#schools just been pummeling recently

[haeryna]

I love idol and rockstar satosugu!! Do you think you’d expand more in depth on when Suguru got into a fist fight and when Satoru got bullied with reader sticking up for him 👀

sorry for the long wait anon, i was Scheming lol. i hope you like it! thank you for the ask <3 ↪ continued from here

tw: more homophobia (references to being called a slur), emotional constipation, not proofread, author is a sucker for angst

satoru is eight when the boys at the local playground start calling him names. at first they're petty things; "you run like a girl," or "too weak to be a boy." but you've noticed they've been getting bolder, recently. meaner. but it isn't until that day when that word falls from their mouth that you physically recoil, stomping up to them in your denim overalls and light-up pink sketchers.

"what did you just call him?"

the slur falls from the other boy's mouth as easy as breathing. satoru's lips are pressed in a hard line, but you can see the tinges of self-doubt in his eyes. before you can second guess yourself, you step up and slug the boy hard across the cheek. immediately he stumbles back, wailing, but you're too preoccupied with grabbing satoru's hand and running to care.

satoru will never admit it. but you saved a piece of him that day that he didn't even realize was there until later. he could feel his heart mending as he cooed over you, as you whined about the redness of your hands. the way you gazed up at him so trustingly as he gently blew over the braised knuckles, trying to soothe the sting. you were like his tether, he mused. keeping him grounded, keeping him away from his own thoughts.

"it hurts, 'toru," you whined, bringing him out of his thoughts, and he laughs, pressing a kiss to your hand.

"guess suguru and i will just have to teach you how to throw a proper punch, hm?"

you're twelve when you see the large crowd that's gathered in the courtyard of your middle school. when you push your way through, you can see satoru standing closest to the middle, the look in his eyes cold and hard. you tug at his sleeve.

"what's going on?"

before satoru can respond, another classmate eagerly replies, "geto is beating the shit out of some guy!"

your blood turns to ice in your veins, but as you move to try to see what's happening, satoru catches you in his arms, tugging you away. "don't," he chides, pressing your face into his chest and blocking your vision. "suguru didn't want you to see this."

"a fight, 'toru? why?" your voice sounds so bewildered, so hurt, that satoru almost cracks. he can't tell you about how suguru found out that the boy he's currently pummeling into the ground had been going around talking about how he wanted to "get a taste of the whore that geto and gojo have been keeping around." he can't tell you about the rage that had filled both of them, and the hint of fear. you had been their only weakness. the only reason suguru was fighting, satoru thinks, is because i lost the game of rock paper scissors.

after, when the crowd has dispersed, and after principal yaga has finished giving suguru and earful, you sit in his basement with him. tears crowd your eyes as you stubbornly push through, treating his scrapes with ointment and wrapping them carefully up in gauze.

"you don't have to do this," suguru says, softly. the pain you've been trying to hide in your eyes can't hide from him. "it's fine." your voice cracks and you sniffle as you press a bag of ice to his black eye.

suguru sighs, tugging you closer into his arms. "don't be like that. what's wrong, angel?"

"why were you fighting?" your voice is hushed, and you press the bag of ice more firmly to his eye, ignoring the quiet yelp of pain. "'toru won't tell me anything. what's going on, sugu?"

he sighs, cradling you a bit tighter. "do you trust me?"

you have absolutely no doubt in your voice when you reply, "of course."

"he was just, saying things that weren't right. and words weren't going to convince him otherwise." suguru brushes a strand of hair away from your face, eyes softening as he takes in your teary expression. "i promise i'll never fight unless it's absolutely necessary, alright?"

"promise?"

"I promise," he tells you, linking his pinky through yours with ease. "and i've never broken a promise before, have i?"

and he hadn't until that night.

#haerinwrites #strawberry picking🍓⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ #rockstar!suguru geto #idol!satoru gojo #satosugu x reader #suguru x reader x satoru #i love hurting myself with my own fics #i need therapy bro

[minluce]

Weak Hero - Wolf Keum Meta and Backstory Theory

I recently reread and caught up with this series; it's one of the two webtoons that I genuinely like. Anyway, having thoughts. Spoilers for up to chapter 227.

Hot take that Wolf Keum is actually very similar to Gray Yeon. He actually makes the connection himself while watching Gray fight Dongha: They both get serious tunnel vision when they're fighting.

But I don't think the parallels stop there. I'm not the first person to bring up the theory on Wolf's backstory, that he was formerly a victim of physical bullying, before the roles swapped when he started to retaliate. The main evidence that points towards this theory is that Wolf likes to block with his face... that is to say that he just doesn't block hits. He's a tank, and he's borderline unphased by getting pummeled. It's very possible that he has a history of receiving hits a lot, therefore building up a resilience to physical blows.

The main thing we're told that makes us go "Oh wow Wolf Keum is insane", when he's first introduced as an antagonist, is the 3 second role. He beats anyone up for holding eye contact with him for longer than 3 seconds.

Now consider: everytime Gray beats someone to a pulp, his internal monologue is "I'll make it so that he can never look us in the eyes again."

Because of what happened to Stephan Ahn, Gray fights against those who threaten his friends or himself, beating them to the point where they wouldn't dare to retaliate, or do anything to challenge his authority. In a similar manner, albeit exaggerated to an unreasonable degree, Wolf retaliates against any (perceived) threat against himself. Maintaining eye contact is seen as a challenge, in both Wolf and Gray's book, but whereas Wolf is always reactive to the smallest slight, Gray is willing to let microaggressions off the hook.

The theory that Wolf used to be a victim is also supported by the timeline as well. He's the newest member of the union. He's a dark horse; he was on nobody's radar in Middle School, before suddenly becoming a big deal in High School. Just like Gray, who was simply an unassuming "nerd" up until his third year, when he went ballistic on the bullies who had tormented Stephan all year.

The difference? 

Gray had Stephan; he has friends who support him and drag him away from the edge. Friends who tell Gray "hey, they're not worth it, you're better than them".

I think it's safe to assume that no one has the guts to tell Wolf that. Without anyone to put the brakes on his rampage, Wolf got into the habit of going too far, for too little.

The role reversal from constantly being on the bottom, on the receiving end of other's violence, to being on top, would have contributed to Wolf's short temper and overwhelming arrogance. He reacts to smallest things because he won't let anyone bully him anymore. He's arrogant because he's drunk off of the victory of being on top. There isn't anyone to tell him that he's "done enough", so he keeps going, and going, and going, until it's no longer "retaliation", he's simply become the same as those who he originally lashed out against.

We even see these traits in Gray, after his fight on the rooftop, which Jake comments on. Jake compares Gray to Donald, saying that he's grown used to fighting, even to the point that he enjoys beating people up. But I think, assuming my theory isn't off the mark, the comparison would also work with Wolf.

It's the behavior of someone who has been the victim of aggression, and is sick and tired of putting up with it. They blindly, instinctively, lash out at any (perceived or otherwise) threat to themselves, or that which they want to protect (Gray's friends, Wolf's newfound authority). Other than that, they don't go intentionally provoking others into a fight, nor do they go out of their way to torment those who have done nothing to ruffle any feathers.

The only exception is... Grape, who Wolf seems to get an extra kick out of tormenting. I do suspect that the reason for this will be revealed with Wolf's backstory, but for now I will summarize this entire post by saying that I am the biggest Wolf Keum apologist, and will be a biggest clown too if this theory is completely off the mark.

#weak hero #weak hero webtoon #wolf keum #gray yeon #yeon sieun #keum seongje #weak hero meta #weak hero theory #weak hero analysis

[2willowlane]

i've been posting silly crack fanfiction on ao3 lately, and i decided to just upload this on my tumblr. it's inspired off of interstellartoaster's kalampokiphobia: fear of corn, and the mods harvey's irrational apple hatred and harvey hates apples.

fantastic works; mind you.

gender neutral reader, sfw; not really focused on romance, as it is just absurdity

tallying his profit, of which was a big fat zero, harvey sighed; pushing up his glasses. it's been a rather long week for him, considering no one wants to buy those energy tonic muscle whatever medication that he supplies. the only time that anyone has ever purchased such a redundant item from him, was whenever they misclick- accidentally bought it; and then just sold it again. the only way that he'll ever make a good buck out of his pharmaceutical care was if he just eradicated the valley's food supply... of which, did sound tempting, but harvey loves his pickles too much to give them up.

there haven't been any appointments placed recently, so he was having a hard time trying to keep up with the expenses. right now, he could so go for a bottle of fine wine... maybe it's because he's spending too much of his expenses on plane models, rather than actually trying to keep up with all of the financial records, like an actual adult should. huh, what a foreign concept. well, he's just going to go continue complaining about his money situation, until further notice.

with the door opening, he had to them correct his shrimp posture, as he then greeted you, the almost superhuman farmer, into the clinic. normally, you just like to go behind the counter and access rooms that are off-limits to regular patients, but there was something about your gumption that made you so lovable. even if you do tend to barge into private examinations, there was something that made you feel so rebellious; that harvey couldn't help but swoon over you! also, he's a pathetic beanpole of a man, so he'll probably get pummeled into the ground by your combat prowess if he ever rejects your blatant non-filtered view of what "personal space" meant.

you were about to get some items turned into the community center; as you were carrying a basket full of assorted goods (they ranged from something simple to five highly-graded melons, a still-flopping ghostfish, and poisonous mushrooms). oh well, with the poisonous mushrooms, those are harvey's choice of decoration during the autumn seasons; so, the doctor felt rather seen whenever he saw those clumped together. he grimaced at the fish, however. other than that, he was glad to see a good friend pop in now and then; he needed something to spice up his days, and he can always expect you at around 9am, or somehow always being in the places he's trying to go to... coincidence?

normally, you'd stop on buy and get him a coffee. either you've brewed it yourself, or stopped by gus', it was coffee. you wonder how many mugs harvey has, considering you also gift him a free cup alongside the sweet, sweet ground bean liquid. it really wasn't the healthiest thing to drink due to the sugar and caffeine levels, and you were pretty worried for the guy who has been through years and years of intensive schooling to know better about those dietary concerns. you assume he probably only has a cup twice a week, considering you have some type of intergalactic force keeping you from extending that quota.

you had some apples somewhere on your person, and it was probably the only thing he'd like; you'd figure. after all, they're just funky little guys. who doesn't like a good, crisp apple? even though they're supposed to be for the community center, you can always just get one later. you'd give harvey something else, but you decided that he deserved better than just countless upon countless liters of his favourite brew. you knew harvey appreciated a good foraged, natural good—especially with someone locally grown on your acres. fishing out an apple out of your pockets, you then present it to him.

"... i think i may be allergic to this."

as harvey looked like a sad shih tzu puppy, looking off to the side, your heart sank. he was allergic to apples? at first, you really wanted to make fun of him. he seemed like the type of person who'd be allergic to peanut butter, and be the kid that doesn't allow their classmates to bring in anything homemade due to those medical reasons. holding the red delicious apple in your hands, rotating it around in your palm, you decided to test that theory.

"may?" you inquiried, and with a look of horror, harvey began to shudder. yes, he's an anxious man at heart, but due to various interesting cases at the clinic, he's grown insensitive to many things. plus, he's in front of the one and only farmer(tm), and his crush. god, what an embarrassment he is. he didn't want to talk about his irrational hatred for apples; those disgusting overblown flower ovaries called "fruit" just sicken him to death, not to mention that the apples were the first to hate HIM—it wasn't his fault that his body rejects them!

"yes, yes! just- just get it away from me!"

"i don't believe you..."

and that's where you've learnt that the phrase "an apple a day keep the doctor away" was right.

#💙 #sorry guys #had to #crackfic #crack #crack taken seriously #crack treated seriously #stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley #harvey stardew valley #harvey x reader #harvey x gender neutral reader #harvey stv #harvey sdv #harvey sdv x reader #harvey x player #gender neutral reader #gender neutral player

[regalityandcoffee]

♥︎Bodyguard! Toji Fushiguro x Rich! Black Reader♥︎ (18+)

Warnings: Long as fuck, age gap (reader is in college), attempted kidnapping, Toji is a kind of a perv, Look, i just did it like this because I couldn't be assed to write a proper fic but I've had this idea in my head for months. There's nothing really explicit, but yeah.

♡♡♡♡♡Enjoy♡♡♡♡♡

♡ Typically, Summer break in college was supposed to be fun. No school, no clubs, just shopping and sleeping and time with your parents and friends. Almost being kidnapped as you left your dorm with the last of your things, right in front of your parents, WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN.

♡ They only had a couple guards with them. A senior member of your diplomat father's security team, and a man you had found out only recently been employed by your father... a tall Japanese man named Toji Zenin. If it wasn't for him and Toji, heaven knows what could have happened. They pursued and handled the men quickly. They never made it to their getaway van down the block with you. You fell in the grass after Toji tackled the man who carried you off, and watched in shock as he pummeled him, the senior guard handcuffing the other.

♡ While the senior guard got the license plate number of the getaway car, Toji came to you and picked you up in his arms with ease, carrying you back to your parents' SUV. You watched in the backseat as the two men were hauled away by the police.

♡ At home, a couple days after the attempted kidnapping, you are formally introduced. Your father gently pushes you from behind him to shake the hand of the man who saved your life. He tilts his head, feeling as if he was looking right through you as he took your little hand in his and shook it.

♥︎ "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Y/N".

♡ Needless to say, when your dad decided to appoint Toji as your personal bodyguard, you had no complaints. At least, at first. See, the thing about almost being kidnapped is that it gets you extra security, which means you're rarely left alone. Most girls your age would find it hot to be followed around constantly by a hot, tall, mysterious and muscular man hired to protect you. But here's the thing... Mr. Zenin (because you'd rather die than try calling him Toji to his face) freaked you out.

♡ He was always watching over you, making it hard to do anything like shop, or hang out with your friends in peace (especially since they were always gawking at him). It wasn't like he wasn't nice. Oh no, Mr. Zenin was a complete gentleman. He held your bags as you shopped, drove you around when you wanted to leave the house (which became a fortress ever since you were almost kidnapped)

♡ You were never the type to sneak out for parties anyway, but even at your big adult age there was no getting into trouble allowed with Toji as your guard. He'd crack jokes and smile at you, always trying to make you laugh, but took his job just as seriously as the other guards. Thus, you're relationship with him remained casual, yet very professional.

♡ That was, until your parents went away for the week for business overseas.

♡ Left with the codes for the locks and cameras, a book of contacts and addresses, your dad's emergency black card, and he entire mansion to yourselves, your father gives Toji strict instructions not to let you out of his sight while he's out of the country, and to rarely leave the house if you two can help it. With Mr. Fushiguro staying in the guest room across the hall, you had nothing to worry about as you watched your parents drive away to the air port.

♡You two were left all alone. Toji checked the cameras and made sure all the doors were properly locked as soon s they left. He came back to you as you sat on the couch in the living room, looking down at you with that damn wicked smile...

♥︎ "I guess this means we're all alone, Miss Y/N."

♥︎ Seven days alone with the pretty daughter of his boss... he almost got hard in front of you just thinking about it.

♡ See, you gotta understand something. Toji Zenin is a lonely guy. Of course he has no trouble getting women, that should be obvious from just looking at him. But he's also busy. Jumping from job after job, some dangerous, some more boring than watching paint dry. But it made him money. And if there were three things Toji loved... it was food, pussy, and money.

♡ He had his eye on you since he saw the photo of you in your dad's office as he was interviewed for the job. On his desk was a picture of him, his wife, and the cutest little thing in a pretty black dress between them in a park. It was right before you left for school again that year. Pretty eyes, pretty face. A body he'd bend over without a second thought. Oh, He couldn't wait to meet you. He jumped at the chance to be the one to come with your dad's senior guard to pick you up for the Summer. And when those losers tried to kidnap on you? Oh no. He couldn't have that. Making him look bad in front of his superior and fucking with his chances of getting closer to you? Can't have that.

♡ And hiding behind your parents as you were formally introduced? So sweet and adorable. He just wanted to take your pretty face in his hand and kiss you till your lips were swollen and bleeding.

♡ Week after week he escorted you around, making smile talk and learning more about you, bit by bit from you and evesdropping on your friends conversations. He knew your major, your favorite color. The name of your ex that he'd batter if he ever met. He knew your favorite food and how you liked your coffee, the name of that album you couldn't wait to drop.

♡ Anyone else in his profession would find it a chore to play Tommy Lee Jones to the college age daughter of some diplomat. But he was having a fucking ball.

♡ Listening to you stutter as you thanked him for opening doors, watching you bend over in cute short skirts, looking down your blouse as you walked next to him.

♡ And now he was alone with you. For a whole week. What would be the first thing on the agenda for him?

♡ "Do you want dinner yet, sweetheart?"

♡ after dinner he decides to work out in your dad's mini gym in the basement. The only catch is that he wants you to come too.

♡ He watched you closely as you ate the meal he prepared, the tortellini and sausage from in the fridge. And some garlic bread. And steamed carrots. His brain short-circuited each time he heard you go "Mmmm," from the cute little way you'd say 'Thank you Mr. Toji," when he piled more on your plate.

♡ just to keep an eye on you.

