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rileyslibrary · 6 months

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Ghost is forced to dress up as Santa for the day and talk to kids.

You’re ordered to tag along as his Elf and do some damage control if necessary.

———————————————————————

You lean against his armchair, watching the chaos in front of you. Children are crying, tugging at their parents’ clothes, shouting both in excitement and fear, all while looking at you. A young boy keeps waving at your lieutenant, desperate to get his attention, but Ghost is too preoccupied with coming to terms with his new reality to notice.

You return his wave with a smile.

“Try to stay still, Santa,” you remind Ghost as you nod towards the boy. “Kids are watching.”

He snaps back into focus and redirects his attention to the queue. He stretches one last time, pushing on the armrests, before settling into the chair.

“Try not to tell me what to do,” he murmurs and waves back at the child.

You straighten up and tweak your green hat, triggering the bell at its tip to jiggle in your ear. You feel for him; you really do. He’s not supposed to be here; he’s not built for this. Unfortunately—for him or the kids, you haven’t decided yet—the “real” Santa broke his hip at the last minute, and your military base stepped in to provide a new Santa for the local community.

And what better replacement than Ghost, you may ask? Well, literally anybody else.

Dressed in a red costume with white faux fur trim, the lieutenant looks nothing like the man you experienced on the battlefield. His shoulders threaten to rip through the rented outfit, and the seams at the back hold onto each other for dear life. Since his belly wasn’t big enough to simulate Santa’s, you asked him to stuff a pillow under his uniform. Surprisingly, Ghost complied almost instantly, leaving you to wonder if he was using the pillow as Kevlar, a barrier between him and the kids or if he was secretly enjoying this.

You also convinced him to ditch the balaclava for the time being since he would now have plenty of props to conceal his face—a wig, a long beard, glasses, and a red hat with a white pom-pom, to be exact. Additionally, you attempted to trick him into applying some blush on his cheeks, but he side-eyed you and told you to ‘be careful now’—ironic for a man who paints his face daily.

You rub your temples, trying to keep calm amid the chaos of the mall as you prepare for what’s about to happen during the next few hours. You have no idea why Price chose him to be Santa, but you didn’t question it either. Ghost seems to be the least qualified for the job out of everyone in the base. It feels like a last resort, so to speak—a ‘that’s all we have left in the store’ solution.

On the other hand, you know precisely why the captain chose you to accompany him. “To monitor the situation,” he said—“To make sure we don’t get sued,” you heard. And, under normal circumstances, you’d be happy to tag along with Ghost—be it on patrol, on missions, or even transporting confidential documents. But in this situation? Acting as a troubleshooter rather than a teammate? You’d rather be anywhere else than here, with anybody else than him.

You take another look at him while he sits on the chair. He’s tugging at the uniform, scratching his head, and instinctively pulling the beard to his nose.

“Stop doing that,” you whisper. “It’s a beard, not a balaclava.”

“Price would have been perfect for the job, for fucks sake,” he spits. “He has the fucking moustache for starters.”

“Stop with the ‘fucks’ and the ‘fucking’ Ghost; you’re about to talk to kids! And, as for the captain, he said he couldn’t do it.”

“Oh yeah?” He asks, lifting his hands from the armrests. “And what makes him think that I can?”

“I wish I knew, to be honest, but we don’t have time to go through this again,” you murmur, looking at your watch one last time. You approach the barrier, unclip the rope from the stanchion, and turn over your shoulder.

“Operation ‘Santa’ begins now,” you declare. “Ready?”

“Do I have a choice?” He replies, shrugging, and gestures for you to proceed.

And so it begins. Your first ‘customer’ arrives, and many more follow. You guide one family at a time into the enclosure and escort them to Ghost, who handles the rest. Some children are hesitant, peeking out from behind their parents’ legs, while others are much more direct with their intentions as they scream in horror at the sight of him.

On the other hand, Ghost is neither your typical jolly Santa nor the irritated lieutenant you’d expect. He appears to be... understanding. He reassures parents that it’s okay and there’s no need to force their children onto his lap if they feel uncomfortable. He initiates conversations with the kids from a respectful distance. He smiles with his eyes and hunches his shoulders to appear less imposing. Sometimes, he lures the shy ones into a handshake, a fist pump, or a high five by lowering his gloved hand to their level.

And then there are those other types of kids: the curious ones, the social butterflies. The ones who look forward to sitting on Ghost’s lap, diving into full-blown conversations with him. That’s when you stiffen up and switch into damage-control mode to ensure he won’t lash out at them. You begin hovering above them, listening, jumping into their conversations and sometimes interrupting Ghost and replying to the kids instead of him.

You would have thought he’d be grateful to have you managing the situation. Ghost, however, seems more irritated by you than by the little girl who’s currently playing with the pom-pom on his hat.

“Oi, Elf!” he says calmly, yet visibly annoyed. “Emma and I are chatting about how she spilt tomato juice on her Elsa costume and wants a new one for Christmas. Could you please falala off and go wrap some presents?”

“B-but I need to know because I’ll be sewing it for her,” you reply, smiling at the little girl. “Isn’t that right, Emma?”

And, although Emma nods her head, more out of necessity than agreement, you get his point. He’s doing surprisingly well with those kids, even without you. Actually, he’s doing remarkably well, especially without you.

More kids come and go, and Ghost slowly adapts to his new persona. He starts making bets with you, predicting which kids in the queue might ask for a PlayStation or an iPad and even speculating who might wipe snot on his costume. You, in response, adopt a more laid-back approach and let him do his thing. After each child’s visit, Ghost turns towards you, whispering in your ear about their Christmas wishes, as if he’s indeed Santa, and keeps logs.

“My man wants a full-sized car wheel,” Ghost murmurs as the young boy leaps off his lap, “can you believe him?”

“What did you say to him?” You ask, stifling a laugh.

“I told him I’ll get it for him,” he shrugs. “What else should I do?”

“Alright, but what did you really want to tell him?”

“That his dad already has four of them screwed in his car.”

As the day winds down, and the final announcement for the day echoes through the speakers, parents and children walk past you and towards the exit. They wave at Ghost and occasionally at you. The parking lot empties, the stores shut their doors until tomorrow, and the holiday lights that decorate the inside of the mall switch off one by one.

You stretch your back and tap on his shoulder, signalling that both of you should pack up and return to the base.

“Nuh-uh,” he says, grasping your wrist with one hand and tapping his thigh with the other. “You didn’t tell me what you want for Christmas.”

You’re exhausted but still manage to smile as you comply with his request. You sit on his lap, and he leans back to take a better look at you.

“Let’s think about it another way,” you say. “What would you, as Santa, give me for Christmas?”

“Coal,” he replies. “And a muzzle, so you don’t interrupt me while I’m talking. What was that all about?”

“Was afraid you’d say something bad,” you explain. “But you were pretty good with those kids.”

He shakes his head and plays with the fur trim on his sleeve. “Nah,” he murmurs. “I’d never say something bad to a kid.”

“Speaking of bad and coal,” you say, combing his fake beard, “you never asked the typical ‘have you been a good kid’ to any of them.”

“There’s no bad kid in the world, love,” he whispers. “All kids are good, even the naughty ones.”

You smile at him, but he doesn’t look back at you. He’s examining his uniform as if trying to find something else to discuss. He finds some crumbs a kid left on his suit and brushes them off.

“Ready to head back to the base, Lieutenant?” You ask, tapping his thigh before standing up. You extend your hand to him, and he gladly accepts it, helping him rise from the chair he’s been sitting in all day. You begin walking towards the exit, and he wraps his arm around your shoulder. You reciprocate by hugging his waist.

You walk up to the parked military vehicle that brought you here earlier, still discussing the day. He opens the door but pauses and turns to look at you.

“Resilience,” he declares. “That’s what I would gift you for Christmas.”

“Why?” You ask, turning to look at him. “You think I need it?”

“We all do,” he replies softly, just like when he used to talk to those kids. “Since I can’t protect you from every obstacle life throws your way, I might as well give you the ability to recover from them.”

“That would make me very happy, Lieutenant.” You say, smiling.

He smiles back at you and reaches for your hat to fix it better on your head. His hand moves to your forehead, and he tucks a stray hair behind your ear.

“It’s Santa to you.” He replies.

———————————————————————

A/N: Bruh, I was so tempted to make the reader pull off a Mariah Carey and say, “All I want for Christmas is you,” when Ghost asked what they wanted, but my gag reflexes kicked in every time, and I was cringing galore.

So, there you go: resilience. That’s what I would like to gift you as well. I wish I could shield you from whatever has troubled you in the past or is currently doing so. To protect you from future worries and make everything ‘falala off’. Unfortunately, I can’t do that, neither for you nor for myself.

But this is why comfort characters and stories exist—so we can imagine, when no one is there for us, that someone actually is.

Just like Santa. Just like Ghost.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley #simon riley x gn!reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon riley #cod ghost #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley fic #cod mw ghost

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sunblockbabe · 5 months

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Bouncer!toji x reader

Headcannons

Contents: 18+!! slight references to alcohol, violence, bouncer!toji is kinda sleazy but in a fun way, mild size k!nk, makeouts, groping, and a lil grinding whoopsie daisy, reader plays innocent for a bit but is very into it trust 🤝

Bouncer!toji who, after months of being between jobs, manages to land a gig as a bouncer at some new high-end club that’s opened in the city

Bouncer!toji who’s the perfect fit for the job. He’s big and strong and mean, and the club managers are more than willing to meet his salary demands

Bouncer!toji who enjoys his job. When he's not standing around, towering over anyone and deterring any prohibited activity, he's patrolling the club, kicking out anyone too rowdy or causing any trouble

Bouncer!toji whose favorite part of the job is when some drunk asshole is being particularly disruptive. He loves roughing them up, "accidentally" punching them in the face before he's shoving them out of the club and onto the street

Bouncer!toji who's shift has him outside the main entrance tonight, boredly watching the long line of people waiting to get in

Bouncer!toji who notices you as soon as you get in line. Your glossy lips are pouty as you see how long the wait is, and you hopelessly check your phone as you see that your friends are already inside and waiting for you, your weekend shift at your job running late and keeping you from being able to uber with them to the club

Bouncer!toji who watches as you cock your hip to the side with a sigh, arms crossing in front of you as you impatiently tap your manicured nails against your phone

Bouncer!toji who knows that, if he comes across any hot girls, is instructed to let them skip the line, the managers at the club wanting as many pretty girls inside as possible to boost the club's image

Bouncer!toji who decides not to usher you inside. It's been a slow, boring shift. Getting to shamelessly stare at your gorgeous legs that are barely covered by a skirt that hits high on your thigh, drinking in how your tits heave against your top that's pulled tightly across them as you sigh again impatiently, nipples barely visible in the cold air, seems like a perfect way to kill a little time

Bouncer!toji who keeps unabashedly eye-fucking you even when you eventually notice him staring, who is barely able to see your lips curl into the faintest smirk when you realize your opportunity

Bouncer!toji who walks over to you when you bat your eyelashes and innocently wave him over to you

Bouncer!toji who gets to see how pretty you are up close, obviously looking you up and down one final time before settling his gaze on your stunning eyes, the color of them vibrant and rich against the bright glow of the club

Bouncer!toji who leans a hand against the stanchion as he comes to stand in front of you. The only thing separating you is the rope that defines the queue.

Bouncer!toji who towers over you, your head only coming up to his broad chest, and you feel caged in by his strong, scarred arm

Bouncer!toji who puts on a mocking act of professionalism when he asks what's wrong, calling you sweetheart, sending a shiver down your spine

Bouncer!toji who feigns a concerned and intrigued expression when you sweetly tell him how your friends are waiting inside for you and are oh-so worried about where you are, your phone not having any service to message them

Bouncer!toji who grins when you place your hand on his as you ask him if there's anything he can do to help you

Bouncer!toji who pretends to weigh his options when you finally ask him if you could skip the line to find your friends, he rolls his eyes around once, a low hum grumbling from his chest

Bouncer!toji who tells you to follow him, and that he'll "see what he can do"

Bouncer!toji who leads you from the line to a more isolated entrance on the side of the club in a desolate alley, you following him obediently as your heels click against the pavement

Bouncer!toji who pauses just before the lonely set of doors and turns to cage you against the brick wall, arms coming to rest on either side of your head

Bouncer!toji who takes a second to stare down the front of your top at your tits before meeting your gaze. Your pupils are already blown wide as you stare up at him, a small grin playing at your lips

Bouncer!toji who tells you that he really isn't supposed to be letting anybody in this way, no matter how pretty they are, and that he's risking his job if he lets you through

Bouncer!toji who doesn't care that you roll your eyes at his obvious lie, your grin pulling wider

Bouncer!toji who asks if you can give him something, anything, in return

Bouncer!toji who hungrily watches as you lick your lips in thought, eyes roaming to the side in consideration

Bouncer!toji who finally mirrors your grin when you suggest a kiss, voice dripping in faux-innocence that has his cock twitching in his pants

Bouncer!toji who lets you loosely place your hands on his chest as you lean up to give him teasingly chaste kiss on his scarred lips

Bouncer!toji who wraps an arm around your lower waist and tangles a hand in your hair, forcing the kiss deeper when you try to pull away

Bouncer!toji who feels you shiver again when he pulls you flush against his front, who shoves a tongue between your lips when you part them to moan

Bouncer!toji who feels you wrap your arms around his neck to keep him close as you finally drop the coy act

Bouncer!toji who presses you back against the brick wall, shoving a thigh against your legs, looking down for an instant to watch your hips jump forward at the contact, your tight little skirt riding higher up your thighs as another moan leaves your swollen lips

Bouncer!toji who shamelessly runs his hand lower to squeeze your ass, dragging you forward roughly against his thigh as he kisses you again, biting at your lips before sliding his tongue back in

Bouncer!toji who pulls you tight against his cock, a low groan leaving him when you grind his hard dick

Bouncer!toji who loosens his grip on you when you slide your hands down to gently push at his chest, pulling his lips from yours

Bouncer!toji who chuckles, chest vibrating against yours, when you whine, asking if you could see your friends now, batting your eyelashes up at him again

Bouncer!toji who says "yea, baby, you can go on in now" before he drags you in for another quick, chaste kiss, relishing the way you giggle against his lips

Bouncer!toji who pulls away from you and guides you to the side door with an arm around your waist

Bouncer!toji who taps a palm twice against your ass as he opens the door, guiding you into the club

Bouncer!toji who grins again as you turn to give him a quick wave and a happy "thank you!" before you disappear to find your friends

Bouncer!toji who has to adjust his straining cock in his pants before he returns to his shift

#toji x reader #toji fushigro x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji fushiguro #toji headcanons #jjk headcanons #jujutsu kaisen x you

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mitsuyeaah · 1 year

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more than art.

