#he enjoys doing that himself and seeing what happens to the folks who are doomed

[gloopdimension]

hgoo.ii dont have any new thoughts but ummm.Leo & orion ........ smile

:) leo and orion

#let me see if ive got any new thots on em in my noggin...... #I think leo does have some trauma w losing people he cares about. so instead of preventing connections he does allow them to happen. him #being a pretty well known mob boss and a pretty dangerous one at that[hes also got guys ALL over the city] #he can totaly have u watched out for if ur his buddy :) #if it was up to leo he would have orion GONE. he doesnt like 'im. he just tolerates his presence bc hes learned orion is MORE than an equal #match. #theyre only equals in terms of confidence and thats what leo really has going for him. leo is at the very least 3 ft [or more] shorter than #orion but he makes up for that in yeah! his confidence #also strength.this guy packsa punch #a detail i remembered in the sauna image aswell was his knuckles being bandaged up. he enjoys hand-to-hand combat the most:) #also orion can form rifts. any size any shape [primarily wide-ish ovals for him specifically to step thru] #and anywhere leading to anywhere else! #he can form a rift right beneath you that leads to a timeline thats actively falling apart and reality can collapse around ur very eyes. Bu #he enjoys doing that himself and seeing what happens to the folks who are doomed #he'd also use this power to make a rift. tap someones shoulder. pull his hand back. and the person looks around confused like I Know Someon #Tapped My Shoulder. Who Was It #also orion got that biig scar on his face bc his arm blew up! he tried to inspect it himself like years ago but he didnt use his foresight #and paid for it. #he is nearly wholly deaf if not entirely in his left ear #withuot his prosthetics hed be missingggg his entire arm anddd everything below the middle of his left thigh :) #asks #my ocs #ive DEFINITELY got more on em but umm well i want a dink.

[tripleyeeet]

DO I KNOW YOU? (3)

SUMMARY: Miguel's been showing up at your house for months. And yet, you still have no idea who he is.

PAIRING: Miguel O'Hara & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 4,810

WARNINGS: Angst, all hurt no comfort (sorry folks, I promise the comfort is coming just be patient), enemies-to-lovers adjacent, descriptions of a panic attack/dissociate behaviours.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, this chapter gave me such grief I'm just so fucking glad it's over. Enjoy! Please! For the sake of my sanity. :')

CHAPTER LIST / LAST CHAPTER / MASTERLIST

-

It’s been nearly two months since that first encounter. Two months of random, bloodied drop-ins, and you still have no idea who Miguel really is. 

At this point, you’ve spent weeks wondering. Every time you look at him it’s like you’re met with this overwhelming desire to discover new information —to explore the contents of his brain in a way that makes your own begin to race at the thought. Like you’re cracking some kind of code. Oftentimes, it takes over you entirely, pushing you further and further over that established boundary line towards the impending doom of another late-night argument neither of you wants to have. So far, it’s happened six times, each argument worse than the last, but despite that, you refuse to give up. 

“Okay, how about two truths, one lie?”

“Seriously?” 

Each time he shows up at your house battered and bruised, you find yourself coming up with new ways to attempt extorting information. Sometimes you outright ask, hoping he’ll simply give in. Sometimes you resort to bribery. Tonight though, after several weeks of partially un-consented arrivals, you’ve decided to try your luck with a game.

“No.”

Or not. 

“No?”

“I come here to rest, not play games.” 

“Okay well, house rules.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not, actually. House rules state you have to participate if you continue crashing on my couch.” 

Without missing a beat, he snorts, throwing his head back against the couch in frustration —something he always does whenever you’re being annoying and he isn’t sure how to proceed. 

“You know I’m still not gonna tell you anything.”

You hum and turn to face him, watching his head fall to the side to look at you. 

He’s got the kind of face that could make a baby cry. Not because he’s scary or unattractive but because he’s mean. With constantly downturned eyebrows and a frown so deep you can see the wrinkles already starting to form, he’s perfected the unimpressed face. The one that always has you second-guessing your intentions at least for a second. 

��Do you know the rules or do I have to explain them?”

“I’m sure I can guess what the rules are.” 

“Good, you want to go first or—“

“You go.”

You can’t help but grin as he motions towards you, offering his palm into the space between. For once it’s bare, along with the rest of his arm. Usually, he always shows up in his suit and nothing else but after last week's incident of almost indecent exposure, you figured you’d offer him something more comfortable from Peter’s closet.

“Okay, two truths, one lie, two truths, one lie…” 

He watches you closely as you slip further into the couch, your brows knitting together as you try to come up with a plausible set of facts, knowing it shouldn’t be that hard. Like you, he knows very little. Sure, he has the slightest advantage of constantly making himself present inside your apartment but like him, you haven’t revealed any big secrets —no defining factors of your personality that could give him the upper hand.

So far, the playing field seems pretty even.

“Okay, my favourite meal of the day is breakfast. Blue Moon by Billie Holiday is my favourite song. I work as a geneticist, specifically in R&D.” 

You raise a finger with each fact you list, noticing the way Miguel’s brow rises ever so slightly with each passing one. By the end, he looks almost surprised by your choices, as if somehow he pegged you as someone completely different. 

“A geneticist. That’s tough work.” 

“It is.” 

“Can I ask a follow up question or is that against house rules?”

You ponder for a minute, taking slight enjoyment over the way his expression slowly becomes more annoyed as time passes. “I’ll give you one.”

“Do you like your job?”

It’s an off-putting question considering the end goal of the game. Its abruptness throwing you off as you stare, confused, taking in the way his overall posture sort of relaxes under your gaze. Like his question, its change is immediate. His body slipping into the couch as he pulls his arms across his chest, mirroring your position. 

He looks weirdly calm —tranquil in a way that has you feeling a bit happy that he isn’t on edge like he usually is. 

“Sometimes.” 

“Why not all the time?” 

You open your mouth to respond but quickly close it. You said one question, not two and you stand by that. 

For some reason it makes him smile once he realizes this. His mouth falling open to reveal those fangs you’ve slowly grown used to —the ones that nearly made your heart jump out of your chest at first glance all those weeks ago. It was his second night staying over that you’d noticed them. You were grabbing all the usual items to aid Miguel’s injuries when he let them slip between his teeth in the form of a yawn, prompting you to nearly drop the scotch in your hand. 

It was embarrassing for the both of you but you never spoke about it, instead choosing to sweep it under the rug in favour of another argument about why he was there in the first place.

“Your turn.”

“Hm.”

He takes his time curating his answers, focusing on the space in front of him with such intense eyes you almost wonder if he’s doing it to annoy you. 

Honestly, you wouldn’t put it past him. As time’s gone on, you’ve learned that Miguel is quite the pusher. The kind of guy who can get a rise out of anyone with very little effort. All he has to do is say a few choice words and inevitably an altercation will arise out of nowhere.

You’re certain it’s a Spider-Man thing because as wonderfully caring as your brother is, most of the time he’s always had the same ability. As kids, he could crawl underneath your skin with just one look and to this day, despite winning your fair share of fights, Peter still lands supreme in overall standings. 

“I’m Spider-Man.” 

You want to punch him in the gut but refrain, noticing the smirk that creeps across his face. 

“My name is Miguel.”

“Oh, my god…”

“And I’d like a scotch, please.” 

This time you really do reach out to punch him, feeling his fist wrap around your own before you can even think to retract. Against your skin, it’s warm —hot even and slick with the kind of sweat that has you pulling away in embarrassment. 

In response, Miguel merely snorts and recrosses his arms over his chest, looking as smug as ever as you stand up, opting to fulfil his wishes. 

“You’re lucky I also want scotch.” 

“Wait, but what if that’s the lie?” 

His tone is dripping in the kind of sarcasm you’re unwilling to entertain as you perform your usual route. Grumpily, you grab two stacked glasses and the neck of the bottle, rolling your eyes when you plop back down, motioning for him to do it himself. 

“I feel like house rules should apply to the owner as well,” he mumbles, reaching over to grab the bottle. Popping it open, he hums to himself as he pours each of you a glass, ignoring the way your jaw tightens at the prospect of yet another night without information. 

“You know it’s kind of unfair that you keep showing up unannounced and refuse to tell me literally anything about you.” 

In unison you grab your drinks and settle, staring at each other with offensive expressions that you can feel escalating —building in tension.

“I told you I can’t,” he says, sighing and sipping and ultimately trying his best not to disturb the one night of peace you’ve managed to have so far. 

“Why not?”

“Because it’s classified.” 

You groan. 

It’s the same answer he gives every time. That’s classified, this is classified, sorry all of my personal details are classified! Every time you hear him say it you want to rip your own ears off and eat them. To scream at the top of your lungs because it’s so unfair that you’re this nice to him. This giving —and for what?

Aside from Peter, if he were anyone else you’d tell them to pack it up and take their baggage elsewhere, barely batting an eye as they left. Closing up the window, you’d smack your palms together as if you took out the trash and go to bed, never to think about their presence again.

You’re not sure why Miguel is different. Why you continue to let him in night after fucking night, regardless of the hour. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s a part of your brother’s overall safety or because you think Peter will get mad at you if you don’t. 

Regardless, it still doesn’t make sense considering the nature of your relationship. The lack of ability to communicate genuinely. Every conversation you have with one another is snarky and laced with daggers aimed to kill. There’s nothing of value to redeem. Nothing to make whatever this is worth it as you stare at each other angrily, trying to defy the constant wall that sets you both apart. 

“God, you are so—“

“What?”

You drop your glass onto the table and move your hands into the air, extending your fingers out as you shake them in frustration, groaning. 

He’s so fucking confusing, you decide then. Conceited and awful and stupid. Ungrateful too, remembering the fact that he’s never actually thanked you for letting him stay over —for being there whenever he arrives, willing to plaster up the pieces of his broken body. 

Without question you’re always at the window, peeling it open with tired hands that later pour him drinks and feed him pills and fucking wash his wounds, and not a single time has he ever thanked you.

“Selfish.” 

You see the impact of your words on his face. As he looks over, his eyes go from immediate belligerence to apologetic, his brows lowering in confusion. Awkwardly, his frame sort of slips, causing him to cave in on himself as he slowly looks away, making you realize he might actually be sorry this time. 

“I know I’m not a part of your secret society,” you tell him, waiting for something —anything, knowing deep down it’ll never come. “But this is my house. My home.” 

“Okay, and?”

His tone doesn’t match the expression on his face. Devoid of anything sympathetic, he sounds like a dog being backed into a corner, canines fully out to defend; his face transitioning into that same old scowl that makes you feel insane for even attempting this time and time again. 

“I don’t know you, Miguel! You’re a stranger and you’re in my house all the time!” 

“You’re the one who lets me in!”

“Okay, and?”

Repeating his words back to him feels like a bit of a low blow but it’s all you got. You’ve already had this same conversation countless times. All that’s needed to be said has been, and if he can’t understand that you’re not sure you can keep doing this. 

Sure, he may be Peter’s superior but he’s certainly not yours. He doesn’t dictate what you can and can’t do and he certainly doesn’t have the right to assume he’s allowed entrance into your home without at least a little exchange of trust. 

“Listen, I get the whole keeping the universes separate bullshit —believe me, I hear about it from Peter at least a zillion times a week. But I don’t know you —I don’t know who you are or what your deal is and it’s getting kind of weird.”

His jaw shifts, loosening ever so slightly at the calmness of your words. 

Oftentimes, during these moments, you find the volume of your voice surpassing the level you want. With him, whenever an argument erupts, it’s like something completely foreign takes over and all attempts to quell the anger inside are shot dead in their tracks. 

“All I want is something —anything. I’m not talking trade secrets. I’m talking like, uh…” You pause, trying to rack your brain for something easy and boring. Something he’d be willing to give up. “What do you do for a living when you’re not Spider-Man?”

“What do I do for a living?” 

He sounds almost offended, as if you’ve just asked the stupidest question on the planet but you refuse to falter, staring at him with interest in your eyes. 

“Out of all the questions in the universe, that’s the one you want to go with?”

“Is there a problem with it?” 

“Uh, yeah, it’s boring.”

“Okay, then answer it.”

“No.” 

Oh, for fuck's sake.

“You know, talking to you is like talking to fucking wall!” 

Suddenly you’re standing up and reaching for your glass, taking a moment to throw the contents back in one swift dip. As it goes down it burns your throat, making you cringe and smack your mouth around before grabbing the bottle and pouring yourself another glass. 

“I mean, am I crazy?”

“I’m going to assume that’s a rhetorical question.” 

Ignoring him, you down another glass and begin to pace, your mind racing to piece together everything that’s happened between you. Right now the details are fuzzy —whizzing past your head in rapid succession but they’re there. Taunting you from every angle. Reminding you that, yeah, you’re definitely crazy for letting this stranger into your house. For giving him so much when he returns so little. For assuming that offering up even an inkling of kindness would gain you anything but absolute bullshit in return.

“Am I crazy for wanting to know why you’re always here? Why, even when you’ve barely been touched by another one of your stupid anomalies, you always show up in the middle of the night?”

He’s silently staring, looking up through his lashes at your outburst. Somehow throughout it all his face remains completely neutral, barely a muscle out of place as you continue your rant, yelling about him and how he doesn’t care about you —how he’s just using you for something you don’t even understand. 

By the end of it, you’re nearly in tears, gripping the glass in your hand so tight you’re certain it’s about to break. Everything is tense and hot and despite the calmness that washes over your face once you’re done, inside you’re messy. A mixture of emotions you can’t quite place as you watch Miguel stand up, take the glass out of your hand, and slowly lean in. 

“In every universe you are infuriating. Every single one. In my experience, there’s not a single one out there that you reside in that isn’t filled with a rage I haven’t understood. You think I want to keep secrets from you? You think I don’t want to tell you everything each time I step through that window?” 

He’s so close you can feel his breath against your face.

“I know you don’t think I know you, but I do. Trust me.” 

“How?” 

Something in him changes then. A switch of some kind flipping mid-thought, causing him to back away and look towards the window in your bedroom. “I know your favourite meal of the day is breakfast because it reminds you of mornings with Ben,” he says, still looking, avoiding your gaze entirely as your brows perk up. “I know that your favourite song is Blue Moon because it’s on that album that May used to play when she’d do all the housework.” 

There’s no way he knows that based on you in other universes. Taking into account the few spider people you've met, it's obvious everyone is slightly different. Not all of them look and act the same so Peter must’ve told him about you —about your childhood and how the two of you were practically raised on bacon, eggs and Billie Holiday. It’s the only plausible excuse for how confident he is in all of this. 

In how when he finally looks at you with sympathy in his eyes.

“I know you’re a geneticist but your focus isn’t R&D —it’s biotech. I know this cause—“

He stops before he can even begin to explain, leaving you wanting. Yearning. Your mind and heart working in panicked tandem to get him to talk as he rapidly blinks and looks around. 

It’s obvious then that he’s said too much. For a little too long he ran his mouth and now he’s about to suffer the consequences in the form of anxious movements that have him sidestepping around you and moving towards the exit. 

Out of habit, you tell him to stop —to wait for just a second but like Miguel, he doesn’t listen. Doesn’t stop in hesitation as you stand frozen in the middle of the living room, watching his suit form directly over the clothes you let him borrow as he opens the window and leaves.

-

How do you move on from this? 

It’s a question you ask yourself as you lie on the floor, eyes shut tight. Your breath is heavy. Underneath the weight of the information that’s suddenly been thrust upon you, it’s hard to form steadied breaths. Your chest shaking; twitching as you count your breaths and try to come up with a solution. 

You could talk to Peter. Maybe get him to convince Miguel to come back. You know it’s probably the most unlikely outcome but you’re awfully stubborn and Peter’s always been the type to at least hear you out before he inevitably says no. If you could just form enough of a case to get him to help, maybe then he’d take enough pity on you.

Ugh, probably not. Peter’s nice but not that nice, especially when it comes to all his Spider-Man stuff. Aside from the aftermath of fights, he likes to keep all that separate —says it’s easier to keep you safe. The less you know the better and all that bullshit. 

Groaning, you press your palms against your eyes to try and get your brain to focus. To come up with something good and convincing. Something that’ll really tug on his heartstrings or—

You hear the lock of the front door click. Sitting up, you drop your hands to the floor and twist, watching as it opens to reveal a very tired, civilian-looking Peter with the messiest hair you’ve probably ever seen.

“Hey.”

“Hi."

As he steps further into the room, he yawns and throws his stuff onto the floor near the entrance, narrowing his eyes as you quickly shuffle into a standing position. 

“Why were you on the floor?”

“Just stretching.” 

“On hardwood?” 

He looks at you like you’re crazy as he passes by, making a beeline for the kitchen. Once there, he opens the cupboard and grabs a couple of protein bars, opening one almost immediately. 