♡You follow him down to the basement of the house and walk into the gym. The space is all leather and chrome, equipped with everything he could ever want to work out with. You on the other hand, sit on one of the benches, doing whatever on your phone while he lifted some weights. Occasionally he saw you peek over your phone at him, your eyes quickly darting back to the screen.

♡ God, you were so fucking cute.

♡Toji finishes his sets, wiping the sweat from his brow as he comes over to you. His arms and biceps are straining against his tight ass muscle shirt. He's breathing somewhat heavily, but of course he's not tired.

♡"You're not paying much attention to what I'm doing," his voice startles. you, leaning in close and lowering his voice. "What's wrong? Not impressed? You don't like working out?"

♡"...N-no.. I just don't work out..." you mumbled as he moved his hair out of his face.

♡"Too much work for you? Too sweaty?"

♡"I guess..."

♡"Then why did you come with me?" Toji grins, leaning down so he's inches away from your face.

♡ "Because you told me to." the little pout on your face was too much, just too much.

♡"So you'll just do anything I say, Princess?"

♡"..."

♡"Answer me."

♡..."Yes."

♡"Yes what?"

♡"Yes Mr. Toji."

♡"Do me a favor, sweetie?"

♡ You should've known from the grin on his face you'd be in for a load of trouble.

♡ "Yes?"

♥︎"Slide those panties off and hop up on my lap, yeah?"

♡"...Yes Sir..."

-fin.-

#toji fushiguro x black reader #toji fushiguro #toji fushigro x reader

[charminggirl512]

boom // chibs telford x oc

Chibs Telford x F!OC (Ellie Drysdale/Telford)

Warnings: 18+, violence, language, pregnancy, mentions of sex, heavy conversation

Word Count: 4,469

A/N: This one's pretty lengthy and dramatic, so buckle in.

   It was really a normal day. Gemma has been acting odd recently, but I was doing my best to just ignore it for now until it became a bigger issue. She had become a stand-in mother for me and a stand-in grandmother for my son, and hopefully for our little one on the way. We work together every day I'm not at Cara Cara doing work there and she had still yet to tell me anything. Even now, she's not communicating with me and instead is whispering to Clay. 

  Rolling my eyes, I stand up to try and ask Chibs when we can head home when I see him getting in a van that had been dropped off earlier so that it can be worked on. I watch as he turns the key and I know then that something is wrong. I can just barely hear a high-pitched squeal followed by a series of beeps and I know. I know what it is and what I'm about to see and it still doesn't prepare me for the sight of my husband and the father of my children flying through the air as flames burst up around him. 

   I run at him, not caring about anything except stopping his head from slamming into the hard concrete. Opie grabs me from behind, careful to not put any pressure on my stomach, and I fight him, just wanting to see the life behind Chibs' eyes.

"Get the fuck off me! Filip, please, please. Filip," I scream as everyone else starts to rush towards him while Opie keeps fighting me to keep me where I am. I finally manage to break free from Opie's arms and run to Chibs, dropping to the ground next to him. I can't contain my sobs at the sight of a pool of blood surrounding his head.

   Suddenly, I'm eight again. Mum was taking me to get chocolate from the candy shop around the corner for getting good grades at school. I had run ahead in my excitement and I looked back at her, a smile on my face that reflected her own. Then, the worst thing that could possibly happen to a child happens to me; I watch as the car next to my mother explodes and her body flies through the air, just like Chibs. She landed and everything felt eerily silent as everyone around us stood and watched. By the time I got the courage to walk over to her, strangers had surrounded her body and were trying to figure out what to do, but it was too late. She was dead as soon as she slammed her head against the ground and a piece of shrapnel embedded in her stomach. 

   I'm brought back to the moment at the sound of Jax yelling for Tara. As she runs over, I lean down close to Chibs' ear and begin whispering to him, hoping and praying that he can hear even just a word that I've said.

"Don't leave us. Please, Filip, I need you. I can't do this without you. I love you. Come back to me, please, come back to me. I'm not losing you like I lost her. I won't survive it." 

"Ellie, sweetheart, you've gotta move. You've gotta move so that Tara can help him," Gemma tells me gently as she tries to pull me away. 

"I can't leave him. He'll die if I leave him," I yell at her, but she doesn't listen, just keeps trying to pull me away. "Please, let me just stay here with him." 

   She looks over at Opie and nods, signaling for him to pick me up and drag me away from my bleeding husband. I scream at him and pummel his chest, though it doesn't seem to phase him. He tries to carry me into the clubhouse, which just makes me even angrier. 

"I will never fucking forgive you for this, Opie. Why would you do this to me? Why, why, why" I repeat over and over again. He runs his hand over my hair in an attempt to soothe me as I cry into his chest. 

"If he dies, Ellie, I'm not going to sit there and let you watch it happen. Not like your mom. Not like how I saw Donna." 

   We sit in the silence of the clubhouse, just me and him until the sound of the ambulance getting here cuts through the air. I've calmed down a little and I walk out of the clubhouse to see them loading Chibs onto a stretcher, a swarm of EMTs surrounding him. They try to stop me from getting into the ambulance with them, but Tara explains who I am and they allow me in. 

   For the next couple of hours, everything seems to blur. They haven't allowed me to see him, so I've been stuck pacing around the waiting room. Gemma and Opie are there with me and continually try to get me to sit down or drink some water, but all I can think about is what I saw. I keep running my hand across my stomach, thinking about our little one that may never know how incredible his father is. I'm so distracted that I completely forgot that Killian was at daycare and that he needed to be picked up. Gemma offers to get him, leaving just Opie and me in the waiting room.

"Ellie, come sit."

"No."

"Ellie, come drink some water."

"No." 

"Is that the only word you know now? Did you also hit your head?" He shuts up after I smack across the back of the head for that and continue my pacing. 

   I look up in anticipation when I hear the sound of doors opening, but it's just Jax coming in. He comes over to me and wraps his arms around me, kissing the top of my head as I wrap my arms around him. 

"Any news yet," He asks gently. I shake my head and he lets out a deep sigh. "Come sit and drink some water. Don't want to dehydrate the little one." 

   I follow him to the chairs and when he hands me a bottle of water and I take a sip, Opie scoffs but quickly looks away from me when I turn to glare at him. The three of us sit in silence for another twenty minutes before Tara finally comes out. 

"Is he okay? Can I go and see him? Please tell me that I can come and see him," I ask her rapidly as I run over to her. She grips both of my arms and rubs up and down before answering me.

"He's in critical condition. There were a couple of close calls, but he seems to be leveling out a little more now. You can go and see him, but only you for now. I can take you back now if you want." I take a deep breath at her words before eagerly agreeing to go and see him. I try to walk through the doors but Jax stops me.

"Ellie, you need to take this water with you and you need to rest," He orders, though he seems to second guess it when I cock one eyebrow up at him.

"I'm not one of your brothers, Jackson Teller. I'll drink water if I want to drink some damn water, but I'm sure as fuck not going to do it just because you told me to." He rolls his eyes but hands me a bottle of water before kissing my cheek, and Opie does the same before Tara leads me down the hallway to Chibs' room, staying in the hallway once we get there. 

   The sight of him lying up in the bed with gauze wrapped around his head makes me want to crumple to the floor. This is the only time that I have ever seen my husband look weak and it breaks my heart. He has gotten me through so much and protected me despite the danger that it puts him in. I press my lips on his shut eyelids before pressing them against his scars because it soothes him, just him kissing my scars soothes me. I pull the chair as close to the edge of the bed as I can before wrapping both of my hands around one of his, kissing our joined hands three times, just like he always does. 

"Hi, baby," I say quietly to him despite not knowing whether or not he can hear me. "You really scared me, Filip. Don't do it again, okay? We've just gotta make it through the night and you'll be okay. You have to be okay." 

   I continue to talk to him quietly until I fall asleep with my head resting on his bed. I wake up a couple of times throughout the night when the nurses come in to check on him, but other than that nobody disturbs us. I fully wake up when I feel a rough hand running over my hair, and I open my eyes to find Chibs just barely awake. Just seeing his open eyes sends me into a fit of tears.

"Little lamb, why are you crying?"

"Don't call me that right now," I say through my tears. "I can't be mad at you if you call me that and I should be angry with you for being an idiot and almost getting yourself blown up."

"How was I supposed to know that there was a bomb in that car," He asks, obviously in disbelief that I would blame him for this. 

"We came here from bloody Ireland, Filip! You always inspect a car before you get in. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I married a fucking idiot," I mumble to myself which makes him laugh, and my anger releases at the sound.

"I'll do well to remind you of that, lass, the next time that you get into your car or on your bike without properly inspecting it," He replies. Cheeky bastard. "Now, climb up here and let me hold my woman." 

   I probably should tell him that it's a bad idea, but I would die to be wrapped in his arms right now so I eagerly climb into the bed next to him. I try to be gentle with him as I lay my head on his chest with my arms around his waist. I finally feel peace for the first time in sixteen hours and I soak it up while I still can. Eventually, someone will come in here with news that will break our bubble of peace but for now, I'll just soak it all up. 

"Love you, lamb," He whispers in my ear. 

"Love you more, mo chride," I answer. I rarely speak in Gaelic anymore and I usually only use it for pet names for Chibs or Declan. 

   Our little bubble is popped by Jax and Clay entering the room, closely followed by Bobby and Tig. I try to hide my agitation at their presence, but it's pretty difficult to do while being so emotionally and physically exhausted. 

"There's our Chibby boy! Just about died and already getting pussy," Tig yells loudly as he enters. 

"Tig, it's not pussy if he's married to me, you fucking idiot," I snap at him, but it seems to go right over his head. 

"Glad you're alive, brother," Jax says as he ignores what Tig said and sits in the chair that I slept in all night, making himself right at home like always. 

"It was Zobelle. We're trying to make a plan on what we want to do next, brother, but we're going to make sure that he hurts for what he did," Clays says, getting straight to business like always. 

"I trust you all to handle it," Chibs answers. 

   His complete faith in his brothers never failed to fill me with even more love for him and them. If he didn't have faith in them the way that he does, I don't know if I would be able to trust them to protect us when Jimmy inevitably destroys the life that we've built here. Without their protection, I would have spent the past six years constantly looking over my shoulder and not allowing myself to actually live. I wouldn't have been able to properly love Chibs the way he deserves and I definitely would not have been able to allow myself to have children without knowing that they would never let anything happen to them.

   This is what I keep in mind as I spend the next couple of days going back and forth between TM and the hospital, stopping in between to spend time with Killian and taking him to see his Da, which he loves. I take him one morning before I drop him off at daycare so that I can work with Gemma in the office at TM so that I won't feel quite as restless. Killian is sitting in his Da's lap, babbling about who-knows-what, when the door to Chibs' room opens and my heart stops.

   I had only seen pictures of Fiona, but I had seen enough of them to know that's who was standing in front of us. Not only is she my husband's ex-wife, but she is also the wife of the man who has been actively trying to kill me since I was an eighteen-year-old girl in Belfast just trying to survive after her father's death. Where Fiona goes, Jimmy is two steps behind and Chibs and I both know that. 

"Good morning," She says, smiling despite the fact that she knows who I am and knows what I mean to Jimmy. She looks me up and down, her eyes stopping on my barely visible bump under a SAMCRO sweatshirt before she makes eye contact with me. She looks over at Killian and then at Chibs and seems to connect the dots, a slight look of anger and confusion covering her face. It's that look that makes me grab Killian off of Chibs' lap and hold him close to me.

"What are you doing here," Chibs asks wearily. 

"We heard you got hurt, so we came to check on you. Kerrianne sends her love," Fiona replies as she settles herself in the chair next to the bed. Her use of 'we' instead of 'I' terrifies me and her smirk indicates that she knows that it does. 

"Well, I'll let you two catch up," I say as I plaster a fake smile across my face and make my way toward the door.

"Nice to see you, Eleanor," Fiona says and I exit without turning back around. Once I'm a couple of doors down, I frantically pull out my phone and call Jax. 

"Hey, darlin'. What's up," He answers and I can hear the sound of laughter in the background, telling me that he's probably at the clubhouse. 

"Jax, I don't know what to do. Fuck, I don't know what to do. We made a plan and I still don't know what to do," I ramble as I quicken my pace, just trying to get out of the hospital and into my car. 

"Slow down, Ellie. What happened? Whatever it was, we can fix it."

"She's here, which means that he's here. Fuck, Jax. Fuck, fuck, fuck," I whimper into the phone. I finally reach my car and rushedly buckle Killian in. Once he's settled in, I jump into the driver's seat and speed out of the parking lot.

"Who's here? Ellie, what the fuck is going on? Tell me what happened," He says, beginning to lose to laughter in his voice.

"Fiona is with Chibs, which means that Jimmy is in Charming. I had to get out of there, I had Killian and I didn't know if he was in the building with her or somewhere else, but I can't let him see Killian. I messed up, Jax." Panic seeps into my voice more and more as I speak and I don't know how to stop it. I'm heading towards the clubhouse because I don't think that there's anywhere else that is safe for me right now. 

"Come to the clubhouse now. We'll go into lockdown and then we'll go from there. Do not hang up the phone." 

   In the six years that I have lived here, we have somehow managed to never have Jimmy come here. The Irish come often, but we always make sure that I'm nowhere near the club when they're here, usually sending me up to the cabin to stay with Piney. Now, the moment when Chibs is his weakest, he's decided to make a visit. He knows what that vulnerability will mean for his chances of reaching me. There are very few times when I am without Chibs or at least another club member that is willing and ready to lay down their life for me. Now I'm pregnant and alone with my one-year-old who doesn't even know how to walk.  

   My hands shake as I turn into the parking lot of TM and prospects close the gates behind me. Everyone is standing outside of the clubhouse waiting for me and they're quick to usher Killian and me out of the car. The second that we've cleared the doorway and I know that Gemma has my son, I lean over the closest trashcan and puke my guts out. Jax holds my hair out of the way as I continually empty my stomach out of anxiety.

"I left him there alone. I don't know what I was thinking," I finally manage to say with my head still hanging in the trashcan. Jax rubs up and down my back with his hand that's not holding my hair back to try and calm me down. 

"We had Half-Sack watching the two of you and he's still there watching out for Chibs. It's good that you got out of there, Ellie. Fiona won't do anything to Chibs, but we don't know if the same is true for you," He reassures me.

"It doesn't matter what Fiona would do or not do to me. She knows that I'm here, what I mean to Chibs, and that we're both weak right now. There's no way that she won't share that information with Jimmy and he'll destroy me and everyone that I've ever known," I say, getting more agitated as I stand back up to look at him. "I walk around every day with the reminder of what he did to me and every morning I look at my husband and see what he did to him. That was only a fraction of his anger, and that was before I hid from him for six years."

"We're not going to let him touch you or Chibs or anyone else in the club. We can handle this, Ellie, and I don't know why you don't understand that," Jax yells at me, starting to get in my face. This is the only time that he has ever raised his voice at me and I know that it's just because he's stressed about everything that's happened in the past couple of days but it's hard not to get pissed off at him for it.

"I'm sorry if I don't believe that you are all infallible, Jax, but my life and the lives of my family are on the line. I can't put all of my faith in you the way that Chibs does and I'm going to ask you not to make me." 

   He looks at me in disbelief before walking into the Chapel and slamming the door closed behind him. I don't know how he can ask so much of me when he's having his own doubts about the club. I look over at Opie for some sort of help and he seems just as surprised as I am.

"Sweetheart, we need to get you out of here. This will probably be one of the first places he checks," Gemma says as she comes up behind me, wrapping her arm that's not holding Killian around my shoulders. 

"We'll take you up to the cabin and leave Opie and Juice up there with you. You'll need to stay there until we can confirm that Jimmy has gone back to Ireland. We'll get you a burner so that you can talk to Chibs, but you can't talk to anyone outside of the club. That's the only way to truly keep your location safe," Clays says from his seat at the bar. He seems almost bored as he issues marching orders and everyone starts moving. 

"I'll go to your house and pack up a couple of things for the two of you. I'll be back and then drive you up there," Gemma assures me as she hands me Killian so that she can leave. 

   As everyone else is talking and preparing the convoy to take me up there, I sneak over to the Chapel room and knock gently before walking in. Jax sits there, a lit cigarette in his hand and his head between his hands on the table. When he looks up and sees me there with Killian, he puts out his cigarette smoke so that neither of us is inhaling it. I pull out the seat next to him and sit down with Killian on my lap. I slide my hand onto his shoulder and squeeze it before just resting my hand there.

"I love you, Jax, you know that. You helped give me a home when I had nothing and you've always protected my family," I tell him as he continues to stare at the table. "But, I'm scared. I'm more scared than when I ran away from him because it's not just me anymore. I care about too many people and the thought of me being the reason that they're hurt or killed is nauseating. Jimmy's sick obsession with me will only end with one of us dead, and I'm terrified that it'll be me."

"I won't let him touch you, Ellie," Jax asserts. The tenseness in his voice is there in his shoulders too and I just want to push the pain away for him.

"You can promise me that all you want, Jax, but it's hard to put all of my trust in that. Chibs is the love of my life - he's it for me and there are some days when he promises the same and I can't believe him. I need you to trust me as much as you need me to trust you and let my judgment carry some weight. They're sending us up to the cabin and I want you to come up with us." He nods and proceeds to sit there in silence. I kiss the top of his head and stand up to leave when he grabs my hand. 

