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ladykailitha · 4 months

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The Harrington Pattern Part 3

Hello! I'm going to be posting this one straight through on Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays until it's done. I've got three more chapters completed after this one. Though there maybe a small hiccup as I might finally be moving cross country. I will keep you posted.

Here we have Steve finishing up the last of the comments and he gets one visitor too many.

Part 1 Part 2

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

****

Steve was sitting at the table with Mike. He had shown him how to make the tassels and handed him the leather strips to just let him go to town.

He was putting in the metal rings in the armholes of Mike’s tunic for the tassels to be tied to.

After awhile Mike looked up from his work. “What made you get into sewing?”

Steve looked up at him and just stared at him a moment. “I about to say the most rich boy sentence in existence and if you laugh at me, I won’t finish your tunic.”

Mike raised an eyebrow and then scoffed. “Whatever, man. You don’t have to tell me.”

"I got fascinated by it,” Steve explained, “when my mom took me to a tailor to get a suit made for me for my first piano recital when I was eight."

Mike’s jaw dropped. “Seriously?”

“It was so interesting, dude,” Steve insisted. “I was more interested in it then the piano lessons.”

“Wait,” Mike said, “you play piano?” He screwed up his face confusion. “I didn’t know that.”

He shrugged. “I mean, I quit when I got to high school because it was at the same time as basketball and my dad wanted me focus on sports.”

Mike waved his hand at the tunic in Steve’s hand. “Piano wasn’t good enough for your dad, but sewing was?”

Steve barked out a bitter laugh. “There is no way in hell my parents know about this, dude.”

Mike reared back and frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I sew by hand,” Steve explained, “because there is no way in hell my mom would let me use her sewing machine.”

Mike’s frown deepened. “You did all this in secret? What the hell?”

“What would your dad say if you took up sewing?” Steve muttered darkly.

Mike blushed and ducked his head. “Probably that it was girly.”

“And yet the tailor I went to was a man,” Steve pointed out. “So how does sewing make you girly but most tailors are men make sense?” Mike just shrugged because it didn’t. “Also while we on that bullshit, why is a tailor seen as an honorable profession when a seamstress has the connotation of being associated with sex? Like what the fuck?”

Mike’s ears burned as he deeply regretted bringing it up.

“Just finish those tassels, man,” Steve huffed going back to his own work.

Mike did as he was told and bent back over his tassels.

All week long people were coming in and out of Steve’s house so often that Steve was startled by the knock at the door.

He was annoyed. He was literally an inch away from finishing Will’s extension and the interruption was decidedly unwelcome.

To say he was surprised when Officer Callahan was standing there looking as much if not more annoyed than he was would be an understatement.

“Uh...” Steve muttered. “How can I help you, Officer?”

“Hey, Harrington,” Callahan said with a heavy sigh, “it seems your neighbors are complaining that you’ve been having people coming and going all hours of the day and night. They think it’s been pretty suspicious.”

Steve quirked an eyebrow and Callahan huffed out a laugh.

Steve did some heavy thinking to make sure he didn’t have weed out before he said, “Nothing shading going on, I promise, Officer. Just being making costumes for the Ren Fair coming up this weekend and all my friends keep stopping by for last minute fittings.”

Both of Callahan’s eyebrows went up. “What now?”

Steve waved him in. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Callahan looked around him, but followed Steve into the house with a half shrug.

Steve brought the police officer into the kitchen where he had been working with the aid of the natural light streaming through the big windows. On the table there was Will’s tunic with its inch of ribbon to go. There were bobbins of thread, spools of ribbon, and swaths of fabric literally covering almost every inch of the table.

“I’m just putting on the finishing touches on Will Byers’s costume,” Steve explained. “You remember Will, don’t you?” His smile was just this side of innocent.

Callahan coughed. Because of course he did. Everyone knew who Will Byers was.

“Right,” he said scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. “I’ll be sure to pass that along. But maybe tell your friends to come during the day?”

Steve smiled brightly. “Oh of course, Officer. This is the last one I’m working on, though. And Will will be stopping by this evening.”

“You sure this is the last one?” Callahan asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

“Oh yes!” Steve said. “The first day of the Fair is on Thursday and we’re going all three days.”

Callahan nodded. “I’ll leave you be then.”

Steve showed him to the front door. Callahan stopped.

“Is this Fair thing any fun?” he asked nervously.

“I’d like to think so,” Steve said with a half shrug. “It’s like the State Fair, so it can get hot and dusty, but there are jousting and sword fights, little plays at night. Things like that.”

Callahan chewed on the bottom of his lip before he nodded curtly. “See ya, later, Harrington.”

“Bye, Officer!”

He slammed the door and went back to finishing the tunic.

Once he was done, he held it up to the light. You couldn’t even tell where the extra inches were. It looked seamless.

He yawned and stretched, feeling please with himself. He looked at his watch. He still had plenty of time before Mrs. Byers brought Will over for the final fitting.

So Steve wandered over to the sofa and laid down. He figured he could a few winks before then and let himself drift off to sleep.

Steve was woken by the sound of someone pounding on the door. He looked out the window, but it was still light out. He sat up and looked at his watch again to see that only an hour had passed.

He got up and before he could even reach the hallway whoever it was started knocking again.

“Hold your horses, man!” Steve yelled.

He threw open the door, annoyed for the second time today. But at least this time it was a far more pleasant a surprise.

“Eddie!” he greeted. “Were we hanging out today?” He didn’t think they had anything on with it being so close to the Ren Fair.

“Nope!” Eddie said with a grin. “A special delivery!”

Steve’s eyes lit up. “Holy shit! They’re ready?”

Eddie pulled out a long thin box and handed it over. Inside were two brown elf ears.

“And they’ll match?”

Eddie tilted his hand back and forth. “As close as we could without the recipient being there.”

Steve hugged him. “Thanks, man. This is going to mean a lot to Lucas.”

Eddie cleared his throat and reluctantly stepped back. “I’ve got band practice, but I wanted to drop these off so Lucas can have them before we go to the Ren Fair.”

“I appreciate it,” Steve said, his cheeks dusted pink. “I’ll see you on Thursday.”

“Yep!” Eddie said, skipping backwards and almost falling off the porch.

Steve jerked forward, but Eddie righted himself before he could fall.

“Bye.” Eddie turned around and practically ran back to his van.

Steve shook his head fondly. He went back inside, but he knew it was useless to try to nap some more. He was wide awake and maybe a little excited, too.

So he went to get make himself some dinner before Joyce and Will arrived.

For the third and final time that night there was a knock on Steve’s front door. At least this time he was ready for it.

He opened the door to reveal Joyce and Will. “Come on in. I just finished it up this afternoon.”

“It’s so sweet of you to do the final alterations,” Joyce said. “It really was a big help to Claudia and me, so we got together and made you brownies as a thank you.”

She shoved the plate in his hands and with her eyes dared him to refuse.

Steve would admit later that he thought about protesting until the smell of warm chocolate hit his nose.

“Oh wow,” he murmured. “They smell delightful.”

Joyce smiled. “Let’s see it then. El has been going on and on about the gold trim on her dress for days and I can’t wait to see Will’s.”

“Sure thing, Mrs. Byers,” Steve said brightly. “Follow me.” He led the way into the kitchen. “Is Nancy and Jonathan going to come to the Fair?”

Joyce and Will shared a glance behind Steve’s back.

“No,” Will said bitterly. “I even told Jonathan that he didn’t have to dress up, but he doesn’t want to go.”

Steve hummed. “Maybe once he sees how much fun you had on Thursday he’ll want to join us for Friday or Saturday.”

Will’s eyes lit up and Joyce smiled fondly at Steve.

“Perhaps,” was all she said.

They reached the kitchen and Will gasped. His tunic was a simple warm brown color but the gold trim just brightened up the whole thing and gave it a rich feel to it.

“Oh Steve, it’s beautiful,” Joyce whispered, giving Steve’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Put it on, Will,” Steve instructed. “It’s going over a shirt and belted so we won’t need to check width, just length.”

Will nodded and pulled it over his head. It fell to the perfect place just over the kneecap so that when Will belted it, it would be above his knee.

“You can’t even tell inches were added,” Joyce said. “Do you like it, Will?”

“Yeah,” he replied with a huge grin. “It’s even better than I imagined. Thanks, Steve!”

He leapt on Steve to give him the biggest hug. Steve staggered back a step but caught the lankly teen and hugged him back just as fiercely.

“I’m glad you like it.”

Joyce playfully swatted her youngest son. “I can’t believe that even with me adding two inches to the hem after we measured still wasn’t enough to counteract your growth spurt!”

Will blushed. “Sorry, mom.”

She just grinned and kissed his cheek.

“Well it looks like we’re all ready to go,” Steve said with a smile. “I can’t wait for Thursday.”

Will smiled back. “Me either!”

****

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666 @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @thespaceantwhowrites @paintgonewrong @mogami13 @beelze-the-bubkiss

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #steve is a history nerd

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yandere-daydreams · 10 months

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Title: Insecure.

Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

Pairing: Yandere!Toxic!Wanderer x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 5.0k.

TW: Modern AU, AFAB!Reader, Non///Con, Public Sex, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Wildly Unhealthy Relationships, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Intimidation, and Self-Oriented Victim Blaming From Reader. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. No Seriously Dude Those Doves Are So Dead.

[Part One]

“This is boring.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s too hot to be outside. And this place reeks.”

“You’re wearing long sleeves in the middle of summer, and it’s a college campus. I don’t know what you expected.”

“You look hot.”

You let out a disgruntled groan, leaning back in your seat and bringing a hand up to your temple. Kunikuzushi seemed to drink in your agitation, crossing his arms, the corners of his lips pulling up into a smug grin. “How did you even know I was here?”

His answer was immediate, non-verbal. He held up his phone, the screen blatantly and proudlydisplaying a simple grid-map and, of course, a little blue dot settled into the grey backdrop. You felt something start to ache in the back of your skull. “You’re tracking my phone?”

“Yeah, right, your phone.”

You started to buckle into yourself, but stopped yourself. You were in public – tucked into the smallest corner of your campus’ most out-of-the-way common area, sure, but still in public. There was a group of students gathered around one of the bigger tables less than ten feet away, and another couple just behind them. You used to fight with Kunikuzushi so often. You’d never resorted to public screaming matches, but you’d never had to think twice before storming out of bars and cafes, never thought twice about blocking his number or throwing away his flowers or telling anyone who’d listen that you were absolutely, definitely, totally going to break up with him for good, this time. Now, you couldn’t find it into yourself to be so brash. You couldn’t stand the idea of being seen with him, let alone calling more attention to yourself. It felt like you were one slip-up, one arm draped around your waist, one ring of bruises wrapped around your neck before someone saw through you, guessed what kind of person Kunikuzushi was and confronted you about why you’d stay with someone like that. You were afraid of him, sure, but you were more afraid of what would happen if people realized just how scared you really ought to be.

Not that you wanted to be with him. You wanted to move across the country, to burn your clothes and cut your hair, to change your name and pretend he’d never so much as lookedat you, but your options were limited. He’d taken care of your internship the day you’d moved in with him, and he bought you out of your lease within the same week. The few friends you still had after Kunikuzushi sunk his teeth into your social life were pushed to a distance, and the thought of running back to the same people who’d told you to stay as far from Kunikuzushi as you could get was enough to make you feel dizzy and exhausted, light-headed and glued to the floor all at once.

Even that, the idea that you could go to someone for help, was delusional. He barely let you go to class, and even that was a tedious connection, a privilege that could be revoked with a phone call and a new deadbolt on the door to his apartment. He didn’t like it when you had things to think about that didn’t revolve around him, and while keeping him happy was in the best interest of your safety, dropping out wasn’t an option. You could find another place to live. You could find another internship. But, if flunked out, if you failed too many classes, you’d lose your scholarship. If you lost your scholarship, you wouldn’t be able to graduate. If you didn’t graduate…

You had to graduate. You had to.

You weren’t sure you’d ever be able to get away from Kunikuzushi, if you didn’t.

You heard a scoff, felt the table shake as Kunikuzushi drove his heel into one of its legs. “Y’know, it’s rude to ignore people. ‘specially after I came all this way just to spend time with you.”

You must’ve zoned out. You hadn’t meant to, you never wanted to give Kunikuzushi an excuse to shorten your leash even further, but it’d been happening more and more. On your best days, you could keep yourself grounded, stay in your own body long enough to make it seem like you were managing what has left of your life. On your worst days… well, you didn’t remember much of your worst days. You usually couldn’t bring yourself to get out of bed. Kunikuzushi loved your worst days. “Sorry,” you mumbled, more out of reflex than any genuine remorse. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“Like I said, I wanted to spend time with you.” He shrugged, still grinning. “You should drop out.”

Just like that, your heart dropped into your stomach. If you hadn’t been in public, if you weren’t so disconnected from what went on in your own mind, you might’ve cried.

Instead, you bowed your head. Your voice was quieter than you wanted it to be, but it was a small miracle you could force yourself to speak at all. “I… don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Since when do you think for yourself?” He wasn’t fazed. The question was accompanied by a slow, breathy laugh, a flash of teeth as he leaned forward, propping his head on his fist. “I mean, c’mon, it’s not like you’d actually use a degree. I’m already taking care of you.” He dropped lower, taking on a raspy lilt. “All you’ve gotta worry about is keeping me company and taking my—”

You cut him off with an indignant huff, already recoiling. You moved to stand, to get away from him, but felt a pair of hands cover your eyes before you could. There was a familiar laugh, the feeling of curly hair bruising against your cheek, and then a melodic voice playing just beside your ear. “Guess who.”

For the first time that day, you couldn’t help but smile. “I know it’s you, Ajax. You’re the only person lame enough for this.”

There was a hum before he let you go, bracing himself on the back of your chair and leaning over you. He was dressed like he always was – which was to say, like it was the middle of winter, his coat long enough to reach his ankles and thick enough to make you shudder with sympathy pains, your agony unaided by the scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. Maybe you shoulddrop out, or transfer, at least. Between him and Kunikuzushi, you were starting to think there was something in the air that made people want to get heatstroke. “Hey, I’m just trying to surprise my favorite study-buddy. You looked like you could use a little cheering up.” He glanced toward Kunikuzushi, then flashed you a knowing grin. “I know this guy tends to bring down the mood.”

Kunikuzushi sunk into his seat, his smugness immediately overshadowed by agitation. “Oh, you know each other?”

“We’re coworkers,” Kunikuzushi answered, glaring daggers toward Ajax.

“Wait, you have a job?”

He didn’t indulge you with a response, only scoffing and throwing his head to the side. Ajax took up the mantle. “Honestly, I’m more surprised to see him hanging out with someone outside of work. Always struck me as the ‘lone wolf’ type, if you know what I mean. If I knew you two were friends, I would’ve made more of an effort to drag him to our—"

As he spoke, his hand came to rest on your shoulder, but he’d barely touched you when Kunikuzushi pushed himself to his feet, already snarling. “Keep your fucking hands to yourself.” Reflexively, Ajax pulled back, holding his hands up defensively, and with a ragged breath and a half-hearted effort to calm himself down, Kunikuzushi went on. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to touch someone’s fiancé, idiot?”

This time, Ajax’s laugh was slightly more strained, his posture slightly more stiff. “Yeah, uh, right. My bad, dude.” He moved to ruffle your hair (his most common send-off, no matter how often you groaned and complained that you’d look like a mess for the rest of the day), but stopped himself quickly – rubbing the back of his neck. “I… didn’t realize you were engaged.” Despite his stiffness, he managed to offer you a small smile. “See you in class?”

“Save me a seat.” And then, letting your eyes fall to your feet, “Sorry about him, he’s…”

“Territorial, I get it. I’d be a little jealous too, if I managed to get a ring on your finger.”

He winked, and before you could roll your eyes, he’d turned on his heel and disappeared around the nearest corner, melting into the throng of milling students. Once he was gone, you turned back to Kunikuzushi, still seething. That was one of the worst things about being with Kunikuzushi. It wasn’t enough to make your life miserable, he had to make sure you didn’t have anything left to live for. “Why would you tell him we’re engaged?”

“I’ll get you a ring.” You opened your mouth, but he was talking before you had a chance to cut in. “This is why you shouldn’t bother with this shit. All you’re going to do is waste your time and get hit on by desperate losers trying to get their dicks wet.”

“As opposed to staying home with you, where I can get hit on by one desperate loser trying to get his dick wet.” You shook your head, but shut your mouth and stood up before he could pull you into a real argument. Throwing your bag over your shoulder, you turned away from him, starting in the direction of your lecture hall. “I have to get to class. We can talk about this later.”

Before he could protest, you made your way out of the common area. There was a beat of silence, a brief moment of respite. Then, you heard his footsteps pick-up behind you, settling into pace with your own. You glanced over your shoulder and, predictably, found Kunikuzushi walking behind you. “What do you want now?”

“You’re going to class,” he said, a smug grin already tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’m coming with you.”

You frowned. “It’s a general credit. You’ll be bored out of your mind.”

“I don’t care.” He took your hand in his, squeezing gently when you tried to pull away. Immediately, you stopped resisting, hyper-aware of the way his blunt nails scraped against your skin, of how intensely his eyes burnt into yours. “Is it a crime to want to spend as much as time as I can with my fiancé?”

You shuddered involuntarily. You couldn’t tell if jealously staking his claim to you during a minute-long conversation with your classmate and his coworker was genuinely his idea of a proposal, or if he just took joy in the way you flinched every time he threw that word around. Either way, you didn’t like it.

“Fine, whatever.” You shrugged open the door to one of the more rustic buildings on campus, dragging Kunikuzushi along with you. “Just don’t cause a scene, okay? I’m really not in the mood.”

He only smiled, letting his head lull to the side. You forced yourself to tear your eyes away from him, focusing on the crowded hallway in front of you instead. Your class was in one of the larger lecture halls on campus – stadium style, oppressively beige, the rows of desks curved around the raised stage at the front of the room. It was already mostly full, too, thanks to how long Kunikuzushi had held you up. You made a brief effort to find Ajax before deciding you didn’t want anyone you knew by name to see you latched onto your moody boyfriend and moved toward one of the middle rows, but he stopped you, digging his heels into the floor. “Sit in the front.” You sent him a look that said ‘what the fuck do you want now?’, and he grinned. “What? I’m trying to do you a favor.”

“You can do me a favor by letting me get through this with minimal psychic damage.” You dragged him to the back of the hall and slid into a relatively empty row, trying to stay as far away from the other students as you could. In spite of his stubbornness, his preference to control everything down to how often you blinked, he didn’t fight it, just slipping into the seat next to you, leaning back and watching on as you pulled out a half-mangled notebook and a couple pens. You knew you wouldn’t be able to focus, much less take notes with Kunikuzushi hovering over your shoulder, but you wanted to at least pretend you didn’t care about him and his leering for the next two hours. It wasn’t like he’d leave you alone once you got back into the confines of his stifling, barren apartment, so you had to take advantage of what little peace you’d be able to get, today.

By the time your class started, he was fully reclined, his arms crossed and his expression slack in boredom. The rows hadn’t been crammed as closely together as possible, he might’ve propped his feet on the desktop, shut his eyes, done everything he could to show just how disinterested he was in the lecture he’d demanded to sit through.

By the ten-minute mark, he’d pulled his chair next to yours, watching over your shoulder as you jotted down what little of the professor’s lecture you could hear over the sound of your race heart. You didn’t like it when Kunikuzushi got so close to you, anymore. It was hard to remember why you ever had.

Twenty minutes in, you felt his hand ghost over your leg, his fingertips grazing past your thigh. You tried to brush it off, to ignore him, but his hand settled onto your knee and you snapped up to glare at him. “What are you—”

He shushed you, leaning against your side. “Keep your voice down. We’re in class, remember?”

