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norrizzandpia · 6 months

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i love your story’s but the way you write oscar and lando are amazing!!!!

okk so i have an idea where the reader is a f1 driver and is a rookie this year as well and her and oscar and have been teammates since karting they ended up going to boarding a school together as well so they are best friends but oscar’s always been in LOVE with her and she just always thought he thought of her as a sister so she never showed any romantic feelings but maybe everyone on the grid thought they were dating and they are at club or party after race and the reader is being flirted with a stranger and the grid notices thinking the two were together telling oscar who denies they are together but still goes over their and drags her out of the part and he gets jealous and admits his feelings maybe angrily admits them and the reader smiled and kissed him

lowkey could see the reader as a landos little sister if you wanted to add more of a story or drama :)

This was so fun to write 🤭 i hope y’all like it

Loving You in the Shadows (OP81)

Summary: They’ve been together for years. Well, they haven’t been together for years. Yet.

Warnings: language, angst, happy ending tho, lots of yearning and longing, sad Oscar

Note: hehehe have fun everyone!!!! Btw shes a long one so buckle up

Lando’s little sister was the first thing he and Oscar bonded over. Throughout the years, he had heard of the friend Y/n had made through karting and school. He was quite elated to hear she was having so much fun with this boy, silencing his worries over the Australian’s intentions. They had met a few times before Oscar officially became his teammate with Oscar having come over to the house multiple times during holidays. Nonetheless, when they were introduced as teammates, Lando took to truly getting to know Oscar.

Surprisingly, getting to know Oscar proved to be easy as all the Australian wanted to talk about was Lando’s little sister.

That was the first time Lando truly ever had an inkling Oscar felt more for Lando’s little sister than he let on. The nagging feeling was forced to the forefront of his brain when Oscar won his first podium and the first person he went to find in the crowd was the girl who had placed P5, his “best friend”. Watching them hug and Y/n shouting out how proud she was of him, Lando clocked the unfamiliar glint in Oscar’s eyes as he stared down at her. It was unlike anything he had ever seen and that image plagued his mind at all times of the day.

He pushed to know more about them, his sister having been decently private about their friendship to everyone. He would slip in small questions about their previous times together every once in a while, amassing information over time.

He learned just how close they grew when they lived one building from each other in school, Oscar making it a regular routine to spend most days over at her dorm as they did homework together. He began to observe her face as she reminisced on that part of their life together. A lazy, adoring smile on her face as she detailed the moment where Oscar had snuck out of his dorm to show up at hers and demand help on his English essay. She would laugh and shake her head as if she was right back there, experiencing the moment again.

Suddenly, he was getting whiplash, realizing his sister was wholly in love with his teammate.

Their interactions became clearer to him even though they were, on the surface, completely platonic. The way her hands would stay glued to her sides, physically trying to restrain herself from reaching out for him; the way he would hug her and hold on a millisecond too long, just enough to breathe her in the way he desperately wanted to, but not enough for it to raise eyebrows.

That was when he understood they were both in love with each oth- “Mate?”

Oscar’s voice filled his thoughts, shutting off the episode he was watching in his head.

Shaking his head, Lando looked up at his teammate standing over him, “What’s up?”

Oscar’s eyebrows pulled together, “The team’s been calling you for ages. They’re ready for us.”

Lando’s mouth formed an “o” shape, nodding vigorously as he checked his phone to see all the missed calls and texts.

“I know you’re usually late, but you seemed kind of far away when I found you. You okay?” Oscar asked, head turned to him as they began walking toward the film equipment.

Lando feigned innocence, “Mmm, yeah? I’m fine.”

Oscar shook his head, “If you say so.”

Their conversation ended there as they reached the woman interviewing them for a Sky Sports segment. The two sat in their chairs, looking expectantly at the presenter with the flashcards in her hands.

The red light glowed bright, a sign for them to reel themselves in and slide into their PR trained skins, “Hi, everyone! Welcome back to another Sky Sports interview. Today we welcome some of the most talked about drivers on the grid as of right now, Oscar Piastri and Lando Norris! Hi, boys!”

They nodded simultaneously, smiles prevalent on their faces. Their time with the woman was limited, so she flew into questions quickly. Gradually, they transitioned from topics such as their car and the expectations they hold for the rest of the season to more personal ones such as Y/n.

“So, you both have a pretty close relationship with another driver on the grid, Y/n Norris. Of course, Lando, she’s your sister and Oscar, your best friend. Has that proved to be difficult? Having to share that time with her on top of how busy all your schedules are?” The woman smiled, leaning her elbow on her knee as she searched for the “real answers” behind their eyes.

Lando coughed to cover up his scoff, slightly annoyed by such an insinuation. His little sister never had a problem with priorities and self-discipline. The three all understood that F1 took a pretty heavy emphasis on her schedule, but they also saw how much effort she put in to keep their relationships growing. They never had to “share” her because she was already balanced enough to see everyone.

By the time Lando calmed his annoyance and protectiveness, Oscar had taken the question.

“No, not at all. Having to share her has never and will never be a thing. She’s an incredibly smart person who is capable of managing her time and managing it well. She has proved time and time again that, even when F1 gets crazy, we still hold a place in her schedule. To think that Lando and I essentially fight for her attention is weird and completely untrue.”

The woman is taken aback by his firm answer, however Lando can see the wheels turn in her head as she calculates her next words, “You seem very close with her, Oscar.”

It’s as if he doesn’t understand her inference, his smile brightening as he speaks, “Yeah! Y/n and I have been friends for years. She and I made some great memories together during our karting days and especially our boarding school days.”

Again, he doesn’t seem to notice the way in which his words have communicated, the presenter’s eyes bulging as she smiles tightly, “Oh?”

“Yeah!” Lando’s shoulders sink as he watches his teammate get taken advantage of by the press, knowing everyone will be misconstruing and manipulating his words. His green eyes glaze over as the feelings of hopelessness overtake him. He wishes to protect his little sister’s oasis with Oscar as much as he can, yet he fails in this instance.

Nevertheless, the interview concludes and the two boys are sent on their way, chatting freely again.

It’s by pure coincidence that they run into Y/n, the girl running around the paddock manically. She runs straight into Oscar’s chest as they round a corner, his arms immediately wrapping around her at the movement. When it dawns on the two of them who have just interrupted their conversation, identical smiles fall on their faces. Smiles which hold two very different forms of love.

“Y/n!” Oscar says cheerfully, falling into their forced hug comfortably.

Lando murmurs a quick hello, going into observation mode as if it’s second nature. What his eyes catch this time is the same thing they always have: lovesick grins and barely there touches.

He nods along with whatever his sister spouts off, his mind elsewhere. Although, when he sees Oscar’s face fall at her information and his body flying around, running in the direction they just came from, he realizes it’s probably best to tune in.

“What’s going on?” He asks, concerned, whilst grabbing his sister’s arm and forcing her to stay long enough to clue him in.

Her chuckling makes the tension in his shoulders ease, “Oh, it’s just I lost that McLaren sweatshirt Oscar gave me with his number on it last year. I know it’s in the paddock somewhere because I showed up wearing it, but I can’t remember where I put it.”

Lando’s face scrunches, “Why do you have merch from another team? And why are you wearing it to a race where you’re working for another team?”

Her innocent smile equates to his heart crushing, her naivety getting the best of her, “Because Oscar got it for me and I want to support him. He’d do the same for me.”

He nods, not wanting to bring up the topic of Oscar having feelings for her again after they’d had it so many times before. All he does is scoff obnoxiously as she runs off after Oscar, yelling, “When are you going to wear one of my sweatshirts?!”

Her gleaming face catches his eyes, “Never! That’s what sisters are for!”

He laughs to himself, “That doesn’t make any sense!”

But, she’s too far to hear him and, in the distance, he sees her reach Oscar, her body crashing into his as she hugs him from the side. His arms coming around to squeeze her impossibly close, Lando wonders if they’ll ever realize what’s left unsaid.

—

Dinner with the grid is always chaotic and tonight is no different. Every single driver in the 2023 season sits in a chair in the corner of a luxurious restaurant, a table so loud people have purposefully moved away. Their laughs echo off the walls and different conversations taking place from every part of the table announce their presence unlike anything else.

“Lando, I’ve always wondered how you felt when Oscar and Y/n told you they were together?” Charles’ giddy voice floats across the party, everyone clueing in to Lando’s answer whilst simultaneously keeping their chatter going.

It’s only when Oscar and Y/n deny their being together that the group falls incredibly silent.

“What?” Daniel asks in disbelief, eyes bulged and mouth agape as he stares at the two.

Lando shakes his head, not surprised in the least that his friends and coworkers believed in something so obvious.

“We aren’t together?” Y/n repeats, Oscar’s face heating up as he sinks slightly into his chair beside her.

Esteban slams his hands on the table as he gasps, slightly drunk, “Yes, you are!”

It’s when his sister stutters, at a loss for words, that Lando steps in, “They aren’t together, guys.”

Every driver aside from the two McLaren drivers and the one female driver sits frozen in their seats, minds reeling from the revelation.

“But,” Alex begins, “what about Y/n wearing Oscar’s number?” His eyes meet each driver, still stunned.

Y/n laughs, “It’s a joke!”

Lando sees the way Oscar’s eyes slowly trail up to stare at the side of her face. They’re drowning in sorrow and longing, the first time Lando’s ever seen him so openly yearn for her. It’s sobering, the turmoil Lando witnesses pass through his friend. He’s so inclined to stand up and yell at them for being so stupid all these years, but he’s so blatantly aware of the fact that they’ll never admit it until they’re absolutely pushed to their breaking point.

While Oscar seems to be reaching it, Lando knows him too well to understand that he’ll go farther, so determined to keep her in his life. The thought makes him down the rest of his beer, wishing greatly for something stronger.

The universe compliments his idea when the waiter comes by and drops the different checks.

“Let’s get to this club, yeah?” He yelps, everyone seemingly dropping the topic of Oscar and Y/n at the notion.

Whoops and hollers meet his ears as everyone throws down their credit cards, the excitement a deep contrast to the sunken face of his teammate.

—

“I’m going to go get another drink!” Y/n yells over the loud music, her words directed mostly toward her brother and best friend although the entire table picks up on it. If anything, Lando’s beat when it comes to the amount of protection held toward his sister. With her being the only woman on the grid, each driver took up a special kind of defensiveness when it came to her. Her age contributed to it greatly, her being slightly younger than Oscar and making her the youngest on the grid. They’re all careful with her, something Lando’s grateful for as time and time before have proven that when he’s not looking out for her, someone else is.

The group nods, Y/n smiling and chuckling at their synchronization and attentiveness to her whereabouts. Their eyes linger on her, making sure she makes it safely to the bar, but it’s fleeting once they become engrossed in their conversation again. Oscar’s gaze stays with her, something everyone else notices.

Max is the first one to call him out on the elephant in the room, “How are you guys not together?”

Oscar seems to think the champion is talking to something else, his entire face turned to the side as he watches the bartender not-so-discreetly look down her top.

Lando hits him on the arm and it’s enough to bring him back from the angry thoughts warring on in his mind, “Sorry, what?”

George presses just as Max is about to, “How are you two not together?”

Oscar shakes his head, “It’s never come up.”

Lando involuntarily lets out a noise of disagreement, all drivers turning to him. He gives Oscar a side glance, “Come on, mate. That’s not true.”

Immediately, Oscar gets defensive. His arms come up frustratedly as he scoffs, “It hasn’t!”

Carlos laughs slightly, “Hasn’t or you haven’t worked up the confidence to initiate it?”

Oscar groans, sitting back in the booth, and speaking quickly, “I don’t know what to tell you all here. We’ve been friends for years and the feelings I have for her mean shit. They always have and they always will. It’s not worth destroying the bond I already have with her trying to get a new one.”

Lewis’ response is instantaneous, “You sure?”

His comment would’ve gone ignored if his eyes hadn’t been looking off curiously into the party. Pairs of eyes follow his and Oscar’s heart drops at the sight they all collectively come to meet.

A random man lays a hand on Y/n’s waist as they lean on the bar beside them. She laughs at something he says and lays a hand on his bicep before utilizing the fact that he’s taller than her and giving him a look that would have any man falling to their knees. The drivers, except Oscar, tear their gaze away, giving each other minor glances that say way more than words could.

Even with all the noise around them, it’s quiet in their corner as they stare at Oscar, trying to anticipate his next move. Lando thinks he’s about to get about and dart over, claiming what’s always been his, but, at the last moment, the Australian whips his head back around and takes a sip of his drink, acting nonchalantly.

The group sighs, all giving up and going back to their side conversations. Oscar’s the only one to sit with himself, quietly, and Lando knows it’s because he’s trying so hard to restrain the last bit of self-control. He can practically see the battle going on within the walls of his head, recognizing that kind of self-doubt and sympathizing.

At some point, Oscar loses the battle he’s been fighting for years and abruptly stands from the table, jostling glasses as he runs through the crowd.

The rest of them nod, satisfied, and turn their heads away, feeling as if they need to give the two privacy for a moment that could either go perfectly right or horribly wrong.

When he reaches her, the flirting has gotten worse. Hands linger in places he’s wanted to touch for years and eyes stare at the lips he’s wanted to kiss for, what feels like, his entire life.

He sidles up to her as if he’s done it for so long, “Babe, what’s taking you so long?”

Her eyes meet his when she feels his hands circle around her waist, Oscar’s hands having pushed the other man’s away once he got there.

She gives him a quizzical look at the pet name before beginning, “Osc, what’s u-”

He extends his arm, interrupting her and setting his eyes on the stranger he loathes, “I’m Oscar. Y/n’s boyfriend.”

He can see out of his peripheral how her face contorts in mass amounts of confusion, “Wha-” She tries again, but it’s the other man that stops her this time.

“Boyfriend? Oh, my bad, mate, I didn’t know.” The guy says, truly remorseful for his “mistake” and it hits Oscar right in the chest. This man seems genuine and nice, everything Y/n deserves, yet he cannot physically bring himself to let anyone else know what she tastes like, feels like, loves like.

