#but even more so when the mall is so. strange. there is not a single normal mall in Vancouver theyre all so weird.
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I think im trapped in this mall...
(Edit by me. Original photo by my partner under the cut)
#idk what to tag this#photo edit#aesthetic#liminalcore#prism.exe#mall is international village mall in Vancouver#its. its so cool but it was so unsettling while we were there. there was just an empty hallway. with tiny drops of blood in it.#idk mall death makes me have a lot of feelings in general#but even more so when the mall is so. strange. there is not a single normal mall in Vancouver theyre all so weird.#ive been to west edmonton mall and that one was more normal than literally every mall i visited in vancouver on tuesday
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blood connoisseur
choso loses control when you're on your period...
nsfw: blood kink. cnc. safeword established. oral. vampiric behaviour? aftercare.
After learning that he was the master of his own blood, using it to his advantage came naturally. He's powerful, and with an endless supply from his cursed body, he knows he has the upper hand in many fights.
He slashes and spills the guts of his enemies; curse and human alike, quickly learning that cursed blood is disgusting.
He hates the scent and taste of his own blood, and when he destroys another curse it makes him want to puke.
But human blood is another matter entirely.
He first noticed when he was fighting Yuji.
It smelled different. Sweeter, perhaps.
Now he's with you he's noticed a similar smell.
"Baby, are you hurt?" He asks while you're walking around the shopping mall together, his hand in yours.
He stands in front of you suddenly, stopping you in your tracks and inspecting your arms, running his hands up and down. He starts tugging at your crop top, trying to check for marks underneath, nearly exposing you in public.
"No..." you shy away, shaking your head and giving him a weird look that makes him back up a little.
"Oh- okay, sorry.."
He can't find a single mark on your body, thank goodness, so where is that smell coming from?
However, when you step into your apartment together and he closes the door behind him it's overpowering.
The scent comes and goes throughout the rest of your shopping spree, and he tries to push his worries to the back of his mind.
But he can't stop thinking about it, really, as he follows you around, carrying your things, with his eyes never leaving your figure. He can't help but wonder what's going on, and the more he thinks about it the more confusing it gets.
He breathes in deeply and lets the rich, iron filled scent enter his nose.
And he's certain that it can't be anything else.
It's blood.
It's your blood.
And it smells... good.
"Baby," he approaches you in your bedroom, where you're spreading out all of your new clothes, "you would tell me if something was hurting you, right?"
But he's persistent.
"Mhm, yeah Choso," you brush him off and continue putting your clothes away. You know he has this deep and mysterious intuition about some things, but this is kind of strange. Could he really know that you're on your period? You haven't mentioned it to him at all.
You're not even sure if he knows what periods are?
"Baby, please sit down," he ushers you to the bed and brings you down with great care, kneeling in front of you and looking into your eyes.
"I need you to tell me... where you're bleeding."
Your eyes flit around, feeling nervous now he's staring at you so intently.
But he can't help it. He needs to know.
And if you're not going to tell him he's going to find out for himself.
"Please, baby..."
He inhales deeply and moves closer, resting his head on your lap to start with. As his breathing gets heavier he takes in more of your scent and he can feel that familiar achy feeling in his gut.
And to your dismay, he moves his head and starts sniffing, rubbing his nose closer to your middle until he's starting to part your legs.
That's when things start getting a little hazy for him.
He's no longer 'investigating' to make sure his girl is okay.
Choso's feeling kind of messed up about this but the smell coming from your body right now is making him aroused. He can feel his dick starting to swell up and his whole body is getting hot.
He already sounds breathless and he's pushing you down on the bed. With every inch closer he gets, he can sense your blood.
"Baby, talk to me?"
He's begging, he sounds so desperate to find out what's wrong.
But you're so embarrassed and you keep looking away from him, avoiding his questions and telling him-
"I'm fine.. really.."
"Baby, baby... no.. no you're not. Let me see. I wanna make it better.."
He looks up at you with those big, needy eyes and that's when you can tell something dirty is going to happen tonight.
He wants to eat you out.
"No, no-" you whimper pathetically.
You can't stop him.
But he doesn't just want you.
Oh no, it's much more than that.
He overpowers you easily and strips your clothes off in a frenzy, pinning you to the bed.
"Chosoo..." you whine, thinking that he's going to find your body disgusting right now.
But that's the exact opposite effect your period is having on him.
His deep and dark eyes have clouded over and, with your body all pretty and naked, you look up at him and see he's totally hard.
~
"Fuck- why di-n't you tell me, baby~?" He moans into you and wraps his hands around your waist, licking away the self conscious ache in your stomach.
And you can't believe he's doing this to you.
Sure, you've had period sex before.
But not like this.
Not with someone like him.
You had a feeling he wouldn't mind the blood. You know he would be used to it.
But you had no idea he would find it this... hot.
"I need to- ah- taste you-- it's driving me fucking insane- baby--"
So you swallowed your pride and covered your face with your hands, letting him get right between your legs like it was any normal day.
"W-why didn't y-you tell me, sweetheaaaart??"
You open your eyes for a second to see him getting teary eyed, sliding his tongue up and down your wet slit. And you see his lips... covered in red.
His brows furrow into a deep arch as he keeps going, his sadness turning into anger as his own blood starts to boil.
"I.. can't believe.. you kept this a secret.. from me.." he mutters into you, sending shivers through your whole body as he starts licking your sensitive clit.
Everything feels so intense now, like your senses are heightened and you can feel so much more.
"I-I- hic-- didn't think you'd wanna~~" you whine, covering your eyes again.
The sight of him is making you feel faint.
He growls out his reply-
"But it still feels good... when I touch you, right??"
You bite your lip and you can feel him working his usual wonders- his tongue circling all around your clit. You feel so fucking nervous but he's about to take it to the next level.
"But Cho~~~" you cry, "y-you shouldn't.. touch me there.. it- it's so dirty.."
Making direct eye contact, he shoots you a fierce glare.
"That's not what I asked, sweetheart."
He licks you some more and starts pushing his tongue down further, causing you to squirm and kick your legs.
But his hands are around your waist, pinning you down.
"I asked... if it still feels good."
After that he goes deadly silent, listening to your whimpers and moans, hearing that it definitely does feel amazing, as usual. And he groans into you, pleased that he can make you feel better when you're suffering like this. His sweet girl.. he can't believe this happens to you.
But it's all okay now he's got his tongue in you, tasting you.
He's never felt so turned on in his life.
Your scent and taste are just so overwhelming, it's making his head spin. And every time you try to push yourself back weakly, it feels like his dick is going to burst right through his pants.
He grabs you tighter, knowing that you don't really want him to stop.
You have a safeword for these kinds of situations.
And you're not using it.
So he eats you till you're dripping down his chin in a display of lust so disgusting you feel you could never recover.
"Cum on my tongue, baby, baby, please~~" he moans you when he feels your stomach tensing up, concentration evident on your pretty features.
"Baby, I fucking need you to-- mmmh~!"
The vibrations from his deep voice, and his lips pressed to your clit, get you over the edge. He licks you in the sloppiest circles that make you spiral out of control, sending tremors through your body.
"Ch- Choso~~" you whimper, gripping the sheets.
And he stares at you through his cloudy gaze, watching your chest heave.
He lets you float back down slowly while he kisses you tenderly. Before you have a second to feel overwhelmed by the whole mess, he wraps you up in his arms and takes you to the shower. He washes you and himself off with hot, soapy water, stroking your body, barely fitting next to you in the tiny, steam filled cubicle.
And after he's finished getting you dressed again, you shyly admit that you liked it.
"Yeah," you nod your head and glee spreads over his face, "i-it felt nice.. maybe better than normal.."
You look up at him and he brings you into a tight hug, where you're sitting on his lap on the couch.
"Baby... I know it's weird. Maybe I'm weird-"
He watches you shaking your head.
"b-but that was really hot for me... so.. um, thank you."
You stroke his muscular chest and watch him struggle with his words, a blush creeping over his features as he admits this to you.
And sure, you've never been with a guy who wanted to do anything like this before. Let alone somebody who particularly liked it...
But with Choso, he's just as vulnerable as you.
You see fear and curiosity in his eyes.
He's so beautiful.
You trust him.
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#18+ content#female reader#choso#choso kamo#jjk choso#choso x reader#choso smut#jujutsu kaisen choso#tw: blood#tw: periods
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🦐 ; Where Were You?
🦐 ; y/n’s presence never missed every single day! a text, a voice call, maybe even a visit. but then one morning.. boom! y/n vanished, not a single sign of life from them has got them shuffled in their minds! who knows could be what their reaction? (SCENARIOS)
— this is a fun little drabble while i had on my free time!! huehue, i swear ill make nikolai on the pt2 of this and along with another character in mind!
Sigma
Would end up trashing in fear in his body.
sigma's love for you is known to be only pure, he loves you whole and so do you. a routine where you'd keep him occupied with everything that's happened to you while he shoots you a bunch of questions of things he hadn't heard such about. the more you talked, the more curious he got.
the way you talk has him falling head over heels for you! that's the most special event in his daily life. the part where you'd find him and call so sweetly of his name out of your lips, your voice instantly makes him forget whatever's disturbing his head- soon relaxed when he recognizes your voice.
with this everyday routine with you is like a vitamin he has to take everyday, without it he may not function well. it's the most crucial part of his life- he can't miss a day without you. then one day, he did almost did miss a day.
usually you'd be calling out for him when he's really stuffed with the casino of his. a perfect timing for you to be his savior to come and comfort him, but after a few hours- he looked at the clock that was hanged on the wall.
'that’s strange.. y/n should be here at any moment now.. y/n's coming here soon right?'
and so, he waited. and waited. and waited. like a dog waiting for their owner to return home behind closed doors.
sigma begins to fidget without him realizing, one of his legs starts fiddling as both of his hands clasped together, his right index finger tapping up and down for who knows how long. and you still weren't here.
its been hours, he noticed. he spammed your phone number with a few text messages asking where are you, were you alright? were you not safe? the thought of you in danger increased his worries. could fyodor have captured you to use you against him?
he swallowed the developed lump in his throat, he had to search for you immediately. now was the time to take action. who knows what could’ve happen to you? he stands up and grabs the telephone by his desk- before he was about to dial, the sound of his main doors pushed open.
there you were, standing with a bunch of bags hanged on your arm. "hey, sorry i kind of arrived late! as you can see here i bought-"
"s-sigma?" you were cut by your sentence as you were took by a sudden surprise of sigma who dropped the telephone and approached you with his footsteps in a haste. he then hugged you tightly- wrapped in his arms, never wanting to let go of you. his head on your shoulder while his face hides at your sight. you almost fell behind and tumbled because of the unforeseen of event.
"where were you?" he asked, a sound of his voice cracked as he spoke. you hugged him back trying your best to tolerate how really tight his hug is, "i was out in the mall.. my phone happened to run out of battery so i couldn't message you. i'm sorry about that." you let out of a bashful giggle.
soon you felt slight coldness on the fabric you wore, your eyes dilated and grabbed sigma's forearms to push him slowly from you.
with his face in front of you. sigma's eyes were bottled up with tears, his nose a bit red. which looks like he's been holding in his emotions for a while. the tables have turned- now you were the one worried, confused, why was sigma crying? did you do something wrong?
"huh? did something happen? what's wrong?" sigma looked down, a sigh escaping his lips- his eyebrows furrowed. "you were gone for too long and i just got worried.. really that's all." his eyes shifted in another direction, a small pout on his lips formed after.
you also sighed in relief after thinking that something worse happened to him, "i'm sorry for that sigma.. next time i'll invite you to the mall with me. we could try one of those fancy restaurants i saw."
he sniffled, his index finger swiped the tear bubbling from the corner of his eye. "sure, i'd love to go." he then smiled. "i'm happy you're back."
sigma then felt something pressed on to his lips. it was.. a cookie?! his eyes lit of sparks. you pushed the cookie futher and sigma took immediate bite of it, "i also bought these cookies for you! do you like them?"
a faint pink shade of blush wave on his cheeks, "mhm."
Fyodor
Would come and fetch you immediately. and once found- it’s a must to return.
your presence being absent for a while doesn’t shaken fyodor himself. why? oh y/n, you lack the knowledge of fyodor’s tracking skills- an absoulute maniac at it! he could be watching you at every placed cctv camera by the city and you’re fully unaware of it.
fyodor fonds you quite alot- well for more than what you can think. he loves how you bring gifts for him on the way back, after he just watched you struggle to buy something for him. unable to choose between two goods situation. he smiles internally at how cute you look while deciding if he'd
with your loyalty to him, he surely should protect you from any harm that opposes you. that’s why he’s spectating you from the cameras y’know! it’s all for the sake of your safety after all. he even thought of placing cameras in your house, maybe if someone attempted to rob you then he’d save the day.
as soon as fyodor came back from his office- sitting on his chair, eyes stamped on the screen that displayed different corners of each street. in an insant his eyes hunt for you like a prey.
switching from cameras to cameras, he was unable to find you through it. he double checked again- maybe you’ll appear at any moment but no. you still weren’t there at the store you always went.
‘that’s strange..’ fyodor said as he gently rubbed his chin, thinking where have you might go. he only set off his eyes away from the screen for a minute and you’re gone that quickly? that was the least he expected since you take your time at browsing your items.
little did he know you stumbled upon this local cafe that just opened up! it was located at this small apartment that the owner set it up as their own business. you happen to saw a poster and an immediate urge drove into you as soon as you saw the cafe’s new release of a drink.
with that in mind, you went on your way to try it out. you open the door that supposedly says in the poster that this is where they’re located, a small, shady place for a cafe indeed. you were met by the sound of a small bell that clang on top when you opened the door. the aroma of coffee strikes you.
there were only a few people, really few.. like 3. the man who’s behind the counter greeted you a welcome. you came upfront and told him that you wanted to try their new drink. the man agreed, but as he went on to make it- the man seems like he couldn’t find himself to stop talking about you.
he continuously asked you multiple questions about yourself, what you do for living, how was living in the city, were you still studying, ‘till he abruptly asked if you were in a relationship with someone.
the first set of questions weren’t that bad, although they progressively became more personal. the conversation still about yourself- you ended up being uncomfortable as you sat and waited for your drink to be done.
“maybe we could exchange numbers.. if you ever don’t have one though! and we could go get some coff-“
“do you serve tea around here?” the familiar voice spoke. you quickly turned to your side and saw fyodor who was about to sit down beside you. “wait- fyodor?! what’re you doing here? i mean, when did you even get here?!”
“just now.” fyodor replied, his gaze on the man who was doing the finishing touches to your drink. the man who was behind the counter was also just as confused as you for the unexpected new customer. “tea sir? i’m afraid we don’t-“
“well, that’s unfortunate. i was hoping me and y/n would go here sometime.” fyodor replied. cutting the man’s words off. “y/n?” you looked to fyodor again, giving him a sign that he has your attention. he told you to bring out your phone and to wear your headphones for some reason, he then told you to listen to this orchestra piece he liked.
“just for a moment.” he told you, mouth close to your ear, then puts back the lifted half of the headphones on your ear. you watched him talk to the man, both of them having a conversation while you listened to melody in your ears. you then continued to sip your finished drink, ‘this is good.. and refreshing..’ the wave of relaxation was disturbed by a sudden slam that vibrated on the wooden counter.
you turned your gaze back to the two, lifting your headphones. the man’s face expression showed he was terrified, while fyodor was only giving the poor man a smirk. “get out before i call the police!” the man threatened. “wait- what happened?” yet again confused, you asked fyodor. he only stood up and stared at the man who’s legs began to shake.
“let’s go y/n. we surely don’t want to be in this place of a stench.” fyodor took his steps to the door turning the doorknob. you left your payment on the counter and catched up to fyodor on the way out of the apartment.
you were filled with questions for fyodor to answer, but the only answer you ever got was quite odd-
“i only gave him a little piece of advice, i wouldn’t want that cafe to be shut down completely.”
the next day, you were walking by the side of the streets. you found yourself in the same spot where the cafe you went was located. but this time, you took notice that there was a sign that said ‘THIS PLACE HAS BEEN SHUT DOWNED’
#bsd x reader#bsd x y/n#bsd x you#bungo stray dogs x reader#bungo stray dogs x you#bsd imagines#bungo stray dogs imagine#sigma x reader#sigma x you#sigma x y/n#fyodor x reader#fyodor x you#fyodor x y/n
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Exchange Gift: The Magic Coin
I got into the hot car and with a small jump I left my butt in the passenger seat, I took the wet towel with the sweat of my "older brother", I wiped the sweat from my armpits, the smell of the towel permeated the entire car, but we are used even to each other's sweat.
Immediately, I noticed the smile of my "older brother" who was next to me, impatient to compare the size of our biceps, he flexed his colossal arm in front of me just to show off the size of the triceps that were originally mine.
-WOW! I can't believe how fast those arms have grown! All my friends are going to be so jealous when I go back to school in January! -
I'm glad to know that my brother was enjoying my "gift" but I was even more glad that it didn't cost me a single penny, like every year my family exchanged Christmas gifts.
And The One this year was Kevin, My annoying little brother, Normally I would have bought him something like a video game or something I could play with, but this year I had spent too much money on my ex-girlfriend, That bitch squeezed every penny out of me until my wallet was totally empty. And all for what in the end I will find her in the bed of a campus idiot…
Whatever. I was broke, depressed, AND still owed my chubby 15-year-old brother his little Christmas present. When I was at the mall looking for some gift no bigger than $5 I came across a Shiny coin lying on the floor I probably couldn't buy my brother a video game this year, but I was sure he would love this coin, he's a total nerd, and he loves to collect these kinds of things for his Dungeons and Dragons game.
I wanted to give him his gift a couple of days before Christmas, and privately I didn't want my family to be mad at me for breaking the rule with the price of the gift, and when I gave it to him, he didn't seem too happy with his new coin his disappointment was very noticeable on his face. So I promised him that I would take him to the gym with me to help him with those extra kilos so that he would stop being teased at school for being overweight.
As soon as I told him that, his expression totally changed, we didn't use to spend a lot of time together and when he came home from the gym at the university he always begged for some attention from his older brother. Well, now we are inseparable.
The moment I handed him the coin, our hands touched. A strange sensation from the coin ran through our bodies. I couldn't move or take my hands off the coin, no matter how hard I tried, my muscular arms didn't react. Nor the rest of my body for what seemed to me 5 long minutes.
Without warning the strange sensation disappeared and me and my brother were pushed backwards, the strange coin fell to the floor making a metallic sound.
As soon as I opened my eyes I knew something was wrong with me, my body was totally different, my muscles were gone and instead of my fantastic six-pack I now had a little slice, my tanned skin from afternoon jogging in the sun was replaced by pale smooth skin, my long hairy legs were now short and hairless.
Before I panicked, I looked up and was speechless. In front of me was a giant flexing his huge arms, tensing his muscles trying to imitate the positions that I usually do in front of the mirror for my Instagram photos.
-Is that… my body?-
The words escaped from my mouth and caught the attention of the person occupying my body, he took me by the arms and got up as if I were a baby.
-THANK YOU VERY MUCH, BRO! THIS IS THE BEST GIFT EVER, THIS IS FUCKING GREAT! LOOK AT ME, LOOK AT YOU! I AM YOU!-
He was playing with me like I was a doll, he abused his new strength, and he flipped me in the air. From this new perspective the ground looked really far from my new position, I was terrified. And although a couple of Tears came out of my eyes as I tried to escape from his strong hands, He didn't stop until the fear escaped me in the form of urine.
I had pissed in my pants, by the time my brother noticed I got down slowly, and I ran away from him as fast as my little legs could, I ran to the bathroom to release the rest of the urine that was fighting to escape from my little developing penis.
-Hey… I think, I got too excited…- His voice I recorded filtered through the wooden door while the sound of my urine in the toilet sounded at the same time, when I finished peeing I looked at the huge urine stain that was on my shorts, There were even some drops on my T-shirt
I undressed, stepped into the shower and let the hot shower wash away the mess in my crotch, The soothing sound of hot water and the sound of her apologies merged into a loud song, for a minute I had forgotten that I was in the body of my little brother.