“It’s good for your back.”

Raising his brow, he takes a suspicious bite, watching the way you fiddle with your hands. You’ve never been a good liar. At least, not with him. Over the years you’ve learned to lie for Peter —to always have an excuse ready for when he’s late or unable to show up at all— but never to feed him false information. It’s too hard with that stupid spider sense of his.

“How was work?” 

You’re not sure if he’s changing the subject to fish for further info or to actually progress the conversation, so you merely shrug, offering him a dull fine as you cross your arms over your chest. 

“Just fine?”

“Mhm.”

Usually fine is enough to get him to stop. As time’s gone on he’s learned to understand the limits of your responses —how fine usually means fuck off rather than yes now please ask me more. Right now though, it’s obvious he knows something’s up. That beneath it all you’re hiding something in plain sight. He can see it in the way you struggle to answer his question. How you press your lips together and awkwardly look away, trying to come up with some sort of placeholder response. 

“Any reason why?”

For a moment you think about coming clean right then and there. You think about telling him about Miguel’s most recent visit and how it went from zero to one hundred all the way back to zero in the span of minutes. It’s not like he’d be that mad, right? Besides, Miguel’s the one in charge, so all that information about knowing you and how you’re infuriating was told to you by him —not Peter. Therefore, no dirt on his hands, right?

But then you think of Peter and how he’s a firm believer in boundaries. How, since day one, he made it clear to you that he never wanted you getting involved in this life. That it was too dangerous for someone so fragile.

At first, you were pissed, mostly because you hated the idea of your little brother being stronger than you, but slowly you began to understand that he was a part of this whole other world you’d never be able to experience. A world too brutal for your stupid unmodified body to handle. 

The same world Miguel is in. The same world other universe you is maybe in too. A thought that makes you wonder if maybe this is all pointless, because regardless of who you try to convince —Peter or Miguel— ultimately one of them will deny you the right. 

The statistics are there, stacked against you, so instead of continuing like you want you just sigh, accepting defeat. (For now.) 

“Exhausting. Harry was on another rampage.”

“About what?”

“Time constraints. Apparently Norman’s on our ass about wanting this project finished so he can present it to some new board.” 

“For funding?”

You nod, watching him finish the rest of his bar and move on to the next. “I guess there’s this new company that wants in? I don’t know. Norman refuses to tell us but Harry says they’re some sort of start up.” 

“Interesting.” 

You pray to god that the details you’re giving him are enough to deter him. To keep him here in this conversation so that he doesn’t decide to explore any further. 

“Did Harry give you a name at all?”

You shake your head.

“Hm.”

The gears in his head are turning then. He’s got that far-off look in his eye he always gets when something piques his interest a little too hard. The one that makes the lids of his eyes sort of slip to the halfway point while his jaw falls slack. Whenever it happens you have to hold in a laugh because he always looks so ridiculous, like he’s about to fall asleep, even though it’s obvious he’s just focusing a little too hard for his brain to remember how to properly present his face. 

“You good?”

“Yup.” He takes another bite, finishing off the second bar before throwing the wrappers in the trash under the sink. “Just tired.” 

Immediately you take this as an opportunity to shift the conversation further onto him. To distract yourself from the creeping thought that’s telling you to keep trying. “Rough day?”

He nods and instinctively both of you move towards the couch, sitting on your usual sides.

“Two robberies and a car chase.”

“Yikes.”

“And in the middle of the chase Jonah kept calling me asking me to get pictures of Spider-Man so afterwards I had to stage some.”

“Were they any good?”

He scrunches up his face which tells you they weren’t.

“Well, at least it’s over?” you offer, flashing him a fake grin that falls once you hear that familiar beeping in his backpack. 

Immediately, it shifts your mind back to Miguel. To how his breath felt against your skin with each accidental confession. You remember how awful it made you feel, standing so close to him, the rage inside his chest reaching out to touch your own. 

Thinking back, it suddenly dawns on you how quiet it all was. How the words tumbling from his lips somehow barely registered through the anxious ringing of your ears. And how regardless of the small, yet empty space between you made you feel like you were being enveloped entirely. You can still imagine every movement of his lips. The curling motions formed over statements you’ll never get the answers to. 

Watching Peter jump from the couch to his bag you’re reminded of this. Taunted by it as he pulls out that stupid watch and Miguel’s masked face suddenly appears, telling him there’s another anomaly in some world you’ve never heard of. 

It makes your skin itch, hearing his voice again. The way it strains through the hologram, prompting Peter to spring into action, ripping both his hoodie and shirt over his head to reveal that familiar spider emblem that now makes you sick to your stomach. 

“I’m, uh —I gotta—“ 

As he hooks a thumb over his shoulder you merely nod, watching the way he sort of perks up at your acceptance. 

“Get home safe,” you tell him then, watching the frantic movements of his hands pulling off the rest of his outer shell until he’s reaching into the front pocket of his backpack to grab his mask.

After he puts it on you lose all focus, wondering how the hell you’re supposed to move on from this. How every day moving forward you’re going to have to sit on the sidelines, watching him live while you’re forced to forget.

It’s not fair, is it?

You can feel the sting of tears beginning to form as you stare at Peter messing with the watch on his wrist. Quicker than you can think to suppress them, they begin to pool at every corner, threatening to break free as your front door suddenly becomes obscured by a warm-toned, octagonal portal. 

“I’ll call you as soon as I get home,” he tells you. 

Pressing your lips together, all you can do is nod, forcing yourself to remain as calm as possible as he waves goodbye and steps through, leaving you there to stare at the now empty space that continues to glow; the portal’s reflection dancing across the room. 

Delicately, it flickers in and out as its existence begins to dwindle, reminding you that once again you’re alone, feeling the same effects of another spider person abandoning you in favour of something bigger than yourself. 

It feels weird to admit you’re jealous. That the envy that creeps through your veins feels familiar yet foreign as you wipe your eyes and cough out the sob that’s been sitting in your throat. 

Embarrassingly, you have to force yourself not to let it overtake you as you stand from the couch and move towards the portal, suddenly feeling the urge to jump in after him.

He’d surely kill you if you did. He and Miguel and probably any other spider person present. These portals aren’t meant for you. Everyone involved has made that very clear that you’re not meant to know about this life and the way it works. 

And yet, as you inch closer the temptation grows. Filling you with a thousand what if’s as you reach out to graze the light dancing before you.

It tingles against your fingertips like static, bouncing off each cell of skin at such high speeds you have to force your hand back in shock, laughing.

“What the…”

You push your hand out again, noticing the portal begin to decrease in size, its slow-moving layers starting to cave in on themselves the longer you stand there staring. Waiting. Debating whether or not to take the plunge into the unknown. 

Not going in should be the obvious choice. Inter-dimensional travel is something you always anticipated to be a myth, so there’s no telling the actual science behind it now that it’s so obviously not. If you step in you could easily die —come out the other side a complete scramble of decomposed elements. You could lose your memories or simple motor functions or the entirety of your soul. Anything’s possible. 

In fact, the only thing you’re certain of is the argument that will inevitably ensue if you manage to make it. It’ll be a big one —an unforgivable one filled with consequences you aren’t sure you’ll be able to handle. Peter will probably give you the silent treatment for a while, if not indefinitely, and Miguel will most likely yell at you until you’re deaf.

Still standing there, watching the portal become smaller and smaller you debate the worth of it all. The potential outcomes and how maybe, for once, it might be best to fight for something you want rather than run away like you usually do. 

It’d certainly make for an interesting experience if you come out of this alive, right?

-

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#who are you when nobody's watching? #miguel o'hara series #miguel o'hara fan fic #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara x female reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara angst #summer writes

[thatcheeseycandle]

//GUESS WHAT I DID SOMETHING RANDOM-

So basically a few days ago I had this idea of Merlin, in YIAU (by @tornadoyoungiron), returning but in a less happy way. The theory that formed this idea will be explained at the end of the short story so dw, for now enjoy the story!!

——

YIAU, Twist of Fate: New Folk and Smoke

The last thing he remembered was being in that void, the image of Sir Gresley disappearing in the flutter of Gold Dust kept replaying in his mind as he walked on the long train track, his memories tugging on his heart as he started to remember.

Remembering it all? All the horrific things he's done, all because one man had ordered to basically tear out his own soul?

It haunted him.

Though was oddly used to it, like he had already witnessed it all. I mean, those are his memories.

Or what felt like his own memories, but they didn't really feel like his memories, it felt like watching himself in third-person.

He'd let out a shaky breath as he tried to brush off those thoughts, his balance unsteady due to his blurred vision and exploding pain in his head.

He guessed it would've been a headache from the amount of pressure his head had gone through.

But it felt overwhelming. Like it came from a flower, similar to a scent. Maybe it was that “gold dust” that had been talked about so much, he guessed.

As he took a glance around the foggy area, his train of thought would be cut off by a sudden thud noise.

He looked behind and infront of him, but no one was there.

Maybe it was a rock? It didn't exactly sound like a rock, sounded more of the stomp from something, someone?

The thought would somewhat put Mallard on edge with anxiety sinking back into him.

What if- Did Scotsman really recover that fast?!

He thought alarmed as he held the blood-stained metal bar in his hand firm, starting to pick up his pace and run as fast as he could from the then stomp came from on the track.

The fog would form a path as he ran through it, he didn't exactly know where he was heading but he truly hoped it was somewhere safe.

At least somewhere he could rest for the meantime until he gets back to his little pond area with his ducks, well until he gets Gadwall back technically.

But considering recent events, that chance was low. With the memories he's started to see of ‘himself’ he knew that Gadwall wouldn't be too willing to join him back.

Though he'd start to hear the stomps fade into footsteps, that were alarmingly getting closer to him as he tried running away from it.

His anxiety peaked as he started to get a glimpse at this figure, starting to slow down his pace to then a stop. Just frozen on the tracks with a face mixed with baffledness and anxiety as he stared at the figure longer and longer. 

The figure seemed to have had a rough stop to his walk as well considering his body-language and posture had given it away.

It somewhat unnerved Mallard as he observed this strange figure, their shadow being the only thing to make the silhouette of them in this thick fog.

Mallard would hold up the metal pipe he had a firm grip on into a defensive stance, trying to hold back the trembles that ran through his legs to keep a proper balance as his mind whirled into a tornado of thoughts.

He didn’t know what to do. If he ran back he might run into an upset Gadwall or a disappointed Quicksilver, if he ran forward he'll risk himself being knocked out or being brought to somewhere he didn't know all over again.

He didn't know if he should even run back or forward. 

Everywhere wasn't safe.

He's gonna die, oh he really is gonna die.. He's doomed, he's gonna be killed by this figure! How is he gonna get out of this, oh dear god-

“Ah, hello there.” the figure suddenly spoke out of the blue as it stood on the rusted tracks eerily, it felt awkward considering how much had happened beforehand.

Though soon enough, Mallard would gain up the courage to speak out to this figure.

“Wait, who exactly are you?.” Mallard asked hesitantly with a shaky breath, tightening his grip on the blood-stained metal pipe he held.

The figure would walk towards Mallard, getting closer and closer.

Mallard would move back a little considering this could be Truro or Scot, or dare I say Sir Gresley himself! He thought anxiously to himself.

As the figure finally was cleared of the fog enough, the figure would start to be more visible to Mallard as he observed them.

They seemed to have a suit, similar to North's but in a simpler way. The suit coat was practically covered in soot, most likely from coal, and the left sleeve was half torn at the elbow.

While underneath the suit coat, the vest would still be connected but just with some splotches of soot, the tie was still well-kept to mention. The pants were the most covered in soot, but at least the dress shoes were clear. 

His hair somewhat in a mess, but generally well-kept enough to be presentable.

But as for his face, or any clear sign of his skin, wasn't as clear before he would step one more time forward to get a better view of Mallard. 

As the figure lended out a hand, his other holding onto his suit coat, the shadow on the figure's face would disappear enough to reveal a warm smile. 

“You may simply call me, Merlin.” Merlin finally answered back, despite his physical condition, in a relaxed tone. 

That name. It felt like something clicked in his right when he heard it. But something inside him, felt upset hearing that name, it was a feeling of despair

Thought Mallard was slightly unnerved at how casual this ‘Merlin’ guy was, he’d lower the metal pipe he held as a sign of piece, not letting go of it just in case.

He'd hesitate to accept the handshake, but looked the figure in the eyes as the shadow on his face disappeared. He noticed some details that would catch his attention.

Merlin's eyes were, sunken in thoughts. His eye color, felt familiar. It was steel blue, but was more gray than usual. But he guessed it was a layer of fog that was between the two that made his eyes look gray.

He must be disassociating a little from either the fog or his headache to notice this, but he could've sworn he saw cracks right underneath Merlin's left eye, maybe it was simply a shadow from one of the loose strands of hair.

“Mallard, I'm Mallard.” He finally replied back, mixed between the feelings of being confused and the cold air creeping up his spine slowly.

“And I see you aren't one for handshakes, Mallard.” Merlin remarked with a soft smile as he lowered his arm, he would turn around to where he seemed to be previously looking.

Though Mallard did notice a look mixed with dread and anxiety flash on Merlin's face, but didn't question it considering the head trauma he's had that could result to hallucinations. 

“Walk along with me Mallard, I think it'll help you. Seeing you look quite lost here.”

“What?”

“I heard you running earlier, so I thought you'd need some direction.” He explained as he gestured for Mallard to catch up.

Mallard would soon follow along beside Merlin, walking on the track with silence, a somewhat comforting silence that gave a sense of nostalgia to Mallard. A strange nostalgia.

The fog started to clear from the cold winds that came in, and with how the sun started to set the atmosphere started to feel more similar to that around Autumn.

The warm fire-orange color scheme, the smell of warm oak, and the cool winds all combined. It was nice. But considering Mallard's current situation, it was a reminder of the mark he left on Gadwall, the side of himself that he didn't even know about until now.

It felt like a thousand cuts from the cutter's torch, is that how he felt when his soul got apparently “ripped” out? Is that how he was to those who saw this corrupted side to him, cold?

He's heard that word before, cold, and he remembered how much that word had to it beside from being the feeling of Winter. It was the feeling of loss.

Of loneliness.

Of War.

Of acceptance.

Or mostly known to him as, Cold Iron Sleep. Something Sir Gresley had mentioned before as the two were talking about Gold Dust on their daily trips on that branch line down to the pond, it unnerved Mallard with how he had described it to him.

A look of fear flashed on Mallard's face for a minute, remembering all that information. Is that how he felt when he apparently had black smoke? Just cold as ice? It- It didn’t make sense, it didn't connect up on how he even bared Black Smoke.

He would've succumbed to immediate death without even a full minute of being infected with it, considering how Sir Gresley had described it to him every time Black Smoke had been brought up it basically terrified him.

But to think about it, from what he guessed, over time he oddly feared it less. Maybe because of the fact he was apparently kept alive by it for years.

“You don't talk much, do you?” Merlin said bluntly, sympathy only appearing in his eyes as he glanced at Mallard.

Mallard would return a glance, trying to pull away from the thoughts.

“No no. Well- I don't exactly have the longest conversations with,  anyone technically.”

“Ah, I see.” He said with a surprised look on his face, he would place a comforting hand on Mallard's shoulder as he’d let out her thoughtful hum.

“So, let me help you. How did you get here in the first place?”

“Well, it'll be a long story that's for sure.” Mallard warned Merlin as he took a glance in front of him.

“I'll be glad to hear this story then, Mallard.”

——

So right, the theory goes this way:

Basically what if Merlin reformed, but absorbed some of Mallard's blacksmoke while reforming, and that would've lead to him being more weaker than usual.

And when Mallard got rid of the black smoke from North, it just reformed and infected Merlin (aka just forming together with the black smoke that had already been in him) which lead to him basically getting the "possessed character, except they're still conscious just witnessing everything that their possessor is doing" trope

Doing this work, I tried out a different writing style (seeing as my writing has had many variations over the months) to just try to get a grab on a solid style.

(I do apologize if this is out of line from the recent events as my memory might've not been the best while writing this, and if any of the characters are OOC)

#cheesyversial rants #cheesey writes #ttte young iron au (??)

[lumineescente]

Seungjin drabble (slowtober challenge)

hii im doing a thing called slowtober (made by @/oeildesaturne on instagram, french speaking folks check it out!! although be aware of tw mental health and eds talks) and i’m posting on twitter a seungjin au per word

I’m late in the updating on tumblr but for the seventh days (october 19th - 21st) the word was “ghost”

i was extremely tempted to write angst i'm not gonna lie, but i decided not to (because it is seungjin and they deserve all the sweetest thing in the world and no angst unless there is comfort) so i went on the other side of it - no pun intended there - and go for something very fun!

if you know new girl you'll recognize my inspiration btw

this is just a silly love confession gone wrong, haunted house funfair are involved and accidental hitting too!

oh btw when i'm done with this challenge i'll hold a little poll on twitter to see which drabble should be written as a whole fic!! so if you like it, you might want to follow this:) (or not) (like it's up to you)

and i keep forgetting to thanks everyone for their time hehe<3 i appreciate every likes!