Even though he hasn’t experienced any of those things, he’s determined to.

—

The car ride is quiet as Oscar drives the two of them back to the hotel they’re staying at. After he pulled her away from the man, she had shut him out for the rest of the night, gluing herself to Lando. Her brother must have caught on because when it came to him driving her home, he bailed and forced her to get in Oscar’s car.

There was no further discussion, he shut her up with “I’m your big brother. You’re going to follow what I say.”

To say she was annoyed would be the biggest understatement of the year. She was close to fuming.

Oscar didn’t push her, not wanting to add fuel to the fire when he started it, so they sat in silence.

Uncomfortable silence. Something they had never experienced together.

When he pulled into the parking space in the structure, she flew out and slammed the door behind her.

“Y/n, I’m sorry.” He concurred, eyes blurring as he stared at her retreating frame.

She stopped, turning around and staring at him from her side of the garage.

“Why?” She asked aggressively.

“Why what?” He asked back, standing by the trunk of his car.

She exhaled a loud breath and walked closer to him, “Why’d you interrupt me with that guy? Why’d you say you were my boyfriend?”

Suddenly, his confidence from earlier was fading and he began to retreat back to the safe excuses, “You looked uncomfortable.”

He walked away from her, keys clinking against the cards of his wallet before the sound of her rapid footsteps replaced it. Her small hand wrapped forcefully around his arm and turned him around.

What he found was a red Y/n, exhausted with anger, “I fucking wasn’t!”

He shrugged, acting indifferent, something he didn’t know hurt Y/n deeply, “Oh, sorry.”

He tried to turn around again, run away from her and this situation, but her hands pulled him back once more.

“Jesus, Y/n! Can you let me go to bed?” He exclaimed, annoyance with himself rather than annoyance with her. Though, she didn’t know that. The two were in the same situation yet so far apart: both in love with each other, but too engrossed in their own fears and insecurities to realize the pleading in the other’s eyes was the same swimming in theirs.

“No!” She yelled, hands flinging out by her sides, “Tell me why you said you were my boyfriend, Oscar!”

She was determined now, not deterred by his disagreeance, “Fuck, no, Y/n! It’s fucking nothing! Leave it alone!”

Her hands on his shoulders, she began shaking him lightly, “Why, Oscar?!”

Their yelling was bouncing off the concrete walls of the building. If anyone else was in it, they would be able to hear their long overdue argument clearly.

His mind closed in on itself, going haywire at the feelings of panic. He wasn’t ready to lose her, wasn’t ready to blurt out his feelings and have his whole world come crashing down around him. The friends held different determinations, the topics of which should have pushed them closer together, but continued to push them apart.

His eyes darted around as she yelled again, “Oscar! Why?!”

It was frantic and quick, his response, “YOU KNOW WHY!”

His loud yell had her coming back with the same amount of volume, both testing just how echoey the walls around them could be.

“NO, I FUCKING DON’T! I NEVER HAVE! WHY DID YOU DO THAT TONIGHT?”

“BECAUSE I FUCKING LOVE YOU! FUCK, I’M SO IN LOVE WITH YOU AND IT’S EATEN ME ALIVE THIS WHOLE TIME! I’M SO FUCKING SICK OF LOVING YOU FROM THE SIDELINES AND WATCHING EVERY OTHER GUY BE LOVED BY YOU, SOMETHING THEY DON’T EVEN DESERVE, BY THE WAY! HELL, I DON’T EVEN FUCKING DESERVE IT, BUT I’M TOO IN LOVE WITH YOU TO THINK THAT WAY. I FUCKING LOVE YOU, Y/N.” He stopped to catch his breath, volume retreating back to a quiet whisper as he looked down at her, “I fucking love you.”

She stared back at him, hands still on his shoulders, with a shaking frame. Her mind lost all power as she smiled at him, immediately moving her hands closer to his neck and bringing his lips down to hers.

What he thought would be a rejection turned out to be something he had thought about for an ungodly amount of time. Her plush, soft lips met his in a tender way, slowly melding together.

There were only a few times in Oscar’s life where he became so overwhelmed with emotion, he broke out of his unbothered persona and showed the outside world the intense feelings he was experiencing.

This was one of those times.

He grabbed her waist as if it grounded him in such a heavy moment. They stood, huddled together, in the middle of the parking lot kissing each other with such certainty that it reaffirmed the inferences made by everyone else.

Their friends, families, co-workers were all right. Everyone was right.

That revelation sat in Oscar’s chest as he tangled his other hand in her hair and pushed her lips further into him. He had wasted so much time engrossed in his feelings for her, he had failed to see hers.

From the nights she spent staying up late because he wasn’t prepared for whatever test they had the next day to the times she would solely come over to his house to cook food because he hadn’t eaten anything for dinner and didn’t know how to cook it himself now held a different light. A light that was no longer shunned by the longing he had been distracted with. A light that exemplified her kind, loving demeanor, something so comforting it couldn’t ever possibly pass as platonic. A light that slapped him so hard across the face, woke him up so harshly, he found himself thinking back to all their times together and realizing that while he was yearning for her love, she was yearning all the same.

When they pulled away and he was met with her grin, the grin she had given multiple times before, his brain recognized how adoring it was.

Always adoring him, always loving him, right in front of him.

He sighed softly, “You love me.”

He stated it in disbelief, but she confirmed when she nodded softly, “Yes, I do.”

He kissed her softly again, “I’m sorry for how long it took me to realize.”

She shook her head, “It’s my fault all the same, Osc.”

He laughed and moved to pull her into him, hugging her. Their hug, however, felt different. Now, he could let his hands linger and wander freely. Now, she could breathe in his scent openly, committing it to memory.

Now, they could love each other in the way they wanted to.

Still, lonesome in the parking lot, he pulled away and smiled at her, “The one thing I’m not sorry for, though, is pulling you away from that guy.”

She laughed, a sound he could now outwardly call his favorite sound, “Me too, Osc. Me too.”

A/N: hope you liked it (and cried) 😚 also lmk if y’all want a pt 2 to this where Oscar and yn go public to Lando, the grid and the public and everyone’s like “ok… we knew it was going to happen anyway 🤨” bc i think that could be funny

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thesoftboiledegg · 5 months

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"Unmortricken" was a lot. In fact, it might have been a little too much.

To start, I loved the glimpse of what exists outside the Central Finite Curve. The visuals were stunning and reminded me of M.C. Escher's drawings. The Jetson-like family was a nice touch--if anything can happen, who says they can't have different animation styles? All those colorful portals make me wonder what's lurking just out of sight.

It's also funny that the space outside the Curve is full of Rick's favorite thing: crystals. If he took a trip there, he'd come back with his pockets stuffed with gemstones.

Evil Morty's reappearance gave us a decent character study. Since he wasn't the antagonist, we saw him interact with the C-137s as a regular person. Morty's a little impressed, and Rick has a grudging respect for him. Others have called Evil Morty the Rickest Morty, and I agree: similar intelligence, similar technology and similar bloodthirst.

I was glad that he left in the end because that's what his character arc is about anyway. He doesn't want to be part of anyone else's story, not even another Morty's.

However, that's also part of the issue that I had with this episode. Seeing Evil Morty was great, but it was also a little...pointless? You could've had the same story without him. He's not working with Prime, and he has no ties to C-137 after "Rickmurai Jack," so it felt like the writers just said "Hey, you know what would be cool?"

I'm not against writers having fun and giving the audience what they want. "Spider-Man: No Way Home" (yeah, groan at me, Marvel haters) is fan service in blockbuster form, and it was one of the best theater experiences I've ever had.

Still, if Evil Morty came back, I think he should've had a separate episode. The episode juggled C-137 Rick, Morty, Evil Morty and Prime Rick pretty well, giving them satisfying interactions with each other, but no Evil Morty would've meant more relationship development for the C-137s.

Evil Morty's backstory also didn't reveal much about him. I mean--yeah, we all figured that he had an abusive Rick and got fed up. The fact that he had a "regular" Rick instead of a deranged lunatic does make a point about the banality of abuse. Monsters aren't always raving maniacs who torture people in their basements. Ordinary people can wear you down with a slow drip of toxicity and neglect.

I enjoyed this episode, and Evil Morty's return was exciting, but cramming the series' two biggest antagonists and storylines into twenty minutes was a little overwhelming. New plot developments kept showing up, too: Rick found Prime! Prime's various lairs! Omega device! I would've preferred a two-parter.

I'll admit that if you told me that we'd see Evil Morty and Rick Prime in the same shot, I never would have believed you, but here we are.

On that note, Prime's characterization was perfect. No attempt at a cutesy, sad backstory; he's a laughing monster until the end. And is it really the end? He has regeneration abilities, but C-137 acts like he's dead and even gives up the search. This leaves us with a few options:

C-137 killed him.

Prime fooled C-137 into thinking that he's dead when he isn't.

C-137's keeping him alive for later use.

Hopefully, this is more complicated than it looks because I'll be disappointed if this is the end of Prime. He's a brilliant reflection of C-137: the Rick he'd be without his tiny shred of humanity.

And Prime's a maniac, but he tells C-137 the truth. Rick broke into Prime's house. He pretended he belonged with this group of strangers. He latched on to Prime's grandson because he never had his own. His brutal, violent streak never went away no matter how long he tried to play house.

Prime says "Admit it! You would have been me!" In season three and parts of season four, Rick was close. His love for his family--love that he pretended he didn't have--and desire for their approval just barely pulled him back. But what kept that spark alive? How close was he to becoming a cold, unfeeling shell?

In the end, C-137's not satisfied after he destroys Prime--and weirdly, I'm not satisfied, either. Beating Prime to an unrecognizable pulp doesn't bring Rick's original family back. It doesn't erase the atrocities that Rick's committed. It doesn't make his grief go away. It doesn't change the fact that Rick teetered on the edge of turning into the monster that he despised.

What's more satisfying is that Rick didn't turn out like Prime. His Morty doesn't give two shits about Prime, but he loves him. He hugs him in relief (come on, Rick, hug him back already!), cries out "Rick? Rick!" and shakes his body when he thinks he's dead, and talks excitedly as they return home.

Rick's going to therapy, which Prime would have mocked. He went from having nobody to living with FIVE kids if you count Morty and Summer. Even he and his Jerry are pretty tight.

Rick knows this, but he still feels empty all the time. Vengeance doesn't work, drinking doesn't work...wouldn't it be easier if he just switched off his humanity and laughed at everything, even his own death?

But now that he knows how it feels to be loved, especially by his hypothetical grandson, I think he'll always find himself at the Smiths' doorstep.

#rick and morty #rick sanchez #morty smith #prime rick #weird rick #rick prime #evil morty #boy that's quite the collection of tags #unmortricken #season seven #review

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diorctrl · 2 months

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MUSIC BANK HOST : idol!enha x idol! reader

𓂂 ˳ enhypen maknae line genre: idol au, fluff, different scenarios warnings: intentional lower case, hyung line

kim seonwoo ( 김선우 )

୨୧ 𓂂 ˳ you’re apart of formis_9, you’re also sunghoon’s little sister. you’re the youngest of formis and it’s been a known thing that you have crush on sunoo but everyone just brushed it off as the “little sister having a crush on big brothers friend.” thing but NO you were sure that you were going to marry this man but he never payed you much mind but he obviously knew about your little(HUGE) crush on him every one knew so he wasn’t fazed when he was told that he would be your mc partner, he would just have to do his normal routine of completely ignoring your advances but this time it was different.

“sunoo oppa..” yn trails off looking up at the older boy, he looks at you confused because it was obvious that you were going off script, “you look handsome today, you always look handsome but you look extra handsome today.” she flirts leaning close to him, sunoo’s face heated up slightly because you’ve never been this bold before but the only that he could do was flirt back so it doesn’t throw the mood off and from that day it became your dynamic when you were mcing, you guys would flirt like crazy in front of the camera to the point that it seeping into your regular lifestyle to the point that sunoo has been wondering if he should finally give you a chance (HE DID!)

yang jungwon ( 양정원 )

୨୧ 𓂂 ˳ you’re apart of new jeans, and just like jungwon you were on the younger side but was you were the leader of the group. with that in thought jungwon had immediately taken a liking towards you even though you’ve never interacted but he was interested in you because you both had something in common (+ you were insanely pretty in his opinion) but with you guys never interacting jungwon was shocked when he found that you yourself personally asked for him to fill in for your mc partner that would be away because in his mind you didn’t even know he existed but little did he know…

“you did so good today!” you exclaimed smiling big at jungwon as you guys wrapped up filming, your smile made his heart flutter a little and he smiled softly at you and thank you. “I knew you would do good, that’s why chose you.” you said, making pride grow in his chest, “really?” he asked. “yeah, you’re my bias in enhypen,” you say nudging him causing jungwon’s face to heat up, “and you are pretty cute as well..” jungwo felt like he was on fire, “you think im cute?” he asks like it’s the most unbelievable thing in the world. “yeah,” you said with a nonchalant shrug, “and I also would like to hand out with you more.”

oh how lucky was he.

nishimura riki ( 西村リキ )

୨୧ 𓂂 ˳ you’re apart of baby monster , riki was first introduced to you through the introduction that yg posted for the series of the groups journey, he immediately took a liking towards you and your dancing it was obvious that you were going to be his bias if you debut with the group, he routed for you secretly the whole time and his members never mentioned the new group that was being formed so he thought he was the only one that knew about you untill he heard jake on the phone with someone who sounded awfully like you and riki being the curious person that he was asked the older member who he was talking to and his mouth dropped when jake said that he was talking to his cousin about the new episode that yg uploaded. riki couldn’t believe it yn was jakes cousin and if there’s one thing he knew is that he had to use that to his advantage to get to you and he definitely did by stealing your number from Jake’s phone and texting you a weird pick up line and one thing lead to another and BOOM you’re his girlfriend. one thing that shocked the work is how fast you got an mc job after debut and that yg actually let you be an mc for music bank just a few weeks after debut and you were soooo popular which meant you were on high demand, everyone wanted a piece of the new it girl and riki had to sit there at watch.

riki scowled at his screen as he watched some boy from a group flirt with you as you interviewed them did they have no manners? oh how he wanted to just jump through the screen and cause havoc. “hey!” he jumped when his door opened to reveal you walking over to his bed in more comfortable clothes from the ones you were wearing this morning, he took a look at you before turning around burying his head in his pillow not even looking up when he felt the weight in of you laying on his back, “what’s wrong?” you asked putting your chin on his shoulder, he only responded with a muffled nothing. “Come on I know something is wrong.” you say making it known that you’re not going to give up making riki let out a sigh, “I don’t like how these guys are acting towards you, flirting with you as if you have a boyfriend.” he says frowning when you let out a small giggle, “oh, so you’re jealous?” “I’m not- yeah I am.” his response makes you laugh even more, “riki, you don’t have to worry about those boys, all I care about is you.” “really?” “really.” you respond softly causing a smile to break onto his face, “now come on let’s go get food.”

#enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen headcanons #enhypen x idol reader #riki nishimura x reader #niki enhypen #yang jungwon x reader #kim sunoo x reader #sunoo enhypen #jungwon enhypen #enhypen maknae line

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dreamchasernina · 2 months

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So since the fandom has come back to life and there is not enough Kataang content on this app I will start sharing my two cents. Yay.

I want to start off by saying that as the show was airing, I, as a 10 year old, did kinda ship Zutara. Let’s face it, that scene in the catacombs was a turning point for a lot of shippers. But that was before I saw the final season a couple of years later. When I rewatched the show as a whole, as a teenager I was over Zutara, honestly their interaction kind of felt awkward to me, because they were enemies for so long. So I was all for Kataang. Now, that I’ve rewatched it for like a 1000th time, as a 28 year old, I finally see Kataang for the amazing pairing that it is.

Anyway, I’m not here to hate on anyone, you can ship whoever you like, and I love Zuko so you will not see me slandering his character here. Plus I don't feel the need to hate dump on a character to make my ship feel superior (*cough* unlike some Zutara shippers *cough*).

Ok, so. I feel that when people think of Katara, and her part in the show, they remember her as the responsible one in the group, the "mother" of the group, the sensible and caring one. Yes, when Katara’s mother died she had to step in and take the responsibility of the mother in the family, like Sokka says in the Runaway, and that stayed with her throughout the show. But, I hate that that’s the only thing she’s remembered for, because that’s just the result of her trauma. I feel like most people ignore a very crucial part of her character. Yes, she is the responsible in the group, but when she gets a chance to just be a kid, that's what she is.

People forget about the fun loving side of Katara. The one that goes penguin sledding and remembers how she hasn’t done it in a long time because life hasn’t allowed her to. The side of Katara that gets obsessed with Aunt Wu’s prediction because she is just a regular girl who’s fascinated by her love life, and dreams about what her future husband might be like. The girl that tries flying on the glider with Teo. The girl that relaxes on Appa and lets the hippie girl braid her hair, completely forgetting about the next task in their journey. People forget the side of her that dances in a cave, forgetting about the war and just enjoying life. Let’s not ignore that whenever Katara has a chance, she just enjoys being a kid, not just a badasss waterbender travelling with the Avatar.

And when Katara brings that side out, you know who’s right by her side? Aang. He’s not just by her side, he’s the one initiating those little fun moments. Penguin sledding is his idea, he’s the one to remind her that even though she’s been through a lot, and has a lot of responsibilities, she’s still a kid. He’s the one to organize the dance party, in a middle of a war, in the enemy's terrorory, he still finds a way for them just to be kids. And she’s right there with him, dancing. He’s also taking part in her obsession with Aunt Wu, not belittling or making fun of her faith, but taking part in it. Also sitting right next to her in a flower crown and enjoying the music the hippies play.

You cannot ignore that part of Katara, the part that shines when she’s comfortable, the part that just wants to be a regular kid and have fun. And that’s the part that Aang brings out in her. He’s the Avatar, the weight of the world is literally on his shoulders, but he still finds a way to enjoy life and be a kid, even after going through the worst trauma you can imagine. And he’s there to remind her that even if you’ve experienced the worst, you can still find joy in the little things. She literally says in the first episode - Aang brought something we haven’t had in a long time - fun. And that’s what he brings to her, this light, and that’s why she’s so drawn to him.

Isn’t that what we want for Katara, after the war is over? To just let herself be a kid, not to miss out on that part of her life, now that she doesn’t have to worry about their survival? And the best person to bring this joy and childlike wonder back into her life is Aang. And that’s why I think that Aang is truly the best one Katara could have ended up with.

#atla #kataang #avatar: the last airbender #aang #avatar the last airbender #Katara

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cirilla-fiona-riannon · 4 months

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Make Me Feel Alive Episode 1

Gilbert von Obsidian's Birthday Story

This is simply a fan translation and is not intended as a replacement for the game. Expect grammatical errors.

As Christmas and the end of the year drew near, the chilly season brought a sense of excitement to everyone's hearts.

In the Obsidian Castle, a scene that unfolded regularly once a month continued to take place right before my eyes.

Gilbert: "Hey, Walter. Can't you stop using Emma so casually?"

Gilbert: "She threatened me with a 'no touching' order if I didn't come to the infirmary, you know?"

Gilbert, sitting on the bed and buttoning his shirt, turned his red eyes toward me, clearly sulking.

Gilbert: "I'll kill anyone who gets close to Emma."

Walter: "It's just a matter of you going for regular check-ups willingly."

Walter: "Relying on Roderich every single time to keep you in check also has its limits."

Gilbert: "Your check-ups are too frequent and troublesome."

Walter: "Your body needs a little more caution. You had a high fever just the other day."

Gilbert: "Even normal, healthy people get a fever sometimes."

Walter: "How many times do I have to tell you that you are prone to serious illnesses? And do you want to make your fiancée cry again?"

Gilbert: "Yeah, I want to make her cry. I want to make her cry a lot."

Emma: "Prince Gilbert."

The other day, when Gilbert seemed off, I touched his skin and felt a warmth that was completely opposite to his usual coldness. His breathing seemed abnormal, so I hurriedly went to call Walter.

(I was really worried, but he doesn't seem to care at all.)

Gilbert: "You're also exaggerating."

Emma: "I’m really worried about you."

Gilbert: "Poor thing."

(No use. He's clearly enjoying himself.)

Walter: "Roderich, your master is too evil."

Roderich: "Doctor, he is also your master."

Walter: "Damn it."

Gilbert: "Hm? What's that? You want a salary cut?"

Walter: "It's an honor to serve such a wonderful master like you!"

Gilbert: "Fufu, is that so?"

(I've been getting used to this atmosphere.)

Gilbert generally avoided unnecessary interactions with people.

However, he seemed to trust Roderich and Walter to some extent, and they often had lively and dangerous conversations like this.

(Right! Since Gilbert's associates are all here and his regular checkup is over, I think now is just the right time.)

Emma: "By the way, it's almost your birthday."

Emma: "How do you usually celebrate it?"

Walter & Roderich: "........."

Emma: "Um..."

(Huh? What's with this atmosphere?)

As soon as the topic of "birthday" was brought up, Walter, who was usually talkative, and Roderich, who silently watched the situation from the sidelines, both shut their mouths.

Their expressions held a tension that you couldn't just dismiss easily.

(Did I say something wrong?)

Emma: "Could it be that birthdays are not celebrated at Obsidian?"

Gilbert: "No, regular households do celebrate properly. Birthdays are special no matter which country you're in."

Emma: "Then, what's with this atmosphere?"

Emma: "You mentioned the other day that it was almost your birthday."

Gilbert: "Yeah, because I thought you'd be particular about such things."

(So it's not exactly taboo.)

Walter and Roderich both lowered their heads.

Only Gilbert continued to smile.

Gilbert: "My birthday is something celebrated by those who want to die."

Episode 1 ╎ Episode 2 ╎ Episode 3

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri gilbert #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri jp #ikepri translations #cybird

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itsclydebitches · 11 months

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We've all rightly been gushing over Trent listening in on the parent-teacher conference and there are a lot of cool interpretations for why he'd eavesdrop: a crush on Ted, a tendency towards gossip (as seen in "International Break"), the fact that you just can't take the journalism out of the boy, Trent is clearly picking up personal tidbits for the book if the group's initial "Don't print that" worries are any indication, etc. So yeah, it's clear why he'd want/be okay with the door staying open.

Meanwhile, I'm slightly feral over Ted letting the door stay open and what that conveys to Trent.

Based on what we've picked up about his personal life and the direction of this season, we have good reason to believe that Trent was a deeply isolated man prior to Ted arriving. His job makes enemies simply by virtue of the profession itself, especially when you "bring the heat" as hard as he did. Roy flipping the press off at the gala in Season 1 and Nate sneaking out at dark this last episode shows us how journalists are treated on the regular: ignored, dismissed, told to "fuck off" as a matter of course. That's often well deserved, as Roy's two personal stories (Trent's article about him + the response to Isaac's attack) attest, but the end result is still a profession that alienates you from anyone other than your peers. When you're a "colossal prick" in your articles, people hate you all the more.

So Trent at least has other journalist buddies, yeah? Well, not that we've seen. I always think back to that chorus of "--The Independent" in the press room when everyone knew what Trent was going to say and how it... wasn't entirely fun ribbing. I think there's a fair bit of mockery there. Even if others disagree, I doubt that was received well by someone who wears their professionalism as an armor, who takes off his glasses as soon as they're complimented, who was, notably, closeted into his 40s. Trent is a man who is deeply aware of how others perceive him (pointing out his "vibe" feels quite calculated now: highlight what you want people to notice rather than waiting for them to find something on their own) and he is likely to read the worst of most interactions. Cue his shocked, "You really mean that, don't you?" when faced with someone like Ted who is not only genuinely nice, but blunt about it in a way that Trent can't misunderstand, or brush off via denial.

What's his home life like? Married to a woman when he's gay and that's putting a serious strain on them both. He tries to come out and isn't believed. The only other family members we know about are a toddler (who, while lovely I'm sure, can't provide Trent with the kind of emotional support an adult needs) and a father who, if we read the series through Lance's headcanons, may not have been very supportive of his son. Who else does Trent know? Uhhh... other subjects who hate him? Owners like Rebecca who want to use him? A random, potential date that he felt so little for he ditched to get a quote?

(EDIT: I can't believe I forgot to mention the strong implications that Ted was bullied in childhood/as a teenager, based on how he reacts to the whole of the club ignoring him -- resigned but unsurprised -- his reaction to Roy telling him to fuck off after he tries to mend that relationship -- disappointedly awkward "I can't believe I even tried that. What was I thinking?" -- and his body language during the locker room scene -- jumping, furtive glances towards Ted, backed up against the shower stall because shit, he's been in this situation before.

So uh, yeah. Trent may not have had a lot of friends growing up either! That was not the response of a social butterfly, but rather someone who is already very used to being ignored/dismissed/cursed out/threatened, not just within his profession, but within the school-like atmosphere of Richmond's family too.)

I'm by no means reinventing the meta wheel here, but Trent has truly undergone a STAGGERING transformation in Season 3 and the result of that is the reframing of his Season 1 and 2 scenes as, frankly, more depressing than they originally seemed. Seeing him now smiling, singing, gossiping, dressing just in t-shirts, casually snacking, making jokes, letting go enough to be a complete, hyperactive "dork" in front of others... it just hammers home how deeply unhappy Trent was before. How closed off. How closeted--in more ways than one.

So what must it mean to someone like Trent for Ted to leave the door open?

It's not just an open invitation towards community--sit near me, listen in, quietly participate, there's literally no barrier between us--but a staggeringly personal one too. I don't care if a 10-ish year old failing science is inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, the fact remains that letting anyone hear a parent-teacher conference with your ex is a hell of a show of trust. That would mean a lot to Trent in general, this acknowledgement that someone trusts the ex-prick journalist with that amount of personal information, but Ted in particular? Oh boy. Ted is the one Trent betrayed with that article! And yeah, Ted forgave him the instant he learned of it, but Trent himself was obviously feeling a lot of guilt, hence him burning his source and orchestrating a firing. Toss in the fact that Ted, despite being a VERY open man on the regular (I still laugh at his "I don't mind" to Rebecca when over-sharing about Michelle) has in fact denied Trent information in the past. No, I won't tell you that was a panic attack. Yes, I will continue the lie that it was food poisoning. Perhaps for Ted it was less about Trent knowing and more about anyone getting at the truth, but at the end of the day it amounts to the same: there was a time when Ted did not fully trust him and Trent justified that fear by writing the very article Ted was looking to avoid, even if Trent approached that situation with as much grace as he could.

So this moment, beyond the humor, just makes my brain go !!!!!! for Trent. Ted Lasso, of all people, has left the door open for Trent Crimm, also of all people, to hear the messy details of his, Henry, and Michelle's life. He is not at all afraid that this information will be spun in a bad light--Local Gaffer's Son Suffers While Father Plays at Coach Across the Pond--despite the fact that Trent is actively writing a book about him. Trent himself is so unguarded in this moment, dressed only in a t-shirt, playing around with his orange, making little quips. The Trent of Season 1 would NEVER. I mean, I think we see small glimpses of the real Trent back then, especially when Ted amuses him enough to coax his guard down for half a second (Trent's reaction to “Make like Dunst and Union and bring it on, baby!" comes to mind. That's a gesture we're seeing a lot now that he's comfortable around the club), but on the whole he was still so, so, so isolated. No one knew the real him: gay, funny, dorky, inquisitive, longing for companionship and using the artificial 'closeness' of journalism to cover that ache up.