Furthermore, I took the soap to deep clean my brother's body and I could tell the difference between his body and mine, for me. It was so strange to see myself and that none of my muscles were defined in my skin, I flexed one of my arms and all I got was to see the small hanging fish that my brother's classmates made fun of so much.
When I got out of the shower I took my towel instead of the towel with Spider-Man cartoon patterns and completely dried my brother's body, when I finished I rolled it around my belly to hide my new fishnet and left the bathroom.
My brother was still by the door, but the Emotion on his face had faded, -I... I'm sorry, I didn't want to... - He didn't finish his sentence, he seemed to have understood that he had hurt me, he just extended his arm and showed the coin He gently took my arm and slowly put it in my hand.
The exchange was reversed immediately, this time much faster than the previous time, and before I realized it I was no longer wearing a towel but a tank top and tight shorts.
Thank God, this was a back and forth exchange. I was relieved to be back in my body, but this little experience changed me completely. Since then me and my brother have been swapping bodies throughout our vacations, I think I've been spending more time in his body than mine, meh it's not like I have anything better to do.
I even kept my promise to take him to the gym, I let my brother use my body to work out, so he would have more self-confidence and succeed, maybe I did too well, He doesn't hesitate to flex his muscles in front of any stranger's face to stare at him for more than 5 minutes, he is still too innocent to know that all they want is to take him to bed.
But no one would ever try anything on him “intimidating gym bouncer”, and while he has fun impressing a bunch of perverted fagots, I would see to it that my brother will never feel the way he made me feel again even if I had to ”personally”
Hey folks! if you like bodyswap stories take a look at my patreon, I have a lot of more stories, and you can help me keep creating more stories!
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Just a Girl
requested by: @dixonsgirl93 which you can find here -> masterlist
A/N: thank you so much for the request my love!! i love this concept so much that it had me up at 4am writing it after recovering from a long-haul flight, so so sorry that this took so long for a little drabble xx
It was too tempting.
Not after years of stumbling around in dirty rags and a single pair of worn combat boots. Not after fighting for your life every single day, were you going to pass this up. Today, you were safe. And right in front of you, in this completely empty mall, were a pair of pristine black stilettos.
You held one in each hand as you admired them, a treasure of a world lost in time. You felt like a different person just clutching them.
"Hey, Maggie!" you are unable to control the wide smile cast across your lips. "Look what I found!" the girl glanced in your direction from the entrance of the store, scoffing at your excitement.
"Whatcha gonna do with those?" she asked, chuckling, as she jogged up to the display table coated in a thick layer of dust.
"I don't know. Walk around. Dance. Put 'em on a table and forbid anyone from touching them," you said quietly, smiling as you palmed at the crisp black leather. "They could be a symbol. Y'know, Lord of the Flies style," you joked, meeting the farmgirl's eyes. Strangely enough, the ghost of a boutique was relatively empty apart from these shoes, a few scraps of useless clothes scattered around and many plastic hangers adorning the white-tiled floor.
"Alright, fine. But ya' have to bring that little black dress back, too," she teased, in that familiar Southern drawl. Pointing to a rack of clothes on the other side of the store, you spotted a lone black dress threatening to fall off the flimsy hanger. It was no surprise that when the remaining survivors came through these parts, rummaging through stores and kitchens and bunkers, a pair of high heels and a mini dress didn't make the cut for the survivalist supply list. It had been a couple years by now, and indeed no one back at the prison would care if you indulged in a bit of fun. Besides, you're just a girl. And a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do to get by.
~
Most evenings were spent in the foyer swapping stories and enjoying the ever-expanding group's company, now that everyone was feeling more comfortable in the prison. Daryl was perched on the second step of the cool, steel staircase fletching some bolts for his crossbow, after the fairly uneventful run earlier. One thought did linger in his mind, however - as he tuned out to the rest of the conversations engaging in his midst. You had briefly shown him what you managed to pick up back at the abandoned mall, some scraps of food, some comics for Carl, and... what could only be described as an image from one of his wildest dreams. Or worst nightmares. What the hell would he do with himself if you suddenly appeared in that dress? And those heels? Probably run, and hide someplace where nobody would notice his reaction. And just when he was imagining what you would look like in that outfit from earlier, he heard a voice call out from upstairs.
"Hershel! You better believe these things are harder to walk in than a peg leg!"
The foyer erupted in chuckles as conversations ceased while everybody looked up at you on the balcony, held up firmly by Maggie who couldn't control her laughter either.
"Come on down, Y/N. Betcha can't do it!" the grey-haired man exclaimed as the rest of the group watched you stumble to the top of the staircase.
Oh God. She's so popular. And beautiful - were the thoughts swirling around in Daryl's head as he turned a swift 180 and looked up at your perfect figure. You looked so pretty when you laughed like that; a face that lit up the room - lit up this rotten world - when the sweet sound that even a siren couldn't mimic echoed over the walls of the dismal building. And that outfit; the smooth black dress that clung to your thighs so perfectly with a neckline that revealed just enough to make him go insane. Those heels. Daryl always had a thing for girls with nice legs, but he was always too embarrassed to mention it. It may have slipped out in front of his older brother once upon a time, and for the years to come he never shut up about it. Humiliating Daryl whenever a gorgeous girl like you walked past. Daryl never denied it, though, that you and that perfect body of yours were gonna be the death of him someday. And that felt like right now.
"Maggie, don't you dare let that girl fall!" Michonne shouted, laughing as she kicked her feet up on the cafeteria table and leaned back.
"Daryl, I swear to God, if you don't catch me I'll kill you," you began, addressing the archer that was gawking up at you, the one slightly obstructing your wobbly path down the staircase. Everybody in that cell block watched the poor man snap out of his daydreams as he shot up and grabbed your hand as your knees threatened to buckle beneath you. Maggie let go of her tight grip on your shoulders and erupted into giggles, as though she were playing Cupid.
"Thank you, Daryl," you said sweetly, not realising that Daryl is physically suffocating as you clutched Daryl's calloused palm. You took the opportunity to steady yourself on both feet and do a little twirl, lifting Daryl's arm up over your head as you spun around as gracefully as you could manage. A couple of cheers escaped from your audience, making you smile deeply. You hadn't felt this pretty in a long time.
"Whatcha doin' playin' dress-up anyway?" Daryl drawled, quietly.
"Well, I'm just a girl."
taglist: @alldevilsarehere90 @poisonmenegan @radcollectivesoul @emilykolchivans @pinchoftheoutsiders guys the taglist is looking a little lonely!!
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Hi, so I am a new novelist, and I recently finished my first novel. The problem is I didn't divide the story by chapters, meaning I have no chapters I just have the story written, my question is how to know when it should be a chapter? Is there a specific common word count? Or is it by storyline?
Thank you for your time🤍love your page xx
What Exactly is a Chapter?
Chapters in novels contain usually one to three related scenes that are grouped together. They often center around a single scene goal or reaction and have their own beginning, middle, and end. New chapters usually begin when there's a significant change of time, place, or a change in point-of-view.
So, let's say your first six scenes look like this:
Scene 1 - Maggie walks to school with her friend Brad
Scene 2 - Maggie encounters strange new student in history class
Scene 3 - Maggie tells Brad about new student at lunch
Scene 4 - Brad calls during Saturday dinner having seen new student
Scene 5 - Maggie meets Brad at the park to hear the story
Scene 6 - Maggie encounters new student at the mall on Sunday
Scene 1 takes place on the way to school, and scenes 2 - 3 take place at school within the first half of the day, so if these scenes are told from Maggie's POV or a third-person omniscient POV, we know we can group these scenes together into one chapter. But scene 4 takes place at home on the weekend, scene 5 takes place at the neighborhood park a little while later, and scene 6 takes place the next day at the mall. Since the location has shifted from school to home and home adjacent (park, mall), and the time is the weekend rather than the school week, that's a significant enough change in place and time that we know scenes 4-6 can be a separate chapter from 1-3.
On the other hand, let's say scene 1 and 2 are Maggie's POV, but scenes 3 and 4 are from Brad's POV. In that case, we'll start a new chapter with scene 3 when we switch to Brad's POV. And, even though we have the big time and location shift from school during the week to home on Saturday, it could make sense for these two scenes to stay in one chapter, because both are related to Brad's experience with the new student... hearing about them from the first time at lunch when Maggie talks about them, then encoutering them himself and calling to tell Maggie about it.
Ultimately, just follow your gut, and remember that chapters aren't required to be any particular length. They can be as short as a few sentences or as long as twenty pages... all that matters is that the chapter works as a chapter. Also, remember that you also don't have to stick with the same convention throughout your story. For example, if your chapters tend to average about 1200 words, that doesn't mean you can't have a 600 word chapter or a 2400 word chapter. Again, the only criteria to length is that it's enough words to accomplish whatever the chapter needs to accomplish.
Happy writing!
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hc! shauna shipman has a crush on you
shauna shipman x fem!reader
summary: shauna is awful at hiding her crush on you and you're too slow to realize her feelings and your own
warnings: just fluff but characters are aged up anyway, shauna and reader being two awkward losers in love, VERY cliche and cheesy moments wow
valentines day bonus at the end<3
it was just another friday when shauna shipman saw you in school. you were talking to your best friend lottie matthews in the cafeteria while making plans to go to the mall on the weekend and steal buy some new clothes for a party next week
you had the most genuine and adorable smile ever on your face and shauna didn’t even need to get closer to you to notice how beautiful you look. your eyes appeared smaller thanks to your huge grin and you were looking like a model even though you were just wearing your uniform from the soccer team. shauna didn’t care, you were stunning
you and shauna knew each other before that, of course. you were both in the soccer team, the yellowjackets. she wasn’t as popular as her best friend, jackie taylor, but she also wasn’t a loser too scared to talk to people her age like you. at first when you joined the team, you were terrified intimidated by her presence. it was something about how those dark eyes were always staring at you so intensely that it felt like she could see right through you and read your soul. it was scary!
eventually, you got used to it. well, only when you two got the opportunity to talk. it made you realize that shauna wasn’t that bad. she was just insecure
“you were really good today." was your awkward attempt to get closer to shauna and face your 'fear' of her once and for all
"just today?" her words made you freeze and you immediately regretted taking the first step when her death gaze met yours. "n-no! i mean, you did great today but you are always so good and i-" but then, in less than five seconds, she softens and begins to smile for some reason you didn't know but was too scared to ask. you quit talking immediately and it took you a while to figure it out that she was just kidding. oh, right. she was laughing at how cute you were all desperate like that
since that day you two would talk everyday. it was very awkward and even silent at first but gradually you became friends. jackie was obviously very jealous of you and she would give you death stares for the first few weeks until you fully got into her heart
slowly, that pair of brown scary eyes shifted into something more comfortable in the field. you weren’t scared to go to practice and see her anymore
every single morning before getting off bed, shauna shipman would pray to god (and she wasn't even religious) for you to talk to her again and you would be so upset when she skipped practice for the day cause that meant that you would be unable to catch her staring at you and make your heart beat faster when you both look away as fast as you can
shauna also wasn’t afraid of looking at you anymore. it began with curiosity filling her eyes as if you were some kind of strange creature from another planet. she would study every single inch of you and it would make you nervous cause you thought that she probably hated you. then, it overwhelmed her with happiness every time she had her eyes on you. she had this fuzzy and warm sensation on her chest and it made her heart race. her breath would get stuck in her throat every time you waved at her and skipped towards her after practice even if it was just to say hi
even in parties, the girls would be hanging out all together and shauna would be there glued to jackie with a blank expression, clearly not wanting to be there. she was so upset that she was forced to go that stupid party that she would say the meanest things just to annoy everyone like a spoiled child until you step in and her face goes all red IMMEDIATELY and suddenly she’s speechless
“hi… i didn’t know you were coming…” says shauna with the softest voice EVER after mentally cursing every single person on that party. she definitely knew that you were coming cause she paid attention to you in class and how you were planning to go to this party with lottie. she wasn’t all teeth cause she was trying to keep her reputation intact but it was so easy to notice her lips twitching to a cute awkward smile
when the party was getting too wild and crowded, you two would sneak out to somewhere quiet to talk and gossip, giggling until your stomachs were hurting and not being able to stop
"i know it will make me sound like a loser but i hate these crowded parties. sometimes i wish i was a koala. they sleep for hours and are always high up in the trees and far from people"
and shauna looks at you extremely confused like "what the fuck did this girl just said" but immediately agrees just cause she loves hearing you and would agree to anything you said
"yeah. me too" and she's staring at you with dilated huge ass pupils and a look of endearment
valentines day bonus
you and the girls were discussing valentines day a week before while practicing and you mentioned how you really wanted to have a partner to give you silly little cards and shauna was the first one to make fun of you and say how cheesy that was
shauna hated valentines day. the entire school consisted in a bunch of touchy teenagers kissing and hugging and it would make her want to throw up >:(
(secretly, she was just jealous of them. she was very good at hiding behing a tough shell and pretend that she was way too good for relationships. maybe she was just scared)
come on, why whould she want to receive a stupid card from someone she didn't even care about? it was so cliché and idiotic and she-
"happy valentines day, shipman!" you poke her shoulder before handling her the most cliché card ever. you tried to be cool but you were sweating like a pig when handling it to her and waiting for her reaction
the color vanished from shauna's face for a moment and went back to fully red while she was staring at you completely still, blinking in shock. she didn't seem mad or feeling like throwing up though. not at all. she grabbed the card from your hands and rolled her eyes after reading it
"the field is green the sky is blue soccer is awesome and so are you!"
"jesus christ, that's awful." she complains but you see a smile peeking into her lips when she looks away to hide from you. such a softie!!! "are you smiling?" you tease her
"of course not. shut up, alright?" she immediately shakes her head as an attempt to make her cheeks less red and her smile vanish.
"whatever. i have something for you." she tried to sound serious as she shoves her hand inside her backpack to let it out a pink card that made your eyes glow
"you koalafy to be my valentine"
"wow, shipman..." differently from shauna, you weren't scared to smile and show her how happy you were. its not like you were able to control it either way. but just like her, your cheeks were burning red and you felt special about her memorizing the stupid things you say.
"no. i don't wanna hear a word."
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Sampo likes to be vague about where they're going. It's kind of like a game to him, one that only he knows the rules to. Gepard asks, even though he knows it's nearly hopeless; where are we going? Is it a planet, a ship, a living creature? Which galaxy are we in? Is there oceans, deserts, forests? What kind of animals are there, what kind of people will they see?
Even when his questions go unanswered, Sampo's eyes gleam. Sometimes he shuts Gepard up with a kiss, a hand pressed over his heart, or teeth brushing over the column of his neck in a way that makes his breath stutter.
This time, though, Sampo is direct. For once, Gepard doesn't have to ask. Sampo wakes him up with instructions.
"Don't leave the ship," he instructs for the hundredth time as he guides the ship towards a strange, lone rock in the cosmos. The section of space they find themselves in is strange, a sweet, heavy feeling in the air. Their destination is in the midst of an asteroid field, metallic debris and chunks of meteors strewn and suspended about like someone strung them up randomly.
It's a bar, that much is evident. A sort of small, concrete building on a rough landform. It looks industrial, like someone had sliced a building out of a strip mall and deposited it here. There landform it's placed on is a small island, overrun with weathered docks made of scrap metal and decaying wood, anchored to nothing. various ships, dozens of them of all shapes and sizes, cling to the docks or are anchored to the landform itself, with ropes or chains or strange contraptions. For a desolate corner of the universe, it's packed. Yet Gepard doesn't see a single living person in sight.
"Gepard."
Sampo says his name with an uncharacteristic urgency that makes him jump, only then realizing Sampo had docked their ship as well and left them sitting in silence for however long. Sampo stands in front of Gepard now, hands on his hips and a rigid, towering figure. The starlight seeping in and the bright, flashing fluorescent lights on the bar glow from behind him, casting a shadow over his face. "Did you hear me?"
"Don't leave the ship," Gepard parrots, only half awake, with his legs crossed and a blanket draped over him. Sampo's jaw tightens. "Yes, but what else?" Gepard's sheepish silence is met with a low sigh, Sampo pinching the bridge of his nose. "Geppie, I'm being serious here, okay? This is important."
Gepard doesn't understand, but Sampo's tight posture, the pinched slant of his eyebrows, the way his stare feels intent, pointed on Gepard's skin, all makes secondhand unease curdle in his stomach. He bites his tongue and nods his head. Somehow that motion is enough to make Sampo sigh with clear relief, all but collapsing onto the rickety futon beside Gepard.
"Okay, take notes, Gepard. No-- not literally," Sampo adds on when Gepard pulls out his phone, making him blink and put it back down, attention fully on Sampo. "So, you will not leave the ship, under any circumstances. Got it? Never. You could watch the tavern collapse into itself and you still have to stay here. Don't leave and absolutely do not follow me into the tavern.
"But..." Sampo hisses between his teeth, as if pained to say more, "if for some idiotic, stupid reason that only the Aeons know of, you do go inside, there's rules you need to follow." He holds up one finger, intently watching him as if to make sure Gepard was actually paying attention. "First, don't tell anyone your name. Call yourself... the Captain, or something. No one can know your real name. Second, don't eat or drink anything. People will act all kind and hospitable or whatever and try and offer you drinks. Don't take any. Thirdly, do not dance with a single person. Don't dance at all, really. Just stay put somewhere and I'll... I'll find you, alright? Not that I’ll need to, since you won’t go in the Tavern, right? Okay? You got all that?"
Gepard frowns, chewing on his lip. This is the wrong answer, apparently; Sampo makes him jump by grabbing his shoulders, fingers tight where they dig into his arms. "Gepard, please. I'm being serious here. Do you understand?"
"Yes, of course," Gepard nods rapidly, repeating Sampo's rules in his head like a mantra. It's not the truth, though. Confusion prickles under his skin. "Why... are we even here? Wait, why are you going inside? Won't it be... dangerous for you too, then?"
Sampo's smile is sharp, a dangerous flash of pointed teeth. "I am technically a Masked Fool, y'know? And if we're gonna go through this neighbourhood of the universe, I need to, uh... partake in some revelry with the ladies and gentlemen in the Tavern. It'd be rude to walk through their house and not at least say hi!"
It's not the truth, or at least not the whole of it, but before Gepard can press anymore Sampo rubs his hand over his mouth, his words muffled into his palm. "And I gotta pay the owner of the tavern a visit, make sure he's upholding an old deal of ours."
Distaste, a sort of rancid discomfort makes Gepard stay quiet, simply watching Sampo as he gets up waltzes around the small bedroom on the ship. He hums something, talking to himself in cut off sentences like he often does as he gets his jacket, puts on his shoes. He feels different, though, a different kind of undercurrent below his skin. Sampo double and triple checks that his daggers are sheathed and hidden on him before turning to leave.
"Oooooookay! I'll be back!" He sings out, vanishing through the bedroom door and into the cockpit. He's leaning back into the door in less than a second, something in his eyes that makes Gepard sit straight. "Don't. Leave."
Sampo doesn't turn away until Gepard nods again, wiping around and vanishing like he'd never been there. Gepard hears the sound of the shuttle door opening with an airy hissss, slamming back shut.
He doesn't know how long he sits there, stewing in the silence Sampo left behind. The ship is quiet without Sampo's presence. His absence is always a sort of empty stillness, but now it feels suffocating. Gepard starts pacing, at some point.
Neon signs hang on the industrial cement walls of the bar, flashing images of two beer bottles colliding in cheers, an open sign that pulses blue and white. A massive, pink neon glowed the name 'The Green Chapel,' gaudy and far too bright. It makes his eyes hurt, but they still glow on the back of his eyelids when he tries to block them out.
Gepard doesn't see a single person, constantly walking around and up to the windshield, looking out at the other ships. Not a thing has moved, not another living soul has announced their presence. Gepard feels horrifically alone.
It's completely quiet. He can't hear any music, but there's a constant thump thump thump rattling in his bones, his heart, sending goosebumps rising on his skin. It reminds him of Serval's concerts, the times when he went to see Mechanical Fever perform; that sort of all consuming, booming sound of drums and bass that rattles the air.