— geto suguru x f! reader

cw: art gallery owner!geto, art gallery employee!reader, just pure fluff-ish!!! geto trying to flirt :)

a/n: my first time writing a (short) fic for jjk & geto!! apologies in advance since i haven’t really grasped geto’s character that well! i got inspiration hehehehehe

as you made your way to the office, you caught a glimpse of a tall figure slipping into one of the restricted access areas of the art gallery. you furrowed your brows as the male confidently walked inside and past the stanchions held together by a red velvet rope. the loud clicking of your heels reverberated through the quiet gallery as you made your way to the area the mystery man went, annoyance bubbling in the pit of your stomach, ready to tell him off.

“excuse me sir.. you’re not supposed to be in here.”

the man, genuinely shocked, whipped his body around to face you. he was dressed in a white button down, tucked into a black dress pants—the sleeves of his top rolled up to expose his veiny forearms. his onyx hair was securely wrapped into a bun, some stray hair cascading down his handsome face.

he raised his arms up in defence, giving you a sheepish smile, “oh! i’m sorry.. i was just looking at how this place was coming together.” you opened your mouth to say something in retort but abruptly stopped when you noticed how familiar the man in front of you looked.

those slender eyes and black earrings..

oh. oh. suguru geto

shit. he was the owner of this art gallery; a wealthy man. old money. you should have known, you’ve seen him close deals with several artists who’s art works don this massive gallery. your heart dropped as you quickly placed your palm to cover your lips in shock.

“o-oh my goodness! i’m so sorry, mr. geto! my bad, please, take a look for as long as you want!” you could feel heat spreading throughout your body as you profusely apologised, embarrassment engulfing you.

geto let out a small chuckle, his tone was full of velvet and honey. “no, no, it’s okay! you were just doing your job, i like that.” he wandered further down the vast room, analysing each framed work with such keenness in his eyes.

“hmm, this one’s quite the photograph, isn’t it?” he turned to look at you, finger pointing at the framed photograph behind him. you found yourself taking quick hasty steps to get closer to the man. “y-yes, indeed! i am actually very fond of this artist. the way they make such use of natural lighting.. it brings so much colour and emotions into the photograph. almost like you’re inside it.”

your eyes scanned the art before you, tracing every curve and bend of it as you allowed yourself to get lost within it’s artistic uniqueness. geto, on the other hand, studied the way you looked at the photograph with such passion. your eyes glimmering under the light like it held stars within them.

he thought you were cute.

“hmm, i like how you describe it.. kind of like reading between the lines, but in terms of art. most people don’t really appreciate the feelings behind every piece of art work.”

warmth crept up your cheeks as he complimented you. suddenly, you didn’t know what to do with yourself. your hand mindlessly reached up to your nape to scratch at it as you felt warmth creeping up your cheeks.

“ah.. thank you, mr. geto.” “oh, drop the formalities. just, suguru, please.” you hesitated for a bit but nodded, “yes.. suguru.” you didn’t miss the way the corners of his lips turned at the sound of his name falling from your lips.

the two of you mindlessly walked around the room, being cautious of the art in the room that were yet to be displayed. you’ve never really spoken to suguru up until now but there was just something between the two of you. your personalities clicked with one another. both of you meeting in the middle.

there were times where you rambled on about the photograph in front and he’d finish your sentence like he was reading your mind. and the both of you would just look at each other in awe, laughing at how bizarre it was.

you also didn’t miss the way he stole glances at you from the corner of your eye while you admired the art work ahead. your skin burned under his onyx gaze but you pretended not to see it, like it didn’t affect you at all.

“this one is truly beautiful.” you gaped at the photograph.

it was a photograph of the vast ocean. endless hues of cerulean engulfed the entirety of the photo—hints of sparkles of white here and there from the reflection of the sun. your eyes traced the curves of the gentle waves that creased the vast blueness. it was very detailed. to some, it was only a photograph of the water but to you, it showed how truly vast the ocean was. the unexplored depths of it, and the beauty of its azure body.

“mmm, beautiful indeed.” suguru muttered from beside you, his tone was a little off. almost like a dreamy sigh.

this time, you slowly turned your head to him. you were once again met with his intense onyx gaze, it was fixated on you.

you weren’t going to lie, it made your breath hitch. “..the art work..” you didn’t even make sense but you nervously chuckled, meekly pointing a finger at the photograph on the wall but suguru just shrugged, a small smile forming upon his lips. “oh, i am looking at a piece of art.”

your heart pounded against your chest as he said that without faltering. shit, was he flirting with you?

before you could say anything, he spoke up once again, “you know.. i’d love to talk about things more than art.. if you’re interested.”

#geto suguru #geto drabbles #geto fluff #geto x reader #geto x y/n #geto x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen drabbles #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk fluff #jjk drabbles #jjk geto

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the-pessimists-paradigm · 1 month

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MC and a Sleeping Belphie

Barely noticeable snores filled the cold and desolate hallways, your tentative footsteps being the only obvious sound. The moon's gentle presence shimmered as you unhooked the red stanchion rope before you. Wind drifted past you from the open glass windows as you saw him.

One of your jobs as an exchange student was to take up a part-time job. Satan, who shared your love of history, recommended the museum. You considered it, thinking about guiding tourists all day. But not about the potential intruders at night. Did he want you to get eaten alive?

A slumped shadowy figure appeared to your right, crouching by a 10-foot statue made of gold. A tribute to Lord Diavolo. Streaks of white in his hair shined amongst the hushed illuminance of the moonlights, stars becoming the sole light source. Belphegor grumbled as he felt the piercing gaze of your flashlight, slumping forward.

You shut it off as you sat near him, leaning against the cold metallic walls. The avatar of sloth, in all his glory. "H-Hey, maybe you should get up." You said, internally pleading with him to wake. He fluttered his eyes, creating a magenta haze around both of you as he yawned. "Do we really have to go back? I just want to stay with you."

#obey me!#obey me fanfic #obey me x gn!reader #obey me x reader #obey me x gender neutral reader #obey me x mc #obey me belphie x reader #obey me belphie

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rookthorne · 11 months

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⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐤

Parading richness and wealth was the name of the game. But when Bucky spies an old friend in the crowd, things take a turn that you least expected.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ➣ Bodyguard!CW!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader x Bodyguard!Winter Soldier

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ➣ 1.7k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ➣ Fluff, Bucky gets embarrassed

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ➣ Thank @duckybarnes1917's for this one, folks — poor flustered Seb on the carpet with Lizzie was the inspiration for it.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 ➣ Jungle by X Ambassadors, Jamie N Commons

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ➣ @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer ჻჻჻ Week 8 — "How did you meet?" — Masterlist

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐚 𝐕𝐨𝐥𝐤𝐨𝐯 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Galas were commonplace, being the daughter of a business mogul — amongst other things. The flashes of the cameras and the shouts of the press, however, was something you wouldn’t wish upon anyone.

“Forward, Kisa,” James said, his hand warm on the small of your back. The touch was reassuring. “Let’s get past these stervyatniki.” As he spoke, you watched his head tilt slightly, constantly moving and observing, and the pressure from his hand on your back increased.

You wished that you could see his eyes — see the softness that he only reserved for you, but his steely gaze was obscured by his goggles, granted they were paired down from his usual get up to be slimmer, but they were no less intimidating.

Quickening your pace, you came to stand just behind Bucky who parted the crowd with his brooding stare, while James stalked right behind you, hand still on the small of your back.

The two of them had dressed modestly, and dare you say it, fancy, for the evening. The sleek black suits hugged their frames and brought out their stature all the more; Bucky had his hair down but slicked back, while James kept his hair loose and strands would sway and cover his mask.

You had to suppress the giggles that wanted to burst free when you’d hear an annoyed huff from behind the mask every time a strand got stuck.

“C’mon, doll,” Bucky said suddenly, reaching back to take your hand. You hadn’t realised you’d slowed down amongst the onslaught of blinding flashes. “I’ve got you, here we go.”

Double doors swung open before you, and you gasped upon seeing the majesty of the room – white marble lined the floor, engravings and protrusions covered in gleaming, shining gold sprawled up and over the walls, the majesty of which all trailed up to a giant crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

The oxygen itself in the room felt immediately expensive and luxurious.

“Holy shit,” you muttered. James chuckled while Bucky just smirked over his shoulder at you. You followed Bucky, head on a swivel to take in the breathtaking wealth that lined the walls while he led you straight to a corner – tables and chairs lined in plush velvet were set up, roped off by the infamous red rope stanchions. “I’ve always wanted to sit behind one of these.”

“It’s your lucky day then, isn’t it?” Bucky whispered, ushering you behind the rope and towards a table. James rushed past you and pulled out a chair, helping you move your dress so you could sit more comfortably.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, and James nodded once before taking the seat next to yours – a respectable distance away, though you reached a hand out under the guise of the table cloth to squeeze his thigh.

The touch was short lived. They were in ‘work’ mode; nothing would snap them out of it until you walked back through the doors of your apartment.

Flutes of champagne and god knows what else came and went, but you forwent them for glasses of water instead – a decision you knew would serve you well.

You watched the guests mingle and boast about their wealth, making connections to serve their greed, and at one point you swear you saw your father. It didn’t matter though, he was there to make money, he wouldn’t care for anything outside of that, not even the fact that his daughter was moving far too close to her bodyguard to be considered appropriate.

“Stop it,” James rumbled, his tone leaving no room for argument. You pouted at him and Bucky chortled.

“James,” Bucky drawled. He leant forward on the table and you ignored the opening of his suit jacket where the shining grip of his gun gleamed under the low lighting. “Settle petal-”

“Zatknis',” James snapped. Bucky rolled his eyes and slouched back in his chair, eyeing James with exasperation. “U nas yest' rabota, Bucky.”

“Behave, boys,” you scolded, pointing a finger between them. “Or you’re both sleeping on the couch. And, James,” you stared at him, eyes searching for that minute twitch between his brows that meant he was at least listening since his eyes were covered. Instead, he turned his head to look at you. “English. You know my Russian isn’t the best yet.”

“You’re doing fine, Kisa,” James said tersely. “Just- I am nervous to be here. That is all.”

Both men settled into an observatory silence. You continued to sip at your water until Bucky suddenly shifted, his posture rigid and eyes narrowed. “What is it, Buck?” you asked, staring in the same direction he was affixed to. “What’d you see? Do we need-”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Bucky affirmed, though he didn’t look at you, nor James. “I just- I think I saw-” A chuckle came from beside you and you stared around in shock – James was laughing. He was laughing. “James," Bucky growled, his gaze still off into the room. "Don’t.”

“Do not worry, Kisa,” James mused, losing the rigidity of his shoulders as he continued to chuckle between words. “Bucky has just seen an old client, which happens to be his favourite-”

“Shut up,” Bucky hissed, his gaze finally turning to James. You stared bewildered between the two of them. “Don’t you dare.”

You swore you could feel the smugness rolling off of James as he shifted slightly, resting his elbow on the table so he could face you, and he unclipped his goggles – the mirthful gleam in his bright eyes startled you and a hesitant smile pulled at your lips. It felt like a secret.

“Bucky, here,” James began, the corner of his eyes crinkled with his hidden smile, and you grinned back. Bucky was shifting in his seat to glare at James so heatedly you were surprised he didn’t wither away on the spot. “Well… He has just seen an old client of his who just happens to be his favourite actress.”

Bucky groaned aloud and put his head in his hands, muttering something in Romanian.

“No,” you gasped dramatically. It was near impossible to stem the bubbling laughter. “Who?”

“Nobody–doesn’t matter-” Bucky tried, his words coming out muffled by his hands. His eyes were pleading.