You frowned, but relented, turning your attention back to the front of the classroom. You resigned yourself to pointedly ignoring him, jotting down incoherent notes and attempting to drown out Kunikuzushi’s looming presence with the professor’s droning lecture. You’d almost blocked him out by the time he started moving, again, kneading the plush of your thigh gently, his dull nails burrowing into your skin just a little too deeply to ignore. Determined, you didn’t react, but that didn’t faze him. His hand only crept higher, catching the hem of your shorts and toying with the thin fabric, forcing you to acknowledge just how little you’d done to fend him off. If you’d known he was going to visit you on campus, you would’ve worn jeans, or made more of an effort to avoid him. If you’d known he was going follow you into class just to harass you, you would never have gotten up in the first place.

You jumped as his fingers slipped under the fabric, fanning out against your skin. With an airy sigh, you leaned back, already swatting away his hand. You spoke under your breath, trying to hide the way your voice shook. “Fine. If you’re going to be a brat about it, we can go home.”

“And ruin your attendance?” His tone was pleading, muted but dripping with something thick and saccharine. “I can’t let you do that, baby, not when your grades are so importantto you.”

You tried to get up, but he drew back, throwing an arm over your shoulders and pulling you back into your seat. “I tried to take you home, but no, you decided that sitting in a dusty room with that fucking redhead was more important to you than me.” He hauled you closer, holding his mouth next to your ear. “If you decide to go home now and waste more of my time, I promise, you’ll be in for something much worse than anything I can do to you here.”

For the second time that day, you froze, suddenly unable to move. Kunikuzushi took your silence as submission, kissing your cheek before his hand fell back to your thigh.

This time, he was kind enough (or cruel enough) not to play coy, not to try to hide what he was going to do. He squeezed your thigh with enough force to bruise before delving into the space between your legs – his middle finger tracing over the seam that ran over the length of your cunt, only pausing to rub circles into your clit through the material. You really, really should’ve worn something else, something thicker, something that would’ve put you at a distance from his invasive touch. You would’ve given anything not to feel that slow, painful friction, not to recognize the aching curl of arousal starting to form in the pit of your stomach. Kunikuzushi was an asshole – a possessive, controlling asshole – but he knew you. He knew your weak points. He’d held you down and exploited them until you knew that as well as he did.

With two fingers, he pressed into your clit, and you jolted into yourself. Reflexivity, you tried to clench your thighs shut, but Kunikuzushi caught you by the knee and spread your legs farther, making more room for him to work between them. “Play nice.” He was whispering, but you wished he wouldn’t talk at all. You wished he’d keep his mouth shut and let you suffer in silence. “You don’t want to make this into a show, do you?”

You didn’t. God, you didn’t. You couldn’t imagine anything worse than getting caught, than having someone notice and scream and draw attention to what Kunikuzushi was doing to you. In the best case scenario, he’d stop and you’d have plausible deniability, pretend that you believed you could say your overly affectionate boyfriend was just being touchy and someone would buy it. In the worst case scenario, in the most likely scenario, he wouldn’t, and you didn’t know how you be able to live with yourself if someone saw you like this. Would you have to appear in front of the dean to apologize that your boyfriend had fingered you in front of a captive audience? Would there be paperwork? Would any of the blame fall on Kunikuzushi, or would you be the one held responsible for what he couldn’t stop doing to you?

You shook your head frantically, clenching your eyes shut and balling your hands into fists. Kunikuzushi clicked his tongue, cooing in mock-disappointment. “That’s just mean, baby. First you don’t want to admit we’re in love, now you don’t even want to be seen with me. Next, you’ll want to forget I exist altogether.” He flicked his wrist, and you dug your teeth into the inside of your cheek. “And you remember how well it went for you last time you tried to ditch me, right?”

It was a labored effort, jerky and jolting, but you forced yourself to inhale, to straighten your back, to curl your hands around the corner of the desktop and make a passing effort to ground yourself, but Kunikuzushi wouldn’t let you have your peace for very long. You let out a small sigh as he pulled back, but your relief was short-lived – ripped away from you the moment his fingers found your waistband, slipping into your shorts before you could so much as delusionally hope he'd show you mercy. There was a breathy laugh, two fingers pressed into your clit. “Christ, you’re soaked,” he muttered, his delight audible. “I still can’t believe I turned you into such a fucking slut.”

You tried to shrink into yourself, to cross your arms over the desktop and hide your face, but Kunikuzushi caught you, keeping you upright and leaving you to bury your face in his shoulder. The desk would’ve been more soothing. He was moving too quickly, his arm shifting uncomfortably against your chest as he rubbed tight circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves, as he fell lower – his ring and middle fingers dipping into your drenched pussy in quick, shallow thrusts that only seemed to make you more aware of the slick starting to drip down the inside of your thighs. Your professor was still talking, but the lecture was incomprehensible, drowned out by the wet squelching of Kunikuzushi’s digits thrusting into you, somehow barely audible and skull-crushing deafening all at once. No one else could hear it. It just wasn’t an option; it wasn’t a possibility. You couldn’t let yourself start to think about what would happen if someone else heard it.

He was merciless, grinding the heel of his palm into your clit as his slender fingers pumped into you. He didn’t pause, didn’t experiment, just held himself to the same monotonous, uniform thrusts, punishing you with a brutal pleasure you just couldn’t seem to escape. His fingertips scraped against something soft and needy inside of you and reflexively, your hands shot to his arm, your nails burrowing into his sleeves and biting into his skin. If he felt it, he didn’t seem hurt. Kunikuzushi only laughed, resting his head against yours and falling into a brutal, unfaltering tempo.

Distantly, you heard paper sliding against wood, pages turning, then a low whistle. “Why didn’t you tell me you could draw?” If you’d been able to think, you might’ve been angry. If you’d been able to do anything, you might’ve pulled your notebook away from him and made sure he couldn’t taint any part of you he hadn’t already ruined, but you couldn’t so much as imagine opening your eyes, much less trying to get away from him, again. “It’s cute. If you’re good, I’ll get you a real sketchbook – better than this cheap shit.”

It shouldn’t have felt as patronizing as it was. It shouldn’t have stung, just to know he was looking at something you’d never thought to keep away from him. It shouldn’t have hurt any more than anything he was already doing to you, and yet, you shrunk into yourself, something in your chest withering and dying off as he continued to flip through your notebook, to split you open on his fingers. A third digit was added, his touch now deep enough for you to feel the chill of his rings against your entrance. There was a pang of tension, a slight pain to accompany the stretch, but the buzzing in the back of your mind, the knot pulling tighter and tighter as he pulled his way deeper into you. You curled around him, something hot and piercing rising up from your core, creeping into your veins until—

Until Kunikuzushi pulled away without warning, only pausing momentarily to drag his hand over your thigh and smear your own slick across your skin. If you hadn’t known him so well, if you hadn’t been with him so long, relief might’ve softened your confusion, but you weren’t naïve enough to think that he’d suddenly found a pocket of kindness in his cold, stony heart. He didn’t try to tease you, either, to string you along and make you think that he’d let you go with an anti-climax and a few probing comments. He was cruel, but he didn’t like to waste his time. He didn’t have to pretend he didn’t want to play with his favorite toy.

With a small smile and a darkglint in his eye, he took your notebook and achinglyslowly, slid it off of the desk and watched passively as it toppled to the floor. Seconds after it landed, he sighed, shaking his head before pressing a fleeting kiss into the corner of your mouth. “You’re so clumsy, babe. I just don’t know what you’d do without me.”

Realization dawned on you like blood rising into the back of your throat. You hugged his arm closer to your chest, hoping beyond hope that he’d see your distress and for once, hold himself back from taking what he wanted. “Kuni, please don’t do—”

“Save it.” He didn’t even hesitate, tearing his arm out of your vice-grip without so much as a trace of strain. “You can thank me when we get home.”

You didn’t get another chance to protest before he dipped down, slipping out of his seat and below the desk. You spared a glance in either direction. You were in an aisle seat. Your row was mostly empty, and you could only hope that the people sitting behind you couldn’t see Kunikuzushi between your legs, his mouth already pressed into the inside of your thigh. Without someone to hold onto, you were left to cross your arms over your chest and try to school your own expression, to look like you hadn’t just had your orgasm torn away from you, like your ex-turned-overly-attached boyfriend wasn’t on his knees with his face buried between your legs. It was a small comfort, knowing he couldn’t do anything worse than this, not unless he wanted to bend you over the teacher’s desk and fuck you with an audience.

It was terrifying, knowing he couldn’t possibly do anything worse than this.

Your breath hitched as you felt his fingers curl underneath your shorts, dragging the flimsy material down your legs and letting it pool around your ankles. You were wearing an oversized shirt, and your jacket was long enough to obscure everything above your mid-thigh, but you still shuddered, still had to fight the temptation to snap your thighs shut as soon as you felt the cool air against your slick cunt. Kunikuzushi was quick to block that out, too. You felt the flat of his tongue lap over your entrance, a soundless moan reverberating against your pussy and up the length of your spine. This time, when you bit down on the inside of your cheek, you didn’t stop until you tasted blood.

Now, now, he decided to draw out your agony. You could feel his searing breath against your pussy as he chewed bruises into your thighs, painting love bites across your vulnerable skin that you could only hope wouldn’t be visible when you were finally able to shamble out of this lecture hall as a mangled, fucked-out wreck. When your legs twitched, his hands found their way to your ankles, pinning your feet to the ground as he latched onto your clit, dragging his tongue in loose, careless patterns as he sucked gently – giving you enough stimulation to leave you irritated and antsy but still withholding any anything real, anything satisfying. If you’d been in his bed, or on his kitchen counter, or laid across the backseat of the car he barely knew how to drive, you could’ve hidden your face in his sheets or clawed at his shoulders or screamed bloody murderer while he sucked and licked himself into a pussy-drunk stupor. You were never overly vocal – you couldn’t be, when you knew Kunikuzushi would take and abuse anything you said under the influence of his harsh affection– but now, you couldn’t afford to so much as tear-up, to rake your fingers through his hair, to whimper as his tongue thrust into you, just as awful as his fingers and twice as hot. You made the mistake of glancing towards him, of letting him catch your eye as a wide, arrogant smirk spread across his parted lips, a dark flush now painted across his pale cheeks. You looked away as quickly as you could, but it didn’t matter. His hands came up to your knees as he dragged your legs apart, giving himself more space to work between them. That had to be the worst thing about Kunikuzushi. No matter what you did, no matter how little you gave him, he’d always find a way to get off on it, to convince himself it was just your little way of retuning his fucked-up love.

Desperate for something to latch onto, you crossed your arms over the desktop and clawed at the polished wood. The bridge of Kunikuzushi’s nose ground against your clit and you buckled into yourself, burying your face in your arms and forgetting for just a fraction of a second to care whether or not you’d ever be able to show your face in public again. It took long, agonizing seconds to find the strength to raise your head, to frantically glance around the lecture hall for something, anything that would help you block out what he was doing to your body. Rather than a saving grace, you found a head of bright, ginger hair a few rows in front of you, the chair next to its owner vacant. Ajax, already staring over his shoulder, his piercing eyes wide and his expression blank with horror. As your gaze met his, as Kunikuzushi let out another throaty moan, the pressure mounted, that string of tension in your core snapping before you could attempt to hold yourself together. With your teeth grit and tears streaming down your cheeks, you came undone on Kunikuzushi’s tongue, a breathless whine forcing its way out of your throat as you collapsed back into your arms, completely limp.

Kunikuzushi nursed you through it, taking long moments to untangle himself from you, to press another kiss against your thigh, to pull your shorts back into place. You didn’t care. You were numb, your body humming with an awful sort of static, only interrupted by the weight of Kunikuzushi’s hand against the small of your back as he hauled himself back into his seat, pulling his sleeve across his mouth. Your notebook was still at your feet, splayed open and abandoned. You couldn’t seem to bring yourself to pick it up.

There was a kiss to your shoulder, then the top of your head. “Is it time to get out of here?”

You forced yourself to nod. You felt his arms wrap around you, one stringing under your knees and the other bracing against your back, keeping you pressed into his chest as he side-stepped back into the aisle and started for the door. A few students turned their heads, a couple stopping to ask if you were alright, but Kunikuzushi ignored them. Whatever. It wasn’t like you’d ever see any of these people again.

Kunikuzushi was taking you home, and as far as he seemed concerned, you’d never be leaving again.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x you #genshin imagines #genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere genshin imagines #scaramouche x reader #yandere scaramouche #yandere wanderer #wanderer x reader #yanderecore #yancore

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bornonthesavage · 1 year

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Eddie wouldn’t say he loves his job. He isn’t sure anyone actually loves working in organized crime, but hey, it pays the bills. And he’s good at it, so that’s a plus. All he has to do is pick up bags, drop them at predetermined destinations, and then collect the money. Easy. That is, until it goes wrong. Because of course it does. Things always go wrong for him.

“Where’s the rest of the money?” Sam asks. He’s Eddie’s boss, a greasy dude with shifty eyes.

Eddie frowns. “What are you talking about? It’s all there.”

“No, it’s not. You’re short five hundred. What, you think you can steal from the Harringtons and I won’t notice?”

Eddie’s eyes go wide as he realizes the situation he’s in. “Whoa, dude, what? No! Why would I steal? I’m not stupid!”

Sam takes a menacing step forward and Eddie tries to move back, but feels his path stopped by a thick chest. Yeah, this isn’t looking good.

“Give the money back now, and maybe I’ll let you go. If you don’t, you’re not going to like what happens next.”

Fear coils in Eddie’s stomach. If he had the money he would give it back out of his own pocket. As it stands, all he’s got is the 15 bucks that he’d planned on using for dinner tonight. He’s completely screwed.

“Sam, please, you have to believe me. I didn’t take anything!”

Sam glowers. “Fine, that’s how you wants it.”

Eddie’s grabbed on both sides by strong hands. He tries to fight but knows it no uses. The hired muscle are twice his size, and while he’d probably be able to outrun them, there’s no getting out of the their grasp.

He’s dragged from the office and thrown roughly in the trunk of a car. This is it, he thinks. This is how he’s going to die. They’re going to take him to some river and throw him in with bricks tied to his feet. He’d heard of this sort of thing happening, sure, but he’d never thought it would happen to him. Because he wasn’t stupid enough to cross the Harringtons. They were the most powerful crime family in the country, and Eddie valued his life, thank you very much. But apparently none of that mattered.

The ride is bumpy and it feels like it takes forever. But maybe that’s just Eddie, to out of his mind with fear to pay much attention. He tries to escape, kicking at the trunk and looking for a release lever. Of course, there’s nothing. When they finally come to a stop, he prepares himself to fight. The trunk opens and he tries to launch himself at the nearest thug, but the angles all wrong. He’s thrown the ground with ease, gravel crunching beneath his body.

“Get up,” one of the goons snarls, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him up.

Eddie looks around, trying to get an idea of his surroundings. He’d thought they’d maybe be out in the middle of the woods or near a body of water, but there’s none of that. Instead, they’re outside a massive mansion.

“What the fuck? Where are we?”

He’s pulled forward. “The big boss is out of the country, so we’re taking you to his son. We’ll let him decide how to handle you.”

Ah, shit. That wasn’t much better. He hadn’t worked for the Harringtons for three years without hearing all the horror stories. Sure, Thomas Harrington was in charge and had a reputation for violence, but Eddie had heard plenty about his son as well. A rich boy with a mean streak, they said. So what would he do to Eddie for apparently stealing from his family? Nothing good, that was for sure.

Eddie barely had any time to look around as he was dragged through the mansion and pulled through a set of double doors into an office, where he was thrown to his knees. Slowly, he brought his eyes up.

The first thing he saw were the pair of shiny black shoes. Nothing at all like his own worn out pair of shit kickers. His eyes travel up over a pair of sinfully long legs and thick thighs, all wrapped up in a pair of dress pants that probably cost more than he made in several months. Beyond that was a red silk shirt, only partially buttoned to reveal one of the nicest chests Eddie had ever seen. He sort of hated himself for thinking that, even now.

Finally, his gaze reached the face of the man himself. Steve Harrington was every bit as gorgeous as people said he was, and maybe a bit more. With a strong nose and defined chin, brown eyes that looked a little bored, and perfectly styled hair. Because of course it wasn’t enough that he’d been born rich and powerful. No, he also had to be unbelievably pretty.

Steve brought a cigarette to his lips and took a drag. “Who’s this?”

“This,” one of the thugs says, kicking Eddie’s foot, “Is just a low level piece of shit who thought he could steal from you, sir. We brought him here to let you decide what to do with him.”

Steve looked back to Eddie. “Is that true? Did you steal from my father?”

“No!” Eddie cried.

“Liar,” one goon snarled. “He was short by $500.”

“I swear, I didn’t take anything! I wouldn’t do that, I’m not a fucking idiot!”

Steve just continued to look at him, though he now seemed a bit curious. “Then where did the money go?”

Eddie shook his head. “I have no idea! Do you really think I’d risk my life over five hundred bucks? If I was going to steal, I’d take a lot more than that, I can promise you.”

To Eddie’s relief, though he wasn’t sure how great that relief should be, Steve laughed. He had a nice laugh, very full and bright. If Steve is amused, Eddie can use that. He’s good at being amusing. If the prince needs a jester, he can be that.

“What’s your name?” Steve asks.

“Eddie.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty four.”

Steve nods and takes another drag from his cigarette. “Right.”

He then reaches into his back pocket, and Eddie withdraws into himself. Is he going to pull a gun and just end him right here? At least that would be quick. But it’s not a gun, just his wallet. Steve flips it open and takes out a few hundred dollar bills, before tossing them at the floor by the goons feet. They flutter down like rich person confetti.

“To cover what’s missing,” he says.

The men glance at each other, as if unsure of what to do, before bending down to collect the money. “Uh, yes sir. We’re sorry to have bothered you. We’ll just get this waste of space out of your sight.”

They go to grab Eddie again and he struggles. He’s pretty sure that once he’s out of this room, his time will be up. But then Steve holds up a hand.

“Oh no, leave him here with me.”

Now the guards looked even more confused, and the sentiment was shared by Eddie. Was Steve some sick sadist, who wanted to torture Eddie here all by himself? But the thugs weren’t going to defy their boss. They gave him a shove, forcing him down to his hands, then retreated out of the office. Once the door was closed, Steve made his way around to the other side of the desk and sat. Eddie sort of thought he should get up off his knees, but he didn’t want to make any sudden movements. Maybe now was the best time to plead his case.

“Please, sir, you have to believe that I didn’t take that money.”

But Steve only shrugs and puts his cigarette out. “I don’t really care if you did. Honestly, it would be kind of funny.”

Eddie just stares at him, sure he heard him wrong. “Um, what?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, kicking his feet up on the desk. “My dads an asshole. I’ve stolen from him hundreds of times, and either he doesn’t care or he doesn’t notice. So really, it makes no difference to me.”

Well, this definitely wasn’t how Eddie had thought this was going to go. He still sort of thinks this is a trap, a ruse to get Eddie to admit that he’d actually taken the money.

“Right. So… I’m not in trouble?”

“Nah.”

“Oh. So, can I go then?”

And now Steve gets this certain look in his eye, one that’s bright and sharp, and Eddie almost feels like a prey animal caught in the mouth of a wolf den. But Steve is still smiling, and it seems genuine.

“You can if you want. Or…”

Eddie waits. He’s really not sure where this is going. What else can he want from him? When Steve doesn’t go on, just continues to stare, Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Or what?”

Steve shifts forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the desk and his chin in his hand. “Now, maybe I’m completely off base with this, so correct me if I’m wrong here. But you were checking me out when you first got here, weren’t you?”

Eddie’s mouth goes dry and his heart jumps in his chest. He hadn’t thought Steve had noticed.

“Please, Mr. Harrington, that wasn’t… I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Call me Steve. I hate when people call me Mr. Harrington. And you didn’t offend me. The opposite, in fact.”

Eddie just stares. This can’t be going where he thinks it’s going. Where he’s hoping it’s going. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Steve says, his smile growing wider. “I know when someone’s interested in me and you,” his eyes roam over Eddie’s body, “Are very interested.”

He’s cocky, that’s for sure. Eddie hates that he likes it. He really, really likes it. To his embarrassment, he even feels himself twitch in his jeans.