AND if you enjoyed this challenge who is now over you can vote on this form for your favorite that I’ll be writing into a full fic on ao3! (“soumettre” is “submit” btw)

if you want to check all the drabbles you can go here

In Hyunjin’s opinion the funfair is more lame than fun, but he is here for Seungmin and it goes way above and beyond any lame thing he can attend. Even if it means ruining his Halloween night, and bringing all his friends into his doom, because Seungmin got this stupid job in a haunted house. The overwhelming romantic feelings, and painfully one sided, he has for his best friend of several years has obviously nothing to do with these kind of decision. Never. No matter what Minho would say about it. Or Felix, or Jisung.

Anyway, he twitches in his halloween costume. Way before this whole situation happened, Hyunjin had decided to make his costume a bit funnier than usual, when they were supposed to celebrate it in the warmth of a house, and had picked a slutty nurse costume. Except now the skirt is definitely way too short for his liking, showing too much of his legs and the autumn night has no mercy on his skin. He could have changed when he had known the plan would, but Hyunjin is terribly stubborn.

Parents of young children are looking at him with horrified eyes, he stands a bit taller in his costume. Although he is not sure if it is the slutty or the skirt part that horrifies them, he can bet that they would have been less upset about it if he had been dressed as a man. Fuck them.

“You look very sexy,” he hears Seungmin’s voice say to him.

“I’m also very cold,” he answers.

Seungmin sits down in front of him. Hyunjin is holding on to a cup of hot beverage like his life depends on it, maybe it does though. Seungmin is dressed as a ghost, well not like the easy kind, with just a white sheet or anything. For such a little funfair and a haunted house that is so tacky Minho has already told them he had went two times and had not been scared once, the make up artists and costumers are very good.

Hyunjin is a scaredy cat, he would rather die than enter the haunted house, it can be as predictable as possible he knows he will end up on the floor crying, so he would rather wait outside for Seungmin to be done.

“I have a coat that I don’t use,” Seungmin tells him, “does not suit the vibe very much, plus it’s hot in the house.”

Hyunjin shakes his head.

“Then die in the cold,” his best friend flatly says.

“Hey! Being sexy comes with a price.”

“You’d be sexy fully covered or dressed as a pumpkin, what you wear does not matter.”

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, “sexy pumpkin? Is that your thing?”

Seungmin blushes. Hyunjin can not see it under his make up but he knows him well enough to guess it. He feels proud of himself for that, if he can not do anything about his one-sided attraction at least he knows him better than anyone else, and knows exactly what to say at what time. So there is that.

“That’s not…” Seungmin stutters, “don’t be stupid! I’m just complimenting you.”

Hyunjin blinks several time, registering exactly what all of this meant. It is not unusual for Seungmin and him to compliment each other, even on their apparences. Well Hyunjin could never spend a day without telling Seungmin how handsome he looks (he makes sure not to make him uncomfortable of course), but there is something different in the tone of his voice. An embarrassment, or maybe it is the term that he has used. Hyunjin’s not sure.

“You think I’m sexy,” he says, “all the time.”

“Yeah, of course. You are so attractive it’s stupid, not that it’s the only thing that I like about you.”

Maybe the cold has frozen all his braincells, maybe but he does not react at all and Seungmin looks away.

“Sorry, forget about it,” he mutters, “I gotta go back to work, break is over.”

Hyunjin opens his mouth but nothing comes out and before he can do anything else Seungmin is gone. He stays still for a moment, trying to process what he has just heard.

“Hey,” Felix says.

His costume is way too complicated for the place they are, a cosplay from some video game he enjoys so much, and he struggles to sit down on the spot Seungmin has just left. He moves his hand in front of Hyunjin’s eyes when he has no answer, “Earth to Hyunjin?” he adds.

“Felix,” Hyunjin says in a very low voice that startles the latter, “is it possible that… maybe, Seungmin likes me?”

Felix’s hat almost drops off his head as he lets out the longest and deepest sigh he has ever had, “woh, the question is more is it possible that Seungmin does not like you? And the answer is no, by the way.”

“What do you mean?” Hyunjin asks, confused, “what do you mean?”

“Well I’m sorry to break it to you but you know every time you came to me crying because of your one sided feelings for Seungmin? They never were one sided.”

“Why didn’t you tell me??”

Hyunjin stands up, suddenly getting the control of his body back. The beverage falls down on the table spilling hot chocolate everywhere but he does not care.

“Hey! I tried! Don’t blame the messenger, you both are so oblivious it’s stupid and also kind of entertaining.”

“Fuck,” Hyunjin mutters already not listening to whatever Felix is saying, “I’ll be back.”

Without thinking he starts running toward the hunting house. There’s no need for a ticket since they paid to enter the place in the first place. He probably scares a bunch of kids and outraged some more parents but if he starts to think he will back down and he can not because Seungmin now is probably thinking that Hyunjin rejected him or something.

He regrets it immediately when he enters the house and the lights are shut down and the floor is cracking under his feet and he hears laughter in the echo, and screaming. His blood turns cold in his veins, he makes one step forward but something sticky touches him on the shoulder and he screams, painfully aware at how much skin is out to be touched. He wants to cry.

He is a man on a mission, so he does not and goes on, yelling for Seungmin’s name a bit louder every time something scares him (every two seconds).

Weird things are touching him, the floor is either too viscous or too thin, moving or painfully still, he tries not to lose his balance as fear entirely flood his brain. The noises are too loud between the children screaming in fear and the scary music and sounds everywhere. In theory he knows every trap he encounters are made up but it still works every time.

He enters a new room and feel a hand catching his shoulder and he does not think as he screams and pushes back. He hears a loud noise that has nothing to do with the haunted house, and a bunch of curses, and suddenly two people catch him and hold him on the ground. He tries to fight back but their hold is too strong. The lights are blueish in the room and his eyes have finally being used to the obscurity.

“Seungmin, are you okay?” someone says panic in their voice.

Hyunjin’s brain focuses back. In the side of the room he sees a silhouette getting up from the floor, helped by another one.

“Yeah, I’m fine I just hit my head on the side.”

“Oh my god,” he stutters, “I’m so sorry.”

The two people over him hold even tighter, he let out a scream of pain.

“Seungmin, it’s me,” he mutters, “fuck, I’m so sorry I just got scared!”

“Hyunjin?!”

He sighs as he recognize Seungmin’s voice.

“It’s me, are you hurt? Did I hurt you?”

“You can let him go,” Seungmin tells the two persons.

They seem unwilling to agree to that.

“Please,”  Hyunjin whimpers, overwhelmed by the entire situation and the fact that he still is terrified by the whole haunted house. “I’m really sorry.”

Eventually they do and Seugmin goes to his side, “why are you here? Hyunjin this is so…”

“I like you! Like more than a friend.”

He hates himself this is the worst way to confess to his long time crush. After hurting him and in the middle of a haunted house, in front of obviously very judgmental people right now. He can not blame them for that. Seungmin stares in disbelief.

“Is this why you pushed me?”

“No! This is because I was scared, I’m still very scared.”

Seungmin shakes his head but he faintly hears him laugh.

“Okay, I’m going to take a break and get checked by a doctor, okay?”

Everyone agrees to that. He then stares once again at Hyunjin who is still lying down on the floor.

“I’m wondering if you deserve to finish the haunted tour by yourself or…”

“I’m really sorry,” he repeats.

Seungmin extends a hand that he grabs and gets up.

“Fine,” he tells him, “but that’s because I like you like more than a friend too.”

The sparkles that Hyunjin feels in his heart manage to make the scary atmosphere fade away. Seungmin still holds his hand and he feels warm. He gets closer to him. Maybe the funfair is not that lame.

#my writing #seungjin #drabble #slowtober challenge #word;ghost #hwang hyunjin #kim seungmin #skz drabble #stray kids drabble #hwangseung #luminee:slowtober challenge

[stella-lesair]

Okay folks, time to play a little game:

So, as I always do, I have an AU for ranger's apprentice in my head. This time, it's about gods.

But instead of telling you who's who, I'm just going to name each title and give a snippet of information about them. You then have to guess which character got what (also, I am making this game up on a whim, it might turn out either very easy or very difficult, I don't know, please be kind about it). Anyhoo, we'll start with an easy one so you catch my drift.

Gods:

The God of the Withering - He once was The God of the Blooming, but that title was ripped away from him. Most say that his more recent title fits his demeanour better anyway.

The God of Time - A good friend of the God of the Withering. They are so close, they consider each other family. He was there when his friend turned and he does see himself responsible for the change.

The Goddess of Storm - One of the few female gods. She's a wild one and likes a good prank. For some reason, the Golden God tends to be her victim. Quite risky.

The God of Healing, aka. The Golden God - He rules over one of the four godly cities. He's well-liked and despite his healing powers, he is a great fighter.

The God of the Hidden - A god who lives near the God of the Withering. He, too, counts to the family. Most don't know that, because he tends to be rather hard to spot, even near people.

The Goddess of Truth - A goddess rarely seen around. Rumour has it that she lives among the Mortals. But she can be seen quite occasionally around the God of Time.

The God of Reason, aka. the Iron God - One of the rulers over the four godly cities. Despite his title, he has a bad relationship with the Golden God and it takes a revolution in the system made by the God of Dreams to fix their relationship. Afterwards, they actually become fairly good friends.

Mortals: (They don't have a title, so I'll just describe them)

A young man - For most of his life, he did not believe in the Gods. This changed, however, when the God of the Withering claimed his friend's life. Now, he despises all Gods.

A young woman - The sister of the man mentioned above. She works for a strange middle-aged woman who lives at the side of town. Although most people believe that this woman is rude, she firmly disagrees, saying that woman just never lies.

The friend - While climbing a wall to watch the sunset, his life was claimed by the God of the Withering. Still, although he was fully aware of his doom, he told the God his ambitions, who in turn learned to dream again.

A young priestess - Her goal in life was not to turn to religion, but she was quite amazed by the God of the Hidden, and dedicated her life to him. She is the younger sister of the man and the woman, and a joy to be around.

And now the extra special (also hard) one:

The God of Dreams - a kind old god, mostly staying in his bed. He cares for the dreams of the mortals, but has given up on the dreams of gods, making his kin unable to sleep. He has seen enough of this world and his only wish is to pass on.

Now then, that's it. Hope you enjoyed. I'd love to hear your answers, so dump em into the notes! Also, if the AU sounds interesting to you, ask me and I can send you a rough summary of what is suppose to happen*.

*(That rough summary might turn into 40min of story telling in a Discord Vc)

#ranger's apprentice #rangers apprentice #ra #Gwynithh please don't spoiler #honestly dont know what to tag #ill just tag the people that are always there #halt o'carrick #will treaty #crowley meratyn #horace altman #gilan davidson #that should be enough

[sodor-reimagined]

NWR NO. 11: Oliver

Eeyyy bout time I posted some actual art. Today I present to you my take on Oliver the great western dude.

The Hey Days

- inspired by the fantastic fanfilm The Little Westerner, he was a racer back on the GWR. That was more so of a side-gig rather than hai actual job. He still worked on the railway but was notorious for his constant delays and “near-misses.”

- (essentially the way I view Oliver is the way the film plays out so if you haven’t seen it you ABSOLUTELY SHOULD. You can find it on YouTube as we speak!)

- “A reckless, overconfident, arrogant racer finally being brought back down to earth.” Oliver learns a sense of responsibility and care from his new and unlikely friend, a nomad retired racer who just goes by Jinty and his buddy Toad

The Scrap Scare

- Jinty is gone. Only Toad is left, and not in good shape either. Someone clearly wanted them both out of the picture and Oliver wasn’t gonna let that slide. But in trying to find out who hurt Toad and the modernization of British railways, he found himself alone. He was replaced in the racing scene. All his friends had lost their jobs. And these new guys were out for blood

- No one really knows what happened that night, let alone why it happened, but the story goes: A diesel engineer sets a warehouse ablaze, said he was instructed to do so to make room for a new shed. Oliver and Toad we’re inside.

- How they got out of they’re remains a mystery, but one thing led to another. They ran, they were found, and they were taken to the scrapyards where no one would ever find them or hear them. Where they can be forgotten.

The Great Escape

- That backfired cause Douglas was assigned to take a load of scrap to the yards and overheard the mutters of two voices he didn’t recognize. And low and behold amongst the rubble was a frightened and heavily injured Oliver cradling a sleeping Toad in his arms.

- From there it plays out as we all know it best. Douglas helps the two escape their uncertain doom and the two now live carefree on the Island of Sodor. Where they’d always dreamed.

⬇️ old concept sketches ⬇️

Now for some random headcannons!

- Oliver is trans-masc and uses he/they pronouns (though he/him is preferred). Masculine compliments are also preferred but he won’t make a fuss of you call him “pretty”

- He‘s a bit older than Toad (around is very early 20’s. Toad is in his mid-late teens).

- When meeting Duck, he remembers him as his cousin and is shocked to find out that Duck has no recollection of this detail.

- This mans music taste is>>>> Oliver enjoys 80s-90s rock as well as a few early 2000s pop. (I also see him THOROUGHLY enjoying Will Wood)

Thank you all for tuning in! I’m slowly creeping back into the fandom and I hope you all enjoy what I’ve got to offer. Have a good one folks!

#ttte #thomas the tank engine #ttte humanized #ttte oliver #oliver the great western engine #ttte human au #I mean it go watch the little westerner #go watch a lot of fan content #support creators :)

[thewiglesswonder]

You know what I think could be a good concept for a TFA!Sg AU? Team earth is indoctrinated when they arrive. Optimus considers beating Megatron to be a fluke and just lucky. Ratchet being harsh and wanting the best but more rigid and inflexible in his opinions.

Just… take those knobs and turn them up. An even more quiet, silently opinionated prowl. Perhaps have bumblebee actually believe wasp was a traitor because wasp seemed to be a bit nicer than in canon. (After all if their model is so common they’d have to rely on each other to prove exactly WHY they deserve this so much) and bee thinks it’s a trick.

Sari in a rebellious teenage phase not listening to a father who wants to reconnect after sidelining her in favor of his work. Megaton wanting to live on earth with his troops, not so much in harmony with humans (there are always things to unlearn sometimes) but because he’s been ostracized from their society.

Shockwave not having that hyper empathy but instead they literally blocked off chunks of his knowledge. He’ll just be working and suddenly he’ll forget what he was doing, why, and HOW. Regardless of what it is or how easy it should be to know, it’ll just disappear.

Perhaps that was a punishment he received after arcee was found and relocated onto cybertron. Swindle is still a scheme-y bastard (affectionate) but will have moments in which he claims to “be protecting his bottom line” but you see him look away and give a tiny smile and you realize that he can lie to his buyers but not to himself.

Blackarachnia spending her run time coming to terms with the fact optimus shouldered the blame for something she did. Having to acknowledge she let herself believe her own false memories because they made her feel validated in her anger.

Transforming Waspinator with the same intentions at first but realizing she doomed somebody to her own fate and that she’s just created a cycle (he does agree to enter to become stronger and survive whatever the autobots demand he face) so she refuses to let herself hurt him. She takes that deep breath, thinks about what happened, and lets him go.

+if that was foreshadowed by her genuinely finding Sari to be charming and silly in her rebellious way, and being secretly horrified by the fact she was killing her.

++if she’d still beat the shit out of sentinel though.

(Sorry to smash this at you wig though I know you enjoy these silly little guys and also SG star would pretend to not like the clones but he named them all after fallen trine members (skywarp and thundercracker) or after members of other fallen trines (Ramjet, Dirge and Thrust being one tribe, and Slipstream and Sunstorm as two members of other trines)

Eh. Nothing against you, anon, but Shattered Glass (especially for TFA) hasn't been able to draw a crumb of interest out of me. I'm sure there are folks out there who would appreciate it though.

#cheering for you to put your ideas out there but it's just not up my alley #asks #tf #tfa

[randomidiocyncrazies]

appmon 49

hoo boy here we go. due to tumblr being weird, the post is split into 2 parts.

MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR APPMON EP 49

Haru’s breakdown in the recap was rough to watch... someone save this kid from the nightmare he found himself in........