He isn't sure how much time passes, but he knows it's far, far too long. It takes hours of worrying, of anxiety and unease making him feel nauseous, before Gepard realizes Sampo never said the tavern was safe for him, either.
It's deceptively easy, to leave the ship. Gepard makes sure he has his gauntlet on, properly dressed in jeans and a dark jacket. The air feels cold as he steps down onto the metal dock the ship is precariously perched on. Gepard doesn't hear a thing until he's standing at the old, weathered door, the fluorescent signs humming electric above him.
Gepard walks into the bar and is instantly engulfed by it, sound exploding around him. The music is electric, rhythmic harsh beats that crackle and surround him. It's massive inside, beyond what should be possible. The lights above pulse, the lights like living beings cutting through the darkness and bathing the crowd of writhing bodies in pink, purple, blues and reds. It's warm, a type of wet humidity in the air that smells of sweat and liquor and something strangely sharp-sweet that makes Gepard wrinkle his nose. He barely gets a chance to even recoil after stepping inside when a hand catches him, fingers on his elbow making him jolt away.
"Oh?" A woman, short in stature with long dark hair that glows blue-purple-pink under the throbbing lights. Her face is obscured by a mask, a pointed face with triangular ears. Gepard can almost make out swirling designs, the dark and light colours indistinguishable under the pulsing lights. He can't see her eyes, but there's a sharp tilt of her head that makes him feel small.
"You're new, aren't you?" She giggles, voice somehow cutting through the pounding music. "You are. I'd have recognized that handsome face if I'd seen it before." Gepard stands far taller than her, but somehow Gepard reels cornered, as if she's towering over him. She leans heavily into his side, a hand brushing over his clothed ribs. "Want to grab a drink? My treat, if you pay me back with a dance."
Gepard shoves her away without much thought. "No, I'd rather not," Gepard grinds out. She doesn't even flinch at his rejection, just stepping back. "I'm just looking for someone--"
"Aw, c'mon! No need to be such a bore. Just one dance won't kill you! Why not have some fun while you're here?"
Gepard bristles, overwhelmed and worried with Sampo's warnings swirling through his head. He narrows his eyes, goes to say something or push past her, but for a split second her mask shifts, the corners of its black eyes crinkling like paper. "Wait," she says, her voice burst of noise, "who are you looking for?"
Gepard catches himself before he can respond, clenching his teeth. Sampo had stressed he not say his own name, but what about Sampo's? He doesn't want to take the risk. "That... is none of your concern. Now, if you'll excuse me." He's uncaring as he shoves past her, gritting his teeth at the overwhelming lights and music, trying to stay out of the dancing crowd and keep towards the wall. He freezes when he feels too many fingers on his back.
“You're with him, aren’t you?” He doesn't know how he recognizes It to be her, her voice now distorted and muffled like she's underwater. Gepard spins on his heels and raises his fists on instinct, heart thumping in his chest--but she's gone. Gepard digs his teeth into his cheek and turns back, squaring his shoulders.
The dancefloor in the middle of the tavern is teeming with people, moving like one unified mass of laughter and cheering and screaming people. Gepard keeps to the wall, walking beside tables and booths filled with people all talking and taking shots, singing and laughing under the music. Many of them wear masks, indiscriminate things of varying sizes and shapes that Gepard can't decipher. Many of them don't wear masks, too, a cheerful gleam over their eyes. Gepard keeps catching glimpses of the bar through the crowd, against the far wall that's lined with shelves choke full of bottles. There's one bartender, technically; the person behind the bar is a humanoid figure in a clean blazer, their head gone with numerous grinning and crying and laughing masks spinning around over their shoulders. Their arms seem incorporeal, not quite real in a way that Gepard swears he sees two arms stretched across the bar collecting change, two more mixing a drink, one more talking with a customer like it's a hand puppet. It hurts his head to watch them move.
He has no idea how he's going to find Sampo in this. He should've asked more questions, especially what he's doing here. He tries to look for blue hair, green eyes, that smile he's come to know so well, but the hazy lights and constant movement makes everything blur together.
Gepard isn't looking where he's going, scanning the crowd and the filled tables and booths. His foot catches on the leg of someone's chair, nearly tripping him if it weren't for the hand that catches him by the shoulder. “Sorry,” Gepard gasps out, standing up. The man in the seat laughs, clapping a hand on his shoulder. His mask is more like a helmet, metal shaped into the face and crown of a king.
“No problem, my man!” He laughs loudly, throwing an arm over Gepard's shoulders in a sort of side hug, as if they're old friends. “No harm no foul! What's your name, friend? Come to watch the show?”
“Call me Captain.” Gepard blurts out, looking past him. There's numerous tables and chairs before him, all facing the wall that is covered in dozens of TV screens of varying sizes. They all seem to be showing the same thing; a first person perspective of someone seemingly in battle, fighting a gargantuan reptilian beast. They seem to be losing, someone out of the corner of their eye screaming for them. Many people are watching the screens, cheering and clapping despite the grizzly scene of claws raking across the person's chest. Gepard sees some people groan, others celebrating as credits change hands.
“It's just getting good,” the man pulls at Gepard's attention, motioning for him to sit down. Gepard holds against his tugging. “According to the script, the performer's love interest will watch them perish and go on a rampage to avenge them! Want me to order you a drink, too?”
Gepard's shaking his head before the man's done talking, watching the way the mask's eyes gleam and blink like melting metal. “No,” he says, glad that the man's grip melts off him like ice as he steps back, “no thank you, I'm--”
He's stepped too far back, colliding with someone dancing. Gepard jumps and spins to see someone with the face of a snake and hair like pine needles hiss at him. His heart leaps in his throat as they vanish into the crowd, looking around to find himself engulfed by the dancers, surrounded. The music is too much, warm bodies pressing around him. He can feel his shirt sticking to his back, his heading hurting from the lights and--
A hand, rough and tight and insistent, clamps down on his forearm. Gepard growls and spins around, raising his gauntlet and punching whoever has grabbed him. His attack is halted midair, their hand encasing his fist. Gepard tries to kick, shove and pull away only to be yanked forward towards them.
Off balance, he falls into their grip, arms around his shoulders and his head shoved down into the crook of their neck. He goes to lash out, heart running rampant in his chest. He only stills, though, when he catches a glimpse of blue hair, feels annoying but familiar buckles digging into his own chest. The mouth by his ear, the chin hooked over his shoulder, makes him relax.
“Gepard!” Sampo's voice is a hissed sound, low and only for him. “What are you doing here?” His tone is harsh, his body tense against Gepard's. Sampo's hands are flurry of panicked motion as he runs them over Gepard's back, his arms, his shoulders, his head. “Are you okay? You aren’t hurt? Has anyone tried to-- Why are you here? Seriously, I wasn't joking when I said you needed to stay put! This place isn't safe. This stupid, sorry excuse for a Tavern--”
“I'm sorry,” Gepard interjects, grabbing one of Sampo's hands in his own, the other light on Sampo's waist. He rubs his thumb over the back of Sampo's hand. “I know, I know what you said. But you were gone… a long time. I was concerned and decided to look for you.”
Sampo is quiet, simply standing pressed against Gepard. He feels the tension slowly leave his body, feels his shoulders drop as he lets out a sigh. He says nothing for a moment, intertwining his fingers with Gepard’s, his other hand on his shoulder as he starts to guide Gepard into a slow, swaying motion. He just goes along with it, let’s Sampo lead him into a slow dance that is wildly out of place with the music, the ecstatic crowd around them. Sampo is humming something soft and distantly familiar, his cheek pressed to Gepard’s.
The music is still constant, loud and vibrant, but Sampo’s presence makes it feel… diluted. Faraway and almost muffled, like there’s a bubble between them and the rest of the bar. Gepard glances around and notices it’s the same with the crowd, too; dozens of people around them, lost in their own worlds, now give them a wide berth, a few feet kept between the two of them and everyone else at all times. No one turns to look at them, Gepard doesn’t feel any eyes on him or note any quick glances towards them, as if looking at Sampo will burn their eyes.
“No need to apologize,” Sampo speaks up suddenly. Gepard turns to look at his face, but Sampo holds him chest to chest, keeping his chin over Gepard’s collar. His blue hair is vibrant in the light, his skin almost sparkling. “I shoulda just… brought you with me from the start, probably. Well I’d rather not bring you here at all but…” He sighs, clicks his tongue, leans into Gepard. “Duty calls! Or something like that.”
“Are you done here?” Gepard whispers. Sampo shouldn’t be able to hear him over the surging, vibrant air, but somehow Gepard knows he does. “With whatever it is you need to do here, I mean.” Sampo’s immediate response is a groaning sound deep in his throat, his forehead knocking against Gepard’s collarbone. “No, no. I still… ugh, this place sucks. Just give me a minute, please? And I’ll…”
“Okay.” Sampo leans into him so heavily and fully, like he’s trying to meld himself with Gepard’s flesh, into his skin. Gepard takes his weight without question, content to hold them both up as Sampo sways them in a slow turning waltz. Gepard’s head doesn’t hurt, anymore. The overstimulation has subsided, but the confusion and concern hasn’t, not fully.
“We’re dancing.”
“Mhm. Well, technically. Sampo Koski a better dancer than whatever this is, I assure you!”
“That’s not what I mean,” Gepard says with an amused snort, knocking his temple against Sampo’s head lightly. “I mean that… you said no dancing. With anyone.”
Sampo’s laugh rumbles Gepard’s chest, through his ribs and straight into his heart. “C’mon, Geppie! If you just don’t wanna dance, say so! I promise I’ll pretend it won’t break my weak, frail heart.”
“And you said no names. But you’ve said mine in here many times now.”
There’s a hesitation, one Gepard feels in Sampo’s stuttering step, his hand clenching so slightly around Gepard’s. “It’s… I’m just that exceptional, I suppose,” he says after a strained pause.
Gepard wants to ask. It is a need, a rising feeling that rises from his stomach to his throat. He wants to ask about the people, the masks, the way Sampo’s touch and his presence makes people keep their distance but makes his head feel clear. Gepard has never, really, been curious like his sisters, but Sampo makes curiosity envelop him; Gepard wants to know everything about Sampo, the good and the bad. The things Sampo won’t tell him. But not here, in this strange Tavern with these strange people.
“I’m sorry,” Sampo whispers out, and Gepard feels like he’s apologizing for more than it seems, “but I need to… connect with some old Fools.” Sampo lifts his head and cranes his neck back, scanning over and past the crowd. Gepard tries to get a look at his face but Sampo turns his head each time, the lights and shadows obstructing his expression. All Gepard gets is shimmering, smooth skin like porcelain and a glimpse of green eyes glowing in an indescribable colour.
“I can leave back to the ship,” Gepard says, “just… promise you won’t be long.”
“Sorry, darling, but, uh…” He clicks his tongue, jerks his chin towards where Gepard came, where the door should be. But Gepard sees nothing but chairs and tables, a tall, harsh wall decorated with paintings and photos and screens that make his mind spin. “You’ll have to wait to leave with me, so I can show you the way out. But I’d rather you don’t meet the Tavernkeeper…” He chews on his lip, humming in thought as he searches for… something.
“Aha!” Sampo suddenly jerks, jumping and yanking Gepard along with him. “Found him! C’mon, Geppie! You can hang out with my old friend while I, uh, go say my hellos.”
The crowd parts seamlessly like water, heads turned away from them as Sampo pulls Gepard along. Gepard keeps his head down, focusing onto the point of contact where Sampo holds his hand tightly, his grip protective and unwavering. He doesn’t look back at Gepard once.
A series of pool tables and poker tables envelop the corner, on a raised floor almost like a stage. Gepard glimpses poker chips, cards and credits and roulette wheels all in motion as Sampo guides him through it all to the far corner. A booth catches Gepard’s attention as they approach it, the seats filled with lifesized, off-white porcelain dolls, carved into various mechanical poses. Each has cards and chips in front of them, as if someone had set up a poker scene. The one, moving person sitting at the table makes his eyebrows raise.
“Gio--” Gepard says, clamping his mouth shut before saying his full name. The man’s head snaps up, the familiar mask meeting Gepard’s gaze. The black, indestructible eyes of his mask are dark and depthless. He holds himself upright and proper, gloved fingers clasping his own hand of cards. He tilts his head towards Sampo as they stop right in front of his booth.
“Ayo, Gio! Long time no see!” Sampo laughs, his tone sarcastic and light. He wraps an arm around Gepard’s shoulders, as if unwilling to let go of him in any way. “I didn’t take you for the kind to haunt around this Tavern, but I knew I felt you here! What have you been up to, you old Fool?”
“Brother Sampo, delightful to see you, as always.” His voice is a low, lulling tone, despite how he has to raise his voice to be heard over the constant din of music. He glances down at his cards, tapping the table before looking up again. “I’m simply passing through and staying here a moment before moving on. It’s, frankly, much more strange seeing you here. Business as usual?”
“Business as usual,” Sampo hums and nods, tilting his head in a harsh, jerking motion. “Sorry to, uh, interrupt your game, but I have a favour to ask you.”
“A favour?” There’s a pointed, sharp interest in his tone. Gepard stares at the smooth, two-toned design of his mask, suddenly jumping when he sees movement out of the corner of his eye. He looks to the mannequins, staring at them and challenging them to move again. “I don’t mind dealing in favours, especially with you, Sampo. I assume it has to do with…”
Gepard looks back at him, noticing the weight of Giovanni’s attention now on him. Sampo’s grip is tight, fingers digging into his shoulder. “Captain,” Gepard blurts out, “you can call me the Captain.” Sampo’s grip relaxes. The lips of Giovanni’s mask almost seem to lift. “Ah, the Captain, yes. It’s a pleasant surprise to see you here, Captain. Have you been well?”
“I’m doing well, G-Giovanni. It’s good to see you, too.”
“We’re on our honeymoon,” Sampo coos, making Gepard’s face heat up. Sampo gives him the opportunity to protest, but Gepard bites his tongue instead and lets Sampo squirm. “Uh-uhm, yeah! I’m showing him all the sights! The best places in the universe! Not this Tavern, though. This is an unfortunate pit stop I couldn’t avoid. You get it, Gio.” Giovanni just nods in response, lifting his hand and pointing to a mannequin across the table from him. He says a word that is static in Gepard’s ears, and the mannequin has vanished, a seat open.
“Gep,” Sampo whispers in his ear, pulling his attention. Gepard tries to look at his face--Sampo ducks away, just enough to cast shadows over his face. “You don’t mind keeping Giovanni some company here for a minute, do you? I’ll be back before you know it! Oh, don’t play poker with him, though.”
Gepard can’t help but tense, looking to Giovanni with narrowed eyes. “Why?”
“Because he’s a dirty cheater.”
“You shouldn’t project your own failings on me, Sampo Koski,” he says as he shuffles. The chips and the cards have shifted when Gepard wasn’t looking, Giovanni’s winnings now significantly lighter. “Would you like me to deal you in, Captain?”
“I’m okay, thank you.” He peels himself away from Sampo, sliding into the booth across from Giovanni. The music is instantly louder, now away from Sampo. “I won’t be staying long, after all.” Gepard says it with a pointed look in Sampo’s direction, making him snort. Sampo is looking away, only the portrait of his face visible. The little of his smile Gepard can glimpse looks stiff, plastic. “Thanks, Gio! I’ll be back before you know it, Captain.”
He turns on his heels but hesitates. Gepard frowns, goes to ask if he’s okay, only for Sampo to move and surge towards him. He’s quick, the lights making him a blurred movement. Gepard feels Sampo’s lips on his cheek, strangely cold and smooth against his skin. It makes his chest swell regardless.
“See ya!” Sampo spins around and marches off, the dancing crowd parting for him. Gepard watches him all the way, seeking him out when he loses sight of Sampo. He can see the bar in the back from here, the inhuman bartender behind it. Gepard sees a familiar head pause by the barstools, the bartender going rigid like a statue. They move, turn towards Sampo, leaving all their customers who were begging for their attention abandoned without a care. The masks spin, shivering, settling on a massive mask with its expression twisted in something resembling fear. Sampo gestures, shrugs, makes wide, clipped motions with his hands as he says something that makes the bartender recoil. Sampo opens a door Gepard swears wasn’t there before, making the bartender go inside before following them in.
“How has Belobog been?”
Gepard turns back to Giovanni. The lights are overwhelming once more, the music piercing through his flesh, to his very core. It’s hard to focus on the other man, who’s looking down at his poker hand intently. “It’s… yes, Belobog is doing well. Nothing out of the ordinary since you’ve left.” It’s a lie, one Gepard doesn’t feel bad about. If Sampo hadn’t mentioned what had happened to his friend, Gepard definitely wouldn’t be the one to bear both their chests open. “You’ve… been well? You said you aren’t here for long. You’re traveling, I assume?”
“I’m not one to stay idle for long,” he hums, putting chips into the center of the table. The mannequins keep moving out of the corner of Gepard’s eyes, making him jump and stare at their still figures. They’re only animated, fully formed people when he isn’t looking at them, seeing people holding their cards and matching Giovanni’s bet, only to go still once more. Their faces are painted on with what looks like makeup, lipstick spread over their doll-like lips messily.
“I am, frankly, surprised to see you away from your city, Captain.” Gepard looks back to him, watching as he collects his winnings from the mannequins. The sound of his chips clattering together sounds like bells. “Not to say I’m not glad. There is a lot of joy to be found in leaving home, seeing new things. I’m sure Sampo has treated you to some entertaining sights.”
“Honestly,” Gepard sighs, sinking into his chair just a bit, “I never thought I’d leave, either. I could never leave permanently, or travel forever like you do. But it’s been… phenomenal.”
“I’m happy for you.” Giovanni’s tone is the same, level and collected, but Gepard can tell he’s genuine. “Sampo Koski is well versed in… elation, after all. I wouldn’t have expected you to have found each other like this, moreso I’m shocked that that old Fool can settle, but I truly wish the best for both of you.”
He doesn’t really know what to do with this turn of conversation, covering his warm, blushing face with a hand. He laughs into his palm, watching talking mannequins just barely out of his focus. “Ah… thank you? It’s… we… yeah. Yeah.” He pauses a moment, the entirety of Giovanni’s words registering and making him frown. “What do you mean by that?”
Giovanni hesitates while shuffling, the cards in his hands slipping to the table. He huffs, dragging them back together in a clean stack. His movements are smooth, practiced as he shuffles, with unnecessary flourishes as he fans the cards, cascading them between his hands. It reminds Gepard of Sampo, the times they spent playing poker between the two of them, later with Seele once Gepard actually got the hang of it. Sampo is far, far more flashy with it, though.
“You have questions.”
Gepard does. Many of them, listless and disorganized in the confines of his skull. None of them are meant for Giovanni, though. “Are these actually people, or mannequins?”
“You know that’s not what I mean,” Giovanni says with a chuckle, dealing out cards. They glide across the table, settling perfectly in front of the mannequins. “Frankly, it is… unimaginable to me that Sampo would bring anyone here, let alone you.”
Gepard crosses his arms, sitting straight. “Why is that?”
“This place is… well, you see how it is.” Gepard doesn’t look away from Giovanni as he gestures out and around them. “Sampo has some… previous agreements that make him come here, but I know he would never set foot in this place if he could avoid it. But him bringing you to any Tavern? He has pulled risks in the past, but I thought he’d be more… careful.”
“I came in here of my own accord,” Gepard bites back, not hiding his defensiveness. “It’s my fault I’m even here. Sampo told me to stay away, but I came in myself.”
“Because you wanted in on the fun?” Giovanni says, “or because Sampo wouldn’t tell you why he’s here?”
“I came in here to make sure he was okay.”
“You truly don’t need to worry about him in any Tavern,” he laughs, clicks his tongue, shakes his head like he’s talking to a child. “I think you know that, too. Sampo isn’t in danger here.”
“You’ve called him old,” Gepard blurts out, digging his fingers into his thighs. It bothers him, for some reason, this strange and unimportant thing. Giovanni seems to expect this, maybe knew he’d planted that niggling worry into his head, tapping his fingers on the table. “Yes, I did.”
“Why.”
