carried seven stacked cardboard boxes. “Whoops!” he shouted. “Didn’t see you there!”

Danny figured he couldn’t see anyone, anywhere, but a similarly-dressed woman in a bright blue suit came up behind him and urged him along. “Jack, I told you that we could just take a second trip.”

Beside Danny, Jazz hunched her shoulders like she thought she could hide in a turtle shell. “If anyone asks, I’m not related.”

Danny’s parents were … quirky, to say the least. Danny rarely saw them without their suits in public, and Danny even less so with his mom’s hood and red-tinted goggles. Underneath was a chin-length bob of red hair and deep blue eyes, almost purple in color. She was nothing compared to his dad, though, who was easily six feet seven and built like an MMA fighter (minus the rippling muscles). Huge. Stocky. Shaped vaguely like a box. He was difficult to miss. Even behind the boxes, people that walked past were giving him strange looks. Danny figured that was bad, since they were at a ghost convention.

“Not any ghost convention!” His dad had exclaimed, barely a week ago. “The Haunted America Conference in Alton, Illinois!”

“It’s not in Alton anymore, Jack,” His mom had sighed like they’d been over this three times already. “They had to move it due to popular demand.”

“Where is it, then?” Danny asked.

His mom had beamed. “Oh, Danny, you’re going to love this: New York City!”

And that’s how they’d ended up in America’s most populated city, carrying ghost weapons across a supposedly haunted park in the middle of July. Danny was pretty good at telling where ghosts were and where they weren’t, and there definitely wasn’t anybody here. The land had once been used as a mass burial ground during the yellow fever, but the spirits had all moved on since. If Danny had died during the yellow fever, he wouldn’t have stuck around either. Children running playfully over his unmarked corpse? No thanks.

Danny set his box at the foot of the table. His dad was trying to bend down without spilling the contents of his seven boxes everywhere, and his mom was fussing over him. “Don’t worry, Maddie, I got it!” his dad said, and he set the boxes on the pavement a little too roughly. The bottom box made a noise like breaking glass and crumpled underneath the weight. Ectoplasm began oozing out the sides.

“I’ve got the other samples,” Jazz drawled, setting down the box. “If you need me I’ll be by the fountain pretending that I don’t exist.” She shouldered her backpack and walked away.

“I’m just gonna go, uh, walk around,” Danny said.

His mom opened her mouth like she meant to tell him to stay there and help set up the booth, but she replaced the expression with a hesitant smile. “Go have fun. Be back by noon.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Danny knew how much his mother liked physical reassurance, so he stood on his tip-toes and pecked her cheek. “Love you.”

She smiled. “Love you, too.”

Danny turned and started heading around the square, glancing at people’s ghostly booths without actually getting close enough to warrant a conversation. He didn’t get a chance to walk very far, though. While passing a section of the square that branched off into a sidewalk, an old lady in a black hood grabbed him by the hand and pulled him aside. Despite the temperature (and the outfit choice), her skin felt cold. Danny forced himself to remain calm. Not a ghost, he told himself. Still, the woman set him on edge. When she opened her mouth, she sounded like she was hissing. Between gasping breaths, she said,

“Three shall find the child of death

Who loses his mind with one gasping breath

The son of the sea god must attend

To repay the kindness of a forgotten friend

See that his memories are safely returned

Or the reign of the King will be overturned.”

Danny blinked and she was gone, melting into the shadows of a big elm tree. “Wait!” he shouted, but the old woman had disappeared.

A wild animal growled nearby, but it came from all sides and echoed like Danny was in a cave.

He shivered. Get it together, Fenton. You’re losing it, man.

Thinking about how characters in movies splashed their faces with cold water when they were upset, he turned and walked down the sidewalk in search of a restroom.

Jazz sat on the steps of the fountain. With her laptop balanced in her lap, she reached into her backpack and removed a flash drive from her key ring of flash drives. This one was marked by a little cartoon ghost painted in neon green nail polish. She inserted it and opened up the folder. More folders stared back at her. Ghost Psychology, Ghost Physiology, Ghost Physics, Ghost Theories, Ghost, Ghost, Ghost. Jazz pursed her lips. Maybe she should take the ‘Ghost’ out of all her folder titles. The nail polish ghost on her flash drive already told her what it was.

“Hey,” someone said from behind her, and she jumped. Pulling her computer screen down, Jazz turned and looked up at the girl who had spoken.

She might have been a bit younger than Danny, though Jazz couldn’t tell exactly. She had long, curly red hair and dozens of freckles that decorated her nose like tiny paint splatters. Her eyes were so green they practically glowed in the light of the sun, swirling with mirth and curiosity. She was wearing red running shorts and a white t-shirt, so she looked like she had just finished a jog. Jazz supposed that she might have; this was a park, not a year-round ghost convention.

“Hi,” Jazz replied, pushing up her sunglasses so that they rested on her head. She visibly relaxed.

The girl chuckled and sat down beside her. She began taking off her sneakers and socks. “Surprised to see a fellow redhead at the Haunted America Conference.”