YJ14 and Leviathan are setting the Big L’s capital-P Plan in motion by grabbing people and plonking them into a big meat grinder. Yikes.

i wonder if there’s going to be a push back against smartphones/AIs after the crisis is dealt with? Even if people can’t remember anything about their experiences of being abducted/forcibly converted into data, I can’t imagine the people who witnessed loved ones go missing or the folks watching the news reporting on mass disappearances linked to smartphone/tech usage to be totally cool with it. It’d be reasonable to assume that there would be some extremists who’d shun anything to do with technology/AI/the internet after going through this ordeal.

also, that little smirk looks so wrong on our boy... i hope ‘Yuujin’ is able to fight back against YJ14 :/

(as an aside: i know the abduction and subsequent procedure to grind people into data is horrifying, but i did laugh when the first abduction happened... sorry)

The other kids steeling themselves to take out Deusmon was cool, and I especially like Rei’s conversation with Hackmon:

we usually see Hackmon reassuring and encouraging Rei, so their little role-reversal in this conversation was really sweet. Rei’s stepping up to support his partner appmon and taking the initiative to “not be alone” anymore.

I personally found the designs of the God Appmons to be somewhat... questionable, but it was fun to see them beat up Deusmon. (the “omnipotent” Deusmon vs the “invincible” Poseidomon also has a very strong Unstoppable Force vs Immovable Object energy, and I enjoyed the gag with the one hapless vendor who hangs out on the surface web)

back to Haru and Gatchmon though... oof. this is brutal, folks.

AND THEN, because the Appmon Writers are ASSHOLES (affectionate), they have Yuujin appear and encourage Haru...

...before ripping his confidence to shreds.

the only ‘mercy’ (I guess) is that YJ14 goes back to using his cold tone when he reveals his red eyes of doom and makes threats to kill Haru. It’s still really cruel to use Yuujin’s warm/kind tone to ‘encourage’ and ‘reassure’ how protagonist-like Haru is, though.

(It’s also kind of interesting that YJ14/Leviathan treats Haru’s role as a protagonist as a tool to summon a God Appmon. It’s par of the course for evil characters to treat people as tools, but the fact that Haru’s role as a protagonist—the hero who takes action—being the tool is kinda a cool twist. This, along with Leviathan needing to kidnap Hajime to create Bootmon for him, implies that he is also dependent on human agency to achieve his goals. He can manipulate or coerce people to do his will, but he can’t cut out the middle man and do it himself. Meanwhile, Minerva can persuade and guide people, but ultimately the decision to take action is the chosen children’s.)

Haru looks so dead... someone please save this child...

the entire sequence of Haru running, trying to escape the falling debris and destruction, while seeing echoes of his happy memories with Yuujin is INSANE. please watch the sequence becausemy screencaps cannot do it justice:

(btw, love the sinister twist of the heartfelt “I’m always on your team” back in ep 27... though his evil outfit sure is. uh. a design choice.)

like I said, this shit is INSANE.

Gatchmon’s theory about how AppDrivers and their buddies are chosen is pretty cool, and it’s a valiant attempt to kickstart Haru’s confidence... despite Haru’s despair.

Haru claims he has nothing, not even dreams, but that’s not true. Haru has an inquisitive mind, and he’s interested to know about other people’s circumstances. Even when people are acting against him (eg Rei and Cloud), he wants to understand them. Being a hero isn’t necessarily about what one already possesses, it’s about taking the journey.

#appmon #appmon spoilers #ric reacts

[youssefguedira]

alright here it is folks prompt one for @yusufalkaysanibingo!!! enjoy

[prompt: joe as the oldest immortal]

He hadn’t been alone, before.

There’s so much that he doesn’t remember about before, but he remembers that. He remembers that he had a family - father, mother, two brothers, one sister. He remembers evenings heavy with sunlight, pushing his brother into the river and getting pushed by his sister. He remembers being happy.

He also remembers being gutted like it was nothing and left for dead in the sand. Then choking back to life what must have been hours later, staring up at the stars and not knowing what had happened to him. He has lost so much, but he has never forgotten the feeling of steel in his gut, or the terror that came after, thinking he was cursed.

Now…

Now, he wanders through the world, never staying in one place for long. He had always had a gift for connecting with people, before, and he still does. But his immortality looms over every interaction he has: he will die, and they will not. No matter how many friends he makes, he must move on sooner or later, and then he is alone again. The world changes around him. Wars are fought. New things are discovered. Civilizations rise and fall.

He sees it all, and through it all he is alone.

Sometimes, he wonders if this is some kind of afterlife - if he had died, and now he is doomed to wander the earth alone. He has no way of knowing, really. There is nobody to tell him yes, this is real. You are not insane. And so, how can he be sure?

He talks to himself on the longer journeys, when it is just him and the road and the sky. Perhaps, then, he is going insane. But he is so lonely, and the world is so very large.

It is on one such journey that he dreams of the other for the first time. He is drifting, somewhere between sleeping and waking, and then…

The pain is bright and blinding. He looks down to see a dagger buried in his stomach, his hands moving to cover the wound as if by instinct. As if, somehow, he can hold the blood in long enough for the wound to heal, as if that will save him. He sinks to his knees, no longer able to hold his own weight, choking on his own blood. He does not have long left.

He sits bolt upright with a cry, scrambling to check his own stomach for a wound. There is nothing. He exhales, slowly. The sun is just rising, casting an orange glow over his surroundings. The air is perfectly still. The only sound is his breathing.

In all his years (he cannot remember how many it has been) he has never had a dream like that. It didn’t even feel like a dream. It felt as if it was happening to him. But it wasn’t. The hands he’d seen had been paler than his own, and the palms wider. Another man, then, but he cannot imagine who.

He thinks about the dream for a while, turning it over and over in his mind. But by the time he lies down to sleep that night, he has dismissed it as just another creation of his imagination.

The dreams do not stop, however. He dreams of a busy market that is unfamiliar to him, and a hand reaching up to stroke the neck of a horse, and a man’s voice, low and soft, singing quietly. Other nights, he dreams of cold, and darkness, and an overwhelming sense of loneliness, like he is the only person in the world - that is familiar. He wakes from that dream with tears in his eyes.

He almost begins to look forward to the dreams. Slowly, he is getting to know the man he dreams of. He has caught glimpses of his reflection when he dreamt of him collecting water. He catches the occasional word of Latin, but never enough to find out where he is. He knows the man’s loneliness, because it reflects his own. Perhaps he has been alone so long that his mind has created a companion.

Months later, he dreams of the man cutting himself while sharpening his sword, and the wound stitching itself back together in seconds. Just like his own do.

There is another, he realises, sitting up. He laughs out loud, the sound deafening in the quiet of the night. There is another like him. He is not alone.

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

It takes centuries for them to find each other. Yusuf is careful to note down anything he can remember from his dreams that might give him a clue as to the other’s location. It is difficult. The dreams are chaotic and disjointed, images and feelings spliced together. He tries anyway. He does not want to be alone anymore.

He’s not sure what he’ll do when he finds the other, but he doesn’t dwell on it often. Better to find him first. He will, he is certain he will, but it is taking a long time. After all, he is searching for one man in a very large world.

(Sometimes, he wonders if the other is not real, if in his desperation for companionship his mind had tricked him into thinking there was another like him. He doesn’t allow himself to think about it for long.)

He travels for a long time (time is different for him now. A year had felt so long, before, and now it passes in the blink of an eye. He will travel centuries, if he needs to, to find the other. He has the time), searching for any place that seems familiar. Some do, but by the time he has reached them the other has moved on. It feels impossible sometimes, but still he searches.

In the end, it happens unexpectedly. Yusuf stops briefly, to rest, because even he cannot search forever. He will continue in a few days, but for now he is staying here. Already, he has made friends with the baker across the street from the inn and the potter in the market, and slipped into some kind of routine: he goes to the market in the mornings, sometimes just to walk around rather than buy anything, and takes any odd job he can find. He doesn’t always get paid, but he does it anyway, just to help. This is one of the few constants in his life - wherever he is, whatever he is doing, he tries to help people, even if it’s just a small favour. If he can help, he will.

He turns, mid-conversation with the baker, to catch a glimpse of familiar eyes. Across the market, there is a man staring at him, frozen in place, and Yusuf knows him. Has known him for centuries without ever knowing his name.

It’s a monumental effort to look away and turn back to the baker. “Excuse me, I have to go.” The baker nods. Yusuf does not run across the market, even if he wants to, but he walks quickly, his heart racing. This does not feel real.

“You’re here,” the other says, as if he cannot quite believe it either.

“We should talk elsewhere,” Yusuf responds, and the other nods. They walk back to Yusuf’s inn in silence. Yusuf wants to say so many things, and does not know how to say any of them.

“What’s your name?” is the first thing he asks, once they’re safely behind locked doors and seated at the small table in his room. Yusuf has experienced what can happen when his immortality is discovered, multiple times.

“Nicolò,” the other says. “What’s yours?”

“Yusuf.” It is not the name he was born with (he cannot remember that. Strange, how he could forget something he thought was so important, but he has changed it so many times that it became impossible to remember which names were aliases and which was real), but it is the one he carries now.

“I dreamed of you,” Nicolò says. “I thought you weren’t real, but…”

“I thought the same. I’ve been looking for you for a long time.”

Nicolò gestures to himself. “Well. Here I am.”

It startles a laugh out of Yusuf, and Nicolò smiles. Yusuf isn’t quite sure why he laughs. Maybe it’s the sheer impossibility of this situation, the idea that there is another like him when he thought he was the only one in the world.

They talk for hours and hours, and Yusuf learns everything about Nicolò that the dreams could never teach him. The conversation is easy, as if they have already known each other for years. In a way, they have, Yusuf supposes. He cannot remember feeling this content since before.

The next morning, they leave town together, and Yusuf does not look back. And Nicolò does not leave him. Not now. Not thousands of years later.

(Yusuf finds that the weight of the years is easier to carry when you have someone else to share the burden.)

#neon writes #the old guard #yusuf al-kaysani #kaysanova #(i don't use his name in the first section because at this point his name isn't yusuf) #anyway #userhegel #usersimo #swquser #lazynbored #moonlightandromache #usertriz #userlyde #mgdiop #man i do. not know how i feel about this one. but here you go anyway i guess

[enhalovebot]

moonlight ੈ☪⋆｡

➻ yang jungwon x reader (gender neutral)

➻ fluff

➸ ˗ˏ ➶ [☁️]. ✧ ˚

⤷ over the course of your relationship, you never thought you’d love the nicknames that came with it. no matter how cheesy they can get.

Never would you have thought that you’d end up with Jungwon. The boy was so reserved and quiet when you first met him that you didn’t notice just how cheeky and playful he could be. At first, it wasn’t noticeable at all, but after some time, it gradually became very apparent. It started with something simple.

Bubs. 

It was a lazy afternoon, and the rest of the boys were out, claiming you both deserved some quality time. Either that was the reason, or maybe Jungwon might have shoved all of them out the door. We will never know. But you’re just happy to spend time with your boyfriend.  

“Hey, bubs? Can I lie down there?” Jungwon pointed at your lap. He didn’t notice the nickname. It just slipped out. But judging by your reaction, he may use it a couple of times until you're ready to blow up from the heat flowing in your cheeks. 

“Yeah, s-sure.” You adjusted from your previous position, allowing him to lie his head on your lap. The moment his soft hair made contact with your pajamas, you knew you were doomed. Jungwon made himself comfortable on your pajama-clad thighs, enjoying the feeling of being loved as he is. 

“We should do this more often, bubs.” There it was again. It was a simple nickname, yet it brings so many emotions you can’t control. “I agree,” you replied as you carded your fingers through his soft hair.

Babe. 

It has been a while since you’ve seen Jungwon since both of you have different schedules, and finding time together is starting to get a little bit difficult. And now, for the first time in months, you finally found the time to visit the boys. 

“y/n’s here! Make way losers!” Ni-ki excitedly pushed the door open to let you inside. Sunoo pulled you in by the arms in an attempt to hug you but was quickly interrupted by Jungwon, who whisked you away from the other boy’s arms. And the next thing you knew was the smell of familiar cologne. 

His cologne. 

“That’s not fair. You always hog y/n all to yourself when they visit.” Jake called Jungwon out from the couch, while the others only smirked in return. It was obvious the boy missed you. He missed you so much that he didn’t mind the countless teases thrown at him. 

Whatever, Jungwon thought. He’ll deal with them later. 

“I missed you so much, babe.”

There folks, is an arrow straight to the heart.

Darling.

You stood on the pavement waiting for Jungwon to meet you at the bus stop. He initially planned out a date, but it seems like he’s running late. Tirelessly, you sat down on the metal seats, moving your feet back and forth. Sounds of vehicles passing by kept you occupied as you waited for him. 

You were expecting to wait for another ten minutes for Jungwon. However, sounds of aggressive panting came your way, followed by frantic footsteps. You glanced up to search for the source of the noise, and lo and behold, there he was. His hair was a mess, strands all over the place. His navy blue sweatshirt was ruffled and disheveled. And his shoelaces came loose by his furious running. And to top it all of, his flushed face matched his flustered state.

“I’m here, present.” Jungwon bent down, putting his hands on his knees, taking in massive inhales as he caught his breath. 

“What happened to you?” You patted his back. 

“Just took care of something.The guys were chasing me, kept asking me where I was going on a Saturday.” Jungwon met eyes with you, lifting his hand to caress your cheek.

“Glad to see you made it out alive.”

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world, darling.” He slyly wrapped his strong arms around your waist as he emphasized the word ‘this.’ “Let’s get going, yeah?”

Cheeks. 

“Hey, y/n?” Jungwon’s booming voice resonated from your doorway, feet planted on the floor in a stiff stance. You hummed, not looking up from your laptop. “Hmm?”

“Can you do the thing?” Jungwon drags his feet on the ground, shoulders slumped. “Do what?” Your eyes connected with his. There was a pregnant pause in the air as he carefully chose his following words.

Jungwon fiddled with his shirt, wringing the material in nervousness. He didn’t know what’s happening to him. His heart was going crazy. “You know..” He shifts from his weight on his heel. “Can you do the thing?”

Your eyebrows arched in confusion before it finally clicked.

Oh. The thing. 

A smile slowly formed on your face as you stared at Jungwon, who was now sitting on your bed.  He leaned in, eyes sparkling in admiration. “There it is. There’s the thing.”

“You feel better now?” You raised a hand to brush away the strands from his eyes.

“Yeah. Thank you, cheeks.” He suddenly stood up, racing out the door. But he made sure to give your cheek an affectionate squish before exiting the room.

Honey. 

“Jungwon, have you seen my blan-” You paused, cutting yourself off as you saw Jungwon wrapped up in your favorite blanket on your bed. “Nevermind, I found it.”

Jungwon rolled on his side to face you with his face squished on the mattress. He looked adorable. “Sorry. It’s so soft I couldn’t help myself.” He paused and looked up at you in realization. Jungwon slowly raises the blanket, “Wanna share?” 

A chuckle left your lips, shaking your head at his cheekiness. Jungwon happily invited you in his warm embrace once you started getting comfortable in his arms. “This is nice,” you yawned. 

“Right? I could get used to this.” Jungwon hugged you even tighter.

Your breathing evened out as time passed by, and this didn’t go unnoticed by Jungwon. “Sleep well, honey.”

Buttercup.

You were laid down in the middle of the living room, bored out of your mind. “This is so boring.” You said, dragging out your words. 

Jungwon, who was sitting down on the sofa, judged you in your current state, his eyes full of judgment as he looked you up and down. He didn’t mean to do it, he just loves seeing you react with just his eyes. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” You snapped at him.

“Like what?” He grabbed the remote, switching to different channels as he did so, searching for something good to watch. Jungwon doesn’t meet your eyes, though he feels like burning from your gaze.

“Look at me, Won,” you sat up, arms folded over your chest. 

Jungwon mindlessly allowed his eyes to meet yours. “What?”

“See? Stop looking at me like that.” You pointed out the way his eyes stared at you with so much judgment.   

Jungwon laughed upon seeing how you reacted to his staring. “You’re cute, buttercup.”

Angel. 

Sounds of sheets shuffling emitted from your phone speakers, “Why aren’t you asleep yet, angel?” Jungwon placed his phone on his bedside to see your face better. 

You released an exasperated sigh, “I got a lot of work to do.”

“You can continue doing it tomorrow. You need your rest.” Jungwon insisted on the other side of the screen. 

“But I can finish it tonight if I stay up a little longer,” you took a glance at your screen to see, Jungwon already looking at you with a stern gaze. 

“Go to sleep, angel. It’s past two am already.” He reasoned with you once more. 

You bit your lip as you contemplated the consequences. If you get to sleep now, then maybe you’ll have more time to do your task. Then, on the other hand, if you don’t go to sleep now, you’ll have to face headaches the next morning. And for sure, you also have to face the never-ending speech Jungwon prepared for you.