“I’m sure Sampo has been careful with you, considering you will return to your planet.” The tap tap tap tap of his fingers on the tabletop send a hammer swinging against his skull. “But Sampo and I are old, especially for Masked Fools. We tend to get too involved in our performances, especially tragedies. Fools don't live as long as us. We have been around this universe… many times. And time isn’t kind in every galaxy.”
“You’re not answering, Giovanni.” He grinds his teeth. He has the rising feeling that Giovanni is taking delight in this, and it makes his hackles raise. “Tell me. What do you mean.”
“How old do you think he is?”
“Gio--”
“You’re probably right,” he interjects, pulling more chips to himself. One of the out of view mannequins shuffles the cards, and it grates on Gepard’s skin. “In your assumption, I mean. He isn’t technically much older than you, but he’s been around longer.
“An example,” he hums, taps his chin, holding Gepard’s gaze. “I have an old business partner in the Klimt Republic. About five years ago, I left and journeyed across the galaxies to meet with merchants, business associates, sponsor the Interastral Tournament Festival, etcetera.” He leans forward, over his own cards and chips and towards Gepard. “I visited him, about a week ago. For him, 30 years had passed. He’d retired and his daughter was managing his business.”
Gepard doesn’t say a word, just watches the tight, careful way Giovanni raises his cards and throws them down on the table. Two aces stare up at them, vibrating on the table like they are going to take flight. Gepard hadn’t noticed the chips all collecting into the middle of the table, Giovanni chuckling lowly as he drags them towards himself.
“I don’t mean to alarm you,” he says without raising his head; Gepard doesn’t entirely believe him. “As I said, Sampo is careful when he wants to be. And knowledgeable, too. He knows the universe better than most do. If you haven’t noted any temporal discrepancies when messaging people, then there’s no harm, no foul.”
“Your name isn’t Giovanni.” Gepard’s words bubble over, not-quite questions that press between his teeth. His head hurts, his brain feeling too large in his skull. Giovanni shakes his head. “No, it is not.”
“Sampo Koski… isn’t his name, is it?”
Giovanni laughs, a full body cackle that sounds shrill and strange from the other man. Gepard grits his teeth, narrowing his eyes at the pulsing lights that taunt him from above. “Believe it or not, Captain,” Giovanni sighs, rubbing nonexistent tears from the eyes of his mask. He pauses to collect the credits the mannequins had bet, folding it neatly. “But it is. Out of every name he’s taken, it’s the truest.”
The cards have vanished, the chips gone, the mannequins nowhere to be found. It’s as if it had never existed, that Giovanni had been alone. Gepard stares down at the bare, worn table before looking back to Giovanni as he stands up, straightens his suit. “Sampo Koski is an exception.”
He almost wants to ask what in the Aeons he means by that, but Giovanni is making a shocked noise in the back of his throat before he can. He looks down and raises his arm, peeling back his sleeve and looking at his bare wrist. “Ah! Apologies, Captain, but I’m afraid the time has slipped from me. I best be going. Please give Sampo my farewells, and tell him I’m sorry.”
His eyebrows raise, going to stand himself. “Sorry? For wh--”
Giovanni doesn’t say a word, spinning on his heels and straight into the wall. Gepard’s mouth hangs open on his unfinished words when he watches the wall seem to crumble in on itself, revealing a door out into a bright, golden cityscape. It unfurls behind Giovanni and returns to normal in an instant. Gepard bursts to his feet then, hands flat on the table as he gapes at where the other man had once been. He stares a moment, before slowly sitting back down, his stomach in his throat.
He doesn’t know what to do, if he should do anything besides sit there. The bar is overwhelming now without someone or something to focus on, a headache clawing up the back of his spine and digging in behind his eyes. Gepard sinks into the seat, avoiding looking at the writhing crowd of laughing and dancing people. He finds himself looking back to the bar constantly, as if Sampo is waiting for him there. But he isn’t. The bar remains unmanned, numerous customers having climbed over the counter to help themselves now, standing on barstools and sending glass bottles clattering to the floor.
His anxious silence is interrupted quickly; “you look like you need some company!”
“No,” Gepard said instantly, looking up at the man leaning heavily on the table. He’s young, a thin but tall man practically holding himself up against the table. He isn’t wearing a mask, his grin still wide like the artificial smiles he’s seen on numerous predatory masks on other dancers. His eyes are fixated on him in a way that makes Gepard’s skin crawl.
“Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that!” The man coos, falling forward onto the table and leaning on his elbows, his chin in his palm. “Why’re you all alone in the corner like this? You should be having fun, dancing, drinking! No need to be all standoffish. I bet I can get you smiling in no time. What’s your name, friend?”
“I’m not your friend,” Gepard growls, standing up, “and I definitely don’t need you accosting me. Goodbye.” He really shouldn’t leave, should stay so that Sampo can find him easily, but the man keeps leaning closer and closer and Gepard feels like a cornered animal. He glances away, ignoring the man’s whined protest, squinting against his headache as he scans the crowd. He steps away, figuring he can just sit at the bar by the drunk, cackling patrons and wait for Sampo there.
He barely takes a step before a hand circles his wrist, fingers feeling cold like a chain, tight against his skin. Gepard bristles, his lip curled as he turns towards the grinning Fool. “Let. Go.”
“Why?” He giggles, pouts, tugs on Gepard’s hand. “Letting go is no fun! You know, you’d be happier if you just danced with me, let me buy you a drink. Why not have a good time, let loose, have some fun?”
Gepard responds by trying to rip his hand out of the man’s grip, but he falls forward with the movement, so close it’s suffocating. His breath smells of liquor as he laughs, eyes shining and too bright. “Ooooh you wanna slow dance instead? Why not just say so? I still haven’t caught your name, though. How ‘bout we trade? You can call me--”
“I don’t want to know,” Gepard growls out, lip curled. He flexes his fingers, feeling the cold swirl around his gauntlet as he clenches his fist and holds it back to strike. “Let go of me right now, or you’ll regret it.”
“How rude.” His smile is sharp, voice like a hiss. “Dance with me, and I’ll forgive you.”
Gepard gave in to the hot anger crawling up his throat, hoping that this wouldn’t cause Sampo too much trouble. “No. Don’t say I didn’t warn--”
He lungs forward as if to tackle him into the other crowded tables behind them. Gepard goes to meet him with his fist but doesn’t get the chance. There’s a surge of movement, a flash of red and purple and blue and the cackling, growling huff of indistinguishable words.that crackle in his ears. A clawed hand on his sternum pushes him back, the man flailing and shoved back like a marionette wrenched by its strings. The man yelps, something cracking as he’s shoved back onto the table and his head collides with the wood. Sampo towers over him as he yanks the man up by his shirt.
“He said no.” Sampo’s voice is a fierce, screeching sound. The fog in the air almost dissolves, the music and the lights secondary to Sampo’s presence. The people nearest have all gone inhumanely still, heads craned in their direction as they pause in their card games or conversations or dancing. Gepard finds himself stunned still, too.
“W-wait!” The man gasps, sounding choked on his own words. He goes to grab at Sampo’s arm but jerks away as if afraid to even touch him, struggling to kick back and away from him. “I-It’s-- I didn’t--”
“Did you not hear him the first time? Or the second?” Sampo grits out his words between his teeth, a sort of dangerous, humourous tone in his voice; a warning. “What makes you think you could grab him like that? Huh? Tell me.”
The man is shaking, eyes wide and manic as he breathes heavily, frantically. “I-I-I don’t--” He gulps, glancing around and behind Sampo as if for someone to save him. Not a single person makes a move, says a word, does anything but gawk with a sort of stunned, scrutinizing stare. His eyes landed on Gepard for only a second before Sampo shook him, saying something low that Gepard didn’t hear. “I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please, I thought-- I didn’t know that he’s y-your toy already. Please don’t--”
“Toy?” Sampo’s laughter is something shrill and echoing; crunching glass between teeth, violin chords snapping, the echoing ringing of bells, a bellowing horn. It makes Gepard wince slightly, but the people around recoil and groan in pain, hands over their ears as they lurch back. The man in Sampo’s grip looks like he’s going to be sick.
“You are,” Sampo hums, his tight grip on the man’s shirt shaking, “are the worst kind of Fool. The kind who find their sick fun in messing with others? Toying with people and stringing them along. Is that right?” He accentuates his words with a chuckle, shaking the man slightly. Gepard is lost on what to do--until he sees Sampo reach for his dagger. “Is this really Elation, to you? Is there really any joy in making other people suffer, using them? You should thank Aha for not caring how you get your sick thrills, because I won’t--”
Sampo!” Gepard grabs his hand, his fingers a shackle around Sampo’s wrist and his other hand harsh on his shoulder. Sampo tenses and goes to twist towards him, giving Gepard the faintest flash of his face. His eyes are not just green, but swirling with specks of colour like confetti and glowing beyond what should be possible. His skin is too smooth, discoloured and unblemished and sparkling in a way that is entirely alien to Gepard. He sees his eyes widen, something sparking under his irises, before Sampo ducks his head away again. He’s rigid under Gepard’s grip.
“Sampo,” Gepard gulps, pulling back on Sampo’s arm, peeling at his grip around the hilt of his dagger. The man still held in Sampo’s grip whimpers and begs but Gepard ignores it. “That’s enough. Just put him down and we can leave and never come back, okay?”
“But--”
“I’m alright,” Gepard interrupts, already knowing the words caught on Sampo’s tongue, “this wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. I’m fine. I’d be better if we’d leave, though.”
A muscle in Sampo’s jaw tenses. Gepard just watches him and ignores the weight of the attention on their backs. He watches as the tense, frigid line of Sampo’s shoulders slowly melts and softens. Gepard loosens his grips as Sampo sighs. He lets go of the men, unceremoniously dropping him and letting him fall back onto the table. He sucks in a panicked breath, not looking at either Sampo or Gepard as he scrambles frantically off the table, giving Sampo a wide berth as he bolts.
The music is dulled, a faint pulse in the air. The entire Tavern feels different, tense like everyone was waiting for Sampo to snap again, to attack anyone. Gepard ignores it all, ignores the way masked faces follow him as he takes Sampo’s dagger from his hand, runs a hand across his back. “You’re done with what you needed to do?”
Sampo’s response was a delayed nod. “Yeah. Yeah. Sorry for the wait.” Gepard just shakes his head, Sampo watching Gepard out of the corner of his eye as Gepard holsters his dagger, intertwines their fingers. “Okay, good. If you can show me the way out, then?” He squeezes Sampo’s hand; it takes a moment for Sampo to squeeze back.
“Okay,” he sucks in a breath, exhaling harshly and shaking his head, “okay! Let’s get out of here!” Gepard is all too glad to be pulled along by Sampo, his grip a reassurance as Sampo takes him through the room. Heads swivel in mechanical unison to follow them, people once again parting for Sampo as he tugs Gepard through the dancefloor, moving in a strange pattern until they escape the crowd, a familiar door in front of them. Sampo doesn’t look back at him once, but hesitates a moment.
He spins around, towards the back of the bar. “Hey!” He yells out. Gepard follows his line of sight to the bar; the inhuman bartender stands behind it once more, but they hold themself… strangely, now. Their numerous arms shiver and shake as they messily prepare drinks, and at the sound of Sampo’s yell they jump and recede into themself, the crying mask gyrating.
“Don’t forget our deal, my friend!” Sampo bellows out, one hand by his mouth. His teeth are just a bit too sharp when he smirks. “Or I’ll take matters into my own hands!” The bartender puts their dozens of hands over their mask before ducking behind the bar, Sampo’s laughter seeming to make the liquor bottles shake on the shelves.
Gepard doesn’t get a chance to ask, though, confusion bubbling up his chest. Sampo doesn’t look at him, just squeezes his hand again before turning and shoving the front door open.
It’s quiet outside, just as it had been before. Leaving the Tavern is an instant relief; the hot, too-sweet weight of the air had been suffocating. Gepard can’t help but breathe in deeply and let out a sigh, even as Sampo still drags him towards their ship.
Gepard enters the cockpit and collapses into the passenger chair, knocking his head back against the wall. Sampo’s movements are a relaxing sound, his presence enough to calm him down. Gepard just focuses on the scuffling sound of Sampo’s footsteps, the mechanical whirring of the engine coming to life, the thruming of the propellers lifting them from the dock and the clattering, rhythmic sound of the wings as Sampo guides them through the stars. The faint, dull ache in his head fades as time passes, as they get farther and farther away from that damned bar.
Sampo is the one to break the silence, his words making Gepard snap his eyes open; “I’ll take you straight back to Belobog. It won’t be long. Jarilo-IV isn’t technically that far from here and so I’ll make it quick--”
“What?” Gepard sits up quickly, snapping his head towards Sampo. The passenger seats are situated behind the pilot’s, leaving Gepard to just stare at the back to Sampo’s head. Stars and debris and various celestial bodies pass by them in streaks of colour, their movement a blur through the cosmos. Sampo doesn’t look back at him, doesn’t look at him at all as he speaks. Gepard desperately wants him to look at him. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, Gepard! You don’t… you don’t need to say anything! I’ll take you home as soon as I can and--”
“No.” Gepard bursts to his feet, marches to Sampo. The other man jumps when Gepard slams his hands down on the back of his chair, forcing him to spin around and face him. Sampo’s face is… back to what Gepard is used to. No signs of needle-point teeth or confetti eyes. But he still doesn’t meet Gepard’s gaze. “What in Qlipoth’s name are you saying, Sampo?”
“I-it’s-- you don’t need to worry, Geppie! I get it, okay? I get it. No need to say anything, I’ll… I’ll just take you back and be on my way--”
“What makes you think I want to leave you?” Gepard barks out, his voice a harsh noise. He grips either armrest tightly, leaning into Sampo’s space. Sampo cranes his head to avoid looking at him, making Gepard make a strangled, groaning noise in the back of his throat. “After everything, you think I want to return home now?”
“Yes! Obviously,” Sampo scoffs, finally meeting Gepard’s eyes. His expression is pinched. “C’mon, Geppie. That… that was too much, admit it. I put you through that, and now you want nothing to do with me.”
“You cannot. Decide that for me,” Gepard growls out, narrowing his eyes. “You can’t just decide for me, Sampo. It’s not your choice to make if I want to be here, with you, or not. And I do. There’s nowhere else I want to be.” Sampo’s eyes flash with something Gepard doesn’t quite catch, but his expression hardens again. Gepard claps a hand over Sampo’s mouth before he can say a word, his protests muffled against Gepard’s palm. “No! I’m talking now, so listen. I have no clue what happened in there, what that place was, what that place did to you. I’m frankly, confused, and concerned, and will absolutely ask you a lot of questions later. But that doesn’t make me want to leave you. And when I do go back to Belobog, you are coming with me, got it?”
Sampo is silent, completely still. Gepard doesn’t look away, doesn’t back down as Sampo traces his gaze over Gepard’s face, catching on his eyes. His eyes shine again, just the slightest bit. Gepard gives him just a moment before he breaks the silence again. “Do you understand me, Sampo? I’m not going anywhere.”
He feels him exhale against his palm, letting Sampo peel his hand off of his face with his mismatched fingers, holding his hand gently, reverent. “Are you sure?”
Gepard doesn’t hesitate: “Of course I am.” He stands back up, Sampo’s grip on his hand lingering a moment like he’s afraid to let go. Gepard just watches as Sampo looks away, his mouth a thin line, his brow furrowing and relaxing like he’s trying not to argue. Eventually he sighs and let’s Gepard go, his relief tangible in the air.
“Besides,” Gepard says with a slight grin, crossing his arms, “you still need to take me to the giant space turtle.” Sampo laughs, glad for the escape Gepard is providing him. His smile is still a bit strained, Sampo’s vulnerability still seeping through the cracks, but he doesn’t seem so… frantic anymore. “Of course, of course! How could I forget.”
He hums, spinning around to the control panels. Gepard still has no idea what Sampo is doing as he runs his fingers over screens, but he feels the ship slowing, halting a moment before shifting directions through the vacuum of space. Gepard collapses back in his seat as they set off once more.
“I do have one question, though.” Sampo tenses, making Gepard quick to finish his thought. “Are all Masked Fools’ Taverns… like that?” Sampo’s laughter is a cackle, his head thrown back. It’s soothing, comforting, familiar. Gepard’s smile is uncontrollable as Sampo looks back over his shoulder and smirks at him.
“I promise you, they are not,” he snorts. He hums a moment, rolling his shoulders. “Some of ‘em are just as unhinged as that, yes. That’s one of the worst, though. All a bunch of old fashioned Fools! None of them know how to really have fun, I assure you. Some other Taverns, though… they can be a lot of fun.”
“We should visit one. A good one.” Gepard tacks on quickly when Sampo wrinkles his nose at him, clearly teasing by the way he rolls his eyes. “Of course. Some of ‘em make some amazing cocktails! Ones you can have, by the way. Maybe in Epsilon, but… well, no, actually. Epsilon tends to have some half decent Fools in it, but they’d still try and, uh, bamboozle you.”
“Sounds like fun,” Gepard says drily, pointedly rolling his eyes when Sampo wrinkles his nose at him. Sampo continues on with a hum, looking up at the softly passing stars. “Uh… where could I… oh! I could take you to Avalon!”
“Is that a Tavern?”
“Yep! The tavernkeeper isn’t actually a Masked Fool. She owns it though, I think she won the place in a game of blackjack? I don’t know, that’s what her husband told me. I met the Queen through him, actually. He’s some former knight or whatever--the most populated planet in that galaxy has some sort of monarchy thing going on, I dunno. But he’s a clutz and I stole from him at one point. He carries a lot of credits on him at all times. But then he just gave it to me and invited me to dinner! I thought he was coming on to me and considering how much cash he had… but uh, anyways. I haven’t seen the Queen in ages! Last I saw her she said she was gonna take over the galaxy system her Tavern is in, and uh, honestly I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“She’s a Queen?”
“Well… I dunno. We all just called her that. She’s scary so no one questions it-- in a good way! A good kind of scary, I promise.”
“I’m not doubting you,” Gepard chuckles, “I’m just… it’s nice, hearing about people you know, places you’ve been. Before, I mean.”
“Before Jarilo?” He says it with a scoff, but Gepard can hear the fond tone in his voice. It makes his chest warm, a sort of contentment settling in his bones. Sampo likes to complain about it, the constant cold, the standoffish people in Belobog, the loss of his criminal history, but Gepard knows better. He sees it in the way he asks about Serval, questions if Gepard has heard how Natasha is doing, how his city is holding up in his absence. It’s obvious in the way Sampo’s ramblings have started to center around Belobog and the Underworld.
Sampo still pretends that he won't return, sometimes. That there's nothing left for him, that Gepard's planet doesn't have any reason for him to stay. Gepard knows it's not true, even now. Especially now. Because Gepard will always be there, wanting him. No matter how long Sampo has wandered the universe or what he's done before, who he was before.
“You know,” Gepard whispers, a secret. “Giovanni said something. Interesting things.”
“Giovanni.” Sampo hisses his name like a curse, slamming his fist on the control panels. The ship lurches to the side just slightly before Sampo corrects it. “That bastard! I can't believe he just left you there! Oh, if Gio thinks he'll get any favours out of Sampo Koski--”
“He said you're old,” Gepard continues, “well, kind of. That you've been around a long time. That time is… Strange, throughout the universe.” He pauses to watch Sampo, to see how he forces himself to relax, shuffling In his chair. “...and that you're old.”
“Don't worry.” Sampo's voice is a hushed tone. his expression as he looks back at Gepard isn't quite apologetic, Isn't quite sad. “I've been careful! Planned the routes out perfectly. Time won't escape you back in Belobog.”
It isn't what Gepard means. They both know it. That Gepard wants to know Sampo, to peel him back and see who he is, what more there is to him. Sampo is infinite, varied; Gepard feels like he could spool through what makes him him forever. He wonders, sometimes, if he can know him fully, if even Sampo knows the entirety of himself. He wonders, and finds it doesn't change how he feels.
“I love you,” Gepard says, because it's forcing its way out of him, from the depths of him. Because it's true. Sampo's smile is blinding, his ears starting to burn red. “Love you too, you softy.”
He hums, thinking a moment. “...what else did Gio say?”