“Aw,” you cooed, smirking. Bucky’s gaze turned to a heated, playful glare. “Is my Buck embarrassed? Is he a lil’ starstruck?”

James barked a laugh and fell back in his chair.

“I hate you both,” Bucky stated simply. It only made James laugh harder and stoked the fire of your villainous mind – and then, it struck you.

“James, baby,” you whispered, and he looked at you sharply, attention immediately honed in. “Who is it?”

Bucky huffed and made to get up to restrain James, but it was too late – James was pointing into the crowd and towards a woman in an elegant, beautiful dress that swayed with every movement. She was talking to another woman who looked vaguely familiar, but you brushed it from your mind when your target turned, evidently feeling eyes on her.

“Oh, no,” Bucky moaned, lamenting his fate as he watched the wicked smile grow on your lips. “Please, doll. Don’t-”

Too late.

You beckoned at the woman, and she raised a manicured brow before she made her way over. When she was halfway to your table, her eyes lit up at seeing James next to you, and since Bucky’s back was all she could see, it didn’t seem to take her long to put the pieces together.

“My darling, James,” she rushed, smiling widely when she reached the table. Her accent was strong and you couldn’t place it, but it felt homely in a way. “How have you been?”

“Well, thank you,” James said happily. James introduced you and you grinned up at her, a smile which she returned heartily. “Bucky here has missed you.”

The cat was out of the bag now.

“Ah, Bucky, I have missed you!” You watched as she placed a hand on Bucky’s shoulders. The budding blush that crept up Bucky’s neck, just visible over his suit collar enraptured you – he was well and truly flustered, and you found you didn’t feel a slither of guilt for it.

“Hi, love,” Bucky said, getting to his feet. “How are you doing?”

“Fantastic,” she answered. You edged closer to James and held his elbow – desperately trying to not laugh at how Bucky was growing more and more flustered by the second. “It’s so nice to see you, again–you look great.”

James couldn’t stop the snort of laughter that erupted, and you followed suit – Bucky was blushing bright red and she seemed to be revelling in it. “You look beautiful,” Bucky tried, throwing a glare at James and you before he looked back to face her.

“This is hilarious,” James snickered, and you nodded, watching the two interact. She was perfectly at ease in their presence, while Bucky reverted back to being a blushing teenager. It was endearing. “He is an idiot.”

Her and Bucky conversed for a little while longer and as the minutes stretched on, James poked your side and you looked over at him, only to see him roll his eyes and hold up his hand in the movement for mock conversation – you couldn’t help it, you laughed.

“Anyway,” you heard Bucky say loudly, “it was lovely seeing you again, and I’m so happy about your success.”

“My darling, bless you,” she rushed. You watched her place a kiss on Bucky’s cheek – making it flame red – before she turned to you. “Any friend of Bucky’s is a friend of mine; it was lovely to meet you.” You stood and embraced her lightly and then she turned to James. “It was good to see you again, James. Make sure Bucky here stays out of trouble.”

“How can we when he’s the trouble?” you pondered, and everyone roared with laughter – all except for Bucky, who rolled his eyes and fixed a hard stare at you.

She strolled away with a small wave, and Bucky fell back into his seat with a groan. “You two are the fucking worst, I swear,” he said. “The fucking worst.”

“But you love us,” you sang, grinning and batting your lashes. James put his head against yours and softened his eyes so it looked like he was pouting.

“Heaven help me,” Bucky huffed, and he ran a hand down his face before he smiled softly – ignorant of how deeply red his blush still was. “I do, I fuckin’ do.”

stervyatniki = vultures zatknis' = shut the fuck up U nas yest' rabota = we have a job to do

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x female reader x winter soldier #bucky barnes x f!reader x winter soldier #bucky barnes x reader x winter soldier #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #hotbuckysummer2023 #rookthorne's works

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dracula-dictionary · 10 months

Text

Dracula Dictionary, August 8th

sultry: humid and hot

Mulgrave Woods, Robin Hood's Bay, Rig Mill, Runswick, Staithes: villages close to Whitby

steamer: a steamship

Scarborough: a seaside town just south of Whitby

eminence: a rise of ground; a hill

mares'-tails: clouds that have a long slender flowing appearance

assemblage: a gathering

athwart: across

R. A. and R. I.: the Royal Academy of Art and the Royal Institute of Art

schooner: a ship with at least two masts where the sails go from front to back rather than from side to side

undulating: moving up and down like waves

rapidity: speed

convulse: disturb or upset severely

spume: foam

lanthorn: lantern

stanchion: a fixed vertical bar or pole used as a support

gunwale: the upper edge of a ship's side

old salt: an old sailor

fetch up: stop

hitherto: until now

a pall: something that covers or conceals

mirabile dictu: it's a miracle

lashed: tied

concussion: a hard blow

spar: a wooden pole that supports sails and rigging

stay: a large strong rope used to support a mast

top-hammer: (should be top-hamper), matter or weight (such as spars or rigging) in the upper part of a ship

derelict: run-down, abandoned

aft: towards the back of a ship

to and fro: back and forth

Admiralty Court: a court that deals with all laws related to the sea

salvage: the ship or cargo saved in a rescue

contravention: contradict, violate

statutes of mortmain: laws that say that property cannot be owned by a "dead hand" (although the "dead hand" usually means a corporation (especially the church) and not an actual dead person)

Casabianca: a poem about a boy who refuses to leave his post on a burning ship after everyone else has already fled

mortuary: a place where dead bodies are kept before burial

inquest: an investigation conducted by a coroner into the cause of death of a person

Yorkshire: a part of northern England

wolds: a hilly region

#dracula daily #dracula dictionary #8 august #dracula daily 8 august #dracula dictionary 8 august

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tiannasfanfic · 2 years

Text

Check-In for the Recently Deceased: Part 1

Eddie Munson x Reader (Angst)

| Masterlist | AO3 Link |

Summary: Eddie Munson never knew what to expect after he died. However, a waiting room certainly wasn't his first guess of what was waiting for him in the great beyond.

Rating: Mature

Author Note: Gender neutral reader, they/them pronouns if any. Pat 1 of ?. Here's the start of another story for Spooky Season, this time featuring ghost!Eddie. 👻 I couldn’t find Eddie’s official birthdate anywhere, so I went with Joseph Quinn’s month and day.

CW: Major ST4 Spoilers; a lot of talk about death; mentions of ways to die (no details); mentions of wounds (left as vague as possible); mention of bloody clothes; angst (people reacting to the news they've died); hurt/comfort; dark humor.

Word Count: 3,746

Tag List: (I tagged everyone that commented on my original post, but please let me know if you want to be taken off. 😊) @tommiruewrites @munsonsmullet @who-let-me-write-this @lunr-flwr @hellfirefiend @bxtch-bou @jadeylovesmarvelxo @sataniquepanique @reincarnationoftheparty @corrodcd @iamnotagarden @idkidknemore

A long time ago, mankind developed spoken language and began conversing with one another.

Since then, one topic above all other has dominated conversations. This topic is ultimately what led to the invention of debates and, inevitably, the invention of arguments. It is a topic that has ruined friendships, torn apart families, and started many a long and bloody war.

Is there life after death?

Most religions of the world certainly seem to think so. They all have different names for it. Heaven, Valhalla, Zion, Elysium, and so on, but they all mean the same thing. Eternal paradise where your soul can be at rest.

Granted, not everyone believed in that sort of thing. While Agnostics don’t quite know where they are going, they are quite confident that they are going somewhere. Atheists, as far as they know, just wink out of existence at their time of death, but they are perfectly fine with that.

However, no matter which theory or religion you believe in, absolutely no faith in the history of mankind has ever described the afterlife as a brightly lit waiting room.

That was why when Eddie Munson found himself passing through a revolving gate into aforementioned brightly lit waiting room, he blinked a few times in surprise.

Last thing he knew, he was badly hurt and laying on the ground, looking up at Dustin and giving him instructions to take over Hellfire. He remembered being certain he was about to die, but then he was here. Eddie had no memory of getting from there to here.

The revolving gate whacked him in the back then, pushing him a few steps further into the room. He turned around to see what was outside but couldn’t see anything beyond the gate except for darkness and fog. Above the door was a lit sign that stated, No Exit. Indeed, there was no way to get back through the revolving tines of the gate. It was one way only.

Turning back to the main room, he finally took in his surroundings.

A few feet ahead of him was a small sign on top of a pole. It said Administration with an arrow pointing to the left, and Waiting Room just under that with an arrow pointing right.

Looking to his right, the waiting area reminded him of an ER. There were multiple rows of empty chairs, a few end tables and coffee tables stacked with magazines. and a coffee service cart in the corner, which made the room vaguely smell like coffee.

Looking to his left, on the other hand, reminded him of the DMV. The counter serving as the desk area was behind privacy glass and had five sliding windows. Eddie could just make out a shadow behind each window, indicating someone was at the desk behind it. Ropes attached to stanchions turned the open floor area into a little rope maze leading to the desk, which encouraged orderly queuing. A little ticket dispenser stood on a little pole at the back of the line, encouraging people to take a number before getting in line.

And, just like DMV and ER waiting rooms, soft elevator muzak was playing through the overhead speakers.

While the room was perfectly normal, with items and furniture typical for all waiting rooms, it all seemed distorted somehow. Eddie couldn’t quite put his finger on why, but everything was slightly warped, like it was just a step to the side of what it should look like.

A handwritten sign was taped to the pole underneath the printed one. Eddie stepped closer to read it.

Please check-in with Admitting first upon arrival. We cannot be held responsible if you go to Waiting first and end up sitting there for 27 and 9/18ths of a year. - Management

While being in a waiting room is never fun, that seemed like an oddly precise exaggeration. Eddie passed it off as someone in the office having a bad day from being on the receiving end of one too many ass chewings.

As directed, Eddie went to the Admissions area, taking a ticket from the small machine before following the path laid out with the ropes. He thought about hopping them since he was literally the only person in here, but stopped himself. He still didn’t know where he was or how he got here, so being cautious seemed like a good idea, especially after everything else he had just gone through.

Once he got to the head of the line, Eddie finally looked at the ticket he was holding.

4, the print on the ticket said.

Eddie looked up from the ticket to a glowing red sign above the counter.

Now Serving: 3, it said.

A few minutes passed, then there was a ding from the sign as the number changed from 3 to 4 and one of the windows slid open with a sudden bang that made Eddie jump.

“Next!” a loud voice called from it.

Eddie started to hurry over to the window but came to a sudden stop when he looked at the woman sitting behind the desk and his brain processed what he was seeing.

She was missing half of her face and part of her head.

Eddie stared at her, horrified. He felt a scream starting to rise up in his throat, an icy feeling of fear gripping him.

But then the woman did something so unexpected, it surprised him out of his fear.

She rolled her remaining eye with a loud huff and waved Eddie over impatiently.

“Come on, come on,” she said, her voice bored sounding. “I haven’t got all day.”

Eddie blinked, then slowly stepped up in front of the desk. Despite how she looked, he was able to understand the woman clearly. There was no lisp, gargle or anything of that nature when she spoke, just a hint of a Jersey accent. On top of that, she seemed perfectly at ease, not in any sort of pain.

Regardless of how realistic it looked; Eddie decided it had to be makeup. Really, really fucking good makeup, but makeup nonetheless. It was the only thing that made sense.

“Name?” the woman asked, turning her attention to what looked like a typewriter hooked up to a small TV.

“Um,” Eddie said, eyes darting from the weird piece of equipment. “Eddie Munson.”

“Just Eddie, Edward or something else?”

“Edward.”

The woman started typing then on the strange device. Eddie watched curiously as green lines of text appeared on the black screen as she typed. This must be one of those new computer things he’d heard about. He hadn’t seen one before since Hawkins High’s newest technology was still ancient as all hell.

“Birthday?” she asked.

“May 15, 1966,” Eddie answered.

The woman typed some more.

“Place of origin?”

“Hawkins, Indiana.”

The woman typed again and then began staring at the computer like she was waiting on something. Eddie glanced at the computer and saw the screen was dark now except for a blinking green cursor. A second later, some text appeared.

No records found.

The woman sighed.

“I swear, why do they give us all this new technology if they don’t have all of our information in it yet? Easier, they said. Pfft.”

The woman pushed her chair back, yanked open a filing cabinet under the desk and started rifling through the files in it.

Eddie got a better look at her then. Whatever costume party they were having up here, she had clearly gone all out for it. She was dressed as a dead homecoming queen, complete with long, frilly pink dress, pink heels, an elaborate crown over a partially fallen up-do, and a banner across her chest that stated OCHS Homecoming ‘71.

It was very creative, though he couldn’t tell how she was supposed to have died. Some sort of head injury, for sure, but that’s as far as he could guess.

“Ah, here we go,” she pulled a file out of the cabinet, closed it and scooted back up to the desk. “Here are today’s scheduled departures. Give me just a moment to find you.”

Eddie waited as she began to skim the papers in the file one by one. There were quite a few to go through, and it took a while to look over each one. At a glance, every page contained a rather comprehensive list of names, dates and locations.

Finally, after looking over the last page, the woman looked at Eddie with a furrow in the middle of her forehead.