Now? Trent is fully a part of the Richmond community and he knows he's a part of it because everyone--Ted, Beard, Roy, Colin, Rebecca--are going out of their way to tell him that, notably in very overt ways. Trent strikes me as someone who wouldn't fully believe it when he's told someone enjoys his company; the kind of wounded, anxiety-prone person who, if casually invited to participate, would assume they're just being polite and he'd actually be an annoyance to them. Trent needs overt, obvious, beat-you-over-the-head-with-it reassurance, which is why Ted is so very good for him because Ted is composed of THE most over-the-top positivity you've ever seen. (Compare that need of Trent's to Michelle thinking that Ted is too much...) When faced with a defensive journalist Ted says explicitly that he liked spending time with Trent. When faced with a still unsure writer who thinks of himself only as an observer--never a part of the team himself--Ted literally begs with monkey noises to hear Trent's opinions. He's blunt to the point of absurdity and someone like Trent who has likely spent the majority of his life hiding/being told that his true self is inadequate needs that level of constant, neon-light reassurance.

So Ted leaves the door open to a personal conversation, refusing to literally bar Trent from his life. The best part? Colin re-opens the door because he understands Trent and he knows his coach; of course Ted wants him included. Colin asks permission to CLOSE the door, not open it, and Trent is seeing this openness again and again over the course of several months, with each episode bringing him further out of his shell as he slowly unlearns that self-doubt. Yes, please stay, please tell us what you think, please offer your advice, please join our Diamond Dogs, please ask us questions (they're no longer perceived as a threat), please become an integral part of our lives. We trust you and we like you and we want you here.

Everyone's waiting for Trent to catch the door again because, you know, the rule of three, but what if he doesn't need to? What if he's past slipping a hand or a foot through the crack and scraping by on what that gets him? He caught the door before it could close to get closer to Colin. He caught the door before it could close to get closer to Ted. Now they've both kept the door open for him, his presence welcomed from the get-go.

Trent doesn't need to sprint for that opening anymore.

#Ted Lasso #Trent Crimm #Tedependent #ted x trent #mymetas

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jun-of-love · 1 year

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i will spend my whole life loving you- kim mingyu

tw: none

genre: fluff, angst, kim mingyu

words: 1.7k

pairings: yn × mingyu

a/n: this a very random scenario that popped up in my head. it's all imagination, and does not in any way reflect mine or mingyu's opinions, values, thoughts etc. with that being said i hope you like it :)

“Hey Y/n, is something wrong with Mingyu?”

You had just parked your car when Seungcheol’s text popped on your screen. You read it, sighing deeply. Mingyu had been behaving really weird lately, no one knew what was going on in his mind. Considering that his contract with HYBE was expiring soon, you gave him some space as you figured that he needed time to figure out the specifics. The date was still far away, and the renewal discussion had just been initiated, there was seemingly no reason for Mingyu to act so disturbed over this. You closed your eyes and massaged your temple, the events of last week replaying in your head.

“Gyu, how was practice??” you chirped as soon as he entered the house, eyes void of energy. “Hey, is something wrong?”

“It's everyday babe, nothing special. I’m just tired, I’m going to sleep in the guest bedroom.” He picked up Uri, your cat, and slammed the door shut. You were left with Doori, your other cat in your lap meowing at the shift in the energy. You didn’t want to tire him further or initiate any fights so you left the incident at that, even though it was only in the most intense fights that one of you would sleep in the guest bedroom.

However, before you could even wake up, Mingyu had left the house to go god-knows-where. All he left behind was a lame sticky note saying ‘Don’t worry about me, I had to head out early for some work.’ You were surprised but also concerned; Mingyu never lied, you both had each other’s schedules in your phones, and there was no reason for him to get out of the house at 7 in the morning. You texted and called him multiple times, but he had his phone switched off, further irritating you. You had no time to worry about this, as your own work started in a few hours and you had to get ready for another hard day of dealing with patients.

And so it continued for a week. Mingyu refused to interact with you, or anyone else for that matter. He would sleep early if he reached home before you, or came home after you fell asleep and left before you could wake up. He would only talk as much as necessary with his members and would be on his phone or staring off in the distance for hours. The latest episode of GoSe they shot ended up giving little to no screentime to him because of his low enthusiasm. For a roaring extrovert like him, this behavior was getting very concerning.

You stood in front of your apartment door, deciding to end this episode once and for all. You hadn’t sent him your regular text telling him that you’ve left work. You were back early, and you could hear the sounds of some activity going on inside. You quietly entered the house, leaving your things on the sofa and tip-toeing your way toward the kitchen.

There he was, back hunched over the sink, doing the dishes from the meal he had just cooked. Mingyu had a habit of humming or talking to himself while doing household chores, but he was eerily silent today. The sound of water splashing and utensils clanking against each other was deafening when not paired with his sweet humming. Your eyes prickled with tears, he really wasn’t feeling okay.

You walked towards him slowly, hugging him tightly from the back. A confused “Huh?” leaves his lips as he registers your presence. “You’re back early.” He said, in a vague tone.

“Kim Mingyu, what is wrong with you?” Mingyu shifted uncomfortably at the mention of his full name, but you refused to let go. “You haven’t even looked at me properly this past week. You’re not talking to me or anyone else at all,” You made him turn around, looking deeply into his eyes. “Did I do something wrong? Please, please talk to me.” Your tone turned into a pleading one without intending to, you had never been the one to hide your emotions well.

It felt as if all hold Mingyu had over himself fell apart. He hugged you tightly, his body slightly shaking, indicating that he was crying. You only stroked his back, trying your best to comfort him despite your overwhelming concern for him. Exactly what could have happened for him to break apart like that? He had been through malicious scandals and stalker fans yet this was the first time you had seen him so vulnerable.

“Y/n, I don’t want to do this anymore.” Mingyu managed to say between sobs. Your mind went blank and your body went cold, he wanted to break up with you?

“Do what?”

“This. Whatever I’m doing right now.” He continued. “I want to stop being an idol.” He stared into your eyes, desperately looking for validation. “I’m tired of this life. I’ve been working to the bone since I was fifteen, I have achieved more than I have ever dreamed, I just-” He hiccuped, “I just don’t want to be public property anymore. I don’t want to fake my personality, my emotions, my opinions 24/7, I’m sick of this.” He held your hand tightly, “Earlier I didn’t care, I had no one to come back home to, I could spend as much time as I wanted to in practice rooms, studios, broadcasts what not. But ever since I’ve met you, it kills me every time I have to hide our relationship for our safety, leave you and our daughters alone for months to perform on tours and even when I’m here, I always have some goddamn schedule to follow, and it's getting sickening to me! I just want to live with my family for as much time as I want.”

You didn’t know what to say. You knew his career was his dream, passion, and everything he has ever wanted and you also knew that he was slowly getting sick of it, but to this point? All of this to be with you? All you knew was that you would support him no matter what. “Let the contract expire then.” You said.

“What?”

“I said, fuck your idol industry. Leave your job. Stay at home and do whatever you want. Let’s spend all of our days and nights together. Let’s scream out our relationship to everyone. Leave all this behind if it is making you so miserable.”

“Really?” Mingyu asked incredulously. “You don’t have a problem with it? I’ll be unemployed. You’ll have a jobless husband.”

“Aha, you’re going too far Mr. Mingyu, you gotta put a ring on my finger first before calling yourself my unemployed husband.” You chuckled, careful not to show how giddy the word ‘husband’ made you.

However, Mingyu looked unaffected. “Don’t joke around.” He said sternly. “I won’t be able to be the man you deserve. I won’t be able to contribute to the house, or buy you pretty things, or give our daughters the best toys they deserv-”

“Gyu, are you crazy? You are the man I love. I don’t even care what I deserve, and even if I did I’m sure I’ve gotten way more than that.” You kiss him softly on the lips. “Retire and do whatever you want to do. Plus, I don’t get why you’re so worried about the financial part, have you forgotten how fat your bank account is? The bigass investments your accountant has made sure you have?? You own a fucking building for God’s sake, who put all this unemployment bullshit in your head?”

“Are you okay with me being a house-husband then?” Mingyu challenged, “What if I tell you I want to spend the rest of my life taking care of you and our fur daughters and in the future, our children, and not work a day in my life ever at all ?!?” His eyes were so determined it made you laugh.

“Mingyu, what the hell are you talking about??” You giggled. “I would love that. I don’t like that domestic stuff as much anyway, you know that. Coming back home from work to a warm meal and a delicious man? How could I possibly say no??” His confused face made you laugh more, and hug him out of pure adoration.

Mingyu continued pouting,” I won’t be a high-value man then.” You snapped his head towards him, where was he getting all this stuff from? “Wouldn’t you be embarrassed when people ask you what your husband does and you have to say that he does nothing?”

“Who told you that? Let people believe whatever they want to believe. Who cares what people say, Gyu? As long as we’re happy together, as long as we’re balancing our relationship and our home properly, I don’t give a flying fuck about what anyone says.” You grab his face looking straight into his eyes. “I will yell and announce to everyone that I have a stay-at-home husband and everybody will be jealous to the very bone, you just see. Having you as a partner is such a flex, babe, don’t let this high-value shit get to your head, it is all bullshit anyway.” Mingyu smiles lightly, mostly from your overwhelmingly passionate speech. “Even if you were to sell your investments and your buildings, and donate that money to charity, I will still be able to support the house comfortably so Don’t. Worry. About. The. Money. Your girlfriend is a dentist” You finish your speech with a smirk, making him chuckle.

Mingyu just held you in his embrace tightly, words like ‘thank you’ and ‘I love you’ couldn’t possibly suffice for the extent of adoration and respect he had for you in his heart. He felt emotions that he couldn’t quite describe, but he was sure that relief and gratitude were some of them. A huge burden had been lifted off of him, and he could only hope you knew how much you had helped him till now. The grave concerns and issues bothering him for so long felt so small to him, now that he had your support. He could take over the world, or live his dream domestic life, everything was possible as long as you were by his side.

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comiicii · 7 months

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Backdrop: You and Bucky live in the same apartment complex but haven't spoken more than a few words. One night, Bucky decides to change that. Pairing: James 'Bucky' Barnes x fem!reader. Warnings: mentions of bucky’s ptsd and my subpar writing. A's notes: this is just based on the scene pictured above from the first episode of fatws. excuse spelling and any other mistakes throughout this one-shot. this has been sitting in my drafts for ages. Word count: 2.7k

James kept to himself whenever he came into the bar you worked at. The two of you always exchanged kind glances at each other. They were no different than the ones you shared in the hallway of the apartment building you both lived in. He was a man of few words and after he came in a few times, you knew his drink order. He had a select variety which would indicate the type of day he's had or his mood. You never asked about his life and you two only ever said a few sentences to each other. He wanted to talk to you, he truly did but his words always got stuck in his throat. You were so pretty and innocent; he didn't want to taint that with his overly-complicated existence.

"James, is there anyone you've talked to other than me this week?" his therapist asks him, readying the pad and pen if he lied to her face again. There was a pause. He thought back to you and all the mental images he kept of you the past seven days. Last night, he nursed some cheap beer and watched you work; talking to some of the regulars at the bar, asking about the home life of some you had grown close to, smiling and laughing at whatever funny joke was told to you. He was completely enamored with you but he was too chicken to say anything more than his drink order and 'thank you'.

"James? I asked you a question. Do you talk to anyone once you step foot outside my office?" She pressed.

"Yes," he quietly answered. "there's a woman…she works at a bar near my apartment." the corners of his lips tugging ever so slightly upwards. The look of shock on her face pulling them higher. "She lives a couple doors down from me." James quickly added before she wrote in her notepad.

"I'm not lying." he spoke through gritted teeth.

"I know, I'm just making a note of it for next time." she deadpanned, internally relishing that he was making some progress with another human being.

"Do you two talk when you're at the bar?"

"She's working so I don't say much." he answers with a sigh.

"And when you see her at the apartment? Do you say anything at all?" she pressed on him again.

"We say hi or nod at each other." he stoically answers causing her to set aside her pad and lean forward in her seat.

"James, you need to nurture friendships. I'm not forcing you to date this woman but make an effort in talking with her. I think it would be good for you," her words were sincere. "Do you even know her name?"

"Y/N." there was that smile again.

He came right on time as always. Your heart always beat a little faster when you saw him. There was something about him that made you feel safe even though you didn't speak. You could tell he was a private man. You enjoyed your small interactions with him. Although brief, you could tell he was a good man. He'd probably been through a lot and suffered a lot of loss from what you figured. He looked to be in a good mood so you brought him his usual domestic beer with a smile. He nodded with a smile in return and proceeded to take a swig.

Your shift went by quick. Before you knew it, midnight had come. It had been a quiet but decent shift. You organized your tips to stuff into your front pocket.

"Mind if I walk you home?" he asked from his stool, finishing off his seventh bottle. You nearly jumped two feet at hearing his voice. He had practiced those six words in his head for the last two hours, hoping his voice wouldn't come off shaky.

Once you slowed your heart rate, your lips tugged into a smile and gave a small nod to him. The small response was enough to make his heart leap. He stood and walked to the door, holding it open for you to exit first.

It was a pleasant surprise for both of you to be in this setting; walking down the bustling street to your apartment complex. He mainly kept his hands in his pocket aside from the brief moment where he tugged at your arm to prevent you from clashing with a man who was looking down at his phone and clearly not paying attention to his surroundings. As quickly as it happened, his hand was back in his pocket. The walk was silent but comfortable. You had questions and obviously wanted to know more about him but you didn’t want to push him to talk if he wasn’t ready to open up. A part of you knew that he wasn’t one to be forthcoming with information he wasn’t comfortable sharing.

Before you knew it, you two were in the building and walking down the hallway to your respective doors. You turned around to thank him but at the last second, you grew bold and so you got on your toes to plant a soft peck on his cheek. It caught both of you off guard and you wanted to run away but you stayed in your spot; waiting for some reaction from him. The blood began rushing to his face. It had been decades since James had any physical contact with a woman.

“Goodnight, James and thank you for walking me home.” you softly spoke but before you could turn away to head to your door, his hand took hold of yours.

“You can call me Bucky,” he spoke, looking down at the floor before making eye contact with you, a small smile piercing through his usual stoic expression.

You gave his hand a light squeeze and tried to contain the goofy smile attempting to shine through, nodding and walking backwards to your door as you spun your keys on your ring finger.