“So I guess you have two choices,” Steve continues. “You can get up and leave right now. No one will stop you and you’ll be free to go on your way. Or… You can stay. And we can come to an arrangement of an entirely different sort.”

And Eddie knows he should leave. He should get up and walk out right now. Because Harrington is nothing but trouble. He can see it written in every line of him, from that cocksure grin to those $3000 shoes. But Eddie’s never claimed to be smart. And he’s never been able to turn down a bit of trouble.

He leans back on his heels, titling his head in a way that draws Steve’s eyes to his neck, and grins.

“I’m listening.”

#steddie #steve x eddie #eddie and steve #steddie fic #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #Look I’ve written a crime AU for both of the other fandoms I’ve been a part of #and this just works really well #I love cocky Steve #I just think he’d take one look at Eddie #and go yep #I’m keeping this one

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informalmajesty · 9 months

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Jimin is not being sabotaged by his own label

This tag used to be (mostly) fun and now all I see are large text posts pitting Jimin and JK against each other and, look, it’s not as complicated as many of you are making it out to be, nor is there some grand conspiracy to *checks notes* pit JK and Jimin against each other or *keeps checking notes* a SPECIFIC vendetta against ONLY Jimin, their artist who *scrolls scrolls scrolls through notes* went number 1 on Billboard.

So here is a large text post on the woes of American capitalism (yes. Really).

Here’s the reality

Billboard DID Sabotage Jimin

Let’s get the big sabotage that did happen out of the way — BILLBOARD (and friends. Will circle back to this) ARE RACIST SNAKES AND ALWAYS HAVE BEEN.

Billboard has a history of keeping Black artists off of the pop charts. One example, R&B was largely created as a separate chart to move a category of Black artists from the Hot 100 pop charts. It was a big deal—as (1) example—when Boyz II Men crossed over to the pop charts multiple times.

And then what happened? The American music industry caught up and started cranking out white boy bands that wrote and performed R&B but. Funny. Somehow it was now considered JUST pop on the H100 POP charts. They weren’t pushed immediately to R&B and had to work their way over.

This was considered R&B for the R&B charts that was a “crossover”

And this was considered mainstream pop that needed no crossover.

Yeah, Billboard have always been racist snakes.

So flash forward to 2023. We know they tried HARD to keep BTS from the H100. Going into Proof, BB limited digitals, reduced the weight on sales and upped weight on radio. Why? American music labels can control radio. They cannot control sales and it’s legally far more messy for them to do so.

But then. JIMIN happened.

ARMY got Jimin to H100 #1 with the rule change and the American music industry lost their collective shit.

Why do I say COLLECTIVE and not just Billboard? Well.

This is so essential to the punch line of this rant.

American capitalism only cares about its friends.

What does that mean?

I work in Silicon Valley. You want to know why there is a major diversity problem in Silicon Valley? Yes. There is explicit and obscene misogyny and racism, but the biggest problem is less explicit albeit just as systemic.

White men tend to hang out and befriend other white men already in their “circle.” When some rich person or VC firm’s buddy is like “hey I need money for this thing” they are like “yes, of course, buddy, here you go!!” And they get tons of cash without having to prove anything.

I will not say the startup I worked at but it’s valuation was in the billions and their funding was in the billions with NO product built yet. How they got those billions? A well known stunt performer was besties with the then CEO of a major major tech company and he said “hey bestie give my friend over here hundreds of millions of dollars.” And then this startup got hundreds of millions of dollars. Was there due diligence done? Absolutely. But would the CEO of a major tech company give a crap if his best dude didn’t vouch for the startup? No.

Humans are extremely relationally driven. Merit is basically bullshit. Merit is so so rarely considered in anything. Who are you friends with? That’s how most things are done.

So, Billboard has a lot of friends. Those friends are in major record labels. And those friends only care about making as much money as possible while retaining the status quo.

What goes against all of that? A group of non-white, non-American men that they make very little money from because their label is completely seated in a different country.

So when Like Crazy—a solo record by a Korean artist under a Korean label with a Korean songwriting team—comes in and dethrones FLOWERS, Columbia Records’ darling for the year (no hate to Miley or the song, it’s solid, love Miley), oh my god were they SEEING SOME RED.

The MONEY they PAID to see Flowers on top of radio, of playlisting, of cultural consciousness and a NON AMERICAN NON WHITE MAN just dethroned that.

My GUESS (I don’t know, also keep in mind BTS didn’t seem to have the friendliest exit from the Columbia distribution deal) is that Billboard’s BFFs at Columbia threw a fit. And Billboard responded by saying “of course, bestie, we’ll remove the problem.”

And there goes 100k sales in the next week. Deleted. Gone.

Who is going to call them on that? Hybe could propose an investigation, sure, but here’s the thing — it’s not illegal. Billboard didn’t break any law. It’s THEIR completely made up chart that they can change at any time depending on what labels want (this is how Wall Street works too, btw). Everything is made up to appease the same 50 white men. Bleak but true. Music industry is far from the exception.

Okay so moving forward — now we have Jungkook’s Seven coming out. And Billboard a week before release finally decides to tell us the rule they CREATED BECAUSE OF JIMIN (it’s a shitty rule of course but damn Jimin’s power)—D2C sales no longer count.

Jungkoook makes it to #1 anyway because ARMY is freaking amazing AND yes. Yes, Jungkook got more US promotion, help on Spotify, general promo, radio etc than Jimin.

BUT THIS DID NOT HAPPEN BECAUSE BIG HIT FAVORS JUNGKOOK AND SABOTAGED JIMIN

Remember — everything is determined by rich men in power and who they are friends with.

What did Jungkook do? He went to an American producer who is besties with Scooter Braun (Andrew Watt has worked with several of Scooter’s artists including Justin Bieber, namely on Peaches) who has power to contact his besties at Spotify and wherever else.

And what does going to an American producer unlock for Jungkook? A pop track highly likely to do well in America. So then what does Bang PD do? Recognize that because the dude is a billionaire and he likes money and he says (and we know he said this) “this is going to be a hit.” And there you go, you have the Seven marketing campaign that Like Crazy didn’t quite get.

This isn’t “oh my god BigHit / Hybe hates Jimin.” This is “Jungkoook took an easier, more commercial route.”

If Jimin wants to go get a song like Seven….he can go get a song from an American producer who is friends with the right people.

Instead he wanted to work on a personal project with Korean producers and it’s amazing and beautiful and also went number one and was also a huge success.

And Jungkook wanted this really great and incredibly commercial pop song.

Both are valid. Both are going to unlock different resources for the artist. And both Jimin and JK know this. They chose what they chose. That’s it. End of story.

As for Seven v LC album stock— stock is highly likely determined by basic predictive analytics models (exponential smoothing, maaybe a regression, maybe even something as simple as moving avg idk). LC was a sizable increase from Astronaut and other BTS singles. So then Seven likely adjusted to that increase. Again. That’s it guys. That’s literally it.

So can we please have the tag back and stop pitting JK and Jimin against each other and respect that Jimin chose to do a more artistic, personal project while JK (at least for now) did not?

If you want to be mad at something, be mad at American wealthy white men and their friends.

#jikook #jimin #jungkook #seven by jungkook #like crazy #jimin and jungkook

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drdemonprince · 7 months

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watching a 1992 Donna Tartt interview where she describes writing her first draft of The Secret History as setting out on a cross-country trip with only a map, not knowing what kind of unexpected detours she might run into along the way and then figuring out her way through them. She also likens getting to know her characters over the course of the writing to getting to know a good friend -- at first you think you've got them figured out, but with more time and in new situations, you learn all kinds of new shades to them.

and it strikes me. that neither cross country trips nor getting to know friends quite works out that way anymore. Today we have Google directions that can update relatively in real time to reflect not only changes in the roads and byways, but short-term construction and traffic jams as well. and while there's certainly an element of surprise to befriending somebody still, things aren't quite so much of a mystery anymore as they were before social media. today it's quite easy to make an informed guess based on a person's posting habits which movies theyd want to see with you, whether they'd like to visit an art gallery or a park or a club. and you know what's going on in their life so much of the time, or at least what they broadcast about it, so you get to develop a sense of their patter and their insecurities and what makes them spiral.

and i wonder if human beings on the whole are less comfortable with uncertainty now, and see themselves as less capable of weathering unexpected challenges -- be that a pothole or a conversation with no script -- because we haven't gotten to exercise that self-trust of embarking on the road with only a map that Donna describes.

i know that when i encounter an unexpected problem and i can solve it, it helps me feel powerful. it helps me feel that my world has expanded in some triumphant little way. now i know how to install a curtain rod. i will never not know how to do it again. now i know how to fix a biplane closet track thats bent. now i know how to donate blood and what to do before. i know how to tell a boorish dude at a bar to leave my friend and i alone because now i've done it. and the more things that i become able to do, the greater faith i have in my own ability to do things generally -- to learn, to fix, to adapt. im no luddite but i am someone who always wants to google unknowable information, such as whether a bartender will yell at me for ordering the wrong kind of drink at the wrong sort of bar. but i have that all backwards now dont i. the only way i get over that anxiety is not by getting all the information, but by getting experience moving into places where i dont have the information. driving on the roads when the maps are out of date.

#i havent read any donna tartt but her eyebrows are so good i might have to

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embodyingchaos · 9 months

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Hi! Since you are writing for Finn could you please write about the gaga episode including the reader and they help him with his red outfit or the rocky horror episode? Thank you!

❥ hi sweetheart! MY FIRST GLEE REQUEST AAAAA im so excited, i hope you like this! (so sorry this is so late!)

theatricality rewritten pairing: finn hudson x gn!reader genre: platonic, fluff, sorta angst(?) warnings: finn being sortaaa homophobic, mention of the f slur, finn being a jerk, this is like so bad im so sorry word count: 1.9k

the halls of mckinley were filled with students roaming around, conversing with one another while someone was just trying to put their books back into their locker. y/n swore as the books inside their locker fell out and plopped onto the floor, “how the hell does this even happen, i put them sideways for god’s sake.” they whispered to themselves, bending down to grab them before rearranging their positions. as they were putting their books back in, finn hudson had approached them.

“hey, y/n.” they looked up, “oh, hey finn. what’s up?” y/n asked as they closed their locker, “so many things are up. so many damn things.” he exasperatedly said, leaning his back on the wall.

finn and y/n had been friends ever since pre-school, they used to be best friends but some things change. they both reconnected when they joined the glee club around the same time. “what is it now? rachel? quinn? puck?” “kurt.” y/n whistled lowly, “that’s a new one.” they started to walk down the hallway to head to the glee club. “what about him?” “well, my mom made us move in with him and his dad, and now- now, i’ve got to share a room with him! like the dude’s fine and all, sure, but i need my privacy and he kinda makes me feel, i don’t know, uncomfortable?” finn rambled, stuffing his hands into his pockets as his flannel brushed to the side.

y/n only chuckled, “why on earth does he make you uncomfortable?” their question makes finn fidget a bit, “he just… i’m so sure he likes me. it’s obvious. sharing a room with him is like sharing a room with a girl that likes me.” y/n gave him a weird look, “okay, i’ll pretend you didn’t just compare kurt to a girl and that you think he likes you-” “i’m not thinking it! he does!” they sighed, “right. look, if it bothers you that much, sleep in the living room. it isn’t that complicated, finn.” finn huffed and nodded as they entered the choir room.

he sat beside tina, who was looking a little off today and that’s when it clicked. “you aren’t wearing your usual goth look, t. what happened?” y/n asked her as they sat beside finn, “figgins thinks she’s a vampire and said if she wore goth any time soon, she’d get suspended.” mercedes explained, “what.” y/n deadpanned, in disbelief that their principal actually believes vampires are real.

“it’s so weird.” “this so isn’t you.” artie and finn commented, “i feel like an asian branch davidian.” tina expressed woefully, will frowned at her state. “tina, are there any other looks you can try?” mr. schuester’s question started a plenty of suggestions. “biker chick?” “cowgirl?” “hood rat.” “computer programmer!” “cross-country skier.” “catholic schoolgirl?” “a happy-meal, no onions… or a chicken.” everyone looked at brittany with concern before tina had enough of their ideas.

“look, i appreciate it, guys, but it just isn’t me. i know who i am, and i’m not allowed to show it. it’s like communism.” she begrudgingly comments before rachel stomped into the room, fervent as always.

“guys, we have a serious problem. you know, i’ve been doing some deep background on vocal adrenaline-” “isn’t that against the rules?” artie asked her, “no, not at all- or, probably. whatever!” schue shook his head at her answer, but rachel didn’t really seem to care. “anyway, what i figured out, i rooted through the dumpsters behind the carmel auditorium and i found 18 empty boxes of christmas lights.” tina’s eyes widened, “oh, no.” “which led me to joelle fabrics. i asked them about red chantilly lace and they were sold out!” rachel exclaimed and now the girls and kurt looked entirely worried. “oh, sweet jesus.” “oh, my.” mercedes and him commented, a few of the guys looked confused.

mr. schuester looked at rachel, “what?” “they’re doing gaga.” kurt explained while mercedes and rachel expressed how screwed they were. “we should have guessed it. they’re going full out theatricality. they know it’s the easiest way to beat us. damn them!” y/n took a deep breath in, they were definitely screwed.

“what’s up with this gaga dude? he just dresses weird, right? like bowie?” puck’s question made rachel scoff, “lady gaga is a woman! she’s only the biggest pop act to come along in decades! she’s boundary-pushing! the most theatrical performer of our generation, and she changes her looks faster than britt changes sexual partners.” “that’s true.” she agreed as kurt went on a rant about how amazing lady gaga is.

“it makes sense that vocal adrenaline would pay homage. it’s a brilliant move. she’s a perfect fit for them.” artie muttered, “now, hold on a second.” schue spoke up, “we might be able to kill two birds with one stone here. we can help tina find a new look and find a competitive number for regionals.” tina smiled as y/n held her hand encouragingly.

“this week, your assignment: gaga.” a round of whispers filled the room as the girls and kurt began to plot, rachel announced the ideas were coming to her, needing a pen and paper before mr. schuester pointed at his office. the boys, however, didn’t look too happy about it. y/n was pretty neutral on the topic.

after the glee meeting, both finn and y/n walked side-by-side in the hallway as they headed to class. they turned to finn, “you look excited about gaga.” they commented sarcastically but finn didn’t catch that. “what? i’m not-” “i know. i was being sarcastic, you big doof.” y/n smiled, “come on, it isn’t so bad. lady gaga’s got some catchy hits, like just dance.” finn tilted his head, “of course, you don’t know that song. why did i even mention it?” they muttered to themselves, looking around the hallway with a bored expression.

finn let out an annoyed grunt, “why are we always doing the things the girls wanna do?” he wondered out loud, y/n pressed their lips into a firm line. “well, if that’s how you feel, then why don’t you express it to mr. schue? i’m sure he’ll understand your point of view. sometimes.” the tall boy nodded, slowly smiling. “maybe i will.” he simply said before turning back around to head to mr. schuester’s office. “aaand there he goes.” y/n quietly commented, continuing their journey to history class.

gaga week had gone extremely well, other than karofsky and azimio picking on tina and kurt, and rachel finding out that vocal adrenaline’s coach was her mom. finn had also convinced mr. schue to allow the boys to do a song by the band kiss instead of lady gaga.

y/n was getting text spams and long rants every five minutes from finn about how much of a hassle it was to live with kurt, it was honestly starting to get on their nerves. they didn’t care about it much until they got a text from the quarterback saying he had called kurt a slur when he was blinded by rage.

finn drove to their house and was immediately met with an upset face. “i cannot believe you called him that!” they yelled as finn fell onto their bed with his hands on his face, “i know, dude. i feel really bad about it, too.” he groaned in frustration, mad at himself for being such a jerk.

“i wanna make it up to him, but i just don’t know how.” finn muttered, staring up at their bedroom’s ceiling. y/n fiddled with their oversized t-shirt before their eyes lingered on a specific costume that was hung on their closet door; their gaga costume. y/n smirked, “i have an idea.” they slyly turned towards their best friend who raised his head up with a questionable look on his face.

with that, they spent the entire night fashioning up a theatricality costume for the boy as a way to show his support for kurt and that he was different from the other guys on the football team who would judge and scrutinise everything the glee club did.

the next day, since it was the end of the week, everyone had decided to go to school in their costumes. y/n didn’t mind but it was a bit uncomfortable to get to and from class in white latex tights.

“woah! guys, why are you all in your theatricality costumes?” mr. schue asked as he walked into the choir room, “it’s the end of the week. we were kind of hoping to learn what the lesson of the assignment was.” artie told him, “well, um, you guys have had some great numbers this week but i’m not sure that i know either.” he confessed and the rest of the club chuckled with him before a voice spoke up.

“i do.” tina walked into the room in her usual goth attire, “goth tina! you’re back!” y/n exclaimed, beaming at her. the girl smiled at their enthusiasm, “i refuse to dress like somebody i’m not to be somebody i’m not, and i learned it’s good to be a little theatrical.” she said before taking a bow as everyone applauded. “there she is! she’s back!” mr. schue encouragingly announced, patting her on the back.

artie looked around amidst all the cheering, realising that two people were missing. “wait, where’s kurt? and where’s finn?” his question made everyone look around, before the revelation hit y/n. “guys, we need to go find them. now.” the entire club ventured out together through the hallways to find the two guys, which they did.

“oh my god.” “what is finn wearing?” santana stated and quinn asked, in shock. “he wanted to make up for something he did to kurt so i helped him with his gaga costume.” y/n explained, “problem was that we could only use this old shower curtain i found in my attic.” they added, snickering at the sight of their friend wearing a red, rubber-looking dress. they walked towards them as they noticed karofsky and azimio were once again bullying them. “‘cause i’m pretty sure we can take the both of you.” “yeah, but can you take all of us?” puck quipped as they backed finn up.

“okay. okay, i get it. i took biology. you know what, karofsky? we done disturbed the freak hive! the worker freaks is trying to protect the queen freak.” azimio mocked, “next time, we’ll bring some friends, too.” karofsky threatened before the two jocks walked away from the group.

rachel took off her shades, “i’m tired of everyone calling us freaks.” she complained, “well, look at us. we are freaks.” mercedes joked as everyone laughed along. finn smiled at this, “but we’re all freaks together, and we shouldn’t have to hide it.” he told them before sudden clapping attracted their attention.

“nice job, finn. think you just figured out what the lesson was, kinda makes me wish i’d planned it.” mr. schue joked, “but mercedes is right, you do all look incredibly insane.” y/n smiled and turned to finn, high-fiving one another. “told you my plan would work.” they whispered to him as he rolled his eyes, “yeah, yeah. you’re always right, i get it.” y/n only punched him lightly on his shoulder as they all began to walk back to the choir room.

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epicsteddieficrecs · 1 year

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Epic Steddie Fic Rec: Chapter 5 (December 31st, 2022)

I really need to get back into the habit of making these weekly recaps *weekly* or else... this is what happens. I post shit late lol.

Complete

Mutual Future by knell (Post-S4 Fix It | 40K | Explicit): two dudes navigate their feelings in the most normal way possible.

hold me now, i need relief by ToEdenandBackAgain (Post-S4 Fix It | 25K | Mature): It’s probably going to go down in history as the worst kiss Steve Harrington ever got, but Eddie doesn’t give a fuck. He isn’t going to get another chance so he’s working with what he’s got. It’s less of a kiss, and more of a slide of lips, wet with blood and tears but he feels Harrington’s grip tighten on the back of his shirt and he pulls back. He reaches up with the hand he can still feel and pushes back a strand of hair that had fallen in Steve’s face, smearing blood along his temple as he does. “Sorry. Couldn’t die without knowing what that felt like.”

🖤 And I Knew (in the Crystalline Knowledge of You) by PippinPips/ @majesticfaequeenpips (Practical Magic AU | 28K | Mature): At a young age, Eddie casts a spell to never fall in love in an attempt to save himself from future debilitating heartbreak. Of course magic always finds a way to work. When a single father moves to town Eddie never expected to really cross paths with the man. As fate would have it, he does. He gets so much more than he bargained for.