“And you’re sure you are Edward Munson, May 15, 1966, Hawkins, Indiana?”

“Yeah, I think I know who I am,” he said, laughing a little.

However, the Homecoming Queen didn’t seem to find it quite so amusing. She raised an eyebrow at him with a stoic expression.

“This it can be an extremely traumatic experience for some,” she scolded Eddie, and his smile faded. “Depending on your reason for being here, you may not quite remember who you are at first.” Then she gestured to the ruined side of her head. “Took me over a week to get my bearings.”

Eddie mumbled an apology, even though he didn’t know what he was apologizing for. The woman’s face relaxed and she flipped the folder closed.

“I don’t have you in today’s file, so you may be in one of our Potentially Early files,” she said, then looked him up and down. “I can already tell I don’t need to check the Terminal Cases file. I’m going to assume the Unexpected Animal Attack file then?”

Eddie quirked his head at her in confusion, and the Homecoming Queen gestured at all of him. He looked down at himself and staggered backwards a few steps in shock.

This was the first time he had actually paid attention to himself. His Hellfire shirt was all torn to shreds through the torso and bloody. The wounds underneath it were still open, though they had completely stopped bleeding. He reached up in a near panic to feel both sides of his neck. His fingers were met with similar feeling wounds, and he quickly jerked them away. Oddly, none of them hurt despite the extent of the damage. They just kind of felt numb and a bit tingly, sort of like when his leg would fall asleep. Not exactly painful, but not exactly pleasant either.

Eddie looked back up to the woman and slowly nodded in answer to her questions. Technically, the Demobats were animals.

She nodded in acknowledgement, then swapped the file she had with a different one in the cabinet and started going through it the same way.

As she did that, Eddie’s head was reeling.

His last memories of Dustin, suddenly being here, the way Homecoming Queen looked, the way he looked…it all spun together in his mind to form the beginnings of a conclusion.

“Am I dead?” Eddie asked suddenly.

Homecoming Queen slowly lifted her gaze back to him, fixing him with a weird look before she slowly nodded her head. Then she turned her attention back to the file.

While Eddie had expected to die soon while he said goodbye to Dustin, the confirmation felt like a punch to the stomach.

And also, somehow, severely underwhelming.

After hearing this very topic debated virtually his entire life, Eddie never was sure what to believe in as far as god or the afterlife was concerned. But it always seemed to him like if there was something afterwards, there would be something big to let you know of the change. Kind of like puberty or getting old. One minute you’re fine, the next you’re a mess. It seemed like death would be the same way. Not just…one second, you’re dying, then next you’re in a waiting room. Was this really the afterlife?

“Hmm,” Homecoming Queen said, startling Eddie out of his thoughts.

“What?” he asked.

“You’re not in Unexpected Animal Attacks either,” she said, putting the file back in its proper order. “That must mean you’re really early.”

“Early?” he asked, blinking.

She nodded, replacing the file back into the cabinet.

“It happens sometimes,” she said. “As they say, shit happens. The sisters can only predict so much with so many fates in their hands. I’ll need to have the Librarians pull your Book of Life and check the date of your scheduled departure. Once I know when you were actually supposed to be here, I can go from there and see about getting you a placement.”

Eddie continued to stare at her, confusion passing over his features.

“Placement?” he asked. “Scheduled departure? Librarians? This all sounds way more like office work than I would have expected.”

Homecoming Queen chuckled, a bit of a smile her half face. There was a bit of a glimmer in her eye that gave away she saw a level of humor in his words that he didn’t quite get.

“Tell me about it,” she said, then shook her head a bit. “Luckily, you have your whole future in death ahead of you. Me? I’m permanently assigned right here to this very desk.”

“An afterlife behind a desk?” Eddie said, wrinkling his nose. “That sounds more like hell to me.”

The Homecoming Queen smiled at Eddie again, this time with a wizened look before she slightly nodding her head in agreement.

“If I knew then what I know now…” she said, letting her voice trail off, before shaking her head. “Anyhow. Please have a seat. It may take some time to find and pull your Book, but I’ll call you back up here once they’ve sent up the information I need. But, in the meantime.”

She pushed her chair away from her desk over to a shelf holding several a stacks of books. She took one and scooted back over to the window, where she slid the book across the counter to Eddie. He looked down, reading the name on the cover.

Handbook for the Recently Deceased.

“Now is a good time to start reading up,” she said, then tapped the cover with one finger. “Start from the beginning. Don’t skim it like some people do. Trust me, it’ll answer most of your questions, teach you about your new reality, and it will give some starting pointers.”

Eddie nodded and thanked her. As he was turning away from the counter, Homecoming Queen turned to the phone on her desk, hit a button on it, then picked up the receiver.

“Hey, it’s Diana from Admin,” he heard her saying into the phone as he was walking away. “I need the Book for Edward Munson, May 15, 1966, Hawkins, Indiana pulled for departure verification. He’s early, possibly very early, so he should still be categorized under-“

Eddie didn’t catch the rest of it as his attention was caught by two people coming in through the revolving gate. He did a double take, then quickly averted his eyes. They were in worse states than both him and the Homecoming Queen combined. He figured at this point it was impolite to stare at the other dead people. He kept his head down and made for a chair on the farthest end of the waiting room. A quick glance up showed them reading the signs and then heading for Admitting.

And so, the wait began.

A few more people trickled into the waiting room through the gate. Eddie couldn’t help but people watch as they all went to get checked in. Each new person that walked in sent a small jolt of shock through his system. Every single one looked like they had been through a horrific accident. It got easier to look at them without wanting to stare as time went on.

But then the trickle of dead souls soon turned into a steady stream as more and more people began coming through the gate.

It didn’t really dawn on Eddie that this might be an odd occurrence, even when he started recognizing people from around town. It wasn’t anyone he knew personally, mainly just those he largely saw in passing, such as the night clerk from the only 24-hour gas station in Hawkins and the waitress from Benny’s that Eddie usually flirted with. They were both young, in their late teens at minimum, so it was strange seeing them in the afterlife. Both looked like they had been through major accidents. Then again, everyone that came in looked like that to varying degrees, as if a lot of people in Hawkins had suddenly become a fatal level of accident prone.

He was starting to wonder about it when more people came in that he recognized. These weren’t just service workers he encountered in day-to-day life; these were people he knew on various levels. There were a few of his fellow students, two of his teachers and random people he had seen at The Hideout, among others. At one point, Eddie thought he heard Max calling for Lucas, but when he went to look for her to keep her company, he couldn’t find her.

A wheelchair came through the gate just then, one of those old-fashioned ones from the early 20th century. This wasn’t a strange sight as several people had come through in wheelchairs when their injuries were too severe to let them move about on their own. Even though the chairs were manual, they seemed to have a mind of their own at first. They self-propelled themselves and their passenger through the gate, then would wheel themselves off to the side out of the way. This is where they would stay unless they wheeled themselves somewhere else or someone helped them.

While he hadn’t recognized any of the others who came through in a chair, this particular wheelchair contained none other than Eddie’s tormentor, Jason Carver.

At first, Eddie couldn’t help but feel a little smug. If he had to be here, it seemed somehow fitting that Jason would be too. He had no plans to go rub it in his face though, the knowledge that Jason got his was more than-

Then the wheelchair re positioned itself and he forgot all about his spiteful thoughts when he saw the state Jason was in. Saying he had been cut in half was putting it mildly. It looked like he had been melted through around his middle. The top half of Jason’s body was sitting in his own lap.

Eddie was still trying to process this when Jason looked down and saw for himself the condition, he was in.

Everyone who passed through the waiting room had a different reaction to the revelation they were dead. Some took it well and seemed unbothered, while others openly sobbed or sat in shocked silence. But Jason was the first to openly scream in abject terror. He started screaming in terror and panic. He started to trash in his chair in his panic. That was when he discovered all of his limbs still worked just fine despite being separated. This seemed to freak him out even more, and his screams took a higher pitched, frantic tone.

The other people in the waiting room were not pleased with this.

“Pipe down!” one person yelled.

“Be glad you still have legs!” someone in a different wheelchair cried.

“We’re all dead! You ain’t special!” another person scolded.

If Jason heard them, he didn’t acknowledge them, too lost in his own panic attack to pay attention to anything else.

It was at that particular moment that Eddie realized something.

Despite everything that had happened, despite everything he had been put through at Jason’s hands, from the bullying when he was growing up to recent events, Eddie couldn’t just sit there and do nothing when the man desperately needed help. Jason Carver was an asshole, yes, but not even assholes deserve to go through something so traumatic like this alone.

Before he could think about it more, Eddie was on his feet, quickly making his way through the now crowded waiting room over to the Captain of the basketball team.

“Hey man, hey hey,” Eddie said with a gentle tone once he’d reached Jason, hesitating briefly before putting a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, everything’s gonna be fine, you just have to breathe through it. It’s shocking, I know, but try to breathe.”

It seemed ironic telling a dead person to breathe, but that was a train of thought for another time.

Jason’s head snapped up, eyes widening even more when he saw who was talking to him.

“Y-you!” Jason said, sputtering angrily. “Why, of all the-“

Then he stopped, his glare meeting Eddie’s sympathetic gaze. His face went blank for a few seconds before a look of dawning realization came over it.

“I-it wasn’t you…was it?”

Eddie slowly shook his head. Jason stared at him for a moment before a look of horror came over his face.

Death has a way of bringing someone clarity. They see what should have been obvious in life. It was one of those little twists the universe likes to throw at you when it’s too late to change anything or make it right.

“I-I,” Jason stuttered, a look of deep shame coming to his face.

It was at that moment Eddie found himself understanding Jason, too. Their pain and fear in life really hadn’t been much different from each other’s, but they were worlds apart socially and never would have seen that on their own. So, they hated each other instead.

Eddie waved off whatever apology Jason was trying to give.

“Water under the bridge,” he said. “It doesn’t really matter now anyway.” Eddie looked around at all the people occupying the large space and then gestured to all of them. “Henry Creel made sure of that.”

Jason looked at Eddie for a moment, then let his gaze sweep around the room. It was the first time he had really paid attention to the other people in the waiting room. His jaw dropped. Then he turned back to Eddie and got a really good look at him. He slowly looked him over, then back down at himself, before meeting Eddie’s gaze again.

“We didn’t survive the earthquake,” Jason said quietly. “Did we?”

Eddie shook his head, then went around to the back of the chair to start pushing Jason over to Admitting.

“Let’s get you in line for check in,” Eddie said, slowly navigating the chair through the crowded waiting room. “And I’ll fill you in as best I can.”

#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfiction #ghost eddie #ghost!eddie #ghost eddie munson #fanfic crossovers

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in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather · 1 year

Note

darling silky

i hope i didn't overwhelm you with all the asks 😳

i'm just to excited by the prospect of getting more mills stories from you i can't stop spinning out !

💗love you💗

💗

Not at all, they are so fun and have me dreaming up so many different stories! <3 Thank you so much for all the lovely prompts :)

Since several people asked for a Ruined Wedding with Mills, I thought I would share a quick scene from one of the stories I'm considering with that plot. I hope you like it :)

CW: allusions to injuries, death, light choking and manhandling, under-the-wedding-dress shenanigans, and your daily serving of angst

WC: ~3.4k

Summary: Mills and RC are operatives for the Museum, a guild of assassins. Mills had been with her since day one, helping recruit her and show her the ropes. He was even the first mistake she made, when they gave in to their attraction and had a clandestine affair, even though the Museum frowned on such relationships. Things changed fundamentally between then and now. Henry, her fiancé, is a fellow Museum operative who would not be dissuaded from making their relationship known, demanding official permission to make their union formal. Now the first wedding at the Museum is set to take place, but things are not as they first appear. Mills realizes that two competing Curators, each vying for a seat on the Board of Directors of the Museum, are planning to use the momentous wedding as the stage for a bloody coup. He needs to convince the bride that she is in danger and that they can make it through the night If they work together. And along the way, Mills has every intention of rekindling their old flame.

WC: ~3.4k

The Poine Museum was a tall, majestic edifice, as grandiose on the outside as it was within its thick walls, sprawling wide and soaring high into the night sky.

As far as the rest of the world was concerned, it was a privately owned entity which attracted a global patronage of private collectors who all shared and exchanges priceless pieces of art and cultural heritage. The Museum regularly bid in auctions for prestigious pieces, occasionally taking them home and depositing them safely into the Vault.

Behind the stanchions and velvet curtains, the Poine Museum was a guild of assassins. With a long and storied history, a largely clandestine one, there were many rules in place that allowed the Museum to continue functioning. Possible targets and new operatives were meticulously researched and chosen only if the Board of Directors voted unanimously. Training for operatives was Spartan in nature and there were no guarantees issued – not of ultimately being admitted into the guild, nor even of surviving. What kept operatives firmly tethered to the Museum were the scrupulously chosen targets – undeniably rotten characters who evaded justice through more mainstream channels.

One of the essential pillars of the Museum was that its operatives seldom made lasting unions with outsiders, given the exigencies of the profession they had undertaken. Trysts between operatives were discouraged, but overlooked once done. There was really no helping such matters once the milk was spilled, so to speak. Bonds and marriages between them, however, were a different matter.