“Shall we do this again tomorrow night, Bucky?” you smirked as you reached your door. His smile grew and he nodded.

With that, something new and wonderful blossomed.

As weeks passed, the two of you continued this little routine of him walking you home from work. He started talking with you more, especially when he noticed a particular man making you uncomfortable. He’d find some way to take your mind off it and keep you occupied or shoot the man a death glare that you prayed you’d never be on the receiving end of. You learned that he was a little lonely since coming back from the Snap. He’d recently lost his childhood best friend and from what you deciphered from your conversations, his family had been long gone. It hurt you to hear him speak of those he lost. You didn’t press and always listened. He liked that you didn’t bother him for details or press him to tell you more. He enjoyed that you gave him the time and space to tell you things about himself when he was ready.

When walking back to the apartment, you would hold his arm and he didn’t seem to mind. He liked having you close even if he didn’t verbally communicate that to you. He grew more bold as time passed. He’d attempt flirting with you such as complimenting your smile or using a corny pick up line that he’d hope you’d like. After a few weeks, he would walk you to your door and hug you goodnight. After a month, he started planting small kisses on your head when giving you those hugs. That’s when you learned he was a military man. He wore his dog tags under his shirt. Given the height difference, you could feel them against your cheek underneath the fabric. You didn’t ask about his time in the military as you figured that was a conversation for down the road. You often kissed him on the cheek or gave his hands a squeeze as a thank you. You were going to sleep happy and hopeful that one day you two could go on an actual date and see each other in a different setting.

You truly got to know Bucky one particular night. Being that you worked at a bar, there was a television for background noise and to give some of the guys something to stare at when there was a game or big event happening. It was on the night that the government had announced it’s new Captain America. It was the main topic of most conversations at the bar that night. To you, it didn’t feel right. You had heard about Falcon having the shield passed down to him personally by Steve Rogers himself but donating it to the Captain America exhibit about a month ago. When you watched the announcement, your heart fell into your stomach. It didn’t sit right in your gut and frankly, it angered a part of you. You respected the legacy the man left behind. If the Captain chose to pass it down to the Falcon, shouldn’t he be the one donning the shield? With that announcement being the big news of the day, it altered the energy of your shift.

Bucky came in at his usual time. You could tell he had seen the news and that he was tremendously bothered by it. In the time you got to spend with Bucky, you knew when he was faking his smile at you. His smiles were genuine when they reached his eyes and as corny as it sounds, they would somewhat twinkle when he was happy. In his greeting to you, you saw none of that. You didn’t press and proceeded to change the channel to a soccer game to shift the mood and conversations of the bar. Bucky didn’t say much to you during your shift but you could tell when his eyes were on you. He had a habit of using you as his focal point as a way to ground him when he was at the bar on nights when it would get rowdy or if he picked up on a certain conversation that bothered him. It was a way for him to drown all of it out. You didn’t interact as even you could feel from across the bar that he wasn’t in the jaunty, talking mood.

Your shift went by as usual and you were cleaning up your station and gathering your tips for the night when one of the regulars started making small talk with you. They usually did when you were closing out your shift. They asked you about the news of the Captain America and what your honest opinion was of it.

“Should’ve stayed in the museum or stayed with the Falcon.” you casually spoke as you counted the bills in your hand. “I don’t have a good feeling about this new Cap, if I’m being honest. He hasn’t saved the world, never fought with the Avengers and I don’t remember Captain America having a gun so safe to say I won’t be buying his lunchbox.” emitting a dry chuckle with a shrug, giving them a pat goodbye as you made your way to Bucky.

Your walk home was mostly silent. He asked you about your day and that was the extent of your conversation with him. You held on to his arm as usual all the way to your apartment door.

“Did you mean what you said at the bar about…” he trailed off as his eyes met yours. He looked frustrated. He must’ve taken the news pretty hard you figured and only nodded to support your statements at the bar.

He suddenly pulled you into him and held you close. You could feel him slightly trembling. It worried you so you wrapped your arms around him and stayed in that position for what seemed like minutes. He kissed your head as always and when he finally pulled away, you could see pure sadness in his eyes.

“Bucky…talk to me” you softly pleaded. It was the first time you asked him to open up on your terms, not his. You were worried and concerned. Everything that night told you something was off about the man before you. He wasn’t the Bucky you had come to adore and possibly love. He stayed silent for a moment like he was thinking over how to respond to you.

“Tomorrow morning, breakfast? You’ve had a busy night and we can talk in the daylight for once.” he flashed you sheepish smile. You eyed him for a few seconds and understood that it was his way of saying ‘I’ll open up to you tomorrow’.

“Sounds good to me, Bucky. Plus, I can finally see your face under natural sunlight instead of fluorescent street lights.” You nodded with a soft chuckle, easing his anxiety that you wouldn’t take his offer. You grabbed hold of his hand, giving it a small squeeze. “See you here at 9 tomorrow.” you grabbed your keys and went into your apartment with a sigh; hopeful that some sleep was all he needed to ease his mind before your morning date.

You were peacefully sleeping until noise from Bucky’s apartment pierced your walls. It was four in the morning. You thought nothing of it until the noise continued and grew louder. You quickly put on a hoodie, grabbed your pocket knife and ran over next door. You knocked on his door loudly, asking if everything was alright. The yells didn’t stop and when your hand grabbed the knob to jiggle it to make some noise, you realized it was unlocked. You hesitated for a split second before barging in.

Upon entering, you see Bucky on the ground over a blanket in front of his television. You looked around for any possible intruders before rushing to him. You froze at the sight of his left arm. You didn’t have much time to process the new revelation as Bucky was sweating profusely and clearly having a nightmare. Your instinct was to wake him but a part of you told you not to. You had heard somewhere from a customer who had a friend with PTSD tell you vehemently to never wake someone during an episode. You pulled away and shakily took a seat in the loveseat next to him, putting the pillow between him and the chair so he wouldn’t hurt himself if he moved around. You observed the makeshift bed made up of just a couple of blankets and a pillow on the floor. It pained you realizing that you really didn’t know Bucky. You calmed yourself down and adjusted yourself on the loveseat, hoping the episode would pass.

A few minutes went by and you realized he wasn’t yelling anymore. You relaxed a bit and drifted off to a slumber, not registering that you were still in his apartment. About twenty minutes later, Bucky shot up, panting and covered in a thick layer of sweat. His heavy breathing woke you and you quickly moved to the floor to assess him, your face coming into view being a surprise to him.

“How…how you’d get in here, Y/N?” you tried not to stare too much at his arm.

“Y-your door was unlocked when I came t-to check on you,” you stumbled over your words, “I heard you yelling…was worried there was an intruder o-or something.” you kept your eyes on his and hoped he wouldn’t notice you stuttering so much due to shock and worry.

He rubbed his vibranium hand over his face. When his eyes met your again, he saw that you were staring at his arm. You looked scared and when you noticed him looking at you, in a blink you were back to worrying about him.

“Are you okay?” you asked with so much worry in your tone it made Bucky worry about you more.

“Y/N…you-”

“Did someone do this to you?” you cut him off as your hand reached toward his arm. It was cold unlike the rest of his body that was covered in sweat.

His biggest fear was having you reject him because of his past and physicality but the more he stared at you, the more he realized that you weren’t scared of him, you were scared for him. Bucky never wanted you to find out this way but he knew he had to come clean to you about himself sooner or later. He was just hoping it would be later rather than sooner.

“I think now would be a good time for a coffee…”

#bucky barnes x reader #james barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #james barnes imagine #fatws imagine #winter soldier imagine #falcon and the winter soldier imagine #marvel imagine #mcu imagine

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shrimpsuru · 1 month

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Bucchigiri doodles! I really like this show, I think everyone is super charming and fun! And all the designs are all so good ⸜(*ˊᗜˋ*)⸝

I'm gonna go on a quick rant about Arajin, because I have no one to talk about this with, so let me shout into the void:

Okay- So as I watching the show, I really liked everyone. I thought Arajin and his pathetic-ness and wet cat nature was charming, He's a loser and I love him for that! Even when he was being a bit of an asshole I was still quite fond of him, He's flawed and that's what made him interesting. He's a bit more complex than people give him credit for. Since my opinion of Ara was fairly positive, I thought most people would agree- (I didn't think he was all that bad and most people would also find him charming) I was so surprised when I found out how many people absolutely hate this guys guts, it was so different from what I excepted lmao. I understand being annoyed with Ara and I can see how some might not like him too much, but they were on my boy's ass 💀

First of all, Ara doesn't want OR like to fight, he's just a regular teen boy, he's nothing like this big buff dudes who are constantly look for someone strong to punch. If it weren't for Senya, Ara would've been done for by now. All Ara want's is to get a girlfriend, and that's normal for a boy his age!! Everyone else in the show are the freaks, my guy just wants love!! The only reason he fights is because his delusional ass is in love with a girl who knows she can play him like a fiddle, or when he's backed into a corner an has no other choice. Arajin wanted a slice of life high school romance and was instead thrown into the middle of a gang war with a bunch of dudes who are hellbent on fighting lmao

He's just a silly little guy!! He's not built for all this violence!!

Don't get me wrong the way Ara treats Matakara is frustrating at times, and I wish they would just talk (And I'm gonna be honest the fact Matakara still looks at Ara positivelyis really surprising lmao (I'd hold one hell of a grudge but I'm just petty)) but at the same time, I don't really blame Ara. He feels guilty, and in reality he probably hates himself (For multiple different reasons). He left Matakara behind and it eats at him, just the thought of the memory triggered a nervous stomach ache. Matakara is a walking reminder of what Ara doesn't like about himself, of course he's going to avoid him like the plague. Doesn't mean its good, or even healthy but that's just how people are. Even so Ara is only ever outwardly hostile towards Matakara when the past is brought up, every other time he can have a somewhat normal interaction (even if its reluctant). And with the newest episodes, Ara is now being a bit softer with him. Progress! Its small, but still progress!

Also small complaint, there are SO many worse mcs that do far more unbearable things, Arajin is practically a saint in comparison lol ( Doesn't mean anyone not liking him is invalid or anything, again I can totally understand why some don't like him!! Just because he's better than most doesn't mean he still cant be bad for people!! ☆(＃××))

Rant over- Am I thinking to far into it? perhaps. but who cares! It's a silly show at the end of the day and I just like to yapp passionately into the void

#my art #original art #drawing #digital art #fanart #artists on tumblr #bucchigiri?!#arajin tomoshibi #asamine matakara #marito jin #bucchigiri fanart #bucchigiri #i'll die on this hill #if he has no fans i am dead #character rant #character ramblings #he's a loser #free my man

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spinchip · 1 month

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Zane peeks over Dot’s shoulder where she’s curled up on the couch reading a book. “What are you reading?”

It’s a testament to how normalized being haunted is for her when she doesn’t even flinch. She glances over at him before dog-earing the page and putting her book down. She glances around the room to make sure no one is within ear-shot, “Romance book. Princess is kidnapped, a knight goes to save her, the wizard who kidnapped her falls in love with her- Oh, the Knight is also in love with her. Classic love triangle.” She shrugs before pinning him with a playfully pointed glare, “Nice of you to show up. It was my turn to make dinner tonight y'know, And everyone is always raving about your cooking. I could have used your help!”

He has the good graces to look apologetic, “How long have I been gone for this time?” he asks.

“Just one day.” she reassures him, “Not too long.”

“Ah, good.” He murmurs.

“Hey, you’ve never told me- where do you go?” Tilting her head, she clarifies, “Like when you vanish for days at a time. Where do you disappear off to?”

He feigns sitting on the arm of the couch. He can’t actually interact with the physical world in any way, but it makes him feel more grounded to pretend, “I do not know.” He admits, “Someplace dark and quiet… similar to the space between dreams.”

“So it’s like you're sleeping?”

“Not quite. I can still sleep, like during the times when you need your privacy. That is different from this.” he thinks on it for a moment, “I can sleep in that place, too. So I am awake when I am pulled there.”

She makes a humming noise, “Do you think it’s a place in Ninjago?”

“It is a possibility.” he frowns, “I cannot be sure.”

She worries her fingers over the edge of the knee joint on her prosthetic, “Are you sure it’s a good idea to keep everything a secret from the others?”

She watches him deflate a little, his whole body slumping in a soul-deep sadness, “I do not want to keep this from the others, but it is necessary. These black out episodes are proof of that… I am not stable. Whatever is keeping me here may not be permanent, and from our research so far there is no way to bring me back. Telling the others may just be giving them false hope.”

“Yeah…” she sighs, “If I told them you were still around and then you vanished for good, it'd be like you died all over again.”

“That is one way to put it.” He smiles grimly.

There’s a pause, “It’s hard for me too.” She admits softly. “I mean, not so much now because I’m used to you going MIA… but you were gone for a whole week once, and I was afraid you were gone. What if I can't find a way to bring you back before you’re stuck in that place forever?”

“Dot,” He says gently, placing a hand on top of her own. There’s no sensation on her skin, it’s like he’s not even touching her at all, “I chose this when I destroyed the overlord. Whatever happens is not your fault. I am at peace with my actions.” He reassures her.

“I just… can’t imagine life without you anymore, y’know?”

“I would miss you too.” He pats her hand just to do it, “I believe we will find an answer, and if we do not then that is just how it was meant to be. You will have ice… even if my presence is gone, I will always be with you.”

“You’re a big sap when you want to be.” She sniffs, rubbing at her eye.

“I am actually a regular sized robot.” he informs her with a snarks grin.

She shakes her head, “A regular sized robot who is not funny.”

“Of course not. I have not turned on my funny switch.”

“Your what?”

#ninjago #spinchip posts #spinchip fic #zane julien #ninjago oc dot #ninjago au #some lore for you

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astronautforhalloween · 3 months

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Charon's Obol

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Gator Tillman x Reader

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You really didn't want to cover a shift at your new job. But when an old familiar face walks through the door, the night yields some unexpected results. Some more welcome than others.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Gator. Some hints to his misogyny, blood, canonical death. Not proofread, not written with the reader's gender specifically expressed but it is implied to be female (Gator refers to them as 'princess'). Gator does refer to reader as 'little bird', but it isn't a reference to height or body type. It's more so condescending.

ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: 7.9k words. Might do a pt. 2? (If so, there will be some changes to Gator's character) The story takes place during the end of episode 2 but diverges at the end. Banner by @saradika

It had been a bit of a surprise when you watched him walk in through the taped up front door, glaring at Andy - someone whom you've learned to be a frequent regular - like the man had personally affronted him with his mere existence; his lip was curled in a sneer and there was a scoff waiting to be released from his chest while he stared the older customer down with an incredulous scowl. The same scowl that he's had since high school - looks like all that much hasn't changed. And you expected some sort of conflict, a quick shove to Andy's chest or a smart quip, though thankfully the interaction ended with Gator slipping past the regular. But not without roving a scathing glance across his body from head to toe as the man dipped out of the doorway.

He didn't even notice you behind the counter as he immediately set off in the direction of the restrooms, and a part of you was relieved for it. Sure, when you had been making plans to move back down here to assist your mother, you had briefly entertained that Gator was still living in Lehigh, even though your old childhood town was about a seventy-eight-mile drive from where she was living now. Before the move she used to give you all the local gossip during your daily phone call, and Gator had been a frequent focal point in the scoop of the day, with his bad behavior and quick temper. It seems that being on the police force has done nothing to teach him manners. If anything, from what you've heard, it's only amplified his complete lack of boundaries.

He had been passionate about football for a time, but then there had been that accident in mid-August back in senior year which left him favoring his right leg with a slight limp. From what you had heard through the grape vine way back when, he had also wanted to be a sheriff. To follow in his father's footsteps and protect Stark County like the previous men of his heritage had.

And if the big, white bold letters printed on his vest was any indication, it looked like he was working his way up to doing just that.

You had been taking shifts here at the gas station for about a week now. Had moved boxes packed full of your belongings from a U-Haul and into your room inside of your mother's new trailer home a week before that. But for some reason seeing him again seemed to solidify that you were actually back here in North Dakota after you had worked so hard to get out. It was like being shoved into a time machine and forced to a point in your life that you didn't want to return to. There isn't necessarily wrong with this state or the people who live here. It's just quiet, tight-knit, and everyone knows everyone. Secrets are difficult to keep here and evading bored, curious eyes can be difficult, if not impossible at times.

There wasn't anything here for someone your age, who had dreams and longed for something more than church potlucks and being barefoot and pregnant.

But now here you were. Reaching for the broom propped in the corner to sweep up a cluster of glass shards peeking out from underneath the bottom of the counter into a small pile. They seemed to be everywhere, no matter how hard you scanned the floor while you cleaned, more and more glass just seemed to pop up as soon as you thought you had gotten it all. You had even found a piece in the cash register when you were counting out a customer's change, and you nearly sliced your thumb on the damned thing. How it had it had managed to find its way in the till, you aren't sure. Though as frustrating as those little slivers are, you actually find yourself being thankful for them. It gives you an excuse to at least look busy instead of just awkwardly standing around, uncomfortably hyperaware that Gator Tillman is in the store.

You aren't even sure why you're so nervous about the thing. Yes, you and Gator had never been particularly close, and the interactions that you had were few and far between, mostly due to forced proximity because of your position on the cheer squad. But apart from the after-school activity that both of you participated in, you mostly had your own circles that you kept to, the two of them hardly ever merging. Based off of what you'd seen of him back then, he wasn't all that impressive. He was abrasive and cocky. A bully, to put it lightly, that liked to slam other kids against locker doors as he passed.

You didn't think much of him then. Just a guy who like to flaunt underneath his father's shadow and abuse the privileges of being the sheriff's son to taunt others. And you don't think much of him now, so you aren't sure why your gut is sinking like a nervous pit.

It isn't odd that he's here. Sure, the gas station is a short drive outside of Beulah which happens to be about an hour's drive from Lehigh. You suppose that it isn't completely wild to see him outside of his county, but for some reason it still catches you off guard, even if it was just a matter of time before you crossed paths. Whether that had been while you were out having dinner at one of the local restaurants or him walking in on one of your shifts. Though the kicker is, is that this isn't technically your shift. It was meant for Derreck, but he was unable to show up because he's no longer one of the living. You don't want to speak ill of the dead, especially one so recently passed, but you can't exactly say that you're all that surprised. Even with just your short interactions to base off of, he didn't seem exactly like he was the sharpest.

And when Miles called you just the night before, fretful over the state that the gas station was left in after a particularly horrendous break-in, explaining that Derreck was gone, that he had tried to scare an armed perpetrator with an airhorn of all things and got a chest full of bullets in response, you were horrified and regretful but not exactly shocked.

He had also mentioned something about an attempted kidnapping in between his worried rambling before he zigzagged back to the point of the call, which was trying to cover some of Derreck's shifts that had been left vacant due to his murder. Apparently, no one else was willing or able to cover them and that had left you as his last resort. You nearly said no. You weren't usually one to work the graveyard shift. You liked the peace that came with it, but your mother, despite her wanning health found old habits hard to break and was typically an early riser. Doing chores as early as 7 am; vacuuming and doing laundry or poking around in the garden behind the house. Which is roughly around the time that the nightshift ends. You knew that it would make falling asleep a task with how thin the walls are, but you couldn't find it in yourself to say no. Not even with your own fears of being shot while standing behind the register gripping you like a chill. And not with money so tight.

You could just picture him in your head, pacing around in his office underneath the oily glow of his desk lamp and you could hear that click-click of his teeth gnawing on his nails through the other end of the call. An anxious tick of his. And then there was the medical bills and the torn open envelopes declaring that bills were past due splayed out over the kitchen table. You had just been able to put some good money aside for those but there was still an intimidating amount that was owed and every bit of cash counts. Even with the pressures of debt and financial insecurity hanging down over you with an unbearable pressure, you hadn't been exactly psyched about accepting a solo nightshift at a recently burglarized (and that's putting it lightly) gas station. But you couldn't refuse. You hadn't told your mother about the tragedy that had taken place here. She never would have allowed you to leave the house for work this evening if she had. But it's just a matter of time before all the gossip finally reaches her ears; nothing ever remains a secret or quiet for long in small, sleepy towns. But fortunately, by the time she becomes to date the crime, you'll already be on your way home to take a shower and fall asleep in your bed.

The sound of one of the freezer doors slamming shut has you pausing to look up from the pile of glass and dirt on the linoleum and over to the back of the shared chip and candy aisle where Gator now shuffles around. You can just hardly make him out from behind the other shelves full of microwavable mac and cheese and Campbell's soup, but he appears to be idly scanning the rack of junk food with a bottle of pop in his good hand. The other, you've just noticed, seems to be fixed inside a cast and blue gauze bandaging. You wonder how he managed to get that injury.

Your curious little inspection doesn't stop there. You let your eyes sweep over him from his cap to his knees (which is about as far as you can see of him from the angle), and on their way down you take notice of the holster secured to his thigh. And for whatever reason your focus seems to settle there and just stay for a good breath or two. It looks good, those black straps wrapped and pulled tight around his thigh. In fact, he wears the entire uniform in way that you shouldn't find appealing. The weight of his vest seems to pronounce the slimness of his waist and the fatigues that mold around his hips are doing him nothing but favors. It's almost stupid. It's jarring. You have to tighten your grip on the broom handle, forcing yourself to look away to pin your gaze down on one of those solar powered bobble heads placed between the register and a mini shelf stocked full of Bic cigarette lighters.

But it's facing the wrong way. Instead, it's turned towards you. It's supposed to be cheery. A Christmas themed orange cat peeking out of a stocking with its head still steadily wobbling despite the fact that it's been sundown for more than a few hours now. Its cartoon smile feels judgmental. Like its criticizing your shameful ogling.

Seriously, since when have you ever checked out Gator Tillman?

Sure, a part of you had found him cute in the past. A surface level sort of attraction, with his pretty, round brown eyes. But it was never really enough to compensate for how crude he was. All packed full of harsh comments, inflamed bravado and plastic charisma; always searching for an excuse to fight. If anything, it garnered nothing pity from you. An awful aching sorrow. Especially whenever you could see something soft peeking out from underneath that boastful, sarcastic exterior of his. The potential to be kind. Sweet even, if it had been nurtured enough in him. But Roy Tillman was anything but nurturing.

The entire town had known how harsh the Tillman patriarch was on Gator, even though they all kept their mouths shut tight, in fear that he might raise his hand down against them instead. All of the split lips, black eyes and pulled muscles that were all conveniently filed away as mishaps caused by a wayward cow during a roundup on branding season.

Of course, your only excuse for not outright speaking out had been that you were hardly more than a child, busy saving up for your first car and writing out college admission essays. And the harsh, whispered warnings of your mother telling you to keep your nose out of things that aren't your business never helped. Not that you have ever been particularly well at heeding her advice. You had tried once, to reach out to him and let him know that he wasn't alone, one evening near the bleachers before graduation. Maybe you should have kept to yourself like everyone else had warned you to. To not get involved. But it was hard when Gator showed up to school one day with his right cheek swollen red and purple, the molted shades of plum and a nasty vermillion dotting up around the corner of his eye like a crescent. Seeing Gator banged up with a new cut or scrape wasn't a new development by any means. But all the excuses were getting old; wore you down even though they shouldn't have impacted you personally.

His cover for the swollen cheek was that he had gotten it during practice the evening before. But that was bullshit. He hadn't left the field swearing like he usually did whenever he got hurt during training. When Gator got hurt it was something that everyone would become uncomfortably aware of; usually by a string of loudly exclaimed expletives that could be heard reaching across the expanse of the field. There had been none of that. He didn't leave campus with an icepack clutched against his cheek the day before. He got that bruise when he went home that night. And you would have put good money on it that the one that did the damage was his father.

And despite all the warnings you told yourself that you would speak to him about it. That you'd try to at least. Your friends must have noticed the moment you decided to go and talk to Gator. Maybe they'd seen the glint of it in your eyes. And they had all told you not to. That it wasn't your place. That you'd best stay out of it. But you couldn't listen.

It took you the entire school day to build up the courage to approach him. To calm your nerves. You remember vividly how awkward the air around you had felt when you asked him to meet you behind the bleachers. It didn't escape you how flirtatious the invitation could have been construed as and you're sure that he was expecting some sort of sloppy make out underneath the grandstands and not an intervention. You're sure you had completely blindsided him when you had opened up the conversation with words of sympathy and not some flirty spiel. You had tried to be delicate about the whole thing. After all, for the most part the both of you were hardly more than acquaintances. You did your best to be gentle when you had offered to be someone that he could talk to if he ever felt like he didn't have anyone at home to confide in. But he had turned you down then with clear irritation in his eyes when he told you that he didn't need your help. That he didn't want it, and that was that.

Your eyes flicker back up to him from the bobbing fake cat, and he's moving down the aisle now, still browsing but apparently uninterested in the available chips and assorted junk foods. But he does reach for a bag of jerky from the cardboard display on the end of one of the shelves and his eyebrows perk up when he inspects the packaging, and he nods his head to himself like he's intrigued or pleased with what he's seeing.

You wonder if he'll even recognize you at all after all of the years. You suppose that it wouldn't be all that bad or unexpected if he didn't. It has been a while. The last time you've crossed paths since now had been a little after graduation, before you scrounged all of the money that you had saved by serving at Patty's Diner over the summer together and piled all of your stuff into your shitbox of a car and set off for the state line.

You finally allow yourself to let go of the broom, reluctant to release your little lifeline in preparation to scan his items, propping it against the wall behind you. But what you hadn't expected for him to do was to quite literally toss his bag of beef jerky at the counter. The throw seemed lazy, but regardless of that, the jerky almost goes flying off the countertop entirely and rushes towards the edge. You have to scramble to catch it, mostly out of reflex, grabbing at the packaging with clumsy hands before it could land on the pale, dirty tiles and next your feet.

Even with unease prickling at the nape of your neck you can't curb the displeased scowl from making an appearance. And the look that you pin him with is entirely unimpressed. He, on the other hand, doesn't look apologetic in the slightest. In fact, there's a smile curling at the edges of his mouth and his eyes are sparkling underneath the fluorescents with unrestrained mirth. "Oh, sorry there, " he says with the hint of a laugh on his words. "I forget my strength sometimes, ya know."

You should have let it fall.

You don't bother entertaining his joke. You just flip the package of Jack Links over so that you can scan the bar code while he sets his drink down on the counter. You've interacted for less than five seconds and you're already remembering why you didn't care for him all that much in high school. But luckily for you, he hasn't seemed to recognize you and all you have to do is cash him out and he'll be on his merry little way.

You can smell his cologne once he's up against the counter. It's woody, a sort of musk and there's hints of something warm with a few notes of vanilla. It seems he's graduated from layering his body with Axe body spray, thank God for small favors. He used to wear that cologne like it was a repellant. "You can smell him before you see him," your mother had noted once, after he had walked past the both of you one afternoon during a communal chili festival. And she hadn't been wrong. But now you can also pick up something artificial and sweet coming from him too. Like berries or some other kind of fruit. Watermelon, maybe?

"Eight dollars and thirty-eight cents." You supply after ringing in his bottle of pop, leaning your weight on your hands. And thankfully, he already has his wallet out and is thumbing through the bills, but his attention keeps jumping from between his cash and back up to you like he's trying to piece something together. And you're hoping that he isn't trying to place you. That the memories are too vague, that he didn't care enough to remember you. That this interaction won't have to be any longer than necessarily.

His eyes brows are pinched, and he almost looks studious when he hands you a ten. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

"I don't think so, " you respond quickly, punching the given amount into the register and counting out his change as soon as the till pops open.

But he doesn't seem to be deterred. He even shakes his head just a bit, unconvinced and squints at you like it might help him take in your features better. "Nah, I know ya from somewhere."