Eddie Munson and the Dreamboy by pukner/ @pukner (Post-S4 | 8K | Not rated): Or, five times El and Eddie find a version of Steve Harrington while traversing his mindscape to drag him out of a coma (thanks, Vecna). And one time Steve finds Eddie.

🖤 you can take the heart from your chest to use as a compass when you are lost by fragilecapric0rn/ @flashyysins (Modern AU | 29K | Mature): Thanksgiving 2009. Steve, who is about to host the brood of children (who somehow aren't children anymore) in a cabin for the long weekend, after a semi-bad week, all while batting off Dustin's attempts at playing matchmaker and dodging phone calls from his mother. And at some point some strange man on the internet broadcasts his worst public moment for the other Craigslist freaks to see. What could go wrong? Or right? (Part 1 of Missed Connections)

the worst time for the best case scenario by fragilecapric0rn/ @flashyysins (Modern AU | 2K | Not Rated): He briskly walks down the aisle before so he can walk in the guy’s direction on the other side and as he turns down, he realizes he fucked up. Oh my god, is that a black eye? Oh my god, he’s hot. Oh my god, he’s crying. (Part 2 of Missed Connections)

i would wait anyway by poesidone/ @gonzocoded (Future Fic | 8K | Teen): Eddie's back in town after six years of traveling the country looking for himself. Upon his return, he's forced to confront the consequences of an impulse decision he'd made before leaving and the fact that, apparently, Steve Harrington now inexplicably owns a bakery called Flour Power.

you're the singer and i'm the song by ruinations (PWP, Trans Eddie | 4K | Explicit): After hearing a rumor that Steve's fantastic at eating pussy, Eddie asks Steve to prove it to him. Steve is more than happy to oblige.

the circus music playing on loop in my mind is being overpowered by the disco from the next room over by fragilecapric0rn/ @flashyysins (Canon Divergent | 3K | Mature): “What the fuck are you doing here?” He nearly squawked, meaning for it to come out anyway other than that. The man turned around, and here he was. In a stare down with ghostly pale Steve Harrington, who was not only supposed to be straight, but was also in a MESH TANK TOP at Frankie’s on a Wednesday night. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He pauses, glancing around the room, small voice. “It’s disco night.” (Part 1 of who knew the aftermath could taste this sweet?)

i know it's hard. but when you accept it, it'll feel like flying. by fragilecapric0rn/ @flashyysins ( | 6K | Teen): Steve thinks he's finally getting a night alone with Eddie, but Will Byers has other plans. (Part 2 of who knew the aftermath could taste this sweet?)

words caught in my throat (who talks first?) by fragilecapric0rn/ @flashyysins (Future Fic, Getting Back Together | 12K | Explicit): Steve and Eddie get snowed in together. Emotional constipation and all the things left unsaid are also in attendance.

Seasons change, but people don't. by hotluncheddie/ @hotluncheddie (Canon Divergent, Pre-S4 | 6K | Mature): Eddie's scalp is prickling and he’s had the worst fucking day, okay? His stupid math and science teachers are in kahoots, he knows it. His grades are too low, he cant make it up and they don’t like him so there's no way out. He’s not graduating. Again. He has to repeat senior year. Again. And the added layer to his shit cake of a day? King Steve wants to buy from him. Today, right now. Oh ho ho is he gonna get overcharged sooo bad. Seeing as eddie has to postpone his wallowing to wait at his stupid little bench in the stupid woods behind the stupid school. Or: three times steve asks eddie to stay, plus one time he finally does.

defrost by Adure/ @toburnup (Enemies to Lovers, PWP | 9K | Explicit): Eddie hates Steve, for the most part. And now they're stranded in the middle of nowhere. And it's snowing.

won't be the same, dear, if you're not here with me by judasofsuburbia/ @judasofsuburbia (Post-S4 Fix it, Dreamsharing | 9K | Teen): Steve doesn’t want to ask this. He knows this is just a dream (or an upcoming nightmare). Something that’s made to feel real but isn’t. Still, he asks, “Are you actually alive?” Eddie glances up at him. His big, brown eyes are shimmering with naive, joyful hope. “You tell me, big boy.” or: five times steve harrington dreams of eddie munson and the one time reality feels like a dream.

didn't think that it'd take dying (to finally feel like i'm okay) by tak_cajaz (Post-S4 Fix It | 9K | Teen): Or, Eddie thought he was dead, so it didn't matter that he spilled his secret to the pretty angel taking him to heaven.

🖤 off the beaten path by pukner/ @pukner(Canon Divergent, Pre-S4, Autistic Steve & Eddie | 34K | Explicit): Or, post season 3, Steve manages to figure out that he's bisexual, despite his best efforts to repress it, comes out to Robin and Jonathan Byers of all people, and figures himself out. Also, there's a cute guy who might be actually insane running the kids' dnd club and he's got his eye on him. And his bandana. Too bad Eddie Munson hasn't had a similar revelation. He's still under the impression that he's a straight man obsessing over Steve Harrington for normal, extremely heterosexual reasons. OR: Steve figures out he's bi before Eddie figures out that he's gay. Eddie still manages to fall first. (Part 1 of off-script)

no boys allowed by pukner/ @pukner (Canon Divergent | 7K | Not Rated): Robin Buckley has her very first Girls' Day. She gets her hair braided, consoles her heartbroken best friend, and everyone muddies the water a bit on the exact definition of what a Girl is. Steve Harrington has a good cry about Eddie Munson. (Part 2 of off-script)

that'd be the end of the last man on earth by pbandjeremiah/ @pbandjeremiah (Future Fic, Parent Eddie | 9K | Mature): eddie munson and his two adorable daughters sit next to steve on a flight from san francisco to chicago. a lot changes in those four hours.

Crimson and Clover by Plastiktramps (Canon Divergent, Pre-S4, PWP | 4K | EXPLICIT): Or, Steve has a bisexual identity crisis and Eddie just wants to make him feel good. (Part 1 of Crimson and Clover-verse)

If you know someone I haven't tagged, please tag them in the comments!

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #epic steddie fic rec #steddie fic rec

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sunnyie-eve · 4 months

Text

23 | You what?

Series: Significant

Paring: Colby Brock x Original female character

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.5k

| MASTERLIST |

It's been a few weeks since Penelope was released from the hospital and was back home. Her mother and sister were still staying nearby till she was completely done with her doctor appointments just to be safe. With Penelope living out here and not home much, Turner has been hanging out at the house with Penelope and the guys.

At that moment, he went downstairs and got sucked into helping with the prank on Colby's car helping Elton, Corey, and Sam only because he caught them.

"Did you take your medicine?" Colby walks into Penelope's room.

"Colby, you are killing me about making sure I take my meds." She groans at her computer.

"You have like four difficult medications you have to take at different times every single day, Penelope." He walks up behind her.

She drops her head down shaking it, "I have alarms set when to take them so don't worry about it." She tilts her head to look back at him.

"Come on, you know I'm gonna worry about it." He gives her a kiss on the forehead.

Since the night at the hospital when he kissed her, they haven't really talked about it but there was a shift in their friendship. It was a lot more flirty when they were alone and even more touching which involved more head kisses and cheek kisses.

"Because you're annoying." She turns around to face him.

"I would hit you but you still have a broken wrist and head trauma." He crosses his arms, "You really don't want to go to the party tonight with me?"

"Not really. I want to stay home." She gets up to sit on her bed turning her TV on, "Not to mention I have a broken arm, Colby. And it's my dominant arm." She gives him a look.

"But I want you to come with." He lays his head on her lap.

"Well, that's not gonna happen." Her left hand plays with his hair which he liked very much.

"Where did Turner go?" Colby asks since he hasn't come back upstairs yet.

"Who knows. He's still here somewhere so I'm not worried. Probably with Sam or Corey. He's taken a liking to Corey since they both like dancing." Penelope says not caring knowing he was okay.

"Should I still go on the trip to Japan?" Colby asks her.

"Why wouldn't you not go?" She asks confused.

"Because I wanna keep an eye on you. I can't do that in another country." He looks up at her.

"I'll be fine alone. Plus there will be other people here because we have roommates if I need help, which I won't." She reassures him, "You are going on your stupid trip." She laughs at his face.

"Why does it gotta be stupid?" He chuckles.

"Because I said so. I don't know."

"I wanna take a little nap so wake me up before 7:30." Colby closes his eyes falling asleep as she plays with his hair.

When it gets closer to 7:30, Penelope wakes Colby up so he goes to his room to get ready. "Turner!" Penelope goes downstairs looking for him and can't find him. Going to the garage she sees it open so she goes out to the front. "You just disappeared, dude." She sees him with Elton, Sam, and Corey then what they did to Colby's car, "Oh, my."

"Wanna sit and wait to see his reaction?" Sam takes a seat.

"I guess." She joins them.

When Colby comes out he was confused to see everything looking at him, "You disappeared on me. And where's my car? There's my car." He finally notices making the guys laugh at him. "Did you know?" Colby asks Penelope.

"No, she didn't but Turner helped." Elton lets him know before telling Colby about his gift in the car.

"Oh my god! This is going to take me so long, Elton. Wait what? Bubble wrap." Colby starts tugging it to get it off. "How long did this take you?"

"About two hours..." Elton tells him.

"Before I continue, I'm gonna tell the person, that I need... Needed to be there at 7:30."

"You needed to be there at 7:30?! Why did you wait so late to run late?" Penelope shouts at how stupid he was.

Colby starts to tug again at the Saran Wrap this time moving the entire car, "How and I gonna get this, NO! NO! No! What is... No! Packing peanuts! Is the present in the packing peanuts or is that the present?" Colby asks.

"The present is inside the packing peanuts. It's in there. It's in the car somewhere." Elton laughs so they all watch Colby struggle.

"So you guys... You do know you're all gonna die in the next week right?" Colby looks at the guys, "That includes you too Turner. You're not safe because you aren't going home just yet." Colby points at him so Turner grabs Penelope's arm.

"My shield."

When they go for a little drive, Penelope and Turner wait for them to get back, "And you choose to live with these idiots?" Turner laughs as they sit alone.

"I oddly do." She laughs as well.

Soon the guys get back and they watch Colby search for his present but they put it in the trunk. Penelope cracks up seeing that the present was dish soap since he never does his dishes. Before they head inside, Riches pulls up to pick up Turner so they say goodbye to him.

"Where are you off to all dressed up looking adorable?" Colby smiles entering Penelope's bedroom.

"Lunch with my friend. She's picking me up so can you help me with my shoes please." She gives him a pout so he helps her put them on.

"You never talk about this friend much... What's her name?"

"Janelle, we've worked together a few times but she's mostly out of state but she got back last week." She says as Janelle calls her telling her she was there.

Getting in the car, Janelle smiles at her, "I might have left a small detail out about lunch."

"And that would be?"

"We're meeting up with my boyfriend and his friend. He had an opening in his schedule so they're gonna join us. Don't worry it's not like a date thing." She lets her know.

"Oh, okay." Penelope chuckles.

The girls get to the restaurant first and take a seat waiting for the guys to show up. When they did Janelle's boyfriend, Luke, and his friend Justin, introduced themselves to Penelope.

"Sorry if we were intruding on girl time." Luke apologizes.

"It's fine."

They end up spending an hour at the restaurant chatting about what they do and other things. Justin took a liking to Penelope and it was obvious to Janelle and Luke, but Penelope paid no mind.

"How long till you take your cast off? The accident happened about a month ago, right? Your accident. Falling down the stairs because a prank went wrong and was in a small coma for a couple of weeks." Luke talks to Penelope.

"How did you know that? I didn't tell you about that?" Janelle asks her boyfriend confused.

"The video about it... It was uploaded earlier today. The prank going wrong and the updates till you got home." He says confused seeing the look on Penelope's face.

"I need to go home. Like now." She gets up from her seat leaving so Janelle and Luke quickly split the bill.

"Why?" Janelle rushes after her.

"Because Elton fucking posted what happened to me! I was laying unconscious on the floor bleeding from my head while my roommates panicked." Penelope shouts.

"She's not lying." Justin shows Janelle the video when everything goes wrong.

Janelle takes Penelope home and she enters the house pissed off, "ELTON!" She yells out his name.

Everyone downstairs was confused as Elton entered the room, "Why are you screaming my name?"

"Why am I screaming your name? Are you fucking serious right now? Why the hell did you upload the failed prank and updates? You took a picture of me in my hospital bed to show in the video as well!" She was pissed off with him.

"Wait, what? You posted the accident and everything that happened afterward?" Corey looks at him.

"I just wanted to show how not all pranks go the way you want them to go. And I had updates so fans would know she was okay. To also explain why we disappeared for two weeks because we were worried about you." Elton explains.

"Elton, she was unconscious and bleeding on our floor and you posted that?" Sam gets a little loud.

It was taking everything in Colby not to tackle Elton to the ground for posting the video, "I would say delete it but it's too fucking late. People probably already have the video. I can't believe you did that, Elton. Fans already knew an accident happened because we said one happened when it did and that we were focusing on that." Colby walks upstairs not wanting to look at him.

"Would you still have posted it if she died instead of recovering from the fall?" Aaron shakes his head going upstairs too.

"It's gonna be a while before I can forgive you." Penelope heads upstairs going to Colby's room, "Can you untie my shoes so I can kick them off?" She asks him politely so he does what she asks.

"I can't fucking believe him. It wasn't even a prank, it was an accident. You could've died and we were all really panicking. It was acting like we normally do for pranks to scare each other." Colby sits on his couch.

"I know. When Janelle's boyfriend brought up the accident and everything with it we were confused about how he knew then he told us about the video. Maybe one good thing will come out of it."

"What could that be?" Colby looks at her.

"Hopefully fans will feel bad for me and realize how much I mean to my roommates. Or some will wish I die." She thinks.

"Let's hope it's the first one." He holds her hand.

"I'm thinking about filming a Q&A video do you want to join me? Last week I tweeted asking for questions so want to go through some?" Penelope gets off the couch.

"Sure, wanna do it in here?"

"Eww, no. I like my setup." She leaves his room.

"That was rude!" He follows her to her room and sets her camera up for her.

"Hey, hey! Welcome back to my channel! It's been quite some time since I last uploaded a video. But last week I asked y'all to ask me some questions I can answer. As you can see I have the lovely handsome Colby Brock with me." She motions to him with her good arm.

"Oh, you're making me blush, stop." He plays along.

"I asked him if he wanted to join me just because I could. He literally lives down the hall from me. I'll have him pick and read me questions you guys want to know." She hands Colby her phone that was already on Twitter. "Are you ready?" She asks him.

"Are you ready?" He smiles so they both laugh. "I'm gonna pick ones that are wild, funny, and private." Colby moves his eyebrows at her.

"You're so... Our moms just had to be friends." She groans at him.

"Okay, this is from Anna-ha; If you were to switch bodies with Colby for a day what would you do?" He reads, "Tell me, what would you do in my body?" He tilts his head.

"Cry, I would cry and scream. I would refuse to use the bathroom. I'd just pee myself because hell no. But other than that," She thinks, "I would transfer some money to my bank account. You're richer than me so." She laughs as his jaw drops, "What would you do, huh? In my body?" She asks him now.

He thinks making different faces, "You're my best friend but I'm still a guy first so..." He smirks causing her to hit him, "I'm joking, I had to piss some people off. But I would go get a tattoo of my name to put on you."

"No! I will never get a name tattooed on me." Her eyes widened.

"Night Owl asks; How many boyfriends have you had?" He reads.

"Two, just two. When I was 14 and 18/19. My longest relationship was two years and I got cheated on. The second was, not even a full year. I honestly can't tell you how long I think maybe six months because-,"

Colby cuts her off, "Because he was also a piece of shit and they constantly fought about small things that were unnecessary."

"As Colby said but only two. I'm done dating."

"Banana Bread asks; Do you get uncomfortable when people talk about you and any of the guys, especially Sam and Colby, in a nonfriend way?"

"I don't know if I would say it's uncomfortable but it's a similar feeling. I can't really explain it. I don't care that much because there's more hate towards me with the guys. I guess that's why it doesn't make me uncomfortable because there's not a lot of that. But for Sam and Colby, I'm super close to them so the hugs, head kisses, and cuddles don't really mean anything romantically." She explains, "Like I've had people give me crap for how Sam and I are because he's dating Kat, but she completely trusts us."

"On our trip to Utah, Kat asked Penny if was she keeping Sam from turning blue and purple by cuddling him. So like, she trusts Penelope and Sam. Devyn trusts Penny as well as Corey. I don't have a girlfriend but hopefully she would trust her as well and I'm sure she would." Colby adds.

"So yeah, I don't get uncomfortable but I prefer people not to for the respect of the actual couples." Penelope adds to it.

"Oh, this one is, wow. Jade asks; What made you realize you were in love for the first time?"

"Wow!" Penelope was shocked, "That's a big topic, umm." She takes a deep breath in, "I couldn't stand not being able to see them. It was like, if I saw them I knew no matter what, even if I was at my lowest, just seeing them made me feel a little better. Then one day I couldn't stop thinking about them in a certain way. From that moment on everything in me changed and it's so hard to describe that feelings. Love is complicated to explain." Penelope giggles refusing to look at Colby who was looking at her the whole time she talked.

"Colby's wifey... I didn't know I had one, asks; Can you stop being friends with Colby and move far away please?" He gives Penelope a smile.

"Okay, we're done." She looks at Colby, "I'll have the movers come over soon to get my stuff." She stands up walking out of her room before going back in, "Hell no!" She looks at the camera before sitting back down.

"Yeah, as long as I'm alive, Penelope is gonna be here as well so..." Colby nods his head.

"Okay! Thank you guys for watching and giving me questions. If Colby didn't pick yours, I'm sorry blame him not me. Remember to like, comment, and subscribe. I would really appreciate it." Penelope smiles.

"Do it or I'll hunt you down and force you to." Colby glares at the camera before getting up to turn it off.

#sam and colby #colby brock #sam golbach #katrina stuart #jake webber #corey scherer #elton castee #tara yummy #colby brock imagine #colby brock ff #colby brock fanfic #best friend #friends to lovers #tfil

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silviakundera · 13 hours

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Joy of Life Episode 12 and 13 liveblogging

This is my first watch, so don't tell me secrets ;)

A lot of sweet romance stuff. These two do have a very warm chemistry together. It already feels like they've known each other awhile. As the viewer you do believe that they like each other very much.

Now that the idiotic forced misunderstanding is over, I can relax my blood feud. Go forth, my children, and be logical!

ML owes his family SO MANY APOLOGIES for the bullshit he put them thru about this idiocy. It bet it's not over, but at least everyone knows who everyone is now

Hmmmm should I be suspicious about this cold medicine?

If FL wants to get out of this mess she's gonna have to work mom a lot better.

hmmmmm on Si Lili's boat, "that monster??" The white garbed swordswomen? Intriguing.

That FL is lucky. You put me in the past and I could plagiarize at least 5 Supernatural novels but I could do NOTHING for tuberculosis.

What trouble is Sil Lili in and how will ML get her out of it?

....guys do u think all this cutsie time at home for assassin bro Teng Zijing is to make it more sad when mom & kid die horribly ?🤔😶

Look I'm not gonna start lying to ya'll, I don't care about that mom & kid's life or death other than intellectual curiosity and plot reasons.

THE BOX IS OPEN. 🤘🤘🤘🤘

It's.... just a dude with bad hair?

A "Level 8 Master", whatever that means. I'm sure it's a very impressive wuxia ranking.

ML's plan is just to return to the country and tbh that's a good plan, I can't argue with facts

Episode 13

Second Prince's cup breaks... Poison, omen, or badly glazed cookware? 🤔

Oh they're traveling down the street where he beat up the Crown Prince's person and now they're reminiscencing about how great meeting each other was. And just a few scenes ago Assassin bro joked about how he'll run away and leave ML in a fight. I am DROWNING IN FORESHADOWING I CAN'T BREATHE

The knives in coat move returns!