“Fine, I’ll go to sleep.” You settled your things away, cleaning your desk of the mess you created. 

“Goodnight, angel.”

“Goodnight, Won.”

Love.

“Don’t come near me!”

“Love, you’re being a dramatic mess right now. It's just a cold.” Jungwon placed his hands on his hips as he stared you down from six feet away.

“You’re gonna get sick if you come any closer.” You dramatically swatted your arms in the air. 

Jungwon howled in laughter, shaking his head in feigned disappointment. He loves you so much, honestly. 

“Nothing will happen to me, love. Put some faith in me.” Jungwon ignored your protests as he brought himself closer to you, not stopping until he was face to face with you. 

Heat came rushing to your cheeks when you noticed him come closer to you. So, you lifted the sheet up to your face, hiding from the boy in front of you. 

A teasing chuckle slipped from his lips. Jungwon slightly tilted his head to the side. “Hm? Why are you hiding from me?” His hand came up to gently tug the soft material off from your face. 

You mustered a weak reply to save yourself from embarrassment. “No... I’m sick.” Your voice muffled under the blanket.

“Don’t get all shy with me now.” Jungwon grinned at your actions. All he got in reply was a slight nudge, indicating you said ‘no.’

Feeling his lips on yours left you speechless because it wasn’t really a kiss. But it had the same impact. The things Jungwon does to you.

Again, he shakes his head while giggling like a fool. Jungwon tipped his forehead on yours, pressing a soft kiss on your lips, which was covered by the sheet. “Get better soon, love.”

Starlight.

Music blared from the studio, booming like there was no tomorrow. Noises of shoes squeaking against the floorboard kept you going. But mostly, it was because of the boy dancing in the middle of the room. He had a smile painted on his lips, his eyes full of love, and his hands were reaching out to you.

“Come dance with me!” Jungwon ran to you, his hands holding yours as he spun you around. 

You laughed at his antics. There was no other place you'd want to be. Being here with him was enough. Maybe more than enough. The both of you continued jumping around the room, not counting it as dancing anymore.

The song soon goes somewhat quiet, building up to the beat drop. Jungwon drew closer to you, preparing for the right time for the bass to drop. You stared back at him, confused as to why he also went quiet.

“Baby, you’re my starlight,” he perfectly timed his actions to the beat. And as the beat drops, Jungwon tugs you closer, giving you a light peck on the nose. Then, the sudden urge to get him flustered washed over you. “I think you missed,” you pointed to your lips.

Jungwon chuckles at this, but nonetheless, he still pulled you in for another kiss. This time on the lips.

Moonlight.

It was late. 

Like, really late. But that didn’t stop Jungwon from dragging you out to the night. “Isn’t this fun?” Jungwon spoke with a mouthful of noodles in his mouth, making his cheeks look even more adorable than it was before.

“Chew your food, love,” you patted the stains away from his cheeks. Jungwon’s heart almost leaps out of his chest from how beautiful you looked under the convenience store lights. Simple is a word he associated with you. He loves the simplicity looming around you, reminding him that he is human too.

Both of you were in some 24-hour convenience store, spending your extremely early morning together. “Want some?” You pushed a plate of sandwiches. Jungwon shook his head, instead, he picked up a napkin and proceeded to dab away at the stain you didn’t notice you had. 

“You got a little something…” Jungwon’s voice faded into a soft whisper as he concentrated on wiping away the mess on your chin.

“And... Done!” He threw the tissue, shooting it straight in the bin. You continued to stare at him while Jungwon went back to eating his meal. He didn’t notice you until he peered back at you from the corner of his eye.

“What?” Jungwon asked, unknowingly tilting his head a bit to the side. 

You shrugged, “Nothing.”

“What is it?” Jungwon scooted his chair closer to yours.

“I’m just glad I met you.” You couldn’t meet his eyes. So, you fixed your gaze on the table in front of you while you fidgeted with your long sleeves.

There was a profound silence.  

“I’m glad I met you too, moonlight.” 

You almost flinched at his voice, seeming that it was so quiet before he spoke up. But something felt new.

“Moonlight?” You questioned. 

Jungwon nodded, “You make me want to give you my heart, y/n.” 

“Well then, you’re my moonlight, too.” Your hand traced the dimples slowly revealing themselves as Jungwon smiles at you like you’re the only person in the world. 

They call me moonlight, too. Jungwon smiled at the thought. 

all rights reserved © enhalovebot

#enhypen imagines #enhypen reactions #enhypen blurbs #enhypen scenarios #enhypen timestamps #enhypen drabbles #enhypen #enhypen jungwon #yang jungwon #jungwon imagines #jungwon headcanons #enhypen headcanons #jungwon blurbs #yang jungwon x reader #jungwon x reader #enhypen x reader #jungwon drabbles #jungwon scenarios #jungwon timestamps #jungwon #jungwon fluff #yang jungwon fluff

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Hi love!

Can I please beg for Tangled Geraskier?

Rapunzel Jask. You know I’m a sucker for angst so including the scene where he cuts her hair would slay me 💖💖💖💖💖

TYILYYYYY

Hello, Stina dear! Sorry this took me actual months to write, but it broke me out of my writer’s block and for that I am eternally grateful.

I chose several pieces of the Tangled narrative to write Geralt and Jaskier into... enjoy! 

2k-ish words (please leave me comments I’m so tired my dudes)

tw: blood, injury, major character (near) death, if you’ve seen Tangled you’ve seen this

---

“So,” Jaskier smiles playfully up at the thief sitting beside him. “Roger Eric, huh?”

Geralt rolls his eyes but Jaskier catches the flush that settles high on his companion’s cheekbones. “It was… It’s a long and boring story about a lot of sad little children that I’m sure you don’t want to hear on such a lovely evening.”

Jaskier scoots closer, until the sides of their arms are pressed too tightly together for even a slip of paper to slide between, and leans his weight against the thief. He bats his thick eyelashes and pouts his lip in a way that always seems to work with his Father. “C’mon, Geralt, please won’t you tell me? Just one little story? I told you about my magical hair, after all.”

“Hmm,” the thief glares dawn at the doe-eyed blonde for a moment before nervously clearing his throat. “Fine. I… I got the name Geralt of Rivia from a collection of short stories that I used to read the other boys at the orphanage in Kaedwen; they were all about this knight who was loyal and brave and courageous despite his hideous appearance. He was rejected by princesses and noble women but was beloved by the people. Having been born with white hair… well, a lot of the folks that came looking for children thought I was under a spell or curse so…. I wasn’t their first choice for adoption.”

“You and Geralt were a lot alike, then. Different. Special… Kind.”

“I wouldn’t say I was spe-”

Jaskier’s hand darts forward and his long, slender musician’s fingers grasp Geralt by the wrist. The fledgling bard clings onto his escort tightly, his large blue eyes suddenly brimming up with tears. “Don’t you dare say you aren’t special, Geralt Roger Eric whatever your surname really is. I’ll never forgive you if you spew such nonsense where my delicate ears can hear it.”

Geralt swallows thickly and glances away. Jaskier always looks so sweet and sincere; the features on his boyish face flicker in and out of focus as patterns of light thrown by their small campfire play across his pale skin. His gaze is intense, focused on Geralt and Geralt alone. The thief panics and asks: “What is it, Jaskier? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You saved me, you know. You saved me from those men back there at the inn, you saved me from being trapped in the tower all my life, you saved me from getting lost in the forest, you… you’re a good person, Geralt. Don’t let the world or the Captain of the Guard or anyone else change your mind, do you understand me? You are-” Jaskier’s hands scrabble frantically to grasp Geralt’s, as if the white-haired man might disappear entirely if Jaskier so much as loosens his grip “- you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me since I’ve been locked in that foul, awful tower!”

“Well I…” Geralt clears his throat again. He stands slowly, disentangling his hangs from Jaskier’s as he takes a slow step back. And then another. “I should go get more firewood.”

Despite the uneasiness in their parting, Jaskier smiles after him. 

The momentary spell cast by their closeness is only broken when Jaskier hears a familiar voice from just behind him: “Well, I thought he’d never leave!”

The blonde jumps up from his seat and spins on his heel to face the black-cloaked wizard. “Father? How… How did you find me?”

Stregobor wraps his arms around Jaskier’s shoulders and squeezes so tightly that it feels more like a threat than an embrace. “It was easy, I simply followed the sound of absolute betrayal.”

Jaskier flinches and tries to pull away but cannot yet escape. 

“I just brought you this,” his Father continues. He finally releases Jaskier and hands his son the worn leather satchel he’d found hidden in his tower. “If this Geralt creature really is the man you think him to be -and don’t deny it, little flower, I can read your thoughts- give this back to him and see how long he stays.”

“Father, I-”

“Goodbye, my child. See you soon, I’m sure. Just remember that Father knows best!”

And in a swirl of black smoke and confusion, Stregobor disappears.

---

“Why do you look so scared?” Geralt asks. He slows the small gondola he’s rented to a stop, turning it slightly more to the side so that they have a better vantage point to see the lanterns spread over the harbor from the city. Jaskier sighs deeply and shakes a stray flower petal away from his eyes, the enormous golden braid shifting ever-so-slightly against his shoulders.

“I’ve been looking out a window for eighteen years,” he says softly. Nervously. “What if… What if it’s not what I expected? I’m terrified to see what it all looks like up close because what if it doesn’t meet my expectations? What if it’s not everything I dreamed it would be?”

“It will be,” Geralt replies without thinking. 

“And what if it is?” Jaskier queries, voice growing frantic. “What if it’s even more spectacular than I could have ever hoped? Then my dream will have been fulfilled and I’ll just… go back to the tower again.”

“You’ll just have to find a new dream, I guess,” Geralt offers. When Jaskier settles down into the boat a bit more comfortably and smiles shyly back at him, the thief knows he’s hit the right mark for once. Behind Geralt, the first lantern lights up the sky. Jaskier gasps and points, eyes wide and sparkling with excitement; Geralt is utterly enchanted by his easy beauty. The thief digs two paper lanterns out from beneath his seat and offers one to Jaskier, giddy when he grins even more excitedly than before. “I got this for you… I hope you like it.”

“Oh, I love it! And I have something for you, too.” Jaskier turns and pulls something from behind him. The bardling hands Geralt his very own satchel, which the thief briefly accepts and then drops to the floor without a second thought. The anxious blonde musician beams over at him more gloriously than the midday sun and then turns away, blushing a sweet shade of pink. “I should have given it to you earlier, but I was so scared… and now I’m not! I’m not scared anymore!”

“Good,” Geralt smiles back. He’s elated. It feels as if his heart is glowing twice as brightly as any of the lanterns floating past and around them. “That’s very good.”

I know what my dream is now, Jaskier. Now that you’re here by my side I never want to see you frown again. You don’t deserve to be hidden away in a tower where your art is stifled… even if you don’t want to love me back in that way, I’ll still protect you. I want to see how you see the world, Jaskier. I lo-

“Geralt! Look! That one has runes painted on it, what does it say!?”

---

Geralt pulls his daggers from his belt but before he can stab them into the craigy stone wall and begin his ascent, the familiar tresses of Jaskier’s long golden hair topple down to reach him. Thank fuck, he’s still alive. 

“Jaskier! I thought I’d never see you again!” he calls as he grabs hold of the thick blonde strands. 

The thief climbs quickly, his arms and legs nearly cramping with the effort to hurry back to Jaskier. As he hauls himself through the large window and into the tower proper, however, he’s met with a confusing and unsettling sight: Jaskier stands across the room, a cloth gag pulled tightly between his teeth, his hands manacled together behind him. A short length of spare chain attached to the manacles keeps the frightened, struggling blonde tethered against one of the building’s thick support beams. Someone had knocked down a mirror or vase during the previous fighting; shards of pottery and silver lie scattered across the floor, working as a weak barrier to keep Geralt away from the bound man. Jaskier screams out in warning as their eyes meet: “Ghmphh!”

If Jaskier is being held captive then who let his hair do-

Before Geralt can finish fully forming his question, a bright flash of pain arcs out from his side and sends him toppling to his knees. A wet, sticky heat begins to spread from a spot beneath his ribs and when he presses his hand against his shirt it comes way red. 

Oh. Oh, no...

He hears Stregobor’s voice addressing the sobbing blonde, “Now look what you’ve done, Jaskier.”

Geralt collapses to his knees and then falls to his side, curling up in the fetal position and clutching at the wound as if that will be any help at all. He knows he’s doomed, but there must be some way for him to help Jaskier… to save his… his love. 

“Don’t worry, little flower, our secret will die with your little thief, here, and then we’ll be safe again. Just the two of us.”

Jaskier keens loudly and the sharp, desperate sound of it makes something deep in Geralt’s heart ache. The younger man pulls and yanks against the chains that hold him in place, his bare feet slipping against the polished floor as he tries and fails to reach the wounded Geralt. 

Stregobor yanks at the lead, pulling Jaskier back harshly by the arms. The young musician’s shoulders burn with the strain of it but Jaskier pulls forward anyway, uncaring. He must save Geralt, he must. The wizard tugs him back again, more roughly, and the jarring movement loosens his gag. He spits it from his mouth and cries out: “Stregobor! Strego- Father, listen to me!”

The wizard pauses, his interest piqued by Jaskier’s use of the word Father given the circumstances. “Yes, child?”

“Father,” Jaskier pants, turning to look at the man who’d held him captive for eighteen years. The man who kidnapped him from his cradle and forced him to grow up without the love of his real parents. The man who had, mere moments ago, stabbed the love of Jaskier’s life with the full intention of killing him. “I want you to know that I won’t stop fighting you. Every moment of every day for the rest of my life will be spent trying to get away from you. I will scream and kick and struggle and yell and you will have to keep me caged away as a bird or a mouse to make me stay by your side unless-” Jaskier pauses to take a breath, his shoulders sagging as his gaze drops submissively to the floor between them “-unless you let me save this man. Let me save Geralt’s life and I will follow you all around the Continent without a single word of complaint. I will never attempt to run away or hide from you, not once. Everything will go back to being exactly like it was before, Father, I swear on his life.”

Stregobor considers for a moment. 

He nods. 

“Alright, then. Let’s be quick about it, little flower.”

He removes the shackles from Jaskier and clamps them tightly around Geralt’s wrists instead, securing him to the bannister at the foot of the stairs. To keep him from following us, he remarks offhandedly. 

Jaskier pads his way across the floor as quickly as he can in his bare feet and falls to the ground at Geralt’s side. He pulls the wounded thief against his side to steady him and gathers two heavy handfuls of his own long hair. “I’m so sorry! Everything is going to be okay now, Geralt, I swear it.”

Geralt shoves his hands away weakly, “No, Jaskier.”

“You have to trust me, Geralt, I-”

“I c-can’t let you d-do this,” Geralt grunts, teeth gritted against the pain. 

Jaskier stares down at him, tears already gathering at the corners of his sky-blue eyes. His voice trembles when he whispers, “And I can’t let you die. I won’t let you die.”

“But if you do th-this then you-” Geralt coughs and Jaskier wipes a trickle of blood away from the corner of the thief’s mouth “-you will die.”

“Shh,” Jaskier quiets him, dropping one fistfull of blonde tresses to cup Geralt’s face instead. “Everything will be alright.”

Geralt smiles sadly up at Jaskier, his decision already having been made. He lets the back of his knuckles ghost across the musician’s peach-soft cheek. Jaskier’s eyes flutter shut for a moment and then open again, curious. “Jaskier, I…”

The thief uses the last of his strength to push up into a sitting position. The hand on Jaskier’s face slides back and gathers his hair at the back of his neck. Geralt’s other hand comes up, a shard of glass gripped tightly in his fist, and slices through the long blonde strands. He watches as Jaskier’s hair turns from radiant gold to chestnut brown. Geralt falls back with a short, sharp sound of agony, his vision already fading around the edges. The shard of mirror, dagger-sharp around the edges, clatters to the ground beside Jaskier. 

“No!” Stregobor screams, gathering up an armful of Jaskier’s still-blonde hair. The golden hue is already fading, shifting to match the short brown hair still fluffed around his head. The lost prince watches with wide, horrified eyes as the wizard trips over a loose floorboard and goes careening out the open window. 

More worrying than his kidnapper’s death, however, is the man lying in his arms, breathing shallowly. Jaskier gathers Geralt close, tucking the thief’s head against his neck and wrapping his arms around the older man’s broad shoulders. “No, no, no, no, Geralt. Stay with me, okay? Stay with me, right here.”

He grabbed at Geralt’s hand, holding it against the top of his head as he sang desperately. “Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine, make the clock reverse, bring back was once was mi-”

“Jaskier!” Geralt says, pulling his hand down to cup the prince’s face. He can feel his limbs growing cold and numb, distant from him and out of his control. “You… You were my new dream.”