"I'm not so sure, " you say and hold your hand out, offering his money, but he doesn't take it and just continues to stare at you silently. It's awkward. Tense for no reason. Suddenly, the music playing over the speakers is too loud. Some old country song with warbling vocals and a gentle guitar but it does nothing to ease the weird energy that's dipped over the room. You can hear the fluorescents too. Buzzing above you in a steady, pulsing thrum.

"I'm sure. " He replies, voice low with concentration and his eyes dance over your face. The shape of your chin, tracing the curve of your lips, roving over the swell of your cheeks before settling on your own gaze. You can see the exact moment that he recognizes you. Something seems to spark in his stare. The elation that comes with recalling something that's been on the forefront of your mind but eludes you at every turn, and he exclaims your name with a sort of surprise and maybe even wonder. "I never forget a face! C'mon, don't tell me you don't recognize me."

He settles down against the counter, crossing his arms to lean his weight against its surface like moving in closer might help you recall him better, toeing the line of almost closing in too close to your personal space. You briefly entertain the idea of continuing on with your ruse. Of playing dumb, even if it's just to frustrate him. But really, you'd rather this little impromptu meeting only be as long as it has to be, and you find yourself nodding. Feigning a sort of awe, pretending to a put a name to a long-buried memory.

"Oh, yeah. " You nearly gasp in faux surprise. "Gator! Gator Tillman."

He smiles in a pleased way, rapping his knuckles against the counter. "What the hell are you doin' here? I heard you ran off to uh . . . which was it?" He snaps his fingers together like it'll help him recall the information better, or tries to, but his fingertips sort of just slip against each other uselessly from around the obstruction of the cast. " Arkansas?"

"Arizona, " you correct. And you give up, placing his change on the counter in front of him for him to pick up whenever he decides to take it.

'That's the one. " He agrees. "So, what brings you back? Got tired of all the dirt and heat, huh?"

"Uh, no, I'm just here to help my mom." You say and reach for a stack of sticky notes to absentmindedly flick through. "Do you need a bag?"

"Oh, yeah, how is she doin'?" He asks, completely ignoring or unhearing your question. You'll take that as a no then. "I haven't seen her in a bit. Not since she moved."

"She's . . . doing okay." You shrug, glancing off in a random direction, hopeful that training your focus on something else other than him might make you feel less exposed. Less examined. It doesn't. "Could be better, could be worse."

He hums in agreement and for a moment falls silent. And you think that maybe the conversation has fallen out. Run its course and he's grown bored past the temporary marvel of reconnecting with a familiar face from the past. But that'd be too easy. "It's been about, what? Nine years, give or take since we've last seen each other."

Dammit.

"Yeah, that sounds about right." It's a simple response. And you let it settle at that, just wishing that he'll take the hint and leave. He has to be somewhere to be, right? Patrolling or whatever. He's probably on his way back to his county, surely, he doesn't plan on standing here all night, chatting you up. But to be fair, he's never been particularly adept at reading basic social cues.

"To be honest, I'm surprised they got you workin' this shift. " He nods his head towards the front doors; covered up with cardboard and a plastic sheet as a temporary means to keep it sealed until it could get properly repaired. "Ya know, with the break-in an' all."

"Yeah, well no one else volunteered, so I agreed to come in."

"A little bird like yourself, here all alone." He says it casually. Probably doesn't really mean anything behind it, but knowing Gator, maybe he does. But regardless of his intent, the comment does make you bristle. The sentiment wasn't necessarily harmful. Feeling worried for someone being on their own to work a shift at a business in the middle of nowhere is normal. Understandable. Especially considering that the said business had just been the scene of gruesome crime, but the air with how it was said rubbed you the wrong way. Granted he's never been one to have tact.

It seems that he really hasn't changed all that much since you've left. Except for maybe growing an inch or so taller, but that could be due to the boots. And the planes of his face have slimmed a bit more, having officially lost what little bit of baby fat was clinging to his cheeks. Still, that condescending air that he used to carry himself with has seemed to survive his younger years, not like you were expecting it not to.

"You must be pretty scared being here all on your own. " He wasn't wrong, per se. There was something intimidating about being here with the horror of what had taken place still fresh in the back of your mind. You hadn't seen the aftermath and all of the smeared blood and shattered glass; you hadn't been here with Miles to meet the cleanup crew. In a twisted sort of way, it almost seems worse that you didn't walk in on this place when it was still stained with viscera and signs of struggle. Seeing the store all taped up with shotty repairs to try and regain normalcy left too much to the imagination. Everywhere you looked your brain tried to fill in the pieces. You couldn't bear to clean up the restroom. Not without thinking about how a man had died in there. Slipped and split his head open on the toilet. There was still a sense of paranoia that latched its claws down your back and has yet to let go. It even has you looking at some of your customers funny - even the regulars, the people who you talk to almost daily. It was even worse when you reminded yourself that Derreck had died in the very spot where you're currently standing.

"No, not really. " You lie easily.

Gator laughs. Almost scoffs, really. Dipping his head low and for a moment the brim of his baseball hat blocks half of his face from your view before he tips his head back up to look at you. He rocks back on the heels of his shoes. "Well, I just gotta say, it doesn't sit right with me."

What?

He's worried? Why would he even care?

"I'm sure I'll be fine."

He doesn't seem to be persuaded or assured, and he sits up from his leaned over position, straightening to his full height. He doesn't break eye contact once, and for some reason you feel like you couldn't look away from him, even if you gave it some real effort. The dark brown of his eyes is a rich shade, even from underneath the blunt glow of the fluorescents, and you swear you can see delicate flecks of a honeyed amber.

" That may be, but I'm not a man to take chances." And he reaches into one of his front pockets to retrieve a lime green vape for him to lift to his lips. When he nonchalantly exhales the smoke in the middle of the store, the scent of something syrupy and sweet reaches your nose. That explains that bit of watermelon that you had smelt on him earlier. "I mean, anyone could be a threat. Even that fella that was just in here."

Your eyebrows raise at the comment and for a moment you just stare at him while you wrack your brain. "Do you mean, Andy?" You ask, thinking back on the outright rude way that Gator had glared at the regular. "No, he's fine. Possibly in need of an AA meeting, but he's always nice. Sometimes he brings his girls in for a drink . . . a fountain drink. Not . . . alcohol. "

"Those are the ones you gotta watch out for the most." He presses, taking one more drag from his vape before stuffing back into his front pocket. "It's always the one's ya know."

You aren't sure how to respond to this. How to reciprocate the conversation now that this is the direction that it's taken. You aren't sure where this apparent desire to keep you safe has come from. It's certainly something that you've never experienced before. Or fully witnessed. Even the protectiveness that he had shown his teammates back in high school seemed to come from a place of ego. It always came off that he had some sort of point to prove; that he could take a hit or get even if need be. That he saw his friends as an extension of himself, and by taunting or harming one of them was as good as personally offending him. And he couldn't stand for that. But you'd like to believe that it came from somewhere genuine at least.

"You should take my number. "

He says it so casually that it throws you off more than the previous statement did, except this time your outright gawking at him. There's only one reason why Gator Tillman would want your number, but you can't for the life of you figure out why he would be trying to flirt with you. You aren't even sure how to feel about the situation. You never would have assumed that he, of all people would have an interest in you. Yes, in the past you had caught him giving you intrigued glances when he thought you weren't paying attention. Especially whenever you had been in your cheerleading uniform, but you had never put much stock in it; usually equating his wandering eyes on him just being an obnoxious teenage boy. "Is this your way of asking me out?"

He shrugs lightly at that and raises a hand to grip onto the shoulder of his tactical vest. "I just want to make sure you have someone to call in case anyone gives you a hard time, that's all."

Sure, bud. That might be one of the lamest excuses you've heard in a while. And that's saying a lot considering the last time a man tried to flirt with you he had unironically used one of the worst pickup lines you may have ever heard, something along the lines of; "kiss me if I'm wrong, but dinosaurs still exist, right?" And Gator's apparent inability to upfront about his intentions makes you want to mess with him a bit.

"Wait . . . don't I already have your number?"

He looks confused, face twisting up dumbly and the pinched, clueless furrow between his brows is almost adorable. You can see his fingers already twitching, reaching for the vape stashed in his pocket out of habit. Like the nicotine might help him think better and you can see the gears in his mind turning, but you can tell that he's coming up empty.

You tilt your head, propping your chin up in the cradle of your hand. "It's 911, right?"

The realization that you're playing with him finally clicks into place, and he glances away from you with a small scoff. His clear frustration just amuses you further and he takes notice of your obvious enjoyment if the way that his frown deepens is anything to go by.

"Besides, aren't I a little out of your jurisdiction?" You ask and start to fiddle around with the bottle of unattended Mtn Dew, rotating the carbonated drink around within the cradle of your palm with the push of your fingertips.

"Jurisdiction, " he echos the word with a sort of repulsion, before he fixes you with an oddly intense look that feels like its burrowing into you. "I am the law; I do whatever the fuck I want."

Like most things during this little conversation of yours, you aren't entirely sure how take that remark. The passion and utter belief that he said it with was more than a little concerning. The way that he truly seemed to think that he was above the laws that he was meant to enforce. It was a dangerous mindset to have. Especially in his profession, with all the power that he held as an officer, even while he was within the confines of such a small county. Well, not small in terms of size or milage, but it's not like he's a cop in some big city. But who knows, maybe that just makes him even more dangerous. Everything about him was the clear-cut definition of a walking red flag, so you don't even understand why you're sitting here entertaining his bullshit.

At least you're getting paid for it.

"What do you really want with my number, Gator?" You know why, of course, as odd and confusing as it all is, but you want to hear it from him.

And just as you expected, he falls silent. Having some sort of internal debate and struggle. And you wait for him to get annoyed and leave, throwing some sort of scathing remark over his shoulder as he goes, but he doesn't do that. Something in the way he holds himself relaxes, and it seems like some half-assed way to come off as unaffected. Probably a way for him to psyche himself out mentally and project self-assuredness. He steps closer to the counter until his hips are brushing against the edge and there's an impish kind of gleam in his eyes. Something about the dynamic seems to shift; you can feel it move and click into place and it makes you feel untethered. Like you're walking on rocky, unexplored terrain. And you aren't sure if you like it.

"Surely you know, " he says with the hint of playful but if not cocky smile on his lips. And now it's your turn to look up at him in confusion. "I'm a bit embarrassed to admit it, but I've always harbored a bit of a crush for ya."

Well, that's something that you wouldn't have guessed. You never would have successfully gathered that on your own, that's for certain. And it threw you off even more, considering that for the last leg of senior year, he was a part of an on-again-off-again relationship with Rebecca Mallory. Granted their relationship had always seemed to be in a constant state of a crisis with the way that they had always butted heads. Mostly because Rebecca was a rigid, set-in-her-ways Christian who was often displeased with Gator's penchant for violence and swearing. Not that she was necessarily wrong for her frustrations. Even with his own father being a preacher with an iron fist, Gator never been the most forgiving or restrained person and you figured that being around him for more than an hour would probably be quick to grate on your nerves, too.

"I, uh, no, I didn't know that." You manage, unsure how to navigate this newfound revelation. In all honesty, you had figured that his previous request for your number had just been an attempt to ease his boredom. A way to enjoy the excitement of meeting up with an old acquaintance - and knowing him - assuming that he might get lucky in the process.

"It always bugged me that I never grew the balls to make a move in the past." He confesses, and he leans over the counter again. And with the way that you're also propped up on your elbows it leaves only a few inches separating the two of you. You swear you could feel the heat radiating off of his body brushing against your own skin. The sudden proximity seems to vacuum all of the air out of the room, and your mind scrambles to catch up. He can see the way that you're floundering underneath his stare. You can see the amusement twinkling in the dark brown of his eyes from underneath the bright, pale splash of the long florescent bulbs. "And then you went and moved out after graduation. Up in a hurry to leave this little shithole - not that I blame ya, mind you; but it always left me wondering how you would have responded if I had asked you out on a date."

The quiet that follows is stifling. For a moment it's just the both of you alone, in a grimy busted up gas station in the middle of nowhere with an upbeat Beach Boys song playing over the sound system. It feels laughably too energetic for the still but charged atmosphere that surrounds you and stalls your lungs. That keeps your focus pinned to his with the pleasant musk of his cologne wafting over you; sweetened by the sugary notes of vape smoke.

"I think I would have said no, " you say truthfully. You can see the way his shoulders go slack. The movement is so minute that you probably wouldn't have noticed if you weren't so close to him. His head tilts back like he means to pull away and for some reason your stomach flips with disappointment at the thought, but you don't bother trying to unpack that feeling right now. "But . . . "

He pauses, attention zeroing in on you and you swear you might actually see something akin to hope somewhere in his expression. "But, what?" He asks when you don't immediately respond.

"Convince me."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

He stares at you like he doesn't know what to think. His mouth is hanging open just a bit and he laughs, though it comes out as more as a disbelieving puff of air. And you can see him going through the motions of it in his head, like he's trying to solve something. But he seems to come to some sort of conclusion. His shoulders square up like he's accepting it as a sort of challenge. " Alright, " he agrees, and settles back against the counter. "I'll treat ya real good; take you out the dinner. You ever been to Twister's?"

"No, " you answer, and the look he gives you is pitying, but one that's lively and not mean-spirited. It throws you for a loop to see him so carefree and relaxed. Typically, the jokes that come from him are underhanded barbs, meant to make someone uncomfortable or angry rather than a means to actually get a laugh. But you like it. It's as pleasant as it is unexpected and all of that initial unease and irritation that you had previously felt towards his presence begins to thaw.

"The best food in North Dakota." He praises and you hum in interest and nod, quietly ushering him to continue, even though the gesture is a little condescending it's also playful.

"One of the guys at the station said they got a new drive-thru theater over in Bismarck. They show old classics mostly- shitty B movies and low budget horror flicks, but I think they're plann' on playin' one of those old stop motion films; Nightmare Before Christmas, I think. For Halloween, probably."