"Love you too, Els," He quietly says before letting go of my hand to let me leave. 

   Once I'm back in the storm of people, I'm whisked into Gemma's car where she's waiting for me with our bags packed into the trunk. I've just finished buckling Killian into his car seat when Jax comes out of the clubhouse, stopping to kiss Gemma's cheek. He turns to me, nods once, and climbs onto his bike where the rest of the club is. I'm about to climb into the passenger seat when Opie brings me a burner phone. As soon as we're on the road, I type in Chibs' number that I've memorized every time he's gotten a new burner just in case I ever need it.

"Hello," He answers snappily, obviously not knowing it was me.

"Hey, baby. It's me."

"Oh, lamb, I'm so sorry. I don't know how she found out that I was hurt, but I'll track the fucker down and kill him. Are you okay? Are you safe? Have you talked to the club? Where are they gonna take you and my little lad?" He always asks a million questions without ever giving me the opportunity to answer.

"We're on the way up to the cabin now. Jax and I got into a little bit, but they're gonna leave Juice and Opie up there with us until Jimmy is back in Belfast. I don't know where to go from here, Filip. I can't just leave our life at the drop of a hat whenever he comes here. It won't be fair to the kids and it's not fair to you and me."

"I'm gonna handle it, darling, I promise you-"

"You said you were going to handle it before we got engaged. Then before we got married. Then before Killian was born. Then before Killian turned one. Well, we're married, Killian is one, and I'm three months pregnant with our next child. Either you handle it now, Filip, or I handle it but we're not going to live like this anymore. I'm not going to live my life with his existence looming over me every day. It will kill me, Chibs. It will tear away at me until I'm a shell of the woman you fell in love with and I can't do that to you."

   He's so quiet that I worry that the call has dropped. A tear rolls down my cheek and I rush to wipe it away before Gemma sees it. Right as I'm about to say something to break the silence, he sighs. 

"Why didn't you tell me what this was doing to you, baby?"

"God, Filip, because there's always something in the way. Something with another club or someone's in jail or a deal goes wrong. I love the club and I love your love for the club, baby, but it's gonna kill me. It's gonna kill us if we don't do something now to end this cycle of suffering," I reply while a piece of my heart breaks. My words will cut deeper into him than anything else ever will and I hate that I'm doing this to him but I also know that I can't lose him or myself to this when we both don't deserve that.

"I'll kill him while he's in the States. If he leaves before they discharge me from this goddamn hospital, I'll go to Belfast and I'll kill him. He'll be dead and you'll be free from his burden. I'm gonna love the fuck out of you, Eleanor, and we're gonna be happy and you're gonna be safe. I hate myself for not seeing what this was doing to you earlier, but that's my burden. All I need you to do is listen to the club, keep yourself and our boys safe, and let me handle this," He proclaims as though it's the simplest thing in the world.

"I still don't think we're having another boy," I reply and his laughter eases the tension of our heavy conversation. 

"Well, I think we are and if we're not, I'll just have to keep getting you pregnant until we do."

"Promise?"

"Always."

#chibs telford #soa #sons of anarchy #jaxteller #jax #filip telford #fanfiction #chibs fanfiction #chibs #opie winston #gemma teller #tommy flanagan #juice ortiz #donna winston

[writingwithinwriting]

How to Learn not to be Writing.

I haven’t had much to say recently when it comes to writing. I haven’t been writing at all. Or, I have been trying not to write. I have the time to be qriting now that my manuscript is all tidied up and ready to submit, and I have plenty of ideas which I have been jotting down. But I am trying not to write.

I’ve had a few people comment on the fact that, as writers go, I’m a hard worker. Fellow poets have told me they have seen my output during Napowrimo in the past and wondered how I managed it. Others have asked how I manage to come to a new poetry night with a selection of new material every time. 

This is a wild thing to hear when you have had it pummelled into you through school reports and parent’s evening visits that Pascal would be so successful if only they put in more effort... I still remember being a short little kid and looking into these kindly ladies faces who would look down at me with all the expectation in the world. Which, in turn, was very jarring to hear when I was struggling to do basic things like tell the time, tie my shoes, climb stairs and bathe myself.

As a kid, I felt exhausted all the time. Not in the same way I do now, I felt emotionally exhausted. I was drained by the constant bullying at school, I was getting heart palpitations and stomach cramps from the anxiety of constant testing from middle school to senior school and through to a-levels. 

I started to have panic attacks in my teens that would soon last hours and hours. My phobia was spiralling into obsession and terror. I attempted on my life twice. And I was convinced this was normal. Therefore, I had to carry on at the same speed everyone else was managing to keep up.

I am paying for that now. ME/CFS has forced me to stop taking everything at a break neck pace. And yet writing is the one thing I haven’t slowed down on. I do write a lot. Its not all good, you don’t see it all and certainly quantity isn’t quality, but at least I have that on my side.

I don’t have any impostor syndrome. I believe I’m a good writer, I’m not exceptional, but I have two things on my side which I think have given the illusion that I am somehow always writing all the time. I write to relax and I do not care how good or bad my writing is when I am at it.

These are both, in fact, big fat lies. And I have known this in the back of my heads for years. 

I do care very much how well I write and that’s why I write so often. It feels like the memory of all those beaming teachers praising me for the one thing I exceeded at is engrained in my brain. If I stop writing, I stop having purpose, I stop being useful.

Writing is often something I do to keep myself awake. This isn’t a problem most people have; most people do not need to find activities that balance needing tiny amounst of physical energy with high mental stimulation. If I don’t have both, I go slightly berserk. If my fatigue is too high, I struggle to form basic sentences and look after myself. If I get too bored, I get anxious, I get angry, I get depressed. It is a tight rope walk where I have to keep running or else I will fall into a bottomless pit.

That is a not a healthy way to go about any kind of work. Especially when I have a life outside of writing. I have a family I need to look after during a difficult period and a body that needs feeding, washing and excercising. 

I have poured everything in the last year into my manuscript. Because my ‘everything’ is so small and insignficant next to the forty hour work weeks I see my family and friends a part of, it didn’t feel meaningful. Right after Good Listeners was published, I gave myself a month or two of a break and began shaping the manuscript I have just finished.

I had spent the previous two years shaping Good Listeners. And the previous five years grinding through the most challenging and transformative part of my life. I remember working so hard on my dissertation in the final days, when I went to hand it in, the staff in charge of the printers insisted I sit down and get some water because I looked so pale. 

Someone thought I was high. I felt high. I felt so adrift, I was walking around like a zombie. Someone said I was speaking in whispers. I showed up to the hand in with flowers in my hair because I was so giddy from lack of sleep. I had so little sleep my eyes would start darting around if I relaxed, I would fall asleep on the floor folding towels or unconciously try to sit down in the shower and sleep.

Afterwards I moved back into my parents house and began working until my fatigue slowed me to a crawl. And all I could do to be useful was cook, clean and write whenever I could.

Before that was a-levels. Before that was school. I do not remember a time in my life when I have not been chasing a deadline or creating my own to feel a sense of purpose. I don’t think I can do this any more. 

Not because I don’t want to continually get better and better and better, I adore writing. It is a beautiful thing to find the way you can make yourself whole in this world. I write down every strange dream, weird film idea, every game I want to make one day.

I am writing this down to make it real. To make sure I know the only way I know how to accept what is better for me. I said I would try and finish two manuscripts this year, I finished one and now I am fighting to get up each morning to take my medication. I think it is best if I just step away from deadlines altogether until the new year. 

This is what we call in the writer world a really shitty situation. I hate this, I hate knowing I need to do this. I know every time I have taken a break from performing or publishing I have been left behind by opportunities and valuable experiences. But if I keep I trying to out run my exhaustion, I won’t grow, exceed or expand on what I can do.

This means that some projects are going to go into hibernation, like the nonfiction manuscript and most likely Hundreds & Thousands podcast. I have to re-learn that writing isn’t all typing and scribbling as you’re chained to a desk as people peer over you waiting for shakespeare to happen. I have books to read, workshops to attend, writers to talk to and so much more.

I recently read a Vietnamese epic called the Song of Kieu. Its stunning, heart wrending and world rearranging. And it did very little to further my own writing. But now I have that book in my world. It has grown my purpose to love and perservere and listen to the demon on the road.

I might be posting more on this blog, to get things out of my brain. Or I might not. I will be cooking, cleaning and helping my family. I’ll be taking naps and medication. I will still be here.

#blog #writing #poetry #publishing

[bledf1rst]

MARK GRAYSON plotted starter [...]

for @diaboluse

mark   woke   up   and   the   very   first   thing   he   saw   was   his   mother's   face   raw   and   unguarded,   filled   with   so,   so   much   concern.

"   don't   try   to   talk.   you're   going   to   be   okay.   you're   safe   now.   it's   all   over.   "   and   wasn't   that     just   the   statement   of   the   century?

he   wasn't   so   sure   he'd   ever   feel   safe   again.   getting   pummelled   by   the   lion   guy-   battle   beast?-   had   been   one   thing,   but   this   had   been   his   dad.     who   went   to   his   baseball   games.   who   he   grew   up   with,   depended   on,   and   loved.   his   mom   offered   him   a   drink   and   mark   could   barely   get   it   down,   his   throat   too   sandpapery   and   dry.

"   ...     i'm   so   proud   of   you.     "

for   doing   what?   getting   his   ass   handed   to   him?   just   sitting   there   while   his   dad   slaughtered   hundreds   of   people?   while   mark   helped?

the   tears   came   suddenly,   hiccuping   weeps   that   made   the   concave   of   his   ribs   ache.     he   couldn't   look   his   mother   in   the   eye   any   longer-   knowing   how   badly     he   fucked   up.   knowing   how   big   a   part   he   played   in   just   minutes   of   inevitable   destruction.   why'd   he   have   to   go   and   call   himself   a   hero?   at   this   point,   he   was   just   a   kid   playing   dress-up.

"   -i'll   let   you   rest.   "

the   rest   of   the   week   passed   in   a   haze.   he   could   get   on   his   feet   finally   and   he   followed   cecil   on   some   psuedo-tour.   went   home,   saw   his   friends,   and   ranted   to   that   allen   guy   that   worked   with   the   coalition   of   planets.   after   that?   mark   was   drifting,   mostly.   whether   he   was   alone   or   with   people,   his   ability   to   stay   present   in   the   moment   would   slip   from   his   fingers   time   and   time   again.   at   first   it'd   be   background   noise,   then   white.

and   then   dull   ringing   he   couldn't   really   find   the   energy   to   decipher   into   words.   he'd   been   staring   at   the   same   page   of   the   newst   issue   of   seance   dog   when   his   mom   called   him   downstairs,   way   too   soon   for   dinner.   he   didn't   think   much   of   it   and   came   down   anyways.

"   -mark,   "   she     looked   as   tired   as   he   felt,   bags   under   her   eyes,   but   dressed   impeccably   in   the   presence   of   a   guest,   "   this   is   matthew   murdock.     do   you   remember   me   mentioning   him   coming   over?   he'll   be   helping   me   with   some   legal   stuff   today,   just   in   the   dining   room.   "

mark   glanced   over   and   saw   that   there   was   already   and   slew   of   papers   spread   out,   his   mom's   laptop   working   overtime.   he   nodded,   "   -uh,   yeah.   sure.   i   remember.   "   he   didn't     actually,   but   he   wasn't   going   to   let   his   mom   worry   more   than   she   already   was.   she   had   enough   of   her   plate.

"   mr.   murdock,   this   is   my   son-   mark.   in   light   of   ...   recent   events,   he's   been   staying   home   from   school.   just   until   the   media   loses   interest.   "

mark   tentatively   ventured   into   politeness,   "   it's   ...   nice   to   meet   you.   "     i   guess.

#» ... MARK GRAYSON ( ᶤᶰᵛᶤᶰᶜᶤᵇˡᵉ ) / in character. #injury tw #medical tw #death ment tw #» ... STARTER ( ᵗʰʳᵉᵃᵈˢ ) / closed. #diaboluse

[harrison-abbott]

One of the popular boys wanted to beat me up. I found out this news because one of the girls came and told me ... when I was in the playground eating some chocolate raisons. 

“Why does he want to?” I asked her.

She shrugged. 

“I don’t know but you better not go to the bus stop at the end of the day because that’s when he’s gonna do it.”

Uh hu, he was a poppy lad, everybody seemed to love him. They called his name. Hollered his fame; the school turgid in the annals of pre pubescence.

I did not know how to get home without using the bus. 

Nor was there any adult to help me. 

I had gym class that afternoon. Where the lads played basketball in the loud orange gymnasium. I stubbed a finger on the ball. The short sprightly pain was a precursor to the beating I imagined that would take place in public mayhem maybe three hours henceforth. 

The P.E. teacher was the old guard retro likeable gruff sports coach you can imagine from countless sports movies ... except, he was actually real.

A pisstaker but he was cool with the kids. 

I thought about going up to him to speak to him about the fight thing. But I didn’t have the verve. I just didn’t know what I was supposed to say to him to get him to protect me.

Gym class was followed by physics class. I had no inkling for physics or any of its equations or experiments or batteries or mechanics ... or the airy room wherein we sat on stools ... [with the bald six foot five physics teacher who openly flirted with the pretty girls in the class, that, we all liked (the boys, as girls) and he liked them as well. But, he was in his forties and we were teens. 

And the girls thought it was creepy as well. But, he was a teacher, right? And therefore had his powers. He could meet with the parents on parents’ night and not have to do any of that perverse sexual stuff, and he wore his suits well and his shoes often squeaked at the right pitch with their leather pop].

Obviously I couldn’t say a damn morsel to the physics teacher.

And then that class ended. And there was one final chapter of geography at the very end. I liked geography. With the geordie plump woman who could never control her oral volume. Nice woman, though. 

I could never be a teacher. I’m a freak, fuck up. Never have been good with people in any way and children are the worst kind of people and they hate me the most. Bullied all my life. Throughout family hood child hood adulthood, blah blee, a complete muck up with no deserved right to survive.

Such was my thinking when I went up to the bus stop at the end of that day to go and meet this boy who was going to pummel me.

There as an expectant crowd. Box office lines. Carnival glee. That kinda enticement in the air.

I saw the big famous boy standing there ten yards away. He had this posse of lads behind him. Ready to back him up in case things would go wrong.

I weighed about nine stone at this point. Was “skinny like a model” and all of my previous violent escapades had resulted in me as the loser. And yet, he was still afraid of some repercussion. 

It surprised me. The whole icy silence across the crowd. I thought they would all be baying and yomped up on gore. But, all was ... ticktocking in soft pedals, as you’d listen to a clock on a high wall, the fat hand clicking by the seconds.

He came up to me.

I shivered as he approached. What was I supposed to do? There are videos you can watch of boxers thrusting these fists into each others’ faces. It’s as stupid as videogames. And they made one of those bare-knuckle competitions legal in some State recently; I saw that on the news: and there were pictures of the combat, the stage all bathed with blood, and three hundred people watching hungrily. And I thought, what’s the satisfaction in watching anything like that?

He hit me in the face.

It felt psychological.

I thought it was supposed to knock me down but it didn’t. 

Eighty eyeballs were watching. He struck me again. I just took it. It was horrible. Among the worst photographs. There was this tremendous zeal in me - to smack him right back. Hollywood punches. Uppercut. Muhammed Ali. All of that shit which is never real. Ali’s fights weren’t real either. He was a boxer. 

The bus appeared at the end of the street.

He’d hit me twice in the face. I hadn’t retaliated.

This meant that he’d won.

He smiled, and slapped me playfully on the cheek. And then left. 

The bus came and the forty folks got on it, including me. And throughout the whole journey all I could hear was the mass relish about this amazing battering.

#writeblr #stories #prose #creative writing #short fiction

[newstfionline]

Thursday, April 13, 2023

California Economy Is on Edge After Tech Layoffs and Studio Cutbacks (NYT) California has often been at the country’s economic forefront. Now, as fears of a national recession continue to nag, the state is hoping not to lead the way there. While the California economy maintains its powerhouse status, outranking even those of most countries, the state’s most-powerful sectors—including tech companies and supply chain logistics—have struggled to keep their footing, pummeled by high interest rates, investor skittishness, labor strife and other turmoil. Even the weather hasn’t cooperated. Severe flooding throughout much of the winter, caused by atmospheric rivers, has left farming communities in the Central Valley devastated, causing hundreds of millions of dollars in crop losses. Thousands of Californians have been laid off in the last few months, the cost of living is increasingly astronomical, and Gov. Gavin Newsom revealed in January that the state faced a $22.5 billion deficit in the 2023-24 fiscal year—a plummet from the $100 billion surplus a year ago.