Experience had taught the Board of the Museum that operatives involved with one another in major ways grew less efficient, suffered a higher rate of injury and made poorer decisions during Exhibitions. In short, emotional bonds made them more irrational as individuals and worse as operatives.

That was all well enough and generally an easy rule to live by. No Museum operative wanted to bring work home. All Museum personnel were on a retainer and paid bonuses per Exhibition. Exhibitions could last for weeks and even months in extreme cases and if the target was illustrious enough, and they often came out of the blue. Once Provenance established a viable target, which was a complex process in itself, and the Board signed off on it, it was up to Acquisitions to get their hands on it by any means necessary. The last thing any operative wanted was to return home and either be separated from their partner, who was off setting up an Exhibition, or have their precious downtime, meant for decompressing, invaded by more Museum-related work.

So business carried on at the Museum for decades. Until now.

The first official wedding between two operatives was set to be held at the Museum building itself.

You clinked your flute of champagne to your maid of honor’s and shared a smile before tipping your head back, enjoying the citrusy notes over the tang as the drink slid smoothly down your throat. Alexandria was wearing a slate blue satin dress that suited her deep skin tone beautifully. It complemented both the champagne tone of your wedding dress and the slate blue shirt and cufflinks your groom was wearing too. The Museum thought of everything.

You were grateful that Alexandria was with you as you got dressed. The unthinkable had happened – one of your seams had split open as you shimmied into the skin-tight dress. Being an operative from Restorations, she was able to help you get into your dress and laced you up perfectly in the back before setting about fixing the split.

“Lucky for you, I stitched up way worse with way less,” she gritted out through her teeth as she bit off the thread and put it through the needle first go.

“I thought we couldn’t bring in anything through the metal detectors,” you frowned, pleasantly surprised she had her Restorations kit with her.

“Fish bone,” she looked up and smiled, closing the seam up swiftly, leaving it as good as new. You had proof on your own body that she made immaculate stitches, so you had no doubt the seam she fixed was now secure for the duration of event, no matter what acrobatics ensued.

The tall door to your suite opened noiselessly and one of Henry’s groomsmen poked his bald, shiny head in. “45 minutes, ladies,” he informed in a jovial tone and promptly retreated, leaving you to your bridal business.

Alexandria squeezed your hands excitedly and stomped in place like an excited child. “You ready?” At times it seemed like the guests attending the event felt more excited than the future Mrs. McHenry, you mused. This was a brief moment, to be your own, and you might get to be footnote in the Museum’s history as the two operatives to officially get married, but people were far more excited for this wedding meant in the grand scheme of things. The Museum was not as immutably set it stone as everyone had it beaten into them during their training. Things could change and drastically so. One only had to push decisively in the direction they wished to go.

“Ready or not, it’s showtime,” you shrugged and accepted her hug as she threw her arms around you. She gave one last wave and sent a kiss goodbye before disappearing behind the door, to descend the many levels down to the Gallery, where the ceremony would soon be taking place.

With her departure, you had a reprieve of a few seconds to enjoy the quiet and solitude of the cavernous suite, draining the rest of your drink.

With a visceral grunt, you heard Julian land on your balcony. Too adventurous for a simple entrance through a door, he opted to sneak into the adjoining suite and scale the length of wall separating you, climbing on the balcony and heaving his massive body over it. He was currently absorbed in jimmying your lock.

With a sigh, you walked over and threw the door open. His face fell in disappointment when the door gave way so easily, as though you’d snatched a candy bar from his hands.

“Coast clear?” he asked in his usual husky whisper, looking to your left and right as you retreated into the lavishly decorated room and he followed.

“What’s the matter, Mills? Provenance not giving you enough opportunities you chase thrills? You have to break into my wedding to get your rocks off?”

Not in the mood for teasing or much preamble of any kind, Julian’s expression darkened like a stormy sky. He grew terribly still, somehow managing to loom even larger as he stood quiet as the grave and unmoving. You barely had enough time to set your glass down before he grabbed you by the arms and pulled you into him. He folded you into his broad chest and locked his arms around you so that all you could do was part your lips and welcome his devouring kiss, slackening into his hold and fighting for breath under the bruising force of his affections.

“Easy,” you panted as you fought to catch your breath once he released you. Julian wasn’t listening, though, walking bodily into you and all but pushing you onto the bed.

He stopped just short of tossing you backwards, for a brief moment, snaking his hands down your arms and spreading them wide to take in the sight of you all dolled up for the wedding.

“God, you’re breathtaking,” he frowned, feeling what a momentous occasion this day represented. You saw a hundred hungry thoughts go through his mind, shining darkly in his eyes as they raked up and down your body. The possessive beast inside him roared to life, rancorous that you were dressed up like a vision to marry a different man, even if it was just for show. You saw the change come over him and knew he was seeing red. There was no reasoning with him then.

His hand tightened painfully around your wrist and he stepped into you, sending you both toppling into the queen sized bed. Julian groaned into his kiss and straddled over you, one hand coming up to coil around your neck. He squeezed experimentally, tighter and tighter until you squirmed under him and wrapped a warning hand around his wrist. You remembered then all the truncated fights you had, snatching moments to throw accusations back and forth as to whose fault it was that things shook out the way they did. His hand around your throat, huge and monstrously strong, reminded you how much he loved to have the last word. You grabbed a handful of his hair roughly in retaliation and bit on full lower lip until you started to taste blood. The kiss was all teeth and struggle, more punishing than pleasurable.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, sweetheart,” he rambled as he left sloppy, sucking kisses down your neck and chest, some primal part of him wanting you mark you up visibly as his.

“I know,” you huffed a laugh and smoothed his hair away from his face with a gentler hand, working to wind him down and remind him not to lose it so close to the moment of truth. He sat up, not shying away from burdening your hips with his full weight, which pushed the air out of you in a strained grunt. Julian watched you sprawled under him and took a deep breath, running his hand down his face. “I didn’t spend the whole day getting ready not to look spectacular by the end,” you arched a brow and he caged you in with his large hands on either side of your face, dipping his head lower. The tips of his long inky hair tickled your cheeks before you coiled a hand between your faces. “And I’d like to keep it that way,” you warned with your index finger blocking his hungry mouth from seeking out yours again.

Julian grumbled like a large, dissatisfied cat as he inched down your body, reluctantly relinquishing his favored position on top of you. He offered a gentlemanly hand and helped you stand up. Going down on one knee, he looked up from his submissive position, enjoying the sight of you still flustered from what he did to you.

You hiked up your dress, revealing the full length of your naked leg, save for the garter on your thigh, and placed your heel on his proffered knee. He smirked like a cat playing with a mouse and ran his eyes over the flesh of your leg. Hands followed where his eyes had roamed, mapping out every inch and every curve from your ankle, up your calf and the often forgotten erogenous zone right at the back of the knee, ghosting the tips of his calloused fingers over the soft spot until he saw your thigh flex deeply from his teasing touch. Then he ran his warm hand over your thigh, tracing his thumb over the white lace of the garter.

“You got something for me, big guy?” you bumped his shoulder with your knee as a reminder and he smirked, biting his lips to keep his comment in.

With a wicked glint in his eye, he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced a short dagger, with a dramatic curve in its wide blade. The hilt was a smooth white bone with inlaid golden veins. It was a beautifully made scimitar dagger, and its design and sturdiness made it highly versatile. The blade was no more than eight inches, but it was a veritable butcher’s knife that could cut, skin and debone with ease. A marvelous choice for the evening’s festivities.

With an approving smile from you, Julian took the liberty of sliding the cool blade delicately against your skin, watching gooseflesh rise under the cold lick of steel. You hissed and felt the slice of cool metal shoot all the way through you. When the hilt hit the garter, he tested it, wiggling it back and forth and was pleasantly surprised to see it was not moving around. You had chosen well too, Julian realized. The garter you were wearing was essentially a lace-trimmed harness. He wondered if it could be repurposed as a kind of garrote in a pinch, but then he realized it was a silly question. You knew what you were doing.

Next, he fished out a straight razor with an ornate ivory handle. The blade was polished smooth, nearly as reflective as glass and it gleamed as it caught the light, spinning and snapping open and shut around Julian’s thick fingers, dancing like a butterfly knife around his thumb, jumping over to between his index and middle finger, looking like it would bite off the tips of his fingers at any moment, but never managing to. The message was clear; this was a weapon you could easily use and shove back somewhere against your skin safely – if you’re agile and fast enough – as opposed to other, clunkier weapons you would need to bury in someone’s body or discard as you ran or climbed. You took the razor and slid it between your breasts, letting it rest inconspicuously against the boning of your corset.

While you rearranged your bust, Julian placed a kiss on your knee, dragging his prickly beard and mustache up the soft flesh of your thigh. You buried your hands in his long hair and he nipped, smiling into your skin when he felt the jolt it sent through you.

“It’s been too long, hasn’t it?” he pondered out loud as he pressed his full lips into your thigh, pushing your voluminous dress out of the way with both hands wrangling its many layers.

Your head fell back against the wall with a thud and your eyes rolled shut when he burrowed his prominent nose against the lace of your underwear, leaving a smacking kiss against the fabric.

You felt teeth graze and catch the edge, sliding your underwear to the side and your eyes flew open when you realized he had no intention of stopping. Hands scrambling to grab a firm hold of his hair as it kept bobbing and getting lost in the tulle and satin, you finally managed to grab two fistfuls and yank him back. He emerged from the white waterfall cascading down your hips with a satisfied, drunken expression and you teetered, planting your feet to find your balance independent of his body. His hands stayed under your dress and held your thighs firmly at the sides. Your breasts nearly overflowed out of the dress as you heaved breaths and tried to glare, but Julian was still looking far too pleased with what he had done, beginning to move his teasing hands under your dress again.

“You need to go,” you warned, not looking forward to parting with him.

“What’s the rush?” he shrugged and got to his feet, stretching to his full height like an elegant black cat in his tailored suit. A black tie rested against a black shirt and his massive, chiseled form was held in by an immaculately tailored jacket, in his favorite midnight black shade. You were pleased to see he went the extra mile to look good for the event. “The wedding can’t go on without you. Make ‘em wait for it, sweat a little,” he winked and pressed up against you, crowding you against the wall. You shut your eyes in exasperation, as unwilling to make him go as he was to leave.

Accepting momentary defeat, you wrapped your arms around his neck and felt him position himself so his body fit perfectly against yours, chest pushed into yours, hips kissing up against yours and lapping like waves against you. You kissed him deliberately, making sure to taste his lips, his tongue, his skin as you burrowed into him, latching onto his sinewy neck and making him groan a symphony into your ear.

His hips pressed more insistently against you and you closed your eyes to savor the sensation of him. Then a laugh rocked through his body as he felt something under your dress. “Is that a scimitar in your pocket or are you happy to see me?” he grinned like a fool in love and you shook your head, drunk on the sharp, masculine scent of his perfume and the insistence of his body against yours.

“I think that should be my line,” you teased and wiggled your hips under him, feeling with your body for the thick rod of flesh growing stiffer by the moment. Even through all the ample cushioning of your dress, you felt what you were doing to him and gave him a satisfied peck, which he unsuccessfully tried to deepen.

His large hand disappeared behind your back and cupped your ass, pressing you closer to him and he nuzzled against your neck, right at the spot that always made you squirm and moan his name. When it didn’t come as expected, he pulled away and looked at your questioningly through the curtain of dark hair you mussed up together.

“What is it?” he asked, flipping it out of the way to take a better look at you. As if you needed any more reason than the obvious to be preoccupied. He had just stolen artifacts from the Museum to help you defend yourself once the two factions started raising hell at your wedding reception. Your intended wedding was to become a massacre and you could not let anyone know that you knew.

Regardless of the obvious concerns, he waited steadily, ready to listen if you wanted to share anything before all hell broke loose. His eyes almost black with blown out pupils, cheeks flushed as he panted from your embrace and lips sumptuously kiss-bitten, he made your heart ache.

“This could very well be the last time I’ll ever be pretty,” you shrugged, opting for a joke. All things considered, you were grateful Julian got to see you like this, dressed up like a doll, and hold you, even if it was just for a few moments. It gave you the chance to imagine how it might have been had it been you two getting married. After you were done climbing out from under a mountain of assassins, you could have a broken nose, a missing eye, a scar splitting your face in half. You’d seen operatives survive malfunctioning parachutes and headshots, with Restorations giving them top of the line reconstructive surgery. They were never quite the same afterwards, of course, but you figured you could get used to it. If you make it in the first place, that is.

Julian was silent for a moment too long, at a loss for how to comfort you without resorting to hollow platitudes. “I was never pretty and I did just fine,” he gave a crooked smile and ran his hand down your cheek. His face switched to business-like as he dug two thick fingers into the elaborate hairdo you spent a good hour and half sitting still for and tossed a hairpin to the floor. He retrieved one, in the shape of a butterfly, with sapphires embedded into its elegant body, glinting between intricate silver wiring that made up its wings. The delicate beauty of the decorative piece stood in stark contrast to the thick, sturdy blades, curved to lay harmlessly against your scalp, but sharp enough to punch through flesh and hack at it.