Jaskier sobs, clinging to Geralt with all he’s worth. “And you were mine.”

Geralt manages to smile up into those beautiful blue eyes one last time. And then the world goes dark and his hand falls to the floor, limp.

---

Jaskier buries his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck and screams. He throws back his head and howls like a wounded animal, his heart shattering to pieces within the confines of his chest cavity. Then he quiets himself down, adjusts Geralt’s body on his lap, and finishes the song the way he’s been taught to do: “Heal what has been hurt, change the Fates’ design, save what has been lost… bring back what once was mine.”

A single tear falls from his eye and lands on Geralt’s cheek. A cheek that will never blush again, never turn up in a smile, never-

A faint yellow glow catches Jaskier’s vision, just from the corner of his eye. He turns his head to look at Geralt’s wound and gasps: the outline of a golden flower covers his abdomen, glowing so brightly that Jaskier must hide his eyes and turn away to keep from being blinded. When the glow fades enough that can safely look back again, Geralt’s wound is gone and the blood that was once staining his jerkin has disappeared. 

He leans over the white-haired thief with bated breath, waiting for a movement or a breath or something… anything. 

After a long moment, two honey-hazel eyes blink open. Geralt inhales quietly and then asks, with the sweetest smile Jaskier has ever seen in all his eighteen years of life, “Did I ever tell you I had a thing for brunettes?”

Jaskier squeals with glee and throws himself into Geralt’s waiting arms, pressing their eager mouths together for the first kiss of their Happily Ever After. 

#geraskier #geraskier tangled au #rapunzel jaskier #flynn ryder geralt #geraskier fluff #geraskier getting together #bouncey's endless au collection #protective geralt #soft geralt #geralt whump #tangled #blood mention #blood tw #injury tw #death but only for a minute #tangled au #goob prompt fills

[nicknellie]

Anonymous requested: It would be really cool if you could do a library AU! Maybe one of them works at a library and they keep running into each other or something.

I have been unbelievably excited to write this one, I’m so happy I’ve finally got around to it! This is where my mind went as soon as I read the prompt, I really hope you enjoy it! (If anyone wants to suggest a prompt for a part 2 I’d be more than happy to do that once I reopen requests.)

Featuring he/they Willie because I really need to include that headcanon in my writing more often. Willie’s pronouns alternate throughout.

Books on Boards

Usually it was Reggie whose excuses began with “In my defence…”

“In my defence, I couldn’t see where I was going… In my defence, I forgot water and electricity don’t mix… In my defence, if Luke didn’t want to be shot with a Nerf gun then he shouldn’t have been standing in my way…”

Sometimes it was Luke.

“In my defence, no one told me not to… In my defence, I didn’t realise it could go this horribly wrong… In my defence, I did try to do it properly and I don’t know how it blew up…”

On rare occasion, it was Julie.

“In my defence, I was a little lost in my own head… In my defence, I’m terrible at comebacks… In my defence, I have an extremely annoying boyfriend and he was trying to talk to me about our new setlist the whole time which was very distracting…”

But it was never Alex.

Until now.

“In my defence,” Alex began, raising a hand and talking over Julie, Luke, and Reggie’s shouts, “I have to go to the library a lot. I’m an English major and it’s where all the books are!”

“But you don’t need to be at the library for five hours a day,” Luke countered.

Alex sighed. He had a point, and Alex had no excuse this time. Well, that wasn’t strictly true – his excuse was an adorable library assistant who just so happened to be very friendly to Alex and, by some miracle, worked whenever Alex needed to study. But he couldn’t just admit that to his friends, each of whom was staring at him with flat disbelief.

The assistant’s name was Willie and he was simply wonderful. The first time Alex had met him had been right at the start of his first semester – he had never been to the university’s library before and it was bigger than the one at Alexandria, so he was unbelievably lost. Alex had half-convinced himself that he would be stuck there forever, doomed to wander between the shelves looking for the section he needed, eventually becoming a ghost and haunting the place, still trying to locate his books.

Enter Willie. They had scared Alex half to death – in Alex’s defence, he hadn’t expected to be knocked off his feet by someone on a skateboard in the middle of a library the size of Buckingham Palace. And yet, he had landed on the floor, flat on his face and winded, understandably startled. As he scrambled to his feet, he heard his assailant exclaim, “Aw… you dinged my board!”

Alex had started to berate him but stopped in his tracks when he looked at the guy and realised that he had been knocked to the floor by a literal angel. His long dark hair was majestically swept to one side and tucked behind his ear, his soft eyes were sparkling, and he had a lopsided smile on his face despite the fact that Alex had been shouting at him just a second earlier (well, whisper-shouting at him – they were in a library, after all).

“Sorry,” they had said, picking up their board. “I didn’t see you there. Books were in the way.” He had pointed to a heap of books now strewn across the floor, some splayed open, some with ripped pages. Alex realised that he had been carrying the books stacked up in front of him, skating along with them.

“Oh!” Alex exclaimed, bending down to help pick the books up. “No, sorry, it’s fine. I was just stood there. I’m a little lost, no problem, my fault.”

Together they had stacked the books back up, and Willie heaved the stack onto a nearby table before introducing himself. Alex did the same, shaking Willie’s hand and trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach – he couldn’t let himself get distracted by a cute guy with a skateboard, not while he still had all his books to find in the labyrinthine library.

“So,” Willie had said conversationally, leaning back against the table. “You said you were lost? Anything specific you need to find?”

Alex dug around in his fanny pack before pulling out the list he’d scribbled down. “Yeah, all of these. Do you know where they are?”

“I’d be a pretty terrible librarian if I didn’t,” Willie chuckled. At Alex’s bewildered look, he had raised an eyebrow and said, “I’m not a terrible librarian. I’m actually really good at it. I mean, I don’t usually knock over customers, but these things happen.”

“Oh,” Alex said, clocking on too late. It made sense – of course that was why Willie had been carrying so many books, he was a librarian. Alex didn’t know how he hadn’t guessed before. “Right, I get it, because of the books and the… Right, okay. What about the, uh… the skateboard?”

Willie had picked up their board, smiled at it fondly. “It helps me get around faster. This place is huge, man, you don’t seriously expect me to walk around it all day? Anyway, come with me, I’ll take you to those books.”

That had been five weeks ago.

It wasn’t Alex’s fault that Willie was incredibly cute. It wasn’t Alex’s fault that Willie’s shifts happened to perfectly align with his studying time. But he couldn’t deny that it was his fault that he had stayed there for hours on end every day since, talking to Willie about everything and nothing. And it was also his fault that he had done that very same thing today, checked his watch and seen that he was an hour late for band practise, and kept talking to Willie anyway.

Usually, Alex thought about consequences, but he had been having so much fun talking to Willie that day that he hadn’t considered them. Now those consequences had caught up with him in the form of one very angry rock band.

“Alex,” Luke said imploringly, “you’ve got to get your head in the game! We have a load of gigs coming up, really important ones–”

“We do?” Reggie interrupted, looking baffled. “I thought we’ve got that one at the old folks’ home and then that’s it for, like, a month?”

Luke waved him away. “That’s not the point. These gigs are just as important as any big ones. Dude, we’ve got to build up our repertoire so that we can start playing bigger venues, but that’s not going to happen if our drummer is too caught up in his studies!”

Alex inwardly sighed with relief. At least Luke thought the reason he was staying at the library so often was because he was working hard, not because he was talking to Willie. He would have preferred his tiny little crush on Willie stayed secret for a little longer; whenever Luke found out that Alex or Reggie liked someone, he became unbearable.

Unfortunately, it seemed as if Julie had other ideas.

She huffed an incredulous laugh, saying, “You seriously think he’s staying late because he’s studying?”

Luke nodded, confused, as Reggie gestured to Alex and said, “Of course he is, what other reason could there be?”

“Yeah,” Alex agreed, nodding. He knew that the hitch in his voice was unconvincing – in his defence, he’d never been a good liar. “What other reason could there be?”

Julie raised a challenging eyebrow, but the smirk on her face told Alex that she knew she had already won. “Alex, can I just ask, who was working at the library today?”

Alex cleared his throat and tried for nonchalance when he said, “Willie.”

“You mean the good-looking skater-boy history major, right?” Julie said slyly.

Alex shrugged. “Yeah. I guess he is those things.”

Julie nodded slowly. Luke and Reggie were watching the interaction carefully, though it didn’t seem like the realisation had dawned on either of them yet.

“And who was working last Friday when you didn’t arrive back here until almost ten p.m.?” Julie asked.

“Willie,” Alex said under his breath, avoiding eye contact.

“Right,” Julie replied. “And what about Tuesday when you missed three lectures and were smiling too much to even care about how much that’ll drop your grade?”

Alex scowled and didn’t say anything. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know the answer, and judging by the ‘O’ shape Reggie’s mouth was making and the wide grin that had made itself at home on Luke’s face, they had figured it out too.

“Bro,” Luke said excitedly, “you’ve got a crush on Willie!”

“No,” Alex spluttered, “no, I do not. We just happen to get on really well and he’s always working when I need to study.”

“But he is the reason you’re always there, isn’t he?” Reggie prompted.

Alex shrugged. “I guess,” he mumbled.

Luke leapt up, clamped his hands onto Alex’s shoulders and jumped up and down like an over-excited puppy. The ecstatic smile on Luke’s face didn’t quite make up for how annoying it was.

“Dude,” he said emphatically, “you’ve gotta ask him out!”

“Don’t be silly,” Alex said, shaking his head, “it’s not like that.”

“It’s like that,” Julie, Luke and Reggie chorused. Alex just rolled his eyes.

“Look, Alex,” Julie said. He looked past Luke to her, but only because in situations like this she tended to be the voice of reason. “I actually agree with Luke.”

Apparently, that day she was taking a break from being the voice of reason.

Alex opened his mouth to protest, but Julie interrupted him. “Hear me out. No matter what you say, you’re clearly head over heels for this guy. And it is distracting you – we’re two hours into rehearsal and you haven’t even set up your kit. If you ask him out and he says yes then you can hang out with him at other times as boyfriends, not when you’re meant to be spending time with us. If he says no, you can get him out of your mind and move on, getting your mind back on the band. What’s the worst that can happen?”

Again, Alex tried to respond, but this time Reggie and Luke both yelled over him.

“No!” Reggie shouted. “We agreed never to ask him that question again!”

“Have you forgotten last time?” Luke questioned furiously. “That was the longest three hours of my life!”

Julie held her hands up. “Sorry, sorry, it slipped my mind.”

“Okay,” Alex said, ignoring them and deciding to get the conversation back on track. “Even if I did do that, there’s so many things that could go wrong. I don’t know if he’s into guys, and if he says no for any reason at all then I can never go back to the library.”

Luke shook his head. “Dude, Willie’s the head of the university’s LGBTQ+ Society and he introduces himself as ‘Willie, he/they, gay’ at the start of each session.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve been a couple of times. Hey, wait, we should all go, it’s actually super chill and–”

“It sounds great, Luke, but we’ll talk about it later,” Julie said, easily calming him as he started getting over-excited again. “Right now we have other things to focus on. Alex, if Luke’s right then Willie is definitely into guys. And from the way you’ve gushed about him and your conversations without realising it, I’d say he definitely has a thing for you. And he seems cool – I’m sure even if he said no then he’d act completely normally around you.”

“Yeah,” Reggie agreed, “the guy doesn’t find anything awkward. Last week I was looking through a book for my psychology class and just as I flicked to a… questionable page, he came up behind me. He just laughed it off and then offered to sign it out for me once I was done looking through it.”

Alex thought about it for a moment. It sounded too good to be true. Luke said that Willie was into guys, Julie said they might like Alex, Reggie said that they’d be cool with it no matter what… Good things like this didn’t happen to Alex too often.

“I’ll think about it,” he said. The others sighed, Reggie throwing up his hands with exasperation. “I will! I’ll think. But we should get to rehearsing.”

Almost two and a half hours later than they should have, the band finally set up their instruments and Alex counted them in.

*

He was at the library. Again. He was always at the library these days, just this time he really did need to be working. He had a big assessment coming up and needed to cram some last-minute studying in.

It would have been a lot easier if he hadn’t been trying to avoid Willie the entire time.

In Alex’s defence, it felt like the most reasonable option. Sure, he could see Willie and ask him out, but if Willie rejected him then he wasn’t sure he’d ever live it down despite his friends’ reassurances. He could have seen Willie and not asked him out, but then he’d be living in constant wonder of what could happen. So he had elected to do the sensible thing and just not see them at all.

It had been going well for the most part. His legs were beginning to ache from springing himself behind bookcases whenever he caught a glimpse of Willie, but it was worth it. Besides – he needed to focus, and an angelic librarian wasn’t about to help him do that.

He made his fatal error when trying to exit the library.

He had been so caught up in scanning the surrounding area for Willie that he hadn’t been looking ahead, or down at the floor. He heard the shout of, “Watch out!” too late.

Alex stepped forward, his foot landed on a skateboard, and he was sent flying down to the ground, landing hard on his coccyx. Pain shot up his back and he let out an agonised groan which earned him a “Shhhh!” from a tired-looking student sat at the nearest table.

“Alex,” came the same voice who had shouted the warning, the voice Alex now recognised as Willie’s. So much for avoiding him. Willie came and crouched down beside Alex where he was still laying on the floor, leaning over him, looking concerned. “Hey, Alex, you alright? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left my board lying there, I was only restocking that shelf.”

Groaning, Alex eased himself into a sitting position. Willie sat back, still looking worried.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Alex lied. His coccyx was killing him. “It’s fine. I won’t sue or demand you get fired or anything.”

Willie chuckled lightly and then held out his hand. Alex took it automatically and was a little startled when Willie began pulling him to his feet – maybe it was the shock, but he had thought the hand holding was them simply having a moment. But no, of course it was too good to be true. Willie let go of his hand the moment they were both stood and then bent to pick up his board.

“I hadn’t seen you,” Willie said. “Where’ve you been hiding?”

Alex shrugged. “Oh, nowhere. Just… doing my English work. In the quiet area.”

Nodding, Willie replied with something that made Alex’s blood run cold.

“That’s cool. It’s just that I was just talking to Luke a minute ago and he said there was something you wanted to ask me?”

Eyes wide, jaw open in shock, Alex looked behind Willie to where they had pointed. Sure enough, standing by the end of a nearby bookcase with his nose in a book (which he was clearly not reading because it was upside down) was Luke. He gave Alex a nervous wave when he saw him looking.

Trying not to sound murderous, Alex said, “Yeah. There was something.”

He realised too late that hadn’t been what he was planning to say.

“Yeah? What is it?” Willie asked with a smile.

Alex’s eyes darted from Willie to Luke and back again, then up to the ceiling and around the library for inspiration, and then they landed on his own wrist and the rainbow bracelet wrapped around it.

“I – well, we, me and my friends – we were wondering if there would be any space for us to join the LGBTQ+ Society. Luke mentioned you’re the head so I figured there’s no one better to ask than you. Right?”

Willie blinked, face faltering for just a moment. Alex tried not to panic – had he said the wrong thing, had he somehow offended Willie? But the look was gone quick enough for Alex to convince himself he’d imagined it, replaced by his radiant smile.

“Yeah, the more the merrier,” he said. But then he cleared his throat and added, “You’re sure that’s it?”

Swallowing nervously, Alex cast another glance to Luke who had given up the pretence of reading and was now urgently gesturing at Willie, making kissy faces, and mouthing words Alex couldn’t understand – but he got the message.

“Okay, no, there was one more thing,” he said quietly.

Willie tucked his hair behind his ear and Alex’s eyes caught momentarily on his earring.

“I was wondering,” he began, slow but steady, “if you would… by any chance… And you can say no, I won’t be offended! It’s just, I would really like to go on a date with you. And if you would like to go on a date with me then I think we should. Do that. Go on a date. Together. If you want?”

As awkward as it felt, Alex maintained eye contact – he was glad he did, because a moment later Willie’s face split in a beautiful grin that didn’t look mocking or apologetic, it looked genuinely happy.

“Yes,” Willie said, laughing quietly. “Yes, I do want that.”

Alex sighed with relief. “Thank god. I’m going to kill Luke.”

“Don’t,” Willie said, shaking his head. “I can’t have you getting arrested before I get to go on a date with you.”

“What about after the date?” Alex joked.

“Yeah, man, that’s fine.” Willie laughed but after a moment their expression softened. “I’m really glad you asked. I was going to, but I wasn’t sure if you’d say yes.”

Alex scratched at the back of his head. “Yeah. That’s the same reason it took me so long to do the actual asking.”

“Well,” said Willie, “that doesn’t matter now. Does Friday work for you?”