Epic wuxia battles. This is where we could really use Uncle Wu

The 2 bros are not gonna abandon each other 😢

The mountain of foreshadowing's prophesy is fulfilled

ML is super upset about his bro and goes wuxia nuclear

"Tell him to wake up." 😭😭 I really thought we had another 10 episodes before he died tragically

No way, kill the Level 8 master. This is dumb, don't leave your enemy alive. Investigate another way.

Ok WAS it the CP.... Or hear me out, was it the Second Prince who set this up to get ML irrevocably on his side?

Second Prince even knows he's my suspect

Si Lili also a suspect tbh. Too bad if so, friendship CANCELLED

(But let's not forget about Princess Royal)

Loser brother and step mom should give him hugs. They're so worried ❤

awwww even the dad is broken up about this

"Tell me about him" -> ok 🍗 girl said exactly the right thing. As much as I hated this ship in the the earlier episodes, the screenwriter is doing a good job with it now. In every scene, you do sense the liking they have for each other

Fam Xian was his family too! I'm gonna cry

LMAO both Crown Prince and Second Prince are exactly the same.

See I told Fan Xian to just kill the Level 8 guy. Now he's being released like we're in fucking Gotham.

Lord Zhu is the actor who just did the emperor on Blossoms in Adversity! (Hello! Sorry you got bug eyes as an acting partner!)

How much do you want to be that whomever plotted this was well aware of the politics angle with Northern Qing?

Ok ok guys guys guys guys I have a solution to this The Killer's Going Free problem! ML needs to ask his poisioner mentor to murderate him - after he's crossed the boundry!

No? You're gonna kill him in public, because the Inspection Board's operations are above the law? O.....kay. I mean I get the angle but tbh I still would have gone with a secret poisoning.

#joy of life #silvia watches jol #cdrama

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mkorpse13 · 7 months

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Description: Kevin defends Rolf from a bully.

Rolf sat down under a shady tree on the front of the Peach Creek High School campus. He decided to get there early so he could escape doing the morning chores on the farm.

Ever since he had moved to Peach Creek he was always managing the farm mostly on his own, at times his family would pitch in but would do the bare minimum. His papa was usually at the market, trying to make a living off of selling the vegetables and fruits grown on the farm. His mama was often cleaning and cooking inside the house which left him to do everything on the farm. It was practically Rolf’s farm at that point.

He leaned against the tree, staring at his rings that shined on all of his fingers. They glimmered from the early morning sunset. He smiled, the shimmer of them were very soft and satisfying to look at.

Rolf felt a sudden bang against the tree, looking up he had seen the a jock from the football team. He made a low groan, turning around to stare at the ground. He already knew what was coming. These jocks had often made fun of him, mocking him for having different customs.

The single jock confidently strolled around the tree to face Rolf. He smirked at Rolf, looking down and gazing at him. Rolf continued to ignore him, fidgeting with his hands.

Quickly getting impatient, the jock cleared his throat hoping that would signal Rolf to look up. Rolf finally lifted his head, glaring at him.

“Why do you bother Rolf at the early hours of the morning? Why bother Rolf at all?” He sneered.

“Because you’re weird. He scoffed “You come from a weird country with odd customs, and gross people.” He spat out, waving his arms around in the air, before coming back with another attack. “You’re also extremely fun to mess with.”

Rolf shot up from the ground, shoving the jock backwards.

“Leave Rolf’s country out of this!” He shoved a finger right into the jock’s face.

“Oh alright, then would you want me to talk about your piggish mother instead?” He raced back towards Rolf, slamming him hardly against the tree. Leaves fell down around them. Rolf groaned in pain, grabbing onto the back of his head and rubbing it.

“You made a big mistake pushing me, Vorlik.” He said the last name with much disgust, as if it had tasted bitter to say. “I’ll make you wish you had never left from that Old Country.” The jock had gotten in Rolf’s face, his hot breath hitting against Rolf and his fists clinging onto Rolf’s wool sweater.

“Hey! What are you doing to him?!” A angry voice came from afar. The voice was familiar to Rolf. It was Kevin! He trudged over to them, stomping angrily against the floor.

The jock had looked back with fear. He already knew what the consequences may be. He quickly released Rolf, causing Rolf to slump against the tree. He slowly backed away from Rolf, turning to Kevin to greet him.

“Oh come on Kevin, I was just playing around with him.” The jock placed his sweaty hand on Rolf’s head to ruffle his hair.

“Don’t lie to me man. I know what you were doing to him!” Kevin fumed, shoving his finger into the jock’s face. “You know I could get you kicked off the football team if this happens again, right?” He crossed his arms, glaring at him. Rolf is off limits. You got that?”

“Yeah, whatever man. You can never take a joke.” The jock walked off, hands in the pockets of his tight jean pants.

“Hey dude, you alright?” Kevin lended Rolf a hand and helped the taller boy up from the tree.

“Rolf is fine, just a slight aching in his head.” He chuckled, softly rubbing the back of his head.

“Wanna go get breakfast? It’ll probably make you feel better?” Kevin smiled, motioning his head to point towards the entrance of the school.

“Alright. Rolf will partake in this journey to the cafeteria, even though he would much rather have his mama’s spicy olive balls.” He smiled smugly.

“Maybe if you were to actually try something, you’d enjoy it.” Kevin pestered Rolf as they started walking towards the entrance of the school.

Hello everyone, hope this was a good read. Pretty small, yet I’m somewhat proud of it. There may be errors, if there are any flaws please forgive me as I’m am really tired.

#ed edd n eddy #eene #eene rolf #eene kevin #eene fanfic

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m1ckeyb3rry · 9 months

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Pomegranate Ink: VII

Series Synopsis: Unable to heal but willing to fight, with a fiancé in Kyoto and a last name that looms over everything you do, you accept an offer to study at Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. What you did not know was that your salvation and your ruination alike would soon join you at the school, neatly wrapped in the form of a boy followed by death.

Chapter Synopsis: Maki and Tullia find out about your feelings and offer advice. A trip to Kyoto yields a confession of the sort you were not prepared to give.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Yuta Okkotsu × Female Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.0k

Content Warnings: angst, misogyny, naoya zenin, forbidden relationships, canon-typical violence, character death, original characters included

A/N: feel free to let me know if the pacing sucks i’m sorry

Ever since your conversation with Toge, you had been jumpy around Yuta, running away whenever he tried to talk to you, words clipped and any attempts on his part to spend time with you quickly rebuffed. It was all too much to process, and you did not understand how to, so you just avoided the situation entirely. He gave up trying to be with you rather quickly, leaving you to cling to Maki and pretend like you couldn’t feel his kicked-puppy gaze from across the room.

It got to the point where even Maki and Tullia realized something was up. They cornered you one day after class, when Toge and Panda had taken Yuta to buy some ice cream to cheer him up. Toge must’ve known the reason behind your odd behavior and did not question it, though when you looked closer, his violet eyes reflected a sort of quiet sadness at the turn of events.

“So, what’s up with you?” Tullia said, crossing her arms.

“This feels like an intervention,” you said nervously.

“It is,” Maki informed you. “Everyone’s vibes are off lately, and I think you have something to do with it. Yuta constantly looks like he’s going to cry — even more than he used to, that is, and Toge seems pretty concerned about something, although he refuses to tell either of us what’s wrong. Panda’s in on it, too, he keeps glancing over at you and sighing, so Tullia and I feel a little left out!”

“Yuta…looks like he’s going to cry?” you said. That hadn’t been your intention; you didn’t want to hurt him. Actually, it was somewhat the opposite — you were subconsciously distancing yourself from him to avoid ruining things between you both.

“Rejection does that to a person,” Tullia said. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? You found out he likes you and had to let him down gently, and now things are awkward.”

“Uh, you’re a little off the mark,” you said. “He likes me?”

“Are you actually dumb? Of course he likes you,” Maki said. You buried your face in your hands. Yuta liking you — it had never even crossed your mind that he might feel the same as you did. This complicated things so much that it made your head spin. Before, it had been alright that you liked him, because at least there was no chance of anything happening outside of your silly little daydreams. But if Maki and Tullia were right, then there was a possibility.

“Oh, no,” you groaned.

“I don’t think he’ll make a move,” Tullia assured you.

“That’s not the problem!” you said. “That’s not why I’m avoiding him! It’s just that — it’s just that —”

“What? It can’t be anything too bad,” Maki said. “We’re your best friends, you can tell us whatever it is. You know I have no loyalty to anyone but you.”

“And I’m American!” Tullia piped in cheerfully.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Maki said.

“I have no idea how any of this clan politics stuff works. You’re my first friend in this entire country; of course I’m not going to judge you or rat you out or anything. Plus, guaranteed I’ve heard worse — I knew this one dude at my old school with a massive foot fetish. It’s not that you have a foot fetish, right? Anything else, I can handle,” she said.

“Yuta,” you said, looking through your fingers at them. “I…like Yuta.”

“Well, so do I! He’s a stand-up guy, really very sweet. Who doesn’t like Yuta?” Tullia said.

“Even I think Yuta’s pretty tolerable. Why is this crisis-inducing?” Maki said. You slapped your palm against your forehead.

“No! I like him the way you guys think he likes me!” you hissed. They were silent, Tullia’s mouth forming an ‘o’ shape and Maki rapidly blinking before cleaning her glasses.

“You mean to say that you…have a crush…on Yuta Okkotsu?” Maki said once she had put her glasses back on.

“Not so loudly!” you said, “And yes. I talked to Toge about it.”

“If Toge thinks you do, then he’s probably right,” Tullia said.

“He’s pretty smart,” Maki agreed.

“But, see, that’s where the problem comes from! I can’t be around him, not when I have feelings for him. I’m engaged! All of this just spells disaster, for both of us. If the higher ups find out, I’ll be sent back to my family home and locked away there until my wedding to Noritoshi. If Yuta finds out, he might hate me. If Gojo finds out, he’ll start crying about how Megumi, whoever that is, has lost his chance!” you said.

“Yikes, worst possible outcome,” Tullia said with a wince.

“Right, no one deserves to have Gojo trying to set them up,” Maki agreed.

“I know!” you said.

“So. You really like him, huh? I guess your strategy is sound, then. Avoid him until you’re over it. Didn’t you used to have a crush on Toge at one point? But you moved on,” Maki said.

“It shouldn’t be too hard. He’s not very persistent in trying to get your attention. I think he got the hint,” Tullia said.

“And Tullia and I will make sure to always be your partner for things! If Gojo tries to complain, we’ll make a fuss,” Maki said.

“Yeah, I’ll call him sexist! Or I can say that I need your support. Because I’m from a different country and all,” Tullia said.

“Maybe go with that before accusing him of discrimination,” Maki said. Your eyes filled with tears, and you launched forwards, grabbing the two of them in a hug.

“Thank you both so much. I should’ve told you ages ago,” you said.

“Nah, I would’ve bullied you,” Maki said. “Only reason I’m not right now is because you’re obviously distressed, and I’m not about to add to your problems.”

“I wouldn’t have bullied you, but I don’t think I would’ve been able to offer much help by myself. I’m not really good with the whole ‘relationship’ thing,” Tullia said.

“I just really, really like him. I don’t want to be unfaithful, but how can I just get over him in the blink of an eye? I don’t want to marry Noritoshi if it means leaving Yuta, but marrying well is the one thing I can do for my family,” you said.

“Like I said earlier, just marry me,” Maki said, tossing her hair, “I won’t mind your infidelity. As long as you allow me my dalliances, too.”

“And for the present moment…I guess this comes down to a choice. Either road is going to be hard, so it’s a matter of what you’re willing to endure and whose side you’re willing to endure it by,” Tullia said.

“Ostracization from the higher ups or giving up your happiness? Yuta or Noritoshi? You’ll have to weigh the options and decide what you want. Just know that even if the rest of society turns its back on you, you’ll always have us,” Maki said.

“That’s a promise,” Tullia agreed, “We’re your classmates. We’re not going to choose a bunch of stuffy old men over you, not hardly.”

Although they had not solved any of your problems, necessarily, talking to Maki and Tullia made you feel a lot better about the state of your affairs. At least you could be assured that you’d have them on your side, and Tullia had raised a good point in that no matter which path you chose, you’d be miserable, one way or another. As she had said, it was a matter of which misery you preferred, and although you did not want to think about it at the present moment, it was comforting to note that you had a way to reason through the situation.

A few days after your conversation with the two girls, you were eating breakfast with them when Gojo sprinted into the dining hall, holding two cream-colored envelopes and cackling maniacally.

“This can’t be good,” Maki said as he skidded to a stop in front of you and handed you one of the envelopes.

“What’s this?” you said, inspecting it curiously.

“An invitation!” he said, throwing his arms around you in a hug. You fell backwards from the force of it before awkwardly hugging him back. Maki pretended to gag at his exuberance, and Tullia seemed amused as well, though she was far more collected than Maki.

“For what?” you said.

“You, Miss Y/N L/N, are going to compete in the Sister School Goodwill Exchange Event!” he said, pulling away and beaming at you, evidently expecting you to be equally as excited as he was. Instead, your jaw dropped, the letter slipping through your fingers.

“Me? But I’m not in my second year yet! I thought only the second and third years competed?” you said.

“Traditionally, yes, but this year, in order to make it fair, the Tokyo school is only sending two first-year students to compete!” Gojo said.

“And how many will Kyoto have?” Maki said.

“Six!” Gojo said cheerfully.

“Six?” you screeched. “How the hell is two against six fair? Especially when I’m one of the two? There’s no way I can fight against someone like Mai Zenin or Aoi Todo!”

“You’re actually going as a way to make the fight less disbalanced in our favor, actually,” Gojo said, “It’d be a slaughter otherwise, but we’re hoping your presence is enough to calm your partner down to the point that the event is at least a little more even.”

“Who’s my partner? Maki? I don’t think even I could calm her down,” you said.

“Very funny,” Maki said. “You’re right, though.”

“Nope! It’s our resident special-grade sorcerer, Yuta Okkotsu!” Gojo said.

There was a silence in which the three of you all had very different reactions. Like a snake coiling in your stomach, your intestines began to twist with horror at the implications. Maki was uncharacteristically sympathetic, frowning softly and resting her hand on your shoulder. In contrast, it seemed this was finally enough to break Tullia’s composure as she dissolved into howling laughter.

“You mean to say that Yuta and I will be competing together? Just us two?” you said.

“That’s right! I’m sure that you’ll bring home the win for our school. We suffered an embarrassing defeat last year, which is why the event is being held in Kyoto, but I have confidence that you and Yuta can reclaim my — our good name. We will be victorious! Go Tokyo!” Gojo said, high-fiving you and then dashing off, presumably to give Yuta his invitation and the same strangely inspirational speech he had just given you.

“Well, shit. You’re fucked,” Tullia said between giggles, wiping at the tears of mirth gathering in the corners of her eyes.

“Maybe this is a good thing,” Maki said, “You’ll see him and Noritoshi at the same time. It might make it easier to decide which you want.”

“This is many things, Maki, but good is not one of them,” you said with a groan, “I think Tullia’s right. I’m not making it out of this event alive.”

“Just make sure to take my sister down before you go,” Maki said. You shrugged.

“I don’t know if I can, but I’ll do my best,” you said. If Mai was anything like Maki, there was no way you could even land a hit on her, let alone actually beat her. You feared you’d probably end up relying on Yuta the entire time, being something of a deadweight — which was not only embarrassing but also unfair to him. You would be like a crutch, though then again, this was supposedly the reason you had been selected to compete in the first place. You ground your teeth in frustration, but you knew there was nothing you could do about it but train and hope you were good enough to not drag Yuta down too much.

“You can, and you tell her exactly who taught you once you have,” Maki said.

“Have faith in yourself,” Tullia agreed, “You’re useless in a straight out brawl —”

“That’s not very confidence boosting,” you muttered.

“Let me finish!” she said. “Like I was saying, it’s true that if things come to blows, you’re probably not going to be much help. But sheer physical strength isn’t the only way to win a fight; you’re way more clever than you give yourself credit for, and honestly? You’re no slacker in the power department, either. I’m willing to bet you’re going to be of more use to Yuta than the higher ups think.”

“They probably still believe you to be the frail, delicate girl who is the L/N clan’s biggest failure. This is your chance to prove them wrong, to prove that you’re worth more than they realize. Show them that you don’t need to be a healer to be of worth; show them that you are a sorcerer,” Maki said. It was the sort of chance Maki had longed for for probably her entire life. You were being ungrateful to scorn it just because of your unresolved feelings for Yuta. This was bigger than him — the entire jujutsu society would have its eyes on you, and you could not afford to come off as weak.

“And ignore Yuta. Imagine him as a robot sent to help you if you must; oh, or like a scarecrow!” Tullia said.

“This isn’t Wizard of Oz,” you said dryly.

“Really, though, don’t focus on your crush or whatever. He’s there to support you in kicking the Kyoto students’ asses. Nothing more and nothing less,” Tullia said.

“That’s a good way of looking at it,” Maki said approvingly, “You’re not strong enough to take them all on by yourself, so you’ll definitely need his help, but you don’t want to get into some weird dilemma in the middle of a fight. Don’t assign him any more significance than as a tool; if you do, you run the risk of complicating things when they’re already far too complicated.”

“Then I’ll do as you both say,” you said with a determined nod. “And I’ll beat Mai for you, Maki.”

“It won’t be the same as if I do it myself,” Maki lamented, “But you’re the only one I trust to do it in my stead.”

“I won’t let you down,” you promised.

Because they were not competing, Maki, Tullia, Panda, and Toge had to stay back at the school, while Gojo, Ijichi, and Principal Yaga took you and Yuta to Kyoto. Gojo had bullied Kento Nanami into acting as their substitute teacher, which he did not seem thrilled about, and as you drove away, you almost wished you were staying back — if only to see the seven-three sorcerer at work. Tullia swore she’d record his lectures for you, something you said you’d hold her to.

Principal Yaga and Gojo were in a separate car, Yaga insisting that he be the one to drive Gojo to ensure that he did not magically disappear. It seemed that the principal was the only one Gojo actually respected; whether it was because he was his boss or because of some holdover from Gojo’s own student days, you did not know.

Ijichi allowed you to play your own music in the car, though he did have noise-cancelling headphones on as he drove, which meant he was just tuning everything out. It left you free to blast your favorite songs and try to not talk to Yuta, who sat beside you with his hands clasped in his lap.

He did not try to talk to you, either, but he would stare mournfully at you, though every time your eyes flicked to meet his, he’d look away. He had only just begun to come out of his shell when you had discovered the extent of your feelings for him, and now it seemed your silent treatment was sending him scuttling backwards to the safety of his shyness.

“I’m not mad at you,” you said, immediately regretting it even as you did. “Yuta. I’m not, really. You haven’t done anything wrong, if that’s what you were wondering.”

“You haven’t been talking to me,” he pointed out softly. “If I didn’t offend you in some way, then why?”

Because talking to him made you want to rip your hair out. Because it’s driving you insane that you like him so much but you’re promised to another.

“It’s a personal issue. Nothing you can change,” you said.

“So you’re going to keep avoiding me?” he said.

“Not during the event. We have to work together for it,” you said. He nodded, not at your answer but at the implied rest of it.

“I’ll do my best to not bother you. I’m sorry, by the way, if I did do something and you just don’t want to seem rude by bringing it up,” he said.

“You didn’t do anything,” you repeated. “I’m the one that messed up.”

“Oh,” he said, “I see.”

He did not inquire further, perhaps content that you had even spoken to him at all. And though you shouldn’t, you were internally rejoicing at the conversation. It was the most you had spoken to him in so long, and you had missed him so much, missed his quiet, kind mannerisms, the way he always lit up when talking to you, the soft blush that painted his cheeks whenever you said something, said anything.

Ijichi stopped the car in front of the school, letting you get your bags out before zooming away. You were about to start rolling your suitcase inside when it was suddenly snatched from you, and you found yourself facing a large, tall man with biceps the size of your head and more abs than you thought were possible. There was a scar on his face, and his dark hair was tied tightly back, a grin on his face as he hefted your suitcase in the air.