“Almost forgot – something blue,” his mouth curved into a satisfied half-smile as he carefully slid the hairpin into place, holding his breath in concentration lest he scratch you.

“You’re the most striking man I’ve ever seen in my life,” you admitted as you watched him, feeling your eyes involuntarily fill with tears.

Julian, instead of flattered, looked horror-stricken.”No,” his nostrils flared angrily and his face grew stern, ”don’t do that. Don’t say goodbye to me.”

“I’m not, I just—“

Whatever you were about to say died in the space where his lips met yours and your breath became his. It was for the best. There was nothing you could have expressed in words that you couldn’t express with the way you held onto him, like he was all you would ever have.

@thegrislady @safarigirlsp @queeniebee @lumberjack00fantasies @vedavan @mythrielofsolitude @house-of-cadwyn

#commander mills x you #commander mills x reader

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johnduke04 · 1 year

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Stanchion rope

A stanchion rope is a decorative and functional element used in crowd control and queue management systems. It consists of a rope attached to stanchion posts or barriers, creating a designated pathway or boundary. The rope is typically made of velvet, braided fabric, or synthetic material and is available in various colors to match the desired aesthetic. Stanchion rope are commonly seen in upscale venues, hotels, theaters, museums, and red-carpet events. They add a touch of elegance and sophistication to the crowd control setup, creating a visual barrier while guiding people along the desired path. Stanchion ropes are often used in conjunction with stanchion posts, allowing for easy installation and adjustment as needed. They serve both a functional purpose by directing the flow of people and a decorative purpose by enhancing the overall ambiance and atmosphere of the space.

#crowd control barriers #retractable barrier #rope and stanchion

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alphacrowdcontrol · 2 years

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Fight Against The Big Crowd Traffic With Stanchions! Organize your business with attractive stanchions. They let you create an organized queue line, which is helpful for customers looking for the service they want. You can purchase these stanchions online from https://www.alphacrowdcontrol.com

#retractable stanchions #rope and stanchion #stanchions

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yet-another-heathen · 11 months

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Rising to the West - I

2,576 words. The first re-penned chapter in my original series, The Jackal of An-Nadr.

For new readers, The Jackal is an ongoing whump series set in 1,200 BCE, where pre-Islamic fantasy meets the love of bloody sword fights, found family, and handsome men who long for nothing more than home. I am so excited for this unveiling, the love that you all have shown this series over the past several years means more to me than I could ever say. This is for you <3

- Masterpost -

<< | previous | next | >>

Chapter Warning | environmental whump, epic worldbuilding, demonic pirates and the massive sandships they sail, marooned in the middle of the desert with no hope of rescue, deadly levels of dehydration, very near-death experience, very brief allusion to noncon, prayer/fantasy religion, evading capture, foot injury

Taglist | @killtheprotagonist @secretwhumplair @ink-and-salt @kixngiggles @brutal-nemesis @thebewilderer @whumpsical @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whimperwoods @shydragonrider @pizzasthengym @thecyrulik @ceph-the-writing-spook @mylifeisonthebookshelf @ohwhumpydays @redwingedwhump

His name was Nadeem el-Azimi, and things had not gone according to plan.

He stumbled on the loose crest of the dune, barely able to blink his eyes open enough to right his path. His body swayed as he adjusted back onto course, aching with the effort it took to take those few extra steps. Sand cascaded down the face of the drift in steady intervals behind him, rushing toward the base like trickles of water.

Of all things, his mind kept circling and circling about how raw his feet felt. The loose, ever-shifting sand ground between his toes, and there was nothing he could do to make it stop.

The sun had set over the An-Nadr desert, and the temperature had plummeted with it. Nadeem pulled his waist sash tighter around his shoulders, clenching his jaw to keep it from clattering against the cold. The stars overhead were dying out one by one, but the warmth of dawn was hours away, even though the light would come sooner.

He kept walking. It only made it harder if he stopped.

In the distance, a low patch of scrub hugged the earth. The traders had taunted him with it when they marooned him amongst the sand. A sun-wrinkled face leered down at him as the others dumped him over the stanchion, the breath knocked from his lungs when he hit the ground. He struggled and gasped against his binds, while the men above him laughed.

“Three days to the east!” the old one said to him. The one whose filthy hands he could still feel roving over his body when he closed his eyes. He leaned over the rail and grinned as the other men tamed the mast behind him, the wind catching its girth and pulling it taut.

Nadeem thrashed and cursed through his gag, shouting desperately as the sandship began to move.

“Three days to the east you’ll find water,” he called back, “Better get going, little thief!”

And the shadow of the hull slid over his body, sunlight blinking between strips of rope. And then the white of the mast shrank beyond the waves, and the sandship had disappeared from sight.

It had taken him nearly half a day to struggle free of his bonds. By then he was utterly, entirely alone. For hundreds of miles in every direction, the only thing was sand.

That had been two and a half days ago. Anger had burned out into sorrow, then to hopelessness, then to a numbness that he couldn't shake. The leagues had passed underfoot slowly, pace worsening as his body had slowly begun to fail. Nadeem had never been a particularly stout man and, while he knew hunger like an old enemy, his body still was not made to endure the absence of water. Not like this. He rubbed mindlessly at the friction burns circling his wrists to try to distract himself from the endless drone of thirst.

Through the dark he could just barely begin making out the green against the washed-out blue of the surrounding sand, peeking between the dunes. He thought he could make out the shape of date trees, but he no longer trusted his eyes not to play tricks on him. They couldn’t be more than a few more hours away.

And as soon as he saw the oasis he knew he wasn’t going to make it.

And still he kept walking.

---

The first pearls of sunlight caught his shoulders, and he shuddered with relief. It wasn't enough, but with the night having long since sapped away his warmth, he’d take whatever he could get.

Those who crossed these deserts knew to travel after dusk once the savage temperatures had fallen, and to take shelter and sleep as much as they could through the long days when the heat would kill anything that moved. Any other day, he would have kept walking for another hour as the sun rose, then taken shelter behind one of the dunes to collapse until night fell again.

But not today. Today he could not afford to stop even for the dawn prayer. He knew it in the ache of his bones and the relentless throbbing of his head. He was dying. And if he stopped now, even for this, he wouldn't get back up.

He could not begin to describe how tempting the thought was. How loudly his body begged him to let him rest one last time, how shrilly his heart tried to convince him he had already done all he could. He could lay here and watch the colors of the sky change, feel the warmth wash over him. He could give himself one more sunrise. One more chance to watch the beauty of it all before it was gone.

His feet slowed to a stop, despite his commands. A slow breath, in and out through his nose. He reached up with puffy fingers to fumble with his face cloth, loosening it until the linen fell free.

Nadeem turned slowly back toward the glint of the sunrise, and closed his eyes. He had both won and lost his own bet. He had lived for one more day. He would take that victory, even if…even…

Keep moving, Nadeem. Those thoughts are going to kill you.

Today he would either make it to the oasis, or his body would be slowly being covered up and buried by the ever-creeping drifts that surrounded him. Those were the only two possibilities left, and it was getting harder and harder to believe that he had any hope of the former.

Control of his body was slipping, and apathy dulled his thoughts more and more with each passing breath. And still he mumbled out the soft, broken consonants of the prayer he had been clinging to, words repeated so many times in the last day that they had become nothing more than foreign sounds devoid of whatever had once made them words.

The comforting lines he had known since he was a child fell from him in a broken, confused tangle of what they were meant to be. He hoped the gods would still take the whisper for its intention rather than its delivery. He was fairly certain someone had once told him they would. That they knew.

He couldn't remember their face. He hoped it had been Hanona. She had always been right about such things.

Keep moving, Nadeem. You have to take one more step.

He whispered a quiet little apology to the air before him, reaching out as if to gently cling upon the fabric of someone’s robes. His fingers closed over nothing, and he let out a shaky little breath as he pulled the imagined cloth closer to the ache of his chest.

He swayed, felt the knot of dry tears in his throat. But he knew crying was beyond him now.

When eventually he realized that the strength to continue on was slipping for good, he summoned one last, Walk, Nadeem.

His foot answered him sluggishly, one barely-there step backwards. He cracked open his eyes.

And stopped.

Far in the distance, slipping along the razor’s edge between waves and sky, a pinprick of black was making its way across the sand.

A mirage. It had to be.

He stared at it in doubt, blinking to see if it would fade.

He watched it for what felt like a lifetime, so afraid that if he looked away it would be gone. But as the minutes passed and the shape grew closer, a fragile hope began to smolder in his chest.

A ship.

His head was swimming. The mast rose and dipped over a bank, light catching flecks of metal. But he could still make out the shape of the bow, cutting across the tops of the dunes.

He didn’t have the strength to cry out. He didn’t have the strength to move.

They were coming straight for the oasis, straight to him.

He couldn’t—he...he…

...he stopped.

The sandship rose to the top of another peak, sail catching the light of the sun beyond. For a moment everything was dark, then the cloth rippled and his heart ground to a stop.

The vibrant, cobalt blue sails of an Al Qururaqin cutter shone in the morning sun.

He stumbled backward, and ran.

The ground gave away beneath him as he bounded down the dark side of the dune, slipping and catching himself when he hit the bottom. His heart was pounding as he pressed his back into the side of it and began pulling armfuls of sand over his body.

He barely managed to cover his legs and the lower half of his chest, limbs burning with exertion. Black spots swam across his vision. His breaths came shallow and ragged through split lips. Still he clawed at the sand until he’d covered as much of himself as he could.

If the ship hadn’t already spotted him, the dunes gave him a chance of being passed unseen. If they had...

He held his breath, straining to keep his gasps under control.

And then he heard it. Someone singing loudly enough for their voice to carry. The unmistakable shuffing of wood, the sound of voices calling back and forth to one another.

It grew closer until someone gave a sharp shout, and the sound of the sail straining at its rigging changed. The sandship was close—far, far too close—and it was slowing to a stop.

Something heavy hit the ground and he shrank further back into the dune. Then another, then more.

Too late he realized his mistake. As he lay there straining to stay calm, there came the petrifying moment when he remembered the trail of footprints he’d left along the tops of the dunes. The ones that would lead them straight to him.

The sand gave him nowhere else to hide. If he stayed here, buried or not, they would find him. Casting around, he caught just the barest hint of green through the split in the dunes.

He didn’t have the strength. He knew he didn’t. But panic summoned every last shred of energy into his trembling legs, and before he could think he pushed to his feet and stumbled into a run.

His feet pounded against the earth. All his vision was a blur as he slid around the corner of a dune and up the channel between.

Dizziness swept over him, and he gasped and shook his head to try to clear it. He scaled the next dune on his hands and knees, sinking deep into the sand as he sprinted for the shelter of the brush.

He knew the moment they’d spotted his trail. Strange voices rose into the dawn behind him, and when he couldn’t resist the urge to look back he saw the sharp rise of a mast against the sky.

Vibrantly embroidered bolts of sailcloth whipped and curled in the breeze, the sun’s first strands of light striking it from behind and setting the fabric ablaze. The blue sails burned against the pale of the morning sky, and dread smothered his thoughts.

He didn’t see the shale until it was too late. Something sharp speared up through the bottom of his foot, and before he could catch himself he’d gone sprawling across the outcropping and into the dirt. He let out a low groan of pain as he blinked the darkness from his eyes.

He'd collapsed at the edge of the oasis. Behind him a jagged shard of rock pointed in the air, covered in blood.

He struggled to his feet and stumbled into the bank of shrubs, barely slowing as he made his way deeper into the growth. His ankle kept trying to give out beneath him, the thick litter of sticks and twigs jabbing into the wound. Slowing him down.

He bit back his voice as he clambered over the thickest piles of stone he could find, hoping to every single god he could name that they would help hide his footprints. The distant shouts were growing closer.

He stumbled over a ridge and found a thicket of shrubs, and realized that the glinting just beyond was water. He slid down the bank into the spring, wading out into the knee-high water that spread out between pools of algae.

He realized then that there was no cover. None but the branches of shrubs that overhung the basin, clinging to the overgrown shore.

Without even stopping to savor the feeling he never thought he’d have again, he fell to his knees in the water and ducked beneath their low branches. Spines ripped at his clothes as he crawled toward shore, as close as he could get to the place where the water met the earth underneath their leaves. He wormed his way deeper into the silt until his back was pressing against half-submerged trunks and the surface of the water reached his throat.

He forced his shivering body to still, schooling his breath in an attempt to hide the sound. As quickly as the ripples around him faded into the reeds the sound of snapping twigs approached.

On the shallow ridge, less than a hundred paces away, a dark figure broke through the trees.

Nadeem forgot how to breathe.

As a boy, bright-eyed and impatient, the Mothers had spun tales of Al Qururaqin caravans, moving from port to desert port. Tales of four-armed demons with ashen skin as dark as the mud at the bottom of the Parattu, swords gleaming in their hands. Of monsters who steal boys away from their ships, taking them away into the blackness of their holds.

Stories of the ifrit.

He never thought he'd be cornered by one.

Nadeem may have been scrawny, but he was no short man—by the time he was twelve he’d already stood a full head taller than his Maaman, as well as half the men in his town. This ifrit dwarfed him. It must have stood three heads taller than he did, with such strength coiled in its body that he felt sick with fear.