“That he's surprised you could settle down with me, I think?”
“I'm going to murder him next I see him.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
#sampard#sampo koski#gepard landau#honkai star rail#fanfiction#in the bones#sampo is an emanator ofc in this. and it makes him freaky#theres a lot of like. hc type shit in this#also the 'green chapel' is a reference to gawain and the green knight#and the queen and her husband at the end are the fae queen and lanval in the lais lanval by marie de france#and like. avalon. ofc.#uhhhh what else did i shove in here. theres prob more but i dont remember#also this is 9317 words. i thought it was 6k. what the fuck#im postin it here in like . an embarassed anxious way before postin to ao3. since its so long#oh OALSO ALSO. i was torn between naming the tavern the green chapel. for the fae/green knight reference. or 'happy trail' from mp.100#cuz that was funny to me
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UPDATE: This is just a repost for the tags. The original reblog will be kept up! Original AU made by @soleilxe please go check out their blog they are a genius (๑♡ ⌓♡๑)
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I had to get this one out in case the DLC mysteriously dropped out of nowhere! (ʘᗩʘ’)
I absolutely love this AU so much! I am telling you rn that when I first read this I couldn't stop thinking about it and i was so sad that it was never expanded! So I ended up drawing a small comic (this is like my first time doing something like this so sorry if its messy! ) and that was supposed to be it but I ended up writing a short fic as well (⌒_⌒;) Btw this is just my spin on things so sorry if I made any errors!
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"Irreparable," the company claimed. It made no sense to Sun and Moon. From what they know the incident occurred the night an unexpected visitor came by. On the morning management came in, they were met with their main star missing, busted animatronics, and a disheveled mall. To think that the boy they met that fateful night caused all this was… strange, to say the least. At least they were perfectly fine! Yeah, they had a bit of trouble avoiding the flames resulting in slight damage but they were working! With a few repairs and replacements, everything would be right as rain! However, that didn't stop Fazbear Mall from permanently shutting its doors.
Even after conversations they overheard between co-workers, workers leaving as soon as they arrived with salvaged valuables, and the final click of the lock shutting the doors permanently, Sun was in denial.
"They'll come back for us! We'll just have to wait till then!" Although Moon was still troubled by the events that night, he still held onto hope.
"Yes, yes you're right. In the meantime, we should clean up~"
"That's the spirit!" Sun cheered.
The first few months played out like this: waiting and cleaning up whatever they could in anticipation that the company or someone would return. However, those beliefs slowly slipped away with each passing month. Sun tried so hard to keep them distracted from their situation but it’s difficult when you wake up in the same hell every day. Nowadays when he tries to comfort Moon every word comes out unsteady. If only he could make them more believable.
Moon couldn't handle it. It was all his fault. If he'd just fought back none of this would have happened. But how could you fight against something you didn’t know was coming? The night he became corrupted haunted him endlessly. It didn’t help that they also became more beat-up after several failed escapes he made. Though he was grateful for his brother's support, it felt more like lies and empty promises as time passed. Failure after failure, shame, and guilt built up. It was always at his lowest when he felt the same corrupt urges he had that fateful night back.
"SHUT IT! JUST SHUT IT! IT'S THE SAME THING EVERY SINGLE DAY! NO ONE IS COMING FOR US!!"
"...sorry" Sun whimpered.
It was always too late by the time he snapped back to his senses. It was like he was stuck in an endless loop of mistakes. All he could do was apologize and blame himself again.
With no business and no people to tend to days have been spent pacing and cleaning the decrepit daycare. Today was no different. Sun wiped his hands in the desk cabinet causing thick layers of dust to fly in every direction. Every item out of place has already been put back in its original spot long ago. All there was left was the tedious task of wiping away dust.
Moon never understood why he was so keen on getting into the smallest crevices. He couldn’t deny he had his fastidious tendencies but Sun always went above him. He always claimed it was a good way to pass time but Moon knew better. Even with the new body allowing both of them to be present at once Sun still was never the biggest fan of shutting down for long periods. Normally, Moon would push him into resting but Sun seemed to be in a better mood today and he didn't want to disturb him.
The crash of crumbling rubble made them jump from their spot. It was loud enough to hear across the daycare. Their eyes were drawn to the ceiling and they noticed a huge hole. Sun frowned. Was the building finally caving down?
"Must've been a rat"
"whAT?-" Sun choked out.
"What do you mean by a rat? A rat does not cause a hole in the ceiling to collapse!" Moon's only response was a shrug. From where they were it looked like it was around the ball pit area.
"Let’s check it to see-"
"NO"
"WhaT WHy?" Sun’s voice glitched from surprise. He didn’t expect such a sudden response.
"Because it's most likely nothing. The building is just deteriorating again…" He stated plain and simple.
"Well yes but-” Sun paused for a moment, “B-but we may as well check to make sure nothing is wrong!" Moon didn't respond. It’s going to be nothing again and he really wasn’t up for disappointment. Knowing Sun, they were bound to end up there regardless.
"Okay," he grumbled. Moon could feel Sun slightly bounce up. He sighed as they walked around the desk and towards the ball pit. As they continue their journey, Sun can sense Moon slowing down.
"Moon, what's wrong?-"
"Shhh listen" Sun paused. He didn't know what he was trying to listen to but he did so anyway. There was something in the distance. Were those… footsteps? The bots trudged closer to the sound quietly. For the first time in ages, their sensors picked up someone.
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"Dammit..."
This was your fifth time wiping your clothes off debris. You knew buildings like this had weak floors but you didn't expect it to give in that easily! You would say you’ve been through worse but you’ve never been through something like this. You’re honestly not sure if watching Youtube videos of failed urban exploring counts as an experience.
This was supposed to be your biggest project yet. Entering the abandoned Pizzaplex had been done before but nobody had ever explored past the ground floor. You had one goal: Record as much exploration as your camera storage will allow, upload all footage to your channel, and satisfy the hungry viewers with the possibility of getting that sweet YouTube money. What you hadn’t anticipated was falling through the floor and being trapped in one of the areas 30 minutes into your exploration. Now you have to find a way out.
You looked back at the ball pit and shuddered, thinking of what might have happened if it hadn't stopped your fall. Walking over the chipped rainbow bridge you pulled out your flashlight and observed what was in front of you. You had to admit the place didn’t age as badly as you thought! It has its flaws from the fire but you were surprised by how much stuff still survived.
The bright cheery colors that once painted this daycare have dulled to darker hues. Somehow the kid's chairs were neatly pushed into the tables and toy barrels were still stacked on top of each other. You looked over the massive play structure. They were still standing strong and tall beside some large dark spots in some areas which you assumed was also caused by the fire. A few of the giant mascot cutouts were hanging on the sides while others that had fallen were carefully propped up against the walls. When you shined your light on one of the aisles, the light didn't reach much distance.
"Geez this place is huge..."
You took a few steps before hearing a scuffle. For a second, you assumed it was some small animal. At least that's what you hoped it was. You were about to turn back when you heard it again. You whipped your flashlight in the sound’s direction.
"Hello!?" You kinda cringed at how hoarse your voice came out. You darted your flashlight for a bit until you caught it. You froze. How long was it standing there? You pointed your light at the animatronic.
Even from a distance, you could tell how huge the animatronic were. A split separated the two sides, which gave the appearance of two heads. Among them, one half had dark yellow skin and a crown that resembled rays from the sun, while the other half had darker blue skin with a nightcap resembling a moon. Each had two pairs of arms. Their clothes or at least what remained of them were tattered. Parts of their endoskeleton are exposed most noticeably on their face. Their glowing eyes pierced your soul. What felt like hours of silence were finally broken when their soft chuckles turned into hysterical laughter.
"NEW FRIEND!!"
"NOPE! NOPE! NOPE! NOPE!" You bolted in the opposite direction of the playground. As you ran you tried dodging as much debris as you could without falling over. As you approached the wall you could see large wooden doors. That's the exit! You weren't able to slow down your speed in time causing you to slam your arm against the door. Thanks to your adrenaline pumping you couldn't feel a thing. You tried pulling open the door only to hear clicking noises. IT’S FUCKING LOCKED!!!
“New friend!”
“New friend~”
“New friend!”
Their calls were growing closer.
You looked around until you crawled into one of the kiddie slides. You climbed your way up, lying flat on your stomach. You were pretty high up. There was no way they could see you as long as you didn't lean against the bars. The metal grating grows louder as the robot approaches where you once stood.
"N-new friend please cOME BaCK!!" He wailed in distress like a mother trying to find her lost infant.
“Shhh you’re going to scare them~” You gritted your teeth. Yeah, like they hadn’t scared you to death already. Unlike the other voice, this one was hushed and calm. As if it was a situation he knew all too well. The other voice gasped and quietly apologized.
"Where are you, new friend?~" There was intense silence. They let out what sounded like a disgruntled sigh before the scraping faded away. Once you were sure they were gone you took a breath of relief. You didn't realize you were holding your breath the whole time. Your heartbeat was so loud you were afraid they would hear it. 'What even was that…?' You tried to recollect your thoughts. Everything happened so fast that you couldn't comprehend what was happening. When you tried thinking back about what happened all your mind could replay was the moment you stared into their ghostly irises.
'Okay, that's enough…’ You sat up. Another deep breath calmed your heart. There has to be another way out of here. You peer through the cage. From your vantage point, you couldn’t get much. There were only two things you could see from where you were: the front desk and the children's pit in front of it. You had to get a better view but how? You sure as hell wasn’t about to sneak down again. You looked towards the bridge connecting the two playgrounds. Despite its aging, it still looked sturdy enough to cross. Maybe this was your chance? You didn’t want to risk getting caught but you also didn’t want to die either. Well, there's only one way to find out…
A small knock made you recoil back. You turned your head to the slide you came from. No. There’s no way they could get in here. With how big and clunky the animatronic look, they’d probably fall apart the moment you hit them.
Upon getting up, you were met with jelly legs. You're gonna have to crawl this one out. You navigated carefully through the colorful maze. The number of dead ends you ran into got ridiculous. Sometimes you felt like you were crawling in circles until you finally found it. You silently cheered for yourself. The bridge was only a turn away!
Something wrapped around your ankle before you took another step. Your head spins to see several pairs of hands gripping your ankle. You couldn't scream before those hands brutally dragged your body down the slide. The suddenness of it all caused your head to bang against a turn. You hit the floor with a loud thud holding your head. All you could do was lay limp on the foam flooring. What even happened? You could feel your head throbbing from the pain. A giant shadow loomed over your figure. Rough, metal arms wrap themselves around you in a cold embrace.
“Found you, friend, ~” The two laughed together making a strange combination of a cackle and a giggle. You wish you could fight back but you feel so nauseous and weak. All you could do was stand there awkwardly as you got crushed. Dread overwhelms your body.
“We were so worried about you, friend! You shouldn’t run away like that! I-I mean what if you got lost or h-URT!?” Their grasp on you was tightened as he spoke. The voice coming from what you assumed was the sun’s side made you tense up. His voice made your ears start ringing. Was he always this panicky?
“Now, now there’s no need for that anymore.” His hand cupped your cheek tilting it so you could face them.
“It won’t happen again~” The drop in his voice made it sound like a death threat.
“Besides-" He resumed back to himself.
"Think of all the fun we'll have together~!” Sun’s eyes lit up.
“Oh, you’re right! We have so many activities we could do now that we’re together!” They easily pull you up and swing your body around.
“We’ll have soooooo much fun~!” Moon chuckled
“We could play charades!”
“And tell stories~!”
“Oh oh, we could finger paint too! I haven’t done that in so long!!” The two exchanged enthusiastic opinions about everything they planned.
You honestly felt like you would puke. It was too loud. Your head was throbbed and your whole body was aching. Everything felt so overwhelming. You didn’t care about exploring anymore, you just wanted to go back to the comfort of your home. You tried holding back the tears brimming in your eyes. The robots tensed when they heard soft hiccups. Hot tears rolled down your cheeks. Your body was lowered, bringing you closer together. Moon’s eyes widened while Sun’s eyelids drooped when they realized you were crying.
“Friend, what's wrong?” Your cry turned into a full-blown sob. Sun and Moon quickly sat down. Laying you on their lap, they gently rocked you back and forth with their arms propping you up. Your sobbing could be heard throughout the whole daycare all the while Sun and Moon tried calming you down. They rubbed circles around your back whispering reassurances.
“It’s alright~”
“You’re safe now!”
“There’s no need to cry~” Their hands whipped your tears away. Your body becomes less tense.
“Did we do this?” You opened your eyes realizing they were looking at your head. Their concern was evident. You flinched when their fingers grazed the area you hit.
“Oh sorry! I-I-I didn't meAn tO do THat! WE-”
“Sun.” Moon interrupted
“We can fix this. As long as we follow instructed procedures they will be fine~”
“Oh right right! Sorry about that, friend” You could feel their fingers tenderly stroking your hair. They cradled your body while whispering soothing words.
You could’ve easily pushed them away and made a run for them, but you didn’t have the motivation to do so. You were beyond tired to fight back. It was getting harder to hold up heavy eyelids and the animatronic also seemed to realize this.
“Shhh rest~ You will feel better after a good sleep~” You had to admit their voice was comforting. This couldn’t be so bad right? They seemed nice enough. So it was okay to shut your eyes for a bit. You lifted your eyes one more time to see theirs. If only you were more awake you would’ve caught their lovesickness plastered on their faces gazing at you. Maybe then you’d realized sooner the situation you were now trapped in. You felt two soft taps on your forehead, mocking a kiss before slipping into darkness.
“Goodnight, Starlight~”
“Goodnight, Sunshine!”
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#yandere x reader#yandere x y/n#five nights at Freddy's#fnaf#fnaf x reader#yandere fnaf#fnaf yandere#fnaf human#yandere headcanons#yandere hcs#fnaf sb#fnaf security guard#security breach#security breach x reader#fnaf secuirty breach#daycare attendant#daycare attendant sun#daycare attendant moon#yandere daycare attendant#Yandere daycare attendant x reader#fnaf daycare attendant#fnaf sun#fnaf sundrop#fnaf moon#fnaf moondrop#yandere sun x reader#yandere moon x reader#yandere sundrop x reader#yandere moondrop x reader#fnaf au
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i’ll change for you
— aaron hotchner
@my-mummy-dust
tw; death, suicide, death of a child, lots of crying, aaron is a meanie, child abuse, then, the usual criminal minds stuff
notes: this took so long to write 🤧😭 but i really do like it. also, i have no idea how the criminal minds writers write this kinda stuff, i felt so horrible for what i wrote about the victim ☹️
word count: 3.2k
tension in the precinct was so thick, it could be cut with a knife; no one dared to speak, not with the stakes this high. you all just put your heads down, hoping to make sense of this mess of a case.
in the beginning, it seemed pretty simple. but, then the case began to drag on, with the unsub taking a longer dormancy period between each kill, leaving you and your team like sitting ducks.
you profiled this — he was arrogant, cocky. he knew that anything and everything that happened, was in his control; you hated to admit it but, right now, it was true.
as the minutes went on, aaron was becoming more agitated. it was obvious this case stuck with him more than others, they were children, innocent, defenceless, children; of course everyone felt that way about cases involving kids, but you knew that it was different for parents. and, as much as you wanted to, you refrained from trying comfort him, knowing he wanted to be left alone.
he had all the giveaways: the way his brows were furrowed, the scowl plastered on his face, how his whole body was tense, with his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.
“i don’t get it. you said he was young, out of control, so why’s he taking a longer time between each kill? shouldn’t it be the other way around?” the deputy asked.
rossi spoke up, “yeah, it should be. these kinds of unsubs are always conflicting themselves in their profiles, it’s strange, but rare.” reaching for a few photos of the crime scenes, he continued, “look. you see all these? spilled milk, broken plate, unfinished homework.” he pointed at each picture where it was present, “he’s recreating something, that probably happened in his own childhood, and now he’s projecting it onto them, he sees himself in them, and feels he’s obligated to punish them.”
derek, fiddling with the pen in his hands, spoke next, “the trigger may have been something to do with a parent, and something as simple as seeing the first victim getting told off in a public place, like a park or mall, would prompt him to break into their home, and ‘punish’ the kid.” he shrugged.
“killing the parents is simply to ensure he doesn’t have his fantasy ruined, which is why they’re shot with a single bullet, through the skull.”
spencer takes over, “all these examples show how he is in control. however, his lack of control is displayed in the actual kill of the child. it reflects how, internally, he’s losing it.” he spoke with his hands too, raising them closer to his chest, at the world ‘internal’ “with each and every murder, it becomes more brutal, he beats them even after he knows they’re dead. it’s actually a huge escalation we see compared to the first, where he strangles the victim.”
“but why take the child this time? all the others were killed in their own homes. what makes matt different?”
“that’s what we’re trying to figure out.” rossi sighed.
all heads snapped to the front of the room, when the door was abruptly opened, revealing the officer who was slightly out of breath, “i think we got something. someone’s called the tip line, asking for you guys.”
—
“this is ssa aaron hotchner, with the behavioural analysis unit.”
the plan was to get him on the phone long enough for penelope to track him, and humanise the victim in his eyes, an ounce of empathy could save that boys life.
clattering and yelling could be heard from the other end of the line, shouts of “tell them!” repeated, over the loud sobs that escaped the child.
you couldn’t listen to this anymore, but you had to.
he was relentless, hurling insults toward him, and all you could do was sit there and listen.
looking over at your boyfriend, you saw him take in a deep breath, composing himself, before talking, “matthew’s just a kid, he doesn’t know why he’s there, or, why you’re mad at him.”
“oh yeah? he’s a spoiled brat, that’s what he is, and he fucking knows it! mom’s not here to save you is she?”
aaron tried to reason, “don’t do this. you’re doing the same thing to him, what they did to you, shouldn’t you be putting an end to this cycle? just bring matthew home, we can help you.”
sobs and begs for forgiveness grew louder over the line, “shut up!” you didn’t know who it was directed at, nor did you care. undoubtedly, it was the loud bang of a gun that filled the room, right before the phone was cut.
aaron sucked in a breath, hands beginning to shake slightly.
“penelope, tell me you got something.” morgan asked with desperation.
“yeah- i, uh, yes. it was a burner cell, pinged off of these three towers. i’ve already sent it to your phones.” her voice wavering.
“mom?” you whispered.
“what?”
“he said mom. garcia, could you check if matthew’s mother had any other children, around 20 to 25 years ago?” you hoped to god you were getting somewhere with this, if you weren’t, you doubted you’d catch this guy.
“o-okay.” there was a pause, as she typed, “yes. a son. eric watts. born in 1990, when elizabeth was only 16. he was put into the foster system, the day he was born.” she paused again. “his foster parents, brian and martha crawford, weren’t so kind, during his time with them: constant visits to the hospital, with broken bones, concussions — blamed it on fights, but, it wasn’t backed up. although, his school reported seeing bruising around his neck when he was younger once, but nobody ever did anything.”
“can you check if there’s a property, that has any significance to him? maybe, his old foster home? he’d need somewhere secluded.”
“um, yes! there’s a small ranch house in brian crawford’s name, just a few miles off the west tower, sending the co-ordinates now.”
wasting no time, the team quickly threw their vests on and piled into the two SUV’s — police units following closely behind.
climbing into the passenger side, you said, “this is probably his endgame. there’s no other reason why he’d change his plans, by taking matt to a secondary location, and have the courage to call — those insults were personal.”
“yeah. he’s jealous. upset. why did my mom give me away, but her new kid gets to live a happy and loving life, one i should’ve had. i don’t think it’s gonna be easy taking him alive.” rossi replied from the drivers seat, turning on the sirens.
—
when you turned the cars in, the lights and sirens switched off, so he wouldn’t know you’d be coming.
slamming the car door shut, you rushed to the front of the house, heart practically jumping out of your chest.
morgan kicked the door down, immediately turning to the left, while you went straight ahead, and JJ taking the right.
a series of hopeless ‘clear!’s was heard through your earpiece.
faint yells that were barely present before, got louder and louder, as you inched toward a white door. “i got him. in the basement.” you announced into the mic on your collar.
wrapping your hand around the cold metal, you swung the door open, gun aimed straight ahead, and quickly ran down the stairs, that creaked under you.