Alex’s only form of a social life was hanging out with the band, and his plans for Friday consisted largely of sitting in his and Reggie’s shared dorm room, eating cold pizza and watching reruns of Friends.

“Yeah,” he said coolly, “I can probably make it work. Might have to reschedule some stuff, but it’ll be worth it.”

Clearly not believing him but polite enough not to call him out, Willie laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Great. My shift finishes at five that day, I’ll let you be a gentleman and pick me up. I’ve got to get back to work, but I’ll catch you then, Alex.”

“See you,” Alex said.

Willie walked away and was seamlessly replaced by Luke, who gripped Alex’s arms and shook him up and down. “Bro! You got a date with Willie! You can thank me later.”

Alex left the library, Luke trailing behind him. “I’m not thanking you,” he said, fighting a smile.

“Why not? I got him to come talk to you!”

“You didn’t ask him out, I did that. There’s nothing to thank you for.”

“That is where you’re very much wrong because…”

As Luke went on for a solid ten minutes about why Alex and Willie finally agreeing to go on a date was actually all down to him, Alex zoned out and let himself be happy. He had a date with Willie, the angelic librarian, the good-looking skater-boy history major. He couldn’t believe his luck.

When they arrived back at the studio, Julie smirked and said, “You’re grinning like an idiot, Alex.”

“In my defence,” he returned, “I'm going on a date with Willie.”

#willex #willex fic #jatp fic #jatp #alex mercer #willie jatp #alex x willie #willie x alex #library au #fanfiction #fanfic #alternate universe #alive au #julie molina #luke patterson #reggie peters #julie and the phantoms #julie and the himbos #writing #fluff #asking out #he/they willie #request

[pinkchanelbag]

— there’s no one else; chapter two. 

a jean kirstein x reader mafia au.

last | masterlist | next

series summary: a boy caught in a web with his survival depending on balancing niceties between his predators. a prim girl on thin ice that leads down the path of least resistance. no one too close and no one too far, no allegiance unquestioned, and no child whose value and future goes without evaluation like a playing card that determines their worth. to be destined for big things is more like being doomed to them, but that’s the way it goes. it’s just family matter.

chapter summary: the party begins.

wc: 1.9k.

cw: still nothing lol

note: putting this out short notice cause it’s JEANBOYS BIRTHDAYYY BABYYY anyway enjoy heeheee and my apologies for the slow plot thus far i swear it picks up trust me bro.

the venue is obnoxiously grand. the garden is more akin to a football field than anything else. there is no central lighting, but rather pure white string lights everywhere, everywhere. tucked behind and underneath tables and wrapped around trees and laying in the overhead greenery and in the bushes that act as walls. wherever you look, your eyes are strained, and you’re sure the dining hall can be seen from the moon. 

speaking of the dining hall, the organizers cleverly blocked off the front entrance to the building so that one is forced to walk the expanse of the entire garden—surely to ooh and aah at its elegant taste—in order to get inside through the back door entrance. in other words, having to greet every single member of the family before so much as putting your clutch down. 

you apply a friendly, attentive expression to your face each time pieck stops to greet someone new, having mastered the art of being engaged but not so engaged it’s troublesome, while in reality being completely disengaged in any way. as pieck converses with a bulky man drinking wine and you pick apart the key points (“we don’t got the ammo to make deals with top contractors—legal team in shambles—not good to have a weak spot”), really you are letting your eyes wander over the shrubbery which has been trimmed to perfection. yes, the lights are a pain and the band is too loud so early in the event, and there is not enough walking space between the bushes so people squeeze together to reach the large clearing of the garden. a perfectly obnoxious party, except you can’t help but appreciate the greenery. somehow, it is the only thing about this evening that doesn’t seem ridiculous. or maybe you’re just unusually irritated tonight. 

your eyebrows knit so slightly at this realization. why are you being so disagreeable? impatience and intolerance seem to grow in your chest for no particular reason. you make a note to identify the source of your mood, and quickly resolve it. there’s work to be done.

karina braun is a kind, opinionated sheep of a woman. she is liked by all, and not because she’s particularly easy to like, but rather because she’s hard to hate. stuck in her times and not having much intellectual value, she is possibly the most important woman in all the families. being the mother of reiner braun and the head of the braun-galliard family, gives her luxury without responsibility. you’ve only met her once before, and she possessed the kind of ignorance many privileged older women have. but still she’s kind, so you can’t justify how she makes you weary. 

her birthday, funnily enough, constitutes one of the very few gatherings that frowns upon trying to discuss family matter during the events, unlike a young girl’s birthday. it has to do with respect, you suppose. 

you spend your first half-hour at the party hovering around pieck as she makes small talk with associates, becoming increasingly nervous at your lack of breakthrough in communication with the family. you know the most important thing is your encounter with karina, and that will open up further talks with others, but you stall to approach her, imperceptibly steering pieck further away from the centre table where the older woman sits. not yet. 

“are you going to keep leading me through the same semi-circle, or are you just going to go talk to her?” pieck asks calmly. you curse her intelligence in your mind. 

“i’m just nervous,” you murmur, smiling politely at a group of men at a distance that eyes you like the business deal you are. 

“you should be, but that doesn’t change that you have to do it.” your eyes flick to look at the woman beside you for a moment. her expression is not encouraging or consoling, nor is it unsettling. it’s fitting. what you and pieck have is less than friendship but more than acquaintanceship. often you feel as thought she’s reading your emotions like an open book, which can be scary considering how many of them you really hide. but if and when she sees them, she doesn’t seem to care, whether they’re incriminating or worthy of sympathy. she sees you, and that is all. it’s not a comfort, nor a curse. 

“what are you waiting for?” she says, but it’s a genuine question rather than a push to complete the task at hand. you realize you’re waiting for porco. you want porco at your side. you want his strength and his jagged-edged ambition, and the forcefulness that makes you do the things your heart has no energy for.

“i just think it would be better if the boys were here,” you breathe. again, pieck sees your meaning, and your fright, and leaves it be. 

for the next eternity, you drink champagne and stretch back your memory to know if all parties are this boring once you become an adult, or if the braun family has a particular talent for making you crave the sight of paint drying. the closest thing to entertainment—and not the hired folk who attempt to call themselves singers—is gabi’s voice, which can be heard no matter where in the garden you stand. she tells stories, strikes up arguments, and gathers food and drink with her friends, all at top volume. for some reason, you don’t find amusement in this either, and really start to worry about this attitude problem you’ve got this night. to add on, porco’s meeting seems to stretch painfully long. it was a short-notice meeting, which either meant something very very good or very very bad—more so when he told you he was being picked up for it by reiner, colt, and annie. some of the most important family members gathering for an emergency meeting means trouble. your anxiety bubbles in your stomach, and you worry that your not approaching the woman of the hour is reaching a point where it might be seen as—rude. 

the guests are alerted that dinner is ready. it’s not long before each person has situated themselves along the tables that line the large garden. the seating plan is loosely maintained, but you have nowhere near the entitlement to mingle among other tables. you find yours and stay at it, and it’s only then that you get an idea of just how many people are at this event. each table is packed, holding roughly six people, and there are too many to count in the chaos, but they create a semi-rectangle in three respective rows. you make out countless bodies but few faces, just an endless sea of tuxedos and lovely dresses. at the front of the garden is the head table, where karina sits alone save gabi’s bouncing body going back and forth. your table is is only a few feet from hers, but you take a seat that puts your back to her front so you don’t make the unforgivable mistake of accidental eye contact. you’re to sit with porco, and his table—the galliard table—is the one closest in importance to the braun table. you are the only one at the table, further reminder of porco’s tardiness. the longer you fiddle with the white cloth on the surface, the more you worry about what exactly the meeting could mean. 

and then pieck comes and sits across from you without a word. as always, you know it’s only family matter—the concern that you look out of place—motivating her and not your obvious discomfort, but you’re grateful nonetheless. 

as the servers stream into the garden like white-clad troops armed with dome platters, a champagne glass’s unmistakeable ding ding ding catches the attention of the guests. a table near karina’s opposite side, not quite flanking her but near enough to display some importance. a man stands with his glass raised, looking unfitting for the position with the way his arm hesitantly dips and re-straightens. bertholdt, yet another notable name in braun-galliard (and it’s your job to know all the names), seems to be the only person around able to give the welcome speech. it’s easy to listen only selectively to the announcements and shoutouts, disregarding all the thank yous and remember whens and listening in for honored guests (who are honored because they’ve proven themselves useful). luckily for you, bertholdt’s clumsy speech has a clear distinction between the two categories, his eyes downturned to cards in which he lists off important guests and whatever thing they did to end up on he list before him. 

“a special welcome to general theo magath of the mexican military, who has been so generous to the family’s trade routes…” bertholdt’s words are careful, partly because of the nature of the things he is sharing, but also because all his actions have been careful since his fall from grace. formerly one of the most reliable heavy men in the family, bertholdt’s reputation was shot to hell when an important—very important—family member was killed on his watch. despite having happened years and years ago now, it took extensive efforts to just convince the higher-ups that he wasn’t in bed with the killer. it’s common knowledge that bertholdt’s incident was the first and last time someone “had it easy” from braun-galliard due to his close friendship with reiner himself. 

“an especially relieving guest to see here tonight—“ 

and—finally—the stragglers stalk into the clearing. like most others, you hear of their arrival from the ripple of murmurs long before you see them, seeing as their whereabouts are blocked off by tables and bushes. a few people stand up, but are quickly beckoned to sit down again and redirect their attention to the speaker, who clears his throat nervously. 

“carry on, bertholdt,” reiner’s affecting voice breaks through the space, and it’s enough to settle the audience, or at least have them pretend to pay attention while the late-comers shuffle through the outskirts of the tables to find their seats. bertholdt proceeds slowly. 

“…a person i’m sure we will all come to rely on during this chaotic time…”

you catch the first glimpse of porco as he turns the final corner of the rectangle, reiner walking before him and colt and annie just behind. reiner is the first to arrive to his table, the invitees seeming to hold their chests a little taller for the family’s true head—in every way except on paper—as he slides into his seat and presses a kiss to his mother’s cheek. 

“…a great legacy behind him and a bright career ahead, and we’re surely glad he’s kicked it off in our company…” bertholdt goes on. you and porco’s eyes meet, and immediately you know something is the matter; you’re just not sure if it’s fury or ecstasy in his gleam. 

colt and annie find their seats in the table just after yours, and finally porco is near enough to see—and ignore—the look of alarmed curiosity on your face. he arrives to the table, giving pieck a look of “we’ll talk later,” and briefly stopping behind your chair. his calloused hands are on your arms for a moment, running up and down comfortingly. 

“—a happy welcome to—“

“hey, doll.”

“—jean kirstein.” 

and your eyes flick away from porco’s and into the crowd of faceless bodies, and the anxieties that kept your brain buzzing with life halt and collapse to the floor of your mind like dead flies.

jean? 

#nia.tne #nia.jean #nia.txt #jean kirstein #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirschtein imagine #jean kirschtein headcanons #jean kirschstein #aot x reader #aot #attack on titan #snk #porco galliard x reader #porco galliard #pieck finger

[bibliophilea]

The End - Ch. 1

Happy Holiday Truce, @mystyrust! Sorry to make you wait - I wanted to do something big, but I forgot to take into account two things: I am a slow writer, and this story became too big to handle as a oneshot. I do have big ideas for where I want this story to go, but we'll see how the story builds itself as I write! Happy Holidays!

If elements of this story seem familiar, that’s because they are! This is based on @lexosaurus‘s tags on @dannys-phucking-dead‘s post! I hope you enjoy!

ffn | ao3

>1< 2 3 4 ...

"Listen. I've met a lot of great asteroids. Really fantastic asteroids. And they've all told me themselves — they said that I was a great president. All of them said that — all one hundred thousand asteroids. I was there."

The camera switches to Tiffany Snow, sitting at the anchor desk.

"This is what President Drumpf had to say yesterday regarding NASA's claims that an unforeseen asteroid is approximately 21 days from hitting the Earth, creating an extinction-level event on par with what took out the dinosaurs," Snow states with a cheerful smile. "Polls suggest that approximately 48.2% of the population believe NASA's claims to be a hoax; 29.5% believe it's the end of the world; and 22.3% is undecided. Lance, can you tell us a bit about Amity Park's response to NASA's claims?"

The camera switches to a street view outside of Amity Park's capitol building. People crowd the streets, many of them yelling and holding signs. Some signs read "THE END IS NIGH". Others say "ASTEROID SHMASTEROID". A few say "DEFUND NASA". One sign says "[citation needed]".

"Certainly, Tiffany," Lance Thunder replies, nearly shouting over the crowd. "As you can see here, tensions are high in Amity Park. Citizens gather to make their voices heard amidst NASA's claims of doom and gloom. Hey, Bob, what do you think of NASA's statement?"

Thunder turns to a middle aged man beside him wearing a bright red cap. The man bends to put his face by the microphone Thunder is brandishing.

"It's fake news, is what it is! I mean, come on! How does a freaking asteroid come out of nowhere? It's a China conspiracy, I tell you!"

Bob nods, and Thunder takes back the microphone. "Well, you heard it here, folks. Amity Park's citizens think NASA's claims are a ho—"

"THE END IS NIGH!"

A woman wearing a sign with the same message butts in, snatching the microphone from Thunder.

"The Disasteroid cometh for us all! Soon it will be Judgement Day and all of you Non Believers will be found Wanting!"

Thunder squawks. "Hey! That is APN property! Give that back!"

The camera turns to focus on Thunder and the woman as they fight over the microphone, their squabbling barely audible over the feedback. Then the feed cuts back to Tiffany Snow.

"Wow Lance, looks like no one can break Amity Park's spirit," Snow says with a grin. "In other news, Congress has voted to defund NASA—"

The TV clicks off.

Danny carefully puts down the remote before he allows himself to shake. His fists clench, and he hides them under folded arms, lest they be seen bursting into ectoplasmic flame. His face feels taut, teeth clenched, eyes abnormally dry. Toxic green edges his vision, and he clamps his eyes shut, lest they be seen glowing green with his anger.

And oh, he is angry.

NASA is a world leader in space aviation and exploration, and Congress is defunding them. And for what? Because they told the truth? Because there's a humongous asteroid about to hit the Earth? They should be funneling emergency money towards NASA, not taking money away! The world needs NASA, now more than ever! Danny has seen the images NASA shared — the images the media doesn't dare share, lest the wrath of one President Drumpf befall them. He doesn't know how everyone missed it — it's huge and it's glowing green and no stars glow green like that — but now that everyone knows about it, there should be some sort of plan to stop it, right? Wrong! The president says it's fake news, and Congress follows suit, and the biggest space programs in the world can't agree on what to do about it when half the world doesn't even think it's real and oh god we're gonna die like actually 100% die and it's not ghosts it's not Pariah Dark it's a big fucking SPACE ROCK that's going to do us in for good and there'll be no more habitable Earth and no more Ghost Zone and we're all going to DIE—

A hand touches Danny's knee, and he gasps, eyes flying open, cringing away from the contact.

Through the green haze in his vision he sees bright orange and immediately shuts his eyes again. They can't see, can't see him freak out, can't see his powers freak out with him—

The hand touches his knee again, and he freezes at the touch, body tense, teeth clenched, eyes shut tight. Another hand touches his arm and he takes in a breath, shuddering as the hand slowly moves to his shoulder, and then to his back, rubbing large, soothing circles. Danny tries to time his breathing to the circles, like Jazz had taught him to, and slowly the blood rushing in his ears (when had that happened?) quiets to a dull roar.

"There we go Danny, see, just breathe. You're okay. You're at home, and Mom and Dad are out, and you don't have to hide."

Danny uncurls slightly at the sound of his sister's voice. He opens his eyes a crack — just enough to see past the green haze — and really looks this time. The orange isn't the same shade as his dad's jumpsuit — it's a lighter, more natural color, and it surrounds a face with concerned, green eyes. Jazz. Jazz is here, and she has her hand on his knee, and she's rubbing circles into his back, and he's kind of sort of getting the hang of breathing with the rhythm of those circles. He leans into her, and she bundles him into a hug, still rubbing circles into his back.

The front door opens, and Danny and Jazz both freeze. Jazz said Mom and Dad are out, but what if they're back? They can't see him like this, they'll find out!

Danny has half a mind to just turn invisible when their voices hit his ears.

"Man, dude, did you see what Congress did to NASA? That's so unfair!"

"It's totally unfair! They're just telling the truth! This whole administration is the absolute worst!"

Tucker. Sam. Danny relaxes slightly at their voices, but he doesn't turn around — doesn't want them to see him like this, either.

But it's too late.

"Woah, dude, you okay?"

"Danny!"