As seen on social media (NYT) The recently leaked U.S. military documents aren’t just an embarrassment for American officials. They are also likely to have more tangible consequences: Ukraine is changing its battle plans against Russia in response to the leak, CNN reported. Ukraine’s announcement is a sign of what makes this leak distinct from past ones. Many of the leaks are weeks old, rather than months or years old, and describe secrets—involving Ukraine, Russia, South Korea, Israel and other countries—that are relevant to ongoing events. The leak sent U.S. officials scrambling to contain the fallout. They are trying to reassure intelligence officials from other countries that further leaks are unlikely. And the Justice Department and the F.B.I. are investigating the source of the disclosure. It is not clear who leaked the documents or what their intentions were. The leak first appeared on gaming chat rooms and message boards, so it’s conceivable that a low-level official posted the documents online to settle an internet dispute, experts say. But it is also possible that Russia or another adversary acted with more serious, nefarious intentions.

Lock-outs, mass emails, closed offices: Virtual layoffs are normal now (Washington Post) When an employee with Amazon’s gaming unit tried to sign in for work last Tuesday, she found her access to most internal systems had been revoked. Her calendar had been cleared, except for a 15-minute meeting labeled “Organizational Update.” During the meeting, a manager read from a corporate script as he explained her position had been eliminated. The conversation felt impersonal after the years she’d spent with the company. The employee felt hurt. “I’m a human being,” said the employee. “Any employee should get a personal approach here in that situation.” Early in the pandemic, as offices were shuttered across the country and workers logged on from home, remote layoffs were a necessity. But some companies where workers have returned to offices are still opting to break the news virtually. Last week, McDonald’s asked corporate employees to work from home while it delivered layoff decisions that affected hundreds of workers. Twitter made a similar move back in November. Google made headlines in January when it delivered the biggest cuts in its history via mass email. Employees who were cut immediately had their email access revoked and were instructed to sign up for a new email account that would be used to handle severance matters. Some showed up to work only to find their security badges no longer let them into the building. No matter how workers find out about being laid off, “it’s going to be painful,” according to Sima Sajjadiani, assistant professor in the Sauder School of Business at the University of British Columbia. But research shows that there’s a benefit to communicating bad news in person. “It’s more humane and it’s more dignified.”

Brazil’s Lula visits China, seeking ties and Ukraine support (AP) Brazilian President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva flew off to China on Tuesday to strengthen ties with his nation’s biggest trade partner and win support for his long shot push for peace in Ukraine. Lula wants Brazil, China and other nations to help mediate the war as part of his nation’s return to the world stage, but his proposals to end the conflict have irked Ukraine and some in the West. Less controversial is the Brazilian and Chinese mutual interest in trade after a rocky period under Lula’s predecessor. China and Brazil are expected to sign at least 20 bilateral agreements during Lula’s two-day stay, according to the Brazilian government.

Chile lawmakers vote to reduce work week from 45 to 40 hours (AP) Chile’s Congress on Tuesday overwhelmingly approved a bill to reduce the work week from 45 to 40 hours over five years, a decision hailed by the left-wing government as a breakthrough for workers’ rights. It was the second time Chile has reduced its work week. The first was in 2005, when it was cut from 48 to 45 hours. Ana Camayo, a 54-year-old manicurist who works in a department store, said “the law is fantastic for women over 30 who have children,” referring to herself and her colleagues. She said the extra free time will be spent with her family.

Is The Sun Setting On The British Economy? (BBC) The UK is set to be one of the worst performing major economies in the world this year, according to the International Monetary Fund (IMF). It says the UK economy's performance in 2023 will be the worst among the 20 biggest economies, known as the G20, which includes sanctions-hit Russia. The IMF predicts the UK economy will shrink this year, although this is a small upgrade from its last forecast. It also warned of a "rocky road" for the global financial system. IMF researchers have previously pointed to Britain's exposure to high gas prices, rising interest rates and a sluggish trade performance as reasons for its weak economic performance.

Italy declares state of emergency as migrant numbers surge (AP) Italy’s right-wing government on Tuesday declared a six-month national state of emergency to help it cope with a surge in migrants arriving on the country’s southern shores. The government said the state of emergency was deemed necessary “to carry out with urgency extraordinary measures to reduce congestion” at an overwhelmed migrant shelter on a tiny Italian island in the Mediterranean. During the COVID-19 pandemic Italy’s governing coalitions also imposed a state of emergency, enabling the Cabinet to mandate many coping measures by decree, temporarily bypassing the usually long parliamentary process for funding and regulations. Since the start of this year, some 31,000 migrants, either rescued by Italian military boats or charity ships or reaching Italy without assistance, have disembarked, according to Interior Ministry figures. That’s nearly four times the roughly 8,000 for the same period in each of the two previous years.

As Ukraine war drags on, civilians’ mental health needs rise (AP) Huddled in the back of a café near the train station where a missile killed dozens of people a year ago, Nastya took slow, deliberate breaths to calm herself. Overnight, her neighborhood had been bombed again, and she just couldn’t take any more. Heeding her parents’ advice, the 20-year-old woman had visited the nearby psychiatric hospital that morning, and it was a lifeline. “After today’s shelling, I could no longer cope with anxiety, the feeling of constant danger,” the speech therapy student said, giving only her first name to talk last month about the difficult decision to seek mental health care. There are hundreds of thousands like Nastya in Ukraine, experts say, and the number of people needing psychological help is only expected to rise as the war continues. In December, the World Health Organization said one in five people in countries that have experienced conflict in the past decade will suffer from a mental health condition, and estimated that about 9.6 million people in Ukraine could be affected.

Volcano Erupts in Russia (1440) One of Russia’s most active volcanoes erupted early Tuesday, sending clouds of ash and smoke more than 65,000 feet in the sky and covering about 41,700 square miles of nearby towns in dust—an area larger than the state of Kentucky. The Shiveluch volcano in the country’s far eastern Kamchatka Peninsula erupted just after midnight local time. Scientists described the eruption as the biggest in 60 years. Officials said the lava flows were unlikely to reach villages and mass evacuations weren’t necessary. The peninsula, home to around 300,000 people, extends into the Pacific Ocean and lies northeast of Japan. It sits on the Ring of Fire—an area defined by multiple tectonic plate boundaries responsible for 75% of the world’s volcanoes and 90% of its earthquakes.

China Is Facing a Moment of Truth About Its Low Retirement Age (Bloomberg) China has one of the lowest retirement ages among major economies, allowing women to retire as early as at age 50 and men at 60. Now, local governments are running out of money just as a wave of retirees—China’s version of “baby boomers”—hits. That is leaving Beijing with little choice but to ask people to work longer, a move economists say is long overdue but one still likely to meet with resistance

China practices attacking Taiwan from the east, a worrying development (Washington Post) China’s newest aircraft carrier has for the first time practiced attacking Taiwan from the island’s east coast, demonstrating Beijing’s growing determination to project power beyond the Taiwan Strait and far into the Pacific Ocean, an area traditionally dominated by the United States and its regional allies. Chinese saber-rattling in the Taiwan Strait, which is just 80 miles wide at its narrowest point, has become commonplace as the Communist Party under Xi Jinping becomes increasingly vehement about its intent to take control of the self-governed democracy. But the three days of military exercises around Taiwan that concluded on Monday focused on dominating the air and sea in the western Pacific by simulating a carrier-based strike from the far side of the island, rather than the usual approach from the Taiwan Strait that separates the island from China. “If the People’s Liberation Army can strategically occupy this region, it will make it difficult for the United States to intervene or support Taiwan,” said Lin Ying-yu, a professor of international relations at Tamkang University in Taiwan. Taipei previously assumed that airfields on its east coast could operate as backup if China attacked west coast installations, but China’s growing ability to control the sea and air on the far side of Taiwan means that plan might need to be revised, Lin said.

Going bananas (NYT) An elephant at a Berlin zoo has taught herself to peel bananas. Pang Pha, an elephant raised in the Berlin zoo, learned how to peel a banana after watching her caretakers do it for her. However, she only peels bananas that are at the right level of ripeness, seeming to prefer the yellow-brown ones.

#headlines #news

[lunapaper]

Album Review: 'Surrender' - Maggie Rogers

Since the release of her 2019 debut album, Heard it in a Past Life, Maggie Rogers has been trying to find herself. 

She moved to Maine, cut off all her hair, cut herself off from the rest of the world and completed her master’s degree in religion and public life at Harvard Divinity School. Her performance at Coachella this past April was actually part of her post-graduate coursework.  

‘If I wanted to now, I could go be a professor, or I could work in a bookshop,’ the Maryland-born singer recently told the BBC. ‘And knowing that this other life exists makes me choose music actively, every time. It's not just something I got swept up into, like, 'I went viral and here I am.’ 

She might be feeling more spiritually fulfilled, but on her latest album, Surrender (also the name of her master’s thesis), Rogers is still creatively in a state of flux. 

Like Heard it in a Past Life, the album strips Rogers of her quirks in favour of bland pop cliches while at the same time overcompensates in strange ways. 

Everything is bigger on Surrender – the production, the emotions, the hooks, the vocals. At times, Rogers tries to ape the raspy, yodel-like wail of 90s icons like Alanis Morissette and The Cranberries’ Dolores O’Riordan. The maximalism can work to its advantage on tracks like ‘Want Want’ with its punky burst of electro pop and first single ‘That Where I Am,’ which has an eerily similar backbeat to Rihanna’s ‘Umbrella.’ 

But bigger doesn’t always mean better, of course. What might feel liberating and euphoric at first has you feeling drained by the seventh or eighth track. Rogers and co-producer Kid Harpoon just heap on the synths and reverb and drums, and turn it all the way up to 11. Surrender really is the perfect title for this record, because you really have no choice but to surrender to these waves upon waves of sound that just pummel you into submission. I made a big mistake listening to this with earbuds on; I had to keep turning it down because it was giving me a headache. It’s only when we get to the gentle ‘Begging for Rain’ that we get any sort of respite, Rogers’ voice caressing a restless sprawl of reverb and drums. 

For songs that are so big and bold in nature, they’re pretty forgettable (bar ‘Want Want’ and ‘That’s Where I Am’). 90s nostalgia is so hot right now, yet Rogers and Harpoon take from the blandest parts of that decade – adult contemporary rock,  twee coffeehouse jams. ‘Symphony,’ in particular, is just a dull rehash of the Smashing Pumpkins’ ‘1979,’ stripped of its bleak and infinite sadness.  

References to head and the odd ‘fuck’ thrown in also come off as rather gratuitous, while the mention of Rogers’ friend masturbating to a picture of Robert Pattinson staring at the wall is something that I didn’t really need to know. If one of my so-called friends put something like that in a song, I’d have to disown her. ‘It’s a different kind of world,’ she reflects on the ghostly final track. Yeah, no shit. Even that track has to explode into a monstrous roar of sound. 

And dear God, who the fuck mixed the vocals on this record? (Jeremy Hatcher was the vocal programmer, apparently, according to the Genius credits). Why does Rogers feel the need to over-sing so much? When did she decide to start taking vocal cues from Jessie J and Rachel from Glee?   

‘Horses’ is probably the most egregious example of her vocal bombast, drowning out what’s supposed to be a wistful, Tracey Chapman-style ode to heartbreak. The sound mixing is so godawful on this record, it’s like the vocals and instruments are constantly at war with each other. Rogers’ voice sounds like it could give out at any moment, she belts so damn hard. I can’t imagine what it’s going to be like to perform songs off this night after night. She doesn’t have a bad voice, but she’s no Mariah, either; it’s just not built for that. 

On Surrender, Rogers sought to capture the transcendent feeling of a festival gig, having ‘massive, mouth-watering fantasies of a tent at Glastonbury, where someone was playing really heavy drums, and I could feel the bass in my collarbones and someone spilled a beer on my shoes’ in the wake of lockdown anxiety. 

Like a festival gig, it can feel joyful and exhilarating for the first few songs. But the novelty wears off the longer it drags on. Soon, you’re feeling exhausted, stifled by the heat and reeking of beer and sweat. And the couple beside won’t stop dry-humping one another. It’s not nearly as fun as you thought it’d be… 

The image of a loud, sweaty and defiant Rogers is a thrilling one, but the execution leaves a lot to be desired. Moments of raw emotion are let down by overwrought and generic production choices, making them feel more like melodrama. It’s like Surrender is trying to make up for the oddly lacklustre effort of Heard it in a Past Life, swinging way too far in the other direction. There’s just no in-between, which is a shame since Rogers has shown that she’s capable of producing glossy pop bangers like ‘Give a Little,’ ‘Say It’ and ‘The Knife.’  

‘All I ever wanted is to make something fucking last,’ Rogers admits on the  ‘Anywhere with You.’ Hopefully she one day does... 

- Bianca B. 

#music #maggie rogers #surrender #new #reviews #albums #Bianca B

[hanadoesstuffbadly]

Daughter of Giants

"You should move along, Giant, we don't want your sort around here." The bartender's voice was low and authoritative, the voice of a man not easily ignored, but one didn't need the ears of a bat to make out the tremors coursing through it. Everything about him was a well made manor with good foundations, but Aravis could tell it was built on sand. Give him a little shake and everything would start slipping.

Aravis smirked and tapped her fingers idly against the bar's puckered wooden surface. A part of her cursed  how ineffective her disguise had been proving recently, even after she's taken to covering her folc markings. The last thing she needed now was to have word of a nomadic folcwoman travelling the Engle Lands like a sad silk trader. Her tankard's rim just brushed her lips as she held it there and she concentrated on the fact that the man had not moved along, still standing just out of sight behind her mustard coloured hood. If he just needed a shake, why was she feeling inclined to rattle him until the very bricks of his character were dust to be scraped off of her heel. Maybe she was too tired for this today, too done with walkers and their sloppy, indelicate ineptitude. But at the same time, her ichor was roaring through her veins, violet and rushing. It made her lungs burn like magma beneath the island's crust. Her titanic heart yearned for a fight. It had been too long.

"My sort?" Silk dropped into her tone inadvertently, turning her deep, hoarse, broken voice into an almost mechanical purr. Fear rippled through the room like ribbons. It was a cool breeze in a suffocating glare of self-importance and Aravis breathed it in.

"You're a bounty-hunter!" Not the bartender, but a nasal, underdeveloped voice called from the crowd of patrons that had interrupted their own meals to gawk like a gaggle around what had been a peaceful evening drink. Aravis didn't bother seeking out the speaker (though she suspected one of the pasty, mealy shepherds seated closer to the entrance. An easy escape, she mused, smart choice.) Her brow, however, creased at his choice of words. Bounty hunters were perhaps the lowest of the low creatures grovelling on the earth's filthy surface. Turning in fellows of your kind for the reward of others? Had they no sense of honour or kinship at all. Had a folcman or woman acted in such a way, they would be plunged beneath the clouds to the endless oceans below and ripped to shreds by the wild, Bacchic merpeople of the depths. Honour, trust, loyalty; mere dramatic concepts to be learned and forgotten by those thugs like poor poetry.

"Now what would give you that idea?" Likely her stature or lack of ladylike grace. Maybe-

"The ends of your hair. They're white." The thought died before it even took shape in her mind. A chill crawled up around her shoulders, turning the thick muscle there into cold stone. She was frozen in place, barely able to open her mouth to reply through gritted teeth, her head bowed lower toward the counter and her tankard rested against her suddenly ringing forehead.

"Why," she ground out, "would that," turning slowly like a tin doll, her eyes flashed, "mark me out?" Moonlight flashed against a bronze knife behind the bar and it set the room aflame. The man- boy really- stood and quaked like a tethered kite before the entrance like it was a headwind. He had a round, dark, unfinished face; the face of a scholar or bard, not a warrior. Nevertheless, Aravis wanted nothing more than to turn it blue with bruises.

"I've heard stories," He shuddered and searched any face but hers for help "my father's a pepper merchant, he told me about you and your kind." The idea of some miserable, slimy, slithering underwalker's tongue speaking of her ‘kind’ made Aravis' fists curl. "Your hair is dark and- and blue, right?" He was slipping, but didn't run. Yet. "He used to say, when- when what was inside your head became darker, your hair literally started paling in comparison... Making the tips turn white... And- I-I thought..."

"Tom Tom, that's enough." Hissed the bartender.

Aravis was very still. Whispers are meant to be lost in the chaos. Aravis’ words were like breaths, yet each one rang in the floorboards and out of the door like the echoes of screams.

"Your father is well-learned. Darkness seeping into every crevice of the mind, turning you into a miasma veiled in flesh? What better fits that description than a callous, underhanded criminal? What could be so dark, so evil, as to turn the tips of my hair so pale?"

With one hand she tore the hood from her head. And not a breath was drawn as their pathetic faces took in the blank, dull cascades, the colour of new snow. Cold and dead. White to the roots.

She closed her eyes when the whispers started seeping into their fear, and as always, before her there stretched a great gash in the clouds on which she, still an adolescent wrapped in sunlight, stood. Beneath that crevice she saw the island of the underwalkers. But she wasn't looking at them. Instead, all that filled her vision was the great, massive warrior lying like unwanted venison beside the hulking, grotesque, monstrous corpse of a Beanstalk. And the underwalkers were dancing. At their head, leading them on there stood a creature of pale flesh and golden hair. To others he might have looked like a child, beautiful and beaming. Aravis knew what he really was. The axe was still in his hands. That smiling, glittering face was the last thing she saw before the vision cleared and Aravis opened her eyes to the bar counter. 