It scanned the water, a beautiful and broad face silhouetted by the rising of the sun. Thin wisps of smoke rose from its shoulders, disappearing into the air. One of its upper limbs rested at its hip, blackened fingers curling loosely around the hilt of a sword.

As its gaze swept out across the bank and over his hiding place, he could only pray that it didn't see the impressions his feet had left in the algae.

An entire lifetime passed as the ifrit searched the grove, scanning the silhouettes of trees. So many times Nadeem was certain he’d been spotted, and yet the figure came no closer.

Then it turned, cast one more look out over the water, and went back the way it had come.

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kvetchlandia · 1 year

Photo

Harold Chapman Allen Ginsberg in the Beat Hotel, Rue Git-Le Coeur Paris, 1956

In the depths of the Greyhound Terminal sitting dumbly on a baggage truck looking at the sky waiting for the Los Angeles Express to depart worrying about eternity over the Post Office roof in the night-time red downtown heaven staring through my eyeglasses I realized shuddering these thoughts were not eternity, nor the poverty of our lives, irritable baggage clerks, nor the millions of weeping relatives surrounding the buses waving goodbye, nor other millions of the poor rushing around from city to city to see their loved ones, nor an indian dead with fright talking to a huge cop by the Coke machine, nor this trembling old lady with a cane taking the last trip of her life, nor the red-capped cynical porter collecting his quar- ters and smiling over the smashed baggage, nor me looking around at the horrible dream, nor mustached negro Operating Clerk named Spade, dealing out with his marvelous long hand the fate of thousands of express packages, nor fairy Sam in the basement limping from leaden trunk to trunk, nor Joe at the counter with his nervous breakdown smiling cowardly at the customers, nor the grayish-green whale's stomach interior loft where we keep the baggage in hideous racks, hundreds of suitcases full of tragedy rocking back and forth waiting to be opened, nor the baggage that's lost, nor damaged handles, nameplates vanished, busted wires & broken ropes, whole trunks exploding on the concrete floor, nor seabags emptied into the night in the final warehouse.

Yet Spade reminded me of Angel, unloading a bus, dressed in blue overalls black face official Angel's work- man cap, pushing with his belly a huge tin horse piled high with black baggage, looking up as he passed the yellow light bulb of the loft and holding high on his arm an iron shepherd's crook.

III

It was the racks, I realized, sitting myself on top of them now as is my wont at lunchtime to rest my tired foot, it was the racks, great wooden shelves and stanchions posts and beams assembled floor to roof jumbled with baggage, --the Japanese white metal postwar trunk gaudily flowered & headed for Fort Bragg, one Mexican green paper package in purple rope adorned with names for Nogales, hundreds of radiators all at once for Eureka, crates of Hawaiian underwear, rolls of posters scattered over the Peninsula, nuts to Sacramento, one human eye for Napa, an aluminum box of human blood for Stockton and a little red package of teeth for Calistoga- it was the racks and these on the racks I saw naked in electric light the night before I quit, the racks were created to hang our possessions, to keep us together, a temporary shift in space, God's only way of building the rickety structure of Time, to hold the bags to send on the roads, to carry our luggage from place to place looking for a bus to ride us back home to Eternity where the heart was left and farewell tears began.

A swarm of baggage sitting by the counter as the trans- continental bus pulls in. The clock registering 12:15 A.M., May 9, 1956, the second hand moving forward, red. Getting ready to load my last bus.-Farewell, Walnut Creek Richmond Vallejo Portland Pacific Highway Fleet-footed Quicksilver, God of transience. One last package sits lone at midnight sticking up out of the Coast rack high as the dusty fluorescent light.

The wage they pay us is too low to live on. Tragedy reduced to numbers. This for the poor shepherds. I am a communist. Farewell ye Greyhound where I suffered so much, hurt my knee and scraped my hand and built my pectoral muscles big as a vagina.

-- Allen Ginsberg, “In The Baggage Room At Greyhound” 1956

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klbwriting · 1 year

Text

The Jason Todd Anomaly

Chapter 10: Who’s Blood Is This?

Pairing: Jason Todd x female!Reader

Warnings: lots of violence and villain death

Summary: In the second posted chapter of the night Y/N gets into a fight with Harley Quinn

All Other Chapters

Harley's laughter was the first thing Y/N heard when she came around, her laughter joined by the laughter of all the freaks in her crew. She opened her eyes slowly, looking around the stage she was on. Dammit, could this night be any longer? It had to have been at least 24 hours since she had last been home. She could use some water, and food, maybe breakfast with Jason. The thought of Jason struck her hard enough to bring her back to her senses. Where was he? Did he survive the river? Had he been captured by the freaks too? She started to scan the room closer, fully taking stock of her surroundings. Her hands were bound behind her, with a jump rope it felt like. She was on a stage in an old theater, the Monarch most likely. Harley was at a podium near her, being the ringleader to this circus.

"Finally! The sleepy baby woke up! Now we can all play with her!" Harley chirped. The sound of her voice made Y/N sick. She had known. Joker was going to kill Jason and Harley had to have known. As exhausted as Y/N had been now she just felt white hot rage surging through her. She yanked at her bindings, trying to loosen them enough to get at least one hand free. She only needed one hand to choke the life out of that clown bitch. "OOO! She's feisty, who wants to play with her first?"

"Let me out of here and play with me yourself bitch!" she yelled. Harley looked surprised, probably wondering what she had done to deserve this amount of hatred from someone she had never seen before. Then she shrugged and laughed again.

"I don't think the baby likes me much," she said. The crowd booed and she giggled again. Y/N finally had loosened the knots and stood, running towards Harley when she felt a strong forearm against her chest, knocking her on her back, the air leaving her body. She choked for a moment before coughing. The heaping freak stood above her legs, cracking his knuckles. If she didn't act his hammer of a fist was going to crush her head. She kicked her leg up as hard as she could, catching the freak right in the groin, making him grip his now injured dick before falling to the side. She stood and before he could recover she grabbed an old stanchion and swung it as hard as she could at his head. It hit his skull with a sickening crack, collapsing the back of his head in. Y/N swallowed the bile that came up in her throat. She had killed before but not this close, it made her a sick for a moment, until she remembered that this person gave his loyalty to Harley Quinn. She still held the stanchion, moving towards the podium again.

"Hey cunt, let's play," Y/N said. Harley's face broke out into a sickening smile. This was exciting for her. She pulled a sledgehammer from the other side of the podium and moved away from it.

"What's with the face? Did I hurt someone you liked a little bit?" Harley taunted, circling Y/N. Y/N took a breath, she needed to focus and not let blind rage take her now. "OOo I did, a parent? Your sister? Your boyfriend?"

"Wasn't you...was your boyfriend...or well...your dead boyfriend," Y/N shot back, turning to face Harley as she was circling. Harley scowled.

"Don't talk about my puddin," she spat, swinging the hammer at her. Y/N jumped back, noticing that Harley nearly lost control of her weapon. Talking about Joker was winding her up. Good.

"Your pudding was a pathetic loser, he couldn't kill Batman, I mean, he couldn't even hurt him," she said. It was a softball throw, just something to see where Harley's anger truly lay. Harley snarled but kept the hammer in her hands, waiting for Y/N to make a move now. Y/N took a tentative step forward, wanting to entice the other woman. "Then what, he goes and gets killed by Red Hood of all people...not even good enough for a Robin, just Red Hood, some random vigilante..." Harley growled and swung the hammer again. Y/N dodged easily, but felt the wind by her head. Harley was powerful. She had to get her to lunge and then she might be able to land a killing shot to the back of Harley's neck with the stanchion.

"One more word about my puddin..."

"Red Hood wasn't even a good vigilante! He was new, a baby, and he got the jump on Joker that sad, pathetic, beaten, bloodied, dead..." Y/N didn't get to finish her taunt before Harley lunged. She dodged, telegraphing the move. She had one shot and she used it, swinging the stanchion and connection with the bottom of Harley's skull. Harley fell and didn't move. It took a moment before her freaks realized what had happened but when they did they started storming the stage. Shit. Y/N hadn't thought this far ahead.

A arm was around her and she was about to fight when a familiar voice filtered to her ear.

"Stay still," Jason said. She froze and he locked his arm around her waist, grappling them up to the rafters. Bullets flew by them as they ran along the decaying wood. Both of them had to jump multiple times as they broke beam after beam before they were able to jump down onto a balcony. It cracked when Y/N landed on it and she jumped as it fell, Jason grabbing her and pulling her close. Despite the situation he held onto her for longer than need be, but after that moment they were running again. Down the stairs and out the front doors of the Monarch. Jason got on his bike and she jumped behind him. Freaks were pouring from the theater, firing at them as fast as they could. Jason revved up the bike and soon they were driving away, across town and into his territory again. He rode to a clock tower and into a hidden garage under it. He helped her off the bike and they got into an elevator.

"Jason..." she said, turning to face him. Before she could say anything else he was pulling her close, arms tight around her, holding her against him.

After the river Jason had stolen a car and drove it back to the tower, calling the others and getting his gear. They were busy so he went right back out again, heading to the theater. He had gotten inside the roof in time to see Y/N taunt Harley into jumping at her. He had watched Y/N kill her and now it was taking everything in him not to kiss her into oblivion. His past finally completely dead. Everyone who had known about Joker, about what had really happened, gone. He knew that revenge typically didn't feel good but right now all he felt was peace. And she had brought it to him. He pulled back from holding her, ready to press his lips to hers when the doors to the elevator opened and there stood Dick, Tim, Damian, Stephanie, and even Alfred. They stared between Jason and Y/N, blinking a few times before they pulled them out.

"What the hell happened?" Dick asked. "You look like shit," Damian said.

"Y/N, who's blood is this?" Stephanie asked.

"Jason, is your shoulder dislocated?" Tim said.

"Enough!" Alfred yelled, halting the younger generation before him. He motioned for the Robins to move aside. The clocktower was Red Hood's headquarters and Alfred knew the layout by heart. "Master Richard go make tea, Master Tim get any and all first aid supplies, Miss Stephanie go check the perimeter for any sign of Harley's minions, and Master Damien go sit in the lounge for awhile and be quiet. Miss Y/N and Master Jason please go to the bedroom and lay down." Everyone followed Alfred's orders without question, even Y/N.

Upstairs in the loft Jason and Y/N collapsed next to each other in the bed Jason normally slept in alone. They looked at each other, wanting to say something, anything, but exhaustion finally won out and before they could utter a sound they were sleeping.

#Jason Todd #jason todd x plus size reader #jason todd x reader #jasontoddanomaly #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x plus size reader

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hanmi-xo · 7 months

Text

Chapter 4: "A Blooming Moment"

| Between Us | Chapter List |

Previous | Next ------------------

| L I H U A |

I played with my fingers while I waited for Minghao. The front of the museum wasn't that busy when I showed up with a few couples and elderly people walking around. I waited outside next to the ticket booth.

"I'm sorry, but Minghao is currently tour guiding a group right now," the elderly man said. He stood behind the counter with an apologetic look with a radio in his hand. "His break will be in 15 minutes. Did you want to wait here or walk around? But if you decide to go inside, you'll need to pay a ticket for entrance."

I stared at the building which had carefully crafted architecture. The sun was hidden behind the clock tower that stood tall at the center of the building.

The exterior walls were similar to the renaissance era with the way the upper arches curved into an elegant form. It looked like I was staring into a painting- or history if you will.

Did I want to enter the place again?

The image of that painting came into mind. It was my conundrum.

"I'll buy a ticket."

The museum was the same as I first entered this place. Elegant yet modern. I walked passed the water fountain and made my way pass the crowds. The skyline roofing caused light to shine through inside the building. I remembered where the painting was from the art gallery after following the different yet recognizable paintings.

Upon reaching the area, it was hidden from the crowd. It stood upright with nobody around to admire its crafts.

I stared at the painting and anchored myself in front of it. I felt some sort of connection to this painting. I don't know why, but I did.

I feel like I've seen this before, but where exactly?

Was it one of my paintings? It looked similar to it the more I gazed at its strokes and colors. The tones were recognizable but the way it was painted- the more I looked at it- it wasn't really similar to my style of art.

I crossed my arms. There was something standing out within the painting. It was small, but I was able to see it.

I looked behind me to see if anyone was around. It seemed the room was almost empty. There was an elderly couple leaving the area, and I quickly went under the black stanchion that separated me from the painting.

I tilted my head to get a better look at the engraving. There was some paint cover it. The layer was thick than the rest of the painting. It was like someone painted over it.

"What the hell are you doing?"

I jumped from the sudden voice. I turned around and saw the man who I've been waiting for. He was giving me a confused look.

I quickly went back to the other side of the stanchion and he watched me do so with a raised brow. He glanced at the painting before looking back at me.

"Listen, you can look, but you can't touch," he says with crossed arms. "What were you doing anyways? There's a rope barrier for a reason."

"Uhm..." I felt embarrassed for being caught. "I was just looking at something within the painting..."

I twiddled with my thumbs, avoiding his judging eyes.

He moved next to me, and I saw him stare at the painting too. He seemed to be admiring the artwork just like before. There was a sparkle in his eyes with the way he looked at it.