Jazz looked up and observed the crowd. She didn’t know how she hadn’t noticed before, but the people wandering about the square were a sea of black clothes and colorfully-dyed hair.

Jazz snorted and reopened her laptop. “That’s why you came over here?”

“No. I happened to see your computer screen.” She leaned in close for a better look. “Ghost Psychology, huh?”

Jazz closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Look, I know it seems weird—”

“No, I love it!” The girl said. “Everybody else here is all, ‘Palmistry, Chakra, Tarot Readings.’ You’re asking the real questions. What do ghosts think about? That’s what I’m interested in.”

If anybody else had said that, Jazz would have assumed they were being condescending. This girl, though … she could tell that she was just curious. “You believe in ghosts?”

“Yeah, sure,” she said, putting her feet in the water and kicking them back and forth a bit. “Why not? Had this weird experience at the Hoover Dam last month. Not a ghost, I think, but—” she cut herself off and bit her lip, like she was trying to stop herself from retelling it. She raised her hand for Jazz to shake. “My name’s Rachel. Rachel Dare.”

Jazz shook it politely. “Jazz Fenton.”

“Fenton, huh?” Rachel looked like that name sounded familiar but she didn’t want to say anything about it.

“Yeah, I know,” Jazz said, preparing herself for the obligatory ‘I’m a Fenton’ speech. “Parents are Maddie and Jack Fenton, ghost hunters extraordinaire. Last year they saved Amity Park from being annihilated by the Ghost King, yadda yadda.

“They did what?” Rachel squeaked, but she sounded more amused than shocked. “Ghost King?”

Jazz mentally berated herself. Without thinking, she’d started spewing the information that everybody back in her home state wanted to know. She hadn’t thought about the fact that she was in New York, hundreds of miles away. Stupid.

Rachel must have saw Jazz wince, because she switched gears. “So, ghost hunters,” she said. “Your folks got a TV show?”

Jazz took a second to process the change in topic. She blinked once. Twice. Suddenly, she burst out laughing.

“What?” Rachel yelled over Jazz’s laughter. “What’s so funny?”

Jazz giggled but calmed down. “Sorry. My parents having a TV show … I can’t imagine.”

“What do they do then?” she asked. “Ghost Tours?”

“Ghost—?” Jazz cleared her throat to keep herself from laughing again. “No, no, no, Rachel, you’ve got my family all wrong. Think, ‘shoot first and ask questions later.’”

Rachel’s eyes widened. “They shoot ghosts? How does that work?”

Jazz jabbed a finger behind her, where her parents had started on the box of weaponry. Her mom set the Fenton Bazooka down. Like anybody was gonna buy that.

Rachel gulped. “So I’m hoping you’re the ‘ask questions, shoot later’ one.”

Jazz nodded mutely and opened her Ghost Psychology folder. At the top was a folder labelled ‘Danny Phantom,’ but she scrolled past it to the general information. “My parents think that ghosts are inherently evil and have no thoughts of their own. They’re just a bad copy of their old human consciousness, wanting to get revenge on humans because they’re jealous that we’re alive or something. But they’re so much more than that. They have these—these ghostly obsessions.” She opened a Word document and began scrolling. “But they’re not evil obsessions. Sure, when they die, they can be like, ‘I’m going to make them pay.’ But usually it’s more of a gray area. Like, ‘I’m going to watch after my family,’ or ‘I’m never going to stop writing.’ What my parents don’t understand is that they’re not unary; they can think about other things. They aren’t limited to one state of mind.”

Rachel looked surprised at the sudden lecture, but she adjusted quickly. “Who is Skulker?”

“Oh.” Jazz paused and bit her lip. “He’s—he’s not the best.”

“What’s his obsession?”

“Hunting,” Jazz said, though she didn’t sound as excited as she had before.

“I’m guessing he’s not hunting for deer,” Rachel said, watching Jazz’s reaction. “Okay. Then … who is Danny Phantom? Why’s he got a folder to himself?”

Jazz’s eyes widened.

“Right. Another touchy subject.”

“No,” Jazz said, shaking her head. “No, he’s … he’s good. Great, even. I think he’s obsessed with protecting people.”

“Well, that’d good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah!” Jazz exclaimed. “I mean, yeah, it’s really good.”

Rachel stared at her. “But … something’s wrong?”

Jazz exhaled slowly through her nose, considering what she should and should not say. “He’s just a little … too protective, I guess. Never thinks about himself. Always rushes in when he could get hurt.”

“Ghosts can get hurt?” Rachel asked.

“This one can.”

Rachel could tell that Jazz didn’t want to talk about it, but she was curious. Choosing her words carefully, she asked, “What’s he like?”

Jazz smiled. “Oh, he’s great. Always saving the day. You know, everybody thanks my parents for the Ghost King thing, but it was really him. Our entire city was transported to a different dimension called the Ghost Zone. It’s where all ghosts live. The Ghost King had just woken up. People doubted his power. He was going to kill us all to set an example. Let everybody know that he was in charge.”