Admittedly, it doesn't sound like a bad date. And as cliche as the idea of a theater may have been, it has your interest piqued. Especially the drive-thru part. It's been on your bucket list for a while now, and the prospect of going is more than a little enticing. Especially with how stagnant and stressful life has been as of late. It would be nice to go out again and get away from the monotony of life at home and work. And truthfully, a part of you is a little intrigued to get to know Gator again after all the time away. To see if maybe he has changed and matured a bit as a person. But you also don't want to give in too soon. Admittedly, you do like to string him along, as wrong as it may be.

"Then afterwards, we could maybe go ice skating, " he offers. "It's been a few years since I've worn a pair of skates, so I might be a little rusty. But I figure it's gotta be like riding a bike."

"Sounds tempting, " you say with a smile that you couldn't help. "And after that?"

It takes him a second, but he quickly seems to catch on to what you're implying. His gaze seems to darken, that honeyed brown turning russet and warm. He tips in closer to you; you nearly feel the bill of his cap brush against your forehead. "Well, that depends on you, princess. "

You don't say anything, letting him stew in the potential of rejection. And you reach over to your left, plucking a Sharpie from an old, chipped mug that's used to store miscellaneous pens and highlighters; there was even an old cherry flavored lollipop that's been in there since you've started working here, and you've got the feeling that it's probably been in there for more than a few years. He tracts the movement with open curiosity but raises his focus to you when you reach for his injured arm with your free hand, though he doesn't fight or question you when you pull it over across the counter towards your chest, careful not to accidentally put any strain on it.

And when you pop the cap off with your thumb and raise the point of the marker to his cast it suddenly feels like you're being put under a microscope again. You can feel his attention searing into with an intensity that should be uncomfortable. But you find that you don't completely mind it. Not even with that bobble headed plastic cat awkwardly bouncing in the corner while you write out your phone number on the inside of his wrist.

"I'm free on Saturday. " You say, capping the marker and plopping it back inside the mug.

He's outright smiling now. It's a little smug, pleased, but there's also something content about it. "Sounds like a plan, " he replies, and reaches for his jerky and drink, stepping away from the counter without turning away from you. Walking backwards towards the exit. "How's five o'clock sound?"

"Works for me." You return his smile, unable to fight it off. And there's a sappy, fuzzy feeling inside of your chest that's going to mean nothing but trouble for you in the future.

"I guess I'll see ya then." He's nudging the door open with his back and pauses almost like he's reluctant to leave but then he's slipping out the door with a quick, "g'night!" tossed over his shoulder. You barely get to return your own before the door swings shut behind him, blocking you from seeing him with the cardboard plastered over in place of glass. And now that he's left, the store feels all too quiet with only the old, tired speakers to keep you company and the ragged hum of the wall freezers in the back of the store.

You glance around the room boredly, stepping back from the counter while you mentally go down the to-do list. Finding that you've already done most of your tasks. The delivery truck wasn't due for a few more days, and you finished up all of the necessary stocking a few hours ago. And you've already squeegeed the remaining windows clean and organized the shelves. But you hadn't cleaned the restroom yet.

You suck in a ragged breath. You were less than enthused to clean the toilet on a regular day, but now that it had been the scene of a crime and a literal death you were more than unhappy with prospect. But unfortunately, it was a part of the job description. And it's an absentminded glance downward that you notice the change that Gator had left discarded on the counter. A crumpled dollar and some change. Just a measly dollar and thirty-two cents. He probably forgot about it, and even if he hadn't it was such a small amount that it wouldn't be missed. But you figured that there isn't any harm and giving it back to him. If you go now, he might still be parked outside.

And that was enough for you to scoop up the change in your palm and run around the length of the front desk, crossing the expanse of the floor quickly and shoving the door open to cross outside. The cold night air that rushes across your skin surprises you for a moment after spending the last few hours underneath the heat of the store, but it doesn't deter you. And a quick glance to the passenger side lets you know that the cab of police cruiser is empty, and you stare at it dumbly for a second before you notice Gator standing off to the left, near the rear end of the truck.

And you don't even notice the fact that his gun is drawn, that his body is pulled taut; clearly on edge while he stares down at the ground with wide eyes.

"Hey, Gator!" You call, stepping forward with a smile on your face. His head snaps up when he hears you, and there's a wild sort of glint in his eyes that jerks something deep in your chest, jostles free a heavy, chilling sort of concern and worry.

"No, no - don't come over here!" He shouts with a horrific sense of panic that you feel in your bones. But it's already too late. You've come too close, and when you walk past the rear end of the truck to step towards him you notice some strange lump lying on the ground from out of your peripheral vision. And in a kneejerk reaction it seizes your attention, pulls your focus to it like it's being tugged by a string. It's the blood you notice first. Pooled across the dirt and glittering a rich red from oily shine of lights on the ceiling of the gas pump canopy. It's pouring from a slice in the body's neck. But what's more is a piece of cardboard pinned to his chest, notched in place by a thick hunting knife. Your mind sort of just goes quiet. Unable to grapple with what it's actually seeing even while you can't look away.

You can smell the blood. It's a thick, nauseating scent, like sucking on pennies and rust and you want to gag. You want to vomit. Or scream. Or anything.

But you can't manage to make yourself move. You're stuck frozen; forced to stare. The change in your hand feels damp with sweat and you're clutching it so tightly that you can feel that coins burrowing painfully into the palm of your hand. Even from where you stand you can make out the messy writing written on the cardboard in an ominous, messy scrawl:

You owe me

And finally. Blessedly, you're able to tear your gaze away from the body. Stiffly turning your head from the carnage and over towards Gator who looks just as shaken as you. His gun is still drawn, clasped with both hands but his attention is on you. He just looks confused. Unsure and worried. For a while neither of you say a single word. You just sit still in the chilly night air, with the scent of blood choking you and fear in your eyes. And then Gator seems to be able to collect himself, holstering his gun and fixes you with a look that you can't discern. That you aren't able to. And then he utters one word with complete defeat and a little exhaustion too:

"Shit."

#Gator Tillman x reader #gator tillman x you #gator tillman #fargo season 5 #fargo s5 #joe keery x reader #joe keery fargo #gator tillman x y/n #gator tillman x fem!reader #gator x reader #gator fargo

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sonkitty · 5 months

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Crowley Name Usage or Lack Thereof in Season 2

I've noticed some oddities about how the characters in Good Omens 2 both use and do not use Crowley's name and one part, in particular, where the issue is not just where his name is not used; he seems to be significantly ignored.

It's possible I missed some instances of his name usage, but I think after the number of times I've listened to the season, most of this is correct.

Addressed and Referenced by Name

For the scenes in the present day, there are only two characters who both address and refer to Crowley by name: Aziraphale and Shax.

In the 1941 minisode, Furfur does actually both address and refer to Crowley by name. In the present, there is zero acknowledgment between Crowley, Furfur, and Aziraphale of their encounter from 1941, in episode 6.

In 1941, the Nazis in Hell refer to Crowley by name and two of them had addressed Crowley by name in the season 1 flashback.

Addressed by Name but Not Referenced by Name

Beelzebub addresses Crowley by name, twice, in season 2, episode 1 (The Arrival). After that, they never address or refer to him by name for the rest of the season. They ask about info on Gabriel from one of the other demons in Hell and they talk with Shax, but there is no visible effort to directly contact Crowley again. He isn't even "the traitor" anymore.

Saraqel addresses Crowley by name in episode 6 while also saying they knew Crowley when he was an angel (in other words, before he chose that name for himself). They do not reference him by name at any point and only as "the enemy" when talking to Muriel, yet still allowing him to see Gabriel's trial. No reason is known for why they would allow it.

Referenced by Name but Not Addressed by Name

Muriel references Crowley by name when reporting to Michael and Uriel though how they got his name is never explained or shown. They also call him grumpy though he was not actually grumpy for most of what we see of their interaction. He just sounded grumpy when he first walked into the shop without knowing they were there. Muriel also did not know Crowley was a demon until being informed by Uriel. In the entire time that Muriel is with Crowley, notably taking him up to Heaven and generally being there with him, they do not ever address him by name.

The Metatron addresses Crowley as "Demon", not by name. When he is shown to be referring to Crowley by name, it is through a narrated flashback by Aziraphale that strongly suggests what Aziraphale is saying is a lie. The only other reference, besides "he" pronouns, that we have to go by is the Metatron calling Crowley "your friend" to Aziraphale.

Never Addressed or Referenced by Name

Nina - The season establishes early that Nina recognizes the regulars of her coffee shop based on what they order and that she thinks of Maggie as "skinny latte" so when Nina refers to Crowley by his "six espressos" coffee order three different times (see the 666 there?), it's not as startling or unsettling that she never calls him by his name. However, 1) he is not a regular, and 2), she is the only character we see being introduced to him by name from Aziraphale. Another note is that she refers to him as the one who was struck by lightning the night it seemed to happen and then even addresses him as the one who was struck by lightning the next day. By the time episode 5 rolls around, he does not seem to be either of these things to her anymore. She does not address or refer to him in these ways. When talking to Maggie at the ball, it sounds like she thinks of Crowley as one of "them/they" with Aziraphale. When talking to Crowley directly, he is only "you".

Maggie - There is extremely little interaction between Maggie and Crowley in all of season 2 so it's again, not that startling or unsettling that she never addresses him by name and doesn't have much opportunity to refer to him by name either. She might not even know his name until episode 5 when the bookshop is attacked and can hear Aziraphale refer to Crowley by name then. Nonetheless, it's true and mostly noticeable that she and Nina are taking all this extra care to speak to Crowley at a very specific time about interfering with their lives, then interfering in his life by giving him bad relationship advice, and still do not use his name. Like Nina, to Maggie, Crowley is only "you".

Jim/Gabriel - This is where the lacking usage of a name sticks out the most and goes beyond just the name. Jim never addresses Crowley by name. They do have substantial interactions, as opposed to Crowley and Maggie. Crowley is the one who triggers an extra voice and purple eyes out of Jim/Gabriel twice. He's the one who can prod far enough to learn that Gabriel put his memory in a matchbox, then took it out. Between all of that, they talk about gravity, the vavoom matchmaking, Crowley's own concerns and anger at Gabriel for Aziraphale, telling Jim to jump out a window, stopping him, offering and making him chocolate, and not once, in all that time, does Jim address Crowley by name. He knows Crowley's name because when Aziraphale says it during episode 2, Jim (actually referred to as Gabriel in the subtitles by the way) explains, "He went away, while you were thinking."

When Gabriel recovers his memories, the first person he recognizes and names is Aziraphale. To Aziraphale's right, Crowley is (presumably still there) standing. Aziraphale hesitantly smiles, turns his head to his right, which suggests he is possibly looking towards Crowley, and Aziraphale doesn't say anything. Very, very briefly, Gabriel seems to follow this gaze. As in, he follows Aziraphale's eyes where one might find Crowley. If you are searching frame by frame, it's actually still easy to miss that this part happened. I only picked up on it after repeated views without going frame by frame while drafting this post. Gabriel does not acknowledge Crowley at all. In fact, we, the audience, don't see Crowley either during this part. There is no hesitation, no pause, no recognition, nothing. It's as if Gabriel briefly glimpsed an empty space. His head turns towards Aziraphale's direction again for a moment, then turns left, this time blinking and passing over where Crowley should be completely, and he addresses the angels (Michael, Uriel, Saraqel). Again, we, the audience, like Gabriel, did not see Crowley. Next, Gabriel acknowledges the demons with a simple, "Oh eesh. You guys," then hones in on Beelzebub.

When Gabriel is looking at Beelzebub, we can finally see that Crowley is standing next to Aziraphale, so one assumes he didn't go anywhere and was simply ignored. After all, none of the other characters react as if he briefly disappeared.

Gabriel doesn't realize Nina and Maggie are there either. They are further away and even behind him when he is talking to the other angels. Point being, he doesn't miss their presence in the same way he seems to have missed Crowley's.

Crowley eventually leaves to escort Maggie and Nina out, then returns.

When Crowley suggests Alpha Centauri as a place to go, it's just generally assumed Gabriel and Beelzebub took his suggestion, but if you look closely, you'll see they don't actually acknowledge him. They do not look at him. They do not thank him. They do not say yes or no to that specific place and just react in a more general term of the idea of leaving and never coming back. As already said, it's just generally assumed that's what they do when they disappear. The main reason this sticks out is because of how Gabriel passed over Crowley earlier. Gabriel still does not look at Crowley or address Crowley in any way, and neither does Beelzebub by this point.

Michael and Uriel have small enough roles that I don't think it matters as much, but they do not address or refer to Crowley by name either. Uriel goes so far as to refer to him as "the demon" when Muriel is giving a report.

Other Notes

In Before the Beginning, the angel who eventually becomes Crowley very obviously does not give his name. It looks like he could be snubbing Aziraphale, or if this is an altered or inaccurate memory, the name itself has been edited out or forgotten.

When the angels arrive at the bookshop in episode 2, they never bring up Crowley at all. When the powers of Heaven and Hell meet at the bookshop in episode 6, no one addresses or refers to Crowley by name though they are clearly aware of his presence as they do still actually react and listen to him. These two things are understandable in the context they happen but figured since I'm looking at where characters are lacking in using his name, I should at least note it.

Uncertain

Without the Jim/Gabriel parts, this could just be how things played out and how the characters feel the need to talk to or about him. Not everyone needs to address or refer to Crowley by name all the time. But the Jim/Gabriel part does stick out. Plus, if you compare to how Aziraphale is addressed or referred to throughout the season, you can find the difference being even more stark (Nina, Maggie and Jim/Gabriel all use his "Mr. Fell" name at at least once compared to the zero times for Crowley).

I don't know why it happens, but I feel like the fact that it does has some meaning.

Video

Here is a slowed down version of the point I'm talking about with how Gabriel seems to miss Crowley's presence. There are two places where you would think he might see Crowley. Immediately after Aziraphale, that's where Gabriel should see Crowley. He glances towards Aziraphale again, then when he's turning his head and blinking, that's the second instance where you would think he would see Crowley. He has no reaction to Crowley's presence either time.

#good omens 2 #good omens s2 #crowley

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