It makes me wonder...

"Do you also like the painting?" I decide to ask him.

Minghao turned his head towards me with wide eyes. He was bit taken back from my question, but he didn't seem against my curiosity. He crossed his arms with a thoughtful look and gazed back at the painting.

"It's a good painting, I guess," he says. His brown orbs shifted back towards me. "Why?"

I put my hands behind my back and stared at the artwork again. It hung there and presented itself as if it wanted me to speak about my connection towards it. It was bizarre and hard to explain. It felt like it was trying to tell me something...

I tilted my head and my eyes went back to the small carving that seemed to be painted over at the corner of the art piece. I could recognize the sketch, but I also couldn't.

"Have you ever felt so connected with an art piece that... you can't stop coming back to it...?" I say my thoughts aloud. "Like you want to know more about it?"

There was a moment of silence between us but I felt his dark orbs hit me. I turned to look at him and his eyes met mine. He stared at me with an expression I couldn't understand.

Did he agree with me or was he judging me for saying such a thing?

I looked away from him- breaking our eye contact.

"Never mind..." I mutter.

I guess I shouldn't have asked him.

My eyes wandered the floor before staring back at the man who seemed to be doing the same. He was quiet, but the way his brows knitted together told me he was thinking.

I wanted to ask what was on his mind, but I didn't.

I came here to get my journal. So I shouldn't bother him longer than I already have.

"Minghao," I call for him.

His eyes shifted towards me. "Yeah?"

"Do you have my journal?" I ask him.

He changed his composure and slowly nodded his head. "Yeah..."

His voice seemed hesitant. It was like he wasn't sure if he should confirm its whereabouts.

I felt a little suspicious of him so I stared him down. He avoided eye contact with me and quickly maneuvered away from me. He made an invisible barrier between us as if he was trying to get away from me.

"So.." I start. "Where is it?"

I watched him slowly turn his head further away from me. I narrowed my brows.

"Minghao?" I called for him again.

Why was he acting so cold all of the sudden? Or rather, why did he seemed so frigid?

"Hey," he says suddenly. His voice was low and slow. "I'll give it to you later, okay?"

I narrowed my brows. This isn't what I agreed on.

I walked in front of him in hopes of speaking to him without him avoiding me. He had an awkward expression and shifted his eyes to avoid mind. He looked guilty over something.

But what exactly?

"Minghao," I call for his attention.

He continued look away as if he couldn't hear me. I was getting upset with his behavior.

"Where's my journal?" I ask once more, but this time my voice was stern compared to before. "Can you please tell me where it is?"

I watched his eyes slowly look back at me. He seemed to show some cooperation, but he still seemed guilty over something.

"About your journal," he starts.

He closed his eyes and put his hands up as if he was trying to calm me down over something I don't know about.

"You have every right to be mad, but..." he spoke slowly.

I squinted my eyes at him. "Mad?"

Why should I be mad?

"Let's say... I might have... " He spoke almost in a whisper and it was hard for me to hear the end of his sentence.

I raised a brow in confusion. "Wait, what did you say?"

I watched him closed his eyes once more before taking to courage to speak aloud. He gave me an expression as if he didn't want to repeat himself but he knew he had to.

"I said, I might have ripped it," he says much louder than before.

I felt my stomach twist from his words.

—-

| M I N G H A O |

She was upset. And she had every right to be. I didn't intend for this to happen, but it did, and I don't know how to make things better.

I gave her the journal before getting off my shift, and she stared at it with horror. She was quiet and didn't know what to say to me.

I felt guilty beyond measure.

What was I supposed to say at a time like this?

"About your journal, I-"

"Don't," she cut me off quickly.

Her voice was gentle yet cold. It was a tone I didn't think I would be able to hear from her. Her eyes were low and avoided looking at me.

How was I able to make this up for her? I hated feeling guilty, and I hated knowing that I couldn't fix what I've done.

"I can drive you home," I tell her.

I needed to find some way to find common ground. She may be a woman, but I still have my sense of morality.

I watched her sit down on the outside bench, ignoring me. She was more concerned over the journal and how it was mishandled.

I found myself watching her as she checked each page to see if anything was missing along with counting photos. She was thorough with her organization with the way she knew where each page and photo goes. She must have spent a lot of time writing in it. There was a lot, and I mean, a lot of things thrown into that. It amazes me how she's able to keep it all in there without it falling out.

Unlike me who broke it the moment I turned it around...

She picked up the worn-out letter that was written in Chinese, and my eyes lit up.

Her eyes turned to me as if she knew I was looking. I immediately tried to look away, but I felt her staring at me.

"Did you see what's inside?" Her voice was soft yet curious.

I turned to look at her. She had her usually calm expression. I don't know if I should be concerned. Was she mad? Upset? Or was she okay now?

"No..." I answered.

It wasn't the entire truth since I did get a glimpse of that letter. I tried to avoid looking at everything else though.

She smiled softly before turning away from me. She seemed to be amused by something. I watched her lift the letter in her hands with low eyes. She held it as if it was the most precious thing in the world.

Her eyes went up and I followed her gaze. She was staring at the park across from us. The lake was lively with a few people walking around it and other getting their daily run. Then there were those that walked their dogs and those that fished or did yoga.

The weather was nice today.

The trees softly danced with the spring flowers blooming under them. The scenery was beautiful. It was almost like a scene in a book.

I looked back at Lihua.

She was smiling softly while she gazed at the scenery in front of us. It was that same look she had on the balcony back at the reunion. Though she was stressed earlier, she looked almost in bliss.

She seemed happy.

Strange enough, I couldn't help but gaze at her. Why did she look like that?

She seemed so fond of the world around her...

"I'm sorry for ripping your journal." The words came out of my mouth without realizing it. It must be from the guilt I had, and I was too fearful to speak about the matter.

It's too embarrassing to admit my faults, but for some reason, Lihua just seemed to have the patience for me- or maybe for almost anything.

Maybe it's because of this tranquil nature of hers, or maybe it's just I how felt in the moment from seeing the beauty around me, but I felt the need to tell her how guilty I felt.

She slowly turned to look at me. Her head titled to get a view of my face that I tried to hide from her. I covered my mouth with my hand to hide my embarrassment before looking away.

I felt the breeze hit me with a few petals flying from the cherry blossom tree near us.

"It's alright."

Her voice danced with the wind. I turned around to look at her. She was smiling at me, and I couldn't avoid her eyes.

A few petals floated pass us with a butterflies fluttering around.

For a moment, I felt my gut twirl. It crawled all around and gave me goosebumps along my skin. My heart raced with a follow of nervousness. But why should I be nervous? And what would making me nervous?

I didn't understand this feeling.

I watched Lihua get off the bench after fixing what she can with her journal. She was ready to leave.

I didn't want her to go yet.

It might be the warmth of the sun, or maybe the way the place felt too lively to just walk away, but I didn't want her to leave like this.

"Don't you want to walk around and look at the scenery?" I ask her.

She looked at me with surprise. I watched her twirl back around to look at the park we were looking at earlier. She thought for a moment before looking over at me.

Her orbs met mine, and I felt warm and a tingle in my gut.

"Are you asking me to go on a walk with you?"

Her question threw me off from the way she worded it. There's no way I asked her that. I asked her if she wanted to walk around to look at the scenery. I don't recall bringing myself up.

And even if I did, I highly doubt she'll say yes. That's practically a date.

She's Dokyeom's sister.

Why would I do that?

"Why would I ask you to go on a walk with me?" My voice came out a bit rude than intended.

Her eyes widened. "Oh."

I watched her turn away again, and I felt myself get guilty. She didn't get upset because of that did she?

"I'll walk around then," she says.

Her eyes looked towards the park before looking back at me. Her eyes sparkled from the sunlight.

"Thanks again for my journal, Minghao." Her voice was soft and smooth.

Why did she have to say my name like that? And why did she act like I wasn't going to see her for awhile?

I'm friends with her brother. So I'll see her around... right?

The thought of her not being around suddenly hit me. It's not like we're friends. I'm Dokyeom's friend. Not hers.

But my legs moved on their own.

And I found myself following her.

Her eyes met mine again once she realized I was behind her. I too was surprised by my own actions.

"Uh..." Was all I could say like the moron I am.

She tilted her head at me with curled lips. She seemed amused by my behavior.

Trust me. I'm not always like this.

"If you wanted to go for a walk together, we can," she tells me.

I was ready to protest against her.

"I won't consider it a date," she quickly tells me. It was like she read my mind. "So don't worry."

I don't know why, but I disliked her words. I didn't hate it nor did I like it. I don't know.

I didn't know what to say, so I stayed quiet. I followed behind her as she led the way.

The park was beautiful and charming. It was much prettier up close seeing the ducks swim in the lake and the squirrels that ran across the grass to climb up the trees. The scent of flowers were faint and being under the trees' leaves felt like a breath of fresh air. The path around the lake wasn't too long, but it was shorter than I expected.

She didn't speak during the walk.

Maybe it's because she didn't know what to say to me, or maybe it's because she didn't want me to feel irritated by her presence.

But I wish she spoke.

It was quiet with her, but it didn't feel terrible. Was walks always this peaceful?

When I walk alone, it's nothing like this.

I wish the walk was longer...

But she had to go.

"I can drive you home," I insisted.

She was ready to go our separate ways far quicker than I thought she would. We stood near a water fountain square area where there were different paths.

There weren't much people around other than an elder man with his grandchild feeding the birds.

"It's okay. You've done enough, already. I can ride the bus," she says politely. The sound of the fountain was faint behind her voice.

"Would Dokyeom be okay with that?" I ask her. I couldn't help but bring up her brother.

I didn't like how she suddenly thought of me as a stranger. We aren't close enough to be friends but I'm sure we couldn't be strangers.

We're acquaintances at this point.

"Dokyeom?" She said with a hum.

I watched her brows knitted before softening. She was thinking of her dear brother who I know wouldn't like it if she road the bus when someone he knows could just drive her.

"Even if he would be upset," she starts.

Her eyes met with mine.

"I thought you don't like being around women?"

Her question was abrupt and caught my attention. It was like a switch flickered within me. I do dislike being around women, but it's mostly certain ones.

But with Lihua-

She makes me forget about them. My views of all the girls I met in my life that used me and messed with me were bitter.

But with Lihua, she seemed different.

I didn't know what to say to her. It always felt like she knew how to tip me off balance even when my guard is up. I never had to think this much for a woman, other than my mother.

"I rather deal with my brother than make you uncomfortable," she tells me.

Her voice carried through the breeze. Some of her bangs waved from the wind. My chest felt funny with the way she spoke towards me.

She smiled. "I can handle my brother. I more concerned how you'll feel towards me being around you."

Her eyes changed tones with a look that seemed apologetic. I didn't like it.

"You don't have to be nice to me just because Dokyeom's my brother," she says.

She was smiling, but I knew inside she wasn't. There was something about her I didn't understand. She seemed to care deeply about her brother, but she also seemed to belittle herself at times. I didn't understand it. But I wanted to...

Was it because of me? Or was it something else?

"I'll see you around. Okay, Minghao?" she says before I can find the words to speak.

I watched her turn around and make her way far from me. Her retreating figure didn't feel right. Or rather, I didn't feel right.

Her words bothered me. And the look she had bothered me more.

I am Dokyeom's friend, and she is his sister. Yet, why do I feel annoyed hearing her say that to me?

Am I really treating her like this because of Dokyeom? Because she's related to him?

The drive home was quiet. I couldn't find myself to play music and when I got home, my empty space didn't make me feel any better.

I'm used to being alone, but right now, my thoughts made me feel different.

Why does it feel empty when I'm alone but not so bad when Lihua is there? She doesn't even talk yet I feel okay to have her company.

The image of her filled my mind.

I wish she let me drove her home. I wished she didn't have that look when she spoke.

I stared at my phone as I laid in my bed. I had emails about upcoming clients that want to examine the museum and other emails about upcoming art pieces that would be coming in next month that I would have to analyze.

Art pieces...

The painting came into mind.

Lihua was invested in it- even having to go pass the stanchions. I wander what makes her so intrigued by the painting?

I remember getting it from a seller and the quality was in good shape. He didn't say much about the art piece other than the painting was sold to him long ago. It's around 10 years old he said, but the whereabouts of it is unknown. Should I tell her about the painting?

But wasn't Lihua losing interest in art?

They way she reacted towards the painting said otherwise. It wasn't a look of disgust or indifference though. She clearly was admiring it.

I wonder... is she's curious about it as much as I am?

My phone rung with a notification. It was the guys. They wanted to celebrate Soonyoung's upcoming race.

I refuse to let that rodent party in my abode. I just moved in here. I don't need him stinking up the place with his hamster vomit.

He can set the party elsewhere.

I narrowed my brows at the thought of using another person's home. It's worst knowing it's women I hardly know.

Should I even go if it's going to be held there?

---

| L I H U A |

I heard my phone ring with notifications while I tried to stitch the journal back together. Senko slept on his back on my bed. His paws were up in the air while he snoozed off in a comfortable position. He acted as if he was human with the way he was sleeping. I tried not to wake him up.

I grabbed my phone off my desk and stared at the messages the girls sent.