Jazz took a deep breath. “And then … well, Phantom couldn’t stand for that. He was already upset because … someone else got hurt. So he went up there by himself and beat him. He could’ve died.” Her eyes widened. “Well, not died, but he could’ve gotten hurt.”

They sat in silence for a moment, staring out at the fountain and watching the water splash against the surface. Some little kids ran by them, laughing. Rachel said, “You like this guy a lot, huh?”

That seemed to break Jazz out of her stupor. Her cheeks turned red. “Not romantically!” she shouted. “I care about him like a little brother. Not—” She put her face in her hands.

Rachel laughed and stood, shaking the water off her bare feet. “I’ve got to get going before my dad comes home for his lunch break and finds out that I’ve left the house. It was nice meeting you, Jazz.” She pointed at the laptop. “You keep that ghost science thing up. You never know. You might end up publishing it and becoming famous.”

“Your shoes,” Jazz said, grabbing the sneakers and holding them up to her. Her socks had been stuffed into the toes.

“Oh! Right.” She took them but didn’t bother putting them on; instead, she started walking up the steps and back into the square, barefoot. “And you keep that Phantom kid from doing anything stupid!” She added.

Jazz laughed. “I’ll try!” she shouted back.

Just like that, Rachel Dare was gone.

In hindsight, Danny should’ve known that he’d never get a break. Weird stuff had been happening to him since last year like clockwork. August: get ghost powers. September: fight ghosts. November: find out that a creepy old man has ghost powers, too. December: fight ghosts. On and on and on until now, watching people stumble through the gates of a sandy dog park behind the restroom he’d found. An old lady shuffled past him, screaming bloody murder. “Rabid dog!”

Danny turned back towards the dog park. That thing was no dog. Snarling angrily at a park ranger was a full-grown lion, 500 pounds at least. It snorted a small plume of red-orange fire. Danny blanched. Yeah, so maybe it wasn’t a lion.

Danny was still trying to process its more … interesting parts. From its back sprouted a black ram’s head, with big, curly ebony horns and a sneer almost as nasty as the lion’s. It, too, huffed, but only smoke came from its mouth. Thank god. Danny didn’t know if he could handle two fire-breathing heads. 

Then there was the matter of the tail. The golden fur grew in patches before tapering off into tough yellow and orange snake-skin. At the tail’s end was a full, honest-to-god python. As he watched, the snake looked up at Danny and flicked its tongue.

This was a ghost. It had to be a ghost, right? Sure, it didn’t glow like a ghost … and it didn’t float like a ghost … and it didn’t set off his ghost-sense like a ghost … but what else could it be? An animal experiment escapee from the Central Park Zoo? Danny seriously doubted that.

The park ranger pressed his back against the fence, which was a little too high for him to jump, and made a high-pitched whimpering sound. Danny shook his head. He didn’t have time for this. Whatever it was, he had to get rid of it.

Danny glanced nervously at the security cameras attached to the public restroom and nestled between the trees. Okay. He had to get rid of it, but without ghost powers. How?

Looking around for anything he could use, Danny settled on rock and tossed it twice into the air to test its weight. Deciding that it would work, he shouted, “Hey, Alex the Lion!” and threw it as hard as he could. It hit the creature in the back of the head.

That got its attention. Turning away from the ranger, the lion growled and set the floor around the gate on fire. Danny surveyed the fence. He wondered if he could jump it or if he’d seriously have to run through flames to get inside. Danny didn’t like heat. It wasn’t his thing. If he channeled a little flight into the jump, would it be too noticeable?

He didn’t have to think about it for very long, though. A boy and a girl, apparently unconcerned with the security cameras, catapulted over the fence on the other side and somersaulted into a standing position, one holding a dagger and the other holding an entire sword.

A sword. This day was just getting weirder and weirder.

The girl kicked the guy in the back of the knee, causing him to fall. She pushed him toward the lion. “Mmm, look, yummy demigod!”

“Annabeth!” The guy spluttered, standing. Just in the nick of time, too. Their entrance had caught the creature’s attention. It lunged forward. The kid jumped out of the way.

Danny raised his eyebrows. The girl, Annabeth, had her wavy blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. She wore jean shorts and a hazard orange t-shirt similar to Danny’s dad’s suit. The guy was wearing the same shirt, though he had a pair of black basketball shorts on instead. Together, they shared a matching gray streak of hair. He wondered if they’d dyed it together.

In the other corner, the park ranger fainted.

With nothing but sand and rocks to fuel it, the flames around the gate died, allowing Danny to walk in like a normal person. Unlike the other two, he’d rather not high-jump a fence with security cameras watching. Even in New York he needed to keep up appearances.

The creature rushed toward Annabeth and its snake head-of-a-tail wrapped around her arm, squeezing until she dropped her dagger with a pained yelp. She looked down at it and kicked it in the general direction of the other guy.

Okay, my turn, Danny thought. He grabbed another rock (this one sharper, yay!), stepped through the gate, and threw it. It cut a long gash through the ram’s cheek. The lion turned to face him.