Shards of metal and broken wood lay before her. Her hand was bloodied by purple ichor. Still lodged within the cut were some remains of the crushed tankard. But it was her eyes that were burning with pain.

The whispers had ceased. And so had the roar in her veins. She was ice.

Standing, she swept her cloak aside to rest both hands on her hips, her feet apart. She was taller now than she had been when she entered, and now the crest of her ringed headband just skimmed the ceiling. Everybody in the room cowered below her. It felt right.

"Indeed. I am a hunter. But what I'm after is not the reward of a slippery, stupid nobleman. It is justice. And it is mine alone." the low rasp of her voice grew full and round as pride swelled within, "as a daughter of the mighty Laestrygonians."

At the name of her folc, new horror trickled into slow running red blood all around her. So many eyes darted to the door, for escape. Many more became fixed on her lips or, more specifically, on the teeth that lay behind them. Aravis didn’t need to be a mind mage to know they were wondering how much mortal flesh had been shredded upon them. That stout bartender was the first to finish quivering.

"Who do you seek, great Giantess? I will tell you all that I know, just don't hurt any of my customers, I beg of you!" Ugh. Begging. Typical underwalkers.

"I'm hunt Prince Jack of Gaul. As I have for almost ten years." Voice rising such that everyone might hear, she let fear carry her words. "He has taken something very precious from me, many things in fact, and I intend to exact justice."

“But, he’s been missing over three years! Many young princes have been.” Aravis was well aware of that. So close. She had been so close she could see the ridiculous peak of his hair, illuminated under dragon fire. But the presence of one of the more powerful fae had forced to keep her distance. But she had him cornered. It was almost over. And then he was gone.

“Haven’t you heard? They’re back, now.” Every head turned back to the scholarly boy by the entrance. “Yeah, the entire Fearless-”

But Aravis was deaf to the world.

They’re back now. He’s back now. He’s back. Again, and again, and again. The sound of clouds being split down the middle and the shining eyes of the blonde, beautiful murderer. And dancing. Aravis’ eyes were filled with axes, ichor and dancing.

Her bident spear was in her hand one moment and whistling across the room the next. The boy- Tom Tom he’d been called- was pinned between its prongs like a fish, flailing and panicked. He grasped at the twin spikes which were twice as thick as his arm. As Aravis strode over, he just resisted going limp.

With her feelings crashing and shrieking in her head, Aravis paid no attention to the fact that the ceiling had splintered around it. She didn’t notice the splinters to timber that clawed at her waist, nor the frigid night air whipping her face as she waded through the bar like mud. People the size of dolls scurried for the exit, while the one she wanted remained pinned. Until she knelt down and gripped the long handle of her weapon, pushing it closer into his throat.

“Where?” Was all she managed. Everything inside was a storm that even she herself was becoming lost in.

“I- I don’t know! I was told by a friend!”

“WHERE?!” Her bellow ricocheted off the dark sky itself like thunder and the bident spear-head pressed harder against his trachea until he gasped for air.

“STONEBURY!” Violent sobs wracked his body but Aravis did not relent, “GLASS STONEBURY! MY FRIEND HORNER IS IN GLASS STONEBURY! HE CAN TELL YOU!”

Only then, with a grunt of dark satisfaction did she pull the spear from the wall, releasing him. With the first real, tangible feeling she had felt in years melting into her veins, she shrank back down until she was practically the same stature she had been when she had arrived. The bar’s roof was gone, allowing freezing wind to howl through. She cared not.

Aravis finished a drink that had been abandoned on a table in the panic. It was revolting, crude stuff, typical for underwalkers. But a smile was curled on her face regardless.

"What will you do once you find the prince? He's a hero, and has many powerful friends!" So the bartender had stayed, she hadn’t counted on that. She graciously turned to look at him, feeling lighter than she had in almost four years.

"Simple. I will rend his arms from his sides. I will cast his broken body across the air until each and every bone is ground into dust."

"They'll see you coming, people have already run to tell others of you."

"You speak as if I’d intended this to be a slaughter. You are wrong.” Aravis’ hood fell to the floor and her hand reached into her satchel. She sighed softly when her fingers met the gentle, rippling fabric of her cloak. Her mother’s cloak. “It’s an execution.” she pulled it free, letting it grow in size until it could wrap around her completely. Her legs and torso disappeared from sight. “And I must have him know his sentence.”

Turning, she vanished behind the concealment of the cloak and into the darkness of the night. The Engle Lands were solitary, located deep in the marshes of Fairytale Island. 

It wasn’t far to Glass Stonebury. And then all that was left was to find this Horner.

Just an intro that I couldn't get out of my head since creating Aravis (her name was Astrid originally). I kinda want to write a whole fic about this but I'm not sure since it would be pretty much all my ocs... I'm imagining basically zootopia but with a Giant princess and a bounty hunter.

Also ive already started about two big projects with no third chapter soooo.....

#beginning of something?? #maybe #red shoes and the 7 dwarfs #red shoes and the seven dwarfs #red shoes movie #red shoes fanfic #hana writing #my ocs #standing on the shoulders of giants #SotSoG #red shoes fanfiction #horner appears in my gwen fic red cloak #the third chapter of that is in the works #schools just been pummeling recently #laestrygonians are the cannibal giants featured in the odyssey #they pretty kuch hav a culture that's 2/3 celtic 1/3 ancient greek #aravis #red shoes oc #giant oc

[itsonlydana]

Mcyt reaction to you confessing to them while drunk, that's all I have lol

MCYT REACTING TO DRUNK CONFESSIONS

pairing: cc!Foolish x gn!reader / cc!Wilbur x gn!reader /cc!Eret x gn!reader

warnings: alcohol & being drunk

important links: rules + masterlist

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

Foolish:

you two were childhood friends ever since you two sat next to each other on your first day of school and he shared his lunch with you because his mother packed a lot more than he would ever need

after that you stayed pretty close, through school and eventually college, hanging out whenever you had time

it was during the last your of highschool when you realized your feelings towards him had grown into something else, but you swore to yourself that you could never tell him, not wanting to destroy the strong bond between you and lose your best friend

when he started to stream you were his number one supporter, always having his streams on when you studied or worked but always staying out of it

even with his recent growth and longer streams, Foolish made sure that he made time for you

your feelings never changed, they became a part of your life you could work around and that you got used to

until he invited you to a pummel party stream

you two had hung out the whole day, sitting in his room and playing some games to enjoy the weekend. Foolish had asked you out of the blue if you would want to stay the night (which was nothing new) and that he only had to play pummel party with a few of his friends in the evening

in typical pummel party fashion it got out of control very quickly and not only Foolish decided to drink but you as well, laying in his bed while he sat in his gaming chair, glancing over at you here and then to make sure you were alright but also because he just couldn't not. Every time you were over at his and laying in his bed Foolishs heart nearly jumped out of his chest, beating a bit faster than it should for his best friend

Buzzed, the only thing to come close to describing your state of mind right now.

Everything of the past week was forgotten, the only thing you noticed were the cozy blankets and pillows under you and of course the warmth in your stomach, to which you were already accustomed by now. The room was wrapped in a pink bubble where only you and Foolish existed, not that it would be any different otherwise. The alcohol you'd been drinking for a few hours had dulled your senses and left you daydreaming in Foolish's bed, lost in your thoughts that went no further than the desk, and yet (or perhaps because of it) you didn't notice Foolish saying goodbye to the group and walking over to the bed with his glass in hand, where he paused. Only after a while, smiling dreamily and with your eyes closed, lost in the depths of his bed, you realize how quiet it had become and opened your eyes, only to see Foolish standing right next to you. His cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, his gaze as befuddled as yours, and you swore he had never looked better. Before you could say anything, he placed his glass next to your empty one on his dresser and dropped stomach first on the big bed. He moved around until he was lying with his face next to yours and dramatically spread out over you like a starfish with his arms and legs stretched out over your stomach and legs. Without giving it much thought, you nudged the tip of your nose against his. "Hi" His voice was a whisper, rough from the alcohol and all the laughter from before, and you couldn't stop the goosebumps on your arms. The longer you looked into his dark eyes and felt his hot breath on your lips, the closer you came to deciding to drop everything and confess it all to him. It was quiet in the room, except for the soft buzzing of his computer, there was only the loud beating of your two hearts as you both looked at each other, both lost in thoughts of all the childhood memories, waiting for the other to make the first move You whispered his name, breaking the silence first, and Foolish's pupils grew larger. You could feel his breath catch briefly and then hit your chin hotly, his heart skip and then beat wildly against your chest and you felt it feel right. "I" you started, but when Foolish moved his head even closer to yours, you stopped for a second. "Yes?" he echoed and lifted a hand to your face, gently running his thumb under your lips before he cupped your cheek as if he was afraid you would be able to turn away again. But there was no turning back, you both knew that. "I don't want to be just friends anymore" Before you could think any further about your words, Foolish had already pulled you into a kiss, lurching forward too quickly and slamming his head against yours. The alcohol made you gasp only briefly, then the pain was already forgotten and all that mattered were Foolish's lips on yours and the many years you both had crushes on each other without ever confessing it. The kiss was anything but sweet or gentle, as your friends had told you about their first kiss, it was much more urgent as the feelings between you exploded and you both finally gave in to what had been held back for so long by the fear of destroying something.

Wilbur:

Will and you had been friends for a few years now, although you could ask all your friends what your relationship status was and they would just shrug their shoulders and get a "who knows with those two?" as an answer

they were not completely wrong, there had always been a spark between you since the first time you met, which had been pushed away with the passing of time, but was getting bigger and bigger

you only had to be in the same room and immediately everyone would feel the attraction and everyone would see the wanting glances. All except yourselves

You fell for Will's charms from the very beginning. The way he expressed himself, the devotion to music and generally all directions of creative art and his passion for things like his lore streams to his many bottle gardens he collected on his windowsills

You both were never sure if a hangout was a meeting between two friends or a date, you wanted the latter but always thought the former.

While Will took you on long walks by the sea or to band rehearsals, you made sure he had more contact with the outside world, dragging him from one museum to another where you dramatically analyzed or re-enacted the paintings.

Will loves Lovejoy more than anything, but while you always thought he was writing the songs for the band, he started writing many songs about you. These songs, however, always ended up in his drawer or at the bottom of his notes app

At some point, you came across a note with lyrics written on it, lines that got to you even though you didn't know what exactly they were about. When Will saw you with the note in your hand, he almost fainted and turned pale as a ghost, but you motivated him to keep working on it.

After talking to Phil and telling him about his feelings, the two of them worked out a plan to tell you that he loved you, because as soon as he tried to say it in words, there was just a yawning emptiness in his head and he stuttered around until he gave up. And since it was easier for him to sing, he finished writing the song about you, tweaked it until it was perfect, and made sure he got an open-mic spot in the bar where you wanted to go out with a few friends

Your whole body felt like it was wrapped in cotton wool, nothing felt real anymore as you stood up from the table with your friends and squeezed through the clapping rows in the small pub. Your gaze was fixed on the exit, your ears still reverberating with every single word of the song Will had finished moments ago before he had jumped up jerkily and run off the stage. The alcohol you had consumed throughout the evening made your path an obstacle course and as much as you tried to run straight or dodge the pub patrons, it was harder than you thought when your head was all about Will. Will, who had appeared out of nowhere and completely derailed your evening as well as your emotions. Will with his stupid love song, which he had probably written for some girl, the song for which you had motivated him to continue writing. You couldn't have known he was dedicating it to someone else, then you never would have brought it up. Will, who had nevertheless managed with a song for another, that you wanted to put down all your feelings to him. Will, who looked at you startled as soon as you pushed open the door and stepped outside into the fresh air. The world spun briefly as the cool air rushed into your lungs, still accustomed to the smoked and stuffy bar air, as you had to gasp deeply at the sight of Will. He had his guitar strapped to his back, the guitar whose sounds wouldn't leave your ear and whose melody turned you into a kind of trance as soon as he played just one note, and now he had this instrument that played with you strapped to his back just like that, as if it hadn't exactly convinced you to question your friendship. "Did you like the song?" asked Will, and you didn't miss the shakiness in his voice and the way he pressed his hands into his jacket pockets. "It's good," you forced out, wrapping your arms around your stomach "Really good." Will laughed in relief, a tremor in the quiet chuckle. "Yeah?" The alcohol had loosened your tongue and you couldn't avoid the bitterness in your tone "That special person will definitely like it. Will's eyebrows shot up, had you been a little more alert or sober you would have seen the hint of panic in his eyes flickering nervously back and forth. This was not what he had wanted, not at all. "You know," you continued, your hands clasped in your top, "I always hoped you could write a song about me. Oh that sounds selfish... but it hurts to hear you sing about love. How come you never told me about it? Never mentioned anyone that piqued your interest, although I don't really want to hear that either, because I like you, really like you a lot and it just hurts Wilbur" At the end of your sentence you sniffled softly, trying to blink away the tears that were coming, because there was no way you were going to start crying now. You were already embarrassed enough by the situation. "My love, the song was about you". At Will's words you jerk your head up, stumbling slightly at the spinning world blurred by tears and alcohol, but Will had quickly jumped a step forward to steady you. "About me?" you whispered, suddenly with a very strange feeling in your stomach. "But-" "No buts," Will murmured, wrapping one arm around your middle and resting the other on your shoulder, where his thumb was gently drawing circles to help him focus. "You really thought there was anyone else I'd dedicate a song about my feelings to, when you're the only one who makes me feel this way? That's silly. No, every single verse, every single word and every bit of love I put into this song I did for you. How about we get you a glass of water and talk about it?"

Eret:

falling in love with Eret was probably both the worst and the most beautiful thing that had happened to you in a long time, but mostly the worst, because Eret had a talent for hiding his feelings.

He was not cold to you, no quite the opposite: you were always greeted with warm smiles and hugs, sometimes even an arm around the shoulders or a tousle through the hair, he always made sure that you were fine and did not feel left out in gatherings, but then there were moments when he would talk about your great friendship and you were sure that nothing more could come out of your crush

shortly said: he confused you.

When Tubbo and some of his British friends had flown to the US, a small celebration had been immediately organized to get together far away from the cameras and social media and talk for once without screens in between. The celebration took place on the beach, in a small circle with a bonfire around which you had all sat down

there was plenty of alcohol, maybe a little too much, because the more you drank, the harder it was to find joy in the evening and not fall into the sad spiral of your heartbreak, every time Eret looked at you across the fire and smiled at you

out of pure frustration at seeing him joking with others, while there wasn't much talking between you that night, you exceeded your measure of alcohol a little until you could barely keep your eyes open and your head kept tipping to the side

at some point, when Eret looked over at you again and saw your condition, he immediately jumped up, grabbed a bottle of water and took you a little away from the hot fire, sitting down with you in the sand

Eret wasn't sure how it had come to this, but as he looked down at you, your head resting on his lap and your gaze fixed blankly on the sea before you, he wondered if it hadn't been partly his fault for not keeping you from drinking so much. The bottle of water was already empty by now, luckily you had let him give you the water without much objection and you seemed to be feeling better. Your gaze was no longer as unfocused as before, you no longer seemed to tremble in his lap, and you were slowly able to answer questions normally again. Questions, of which Eret had many. Carefully, he slid the hand he had been stroking your head with lower to your shoulder, and was glad that you were able to sit up easily at his request. Nevertheless, you immediately let yourself fall back against him, leaning your head against your shoulder, and gave an agonized sigh. " Should I get you some more water for your headache?", Eret asked you, but you shook your head -again sighing- and pressed your forehead against the fabric of his shirt. Your hot, slightly faltering breath met his free arm, and Eret was glad that you most likely didn't catch the goosebumps that formed. "Would you like to go home, maybe? We can go to my place too and you can get some rest until you feel better. I'm sure no one will mind if you rest," he suggested. You mumbled something unintelligible against his arm, but repeated yourself directly: "Don't want to go, I feel better. Besides, it's not my head that hurts." Eret watched in amazement as you gazed sadly again at the sea as if you recognized something there that he would never see. It tore his heart to see your otherwise joyful personality pushed away by this sadness. "What else is it, love?" he asked. You took a deep breath before lifting a hand and placing it on your chest. "My heart," you mumbled against his arm. The fact that your hand was definitely not on the spot where your heart should be made Eret realize with relief that it probably wouldn't be a real, physical pain. Otherwise, even in a drunken state, you could have indicated the pain correctly. Still, he wanted to know more. "And why is that?" "If I tell you, you promise you can't tell" "I promise, I won't tell anyone" he promised, slightly surprised and also a little afraid of what you might tell in a moment. He had always thought you had trusted him with all your secrets. "Not even Eret, you can never, never ever tell Eret. Pinky promise?" Eret had to stifle a laugh at the serious face you suddenly put on, holding out your outstretched small finger to him with half-closed eyes. Slowly, he lifted his pinky, interlocking it with yours. It was as if the world stopped for Eret when you smiled sadly and patted his thigh. "My heart hurts because I fell in love with Eret, but he won't love me back" And suddenly Eret knew that the world would be a little better with the next breath, and that his hitherto unrequited feelings were not so alone as he had previously thought. Now he just had to sober you up further and then he could finally confess everything to you.