“Pretty lady, you should never have to break a sweat by doing something as mundane as dealing with luggage,” he said with a bow.

“Um, thanks, but I wasn’t really sweating about it. I didn’t pack that much,” you said. He did not acknowledge the response, instead offering you his hand.

“The name’s Aoi Todo! And who might you be?” he said.

“Y/N L/N,” you said politely, taking it and shaking it once, twice. From beside you, Yuta watched the interaction.

“Ah! Then this must be Okkotsu!” Todo said, immediately dropping your hand and pointing at Yuta.

“Yes, that’s Yuta,” you said. Yuta waved slightly, though his eyes were wide at Todo’s sheer bulk. He was huge, towering over both of you in an inhuman way. Yuta’s figure was slender and slight when compared to him, and once again you wondered how the two of you were supposed to take on Todo and five of his classmates.

“Yuta Okkotsu! I only have one question for you, and you better answer satisfactorily, or else I’ll kill you before the exchange event can even begin!” Todo thundered.

“Please don’t,” Yuta said.

“What kind of woman is your type?”

“What?” you said. “Why would you ask him that?”

Todo clasped his hands together, looking altogether far too serious, considering the ridiculousness of his question. He was looking at you, but his gaze was a thousand universes away as he began to rhapsodize.

“Well, it’s simple, really. There’s so much to be learned about a man just from the type of woman he’s into! A boring taste in women indicates a boring man; the inverse is also true. An eclectic or spicy taste in women means that the man himself will be truly someone to be respected!” Todo explained.

“And who’s to decide what sort of women are boring and which are spicy or eclectic, hm?” you snapped, pulling out your needles and pointing them at him threateningly.

“Me, of course! For instance, my type is tall women with big asses,” Todo said.

“How demeaning! And anyways, I doubt you’ve ever felt the touch of any woman, tall with a big ass or not, so how can you be sure that’s what you like?” you said. Todo contemplated this before shrugging, not even impacted by what you had said.

“It’s something I know in my heart. So how about it, Okkotsu? What’s your type?” he said. You scowled and were about to use your technique on Todo when Yuta ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Er, Y/N is,” he said. You froze in place, unsure of if you had heard him correctly. Crystal tears began to pour down Todo’s cheeks as he tilted his head back, trying to stem their flow — though he was entirely unsuccessful.

“What?” you said. Yuta turned a bright red, as if he had not realized you were standing right next to him.

“Not — not actually you! Just, like, a girl like you. Preferably with your looks. And personality. But not you!” he assured you.

“What?” you said again. “So…you do or don’t like me?”

“Don’t!” he said, far too quickly for him to have been telling the truth.

“I can’t believe it!” Todo shouted, his voice echoing.

“I can’t, either,” you said, though far more quietly.

“I’ve finally found it — a taste even more thrilling than mine! Okkotsu, you’re telling me you’re into married women?” Todo said.

“I’m not married yet,” you reminded him. Yuta winced as if just remembering this particular problem before shaking his head.

“No, I’m not —” he began before Todo cut him off.

“You truly are a worthy opponent! I look forward to competing against you in the exchange event. Let’s give it our all!” Todo said before springing away. You gaped at his receding form.

“Give me back my luggage!” you screamed, though he was gone before the words left your lips, taking your suitcase with him. You were so hot with rage that you’d not be surprised if there was steam pouring out of your nose and ears, and you were about to shake your fist in his general direction when you heard a smooth, familiar voice.

“I thought I heard Todo making a fuss about something. I should’ve realized it was your arrival,” Noritoshi said. Your anger evaporated instantly at the sight of him, and you fairly flew in your haste to throw your arms around him in a hug.

“Noritoshi!” you said. He was still, after all, your friend — though your feelings for him were nothing of the romantic kind, you cared about him. And it was obvious he felt the same, hugging you back with the same affection you showed him.

“Hello, Y/N,” he said. “How have you been?”

“Good,” you murmured. He still smelled like ylang-ylang, and it was a homecoming in a way. You were no longer the same girl you had been the last time you had seen him in person, but at the same time, had you even changed at all? “What about you?”

“Busy trying to get this event set up. Principal Gakuganji and Iori have been stressing making everything perfect; I believe Iori wants to show Gojo that her school is better than his, in more ways than one,” he said.

“Those two have always had that rivalry, haven’t they?” you said. You had known about the hatred that Utahime Iori held for Gojo even back before you had become a sorcerer proper; it was somewhat infamous. Gojo, for his part, found it a good pastime to egg her on more, which was in character enough that you were not surprised by it.

“Of course,” Noritoshi said, “Anyways, what did Todo do this time?”

“Asked Yuta about his taste in women and then stole my luggage,” you said.

“Ah, that sounds like him. I’ll get Mai to get it back for you; the two of them are friends of a sort,” he said before letting you go and dipping his head at Yuta, who in contrast to his earlier state was now as white as a sheet. “Sorry he harassed you, too. I promise the rest of us are a little bit more normal. Certainly, he’s the only one interested in the type of women that people prefer.”

“That’s — that’s good!” Yuta squeaked. Remembering his answer to the question, you were inclined to agree with him.

“Has he asked you what your type is?” you said. Noritoshi cocked his head at you.

“He asks everyone, and I’m no exception. I told him I’m engaged, and he left me alone about it after that. Why do you ask?” he said.

“Just wondering. Anyways, it’s been a bit of a long car ride, so do you think you could show us to our rooms? I think that both Yuta and I would appreciate a chance to sit down,” you said.

“Of course. Follow me — though, did you say rooms? There’s only one,” Noritoshi said.

“Huh?” Yuta said. “You mean we have to…share?”

“Traditionally, the girls share with the girls and the boys share with the boys, but because there’s only the two of you, Iori decided to be frugal and put you two in a dorm together — there’s going to be a lot of visitors coming to watch the event, so we need every inch of space we can get. Are you uncomfortable with that? Iori thought it’d be okay, since Y/N’s engaged to me, so it’s not like anything inappropriate will happen,” Noritoshi said.

You exchanged looks with Yuta behind Noritoshi’s back. The guilt you felt was reflected in his own expression, though you knew he probably didn’t understand why you felt guilty. But it remained that you hardly deserved Noritoshi’s trust, not when you had been talking to Maki and Tullia only the other day about how attracted you felt to Yuta.

“I just thought that she would’ve shared a room with you, if anyone,” Yuta said.

“Iori was too worried about Gojo instructing her to sabotage me while I slept or something to allow it. If you’re really bothered by the prospect, you can share with Gojo and Y/N can have her own room,” Noritoshi said.

“It’s fine! I’m fine, as long as Y/N’s okay with it,” Yuta said. This was your chance; nobody would fault you for saying no, for saying you didn’t want to sleep in the same room as another man. It might actually win you favor with the higher ups, proving your loyalty to your future husband and to their demands. Best of all, it would mean time away from Yuta, and wasn’t that what you, Maki, and Tullia had decided you needed?

“It’s perfectly alright with me,” you said, “I’m sure Yuta will be a good roommate.”

“That’s settled, then. We’re not much farther; I made sure that you two at least got a nice room, to make up for having to share,” Noritoshi said.

“That was considerate of you,” Yuta said. Noritoshi shrugged.

“Anything for my fiancé,” he said, nudging you in the side. You rolled your eyes.

“What a generous man you are. How grateful I am to be marrying you,” you said.

“I mean, if you want a tiny first-year dorm, then that can be arranged. As it is, you’re both sharing a third-year dorm, so you’ll have a bathroom and sitting area inside of the suite. But it’s up to you, darling,” he said sarcastically.

“Oh, dearest, you’re so thoughtful for leaving the choice up to me!” you said, just as mockingly. Teasing one another was about the only time you used pet names; otherwise, it was too uncomfortably close to an actual relationship for the both of you. “I think Yuta and I will stick with the nicer option.”

“No surprise,” he said, patting you on the head. “Here we are. Mai will be by soon, once she’s gotten your things from Todo. I trust you won’t need help getting unpacked?”

“We’re not children. We’ll be fine,” you said.

“If that’s the case, then I’ll take my leave. I shall see you when it comes time for the event,” he said.

“Be prepared to taste defeat, Noritoshi. You’re not ready to face Yuta and I!” you said.

“Oh? Words won’t be enough to frighten me. I hope that you are able to back your fancy speech up — for your sake, of course. Don’t think I’m going to go easy on you just because we are to be wed,” he said, arching a brow.

“And the same goes for me,” you said with a smirk, “In fact, I think it’ll only motivate me to go harder.”

“I look forward to it. And Yuta — I am saying this not as your competition, but rather as Y/N’s future husband: please look out for her as much as I’m sure she’ll look out for you,” Noritoshi said.

“I will,” Yuta said seriously, “I won’t let anyone hurt her.”

“Big promises,” Noritoshi said, and though he sounded casual, there was a hint of sharp recognition to his voice. “We’ll see how tomorrow goes, I suppose.”

Yuta nodded. “I suppose we will.”

The room you had been assigned to share with Yuta was nice, though a little bland. Two twin beds with about five feet of space between them were pushed against one wall, and there was a set of two steps that led into a small sitting area, with a couple of armchairs, a proper couch, a coffee table, and a television. There were two doors; one was a closet, and the other led to the spacious bathroom.

Once you were finished poking around the room, you turned to Yuta, who was standing unsurely in the entrance, simply watching you inspect the space.

“It’s good. Do you care which bed you take?” you said.

“The one closer to the door,” he said, walking in and throwing himself face-down onto the cushiony surface before you could respond. “Why’d you say you’re okay with staying together?”

“I wanted to,” you said.

“Yeah, obviously, but why? Your fiancé was right there, he would’ve bailed you out,” he said. You frowned.

“I’ve grown tired of my fiancé bailing me out. I would like to make at least some of my own decisions,” you said shortly. Yuta hummed in thought.

“Makes sense.”

“Thanks.”

The following silence was only broken by a light knock on your door. You opened it and were met with Mai Zenin, who beamed at the sight of you. Before you could stammer out a greeting, she was winding her arms around your waist and resting her chin on your shoulder.

“Y/N!” she cooed. “It’s so good to see you again. It’s even better to know that there’ll be another girl in this stupid event! At least now, whichever team wins, it’ll be assured that it wasn’t all because of the men.”

You had never had the time to grow close with Mai when you were younger — though not as disgraceful as Maki, she was still nobody that the Zenins and your parents believed you should associate with. But this actually meant you two probably had more in common than they thought, so despite her supposed enmity with Maki, you allowed her to embrace you.

“It’s always good to prove expectations wrong,” you agreed, “Thanks for getting my stuff.”

“I apologize for that idiot Todo’s behavior,” she said, pulling away and wrinkling her nose. “He’s an odd one, although he is terrifyingly strong.”

“The strangest people always are,” you said, thinking of Gojo with a smile.

“True,” she said, “Are you feeling ready for the event? I think it’ll be fun.”

“I think so, too,” you said. She looked around before leaning in so close that her lips were nearly brushing your ear.

“Don’t tell anyone I’ve told you this, but rumor has it the teamwork challenge involves a grade 2 curse. Be careful, yeah? And watch out — I’m sure you already know, but sabotage is allowed and encouraged. I wouldn’t want you to end up battling Todo or something without at least a fair warning,” she whispered.

“Why would you tell me that?” you said. She winked.

“I’m a nice person! Plus, then you can see that between my twin and I, I’m the better, kinder sister,” she said, fluttering her fingers in a wave and then leaving you behind, dumbfounded. You yanked your suitcase in and slammed the door.

“Maki’s still better,” you said rebelliously, flustered at Mai’s actions and stomping around as you unpacked your bag.

“What was all of that about?” Yuta said.

“She was just telling me we’ll probably have to face a grade 2 curse during the teamwork challenge, and that sabotage is allowed, so we’ll have to worry about their team, too,” you said.

“You probably don’t have to worry,” Yuta said, “It’s clear as day that Noritoshi is head over heels for you, and vice versa. I can’t see him attacking you.”

“Really? We must be better actors than I thought. Noritoshi and I are only friends that have been set to get married, and I disagree with your latter statement, too. He absolutely would attack me if he was told to — he’s the dutiful sort. It probably won’t be enough to harm me permanently, but something like a concussion or broken bone? I wouldn’t put it past him,” you said.

“I won’t let him, then,” Yuta said, peeking at you from the safety of his pillows.

“You will, actually,” you said. “I’ve been thinking — the reason I was put on your team is as something to hold you back — a handicap, as the case may be. I won’t give into that role; I’ll fight, of course, but I don’t want you to protect me, okay?”

“That’s stupid,” he said dismissively. “Of course I’ll protect you.”

“I refuse to be your weakness, Yuta,” you said fiercely.

“That’s not really something that’s up to you,” he said, “Don’t worry. You’re too strong to be anything like a handicap, so it’s a moot point. Get some rest.”

“You —”

“Y/N,” he interrupted you, “You can’t argue with me on this one. I’m not going to stand by and watch you get hurt.”

“Why’d you tell Todo I was your type of woman?” you said, changing the subject when it became clear Yuta would not budge. Maybe it was the solitude of the room, or maybe it was because he was too worn down to fight over it, but he only exhaled it heavily.

“You’re not that dumb,” he said. You looked away, hugging your knees to your chest. You weren’t that dumb.

“You know I can’t, right?” you checked.

“Yeah,” he said, “I’m sorry. Did you find out? Is that why…?”

“No. It’s just that — it’s just that —” you paused before deciding you were in so deep that there was no point in hiding, not anymore. Silently apologizing to Maki and Tullia, you took a deep breath. “It’s just that I feel the same way. And I shouldn’t, and I can’t bear to be around you when you’re the first thing I’ve ever wanted all to myself even though you’re the only thing I can’t have.”

“Wh-what?” he said.

“For my entire life, I’ve not been able to make any of my own choices. The only things that are mine are my needles and being friends with Maki; both earn me the disapproval of the higher ups, but they begrudgingly allow them due to Noritoshi’s support. But then you — you just had to come in and believe in me and be so kind and wonderful. I want you, Yuta, I want to make at least this one choice, to choose you, but I’m not brave enough to deal with what that entails,” you said.

“I understand,” he said, “You don’t have to. I’m not selfish enough to make you when I know you’ll be in danger if you do. So this is this last I’ll ever speak of it, but before I put the subject to rest, can I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead,” you said.

“If Todo — if Todo asked you what kind of man was your type, what would you say?” he said.

“Your name,” you said without hesitating. “Yuta Okkotsu. That’s what I would say.”

#yuuta x reader #yuuta x you #yuuta x y/n #canon au #reader insert #pomegranate ink #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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lgbthequarry · 1 year

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Okay this is for @lost-at-hacketts-quarry cuz you are so smart and so right about the Hacketteers being neighbors/living together.

Like they get out of jail/cleared of all charges and then... what? They're just supposedly to move on with their lives like normal people? Yeah fuck that.

Or well maybe they try to, at least, at first. Everyone kinda just splits up, criss-crosses all over the country, pretending like their life plans before still mean something. But then its the nightmares keeping them up and then the phone calls start going out, making sure that everyones okay, everyones still alive. And its the feeling like they need to be together, to protect each other, comfort each other in a way the skype calls and the group chat just cant.

And Emma's rich (or her parents are but they don't care what she does) so she buys like three or four condos side by side in a nice quiet neighborhood. Or maybe its just a ginormous house where they all have their own suites or mini apartments

And even tho they have plenty of space, they end up in each others more often than not.

Dylan and Ryan each have a room for themselves but they always sleep together and alternate between the two.

Emma has something of hers in everyone else's bathroom (but most of her daily routine products reside in Abi's).

Abi is the clothing thief. Somehow she's always wearing something of someone elses but no one is bothered by it cuz she looks absolutely adorable in clothes two sizes too big for her.

Kaitlyn might have a room in the house, somewhere, but she spends so much time in other peoples rooms she's forgotten where it actually is.

Nick commands the master kitchen and rarely lets anyone else use it (save for ryan cuz at least he wont explode the microwave Dylan, Emma, Jacob!)

Jacob was the last to move in. He said it was cuz he wanted to be there for his little sisters but really he felt like he didn't deserve to be with all the people he could've gotten killed bcuz of his stupid stunt. But Kaitlyn eventually physically drags his ass into the house with all his things and surprise! they've put together a "welcome home jacob" party just for him and the poor dude spends 10 minutes crying into a sloce of cake as they all watch Gilmore Girls in the living room.

Every full moon they have a group slumber party and usually camp out in the living room or whoever offers up their room for the night. And of course they build massive blanket/pillow forts. Its usually just a massive cuddle puddle on the floor or a few separate sleeping bags with a few people sharing for snuggles.

Wednesdays are for family dinners and Fridays are for game night (monopoly and uno are both BANNED from the house forevermore).

Laura and Max get a place for themselves either right next door or across the street bcuz they're getting married soon and they've been talking about kids and they still need a place just for them sometimes. BUT they're always over for family dinners and game night and full moons cuz they've essentially adopted seven teenagers and like it or not, they're all family now.

Sidenote. House rules: Everyone does their chores, respect and open communication are key, and for the love of GOD knock! Please just knock before you enter a room! And then knock again for good measure! (They're trauma-bonded teenagers sure, but still hormonal horny teenagers all the same)

#the quarry #dylan lenivy #ryan erzahler #emma mountebank #abigail blyg #kaitlyn ka #jacob custos #nick furcillo #laura kearney #max brinly #foaming and frothing at the mouth #post canon #housemate hacketteers au

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kirk-says-wah · 2 months

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𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑

This is the final chapter of this fic ✨

This was originally posted on ao3, but I'm cross posting all my fics onto here so more people can read them. I hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think

//////

(Chapter 1 + 2)

Pairings: Kirk/Lars, Kirk/Cliff (past)

TW: drugs, blood, violence, dubcon, self injury, attempted suicide, vomit, homophobia

Cliff’s mouth is moving, all abrupt and jagged, stilted like a stop motion film. It’s repeating, snagged afresh in buried memories. His body ebbs and rots, gets caught between his teeth, swaying between corporeal and spectre, bleeding into thin blots and ink stains.

Kirk tries to grasp ahold of him but his fingers come up empty.

Cliff’s body loses form, his words crackle and spit, lost in emotional debris.

Kirk knows he’s not there. He knows . But he can’t help but hang onto this mirage of him like it’ll bring him back.

Cliff speaks again. Kirk doesn’t catch what he’s saying. Or he’s ignoring him.

He bends in half, hands to his knees. Heaves.

He imagines Cliff standing next to him, hand on his back, bell bottoms brushing his legs. He imagines Cliff telling him to get his shit together, to man up.

Fucking take the hit.

He heaves again, mostly because he needs the air, and manages to blink away the whitening edges of his vision before pushing Cliff aside and clawing himself up and away to the next best thing.

Lars is only a few steps ahead, circling things on a Hamburg brochure in thick marker pen, and Kirk is quick to grab him, hooking his arm into Lars’s bent one.

Lars startles, looks over at him, eyebrow raised.

Kirk says nothing, and instead points to the paper Lars is holding.

Dude, is that the Beatles?

— —

Kirk’s a fan of movies. Most specifically, horror movies.

Horror movies he knows; the monster is always right behind you, when you least expect it. The ghosts are always easier to watch than to see.

All horror movies are based on real events. That creaky pipe? Ghost . That scratching under the floorboards? Monster .

It’s textbook, and Kirk knows textbook.

But this is different.

A hallucination? Maybe. Illusion? Probably.

Thinking about a bus overturning on the back streets of some cold European country is one thing, but inventing ghosts when there isn’t one is pure self-destruction.

And he knows that, he knows, because Kirk knows horror movies, and he knows them well.

But this? It’s not textbook. It’s not a ghost story.

It’s just a lonely man facing a part of himself he’s rather keep hidden, one where he thinks about the dark and the blood and the ice. One where he pictures himself instead of his best friend covered in blood.