Both of the strangers looked surprised to see him there, like they hadn’t noticed a fifteen-year-old kid standing by the front gates. Honestly, Danny was surprised that he was still there, too. He had seriously considered running away when he saw them jump the fence. He had thought, Great! Back to my vacation, but his feet stayed firmly planted on the ground.

Annabeth recovered quickly. With the lion-goat-snake-thing distracted, she ripped her arm free of the snake’s grip and tumbled away.

The lion head roared, shooting fire across the park at Danny. He rolled out of the way and stood, bouncing on his toes. What he would give to be able to fly right now.

The other guy stared at him.

“What?” Danny snapped.

“Your pants are on fire.”

Danny looked down. Sure enough, the hem of his jeans hadn’t been as lucky as the rest of him. Patting it out, he shouted, “Dude!”

And then the lion was on top of him.

Now, Danny had been in some pretty sticky situations. The lion had his arms pinned on either side of his head. Danny couldn’t help but flash back to another time, when a ghost panther had been on top of him in the same fashion. It wasn’t the same, but still. Two giant cats pinning him to the ground in a year? That was sad.

On one side of him was Annabeth, on the other, the guy. Annabeth pointed frantically to his right. His eyes flicked in the direction she was indicating. Ah, yes, the dagger! He’d never be able to grab it with the creature’s full attention on him, though.

“Percy,” Annabeth said in a harsh whisper. He didn’t seem to notice. With a stomp, Annabeth ground out, “Per-see!” and nodded her head toward the dagger. He opened his mouth like, Ah, hyped himself up by jumping up and down, and started running top speed with his sword held high above his head, screaming.

The lion gnashed its teeth like it was annoyed. The goat head bleated angrily. The snake hissed. In one swift motion, the creature lifted one of its massive paws and hit Percy across the stomach. He flew backward into the metal fence.

Fortunately for Danny, that was all the time he needed. With one arm free, he reached for the dagger, got a hold of it, and pushed it into the lion’s chest. He cringed, bracing himself for the five hundred pounds of lion-goat-snake-thing that was about to die on top of him. Instead, it began raining sand.

Danny opened his eyes, sat up, and immediately began gagging. “It got in my mouth!” he yelled, though it sounded more like, “It got in me mouf!”

Percy, who had been thrown into the fence and didn’t look much better than Danny, had the audacity to start laughing. Danny turned and glared at him, using his hands to brush lion-goat-snake dust off his tongue. He only succeeded in adding more sand from the ground to his mouth.

Annabeth held out her hand for Danny and helped him to stand. Percy cleared his throat, like, Hey, aren’t you gonna help me up, too? but Annabeth just looked Danny up and down with a puzzled expression. Her eyes were gray like a storm cloud. “Who are you?” she asked. It sounded like an accusation.

Danny was still spitting sand and monster dust all over the ground. “Danny,” he said between gagging. “Bleh.”

“First time?” Percy quipped, helping himself up by leaning heavily on the fence behind him. He winced and held his stomach.

“I’m Annabeth,” Annabeth said. She gestured flippantly at her friend. “That’s Percy. I’ve never seen you before. Where did you come from?”

Danny furrowed his eyebrows, thoroughly confused. “You ever meet a tourist?”

Annabeth continued to stare at him. Shaking her head, she asked, “Where’s your parent?”

“Uh, parents? And they’re at Washington Square.”

“You have a stepparent?” Percy blurted.

“What?”

Percy changed gears. “You’re adopted?”

“What? No!”

Percy’s eyes widened. He muttered, “You’re like Rachel?”

“Who?” Danny and Annabeth asked in unison. For once he wasn’t the only one out of the loop.

“Look,” Danny said, brushing himself off. “This has been super fun, but I’ve got a ghost convention to get back to.” He turned on his heel and started stalking out of the dog park. What was up with them assuming he didn’t have parents? And people thought he was nuts.

“Wait!” Percy shouted. Danny paused mid-step. “Thank you.”

Danny considered that. He wasn’t supposed to be a hero in human form. It was dangerous. Even now, he was running through scenes in his head of these two stealing the security footage and putting him on YouTube or something. Highly unlikely, but anxiety twisted that in his head and made him more and more uncomfortable. He turned back around. “Look … don’t tell anybody about this, yeah?” Then, to disguise his nervousness, he said, “My parents would flip if they found out lion-goat-snake hybrids existed.”

“Chimera,” Annabeth said.

“Bless you,” said Percy.

“What? No! Percy, you of all people should know this. The Chimera is a Greek monster. Bellerophon shot it with the help of Pegasus. Do you listen to anything we tell you in camp?”

Percy shrugged noncommittally.

Annabeth fumed. “I—”

“You could come with us, you know,” Percy said, cutting Annabeth off. “To camp, I mean.”

Danny pretended like he was considering the offer. “Hmm, a camp with a Greek mythology class? No thanks.”

“It’s not a myth,” Percy said, rushing to get what he wanted to say out before Danny lost interest and left. “The Greek gods, I mean. They’re real. We could really use someone like you.”