#dream smp fanfiction #dream smp imagine #dream smp writing #dsmp x reader #dream smp x reader #eret x reader #foolish x reader #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur x reader #wilbur soot fanfiction #wilbur soot x you #wilbur x you #eret fanfiction #eret x you #foolish fanfiction #foolish gamers x reader #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt writing #mcyt imagine #mcyt x reader #mcyt x you

[oh-bo]

Stephen Armstrong for The Sunday Times Oct 27 2013

Bo Burnham is tall, slim and hunches slightly, so when he walks across stage he looks a little like Shaggy from Scooby-Doo. He can seem awkward and clumsy, as if he’s not entirely sure what he’s doing with his angular frame. When he knocks over a bottle of water at the start of his set, your heart goes out to him — the guy is practically still a teenager. But don’t be fooled. As he struggles to right the bottle and deal with the mess, taped music blares over the PA and he springs into a tight, manic dance routine with hip thrusts and gawping grin: “He meant to knock the water over, yeah yeah yeah, but you all thought it was an accident. He meant to knock the bottle over, yeah yeah yeah, art is a lie, nothing is real...”

Which triggers a tight, music-drenched set laced with ironic reversals, sharp self-mockery and unexpected songs. Burnham is very clever, but with that polite wit and careful kindness that served Russell Brand so well as he demolished the news anchors on MSNBC’s Morning Joe recently, or Bob Dylan patiently educating baffled older journalists desperate to understand what it is to be young these days.

Burnham is like a laboratory experiment packed into one stupidly precocious kid. The Massachusetts-born autodidact became an internet legend aged 16 with a collection of deeply un-PC skits and songs that garnered squillions of young YouTube viewers. Barely out of his teens, he played the Edinburgh Fringe in 2010. The comedy establishment secretly hoped he’d fail — but he was a hit. Could have been a fluke, right?

However, this year’s show, What, with that bottle-knocking pratfall, is stronger and more confident, complex, cunning and crude. This month, he kicks off its UK tour and publishes a book of poetry; meanwhile, his high-school movie script is progressing slowly through development with Judd Apatow. He is like a male Lena Dunham — slightly younger, at 23, but both are riding the millennial generation’s wave of instinctive disruption, and casual understanding, of the new world. For instance, having recorded a final version of his debut show, Words Words Words, he has decided to make it available free via Netflix and YouTube.

“When I was 16, I didn’t really have a goal beyond people watching me,” he explains. “I’ve made some money touring the show, and I think the business model is: don’t try to squeeze people dry at every single corner. You sell something here, then you give something there. I feel like the show is very different and weird and a little strange, so I don’t want to cater just to the people who know my stuff. I want it to be accessible for other people to check it out.”

In this, he is echoing Nicholas Lovell, author of The Curve, a book that describes new models for doing business in an economy that has wrecked the music industry, is pummelling books and newspapers and is now weighing up a full-scale assault on Hollywood. Lovell argues that all companies have to identify so-called superfans, consumers who love the product enough to evangelise and pay top dollar for specials. The free audience serves as a defining backdrop for the purchasing superfans. If they buy a tree in a forest and nobody notices, how can they feel cool?

Burnham is a little irritated by the comparison. “The whole point of this gesture is that I want to not think about business models for a second,” he says. “The commodification of everything — even irony — is slightly gross. It’s all about how many Twitter followers or how many sales you’re going to get. I’d just like to have the karmic pendulum swing the other way and have fun. Although now, of course, that sounds like a whiny 23-year-old.” It’s a very Bo Burnham thing to say — he’s acutely aware of his age. “My first show I was performing at 19, but I wrote it while I was a 17-year-old,” he says. “I thought I was being way beyond my years, but it’s the most 19-year-old show ever. Now I’m trying to write a high school kids’ movie about teens before I’m too old, because I feel like even 24 is too old to understand kids now.”

His MTV sitcom, Zach Stone Is Gonna Be Famous, toyed with his youth. Written as a mockumentary, it featured him as an ambitious 18-year-old pouring his savings into hiring a camera crew to follow him everywhere as he tried to hit the big time. “Some people didn’t get the irony,” he sighs. “They just thought, ‘This is like every other 18-year-old on television.’” The show rated badly and was cancelled after the first season. He shrugs it off — he was used to being called “theatre fag” at high school, so the politeness of cancellation didn’t sting. Plus the frustrations of the writing process led to his poetry book. “I was taking network notes and rethinking things and rewriting, and I just wanted to be able to clear my mind for a couple of hours a day.” He lets his breath out slowly. “I’d just go down to the coffee shop and let myself write about whatever I wanted to. I let every page be a completely different story, and then the poetry came out.”

Some of the poems are cute: “How, may I ask, did you get so you / you beautiful true-to-you doer? I’ve met many today but can honestly say / that I’ve never met anyone you-er”. Others are one-line gags: “That guy is sitting on that horse’s forehead. Oh God. That’s not a horse. That’s a unicorn.” The whole book, called Egghead, has echoes of Spike Milligan or John Lennon, although he hadn’t read either when he began it.

It’s a lonely image. A guy just out of his teens writing silly poems at the heart of the LA factory — he has even moved out there, away from the blue-collar warmth of his dad, who’s in construction, and his mum, who’s a nurse. He has a girlfriend, although I ask delicately as he projects a certain sexual ambiguity. “I do have a girlfriend,” he says. “I sometimes don’t even answer that question, because I want people to know it doesn’t matter to me. If you think I’m gay, that’s fine.” Despite the girlfriend, however, he agrees he is lonely, and it’s here he comes closest to speaking — in the way journalists love — as the voice of his generation.

“I have trouble sometimes relating to people, and I think it’s because I’m alone for a long time on the road. I was touring while my friends were at college, so I’d see them partying in Facebook photos. I love having young people at my shows, because when I was feeling particularly lonely or distant, they made me feel less so. They feel like they’re lost, like they’re struggling to find themselves and being driven inward. It reminds me that it’s completely arrogant of me to assume I have this completely specific experience.”

I ask what he’s got coming up. “I have a few songs for a little animated kids’ musical that might be fun,” he muses. “I might try to make a 15-minute short or something.” A brief pause. “I don’t know. Just manage the balance of trying to keep myself entertained and trying not to become a self-indulgent, reckless idiot.”

#bo burnham #the sunday times really tried to put this behind a paywall and i said nah fam #but you need to read this immediately #i don't think that i can handle this right now etc #because he wrote poetry on the set of zach stone and im reeling #and the loneliness on tour just yeet me over a bridge pls #the sunday times #so i can find the damn thing when i want to reference it again

[yourdeepestfathoms]

a little unconventional (part one)

[foster au]

this is set in America because i don't know how Romania works

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

rapture rising

“Alcina, my beloved sister, are you sure all of this is necessary?”

Alcina shot a glare over her shoulder at her toddling younger brother, who she was making carry in several boxes full of various items into one of the many rooms in her mansion. This one wasn’t one of the bedrooms, but rather a temporary storage room for all the things she had recently bought. She was going to have everything set up for the children to choose from when they eventually arrived. Just thinking about them getting to pick out their bedsheets and paint for their new rooms made a smile come to her lips, excitement rushing through her like dozens of butterflies flying for the first time.

…And then her idiot brother bumped into the doorframe and caused an avalanche of boxes to come down on top of him.

“Be careful!” Alcina barked, whirling around to him. She bent down to start picking the boxes up. “You’re lucky there was nothing fragile in here.”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” Heisenberg grunted, rubbing his head.

“And to answer your questions, dearest brother, yes, this is all very necessary,” Alcina said. “I need this to be perfect for them. This may be the first time those little girls get a real home.”

“Inflating your ego, aren’t you?”

Alcina stepped on his foot.

“I have the paints.” Moreau, Alcina’s other brother, shuffled inside, holding several cans of paint on his arms. If they were hurting him, he didn’t say anything. He seemed pleased with himself for being so useful.

“Thank you, Sal,” Alcina said. She took the cans from him and placed them against the wall. “Yellow, green, red, blue, pink, purple… Do you think that’s enough? What if they want, like, a mauve room?”

“Mauve?” Heisenberg echoed as he was crow hopping on one foot, still recovering from being stomped on.

“It’s a shade of purple,” Moreau supplied.

“I know what mauve is, asshole,” Heisenberg hissed. “I was just saying.”

“And I’m just saying, what if they want a lighter-colored room?” Alcina said. “This purple is dark. Should I go buy more?”

“You could mix white into the paint?” Moreau suggested.

Alcina thought it over, then nodded. “Yes, I could do that. Good idea.”

“Who wants a mauve bedroom, anyway?” Heisenberg muttered.

“Alcina!” A fourth voice echoed throughout the house, and Alcina’s sister entered the room. Donna looked uncharacteristically bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. She was clutching something in her hands. “Alcina, I have finished them!”

“When did you get here?” Heisenberg looked at her.

“Just now,” Donna said. “It doesn’t matter. Look!”

A beautiful doll was presented to Alcina. It was hand-stitched and dressed with great care. All the little details, down to the freckles and shiny eyes, were incredibly-made, and Alcina couldn’t help but pick it up tentatively, as though she were afraid of accidentally destroying it.

“Oh, Donna,” she said. “It’s beautiful! Thank you.”

Donna beamed. “I have also made stuffed animals and toy clothes for them. An entire wardrobe, in fact. Many selections.”

“Damn,” Heisenberg looked impressed. “Toys dress better than I do.”

“We know,” the other three said in sync, eyeing his ratty trenchcoat and old cowboy hat that he insisted on wearing everywhere.

“You weren’t supposed to agree!” Heisenberg barked like one of his dogs.

“Shouldn’t have said anything,” Alcina shrugged daintily. She looked back at Donna and smiled. “Thank you, Donna. I really appreciate your support. I appreciate all of your support. Even yours, Karl.”

“Sure, sure…” Heisenberg said, though Alcina didn’t miss the glint of fondness in his eyes.

“This is so exciting,” Donna said. “It’s a wonderful thing you’re doing, Alcina. Do you remember when we were all adopted by Mother?”

Heisenberg snorted. “I remember being kidnapped as a child and held for ransom, and then being one of the abduction victims to be actually found alive, only to discover that my parents had been killed while trying to get me back, to which I was then thrown into a home with you three.”

Donna winced. “Not…quite what I had in mind.”

“And you say ‘you three’ like we weren’t your best friends growing up,” Moreau pointed out idly, not looking at Heisenberg as he was helping unload some of the boxes. That one in particular held a wide selection of different bed sheets, ranging from leopard print to floral to plain blue.

Heisenberg raised his nose and huffed. “Well. Still.”

Alcina shook her head with a warm smile.

She vividly remembered life with her adoptive mother, Miranda, and her three other siblings. She was reborn from ash and flame after her old family estate burned down to the ground, smoldering the life she used to have and taking her parents with it. Yes, she could still smell the smoke, taste the embers on her tongue, even now, thirty-five years later. She was so small back then, only nine years old when the fire started, and she watched her home crumble to pieces right before her teary eyes. She thought it was over, that she had nothing, that she was going to be alone forever without her mother and father, but then a woman in a black cowl whisked her up into tender arms and took her under her wing as though she were the chicken to a nurturing mother bird.

She was the first of Miranda’s ragtag rascal children with harsh upbringings. For two years, it was just the both of them, reading books and watching movies in a beautiful countryside manor that quickly became her new home. Though the wounds had still been raw, the burns were very fresh, Miranda filled the void in her heart that her parents’ death left behind, extinguishing that eternal fire of survivor guilt and mourning.

And then the others came along.

At the time, Alcina had been rather indignant at the idea of having siblings. She was an only child with her birth family and she preferred to stay an only child with her new one, too, but she never voiced this opinion to Miranda. She grinned and bore it, even if it meant losing the attention of her mother.

Though, they didn’t end up being that bad…

The first of the “intruders” as she used to call them was Salvatore Moreau, a boy her age, though three months younger, and with a story similar to her own. He had been in a car crash after his drunken father got into a pretty nasty collision. The engine caught fire and it wasn’t long until the rest of the car followed. Moreau was trapped in the inferno, but managed to get out, running towards a nearby lake to extinguish the flames that were trying to make him its newest pyre. Unfortunately, the event left him badly burned, the scar still lingering all these years later, and nobody wanted to take in such a “disfigured child.” Miranda, however, stepped up to the challenge and fostered the boy, eventually adopting him fully later on.

Alcina was, admittedly, rather uneased by her new brother’s appearance at first, but she quickly got accustomed to him, even protective. There were several moments in school where she verbally (and sometimes even physically) pummeled any kids who dared to make fun of him, drilling into the bullies that he was not to be messed with while she was around. Some of her best retributions were when she threatened to leak unwarranted dick pics to the entire school, as it wasn’t uncommon for horny teenage boys to try to get into her pants, and that always shut them up quickly, especially when she loudly proclaimed details on their pathetic excuse for a penis, like the size and shape.

She and Moreau grew close rather quickly, much quicker than Miranda had been expecting. They both enjoyed more mellow things, like reading books and going on walks through the forest. Moreau was the sole reason she passed any English assignments done on Shakespearean literature, as he actually knew how to discern the confusing text, while she had to reread the same page over and over again to simply get a loose grasp on the grammar. He enjoyed cheesy romcoms, birdwatching, and swimming, the last of which he had a strong affinity for because of how the lake beside the car wreck very well could have been the only reason he survived. Now, he owned that very lake and made it into a popular fishing and boating destination for locals and tourists alike.

The second to arrive was Donna Beneviento, when Alcina and Moreau were both twelve. She was a full five years younger than the two of them and didn’t talk very often, at least for a good chunk of the first year she was there. She was put into the foster program after her parents commit suicide, leaving her with nothing but anxiety, trauma-induced selective muteness, and a doll named Angie.

It took time, but Donna eventually started opening up. First to Miranda, and then to Alcina and Moreau. Alcina strongly remembered a time when her little sister came to her room during a thunderstorm, lips quivering, tears glistening in her eyes, Angie clutched in a vice from her thin arms. She didn’t say anything, just stared from the doorway, whimpering and shivering.

“Alright,” Alcina had sighed. She flipped open her comforter, welcoming Donna. “Come on.”

Donna had brightened and skittered into the bed, snuggling right up against Alcina’s side. Alcina didn’t mind and resumed the book she had been reading before--Animal Farm, she believed. Donna pointed at the pages and then looked up at her curiously.

“Oh, this?” Alcina had said. “It’s called Animal Farm. It’s about these talking farm animals overthrowing their farmer to gain freedom, only to then be ruled by a communist pig.”

Donna blinked. “What’s a communist?”

“Well, you see…”

Her late-night explanation was certainly aided by the fact that they were in the middle of the Cold War at the time.

Overtime, Donna slowly grew out of her shell. Though she was still soft-spoken and reserved, she was also very kind-hearted and incredibly creative, which she showed through paintings, arts and crafts, and doll making. She would make dolls out of anything she could find--wood, thread, clay--so it made sense when she eventually became a toymaker once she grew up.

Finally, there was Karl Heisenberg when Alcina and Moreau were thirteen and Donna was eight. Right from the start, he was a loud, spitfire ten-year-old that broke the serene silence that used to hang over Miranda’s estate. He caused a great amount of mischief and mayhem, though Alcina would later discover it was to hide the fact that he was deeply traumatized by what exactly had happened to make him a foster child.

Even now, so many years later, Alcina still didn’t know the full story. Miranda said it wasn’t her tale to share and Heisenberg simply didn’t like talking about it very much. But from what she did know, Heisenberg used to belong to an incredibly wealthy business owner that ruled over their company with an iron fist. Due to the harshness his parents inflicted on their employees, it caused the workers to revolt against the abuse. A certain group took this way too far and kidnapped Heisenberg, holding him for ransom so they could get better treatment and pay at their work. Something ended up happening during the time between Heisenberg being held hostage and his parents paying up, and it left his mother and father in a way that he could never bring himself to explain. She only got snippets of the brutality of their deaths through brief moments when he would come to after vicious nightmares, one of which she actually stepped in to stop when she heard him struggling one night.

“Their heads, Alci,” Heisenberg had gasped, clawing manically for a desperate grasp on her arms, his body jerking and spasming in terror as his nightmare was still releasing his small, twelve-year-old body. “Their heads-- their brains were--” And then he stopped and keeled into her chest, sobbing in a way Alcina had never seen him do before in the two years he was living with her before that moment. Despite her occasional vex towards the boy, he was still her little brother and she was still his big sister, so she had wrapped her arms around him and held him close while he trembled and cried.

She never did find out what Heisenberg meant by “their heads,” but she had a hunch. Still, she never asked.

Nowadays, Heisenberg ran his own factory, where he treated his employees the way his parents should have treated theirs, learning from their mistakes. He also fostered all different kinds of dog breeds until they found their forever homes and rescued the more ‘vicious’ ones, like pit bulls and rottweilers, all of which he treated like royalty.

A freakishly tall girl, a burned boy, a selective mute, and a dog lover… They certainly weren’t the epitome of the stereotypical nuclear family, but they were family through and through, if not by blood, then by bloodshed.

“Do you guys remember the time Karl tried to clean the dishwasher with Kool-Aid?” Donna reminisced with a giggle.

“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” Heisenberg said.