So maybe the ghost is him. Maybe he’s a spectre in a world full of ghosts.

And he’ll hide this as much as he can, try and cram as much of the dark inside him, and maybe he won’t turn out like Freddy or Jason. Maybe he’ll just disappear.

He knows full well he can’t keep this from Lars. Not the darkness, nor the pain. Or the ghosts.

Lars already knows all his secrets.

— —

Even the one where he loves him.

— —

Sometimes, he’ll go quiet, drag his feet. Float in and out of venues high off of his fucking face because he doesn’t want to face what it’s like to be sober. Doesn’t want to feel the ache of being alive when he doesn’t want to be.

Most of the time, no one notices, and he’s strung along behind the rest of them to idly play a role he doesn’t know how to do, but he does it anyway because it’s the only way for him to survive. Those days are when he finds the only way to quell the pain is to lock himself in his hotel room with a baggie and the sharp edge of metal against skin.

And then sometimes, Lars notices.

He’ll give him water and sit him down, pull him close around the waist and lay his head on his shoulder. Kirk pretends he doesn’t mind, like it’s not eating him up every time Lars pretends. Because that’s what he’s doing.

Pretending .

Pretending everything’s okay.

And he hates what he’s become. Hates that he can’t stand himself. Hates that he lets Lars love him.

hates hates hates.

But this version of him hadn’t always been there. It emerged; was carved by cutting away pieces of himself, hollowing himself into a husk that will get the job done onstage but will ultimately disintegrate if more pressure is added.

So, on the days when Lars notices, Kirk goes against his better judgment and lets him, mostly because he’s selfish.

Possibly, because he’s so alone.

— —

James is drunk. Again. As usual.

That’s nothing new anymore. He’s a fucking monster at drinking, so much so that the three of them can’t catch up with him anymore.

They’re backstage, Kirk and Lars settling in their bathrobes after showering, the gig making them tired and restless, eager to get back to their rooms when they know they’ve got to get up early tomorrow.

James and Jason are still lingering in the showers when Lars leans over, slings an arm around Kirk’s waist, pulling him in closer into his side as they sit on the small couch.

I’m so fucking tired.

Kirk hums, leans his head onto Lars’s shoulder, hand wandering onto his lap.

We’ve got two more gigs before a night off.

Fucking great.

Kirk smothers his laugh in Lars’s hair. Squeezes his thigh.

Lars faces him then, their noses brushing, eyes focused. Kirk’s chest leaps a little at the intimacy, and he can’t help leaning forward just a little bit to pull him into a kiss, hand coming up to cup his jaw.

Lars smiles into it, hand wrapping around Kirk’s neck, before pulling back. They’re still close enough that Kirk can feel Lars’s hot breath against his lips.

What the fuck?

The both of them snap their heads to the side to find James, slouched over, supported by the wall, hair still damp.

He’s glaring at them, which would be a lot more intimidating if he wasn’t swaying on his feet.

Kirk almost jumps to his feet, distancing himself from Lars. He can feel the threat high in his throat.

James, it's not what it looks like. You’re drunk.

He attempts to help him to stand on his own. James doesn’t hit him away but he glares daggers at the two of them, and Kirk almost regrets trying to help him. It’s only in an attempt to cover up what they were doing anyway.

James grunts, wobbling in Kirk’s grip as he takes a long gulp of bud.

I knew it, he says. Both a bunch of fags, he says.

Kirk bristles, steps back, lets go.

James droops forwards, hand to the wall, takes another swig of beer. He doesn’t wipe it away when it trickles down his chin.

I fucking knew it.

Well, if you fucking knew it why didn’t you say something?

That’s Lars. Kirk can only just hear him over the ringing in his ears. His skin prickles.

James staggers forwards like he’s gonna hit him, but must think better of it for he instead just towers over Lars and spits fucking homo.

Lars swings then, punches James hard around the jaw, and Kirk finds his footing, grabs Lars, pulls him back.

It’s not fucking worth it. He’s drunk.

Which is true, James hopefully won’t remember this tomorrow. But they definitely will.

James snickers, rubbing a hand over his bruising jaw.

Fucking hit like a fairy too.

Lars lunges but Kirk’s quick to pull him back, arms around his middle.

Fuck you, man. Fuck you.

And Kirk feels it, the aggression, the torment; every single time someone’s called him a queer just for looking how he does or some other shit, and it spikes as he watches James grin, satisfied at Lars’s reaction.

Kirk’s not sure if it’s coke or adrenaline, but he lets go of Lars, steps forwards, swings, then punches James square in the nose.

It sends the singer hurtling back into the wall with a grunt, hand coming up to his nose that’s starting to gush blood.

Kirk abruptly grabs Lars by the arm and pulls him past James, both of them ignoring the singer as he curses, holding his head back to try and staunch the flow of blood dribbling down his chin.

Kirk doesn’t stop pulling on Lars’s arm until they’re in some room by themselves, and he quickly pulls him in close, grappling at the back of his tshirt, tucking his face into Lars’s neck.

I’m sorry, he says after a moment.

Lars huffs a laugh, strokes a hand over the back of his head.

I never thought the day would come where you actually punch someone. Besides me, but that doesn’t fucking count.

Kirk hugs him tighter.

I’ve been in fights before.

None that I’ve seen. You’ve got a good fucking punch though I’ll tell you that. I know from experience.

Am I gonna get sacked for decking the lead singer?

Lars leans back a little to look at him, his face incredulous.

If anything, it should be him who’s sacked. And besides, if you were you wouldn’t be the only one.

Kirk hums at that, threads his fingers through Lars’s hair.

I don’t like him speaking to you like that. No one should ever speak to you like that.

Lars smiles, the corners of his mouth raising just a little.

Next time, I’ll try not to punch him if you don’t.

Kirk laughs.

Deal.

— —

“Fuck, what happened to my face?”

“I dunno man. Must have gotten into a fight at the bar. Do you not remember?”

“No. I don’t remember a fucking thing.”

— —

Take the fucking hit like a man.

— —

The bar is dark and cramped and Kirk finds he has no fucking clue where he is.

He shifts a little in his seat as awareness curtly whips him around the face, notices there’s a woman in his lap and a glass of some green stuff he hopes isn’t absinthe on the table, and panic settles steadily between intercostal muscles because he’s alone .

He flicks his gaze, spots James at the table over, steadily downing a beer, table littered in bottles. He’s leaning half off of the booth, blonde hair hanging off of his shoulders as he sways slightly. Lars is not too far away, sat between two girls, idly chatting them up between seductive glances and downing shots.

Kirk fidgets, tries to move the girl from off of his lap, but she merely shushes him, presses his mouth into a long kiss. He tries to push her away but his arms feel like lead, anchoring him to to booth, holding him hostage.

He blinks the spots from his vision, feels hands wind and tug playfully in his hair. It’s stuffy and hot, and Kirk licks at his dry lips, squints up at the girl under the overhead spotlights.

She thumbs at his cheek, a smile painting her face, before she grabs the drink from the table, tipping it to his lips.

He doesn’t want it, can hardly think as it is, but he’s in no position to move, and just accepts what she gives him because he’s too exhausted to do anything more. His head feels like it’s being cleaved into two parts and put through a meat grinder, but at least when the liquid passes his lips, it dulls the dry feeling in his throat, even if it does burn.

She hums as he drinks it, then replaces the glass with her lips again before he can even finish swallowing.

It all too overwhelming and he still doesn’t know how he got here. The alcohol mixes poorly in his stomach and he wants to puke, maybe pass out.

Possibly both.

Eventually though he musters the strength to push her away, mumbling something only half coherent as he staggers towards his nearest bandmate.

James is too inebriated to really help him, and in his dazed state Kirk finds him passing the guitarist anyways, tripping into tables as he looks for the sign for the bathroom. Or a sign for a way out. Anything.

He doesn’t even make it to a stall before he’s throwing up, a mix of liquor and bile splattering against the floor. He presses a hand on the wall, keeps himself on unstable feet, bends over in the middle. It hurts, his stomach spasming, but eventually he’s able to catch his breath and he becomes acutely aware he needs some fucking help.

Awareness leaks in and out as he teeters out of the bathroom, forearms guiding his way along the walls because he can’t get himself to stand up straight anymore, head swimming.

He finds himself back where he was before, he thinks, he hopes, but the world is swinging in double vision, and he’s not even sure if he’s on his feet anymore. Or if his feet are even his feet.

Are they? He doesn’t remember these sneakers.

A familiar face comes into view then, obscuring his line of sight, and Kirk squints, eyes straining as he tries to figure out what they’re saying over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears.

“Kirk?“

It’s Jason, all innocent and anxious, hair pushed from his face, and Kirk nearly misses the concern in his voice, too busy trying to figure out which one of them is crouched over the other.

“Kirk, man, what the hell’s going on?”

Kirk wishes he knew, merely blinks as the bassist frowns at him before tugging on his arm. Kirk’s arm is pulled over Jason’s shoulders as he’s hauled from the sticky bar floor, and it’s then that he concludes it was in fact him who was sprawled on his ass this whole time.

Kirk groans as he’s pulled to his feet, a hand moving to grip him around the waist as the other holds his arm steady. Jason’s saying something but it’s sounds like nonesense to Kirk because he can’t decipher anything that’s being said.

Instead of dwelling on it, he lets Jason drag him across the bar and out into fresh air, relishes in the cold breeze that skates around his bare arms. Jason’s grip is painfully hard, and Kirk guesses it’s probably because his feet are starting to not cooperate at all, and he hopes wherever they’re going isn’t too far.

They stop for a second and Jason hauls him back up onto limp feet with a few expletives that Kirk doesn’t quite catch, but he’s distantly aware that Jason is practically carrying him now through the dark, dirty parking lot. If he were alert enough, he’d probably be embarrassed at the way he’s being manhandled, but his legs just don’t seem to want to hold his weight.

When they arrive at his hotel room, Kirk finds that he again doesn’t know how they got here. He comes to, still held up with his arm around Jason, his head lolling to the side, a puddle of drool sticking to his chin where it’s pressed into Jason’s shoulder.

His first thought is that he must have passed out, but Jason’s still got him on his feet, which means he must have walked here somehow.

He’s pretty sure it’s his motel room; not as sure that it’s his bed though that Jason all but drops him onto.

He’s thankful it’s a double because he’s promptly rolled on his back, and his limbs fall lifeless beside him because he can’t seem to do anything more than crimp his fingers into his sides.

Jason comes back into view, bushy hair slightly obscuring his face as he says “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Kirk’s not sure if he answers, but Jason continues to stare down at him like he’ll crack if he looks away. Kirk just wishes he could get his mind together, be able to form at least one coherent thought.

He thinks Jason’s talking, so he lolls his head to the side, cheek pressing into a scratchy pillow.

He must definitely look like he has no idea what Jason’s saying because the bassist sighs, pats his cheek.

“I said, don’t fall asleep.”

Kirk hums an approval, and then Jason disappears, and he’s distantly aware he’s alone.

It could be minutes, hours, fucking years, but eventually he becomes conscious of someone cupping his jaw, another hand smoothing over the hair on his forehead.

He remembers that Jason told him not to fall asleep. Which he didn’t. He’s just resting his eyes.

Fuck, what the hell’s wrong with him?

That’s definitely Lars. His voice is quiet, only inches away from Kirk’s face.

I don’t know, I found him on the fucking floor.

Did he? He doesn’t remember being on the floor.

The hand on his jaw moves, twists, two fingers flitting to the juncture of his neck.

Hey-- hey Kirk cmon baby--

Awareness drizzles inconsistently like thick honey, and he can hear Lars speaking but he’s not all that sure what he’s saying.

What’s he saying?

I have no fucking clue.

Kirk bats away the hand at his neck, or at least tries to, but it just results in him feebly scraping at the arm above him. It does the job, at first, until those same fingers splay over his chest and keep him firmly planted.

Open your eyes, Kirk.

Do as you’re told, Kirk.

Don’t make me say it again, Kirk.

Don’t be a pussy, Kirk.

Open your eyes.

He slits his eyes open, gaze foggy, but he makes out Lars in front of him.

Nothing makes sense and he feels ill and he’s so fucking scared and he just wants to let Lars hold him.

So he does.

Lars lies next to him, holds him against his chest, stroking over the soft skin of his back, murmuring softly in his ear.

Awareness still seems to slide the slippery slope Kirk been ploughing down for a while, and he wiggles, just to get comfy, lets his back hit the mattress.

It’s brief, Lars rolls him swiftly back onto his side.

He says, why?

Lars says, you’ll fucking choke.

And isn’t it then ironic that Lars is saving him from a death he doesn’t even realise Kirk wouldn’t mind succumbing to.

Kirk lets him though, even if he’s not that apposed to choking on his own vomit in his sleep.

Lars’s breathing is stuttery and sharp, but Kirk lets it lull him to sleep anyways, wrapped around his lover, head pillowed against his chest.

Lars doesn’t say anything.

Kirk’s okay with that.

He thinks.

— —

Lars nearly flies off the handle the day he finds Kirk’s stash of heroin.

It’s not even that much, just a little bag that girl had given him a while ago when she’d handed him some to smoke.

He doesn’t do it often.

But when it goes missing, he can’t help but have a mini fucking heart attack.

He can’t ask Lars, he knows he can’t, because then he’ll have to admit that maybe he’s treading water in the deep end now.

But still, as the itch grows, so does the need, and so he fills up the hole with what he can.

Mostly, that being coke.

He’s not really sure how much he’s taken today, how many hits, but he’s in deep enough that he’s not really caring what he’s saying anymore.

It’s late, the curtains are shut. Lars is lying next to him.

Where is it? he thinks he says.

Where is it?

And Lars snaps. Completely breaks in two.

He pushes Kirk away, stands.

Fuck you.

Kirk’s too out of it to comprehend what that means.

It means, fuck you. Fuck you.

Lars is shouting at him. It’s making his head hurt.

I mean, smack? Really? That’s a whole other fucking ball game, Kirk.

Kirk mumbles something about just smoking it. It’s not like he’s shooting up. It’s not like it’s dangerous this way.

Lars keens a little, hands pulling in his hair.

I fucking need you, Lars says. I fucking need you. I can’t do this alone, Lars says.

I’m just sick of peeling you off the fucking floor when you’re too out of your mind to not drown in your own puke.

Then don’t.

His mood’s sour now. Lars throws his hands up.

No, yknow what? I’m not gonna fuel your little pity party.

Kirk watches as Lars stalks across the room, reaching into his jacket pocket.

You want this? he shouts, holds up the baggie he’d stolen from him a few days ago. It’s not coke, not this time.

Have it. See if I fucking care.

He throws it and it lands next to Kirk’s chest. Lars turns them, goes to walk away, and instinctual panic skins Kirk alive.

He reaches out, roughly grabs ahold of Lars’s arm.

No, don’t go. Please don’t leave me.

He’s ashamed at how desperate he sounds, and Lars looks down at him with compassion, like he’s doing him a favour when he sighs and lets himself be dragged down.

Kirk smothers his face in Lars’s tshirt, tells himself it’s so the drummer won’t see him cry, but it’s really because he craves the feeling of his touch.

He doesn’t want to think about what will happen if Lars lets go now.

I fucking need you.

— —

I’ve got nothing left.

— —

I hate it when you say things like that , says Lars.

— —

It’s starting to slip. That is, probably, the world is starting to slip, starting to tilt. Marginally towards uncaring, specifically backwards against outland.

This is not his home and this is not his life.

And this is not real.

At least, most days, it feels like it’s not. He drifts between nausea and solitude because he doesn’t need to pull the string to find the end of the week when it has no problem barrelling him into next month.

It’s a blur.

And he wants to die.

He’s got a new guitar.

And he wants to die.

But see, the thing is, he’s found his way of grounding, of touching back down in the planes of reality, and it’s only ever with his arms around Lars.

He feels him, all of him, corporeal (and delicate because sometimes he’ll crack open and scatter, - a flash of a younger Lars with hopes and dreams and a fucking Gemco kit that doesn’t stick around because the cymbals keep falling over).

And he’ll hold him, feel Lars tense when his cheek brushes against his chest. Then he’ll melt, go soft in his arms, scooping Kirk up in his own, and everything feels real, feels familiar, and Kirk’s okay.

He’s okay. He thinks.

Then Lars will pull away and everything will go back to black and white, like he’s watching a clip show, untethered.

The second he lets go, he’s not sure of anything anymore.

— —

Fucking take the hit ,

says his father.

— —

She’s not the type he would usually go for; she’s loud and laughs too much and he knows her only purpose for the evening is to get fucked by the band.

By the end of the night, he’s high on a mix of alcohol and coke and something else he snorted in the bathroom from some dude with a baseball hat and a goatee.

His head hurts like a bitch and reality seems to warp with each breath, but he allows himself to be dragged back to the room, lets the girl’s long red nails scratch at his skin as she pulls him along by the hand. She’s way too overzealous, but Kirk finds he doesn’t really give a fuck.

He’s sure that she was actually after James and ended up settling for him anyways.

He sits on the bed, lays his top half out flat, boots still on the floor. She slinks over to him, leans down and kisses him, all sloppy and wet and he’s sure she’s smudging red lipstick over his face.

He can feel her unbuckling his belt, sliding his jeans down with delicate hands. He’s too out of it to really care, lets the warmth of her fingers press his hips into the mattress.

When she pulls his cock out he’s still soft but she doesn’t seem to mind all the much, takes him into her mouth, tongue lapping at the head.

His hips shift a little at the sensation, but the room’s still spinning and he finds he’s not really feeling all that much.

She pulls off of him after a moment, tries jacking him off, doesn’t bother to try and get him to even sit up. It’s not working anyways.

She lets go of his cock and stands up, kicks at his ankle, calls him pathetic and useless. Expendable .

He twists a little, manages to catch the repulsed glint in her eye. He sags onto his side with his elbow under him and calls her a slut.

She punches him, hard, and he’s sent sprawling back onto the bed, face throbbing and awareness barely functioning.

He’s not sure when she leaves, but after a while, when his mind has finally cleared itself up enough to know what he’s doing, he stuffs himself back into his boxers and clumsily makes his way to the bathroom, tripping on his pants still wrapped around his ankles.

The skin around his eye is red and puffy, tell-tale signs of a forming black eye, and he prods at it with his finger, grinds his jaw at the pain.

There’s lipstick smeared along his mouth, dark craters under his eyes. He turns the tap, splashes his face with shaky hands, manages to wipe away any reminder of his previous encounter.

He eyes the razor, longs for the feeling of it dragging over his skin. Before he can think too much, he’s pressed it into his palm, enclosing it into his fist, and he shuffles out of the bathroom, turns off the light.

He grabs a beer from the fridge, then locks the door.

— —

What the fuck happened to your face?

Some chick went full Rocky on me.

PCP crazy hookers will do that to ya.

— —

He can’t sleep.

His vision is still splotchy - - dark is dark is dark - - but he moves anyway, hinges at the waist, runs fingers through his hair.

It’s not so strictly that he can’t sleep, he just doesn’t want to. And he doesn’t want to go through another night of embarrassment where Lars has to shush him back to sleep like a toddler.

He scrubs a hand over his face, swivels, tilts over the edge of the bed enough for the pads of his feet to hit the floor.

He leans forwards, rests his elbows on his knees and lets his head hang, blows out a long breath. He hiccups. He ignores it.

A warm body presses itself against his back after a while, thighs wrapping around his own, nose nuzzling into the hair against his neck.

Kirk sighs, lets himself be pulled back, embraced in strong arms around his chest.

Lars’s breath is hot against the crook of his neck, melting him to the bone. Kirk wants to tell him, this , this means absolutely everything to him. He doesn’t though. He doesn’t want to face the guilt Lars will dish.

Lars mumbles against his ear, presses a kiss to his temple, squeezes him around the waist.

He hates when Lars does this. Hates when he says he loves him. Like he isn’t gonna wake up in the morning and pretend it never happened. Like he’s not gonna score some groupie to fuck tomorrow night instead of him. Like his answer isn’t going to be nothing when James asks what the fuck is going on between you two?