Danny considered this. Right, so … crazy. They were crazy. If the Greek gods existed, why would there be a Ghost Zone? Didn’t spirits go to the Underworld in Greek mythology or something? But then again … what else could that lion-goat-snake thing be? It definitely wasn’t a ghost.

Danny shook his head. He had enough things to worry about. This was crossing into the Too Weird category. Turning, he said, “Thanks for the offer, but I’ve gotta go throw rocks at some other monsters. See you around.”

He walked out the gates and down the sidewalk towards Washington Square, thinking, I could really go for a sandwich right now.

#danny phantom #percy jackson #rachel elizabeth dare #annabeth chase #jazz fenton #maddie fenton #jack fenton #fic #fanfic #crossover #percy jackson danny phantom crossover #pj/dp crossover #taywrites #i ... think i have a tag like that #maybe not #well anyway i do now #hope you like it! #actual chapters won't be published until summertime on ffn #my fanfiction.net account is also daddyphannypack #let me know if you hate this #or if you don't! i like positive reinforcement too SJJSS #tayscreams

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Catherines (part one)

[Heathers AU]

[Tour!verse]

Word count: 3469

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

-Beautiful-

  “Dear Diary,

Catherine said she teaches people real life. She said, ‘Real life sucks losers dry. If you wanna fuck with the eagles, then you have to learn to fly.’

I said, ‘So you teach people how to fly?’

She said, ‘Yes.’

I said, ‘You’re beautiful.’”

  “GOD, come ON, Elizabeth!”

A muscled, gazelle-like leg slammed into Bessie’s back, causing her to flinch and drag her pen across the journal she was writing in, leaving a black line that obscured some of the words. Bessie wrinkled her nose, then squinted up through the headache-inducing overhead fluorescence to look at the beautiful young woman now standing before her.

Katherine Howard was a sight for sore eyes, that was for sure. Completely unblemished tan skin, wavy dirty blonde hair that fell like sun-kissed silk around her head, striking golden-green eyes, muscles… The hot pink blazer she was wearing fit her body perfectly, and the black skirt she had on to go with it swished gently around her powerful thighs. Technically, they were breaking the dress code, as she didn’t have on any tights to go underneath it, but no teacher seemed to say anything about it. Bessie had to guess it was because of Howard’s father’s status and money.

  “What’s your damage, Katherine?” Bessie snapped, though her voice cracked and wavered slightly, as it always did, rendering her comment about as effective as a baby white lion trying to roar to scare off predators.

  “Don’t blame me, blame Catherine.” Howard retorted smoothly. “She told me to, ‘haul your ass to the cafe pronto.’” She looked up at the other girl standing there. “Back me up, Catherine.”

  “Yeah, she really wants to talk to you, Elizabeth.” Catherine Parr said. She was taller than all of them, but quite a bit meeker than her two fellow K/Catherines. Her curly brown hair was done in a style that made Bessie’s scalp hurt just looking at it, but complimented her even darker brown eyes well. Her skin was the shade of melted caramel, clashing well with her signature color: blue. The blazer she had on such color was as expensive as Howard’s, but slightly more wrinkled and slightly frayed on one sleeve from her messing with the threads when she would read. The skirt she wore was plaid, which most people would find extremely ugly, but Bessie thought it fit Parr.

  “Okay, okay,” Bessie said, standing up from the staircase she had been sitting on. “I’m coming. And, please, Bessie. Call me Bessie. We’ve been friends for, what? A year and a half now? Elizabeth is WAY too formal for me.”

Howard and Parr giggled, making a small smile twitch on Bessie’s lips. She liked making them laugh. Proved she could do one thing right and serve as the comedic relief for the group.

Bessie scooped her belongings up, messily stuffing her diary and pen into her messenger back, and then followed Howard and Parr down the hallway. Anyone standing in the way instinctively moved away like peasants parting for a queen. And they may as well have been, seeing as they were the most popular girls in school.

Okay, well-- at least Howard, Parr, and their quartet leader was. Bessie was more of a plus one, a special exception, a stray they found on the streets and thought was too pitiful to throw away.

Their group was called the Catherines (pretty cool that they managed to get three girls with the name Catherine, right? what luck!), and they ruled Crown Ridge High School. Everyone, from new Year 10s to long-lasting Year 13s, knew of their reign--even the teachers! Nobody messed with them, because they knew there would be hell to pay if they did.

Howard pushed open the set of double doors coming up in front of them, and the trio passed into a world of chaos.

The lunch room was always like this- noisy, thundering, booming, any other synonym for loud… Kids were absolutely everywhere, crammed into the lunch tables or sitting at the bistro or standing in the lunch lines, all talking, worrying, planning, reacting at once. 

And then, in the middle of the mess, there she stood: Catherine of Aragon.

Catherine of Aragon, or Catalina de Aragon as her heritage suggests, was like a yellow diamond in a bat-infested cave. She was gorgeous, that’s for sure, her luscious dark brown hair tied back in a perfect ponytail with thick marigold scrunchy, without a strand out of place, and her fair skin enviably clear. Her eyes were dark and challenging, like twin pieces of polished onyx poised in her sleek skull. The golden silk blazer (Bessie didn’t even know they made silk blazers until she first saw it) she wore glittered in the lights, as if it were charged with electricity, and the black skirt matching with it made her look like the queen of a wasp colony. When she saw Bessie coming over with Howard and Parr, she gave a snake-like smile that only meant she was up to something.