“Absolutely not,” Donna grinned at him.

“I still don’t know how you came to the conclusion that that would work,” Alcina shook her head.

Heisenberg threw his arms up into the air. “John said it did!”

“John also tried to steal a school urinal.”

“Also, you’re supposed to take all of the dishes out before you try to clean it with Kool-Aid,” Moreau spoke up. “You left all of the pots and plates and silverware in it.”

“And he didn’t even put it in the right spot!” Alcina joined, cackling. “You’re supposed to put the powder in the detergent dispenser. Karl, you just poured it out all over the dishes!”

“It wasn’t even the right powder,” Donna put in. “You’re supposed to strictly use unsweetened lemonade only. You used tropical punch!”

Alcina, Donna, and Moreau all burst into laughter, while Heisenberg crossed his arms and glared at them.

“John never specified any of that!” he blustered.

“Never trust John, dear,” Alcina tittered.

“Well, it happened!” Heisenberg said. “It’s over! What other boxes do you need to move!”

More laughter.

“I’m serious! I’ll get the boxes! Also WHAT IS THAT.”

They all turned to see a patchy tortoiseshell cat lazily strolling into the room with them. It looked like it had been run over, dismembered, run over again, and then put back together by a blind surgeon, but it held itself like it was the most pristine lion to ever walk the earth. It glanced over at the four siblings, meowed at them, then continued on its stroll to one of the empty boxes, which it jumped into and made itself comfortable inside.

“It’s a cat,” Donna said as if it should have been obvious, earning a snort from Moreau and then a glare from Heisenberg.

“It’s not funny,” Moreau said quickly after Heisenberg glared at him, too, but it was obvious Heisenberg’s leer was all in good fun.

“No, no. Tom from Tom and Jerry is a cat,” Heisenberg said. “THAT is an overgrown street rat.”

“Well, one could assume the same about you, but you don’t see us pointing it out,” Donna said breezily.

Another bout of laughter, this time with Heisenberg included.

“Okay, okay, you got me there,” Heisenberg said.

“Must you insist on reacting the same way every single time you see Tea Cake?” Alcina finally spoke up through the playful bickering. She crouched down next to the cat and stroked its back, which caused it to purr in content.

“It’s my trademark,” Heisenberg said with a shrug. “That old woman is still alive?”

“And kicking,” Alcina smiled fondly at her pet.

Tea Cake had been with her for a long fourteen years, witnessing more than a few existential crises and drunken concerts put on to chase off her lurking PTSD. That cat came during the worst part of her life, and Alcina owed everything to that little beast. She learned how to laugh and smile and genuinely feel again, not hide behind the facade that she was a strong, powerful woman who could take on everything and come out without a scratch.

And, yes, Alcina had known- still knew, that she had Miranda and her siblings, but sometimes they were not enough, not back then, not when she was filled with so much shame and self-hatred and disgust. Animals were different in a way people couldn’t be. Animals didn’t lie, they didn’t judge or think about how messed up you were in their heads. They didn’t share your secrets or give you false hope. They just--be there. They listened and lent their presence and, sometimes, that was all that was needed, and some people didn’t seem to understand that.

Tea Cake’s fur had dried more of Alcina’s tears than anyone else ever had because she never let them fall in front of others. Tea Cake didn’t get upset when Alcina touched her; she didn’t understand the concept of emotional trauma and sexual harassment and body image issues. She just cared, even if she didn’t quite get it.

Alcina would probably be dead if it weren’t for her.

Yes, she remembered that fateful night… The wind in her shaggy hair she hadn’t washed in days, the moonglow on her ashen skin, the tears burning in her eyes--all of it was so clear, even now. She remembered how horribly, hopelessly depressed she had been and how she drove out to a field with a note on the dashboard and a gun in the passenger seat.

At the time, nothing had helped her. Her antidepressants weren’t working, going out only made her feel unsafe, and her family’s presence no longer brought her comfort and happiness, rather guilt and shame. The only thing that ever helped was when she drowned herself in the alcohol she made for a living, drinking away her despair and trauma until her body tingled and the phantom hands went away. She was surprised her liver never exploded inside of her during those awful few months.

She had sat in her car for a while, leaning her head on the steering wheel and wallowing in silence and darkness. Then, she got out, made sure the note was visible, and grabbed the gun.

She considered calling or texting her mother and siblings, but that would make it hurt worse. It was better to leave them with their last memories of her than to have this sudden news of a goodbye that they wouldn’t be able to stop.

She placed the pistol’s barrel in her mouth and rested her finger on the trigger. Her life didn’t flash before her eyes like some movies or books say it did, and she was quite thankful for it. She didn’t want to relive the agony she had been put through that led her up to that point. She just shut her eyes as tight as possible in preparation for the bullet to pass through her brain…

Then, there was a rustling from the grass nearby.

Alcina hesitated. The metallic taste of the gun left her tongue and she looked in the direction of the noise.

“Hello?” she had called out in her best possible not-about-to-kill-herself voice.

A tiny meow answered her.

“Your roadkill wants you,” Heisenberg’s voice cut through the daze that had momentarily descended upon Alcina’s mind.

Blinking, Alcina realized that Tea Cake was gnawing on her finger and meowing. She smiled.

“It’s probably dinner time,” Alcina said. She stood up straight. “Come on, children. I have news to share.”

Curious, her three younger siblings followed her out of the room and to her kitchen, Tea Cake padding after them eagerly. Her house was a beautiful creation of the finest wood and the most luxurious stonework. Top-of-the-line appliances filled the space and every little detail, down to the hanging droplets on the chandelier and the grooves in the staircase railing, were customized to her preference. 6 bedrooms, 9 bathrooms, 17,182 square feet, 14.99 acres filled by lush vineyards, and $5,500,000 later, and you had the Dimitrescu Estate.

And it was a barren prison.

It had always been there, ever since she moved in: that lingering loneliness that seemed to shroud every hallway. She had so much space, but nobody to fill it. Nobody except herself, Tea Cake, and her maids, of course. Lying awake one night, thinking about this issue as she often did, a solution had finally come to her.

After pouring some wet food into Tea Cake’s food bowl, Alcina grabbed a bottle of sweet butter wine out of her wine fridge and poured a glass for herself and each of her siblings, all of which were staring at her curiously. After taking a long sip, she finally began: “As you all know, I have plans to foster a child. And I greatly appreciate all of the support you three have provided me up until now.”

“Is this an award ceremony or something?” Heisenberg joked light-heartedly. “Can I have the award for most boxes carried? I think I deserve that one.”

“You mean most boxes dropped?” Donna giggled, earning her a playful poke in the side.

“No, it is not an award ceremony,” Alcina glared at Heisenberg without any fire in her gaze. She opened up a drawer in the stainless kitchen island they were gathered around. “Though, this may very well be an award…” She pulled out a blue folder packed full of papers and set it on the marble countertop, grinning brightly. “I just wanted to let you all know first that my training is done. I’ve completed all the classes.” Her heart swelled in her heart as she spoke her next words: “I’m a foster mom now.”

All at once, her younger siblings lit up brighter than the sun’s supernova, throwing their arms up into the air and letting out a celebratory shout. Donna and Moreau even raced around the island to hug Alcina, which she returned with a laugh.

“Oh, that’s so wonderful, Alcina!” Donna said, squeezing her with surprising strength. “I’m so happy for you!”

“Me too,” Moreau agreed.

“Sal, are you crying?”

“No!” Moreau yelped, then sniffled. “I just have something in my eye, that’s all.”

“You mean tears?” Heisenberg teased. He then looked at Alcina. “That’s amazing, Alcina. I’m really happy for you. You deserve this.”

“Aww,” Alcina crooned. “Is my little brother going soft?”

Heisenberg instantly steeled himself. “Me? No way! I was just saying what you would want to hear.”

Still being embraced on either side by her other brother and sister, Alcina chuckled. “I see.”

“Do you know your placement yet?” Donna asked, looking up at Alcina as though she were a child again.

“Placements,” Alcina corrected. She couldn’t help but grin again as she spoke of her future children. “Two. I’m getting two little girls.”

“Aww!” Donna and Moreau both cooed.

Heisenberg was nodding. “Girls. Yes. I can do girls.” He looked up at Alcina. “I’m getting them a puppy.”

“Oh, you don’t have--”

“I’m getting them a puppy,” Heisenberg said again, and it was clear he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

Alcina chuckled. “Alright. A puppy it is.”

Donna and Moreau began to join in on plans for being the greatest aunt and uncle, with Moreau saying that they needed to come to his lake for a swim and Donna listing off all the toys she would make for them. Alcina listened to them with a fond smile, happy to have such a supportive family. This was exactly what her daughters were going to need.

Daughters.

Just thinking about that word made her heart flutter in her chest. Her grin turned giddy. She was going to be a mother soon.

As she sipped from her wine glass, she thought about her placements. She had gotten the call four days ago and was scheduled to meet the little ones in the next two weeks. She could still hear her caseworker’s words in her ears during the conversation as she recalled it to her siblings.

“The first is named Daniela,” Duke had said. He was a studious, patient man with a warm smile and hands like chipmunk paws, keen on helping Alcina ever since she started her training to become a foster parent six months ago. “She’s a little girl and eleven years old. Her parents have, unfortunately, recently died due to a car crash. Her living relatives are unfit to take care of her, so she’s been placed into the foster system. Right now, she’s staying with her aunt and uncle, but she cannot be kept there much longer because of, ah…jealousy issues with their actual child.

The second is named Cassandra. Another girl, this one twelve years old. She’s been in the foster program ever since she was a baby when she was given up, as she was born from a teenager who couldn’t take care of her. She’s had…quite a few foster homes, all of which had given her up to someone else due to…issues. I understand if you don’t want to take this child. She’s been known to cause problems in her houses and pick fights. There is-- woo, that’s a lot of complaints… There are some notes on her left by her former families and-- Goddamn. They’re writing of her like she’s a monster or something…”

“Of course, I couldn’t turn down either of them,” Alcina concluded her retelling. “Especially the second one. Cassandra. The poor thing sounds like she needs a good home.”

“You’re so sweet, Alci,” Donna said, smiling at her.

“Think you can handle it?” Heisenberg asked. “I’m not doubting your abilities, but from what you said about the kid… Well, she just sounds difficult.”

“You were difficult,” Alcina said, grinning at him. “And everything turned out just fine, didn’t it?”

Her youngest brother’s concern didn’t diminish. “Yes, but… I don’t want anything to happen to you or my niece.”

Alcina, Donna, and Moreau all cooed. Heisenberg huffed.

“Oh, shut it! I have a heart!”

“You do,” Alcina’s smile lightened slightly. “But don’t worry: everything will be okay. I can do this. I need to do this. Those two little girls need a mother.”

Heisenberg considered her for a moment, then nodded. He smiled at her. “You’ve got a good heart, Alcina,” he said. “If you ever need any help, I’m here.”

“Me too!” Donna joined in.

“Me three!” Moreau piped up.

Alcina laughed. “Thank you. Really. This means a lot to me. Now…” She raised her glass. “Let’s drink before we have to cut back because there will be children around!”

Her siblings laughed and mimicked her gesture.

Alcina couldn’t wait.

#foster au #resident evil au #resident evil fanfic #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #karl heisenberg #donna beneviento #salvatore moreau #mother miranda #dimitrescu daughters #a little unconventional

[jschllatt]

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆’𝐒 𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐁𝐄 𝐎𝐊𝐀𝐘 | 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦

Prompt: After a difficult breakup, you seek your (ex) best friend for comfort. 

Warnings: Angst, breakup, swearing

Pairing: Dream x GN!Reader (Platonic)

Words: 2.2k

Masterlist

I wrote this for the amazing, talented Dreamie! Go follow @dreamiewrites or else >:( /lh

Love hurts. 

Months ago, if someone were to ask you to describe love, you probably would’ve said something along the lines of ‘passionate’ or ‘fulfilling,’ having been unfamiliar with its heart wrenching effects. Now, as you sat in your car, breathing erratically as you tried to process the words that echoed perpetually in your scattered brain, the only thing you felt was utter misery. The last seven months you had spent with him were pure bliss—at least, they were in your eyes. After years of searching for someone to make you feel whole, you had finally found that person. And for some time, it was perfect. Your relationship was void of any complications; the two of you hardly ever fought, and when you did, it was over something minor that was forgotten about after a few hours. 

But then, things went downhill. 

As time passed, it became glaringly obvious that the two of you didn’t feel the same anymore. Days that were once spent in each other's company were endured alone, the two of you busying yourselves in a futile attempt to ignore your dwindling relationship. Every passing hour was a constant reminder of the ache in your chest, the void that was slowly but surely swallowing your heart whole as you felt your world crashing down.

 Then, he broke you. He uttered those dreaded words that tore at your heart in such a way that it became hard to breathe. And then, he made you leave, suffocating you entirely. 

The sun had begun to set by the time you found the courage to start your car, heart pounding rapidly in your constricted chest. Your watery eyes flickered toward his house, taking in every possible detail your obscured vision could manage before you pulled out of his driveway for the last time. Sorrow crept up your throat in the form of an unwanted lump and you couldn’t help but let out a prolonged sob, feeling your body tremble as an onslaught of tears poured down your face. You weren’t sure where to go. Having been accustomed to living with your boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—for the past few months, you hadn’t planned on moving out; at least not for a while. Feeling foolish of your naivety, another sob escaped your lips, any remaining sliver of hope you had vanishing quickly along with the final bits of your composure. Your cries made it difficult to drive, vision clouded by a thick sheen of tears as you hiccupped pitifully. Sucking in a deep breath in a failed attempt to steady yourself, you continued to drive aimlessly into the night, unsure of where to go. A few silent minutes had passed and you found it increasingly difficult to see the road, your teary, bloodshot eyes obscuring your vision, and pulled over onto the side of the street. Despite the hollowness you felt in your chest, the initial wave of shock had subsided, leaving you numb. The unbearable silence that hung heavily in your parked car allowed for your thoughts to run freely and that was when you finally processed your situation. Not only were you alone, but you were also incredibly exhausted and helpless. Your hands sported a slight tremor as you reached for your phone, your bleary, red eyes finding difficulty making out any of the contacts you scrolled through. You felt your breath hitch as soon as you saw Clay’s name and for a brief moment, a shaky finger hovered over his contact, contemplating the outcome. Then, without a second thought, you pressed call. In any other circumstance, you would’ve avoided contacting him, especially considering the recent distance that had grown between the two of you, but you were too desperate to care. 

It had been a few months since you’d last talked to Clay. At one point, the two of you were inseparable. You met in high school and became friends, eventually growing significantly closer. You spent most of your free time with the boy, finding comfort in his congenial presence and found yourself beside him more often than not. Even after you graduated, the two of you remained strong. That was, until, he introduced you to his friend—his stupid fucking friend—and unknowingly destroyed you. 

Clay answered after the fourth ring, his voice soft yet tinged with a subtle hesitancy as he uttered, “Hello?” Feeling guilt creep up in your chest, you couldn’t help but feel selfish, suddenly regretful of your decision. It had been months since you last talked to him and you had only considered reaching out to him simply because you had no one else to call. “Hey.” You replied before you could stop yourself, cringing at the waver of your tone. There was a slight shuffling before Clay answered again, “What’s up? We haven’t talked in a while.” A fresh set of tears flooded your eyes at his innocent words, followed by a sob you didn’t mean to let out. Clay immediately frowned, furrowing his brows in confusion. “Are you okay? Talk to me.” Shaking your head, you sniffled sadly before whimpering, “We broke up.”

That was all Clay needed to hear in order to understand why you had called him. He felt his body tense as you continued to cry, finding difficulty keeping his voice level as he asked, “What happened? Do you wanna talk about it?” You shut your eyes, leaning back in your seat with tear-stained cheeks. Lifting up your sleeve-covered hand to wipe at your dripping nose, you sniffled once again, weakly replying, “N-no, I just…” Clay waited patiently for you to continue, “can I just come over for a little while? I feel horrible asking, especially because we haven’t talked in so long, but I just...I have nowhere else to go.” Clay felt his heart shatter at your broken words, a deep ache arising in his chest. “Of course, you can stay as long as you want. Do you need me to come get you?” Mumbling a shaky ‘no,’ you tried to regain your composure, wiping away the remainder of tears that dampened the surface of your skin. “Alright. Just drive safe, okay? Call me back if you need me to come get you.” 

“Okay. Thank you so much, Clay, I don’t know how to thank you, I-”

“There’s no need to thank me. I told you I’d always be here for you, didn’t I?”