“eric watts! FBI! let the boy go.” aaron was stood right next to you, gun also aimed at the man.
“don’t! get away! i’ll kill him!” he was panicking, scrambling to drag matthew up by the collar of his shirt, holding the loaded revolver to the side of his head.
“eric. you don’t want to do this.” you spoke carefully, your aim not faltering. “we know what happened. your mom.. she was only a kid when she had you, she didn’t know any better, than to do what she did.”
“she let me suffer!” he cried out. “she lived her life happily, knowing i was out there, and she did nothing!” his hand began to tighten around the boy’s neck. “all those years! all those years, and she didn’t come! she got to play house with her perfect little family!” he spat, “while i was forced into that living hell she put me in!”
“killing these children isn’t going to fix it eric. they did nothing wrong, just like you didn’t. you need to stop this, so nobody else gets hurt.” it was working, you could see how his hold began to loosen. “let him go.”
a wave of visible emotion flew through him, as he looked down. horror, shock, disbelief, and, realisation, written all over his face. it looked like he had just woken up from a nightmare.
then, his whole body began to tremble, eyes brimming with tears, when he lifted the gun, to his own head.
a loud bang followed immediately after.
—
matthew was in bad shape.
aaron had carried his limp body to the EMT’s — praying he wasn’t too late. he needed to make sure he was okay, that he’d make it home back to his mom.
sometimes, his vision would change, at a glance, he saw his own son in his arms: all battered and bruised. it was an image that would haunt him for days.
“is- is he gonna be okay?” he croaked out.
“we don’t know, agent, he’s in critical condition.” they replied, shooting him a look of sympathy.
after telling them that elizabeth watts would be on her way to the hospital, aaron asked if he could ride in the ambulance with him. he needed assurance. closure.
—
“i’m sorry, sir. but we lost him shortly after he arrived.”
he felt like breaking down, falling to his knees, when he heard those words leave the nurse. but, all he managed to do was nod, with a solemn look on his face.
aaron didn’t have it in him to go to matthew’s room, to say goodbye — if he did, he may never rest easy again.
on his way to the car, he pulled out a little photo of jack he had in his wallet. seeing his son, always brought him comfort, made all his troubles go away, just for a moment. a small smile creeped up onto the fathers face, when he realised he’d be home to that ray of sunshine, in a couple hours.
—
aaron barely slept that night.
when he wasn’t seeing matt in the corners of his vision, he’d be visited by him in his dreams. the boy would cry, tiny hands gripping onto his shirt, demanding for an answer as to why aaron couldn’t save him; all he could do was let “i’m sorry” fall from his lips over and over again. why wasn’t he fast enough?
—
when morning came, you decided you had given aaron enough time. he was struggling. you couldn’t stand to leave him alone any longer, it wasn’t good for him.
in the short time people interacted with him, he’d get progressively more irritated — he was a ticking time bomb, waiting to go off.
you noticed, along with everyone else, how he’d stare off into the distance, face turned white, his usual blank expression laced with fear and guilt.
“aaron.” you spoke, breaking him out of his trance, “i know you’d prefer to be left alone right now, but i really don’t think you should be. are you okay?” he stared at you. “i think you should take some time off, you’re tired, and you’re stressed. maybe we could make dinner together? to get your mind off of it?” bringing your hand to rest on his, “and we can talk.”
“did you really just ask me that?” he whispered, gaze unmoving, “four kids, seven parents, and an unsub dead. multiple family members for me to answer to, for me to tell that i couldn’t save any of their children. and all you can think about is making dinner?” his brows furrowed in anger and confusion.
“what?” you asked, “aaron, you know i didn’t mean it like that.”
“then what did you mean it like? tell me.”
“i just wanted to help you-”
“well you can’t! stop trying to act like more than what you are, (y/n)! these people are dead, they can’t come back, and you want me to brush that off?!” voice becoming harsher with every word he spoke.
your vision began to blur at the edges, and your throat began to close up, “more than what i am?” you asked. “and what am i to you, aaron?”
“nothing.” he replied coldly.
having nothing left to say, you turned, not wanting him to see the tears that rolled down your cheeks, and walked away.
he didn’t do anything to stop you.
you knew this would happen, knew you’d be the one who’d be at the receiving end of his anger — what you didn’t know, was that he’d reveal the truth of what your relationship really meant to him.
it dawned on you then, that maybe his promises of love were empty. instead, they were used as a mere tool to keep you around, to fill the absence of a partner in his life.
—
it had been three days, since you got back from the case — you and aaron hadn’t spoke. he was withdrawn, barely coming out of his office unless it was necessary, but you saw how red his eyes were, from crying or tiredness, you didn’t know.
you were torn. one part of you longed to go over to him, do anything just to get that look of despair off his face; another part of you wanted to avoid him like the plague. he hurt you, used you — yet you didn’t understand why you were still so drawn to him.
—
there was rowdiness in the bullpen, everyone deep in a debate about how one should cut their sandwiches, until a voice broke through, “(y/n). may i speak with you?”
of course now he wanted to speak, you internally rolled your eyes, genuinely appalled at how he’s handling this, as you walked up the stairs to his office.
“what did you want to talk about, sir?”
the title stung more than he’d like to admit, “don’t. don’t call me that.”
“then what do you want me call you?”
his words were quiet, almost pleading, “my name.”
“i don’t think that’s appropriate, hotch.”
“(y/n), please-”
“listen, if this isn’t about work, then we have nothing to talk about.” you headed toward the door, leaving him alone again.
this time, you missed the way his hand reached out for yours.
you made a beeline for the bathroom, ignoring the teams concerned looks, as you wiped the tears beginning to fall down your cheeks.
you didn’t know why you were crying, it was only the sight of him that seemed to bring all those emotions rushing back, you couldn’t help it, as the dam finally broke.
a moment after, you felt yourself being pulled into an embrace, the person rubbing their hand up and down your back, until you calmed down.
“what happened?” it was emily.
“nothing,” you sniffed, “it’s fine.”
“did hotch say something? you weren’t in his office long.”
“no, can you just get my stuff please? i’ll finish the rest of my work at home.” you sighed, wiping your eyes.
she nodded, giving you a soft look, “yeah, sure, i’ll drive you.”
she told you to wait by the elevator, whilst she gathered your things, and told hotch where she’d be going.
—
“thanks, emily, you didn’t have to do this.” you set your bags down.
“it’s alright, just get some sleep, okay?”
you wanted nothing more. so, when she left, you collapsed on the couch, turning something on the tv as background noise, as you fell asleep.
—
it wasn’t soon after, when you were woken by firm knocking on the front door. rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you sluggishly made your way over, the sound becoming louder, and desperate. you didn’t even bother checking through the peephole, which was why you were visibly shocked, when met with the sight of aaron there.
“please hear me out.” he begged, speaking before you did, “i won’t bother you again, if you do. please, just listen.”
you moved aside, letting him in.
“i’m sorry. i’m so sorry, (y/n).” his voice completely different, compared to the last time you spoke with him — something that was so harsh, was now soft.
he was so unlike himself: hair disheveled, with raw emotion painted on his face — he wasn’t ssa hotchner, bau unit chief, anymore, he was aaron, and he was afraid. “i wish i knew why i said that, i really do, because it was far from the truth. i shouldn’t have said it, i know that, and i should’ve gone to you straight away when i did,” his long fingers twitched, itching to hold you, “and explained to you that it wasn’t your fault, you were just trying to help.”
with every word, you struggled to hold yourself together, because the look on his face broke your heart. the urge to be close to him became unbearable — so, you gave in. wrapping your arms around his body, and resting your head on his chest, the rapid beating of his heart, and scent of his cologne soothing you.
“i didn’t want you to be alone.” you whispered, voice breaking.
you were a sensitive soul, and aaron knew that, which was why he had never raised his voice at you, prior to that day.
“please don’t cry, it’s all i’ve been making you do these days.” he spoke, wiping the tears that you didn’t even know were falling.
“it hurt hearing you say that. i thought- i thought you’d been lying to me, this whole time.”
“i wasn’t. i’m sorry i made you think that.”
looking up, he tried to hold back his own tears. “i’m scared, (y/n)..” he breathed, “ever since that day, he’s been there, always asking me why i couldn’t save him, what am i supposed to say to that?”
you lead him to the couch, sat him down, and let him hold you, as he continued, “and i can’t tell the difference, between him and jack.”
then, he told you how he saw jack as the one in his arms that day. and how, one night, he was putting his son to bed, and the vision of matt flashed for a moment.
knowing it calmed him, you ran your fingers through his soft hair, as he cried.
“you need help, aaron. this job, it’s taking a toll on you. if you carry on like this, you’re going to lose yourself — you already are.” you wove your fingers with his, “but, you can’t be helped if you don’t want it, you know that, don’t you?” he nodded. “jack’s spring break is coming up.” you mentioned, “you should take those days off, it’ll be good for both of you. and, i’ll start looking for some therapists too, alright?”
he kissed your cheek, “okay.”
“if that doesn’t work, then we’ll find something else, and we’ll keep doing it again until we find something.”
it was silent after that. eventually, the two of you moved so that you were laying on his chest; you thought aaron had fallen asleep if he hadn’t mumbled, “you’re too good to me, i don’t deserve you, angel. i’d be so lost without you.”
“don’t say that. you’d find your way around, you always do — i’m just giving you a little shove.” you smiled.
#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x fem!reader#aaron hotchner angst#aaron hotchner fanfiction#hurt/comfort#still have no idea if the keep reading thing works yet
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but strangely, he feels at home in this place
TW: body dysphoria, self-doubt, mentions of panic attacks & death, fear, depression-ish, trans max & steve, don't like, don't read.
(modern au, no upside down, max uses she/her but it changes halfway through, steve is also trans, max & steve have a brotherly bond — author is afab but on the transgender spectrum and goes through body dysphoria and confusion all the time)
→ i've been writing this on ao3, it isn't posted yet because it isn't finished, but i wanted to post what i already have on here :) it's all rough draft, so expect for there to be grammar mistakes or things nto worded correctly. there are italics galore in this, but i copy & pasted it from ao3 so it deleted the layout it was in, and my phone makes everything lag when i try and do italics on here, so, yeah, no italics, just imagine them in parts when needed lmao — read tags & warnings, thx!!
title from 'this is home' by cavetown!!
——— ★ ———
Yeah, you could say that Max never fully fit in with girls her age. She skated, hung around guys, scuffed her shoes with dirt and mud, crude sayings and drawings scribbled with black sharpie and in messy handwriting on the toes of her sneakers she got from Goodwill.
Her life was good for a while, until it wasn't. She woke up one day with panic and realization coursing through her veins, crying until her lungs gave out and she hyperventilated, screaming into her pillow.
Panic attack, Max's brain supplies from the old memory of her lessons with her school counselor, Mrs. Kelley.
Small things trigger them, and ever since Billy passed in the mall fire, they happen more than ever. Max wishes she could go back to that summer, when there were no worries in the world, before Billy died, before she and her Mom had to move into a crappy trailer park across from the Munsons.
The bad thoughts cloud Max's mind again, and she shakes her head like a wet dog coming in from the rain.
She gets up and throws on basketball shorts that come down to her knees and a threadbare, gray Hawkins Tigers shirt that she stole from Steve, her tightest, most concealing bra she owns strapped on underneath. Max shoves her hair in a haphazard low bun, taking a quick glance in the mirror, not even bothering to look for too long. Staring into her reflection is bad. It makes Max notice all the impurities and small problems about herself that makes her want to shatter the glass, break it into little pieces on the carpet below her.
Max prays that one day, she could just sink into the floor and disappear. Maybe then, things would be easier. She wouldn't have to worry about her impending doom of her crush on El and the dark thoughts that flood her mind daily, time and time again.
Max steps outside of her trailer, spotting Steve's car parked over at Eddie's. He's sitting on the porch steps, cigarette in his hand, smoke stirring out of his mouth.
She wishes to be like Steve. Wants it. Hopes for it. In her mind, he's selfless and resilient. He came out to everyone without a single trace of doubt, and everyone supported him when he said he didn't feel like a girl. That was three years ago. Max was only 12. She's now 15, drowning in her sorrows and regret.
She stumbles over the gravel that lines the ground, feet carrying her to cross the distance between the two trailers. Steve looks up from his crisp, white Nike Cortez shoes, a smile lighting his whole face up when he sees Max.
"You know those things'll kill you, right?"
Steve snorts, tilting his head like a dog. "Hello to you, too, Max. You sound like Rob, you know that?"
Max just scoffs, the smile on her face betraying the way she's trying to act. "Whatever you say, Mom. I'm not taking the blame from Dustin when you die from smoking on those cancer sticks."
"Sure," Steve says behind a smirk as he puts out his cigarette and dusts his hands off on his jeans, imaginary dirt spreading around the air. "If you're asking for a ride, just know that I'm about to be leaving. Just let me tell Eddie bye, 'kay?"
"Okay," Max echoes, laughing. "Go get your boyfriend!" She yells when Steve turns around to go inside, mimicking kissing and hugging, wrapping her hands around herself and making obnoxious smooching noises. Steve flips her off behind his back. She can almost hear the faint mumble of smart ass kid come from his mouth, which causes her to laugh even harder, head lolling back on a cackle.
——— ★ ———
They're halfway through the drive back to Steve's house when Max breaks the silence, Stevie Nicks playing low on the radio, music drifting through the speakers of his Beamer. "Could I, uh, ask you something? You gotta promise not to say anything about this conversation, because if you do, I'll blackmail you and send Eddie all the embarrassing photos of you from when you worked at Scoops."
Steve whips his head to look at Max, almost surprised look on his face as he lets out a disbelieving laugh, airy and light.
"Okay, kiddo. Shoot."
Her feet are propped up on the dash, and her pulse is rabbiting. "How did you know?"
Steve raises a questionable eyebrow towards her direction, nose wrinkling. "What d'you mean, 'know'?"
Shit, shit, shit.
"No, nevermind, actually. It's stupid," Max sighs. "It's stupid," she repeats, again and again, flipping the word around on her tongue.
"Hey, no, don't just dodge my question like that, Mayfield. Be honest. I doubt it's as stupid as you actually say it is. Spill your guts, c'mon. Like you do at those girly sleepovers of yours."
And, oh.
Girly sleepovers.
Max doesn't like that. Bile swirls in her stomach and she digs her nails into her palm, leaving crescent moons in her skin's wake, jaw clenching and teeth grinding down against each other.
Steve clearly notices he did something wrong, because he quickly pulls into his driveway and puts the car in park, unbuckling to turn and look at Max.
"What's wrong, firecracker? Tell me, please. It won't hurt to just say what's on your mind."
Max shakes her head, eyes downcast and frown placed onto her face. "When did you know you didn't want to be a girl?" Max whispers, voice small and weak sounding, even to her own ears.
Steve grabs Max's hand and holds it oh-so-gently, the angel he is.
"I always subconsciously knew when I was younger, I guess? I never wanted to wear dresses or look pretty. I wanted to feel like a boy. I always got mad when my teachers would split the class into girls and boys. I would try to go with the guys, and my teachers would usher me back into the girls side, telling me that I'm a girl, not a boy. Kids would laugh and point at me for it,"
Steve pauses, getting teary eyed.
"And I didn't fully recognize how I felt inside until after I met Robin and everybody else. I got assured that it was normal to feel like this, so then I recognized how to love myself and my body. I understood that I was a boy, that I am a boy, and I should be proud of who I am."
Max lets out a wet laugh, tears threatening to spill over and around her eyelids.
"I don't think I'm a girl, y'know, at all."
Max looks at Steve through glimmering eyes, and he pulls her into a hug, squeezing her, comfort washing over her body like a cold shower. "I'm so proud of you, Red. So, so proud. I love you, so much."
That's when the tears really start to flow. Max hugs Steve right back, laughing with hurt and love and peace and too many emotions that flood his body.
"You're the best brother I could've asked for, Steve."
They stay like that for minutes on end, time drifting together; Steve rocking Max back and forth in his arms, tears from Max staining his polo shirt.
Steve pulls back first, still holding Max's hand. "And you're the best brother I could've asked for. You're a boy, don't doubt that, Max."
Max wipes at his eyes. "Did I ever mention how much I love you, Steven Belinda Harrington?"
Steve sputters with laughter, letting go of Max's hand. "Belinda? That's the best you could come up, Mayfield? I thought I was the best brother you've ever had?"
"I'll take it back, Belinda, trust me, don't think I won't," Max laughs, punching at Steve's shoulder, not a touch of violence or hate behind it.
#trans max mayfield#trans steve harrington#steve harrington#stranger things#max mayfield#my fic#writing#fanfic#ao3 fanfic#ao3#modern au#no upside down au#sibling bonding#max & steve are siblings#trans characters#trans male character#transmasc steve harrington#transmasc max mayfield#I WILL SPREAD THE TRANS MAX AGENDA IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO#rough draft#my gaybies#my gay ass#coming out#body dysphoria#he/him max mayfield#stranger things fic#that's enough tags okok
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fight or flight
"you know what they say about stress responses, right? fight or flight reaction, and all that?" "knowing you, it's fight, flight, or fuck." "you're not too far off."
this will be a multi-part fic, all based in the stranger things universe! my writing style may make some of the characters be a bit... off, but i promise you, i'm trying my best for this!
as always, the only thing i claim to own in this planned series of works is the writing itself. i do not own any of the characers!
consider this basically a prologue, an intro for the whole shebang.
hawkins sounded like a bad idea from the get-go. obviously, she never wanted to leave her home in the first place, but she'd reckoned that leaving with her family would make things feel a bit more palatable. if her family didn't consist of her dad, her step-mom, her brother, and maxine, maybe that would've been true.
her and billy only had a year apart between the two of them, meaning that she's always been close to william hargrove, but they couldn't be any different. billy's been masking his anger with their dad with parties, popularity, and endless drinking and smokes. herself? she drowned out the sounds of shouting and anger with heavy drums, intense guitar solos, and gravelly-voiced singers who screech out prose.
in california, they were called 'bonnie and clyde' as siblings. now, though? she wanted nothing to do with him. the only things they have in common, in her opinion, are their last name, and their drive to drown their daddy issues in tail. on the drive to hawkins high this morning, all she wants to do is open the car door and jump out.
max and billy are bickering– at least max got the family temper, it keeps her on the same level as her and billy– and she's just trying to touch-up her mascara in the side mirror, making sure she looks somewhat presentable.
"keepin' your eyes glued to yourself that long, might as well figure out how you can marry yourself," billy snarks over, looking at his sister who merely glares at him. the boy gives a cheeky grin, knowing his sister like the back of his hand, as if he hadn't just parroted what she'd said to him much earlier before leaving the house, when he had been styling his hair properly.
"oh, please, billy boy," she sighs, scrunching her curled hair to maintain the boisterous volume that she had given it. "you would marry yourself, if you could. you'd need a good divorce lawyer, though, with how much you sleep around." she can feel her brother's glare burning holes in the side of her head, but she knows he won't do anything. it's one of the benefits of looking so much like their mom; pour on the honey-sweet tone, dial up the niceities and he'll be unable to do anything but grumble to himself.
billy, in fact, opens his mouth, ready to retort and snap back at his sister, but they pull up to hawkins high before he can even say a single word. it's already a lot, really; she can close her eyes and picture being back in california, walking into school, hearing the airheaded blondes and the sophomore year-peaking boys who think they're nothing less than gods.
as strange as it is, she misses home. misses the bright warmth and the sun, misses the malls and busy streets. anything to get away from the smell of cow shit, empty plains, and the fall chill that she's definitely needing to adjust to.
before she gets out of her brothers car– max has already slammed the car door, huffing and barking back at billy for telling her to come straight to the car afterschool– she puts on a new layer of her bright red lipgloss, the kind that used to have boys melt and bend at the knee, and would occasionally end up smeared on their cheeks and necks, if they were the lucky ones.
slinging her bag over her shoulder, she finally gets out of the car. she can feel all the envious eyes of girls standing against their boyfriends vehicles already looking at her brother like a piece of meat. it irritates her, even if she knows the men are doing the same, and billy no doubt has the same anger bubbling up inside him.