  “Elizabeth,” She said, the only one to never use the nickname no matter how many times she was corrected, “finally.”

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, your majesty,” Bessie apologized. She tried to sound mocking, but Aragon didn’t seem affected by the title she was given. If anything, she looked a little satisfied by it.

  “I need you to write a hot and horny, but realistically lowkey note in Anna von Cleves’s handwriting so we can slip it onto Joan Asstley’s lunch tray when she isn’t looking.” Aragon told her, but even stuttering as she laid down her plan.

Anna von Cleves was on the rugby team and so hot she could turn even the straightest women gay. Joan Astley, on the other hand, was a thin, pale-skinned, weird-eyed outcast with no friends and hair as light as Bessie’s own--but natural. The two didn’t exactly mix very well.

  “Shit, Catherine, I don’t have anything against Joan Astley!” Bessie said.

  “Watch your language, little lion,” Howard teased.

Bessie’s ears flamed red. Ever since she got a new haircut, the Catherines would not stop saying the poofy hair on her head made her look like a lion cub.

  “You don’t have anything for her, either.” Aragon told Bessie. Then, abundantly blessed with smugness, she went on, “Come on, it’s be very! The note will give her shower-nozzle masturbation material for weeks.”

Howard and Parr exchanged smirks. Bessie glanced at them and sighed.

  “I’ll think about it,” She said.

  “Don’t think,” Aragon said. “Do.”

Shuffling in one of the lunch lines, Joan was getting ready to pay for her tray of food. She was dressed in a rather ugly clash of overalls and a pink floral undershirt. Aragon wrinkled her nose at the outfit in disgust.

  “Yuck,” She said. “Overalls.”

  “I’m wearing overalls!” Bessie yelped.

  “Yes, but they work on you,” Aragon said, patting Bessie’s head. “Elizabeth needs something to write on. Catherine, bend over.”

Parr sighed and bent over. A clipboard was shoved into Bessie’s hands, and Bessie had no choice but to use her friend as a portable desk and write the things Aragon began to say to her. When she was finished, she tore the page free and folded it up for Howard to deliver, which she did smoothly and painlessly without being noticed.

  “And now we wait,” Aragon said with a pleased smirk. “Come, ladies. I brought lunch.”

The four of them gathered at their claimed table, where clean, neatly cut sandwiches were placed out in each of their spots, along with some fruit and vegetable slices and cookies.

  “Turkey, ham, and cheese, mozzarella and swiss specifically, with a dash of mustard for Catherine,” Aragon declared. “BLT for me and Katherine. And then, a grilled cheese for Elizabeth.”

They all tittered at the last named food item. Bessie grinned cheekily at them.

  “What?” She said innocently. “At least I didn’t ask for a peanut butter and butter sandwich like last time!”

  “I still cannot believe you asked me to make a damn peanut butter and BUTTER sandwich,” Aragon said. “You are a creature, I hope you know that.”

  “I do,” Bessie giggled. “And it is GOOD, okay? I like butter!”

  “I’ll bring you a tub of butter when it’s my turn to bring lunch,” Parr joked, and she and Bessie flashed each other smiles.

  “I look forward to it!” Aragon rolled her eyes at them in an amused way while Howard chuckled and shook her head. Somewhere behind their table, a pair of kids at a booth were shouting about donating to a charity for Africa.

  “Blount,” Aragon said, “Guess what today is.”

Bessie watched the older girl grab the clipboard and flip to a new page, and sighed. “Lunchtime poll? What’s the question?”

  “Yeah, so what’s the question, Catherine?” Parr asked.

  “Goddamn, Catherine,” Aragon said. “You were with me in study hall when I came up with it.”

  “I forgot!”

Aragon snorted. “Such a pillowcase,” She muttered gruffly.

  “This wouldn’t be the bizarro thing you babbling about on the phone last night, is it?” Bessie tilted her head. 

  “Of course it is.” 

Aragon and Bessie stood up to begin, and that’s when Bessie noticed someone staring at them. It wasn’t exactly uncommon, what with them being the most popular girls in the school, but she didn’t recognize this gawker. He looked...different. Different in a way she just couldn’t put her finger on. And she was so focused on trying to figure out exactly what it was that she didn’t even realize she was careening to the side until she bumped into someone.

  “Oh-- Sorry!” Bessie said, then noticed that the person she had accidentally knocked into was Maria de Salinas, an old friend of hers. “Maria! Hey!”

Maria smiled. “Hi, Bessie.”

  “Hey, I’m really sorry I couldn’t come to your birthday last month.” Bessie blurted without even thinking it. Aragon rolled her eyes at her side. 

  “It’s okay,” Maria said. “Your mum said you had a big date. I’d probably miss my own birthday party for a date.”