He did. Even though it was years ago, you’d never forget the night he told you that—the night in which you’d gotten your heart broken for the first time. Bodies were swarming around you as you swayed subtly to the music, eyes scanning over the crowd of drunken teenagers in hopes that you would find your boyfriend. Following your gaze, Clay yelled over the music, “Can’t find him?” Shaking your head in disappointment, you stood on your tip-toes, giving the room a final once-over before giving up. Your boyfriend had practically begged you to go to some random party with him, but conveniently ignored the countless texts you had sent him, thus leading to Clay accompanying you instead.  “I’m sure you’ll find him soon.” Your best friend reasoned, noticing your dismay. With a tight smile, you nodded weakly, feeling disheartened and slightly embarrassed of your boyfriend’s absence. You tried to sound nonchalant as you replied, “Yeah, I’m gonna go to the bathroom really quick. Watch my drink?” Clay nodded in response, shooting you a reassuring grin before you headed upstairs. When you finally reached the top of the stairs, you were met with a confusing hallway. It revealed four doors, all in which were shut, paint chipping at the edges of each in a rather noticeable manner. Unsure of which led to the bathroom, you tried the first door on the left. No luck. Huffing, you tried the door on the right. Still nothing. Trying a third door, you cringed as it’s hinges squeaked noisily. If the grimy, faded paint wasn’t a dead giveaway of the house’s outdatedness, then the unpleasant groans of its features certainly were. You grimaced at the deafening screech, and then your heart dropped into your stomach. From inside the bathroom stood your boyfriend, lips locked with someone whose face was obscured from your view. Upon noticing your presence, your boyfriend nearly jumped in surprise, his expression one of regret as he watched your face fall. Feeling your stomach grow sick at the sight, you slammed the door shut before either of you could say a word, hurrying down the stairs to find Clay. 

“That was quick,” he observed with an amused smile once you neared him, his pleased countenance fading once he noticed your crestfallen expression. “I have to go.” Your voice was quiet, nearly inaudible over the yelling of the rowdy crowd around you, and your fingers wrapped around Clay’s arm, your grip a silent indication of your distress. “What happened?” He asked, eyeing the hold you had on his arm as you tried desperately to pull him away from the crowd. “I found him, h-he…” You trailed off, still appalled by your discovery, and felt your eyes begin to well up with tears. Clay frowned, using the grip you had on his arm to weave you around the jumbled mass of drunken teenagers around you. You didn’t let go of him until the two of you made it to his car, silent as Clay waited for you to tell him what you’d seen. Staring down into your lap, your expression was one of sorrow as a few tears slipped down your cheeks, dripping onto your thighs silently. “I found him,” You started, chuckling dryly as the recent memory replayed in your head, “he was cheating on me.” Clay stared at you intently, his expression stoic though he felt himself grow furious. The thought of someone breaking your heart made him furious, and the sight of you crying made him want to pummel your stupid boyfriend into the ground until he was a bloody pulp. “I’m so sorry, I can’t believe he would do that to you. You don’t deserve that.” He reached out to grab your hand, his touch soothing as he continued, “I’ll beat his ass if you want.” Clay’s offer elicited a broken laugh from your trembling lips. The sound made him smile, but he found himself growing solemn once again as he reassured you. “I mean it. No one hurts my best friend without getting their ass kicked. Now c’mere.” He opened his arms so he could embrace you, to which you gladly accepted. A few quiet moments passed and you mumbled into his shoulder, “Thank you, Clay. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” The boy smiled to himself, rubbing a comforting hand up and down your back before promising, “Of course. I’ll always be here for you no matter what.” 

Chuckling sadly, you couldn’t help but smile at his words, “Yeah, you did.” The memory flooded your heart with a deeper wave of sadness, a sudden longing filling up your chest as you recounted that night with a sad smile. Clay had always been there for you, and at times, you were too blind to see it. The thought brought more tears to your eyes and you tried to push away your sadness with a slight clear of your throat. “I meant it then, I mean it now. I’ll always be here for you no matter what.” He repeated. There was a brief silence before he spoke again, his voice steady, “I’ll see you when you get here, okay?” You nodded in a hopeless attempt to compose yourself, feeling some of the hollowness in your heart disappear as a result of Clay’s support. You sniffled one last time before replying, “Okay.” The silence that ensued the end of the call left you feeling even emptier than before, the sudden solitude becoming unbearable as you drove wordlessly to Clay’s. The sky had changed significantly since you’d last noticed it, its once cerulean hue now a stormy grey as dusk began to roll in.  

Twenty minutes later, you arrived at Clay’s. You felt oddly nervous as you parked in his driveway, anxiety building up in your stomach though you’d been here countless times before. Everything appeared to be relatively the same, but you felt different, unsure, out of place. Your mind was running a million miles a minute, but you ignored your rampant thoughts and approached the front door, knocking hesitantly. A few seconds passed before Clay swung the door open, his expression softening once he met your eyes. He noticed every little detail that tugged at his heart pitifully, from your tear-stained cheeks to your puffy eyes, and opened his arms immediately. Grateful for the gesture, you nearly collapsed into Clay’s embrace, feeling a lump form in your throat at the simple affection. You couldn’t help but sob into his chest, overcome by a sense of relief as you engulfed yourself in his arms. Clay’s touch was soothing, and you slowly felt your pain dissipate, replaced by the familiarity of his embrace. “It’s okay, you’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you.” Clay assured gently, squeezing you briefly as he continued to murmur into your ear, “Everything’s gonna be okay.” You recognized the truth behind his words, realizing that you were here, safe in Clay’s arms, being comforted by your best friend who’d you missed so much. 

You were gonna be okay.

#dream imagine #dreamwastaken imagine #dream x reader #dreamwastaken x reader #mcyt imagine #mcyt x reader

[butgilinsky]

meant to be // np

warning; stress/anxiety, mentions a toxic ex but doesn't go into detail abt it, fluffy nolan, i think that's it?

summary; when you go MIA, Nolan makes sure you're okay. based on the song meant to be by bebe rexha & florida georgia line

word count; 2.8k+

a/n; this is a part of my yee haw series (all fics are stand alones, so don't worry about that) if you have any interest in checking those out too! until then, enjoy fluffy nolan

add yourself to my nhl taglist!

You were usually pretty good at telling yourself that you were blowing things out of proportion. It didn’t always stop you from doing so, but it usually talked you off a ledge. This week, it seemed that there was no talking yourself off of the ledge.

Other than the fact that you were five pages into your portfolio that you were submitting to Temple in an attempt to get into their MFA program, one that you’d been wanting to go to for years at this point, your ex had made a recent appearance in your life. As if the stress from applying to grad school wasn’t enough for you to handle, you had run straight into your ex on your way home from grabbing coffee.

It would’ve been enough if you had just run into him, if you had to exchange pleasantries with the same person who shattered your heart into so many pieces you were still recovering two years after the break up. The same person that traumatized you enough to have to put your current relationship on a speed so slow that you were sure a sloth would have moved faster.

Nolan had been patient with you, which you were beyond thankful for. He was fine with things going at a snail’s pace, given that you weren’t the only one between the two of you that had a rocky past with romantic relationships. It wasn’t news to anyone that you were together, but it had been confusing for just about everyone outside of the two of you.

There wasn’t a label on it, neither of you needed one to know where you stood. Both of you had an understanding that you were just as damaged as you were interested in each other, and working slow without any labels or the need to structure your relationship in society’s idea of normalcy was your middle ground. It allowed the two of you to breathe, without leaving a lingering doubt about how the two of you felt about each other.

People pestered the two of you about it, why you wouldn’t wear a WAGs jacket or introduce Nolan to your parents when they were in town. They didn’t get it, but they didn’t need to. You and Nolan communicated very well with one another, and if the two of you knew what was going on with everything, then nobody else needed to. Neither of you needed anyone else’s validation to be content with where the two of you stood.

But then you ran into your ex. Your shoulder collided with his on the street and while you thought you were piecing yourself back together from everything he put you through, the mere sight of him sent you down a spiral that you had avoided for as long as you possibly could.

It’s not that you missed your ex, because you didn’t. You didn’t miss him or the way he spoke to you, nor did you miss the lack of communication and being left in the dark more often than not. Seeing him made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, but everything he put you through came to the forefront of your mind, and you were unintentionally overwhelmed with the worry that you’d end up in the same scenario with Nolan one day.

You didn’t think that Nolan would hurt you, not the way you’d been hurt in the past. You trusted him more than you’ve ever trusted anyone, and he proved that he deserved that trust. It wasn’t the thought that Nolan would become the person your ex had been, but the thought that there would be a day where Nolan was your ex.

It was scary and deafening, and the reason you couldn’t finish your portfolio. You’d been writing for hours, or trying to. The chair you were sitting in had grown uncomfortable in the first hour, and you had migrated around the apartment to look for a place that didn’t hurt your ass or your back. Unfortunately you couldn’t find one, opting to sit on the floor in between your couch and your coffee table. You’d been so lost in thought that you had spent six hours without responding to anyone, not even realizing that time had gone by that quickly until you got a call.

The only reason you even saw the call was the fact that the notification popped up on your computer. You knew he knew something was up because he rarely ever facetimed you without asking if you were free first; though, if he had texted you first there was no way of you knowing with your phone in a completely different room. He only ever facetimed you unannounced when you didn’t answer your phone for a while. He knew you could answer facetime calls on your laptop, and while you weren’t always in the mood to talk to him at that moment, it was enough to get your attention and let you know that he was worried about you.

But you answered it today, regardless of the fact that you looked a mess and felt even worse. You answered because you needed him to ground you, to pull your head out of the clouds and silence the thoughts that had been buzzing in your mind for over 24 hours.

“Hey.” you forced a small smile to your lips before reaching behind you to turn on a lamp, unaware of the darkness you were encased in until now.

“You okay? You’ve been MIA all day.” you rolled your eyes gently, a playful smile playing on your lips.

“It hasn’t been all day.” you tried to assure him that he was being slightly over dramatic, but the look in his eyes told you that that was not the case.

“Y/n, it’s midnight.” that it was, though it was the first time you were realizing that. You had no idea what time it was, and sitting in front of your computer for the past six hours had not helped that fact. “What happened? Talk to me.”

“This portfolio’s just stressing me out.” he hummed, unsure that was the full reason. He could tell in the way that your forehead creased and your eyes narrowed slightly that there was more than just a little stress going on. You’d been stressed about this thing for weeks, there had to be something else that was going on with you.

“So you’re not going to tell me what’s wrong?” you sighed softly, unsure if you wanted to unpack all of that right now. “Alright. Be ready in ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes? Nolan I can’t get ready in ten minutes-”

“Just put a pair of sweats on and go stand outside. I’ll be there in ten.” he hung up then, not giving you much of an option but to do as he said.

Nine minutes after Nolan hung up on you, you were standing outside, teeth chattering lightly while you bounced on the balls of your feet. The familiar car pulling up in front of you made you smile, and when you stepped up to the door you heard the lock click.

You pulled yourself into his car quickly, sighing out in relief at the warmth that encased you. Your eyes found his, a warmth spreading through your chest as you leaned over the center console to kiss him softly. He hummed against your lips, chasing you for just a moment when you pulled back. The next one lasted just a second longer, noses bumping against one another softly.

He pulled back then, moving to kiss your cheek before sitting back in his seat and moving the gear shift into drive. His right hand found its home on your thigh, the warmth from his palm radiating through your sweats and into your skin.

“Where are we going?” your voice was soft and peaceful, like the sound of home on a cold winter evening that Nolan wished he could live in forever.

“Nowhere.” he shrugged, glancing over at you for a moment to smile at you. He didn’t have a destination in mind, just driving around the city for the night. It wasn’t the first time the two of you had done this before, and you doubt it’d be the last.

These nights were your favorite; Nolan driving absolutely nowhere with his hand on your thigh and his ear offered up to you. Sometimes you didn’t talk for hours, just listened to whatever playlist the two of you chose and drove until one or both of you got too tired to continue. Sometimes you ended up hours away from home, which got the two of you (usually Nolan) into trouble from time to time.

“What’s up, what’s rotting your mind?” you leaned your head onto his shoulder, wanting to be close to him more than anything right now.

“It’s stupid.” you whispered gently.

His hand moved up from your thigh to cup the underside of your jaw. He moved towards you, eyes still locked on the road while his lips pecked yours softly. It was cheesy and a bit awkward, but it wasn’t the first time he’d done something like that. It was meant to soothe you, and it did. Nolan wasn’t a man of many words but his actions always spoke loud enough for you to hear him clearly.

“It’s not stupid if it’s bothering you.” his voice was as gentle as his heart, something you loved dearly about him. He wasn’t pushy or demanding, rather patient and gentle.

“I ran into Kai yesterday.” his muscles tensed, along with his hand gripping your thigh just a little tighter than it previously had been. It wasn’t a huge change but you picked up on it, along with the way his jaw clenched and he sighed through his nose.

Nolan had never met Kai, and you hoped he never would. Not because you thought Nolan would kill him or anything, but because you wished that nobody in your current life had to ever interact with people from your past. Kai knew a completely different person than the one Nolan knew, and you didn’t want to be the person you used to be. You didn’t want Nolan to be subjected to hearing about her or the life she previously led.

“Did he say something to you?” you didn’t expect much different from him. He’d always been a safe amount of protective. He wasn’t the type to run out of the house at the first sound of danger and pummel everyone into the ground, he just wanted to make sure you were alright. He wouldn’t put a bounty out on Kai, but if he did or said something that was still bothering you, he’d do everything he possibly could to make you feel better.

“I mean yes, but not in the way that you’re thinking. It wasn’t what he said it’s just,” you sighed, one that made your cheeks puff out and your eyes flutter shut for a moment.

“It’s just that now you’re scared that that’s how we’ll end up.” you lifted your head off of his shoulder, looking at him with narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow.

“How’d you learn how to read minds? That’s a pretty cool party trick, you know?” he laughed gently and tapped the inside of your thigh while shaking his head at you. You always tried to lighten the mood by making small little jokes out of things and while some people found it to be unbearable, Nolan loved every single second of it.

“I wish I could read your mind, it’d make things a lot easier most of the time.” you rolled your eyes but laughed, finding truth in his words.

“I just don’t want history to repeat itself, you know? I’m just scared that the things I’ve been trying to avoid are inevitable. What if they happen anyway? What if everything I’ve been working for is useless and everything i’ve run from is my destiny?” Nolan sighed softly and pulled into a parking garage, one that you weren’t familiar with.

“Everything you and Kai went through, stays between the two of you. I’m not him, and I’ll never be him. I won’t say we’ll never fight, because I obviously can’t guarantee that. We’ll fight, everyone does, but we’ll get past it. We’ll survive it all. That, I can assure you. I can promise you that I would never treat you the way that that douche did.”

He doesn’t promise you the world, nor does he promise to shoot for the stars. He doesn’t promise that things will always be alright, but that’s what you love about Nolan. He doesn’t set unrealistic expectations. He doesn’t tell you what you want to hear just to make you feel better. He’ll do a lot of things to make you feel better, but lying to you isn’t one of them.

“If it’s meant to be, it’ll be, you know? You just have to let it be, which you’re not entirely skilled at.” you punch his arm softly just as he parks at the top of the parking garage that’s almost completely empty.

“What if what it’s meant to be isn’t what I want it to be, though?” Nolan shook his head gently and turned towards you, a soft smile sitting on his lips.

“It won’t be at times, but that doesn’t mean it won’t ever be. If people could write out their lives exactly like they wanted them to be, nobody’s lives would align. You have to let things play out, baby, and I know that’s the scariest thing about life itself, but it’ll work out. If it’s meant to be, I promise it’ll be.”

Your lips move before your mind can catch up. You’re so immersed in him, neck deep in whatever he’s cooked up for you, but you don’t try to get out. He’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more. You didn’t think that anyone could be so perfectly hand crafted, treated with such care that even his flaws were beautiful. You didn’t plan on telling him you loved him, didn’t plan on saying the words that have done nothing but haunt you for the last few years.

“I love you.” it comes out in a breath, like it’s lifted a weight off of your shoulders.

He can tell you didn’t mean to say it, because your eyes blow wide open and your lips part in a way that he can tell you’ve spoken out of impulse rather than preparation. Your cheeks are hot and your hands shake just enough for Nolan to reach for one of them and hold it tightly in his own.

He’s smiling, which is as confusing as the small laugh that he lets out. It’s confusing and almost angering, but you don’t have time to ask because the second your brow furrows, he’s tumbling out an explanation for his reaction.

“I love you too. Have for a while, probably always will.” it melts your heart that’s sunk into your stomach. You’re not sure what you did that made the universe gift you with Nolan, though you believe it to be something between adopting a child in a past life or buying a woman’s order at Taco Bell when she forgot her wallet at home.

He expects you to say something else, maybe ask if he’s joking or not, but you don’t. You’re frozen in your spot, tears building up in your eyes that make Nolan meet you over the center console and pull you into his chest. He doesn’t know exactly why you’re so emotional, but he has a feeling it has to do with your traumatic past and the fear that others have installed in you. He just wants you to be happy, especially if he gets to stick around to make it happen himself.

“I love you so much, and it’s fucking terrifying.” he kisses the top of your head, his hand moving up and down your back in the most soothing pattern he can come up with.

“I know, and I’m scared too. Maybe we always will be, but we can’t spend too much time worrying about it or else we won’t get to experience it. We’ll ruin it for ourselves, and I don’t want to do that.” you shook your head, your silent way of telling him that you don’t want to do that either. You wanted to let yourself cherish falling in love with Nolan.

“If it’s meant to be, it’ll be, right?” he smiles down at you, one of the widest smiles you’ve ever seen him present. You store it in your memory, hoping you’d never forget the sight of him smiling at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the word.

“That’s right, baby. And I have a pretty good feeling about us.”

-

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