"keep that skirt on and no hands sneaking under it," her brother grumbles, right before giving the ladies his signature grin, the one that she had always referred to as his 'lure' grin. the one he'll give a girl to drag her home, rock her world, then never talk to her again. the one that leaves a trail of broken hearts and dropped panties in its wake.
"keep your pants on and your fly up, then," she snaps back, already making her way forwards and into the school. she can hear all the wolf-whistles and all the endless chatter from the boys about how short that skirt of hers is, how she'll freeze to death if she doesn't 'huddle up' with them, not to mention how many are already talking about how easy it'd be to creep their way closer to her.
sure, sex is great and all, but something about being trivialized as some trophy is... sickening. so, obviously the girl is keeping her wits about her, ignoring all the comments for now, even if each pair of eyes should be ripped form their heads for looking at her so lowly. she knows her own value; she's been called a goddess in bed before, and that was by some half-drunk loser in california, but it rung true. she is that worthy of praise, worship, devotion.
one set of eyes, however, doesn't go down to her skirt and stay on her legs. it doesn't even stray past the leather jacket on her shoulders– her brothers, she admits, but she'd never been one to even acknowledge her brother being able to have things for himself– and she finds it.. oddly satisfying. rewarding, almost, like there's at least one person in hawkins high not ogling her.
it's an entirely new kind of attention, to be quite honest, and she has no idea how to really react to it. whether she's meant to lash out, cry against the world for being oh, so cruel to her angry, warped soul to have someone eye her with something other than envy or pure want– or if she's meant to fawn, to gravitate towards the only person treating her like a human being, and to get herself involved in some hallmark whirlwind highschool romance.
either way, she sees who the gaze is connected to, and she'd be lying if she said she expected the person to be. he's one of the pretty boy types, she deduces; popular, on some kind of school sports team most definitely the captain, the air-headed kind to ignore between classes and pray she'd never be paired with for an assignment.
though, the soft, big, doe-eyes that seem fixated on her are quite the sight, and the strong jaw, defined nose, the smattering of birth and beauty marks across his face seem to give him this uncharacteristically human trait, compared to the very stereotype she's predicted.
she narrows her brows, giving a cold, hardened gaze; she aims to show she's not socialized, so to speak, that the black and red composition of her outfit reeks of femme fatale, a black widow type, engage at your own risk. but there's no such luck, as the fluffy haired tom cruise type makes his way towards her, confident and quick in his gait, even if there's a lack of spcial awareness reeking of a clumsy demure.
"hey there, little lady," the boy hums, gaze staying on her face, almost as if calculating how she's reacting to him, but he quite obviously doesn't know that she's well-versed from the years of torment and anguish at home to keep her emotions to herself, off of her face. "you're new here, so welcome to hawkins high. you need a tour guide, you just look around for steve harrington, i'll show you all around."
so he can't take a hint.
"mm," is all she responds with, very openly and shamelessly eyeing the man up and down, as if sizing him up to intimidate him. the man shifts from one foot to the other, hip cocked and head quirked; he's not picking up on the fact that she's trying to dismiss him.
"saw you with that guy in the camaro and the red-head, you guys look like quite the family," he continues to talk, prying, to see if she'll do more than just vocalize around her. alas, she just rolls her eyes at him, and he still doesn't seem offended, taken aback, or even remotely disinterested. so, she relents.
"i'll find you if i need you, harrington. name fits that crown of yours," she tells him. the way his brows raise is subtle. he's surprised, but not off-put. another comment about the hair, water off a duck's back, it seems. "i'll be fine figuring it out myself for now."
trained to follow subtle hints in body language from years of cowering, blocking out the sounds of her older brother being treated like no better than a dog, she notes the slight drop in his shoulders. not entirely, a momentary defeat for him, but he still holds out hope.
"yeah, alright," he responds, hands removing themselves from his hips, posture straightening, eyes going over her shoulder to look around, looking for his friends no doubt. "i'll be around–" the pause, an expectant gaze.
ah, right. names, such a fickle things, things she would prefer to not share, like pleasantries, pillowtalk, and whatever cheap shit booze she can sneak from her dad.
"you can stick with hargrove for now." she tells him, and god forbid the smile that graces his face. so that's what he is– a classic soft, popular guy. layers of issues, no doubt, but far too many to point out in particular, at least for now.
with a quirk at his lips into a somewhat playful smirk and a flick of the single coif of hair dropping into his face, he decides to push once more for now. "cherry it is, then. cherry hargrove."
a twinge of anger, at least that's what she can place it as. this man has no idea what he's getting into.
#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington#billy hargrove#stranger things#steve harrington x reader slowburn#steve harrington x reader smut#stranger things s2#steve harrington x reader prologue#andromeda st#andromeda st fic#andromeda series#archers 18+ emporium
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i get so jealous of euthanized dogs
(do you ever think too much about the implications of a plastic skeleton. i do.)
genloss fic about the death — and it's subsequent consequences — of frank, last name unknown.
gl!sneeg/gl!frank, title from the poem of the same name by june gehringer, heavily inspired by the locked tomb series,
word count: 4,004, contains: suicidal ideation, canon-typical violence, descriptions of decomposition
Frank was not in his room. This was — mostly — expected, given his sorry state the last time Sneeg had seen him. Each morning, when Sneeg rose and he snuck out of the Cabin and down to that cramped corridor to unhook Niki from a great mess of wires and shake her gingerly awake, he also picked the lock of the room two doors down, and they would look to see that empty cot and those dark monitors which did not show any vital sign or brain activity. As they stared into that unfilled space, Sneeg thought, meanly, that this was probably what they got for being so used to walking the back rooms and the far corridors of the mall that they had forgotten the dangers of the Heart.
If it was any consolation, Frank was dead before he could realize the whole plan was going to shit. Niki had bolted in the first available direction, and Sneeg had not followed her, too busy holding the disparate bits of Frank’s skull together. He did not know where Niki had gone, only that she had not made it out. She was, after three days time, in her little room, sleeping so deeply as to be three-quarters dead, powered-down and completely unharmed. The two of them had not been very productive in the following days, and by the fifth day that Niki had been returned and Frank had not, they had begun to absolutely lose it, and they had split up to walk the parasitized mall and worry where the other could not sense it.
On the seventh day, Sneeg encountered a strange sight: an open door that had not been open the day before. Sneeg did not recognize the door, but he recognized the hallway, and he recalled the third door from this end downward having been marked on their map with an inverted dagger: locked, keycard access. The door was clearly not supposed to be open. A sheet of laminated paper found itself caught between the body of the door and the mechanism of the lock, the little black keycard reader gleaming a welcoming LED green. A thin, pale fog rolled in half-formed locks out of the room, and it was making the hallway a little cold to stand in. The room beyond the door was cramped as any recycled Showfall room, stuffed to the gills with a series of large steel drawers, like lockers turned over onto their side so the shortest edge faced forward. All but one were closed, the source of that milky, breathy fog, and a metal slab had been shunted or rolled out of the drawer, which a single figure lay on top of. Approaching the thing was a miserable endeavor: laid as still as stillness over the slab was Frank — or at least, his body.
The body appeared very similar at first glance to its living counterpart, but at the moment’s close examination, the whole thing fell apart. It carried the same heavy-set brow, the same hawkish nose, the same worried marks at the corners of the mouth and eyes, but the whole lovely face had no blood in it at all, rendering it the tone of some anemic cornflower. It lay more still than Frank ever had, even in sleep, and it was a cold to the touch that made his fingers numb. Only the soft give of the skin and the flesh underneath convinced him that it was not a well done marble replacement by some singlely Pygmalion-minded sculptor. It was all very confusing. Sneeg held a deep, uncomfortable familiarity with death, but it all seemed off now. He could assume the purpose of the cold room with the inset drawers, but someone had, with precision if not care, dressed the body well and laid its hair flat and its hands in a kindly manner over its chest — they had put his face back together, for God’s sake — but the body was still dead. It was like dressing up a piece of plywood. What was the point?
Sneeg stared for a moment longer, at the remnant shell of the first person who had known him to the core of his misery and loved him anyway, and his eyes watered. Something was wrong. Something was awfully wrong. A body like this had been dead a longer time than Showfall had ever let them have between shows. He was in cold storage and not laid on the threadbare cot of his talent cubicle, waiting in pristine unaltered condition for whatever next taping Showfall had in mind. There was nothing good that would come from them leaving a cast member like this for so long, long enough for the body to pass into and out from rigor mortis. It betrayed a nearly unthinkable idea, something Sneeg could barely string together the words to comprehend: Frank was dead, and Showfall never intended to bring him back. This was it. The thought was like a bullet through his own brain, and he stood there, white-knuckling the edge of the mortuary drawer and breathing quite heavily.
Reaching into the pocket of that wrinkle-less jacket, he retrieved the silver Showfall-branded lighter, marked over in pen and marker and paint. It was a familiar weight, and found a familiar home in his own pocket. There was nothing else to do. He did not know how a real person was supposed to face a loss like this. He did not know how to say goodbye, and to mean it forever.
It was with a childish, fairytale desperation mingled with his shock and his tragedy, that, in almost a dreaming haze, he pressed his lips to the pretty, bloodless mouth of the body. It did nothing so pedestrian as wake or speak. It did not flutter long, frosted eyelashes, open pearly clouded-over eyes and smile at him. It merely lay there, cold and still. Sneeg did not know what he had expected. He watched the body for a moment longer, to ensure it drew no hidden breath, nor twitched any surreptitious muscle — and then he ran from it.
In the cage of the Cabin — the safest place he had, given its having four walls and a door he could close and lock — Sneeg had tried very hard to tar over the raw wound of the loss with the thick denial that only a child of Showfall could feel. Frank was coming back. He was coming back because everyone came back. That was how it worked. That was how it always worked. It was nigh unthinkable that it wouldn’t now, for him, but oh God, would Showfall decide to pull their fingers from their own hand only to spite him, only to plant their dagger between his third and fourth rib. They would because they hated him. They had always hated him, ever since they first took him, for all the terrible things at the heart of his being, for his inability to work to standard, or live to standard, or look to standard. He tried very hard not to think about the possibility. He tried very hard not to think of anything at all. He tried very hard to focus on the shapes the path of his breath took through his body, the stucco texture hastily plastered over the walls and the floor, the hum of the tungsten day lights. He pulled his knees tight to his chest, and tried not to cry, because it would be real if he cried.
Sneeg spent three such nights in the cage, only moving on the fourth to the too-short couch in the living room when the bones of his back protested too much to ignore. He did not want to go back to the softer, better fitting mattress of his own room in the attic, to sit in the cold dark where Frank had laid his head on his chest in secret. Sneeg had done nearly everything in secret then, and now he was doing nothing, and he was doing it quite openly. He waited around, doing a great deal of nothing in the living room, or sometimes the kitchen, or the basement, and tried to be nothing in his wait for the next taping. This was the model of the perfect Showfall student, someone who wanted nothing and did nothing, and only lived to work their fingers to the bone, and then work the bones off their hand. It was almost strange to think that Management had tried for nearly twenty years, through varying cruel and unusual means, to turn Sneeg into this, when all it had taken was the maybe-death of one cosmically disposable cast member, and the maybe-shredding of that piece of Sneeg that was convinced he knew what the warmth of the Sun felt like.
The next taping arrived, as it would even if Hell froze over. Sneeg fell into the ephemeral grasp of the Showfall filter, and he forgot his grief wholly and entirely as Sneegsnag, first son of Showfall Media, first Taken, and despair of the Founder, disappeared. He melted away like so much candle wax, and someone picked him up and turned him over and over until he was the shape of whichever character they demanded of him.
The show did not matter, only that Sneeg’s part in it ended with a bullet stuck in his second lumbar vertebra. The moment Sneeg hit the ground, he began to remember again, and when each of the actors had peeled out of the room and the cameras were turned away from him, the loss had snuck its way back into his body in lung-shaking fingers of cold. It was there, bleeding onto that tiled faux-floor, that Sneeg realized that he recognized the prop corpse in the corner, the one that the prop department would have carefully set down and fiddled with before the actors were even on set. He propped himself up on his elbows, raising himself out of that scarlet puddle which had already ruined the nice shirt he had been dressed in, and he looked at it again, just to be sure.
He hated to look at it. He hated that they had not given him the mercy of smashing that pretty face into unrecognizable mush. He hated that the body was dead, and it was not moving, and Showfall had conscripted it for such purpose. The body was dead, and this was its job now, and Showfall had gotten sick of it and was not bringing him back. Sneeg wanted to scream, and he wanted to vomit, and he wanted to go home, even though he didn’t know at all what that meant anymore. He laid back down, getting his hair wet and black with fresh blood, and he had repeated, “No, no, no, no, no,” very quietly, nothing more than a breath, until two of the well-dressed employees grabbed each of his arms and sides of his thorax, bodily hauled him with their unthinking, programmed movement onto a stretcher, and caught him in the neck with the syringe.
Later that night was the first time the ghost of Frank revealed itself to him, sat beside him in the dark, and laid its hand which carried no weight over his own hand. There was no honest sensation that came from it, as was the want of a ghost or a trick of the mind, but it had left behind the pins-and-needles feeling of a limb left too long without blood. Sneeg had finally wept then, for his lost, far away family, for his dead lover, for his damned escape plan, and for his own sorry state. He hated to weep. He hated how incapable it made him feel, how it crushed his lungs and his throat. He felt like a small child again, or more accurately, like a worm. He did not know what to do, and now there was no one around to tell him. Easily, without spoken prompt, the ghost tried its stupid, spectral best to hold Sneeg. It did not succeed a great amount in this, but Sneeg’s starving want made the paresthetic touch a good enough comfort for him to lay still and try to sleep, rather than walking out of the Cabin and throwing himself over the third-story railing.
Sometimes, each night that followed, the ghost appeared to him alive, and at other times, as freshly dead as he had been the first time Sneeg saw him. Only once had he appeared in unrestrained decomposition, and Sneeg prayed it never happen again. He had been waxen, swell with rot, a deep, lush violet where the blood had been allowed to pool, leaking a dark fluid from his nose he wiped at in intermittent intervals. Sneeg had looked upon him in desperation and hunger, and the remains of his own putrefying affection, and he had still reached out to touch the apparition — but Frank smiled, and his mouth was full of maggots, and the palm that Sneeg had reached to touch him was seized with the conviction of ten thousand worms beneath its own skin, roiling and squirming. He had screamed for only one moment, but the ghost still vanished, and his brother still appeared with a quickness and a pitying concern, both of which Sneeg disdained.
Sometimes the ghost did not speak, only lay beside him in a familiar stillness, side against side, as Sneeg tried his damnedest to make himself hear Frank breathe into the dark. Most days it did speak, and often it was to needle him about how long it had been since Sneeg had eaten, or showered, or drank water. It was difficult to remember to do so those days. Sneeg spent much of his time asleep, finding it favorable in nearly every way to waking. There was very little want in his body to do much of anything, except to lie there on his mattress on the floor until God felt it right to snatch him away.
His brother had not bothered him for one week, and then had been struck with what Sneeg could only assume was a crushing fear that God would indeed take Sneeg away, and Sneeg would be in no hurry and of no power to stop Him. He had begun placing bowls of cold porridge and glasses of room temperature water just beyond the doorway to the attic, and checking whenever he thought Sneeg was asleep to see if they had been disturbed, as if attempting to care for a stray cat. One night, in some kind of fit, Charlie had burst into the room, taken one of Sneeg’s hands between his own, between the hands that had drowned and bled and choked and killed and killed him so many times, and prayed intercessions to every saint he thought fit, and then some extra for surety: Anastasia, Raphael, Rita and Juliana and Teresa, Camillus and Christina Mirabilis, and on and on until his throat was hoarse. Sneeg watched him, and felt much like a compass that had broken somehow, no longer able to spin to point in the direction of God.
The ghost had taken this plea as sign and signal to redouble its efforts, and where God had not delivered Sneeg from his sorrows, the ghost delivered him from the IV drip and the padded room of the hunger strike. Showfall had never cared if he lived or died, but for him to waste away spoke unfortunately about how well they were paying him. They weren’t paying him, mind you, but it was about the optics of it. To this effect, Sneeg developed an unerring routine which got three nutrient rations and two and a half glasses of water into his body a day, and for his success the ghost would lay beside him at night, and leave that pins-and-needles feeling against his hands, and his neck, and his mouth. When the ghost did not appear, Sneeg comforted himself by imagining what it would be like to walk far beyond where Showfall’s patrol lines would ever find him, to break boarded windows and curl up on the floor of the condemned wing of the mall, and die like a bird which had flown in accidentally and could not get out. It was not a great comfort, and he knew dimly it was not a healthy one either, but it was enough to dull his heart and brain enough for him to sleep. In his dreams, each time he saw Frank, he felt very sick, and he would turn to Niki or Charlie or anyone that was there and ask, sorrily, “Is he there? Can you see him?” and they would look at him like a particularly sad piece of roadkill.
His brother kept praying, and sometimes he screamed into a pillow or an old shirt. Charlie knew that if Sneeg died, he would too, and Charlie did not want to die. He did not know what to do either, and vacillated between an overbearing care, as if Sneeg was a piece of glass or old china, — which Sneeg hated — and a snapping fury at Sneeg’s inability to do much of anything — which Sneeg also hated, but hated in an acute way that made him feel half a percent more alive. At those, Sneeg snapped back, and the two would fight with the familiar contempt that only grew from living together against your will for the better part of two decades. Sometimes it devolved, and ended with teeth in flesh and hands around neck and blood on the floor. Sometimes Sneeg cried — this was an arresting notion for even the most boiling over Charlie, and it made everything very strange and sad and awkward. He would place his hand on Sneeg’s shoulder, then take it away, and flap his mouth open and closed a couple times, but no noise would come out. Only once did he manage a blank “I’m sorry,” and Sneeg had just cried worse for it.
When it was clear that Sneeg was set on the rituals of self-maintenance, the ghost shunted its efforts towards convincing Sneeg to wake up Niki, and to get back on the wagon of planning their escape. He tried to convince Sneeg of this first by saying that Niki would be upset if Sneeg left her there alone much longer, which was not very effective, since he was sure she would be upset already, and then by saying that it would be good for Sneeg to get out of the house, which was not very effective, since Sneeg had nearly given up on doing things that were good for him. Then, he tried to tell Sneeg that the plan was not off yet, that there was still a chance for them to make it out, if they got together and threw themselves into it.
The problem with this was that Sneeg and Niki had no fucking clue what they would do if they got out, on account of Niki having nearly no recollection of the details of her life before Showfall had kidnapped her, and of Sneeg's having been seven at the time. As integral to the plan as Niki’s steadfast internal map and Sneeg’s memory of the timetables and the pathing of the wandering guards had been Frank’s insistence that he could hunt down the names and the contacts of those who were close to him, who he remembered with a greater clarity. But that was all gone now. Sneeg had not known it, so the ghost would not whisper it to him. Niki did not know it, despite her constant bothering Frank to tell her all he knew, so they would have one less point of failure. He had never told her, not because he did not want to, but because he only knew it in a subconscious, animal way, and not in a way that he could tell her, and now none of them knew. Each new detail, each elaboration on the loss, made the whole thing interminably worse. They were alone, and they were damned, and there was no way out.
At this thought, the ghost jabbed at him and set off the strange nerve at the point of his elbow. “Fuck off,” it had said. “You’re better than this. You need instructions? You need an order? Survive me. Finish the job.” It had looked so close to living, breathing, pressure-bomb Frank then, sharp eyes like so much burnt-up copper, teeth at fascinating and contradicting angles, that he would have done anything it asked.