Bessie felt a twinge of pain in her heart. She nudged Maria with a light laugh to try and get it to go away.

  “Don’t say that,” She said.

  “You know what?” Maria opened her bag. “I was looking around the other day and dug up these old photographs.” She handed a photo of her and Bessie during Halloween when they were younger, in which Maria was a fairy and Bessie was a bat.

  “Oh, wow!” Bessie exclaimed, looking down at the picture with sparkling eyes. “This-- Wow. It brings back so many memories!”

  “Come ON, Elizabeth!” Aragon said, yanking Bessie by the arm and making her drop the photo.

  “I was talking to somebody!” Bessie barked as she was hauled towards a table with a cluster of popular kids.

  “Oh well,” Aragon said dismissively. She halted them both in front of the table. “Hello, kids. Anne. Love your sweater.”

The head of the table, Anne Boleyn, glanced suspiciously up at Aragon before smiling tightly. She ran her hand over the sleeve of the designer emerald green sweater she was wearing.

  “Thanks,” She said. “I just got it last night at The Limited. Totally blew my allowance.”

Aragon nodded like she cared, then read off of the clipboard, “Check this out: You win five million from the Publisher Sweepstakes, and the same day that Big Ed guy gives you the check, aliens land on the Earth and say they’re going to blow it up in two days. What do you do?”

  “That’s easy,” Said another kid sitting at the table, Thomas Cromwell, before Anne even had the chance to give her own answer. “I’d just slide that wad right over to my father, ‘cause he is, like, one of the top brokers in the country.”

Aragon stared at him like a hawk watching a crippled mouse until Thomas wiped that stupid smirk off of his face. Bessie snorted lightly.

  “If I got that money, I’d give it all to charity.” Anne said.

  “You’re beautiful.” Bessie said.

Aragon growled deep in her throat. Bessie sidled around her and began walking to a new table. Aragon followed after her.

  “If you’re going to openly be a bitch…” Aragon began.

  “It’s just--” Bessie sighed, hoping to catch Aragon before she broke out on one of her furious tangents. “Catherine, why can’t we try talking to other people?”

  “Fuck me gently with a chainsaw,” Aragon spat. “Do I look like Mother Teresea to you?”

  “Well, you are Catholic, so…”

Aragon flicked Bessie in the nose, eliciting a tiny yelp of pain. 

  “We have a reputation to uphold here, Elizabeth.” Aragon said. “Don’t act stupid. I know you aren’t.”

  “Does it not bother you that everybody at this school thinks you’re a piranha?” Bessie asked.

  “Like I give a shit.” Aragon answered breezily. “They all want me either as a friend or a fuck. I’m worshipped here, and you can be, too. And you’re just a Year 11.” She ruffled Bessie’s hair, earning a disgruntled noise from the girl.

  “Come on, Catherine.” Bessie said. She brushed out of place white locks out of her face and looked up at Aragon. “Please?”

Aragon gazed down at Bessie, then wrinkled her nose. “Ugh,” She growled. “Don’t look at me with those big, stupid eyes of yours. Come on.”

Bessie beamed. “Thank you!” She chirped.

And so, they went around the cafeteria, asking the lunchtime poll question to a variety of new people, most of which looked startled that the two of them were even talking to them. They got an abundance of answers, varying from normal, to interesting, to completely weird. But they were the types of answers they had never gotten before this day. By the time they were done, Joan Astley had read through the note given to her and was starting to get up from her table.

  “Come on, come on!” Parr waved Aragon and Bessie over excitedly. 

  “It’s happening!” Howard whisper-yelled.

The four of them watched as meek little Joan staggered her way over to the jock table, where Anna von Cleves and other various athletes sat, talking loudly. The girl stuttered something to Anna, then set the note down, which was immediately snatched up by Francis Dereham. After a moment of reading, he burst out into laughter, followed by everyone else at the table when the paper was passed around. Joan’s eyes filled with tears and she ran out of the cafeteria.

The Catherines were all laughing, while Bessie just frowned, guilt racing through her. Aragon noticed her expression and sighed heavily. She began to run her long shellac fingernails through Bessie’s hair, straightening and smoothing out the mess on the top of her head.

  “You wanted to be a part of the most powerful clique in school, honey,” Aragon said. “If I wasn’t already the head of it, I’d want the same thing.” She made a tiny braid, then released the girl.

  “Who’s that guy over there?” Bessie asked, nodding at the young man that had been staring at them. She didn’t know how to reply to Aragon, so she just decided to switch the topics.

  “His name is Henry Tudor,” Howard answered her. “He’s in my Economics class.”

Bessie nodded slowly, picked up the clipboard form off of their lunch table, then began to walk over to the new guy.

The first thing she noticed was the trench coat he was wearing. The second thing was that he was built like a bear- large and powerful. His hair was golden blonde and he had piercing bright blue eyes. A smirk curled on his lips when he saw her coming over.

  “Hello, Henry Tudor,” Bessie said.

  “Greetings and salutations.” Henry replied languidly. “You a Catherine?”

  “I’m a Bessie,” Bessie said. “Not in a cow way, though, Just my nickname.”