He hates it and he hates Lars. He hates him. He loves him.

He wishes he didn’t. For both their sakes.

— —

He hears the whispers sometimes. In the middle of the night. On the tour bus. When he’s ripping through a guitar solo in front of hundreds of people.

When it’s over, they say.

It makes him falter, fumble over loose notes and his mind jumpstarts a little too easily into thinking maybe the voice has a point.

He continues nonetheless. Sleeping. Chugging beer. Finishing the solo in Fade To Black like he’s not distantly contemplating the logistics of living while you die.

Because that’s what he is. Dying .

He feels it in his lungs, in dormant capillaries, in the way he moves without feeling, in the way the whispers torment him in more than his dreams.

When the music’s over, they say.

That’s it. You’re done.

He never was a fan of Jim Morrison.

And he thinks he’s reaching the dip now, the edge of the cliff, the tunnel at the end of the highway, and he wants to make a clean break and say he’s given everything. Because he has.

His life. His money. Cliff .

It’s all been for Metallica.

Everything has always been for the fucking band and he wonders at which point he stopped being a single organism and instead merged into the four headed beast that can serve better metal on their bad days than most bands can.

Kirk’s got nothing left.

— —

Just tell me how much more.

— —

Some days Lars will look at him like he’s seeing him for the first time; a freshness and clarity that strikes a familiar match in Kirk’s chest, because they’re not being pushed and pulled away for once, and it like 1983 all over again. Lars looks at him and he sees .

This is not one of those days.

Lars is hanging off of the neck of some chick in his lap, licking into her mouth with vigour, and Kirk looks away, downs the two shots that Jason passes him.

He knows that when Lars looks over at him it won’t be with meaning. It won’t be with affection or acknowledgment or with any implication.

It’s not Lars’s fault, Kirk knows this. It’s not Lars’s fault that every time he tries to talk to him about anything important, Kirk will push him away, preferring to try and stay afloat than be pulled from the water entirely. He doesn’t mean to be fatalistic, he’s just slightly semicidal. He wouldn’t be all that saddened if he let himself drown.

He wonders if it’s the drugs too; if maybe they’re both too accustomed to a world they don’t actually live in, a world where there’s no feelings and you don’t feel like death warmed up and you don’t have to grieve for a brother that’s only been gone four months and six days.

Four months and six days.

Or maybe it’s just that Kirk’s becoming more forgettable, more expendable; the weakest link.

Jason nudges him, points at a Winger poster on the bulletin, rants about glam and eyeliner and Aqua Net, and how it’s just not fucking metal dude , but all Kirk can think about is that it should be him with Lars instead of that girl.

It should be him.

It could’ve been him.

He downs another shot.

— —

He thinks this is it. He’s got nothing left.

He guesses he’s already held the knife too tightly. Too close. And it’s only a matter of time now before it stabs him in the back.

He sits with his back to the shower cubicle. The glass is still wet. He holds up the knife.

He’d managed to pinch it at some point on tour, he’s not really sure when, but it’s been riding shotgun in his suitcase ever since.

Kirk presses it to his wrist. Not hard enough to hurt. Just to feel the pressure. It’s not unlike all the other times, when he’s sure the cool steel will be the death of him, but this time he knows.

And he knows this is where he dies.

He’s tried to be quick, but it hurts a lot more than he thought it would. Hot white flashes behind his eyes but he keeps going because he has nothing left.

He presses down harder, harder, until he finally reaches the pit of his elbow.

He lets go, lets the knife clatter beside him.

His head lolls back against the tile. He licks his lips. All the panic, the grief, is starting to settle, and he can’t help but let himself be swept away in the feeling.

He goes to close his eyes but thinks better of it.

He needs to make sure he gets the job done.

He picks the knife back up, slippy in his weak grasp, and tries to jab at his other wrist, though it uncoordinated, and it’s nowhere near as deep as the first one.

He tries anyway, breath harsh as he digs the edge into his flesh, his grip weakening by the second as blood starts to coat his skin.

He digs deeper and deeper and --

“What are you doing?”

The knife is pried from his grasp, clatters to the floor off to his side. He jolts, scrambles to his knees to try and get it back, but hands roughly push him back against the shower cubicle, bony fingers digging into his chest.

Kirk twists his gaze away from the weapon, finds Lars is in front of him, panicked, frightened. His hands are still forcing Kirk back into the glass.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Kirk can only look back at the mirrored despair in Lars’s eyes, feels shame and humiliation whip at his skin, fingernails sharp on his collarbone.

Lars is searching his face, for what Kirk’s not sure, but eventually he shakes his head, looks away.

Kirk pretends to ignore how his eyes shine, how his face flickers through emotions, contorts his cheeks into sharp angles, lips pulled tight. He looks broken. Like all this dreaming, all this hope Lars had for the two of them has shattered, like it was for nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing. It all meant

Nothing.

Kirk gasps, convulsing as his body tries to fight for air, but he can’t get his lungs to move from out their dormancy when he’s found out his and Lars’s last contingency plan has fallen through.

I fucking need you. I can’t do this alone.

Fingers grip and pull him forward, and he leans against Lars, choking on nothing as he struggles to hang on, arms lying limp at his sides now.

He’s gasping and gasping and he can’t hear anything over the rushing of blood in his ears and his lungs burn and everything hurts and yet he doesn’t feel anything at all. He’s numb, stuffed with cotton instead of lungs and wool instead of a heart, sewed shut without anything beating and it feels like he’s already dead.

Arms enclose around him, keep him warm and bundled up, squeeze him tight enough that the thrumming of his heartbeat subsides a little and he can finally hear Lars murmuring in his ear.

“Just breathe it’s okay, you’re okay. Just breathe.”

He’s still gulping on air, fingers turning fizzy as the world starts to spin, but he manages to rock forward a little, hides his face against Lars’s chest, and finally breathes.

Lars is all around him, everyone and everything, a personification of everything Kirk’s ever wanted in love and yet he feels like he’s hanging onto him by the skin of his teeth, swinging into an abyss that he’s never felt before and it’s terrifying and yet he wants nothing more than to let go and dive in. But he doesn’t. He can’t. Which is how he finds himself in this situation in the first place because ultimately he knows he doesn’t deserve it.

Ultimately he knows nothing comes without consequences.

He wipes his face against Lars’s shirt, smears snot and drool and tears, and he hiccups, tries to ignore the fact that he can’t feel his fingers anymore.

It’s strange that now he’s kind of glad he was found, that maybe Lars was meant to find him after all. But the nagging feeling in him that he doesn’t deserve any of this, that his life isn’t really his anymore, that life hasn’t been life since the accident, still itches the unsteadiness of his hands and the searing pain in his arms.

Lars moves after a moment, jolting like he’s been shocked, like he’s finally realising Kirk’s fading, cringing at the amount of blood that’s starting to pool on the floor underneath him, soaking steadily into their clothes.

Kirk doesn’t look, but he can hear Lars curse under his breath, a litany of fuck oh fuck Kirk shit shit shit that flows like a jilted melody, until he manages to snag a fresh white towel from the hook on the back of the door next to them.

He presses it to Kirk’s arms deliberately hard, and yet Kirk hardly feels it, allows his weight to sink into the body holding him up, ignores the blood oozing like a calm river in a storm.

He shivers, shuts his eyes as the world careens and bends, feels goosebumps rise as Lars presses the red towel down harder.

You’re not meant to be here, he says. You were never meant to be here , he says.

Lars doesn’t acknowledge him, too preoccupied with the gaping wounds on Kirk’s arms and the knowledge that there’s a knife mere inches away from them.

When Kirk manages to pry his eyes open again, Lars is tying the towel around his left forearm, the worst one, muttering under his breath, though it’s too quiet for Kirk to hear and he’s too tired to figure it out.

A hand strokes over his head, blood smears, flattens his hair, keeps him close and safe and Kirk finds he doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

Which is why he starts to groggily protest a little when Lars tries to get him to stand.

“C’mon Kirk, I can’t lift you by myself,” Lars says, hooks his shoulder under Kirk’s armpit to try and get him up, but it’s no use because Kirk’s got no strength left, falling limply like a rag doll.

Lars tries anyway, manages to drag Kirk a little ways out of the bathroom, smearing a bloody trail behind them.

“Don’t you fucking do this,” Lars grits out, teeth clenched as he pulls Kirk’s limp form into his lap.

“Don’t you fucking do this to me.”

Kirk just lets his head rest against the steady weight of Lars’s chest, breathing starting to slow now. And he’s cold. He’s so fucking cold.

Lars manages to bat the phone off of the side table, punches out the emergency number whilst still having an arm around Kirk’s middle.

Kirk doesn’t really hear much of what Lars says, instead closes his eyes, lets the numb feeling take over.

That is, until fingers press harshly into his chin, yanking his head upwards.

“Open your fucking eyes, Kirk.”

Kirk can’t help but do as he’s told, even though he wishes he didn’t.

Lars is looking down at him, blood smeared across his face, and his expression alone makes Kirk want to curl away. Only, his body isn’t really cooperating all that much anymore.

Lars is still speaking on the phone.

Kirk closes his eyes again.

This time when Lars shakes him, he doesn’t have the energy to open them, no matter how many times Lars tries to prod and poke at him.

He’s done. He’s finished. He just hopes Lars knows that too.

His arms feel wet. Lars is warm. He sleeps.

— —

The back of his eyelids are pink and bright, belying his assumption that he’s dead.

He wakes up to the sound of beeping and the smell of antiseptic.

His mind feels numb but he manages to pry his eyes open, blinking owlishly under the artificial light.

“Oh thank god.”

Kirk nearly misses it, but then a hand is circling his own gently, another cupping his jaw.

Kirk’s eyes keep trying to close again but he works to keep them open, slowly trailing his gaze from the ceiling, finding Lars hovering over him.

“Hey,” Lars says, voice quiet, hand smoothing over the hair on Kirk’s forehead.

Kirk smiles a little, until he notices that Lars’s eyes are red and his hands are shaking and oh god oh god fuck fuck fuck--

He squeezes his eyes shut, tilts slightly out of Lars’s grip.

He doesn’t want this. This isn’t what was meant to happen.

Lars’s hands pull away.

“I don’t- I’m not-“ Kirk doesn’t really know what he’s trying to say, melancholy making his throat close and his voice falter, but Lars just shushes him gently, takes his hand back into his own.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.”

Kirk’s chest stutters, his vision clouding as tears start to pool, sliding down his face.

“Are you- why haven’t you-“

“I’m not going anywhere,” Lars murmurs, thumbing away Kirk’s tears.

Kirk doesn’t get it, isn’t this a way for Lars to get out? Isn’t this better for both of them?

“You’re not leaving me?”

Lars’s face warps incredulously.

“What the fuck makes you think I would?”

He wants to say because he’s not worth it. He wants to say because he watched his dad pull out the driveway and never come back. He wants to say they dropped Dave at a greyhound bus station one night with no warning, and what makes him different? What makes him special enough to keep on living a life he doesn’t deserve?

He gets to keep something he’s always dreamed of, and yet the ice doesn’t crack in his chest and he can only stare back at Lars.

Lars’s emotions paint his face in a twist of watercolour until it turns red, a mix of watery anger and bewilderment and maybe betrayal making him stand, turning his back, hands tightening in his hair line.

“What did you- ,” Lars pauses, wipes at his cheek where unseen tears shred his dignity, before he says “after all this time, what do I have to do to make you fucking realise.”

After all this time.

After all this-

A fist shatters against the wall, bone smacking through layers of skin, splintering under force. Kirk flinches, ducks down further into the bed.

Lars punches and he punches, blood circling his knuckles, leaves a crimson smear on the wall as he attacks, hitting out in a way Kirk knows well when everything hurts.

Kirk doesn’t know whether to stop him, doesn’t know if it’s his place, but eventually a rather harsh jab to the wall makes knuckles crack and Lars swears, cradles his abused hands, heaving and sobbing and Kirk wants to hold him, wants to tell him he’s not worth getting so upset over, but he knows it’ll probably just make things worse.

After a few seconds, Lars turns to him, cheeks marred scarlet and tears slipping from red-lined eyes, and he says

you mean too fucking much to me to let you go,

and its all Kirk ever wanted to hear, ever wanted to know, because he didn’t want to believe it before if it meant Lars falling away eventually and leaving him at a greyhound bus station.

Kirk doesn’t know what to say, can only look on as quiet sobs hiccup in Lars’s chest, can feel anxiety push at the boundaries of his ribcage.

He tries to reach out, frail fingers skirt over soft skin but Lars jerks from his grasp with a small don’t, scrubs at his eyes.

“I’m going, James and Jason should be here soon.”

Kirk jolts, his body fading numbly, desperately seeking a way to claw back what he’s losing, can feel his wrists throb in time with his rapid heart, his head feeling full and cottony.

Lars just looks at him, face softening.

“I’m coming back, Kirk,” he states like it’s obvious, all low and slow like he’s talking to a child, and Kirk wants to say I know that , but he knows that he didn’t, and so he just nods, feels his chest start to unfold when Lars’s lips curve up a little.

He wants to tell him to get his hands checked, wants to tell him he needs to not do anything stupid, but his mouth is dry and his tongue doesn’t cooperate, synapse signals lost amongst historical debris and the fear of being left alone.

“I promise,” Lars says, and he means it, Kirk can tell he means it, but he doesn’t want him to leave. He tries to reach out again but his hands are limp where they’re concealed in thick wads of bandages and gauze, and the pain is steadily mounting higher to the point that his ears are starting to ring.

Lars goes then, vanishing down the stale, clinical hallway, and Kirk wants to cry. He never meant for this, whatever this is, and the guilt is starting to boil over, his insides thawing until he’s just a bundle of pain and fire.

He thinks he shouts, he thinks he cries, but what he is sure of is that someone must be giving him something because within minutes he’s plummeting out of reach and his vision tunnels into nothing.

— —

Lars doesn’t come back for a while. Kirk’s mind kind of halts at that. Everything’s not making sense, like the clouding haze in his brain has made him numb, and the path forward looks skewed, like a smudged painting, like water’s been dripping on it so long the corners are starting to curl.

Lars doesn’t come back for a while, but James and Jason appear at some point.

The morphine haze means he’s not all that sure when they got here, just that now James is looking at him with some kind of twisted anger, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. Jason looks like he saw this coming.

Kirk goes to scratch at his wrist, but the twinge of pain that settles under his skin when he tries to move his fingers has him halting. He rolls his gaze away from the others.

“Fuck you,” James says after a moment.

Kirk doesn’t answer, doesn’t even acknowledge him. Jason clears his throat. James seethes.

“Fuck you, man. You don’t get to do this to us.”

Kirk wants to say this isn’t about them, but then again, when isn’t it? Because anything he does affects the others, but isn’t that why he’s here in the first place?

He sighs through his nose, flicks his gaze back over to them.

James’s eyes are uncharacteristically wet. He’s still staring at Kirk. Jason’s gaze is fixed on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” is all he says, though he’s not. Not really.

They can probably tell because James stands, looks like he’s deliberating saying something, before walking out without another word.

Jason sighs, scoots up further in his seat towards Kirk.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s just upset,” he says, reaches out, lets his fingers skate across the sheets near Kirk’s arm.

“Are you okay?”

And.. well no one’s asked him that. Not for a long while. And he finds he doesn’t really have an answer when his emotions are swirling around, muddling together, never tethering him to one singular feeling.

So instead he says: “where’s Lars?”

Jason shrugs a little. “He’s downstairs I think. He’ll be up in a bit.”

It’s obvious by the look on his face that Lars isn’t doing so well. Kirk doesn’t blame him. He has a habit of drowning people along with himself.

Kirk yawns, lets the morphine start to do its work again.

“Wake me up when he’s here.”

— —

Lars is there when he wakes up again. There’s thick, white bandages crisscrossing his knuckles, a splint holding up a thumb.

He’s dozing in the chair next to the bed, hand holding Kirk’s, though the grip is loose, not really there at all.

Kirk doesn’t shake him awake. He doesn’t tell him he’s sorry.

He lets Lars’s fingers warm his own and dreams of a place where the darkness doesn’t feel so suffocating.

— —

The tour gets postponed for a month.

He thinks he’s okay.

He has to get physio to get full movement back in his left hand.

But he thinks he’s okay. For now.

Lars never leaves his side as soon as they vacate the hospital. Follows him home. Sleeps in his bed. Even watches him piss.

He’s never alone. Which is okay.

Until it isn’t.

Lars is short, his temper easily triggered, and Kirk finds himself walking on eggshells around him when he thinks it probably should be the other way around.

So he lets Lars cook him meals he doesn’t want to eat, and he lets him push him into the shower when he doesn’t want to. But he does it because the fight seems tedious now, not when Kirk really isn’t hiding anything anymore. He doesn’t see the point, Lars has already seen the very worst of him, and for some fucking reason has stayed put anyways.

Kirk thought it would’ve been the last straw. But Lars stays.

And he washes Kirk’s hair for him and changes the sheets when Kirk’s been stewing in bed for a week and he does everything Kirk doesn’t want him to.

And Lars hasn’t broken. He hasn’t shattered since that night in the hospital. Hasn’t done anything but tell Kirk to do as he’s told.

It’s over a week since the accident, and Lars has let Kirk shower by himself if he keeps the door open, so he does just that, relishing in the few minutes he gets alone. He knows he shouldn’t be so surprised at Lars’s behaviour; he knows there’s not really any trust there anymore.

Lars doesn’t trust him. And that hurts more than the stitches up his arms.

He towels off and gets dressed slowly, mostly one handed, and when he turns the bathroom light off he’s swamped in darkness.

Lars must not be in bed yet, but Kirk deems it okay to go ahead himself. He yawns and shuffles over to the bed in the dark, though he’s quick to notice the human size lump on the other side of the bed.

He frowns but crawls in anyways, hissing slightly when he puts a little too much pressure on his bad wrist.

“Lars?” he whispers, a hand coming up to wrap around Lars’s waist.

A sniff is his only response. And he realises Lars is shaking.

“Hey,” he says softly, leans over a little, but Lars’s face is obscured by the covers.

“Hey, Lars-… Lars youve got to speak to me.”

Lars shakes his head, curls into himself tighter, so Kirk sighs, brings Lars in closer by the waist, leans his chin on his shoulder.

And he holds him. And Lars sobs for the first time in over a week.

Eventually he turns over, smothers his face into Kirk’s chest and clings onto him so tight his knuckles turn white.

And Kirk scoops him up without saying anything, because he doesn’t know what to say.

He knows an apology won’t be accepted, and he can’t tell him everything’s okay because it’s not.

So he just holds him tight until Lars starts to settle, cheek wet and smushed against Kirk’s shirt.

“Don’t you fucking do that to me again,” he says, anger lining the outskirts of his words, but they’re mainly filled with grief. Which at least Kirk is familiar with.

“Don’t you ever fucking leave me.”

He doesn’t look up at Kirk, but he holds him tightly, fingers digging into his back.

Kirk nods, hand coming up to stroke through Lars’s hair.

“I won’t.”

And as soon as he says it, he knows it’s a promise. And although he doesn’t know what the future will bring, he knows he’ll try to be with Lars for as long as possible.

Lars sniffs, moves his chin to look at him.

Kirk gives a small smile, one which Lars returns, before Lars reaches up to kiss him gently.

“I love you.”

It’s the first time it’s ever been said, it’s the first time those words have ever been laid bare between them, and Kirk finds his chest stuttering.

And as he looks down at Lars, he knows there’s nothing else out there for him. Lars has been trying to repair the Cliff size hole in his heart, but he’s ended up filling it with himself instead.

Tears prick at Kirk’s eyes and he smiles, properly now, feeling Lars squeeze him tighter.

And he knows they’ll be okay.

“I love you too.”

He’ll be okay.

Fin

#metallica #metallica fanfiction #painkiller #kirk hammett x lars ulrich #kirk hammett/lars ulrich #kirk/lars #lars ulrich #kirk hammett #james hetfield #jason newsted #cliff burton

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