Sneeg slept, and he woke, and he ate, and he told his brother, “I’m going to go talk to Niki,” and then, at Charlie’s expression, “Give me three hours before you start to worry.” Charlie turned his face up at this, but he nodded, and Sneeg retraced, in dismally slow footsteps, that familiar back alley path from the Cabin’s panel door to the dingy hallway of the cast cubicles. Niki was lying in the abyssal, dreamless sleep of the power-down as Sneeg clacked the well-worn key combination into the console, and pulled away a lot of electrodes and finger-traps. The first thing Niki did was scream, and then she thought better of it, and just sat at the edge of the cot and hyperventilated. When Sneeg had tried to speak, she got up and pushed past him, brusquely, and left the room. Half an hour later, he started looking for her, and when he did find her in one of the many uncared for corners of the mall, she was sat, knees to chest, beneath a whole herd of quite miserable chalk-drawing horses across the wall. Her hands were bunched in her hair, and she was looking somewhere far away. Her eyes were rotten, needle ice over dark water. She had a very small voice when she spoke.
“What are we going to do?” In the dark, it was clear to them both that Niki was still a teenager, and Sneeg was still as stunted as he had ever been. They sat there, two kicked, abandoned dogs, which had been cut free of leash and of collar for the first time, and were liable to start running into traffic. There was a length between them that felt like a missing molar.
“Okay. Okay.” Niki rose with a fervor that nearly toppled her over, and she grabbed each of his shoulders with vile intensity. “Sneeg. I am not dying in this hole. Get up.”
Sneeg got up. He never could ignore a direct order. Sneeg got up and got up and got up, and his heart kept beating, and his lungs kept drawing in breath. Hours fell into days fell into weeks, sets fell into sets fell into moldy corridors where Niki tried to transcribe the paths of guards with too many dashed lines and corresponding sigils. They chipped at the work in short, fervid bursts, then couldn't touch it for days. Niki never prayed, but she would hold Sneeg's hands when he did, and sometimes, thinking she was alone, she would pace in languid, looping circles and speak as if Frank could still hear her.
They spent so much time working at this dreadfully slow pace that it became very hard to tell just how long it had been. Sneeg lost count of the days since he had last asked God to just kill him and get it over with, and he thought it a success, and stopped keeping track — only to end up awake in the kitchen in the middle of the night, staring longingly at the wood-paneled knife block. Time fell through his hands like it wasn't even there, and he only realized that it had been a very long while when he went to wake Niki up, and spotted, at the edge of the hall, a new temporary label on one of the previously empty rooms. It was the same mechanized handwriting as every other label, and Niki read it out, clear and crisp: T-8: HERO.
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"𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙙𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙨 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙤𝙣?"
you and main cast, where yall going?
John
put on your sunscreen! cuz you're going the fuck outside
takes you to a carnival in town for your first date.
he instantly wants to get you every single prize there is, doing multiple games, all rigged against him, and his frustration gets progressively higher.
until, the fated claw machine.
it was your mistake to mention that you'd love the cute pig plushie, because he spends quarter after quarter determined to get you it.
it gets to the point that you end up leaving to go get you both a soda, seeing how he won't even move from the machine.
with his last failed attempt, he slams his fist against the side of the machine, impossibly frustrated and out of quarters.
but, fate seems to be on his side, as the metal panel guarding the inside of the machine falls as a result of his punch.
can you really blame him for reaching his arm inside and taking a plush or two? or three? or... all of them?
he carries as much as he can, excited to show you. he can see you in the distance, only a little bit more, just a little—
"freeze! you're under arrest!", aw shit.
"you are being charged with destruction of property and theft. anything you say can be used against you in court.", he feels shame and embarrassment pool in his stomach as the altercation draws your attention, your hands covering your mouth in shock as he's cuffed.
as he is put into the carnival police car, he hangs his head low. i'm such a screw up. how could i be so fucking idiotic? they hate me, don't they? i fucking hate mysel—
"john!", your voice rings out even in the police car. he sees you, standing in the middle of the mountain of plushies. he sees as you pick up the prized pig plush, holding it in your arms.
"thank you!", you shout, smiling at him and waving. he tries to wave back, but resorts to shaking his head left and right, indulging in the laugh it pried from you.
even as the police car starts to move, his feelings are replaced with more welcomed ones: feelings for you.
he would take you mostly on casual dates when you start dating. you would go to places like arcades, fairs, and the like. cute picnic dates with each other, just talking and loving each other's company.
cute couple that ends up getting kicked out of every establishment they go to.
Sera
takes you to woaba boba for your first date.
what? it's not romantic? welp, that's rough buddy.
honestly, she doesn't feel the need to overly impress you. of course, she wants you to have a good time and have a good impression of her, but she isn't gonna stress herself out.
also uses it as a sort of test. she's had people, if they're brave enough, try to befriend her in order to benefit off her family's wealth, connections, and power.
so, if you don't like it, then you can happily take your business elsewher—? oh? you love boba? you always wanted to go here? you're thanking her?
hm. well, she may have been a bit rash. maybe you aren't like other people...
you blink slightly as she sips her boba, looking strangely pleased. did something happen..?
takes you to different hang out spots.
you'd go shopping together at the mall or spend time at a skating ring, whether or not either of you can skate is entirely irrelevant.
similar to john, you both get into a lot of trouble on your dates, though your chances of being caught are now halved 👍
badass couple that get progressively dumber the longer they are around each other.
Arlo
first date on the moon
okay not actually but its still exuberantly fancy
french restaurant in the heart of Wellston that has three michilen stars and a price range that would make the average man cry.
you're not surprised when you show up and he's wearing a suit that's the cost of the same man's salary.
classic candlelit dinner, the chef personally comes to serve you both. you pray that he doesn't believe in 50/50
not nervous at all. in fact, bro thinks he's the shit. (and he is but don't tell him that)
he knows he outdid himself with this one, and he knows that it's gonna impress you. still... you look sort of... bored—? well, no matter. he didn't pay the chef just for them not to have any tricks up their sleeve.
date goes well, because of course it did. still, as he walks you to your home, you look... less impressed than he hoped for.
did he do something wrong? did you not like the food? did you hate the restaurant—?,
"arlo!", huh? "there's a cat in the tree!", what did you want him to do about it? you stare at him with those pretty eyes, looking up at him. don't you remember that this suit costs a fortune? why not just call the fire department— "please, arlo..?"
...so what? he got a few twigs caught in his hair. and sure, maybe his suit is completely stained and torn from kitten claws and branches. but that sweet smile of yours, the impossibly bright light in that dim alley, is more than enough to make up for it.
takes you to expensive, classic dates. dinner dates are always a favorite, but you also go to nice lounges and country clubs to play golf or drink champagne.
elitist couple that thinks they are better than everyone and technically is.
Remi
first date is bowling, 90s style
she's very excited for the date, isen and blyke? not so much.
she had to practically chain them to a street lamp to be able to go with you on the date, and still, two guys in employee uniforms seem to be glaring at you an awful lot huh...
but anyways! the date is great! you both spend time with each other and take turns bowling. a fun sort of competition evolves from every passing round. she's... happy. she's really, really happy with you. and it's like she never wants it to end.
alas, a rumble of her stomach catches you both off-guard, resulting in a light chuckle from you and an embarrassed blush from her.
enjoying a burger, fries, and coke, you both sit together playing footsies in the food court. except, no good thing lasts for long.
a stray fry passes by your table, hitting someone behind you on the head. yet, despite doing something about it, the person simply cowers further in fear.
then, another fry. and another. and then a soda cup splatters hard and fast against them, covering them in a sticky, brown liquid. it's disgusting. it's revolting. and remi can barely stand to see it.
yet, for some reason, you grip tightly onto your own soda cup and stand up, your face obscured by the overhead light.
there's no way. no way you're gonna join in this, right? you were better than this, right? you wouldn't stoop to their level. no. no, how could you—?
your own soda cup slams against the face of the perpetrator, a sticky, orange fluid plastered all over them.
after the shock, remi's face almost shines. maybe, maybe you aren't like everyone else. she was right about you. and she's so happy she was.
takes you on classic dates. sharing a milkshake or pasta in a small diner is only one of her many ideas for you both. also likes going to fairs and carnivals, she'll win you so many plushies.
sweet couple that gives everyone diabetes with how cute you are.
Blyke
tries to do something similar to arlo and fails miserably.
first date at a fancy restaurant but he shows up 15 minutes late covered in dirt and mud on his suit.
ask him what happened and he'll brush off the fact that he lost his phone in the sewer drain and bought a fishing rod to get it out and it worked until he accidentally flung both fishing rod and phone into a tree that he had to climb but didn't realize was being actively cut down and got stuck on a semi-truck as he fell and terrifyingly slid off until he bounced and bumped and conveniently landed right in front of the restaurant.
but don't worry! just a few scratches and stains and oh, is there a bird in his hair?
sits down and— "pfft, do you see them?", huh?
"please, what an embarrassment. people like that shouldn't be here, they ruin it for everyone."
...y'know what? fuck them. it doesn't matter. he's here with you, and he won't ruin it by getting angry. he shouldn't be mad. don't get mad—
and suddenly, a cup of water is thrown at the talking man.
"hey! keep your ass out of our business! what makes you think you can talk about us when you're balding at, what, 30?"
after a few more comments comparing the man to mr. clean and a couple profanities later, you're both thrown out of the restaurant with nothing but the clothes on your back.
"psh, assholes. let's go, blyke.", "go? what do you mean?", you smile at him, standing up and offering your hand. "our date isn't over just yet."
he might just love you.
takes you on gym dates. just gym dates. only gym dates. and maybe a few coffee dates or dates at the beach.
superhero couple with all the energy of a shonen anime and the bad decisions to show for it.
Isen
first date at the mall
think about it, it's casual enough to not be taken too seriously but also enough activities to make it seem like he's putting in more effort than he really is.
he's a genius, isn't he?
sometime during the date, you both go inside a stationary store. there, he might've just met the love of his life.
a pen, no, the pen. everything from the smell, to the sleek style, to the vibrant red and black accents. it's beautiful. but he'll be damned if he's spending $300 on a singular pen, even he has his limits.
so, after staring longingly at it, he leaves along with you to the next place. it's fine, surely nothing wrong could happen now—
"hey! you there with the bad haircut!", huh? first of all, rude—
the security guard yells at him, telling him that he apparently stole the valued pen at the stationary store. that the cameras saw him looking at it and they know it was him.
not only is the dude embarrassing him in front of you, but his integrity is being called into question.
why is it always him? can't he have a simple day without things going wrong? he didn't even do anything! why is it always his fault—?
you step in front of isen, almost to protect him. "he wouldn't do that, he isn't like that. just because he was looking at it doesn't mean he did it. you don't even know him, not like how i do."
..? you're taking his side? even after what the security guard said?
his thoughts are stopped as the store owner comes up to the security guard, saying that after checking the cameras, someone with invisibility probably took it.
the security guard stops, looking rightfully embarrassed. "s-sorry, then. my mistake." what an—
"asshole. you think we're forgiving you that easily. you better start groveling right now, you pig."
... you're worse than him... which is kinda hot.
instead of taking you on dates, you both just do everything together. if he needs help with the press team, then you're the first person he's going to. if he needs to share a secret that's been weighing him down, then you're always there to lend an ear.
annoying couple that pisses everyone off in 0.420 seconds.
based on the values i think the main cast would appreciate/need in a partner:
john: forgiveness
sera: authenticity
arlo: kindness
remi: righteousness
blyke: courage
isen: loyalty
#michixoxo#unordinary#unordinary arlo#unordinary headcanons#unordinary john#unordinary blyke#unordinary isen#unordinary seraphina#unordinary remi#unordinary hcs
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i would love so much for the parents of stranger things, besides joyce and hopper, to get some elaboration on how they feel about their kids clearly having trauma from a series of events mostly unknown to them.
like does charles notice that after the fourth of july he and lucas have the same reaction to fireworks? for a moment he questions if ptsd, or whatever the shrink he was forced to visit after being discharged from the military called it, could be passed down genetically, no, of course not. he was in that mall fire, or maybe he just saw it? neither of the kids had given him any details, he and sue agreed to let them speak about it on their own time, even though their own time is starting to feel like never. and charles can let erica sleep in sue and his bed and he can give lucas advice on how to deal with the fireworks, but any deeper conversations and the kids are “fine” - they’re always fine. sue mentions therapy, charles scoffs at the suggestion, therapy would imply something’s wrong, that he did something wrong, that he didn’t follow all the rules, read all the parenting books, try his best but still fall short to things both in and out of his control. so lucas tears up and hugs him for “no particular reason” sometimes, erica still makes him check for monsters in the closet. kids can be strange, his kids are strange, but also his favorite people ever, so he’ll take his wins where he can.
after they move to forest hills does susan apologize for not being more present? yes, max says it’s fine, it’s not. susan wants to pull herself apart for her behavior, she tells herself she’ll do better tomorrow, she won’t. she’ll have max rest her head in her lap while they watch murder she wrote and find the time to braid her hair before school, but she can’t change the past or justify her failings or take away max’s pain. she can’t even talk about neil or billy. how does she explain that she desperately misses the worst man she’s ever met? or at least the moments where he was apologizing for something she probably should have left him for. and billy, no, yeah, billy... when susan schedules max to see the school counselor max accuses her of pawning off her problems to a stranger, yes, not that she thinks therapy would be useless for her. she thinks about how after the night max snuck out she anxiously confided in neil that something was wrong with max, something happened. he laughed at her, “that’s just what max is like,” oh right, she doesn’t know her own daughter, the man barely acknowledges when she enters or exits the home unless it’s an excuse to get angry, knows her daughter better than her, that’s just what she’s like. yeah, sorry, right, this is what it’s always been like.
after dustin’s good friend’s brother dies does claudia offer any support? maybe too much. she smothers dustin with love the same way she did when will went missing, the way she always has, dustin waves it away, billy was a dick, it doesn’t matter. claudia brings a lasagna to the hargroves, max’s grumpy step-dad slams the door in her face and dustin blows a gasket when he hears. suddenly unconditional love isn’t feeling like enough. dustin cries in her arms, when she asks what’s wrong he tells her that he isn’t allowed to say. what a perfect way to make every possible fear rush through her head. later he says it’s bullying, kids at school are mean and there isn’t anything she can do about it. she decides to believe him. hugs and home cooking don’t work like they used to but she tries, keeps engaging in his interests and checking in on him. She wouldn’t be herself if she stopped trying, even as the meltdowns increase in frequency and severity, his attitude becomes more sour, everything seems to be going wrong, she preserves.
when mike slams his door for the fifth time in a single week does ted change his technique for connecting with his son? no. what technique? that’s his wife’s job, not his.
#stranger things#lucas sinclair#max mayfield#dustin henderson#mike wheeler#lumax#byler#<- ships r just target audiences srry#charles sinclair#sue sinclair#susan hargrove#susan mayfield#claudia henderson#ted wheeler#karen wheeler#if you think i’m excusing anybody’s actions by empathizing with or contextualizing them ur wrong#i think susan has failed as a parent but i also emphasize w her deeply#nuance nuance nuance
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Ectober: Portal Shenanigans
A part of the Paulina Phantom AU.
It’s not like Paulina had wanted to visit the lab belonging to a pair of mad scientists. If she’d been given a choice, the afternoon would have been spent at the mall along with her besties. She could have been shopping, gossiping, and passing out catty remarks. Instead, she’d been guilt-tripped into spending more time with her father, which really meant accompanying him while he checked up on his angel investor projects.
Look, she loved that her father was rich enough to hand out money to every crackpot inventor that caught his interest. She just didn’t want to spend her afternoon surrounded by strange beeping machines with no discernable purpose while her father discussed such fascinating things as timelines and budgets and expected ROIs.
Boooring.
At least he’d promised they’d stop for milkshakes at Lola’s Diner afterwards. Paulina might have been watching her figure, but she also wasn’t going to turn down a Lola’s Shake with her father. She would just have to skip the dressing on her salad at supper, and maybe hit the treadmill tomorrow morning even though she didn’t usually do cardio on the same day as cheer practice.
It was halfway through this mental planning that her father pulled up in front of the last stop on the list. Paulina looked out the window at the flashing neon sign and cringed hard. “I’ll wait in the car, Daddy.”
“No, you won’t,” he said. “There’s nothing to do in here. Come on, stretch your legs. Say hello. Let me show off my pride and joy.”
There would be nothing for her to do inside the lab, either, once her father had finished showing her off. Worse, this was the Fenton lab, situated in the basement of the Fenton home, where the Fenton scientists lived with their two Fenton children--one of whom had the most loud, embarrassing, disgusting crush on her.
But there was no talking her father out of something once he’d made up his mind, and he was apparently dead set on introducing her to absolutely everybody. So Paulina bit down her protests, made sure her new phone was in her pocket, and followed him up to the door.
#
They were down in the laboratory, and Danny Fenton was staring at her--had been staring at her from the moment Paulina stepped foot in their house. Paulina was doing her best to ignore him in return. She’d given the Doctors Fenton very professional handshakes while her father beamed with pride, dutifully followed the adults down the stairs to their basement lab, and then whipped out her phone the instant their attention turned away.
Star and Valerie were at the mall, and had started texting her pictures of potential new outfits. It was Paulina’s sworn duty as top fashion expert of their trio to thoroughly evaluate every single option, even if she couldn’t be there with them in person.
It was almost enough to keep her entertained while the adults talked about investments and testing procedures and expected timelines to launch. The three of them were crowded at the far end of the room, attention split between diagrams pinned to the wall and a huge metal construct built into the wall itself.
Her phone pinged again. It was Star in another crop top, with the caption: Rad or bad?
So rad, Paulina decided. She sent her reply, and then made the mistake of locking eyes with Danny when she glanced up again. He gave her a hopeful smile and Paulina responded with her best get lost, twerp scowl--only to hastily wipe the expression from her face as the adults moved away from the huge device.
“We keep all the financials in here,” Dr. Jack Fenton was saying, leading the others into a side-room.
“So,” said Danny as soon as the door closed behind them, “Guess it’s just you and me, now.”
Paulina snorted. “As if.”
He was not deterred. “Wanna see something cool?”
She waved her Motorola. “The only cool thing to look at is on here.” She paused, then added, “And myself, of course.”
“Of course,” echoed Danny, still unphased. He was already sauntering backwards toward the huge device his parents had been showing off. “Come on, don’t you want to see?”
Paulina lowered her phone and rolled her eyes. “No.” But despite this, she found herself following Danny across the lab until they both stood side-to-side in front of the huge, dark opening.
“Cool, right?” asked Danny.
“So cool--not.” Paulina made a face. “It’s a bunch of metal and wires. What’s it even supposed to be, a giant cave?”
Danny started to wave his hands with far to much enthusiasm. “When this thing works, it’s going to punch a hole right into another dimension.”
“When it works,” she repeated dryly.
He started to explain the different parts of the device, as if Paulina might possibly care. Her level of interest was way negative. But she hadn’t received any new texts from Star or Valerie yet, which meant she had to find some way to entertain herself in the meantime.
“You sure know a lot about this thing,” she purred, slipping the phone into her pocket. “You work on this with your parents?”
Danny stuttered, caught off-guard by her sudden change in attitude. “O-o-oh. Um. Not really, I just listen.”
“And yet you’ve picked up all that? You must be so smart.”
Danny’s face went suddenly, hilariously red. “Oh. Well, maybe.”
“What happens if you stand inside this thing?”
His forehead creased. “Well… I don’t.”
“But it’s not turned on, right?” She made a show of stepping over the trailing wires and ducking beneath the curving metal chassis. “Look at me, I’m spelunking.”
Danny forced a laugh.
Paulina made it to the back wall of the device, which was only a few steps within, and gave it a loving tap before turning around. “You’re telling me you’ve never done that?” she asked, before catching sight of Danny’s face and bursting into giggles.
The poor kid’s face was still red but now it was also twisted up in a hilarious confusion of emotions, like he couldn’t decide whether to be mad at her or scared they were going to get caught. “You shouldn’t do that,” he said in a strained voice.
“Relax.” Just to mess with him further, Paulina took out her phone and pretended to browse through old messages.
Danny’s face settled on mad. “Paulina,” he hissed.
She shifted her weight, slouching to the side to lean one shoulder against the metal frame, and then froze as something clicked under her weight.
“What was that,” whispered Danny, as two of the wires sparked.
Paulina straightened.
And the world exploded around her.
👻👻👻👻
This October, @marzfartz and I have split the prompts between us with the intention of creating non-stop Paulina Phantom content! Check out the #paulina phantom au tag for more!
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