Henry chuckled and nodded. “I see.” 

  “This may seem like a really stupid question,” Bessie said, raising the clipboard up.

  “There are no stupid questions.” Henry said.

  “You win five million from the Publisher Sweepstakes, and the same day that Big Ed guy gives you the check, aliens land on the Earth and say they’re going to blow it up in two days. What do you do?”

Henry furrowed his eyebrows. “That’s the stupidest question I’ve ever heard.” He said. “I don’t know. Maybe row out to the middle of a lake somewhere, bring a bottle of tequila, my sax, and some Bach. Then I’ll just sit back and watch the fires come.”

Bessie nodded, smiling, despite the weird gut feeling she had that was saying she needed to get away from this guy. “How very.”

Before Henry could reply, Aragon suddenly grabbed Bessie by the arm and swelled up like a venomous snake before Henry. “Let’s go, Elizabeth.” She said.

  “Okay, I’m coming,” Bessie said. “Later.”

  “Definitely.” Henry said back.

Aragon began guiding Bessie back to the table, where they finished eating with the other two Catherines. As she ate her sandwich, Bessie could feel Henry’s gaze on her, burning holes into her clothes, and that gut feeling turned into full on discomfort. It got so bad that she deliberately tried to avoid his line of sight while leaving the cafeteria, which caused her bump straight into someone for the second time that day. This time, the person was a lot less understanding than the first.

  “Hey!” He roared. “Watch where you’re going, you fat fuck!”   “S-sorry!” Bessie stuttered, feeling her cheeks burn with embarrassment. She suddenly felt a lot more exposed, as if she wasn’t wearing anything at all.

  “Did all that hair bleach kill your brain, too?” One of the guy’s friends snarked.

  “Or just fucking blind you?” Another said.

And then, the Catherines were there, materializing before them like a trio of vengeance-seeking angels in the lights. Howard eased Bessie behind her while Aragon riled herself up to her full size.

  “What did you just say to her?” Aragon asked, her words like a hidden bear trap underneath a blanket of leaves.

  “She bumped into me!” The first guy blurted in a woebegone voice.

  “Oh dear, what a disaster,” Parr mused.

  “How many times have I told you, Dudley, that she’s with us?” Aragon said. “Do you REALLY want to mess with us right now?”

  “No,” Dudley muttered.

Aragon was pleased. “Good. Now apologize to Elizabeth at once.”

  “Sorry I yelled at you,” Dudley said to Bessie.

  “Us, too.” Said his friends.

  “It’s okay,” Bessie said softly.

  “Wonderful.” Aragon smiled, but her voice was all murderous stalactites, sugary-sweet and poisonous. She pointed to each of the three in turn as she continued to speak. “Anyway. He was asking for feet pics in private messages, he is cheating on his girlfriend with his sister, and she is thoroughly sick of them both and wishes she had better friends to talk to.”

With that, she turned and escorted her clique out of the cafeteria and to the bathroom.

  “Are you okay, sweetie?” Howard asked softly, massaging one of Bessie’s shoulders comfortingly. Her voice was gentle and so caring, almost like a mother’s. 

  “Yeah,” Bessie said. “I’m okay.”

  “Stupid bitch,” Aragon snarled underneath her breath, furiously pacing around the bathroom.

  “You aren’t fat, by the way,” Parr said to Bessie.

  “But--”

  “Don’t even try it Elizabeth,” Aragon hissed. “Or I will cut out your tongue, laminate it, and then pose it in my foyer, and don’t think I won’t do it.”

Bessie giggled softly at her threat. As strange and slightly violent it may have been, it meant Aragon cared about her. Because if she didn’t, Bessie surely would have been called fat again.

  “Okay,” She said. “But I’m fine, really.”

  “Good.” Aragon. “Fuckass doesn’t know who he’s talking about. You look great, Elizabeth. Even if that cardigan is questionable.”

Bessie looked at herself in one of the mirrors and saw that she truly did stick out like a sore thumb with the Catherines. If it wasn’t her bleached white hair, then it was her baby face, and if it wasn’t her baby face, then it was how she was slightly more chubby than the rest of them. Howard said it made her look soft and cute, and she didn’t ever know how to respond to that, so she would just laugh. And if it wasn’t any of that stuff, then it was her awful sense of fashion. Today, it was overalls, a black and white cardigan, and a light purple striped shirt, as purple was supposed to be her signature color.

  “I got it from the thrift store,” Bessie said proudly.

  “I am not surprised.” Aragon said. “You are not wearing that for the party tonight, by the way.”

  “What about--”

  “You aren’t wearing those galaxy suspenders, either!”

  “W--”

  “No!”

#heathers au #six the musical #six the musical au #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #six fanfiction #six fanfic #uk tour six #tour katherine howard #tour catherine parr #tour catherine of aragon #tour anne boleyn #tour bessie on the bass #tour joan on the keys #tour anna of cleves #tour maria on the drums #katherine howard #catherine parr #catherine of aragon #anne boleyn #bessie on the bass #king henry viii #henry the eighth #catherines