He hears them rush over to him — feels their worry and the warmth of their bodies as they get close — and tenses up again. He should be better than this, stronger than this! He shouldn't be freaking out about some dumb news report.

Not just a dumb news report, his brain helpfully supplies. We're all going to die. And there's nothing you can do about it.

All of a sudden, Jazz's embrace feels too tight. To constraining. Trapping him where he is.

He slips intangible and flees from Jazz, flees from his friends — flees upwards, up through the ceiling and through the roof and through the Ops Center, flees until there's no more house to flee from. He lands hard on the roof of the Ops Center, scraping his knees but it doesn't matter, hands scorching the metal but who cares, it's just the end of the world—

He pulls his knees to his chest and buries his head in them, his face screwing as he tries to get a hold of himself, tries to rein himself in, it's just the end of the world, just the end of Mom and Dad and Jazz and Sam and Tucker and school and movies and parks and people and everything and everyone he'd ever tried to protect—

"Bite this."

Danny feels something cool touch his lips, and he bites down — then coughs and spits as bitter rind and sour citrus burst in his mouth.

He looks up to see Tucker triumphantly brandishing a whole lemon with a chunk bitten out of it. Sam and Jazz stand to either side of him, varying levels of worry and amusement fighting for dominance in their faces. Danny spits again, and stares at the bits of rind and lemon pulp that vacate his mouth.

"What the hell?"

"Told you it'd work!" Tucker crows.

"A lemon?" Danny splutters.

"It's an... unorthodox grounding technique," Jazz responds, "and it normally isn't administered like that—"

"Point is, it works," Sam interjects. "How're you feeling?"

Danny stares at the three of them for a moment. Then he sighs and chuckles darkly. "The worlds going to end because too many people don't believe NASA about an asteroid hurtling towards Earth, and Tucker made me bite into a lemon. How am I supposed to feel?"

He sighs again, long, hard, and shuddering, and he lets himself fall backwards onto the warm metal of the Ops Center roof. Jazz lies down across from him, and Sam and Tucker lie to either side of him, all their heads nearly touching. The sky above them is bright blue, clear of clouds. Birds flit across Danny's vision, twittering as they chase each other before flying off to who knows where. Does it even matter? They'll all be dead in a few weeks.

"I don't want to die again."

The words slip from his mouth, and he feels his breath hitch, watches as his vision goes blurry. His hands begin to clench into fists — but then Sam and Tucker take his hands, massaging the tension from his fingers and palms, and Jazz runs her hand through his hair like she used to do when they were kids and he'd had a nightmare, and something in him breaks.

A sob wrenches itself from his throat, and he curls in on himself. His sister and friends move to hold him close, and he can't help but lean into their touch. They hold him as his eyes glow green, as his hands fist into the metal of the roof, as his sobs take on a ghostly tinge, nearly wailing his grief and his anger and his fear into the sky. He shudders as he cries, and feels as they shudder with him — feels as Sam and Tucker push their faces into his shirt, and as Jazz buries her face in his hair — feels as his shirt and his head where their faces lie become damp.

Crying. They're crying.

And it's his fault.

A wave of guilt washes over him, and he wants to pull away again, wants to force himself to stop crying, to be strong for them. But their grips on him tighten, and they speak to him, words warped by their own tears. "Just let it out," Tucker mutters into his back. "It's okay to cry," Sam whispers into his shoulder. "You don't have to hide," Jazz repeats into his hair.

But beneath their words, beneath their tight hold on him and the way they push their faces against him is a hidden plea: "Stay," they say.

Please stay.

So Danny stays.

Danny stays, and they cry together, and the sun shines down upon them from the clear blue sky.

*~*~*

Danny doesn't know how long it's been. Only that he's no longer crying, and that his friends and sister are no longer crying. They've melted into a cuddle pile of four, with Danny at the center, and the sun beats down on them from a different angle than before. Danny has wound up with his head in Jazz's lap, and she's playing with his hair. Sam and Tucker are on top of him, still holding his hands. Their weight is comforting.

Danny is exhausted. He just wants to fall asleep and deal with everything later. Crying in front of your friends and sister will do that, his brain helpfully supplies. So will the end of the world.

He sighs heavily and moves to sit up. Sam and Tucker get off him, still holding his hands, and Jazz helps him up, moving from playing with his hair to rubbing circles on his back. He smiles faintly at all of them.

"Thanks, guys," he whispers hoarsely. He really does have the best friends and best sister in the world.

Too bad they're all going to die in three weeks.

He frowns and sighs again, too tired to cry.

"It's heavy stuff, huh," Jazz says gently. Danny looks back at her, an eyebrow raised. She continues. "The thought of everything ending like that — it's really hard to think about. Hell, I'm having trouble processing it." She smiles gently at him. "It's okay to be scared and angry, and it's okay to be scared and angry in front of us. You don't have to hide."

"Okay, okay, I get it," Danny mutters. "No more running away."

"Good," Sam remarks. "Now, what are we going to do about everything?"

"What do you mean?" Danny asks.

"You know. The asteroid?" Sam raises an eyebrow.

"Oh yeah. That." Danny frowns down at the roof of the Ops Center. The metal is warped and singed where his hands had dug into it. "What are we supposed to do about that?" He looks back up at Sam. Her eyes bear into his, and her grip on his hand tightens.

"Look, I know this is hard for you. It's hard for me, too. But we can't just sit here and do nothing."

Danny frowns at her. He opens his mouth to respond, but Tucker gets there first.

"Look, I know we need to have this conversation, I really do. But can we have it inside? The metal's starting to get really hot." Tucker stands up, rubbing his free hand on his jeans from touching the roof.

Danny sighs and stands up, stretching the kinks from his back. Sam and Jazz stand up with him.

"On it," Danny says. "Everyone hold tight."

He feels Sam's and Tucker's grips tighten on his hands, and he feels Jazz grab his shoulder. With a poke at his core, he tugs them all intangible, slipping through the roof to the refreshingly cool interior of the Ops Center. He lets go of intangibility and lets gravity embrace them slowly, gently depositing them all on the floor of the Ops Center. Then he lets go of his friends' hands and steps forwards, turning so he's facing the three of them.

"So, what are we supposed to do, huh? Half the world thinks the asteroid's a hoax, and the other half either doesn't have the money to do anything, or is stuck in petty arguments about what to do and who's to blame and all that shit." Danny crosses his arms and frowns.

"Dude, you're the Ghost King," Tucker's quick to reply. "Doesn't that mean you can, like, do anything?"

Danny facepalms. "Oh my god, Tucker, I'm not the Ghost King. I told the Observants I don't want any part of it. And besides, even if I were, who's going to listen to me? Klemper? The Box Ghost? I'm sure they can convince the world to get its shit together!"

"Hey!" Sam interjects. "You can't just focus on what we can't do. We need to focus on what we can do, as a team."

"Oh, and what can we do, Sam? We're way out of our depth here! The four of us can't stop the asteroid from hitting Earth!"

"You're right, Danny," Jazz says. Sam and Tucker gape at her.

"But dude—"

"You can't just—"

"Hey, let me speak!" Jazz waits until Sam and Tucker close their mouths — Tucker with a perplexed look on his face, Sam with an expectant frown.

"We are out of our depth," Jazz states. "We don't have the resources or political pull here on Earth or in the Ghost Zone to make a significant difference." She pauses. "But we know someone who does."

It takes a moment, but Sam gets it first.

"Oh, ew, we are not asking him for help!"

"Wait." Tucker says. "Asking who for—" horror dawns on his face. "Oh, no. No no no. We can't! Why would you even think of that?"

"Think of what?" Danny asks, a little annoyed that he doesn't get it.

"Asking Vlad," Sam, Tucker, and Jazz reply.

"Oh, ew!" Danny says automatically.

Jazz rolls her eyes. "It's not like I want to talk to him either! I just think given the circumstances, we don't have much choice."

"There's always a choice, Jazz," Sam retorts. "He'll probably try and force Danny to stay with him in exchange for his help."

"Yeah, Jazz," Tucker adds. "He's a slimeball. Who knows how he'll try to play this to his advantage."

"But—"

"I think Jazz is right," Danny says.

Sam, Tucker, and Jazz stare at Danny, flabbergasted. Danny blushes.

"Well, it's like Jazz said — I don't want to, but I don't think we have a choice. We need his help. And besides," he says with a smirk, "the man is way too narcissistic. He doesn't want to die because half the world doesn't believe what's right in front of their faces."

"And we can use that to our advantage," Jazz adds. "He knows he'll need help with whatever scheme he's plotting, and there isn't enough time for him to be picky."

"So, what? We go to him for help, and threaten to walk if he tries to pull anything?" Sam raises an eyebrow.

"Exactly." Jazz and Danny grin at each other.

Tucker sighs and pulls out his PDA. "Alright, fine. One meeting with one seriously messed up frootloop coming right up."

Danny stares. "Dude, what are you doing?"

Tucker looks up. "Um, scheduling a meeting with our evil mayor?"

Sam shakes her head. "He's probably booked. We'll have better luck if we just show up."

Jazz nods. "He's probably expecting us anyways."

Tucker sighs and puts away his PDA. "Alright, fine. But can we take a moment to clean up? I don't know about you guys, but my face is crusty."

Danny looks at his friends and sister. Their hair is a mess, and their eyes are still rimmed red. Sam's mascara has dried after running down her face, and Tucker's glasses and Jazz's headband are askew. Danny figures he doesn't look much better.

He nods. "Alright. But after that, we have a meeting with one seriously messed up frootloop!"

#danny phantom #holiday truce 2020 #christmas truce 2020 #phantom planet #danny fenton #jazz fenton #tucker foley #sam manson #rewrite #dp fanfic #dp fic #mystyrust #lexosaurus #dannys phucking dead #danny #jazz #tucker #sam #i'm sorry this is so late! #but i hope you like this! #i have Ideas for this story #and i'm excited to get to them! #but the kids needed to let their emotions loose first #my work #my write #not a q

[danjo-ao3]

Revelations

Pairing: Reaper/female Reader

Summary: You are an unfortunate soul who gets to know Reaper’s wrath, but things turn out quite differently from what one would assume.

Rating: 18+

Tags/Warnings: oneshot, choking, kind of breath-play, angst, masturbation

Word count: 4600

A/N: I had yet to write fem. reader with Reaper in this way and tbh I like it so much I just might continue this at some point. Anyway, enjoy~

***

One of the perks of working with Talon was the great pay at the end of the month, it really made for a comfortable life at a time at which the world was spiralling into chaos. And if you didn’t think too hard on what it was you did for a living, you could almost pretend like it was just another job like any other.

You distinctly remembered the day you signed the contract that forbade you to breathe a single word of the work you did for Talon to anybody. As cliché as it sounds, you needed the money and they promised a steady income. All in all you couldn’t complain.

“I’m surrounded by incompetent idiots!” The man in the middle of the room was seething, he grabbed a chair and threw it against the wall, leaving ugly tears in the wallpaper and bending one of the chair’s metal legs in the process. A hush fell over the room and its few inhabitants, your teammates stood still and nervous in the face of Reaper’s wrath.

Ah yes, the one downside to working here. Reaper was a man not known for his kindness or patience, if you worked with him you knew it was going to be a bad day. He usually operated alone, the only support he needed was someone to hack his way in for him. But some missions simply were too large scale for a single agent, just like the one you’d just finished an hour ago.

And now here you were in the debriefing room, Reaper yelling at various agents for the fuck up that happened.

You tried to melt into the shadows of the corner you were currently standing in, unwilling to take the blame for anything that had happened, you were just unfortunate enough to have gotten looped into this meeting even though all you’d done was some prior intel research work, you hadn’t even been a part of the team on the field.

“I’m done with this,” Reaper announced, his mask flitting over every individual red Talon helmet in front of him, “from now on I’ll operate alone again.”

You rolled your eyes under your helmet at his theatrics. Good, you thought, nobody wants to work with you anyway.

“You’re all getting a pay cut,” he growled and already moved to leave, but in your endless stupidity you just had to let your mouth speak before you knew any better.

“No!” You exclaimed, suddenly the center of attention in the room. Incredulous eyes were on you even though you couldn’t see any of the other agent’s faces. It was what you would have done, too. Hah, look at the idiot trying to object to Reaper, they were probably relieved that he would finally have someone to let all of his frustrations out on.

You tried to stand your ground, feet a shoulder width apart, head held high, but quivering as your heart started to beat frantically while you watched as Reaper stomped over to you. He was like a cloud of thunder rolling in towards a small city. Run, folks would say, get to cover. But there would be no escaping this particular thunderstorm.

With one final step he came to a stop in front of you, his massive frame accentuated by the light cream wallpaper behind him. He looked like the grim reaper himself, all that was missing was a scythe.

“What did you just say, agent?” Oh, he was pissed, you were so dead.

You swallowed around a very dry throat, your eyes glued to the empty eye sockets in his white skeletal mask, then tried to speak but it came out as a croak.

Reaper took a step closer to you, you only barely managed not to take one backward in fear.

“Speak up,” he barked, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“I just–you… I–” you stammered but were immediately interrupted by him.

“I asked you what you just said,” he hissed, and all the air left your lungs. He was going to make an example of you, wasn’t he?

You tried to straighten your spine and suppress the tremors currently running down your body.

“I… said ‘no’.” You tried to sound like you were sorry for being insubordinate, but it just came out as a whisper. What was he going to do with you now? The suspense left you shaking in your boots.

“You think you can say no to me?” The way Reaper’s voice had lowered made you nauseous, fear licked at your insides uncomfortably, but–what was this? Were you… blushing? The heat in your cheeks was startling you, what was happening?

“I’m–I’m sorry, sir.” You finally lowered your head in a sign of submission, hoping to appease him somewhat. It was just that you needed all the money you could get right now, most of the pay you got went straight to your sick brother who needed urgent care in one of the most prestigious–and expensive–hospitals in Zurich.

All of a sudden a clawed hand shot forward and grabbed you by the throat, pushing you into the wall behind and startling you so much you grasped at the hand holding you an inch from the ground. Reaper loomed over you, casting you both into shadow, you desperately tried to breathe through his choke hold but found it was becoming increasingly difficult.

He just stared at you with those dead eyes, features hidden from view just like yours at the moment.

“Everyone out,” he said, tone final and leaving no room for discussion–not that anyone was stupid enough to make the same mistake that you’d made. No one was going to save you anyway, Talon made sure that agents kept to themselves, operating in anonymity with the helmets agents were required to wear at all times.

From the corner of your eye you were able to see how everyone practically fled from the scene, not even sparing a last glance towards you, probably already arguing about who would get your stuff when you would be dead in like two minutes.

“Sir–” You tried to speak up but it was so hard to get enough air; you didn’t want to die, you couldn’t die–your brother would be doomed without your help.

“Tell me your name, agent.”

Oh fuck, he really meant business, huh?

You managed to whisper what he wanted to know, his hand on your throat squeezing just a little tighter in response.

The lack of oxygen in your blood was making you delirious, your heart was still frantically trying to keep you alive, darkness was creeping in at the edges of your vision, the man’s proximity confusing and terrifying and–arousing?

“Do you know what I’ll do with you now?”

Shit, when had he gotten so close? The blush on your cheeks deepened considerably, spreading further down to your chest. Why did he sound so ambiguous…

“You’re gonna kill me,” you gasped, trying to blink away the bright spots dancing in contrast to the shadows at the edge of your vision. A pathetic whimper escaped you at the pain of his claws digging into your skin, they were to be felt even through the padding of the armor you were wearing.

“You think I’ll let you off the hook so easily?” He pushed you even further up the wall, the pressure on your jaw and windpipe becoming unbearable.

“Please,” you breathed, pulling at his wrist in a futile attempt to get him off, but nothing was working. Contrary to his words he was killing you, you were convinced of it. As you rose up the wall, you thought that this was actually your very last moment, certain that Reaper was just toying with you.

Aside from the painful throbbing of a headache forming behind your eyes, there was still that persistent warmth spreading through your body. Up until now you’d had no idea that you could get turned on by being choked, but here you were, hanging onto life by a thread while a faceless mercenary was strangling you, and your body had no qualms about reminding you that you were yet very much alive. Thrilling, that was the right word for what it felt like to you. How fucked up was that?

The moment came, Reaper pushed into your personal space just a little more and his hand adjusted its grip just so, his claws brushing over your skin as it broke out in goosebumps and you were lost in a sea of pain and delirium, you forgot who it was currently pressing you against the wall of the bland debriefing room–and it had been so long since anyone touched you–that it forced a small moan from deep within you.

Immediately you stilled, a moment of clarity cleaving through your muddled senses, reminding you that this was not an appropriate response to being choked within an inch of your life by your team leader.

You watched in trepidation as his head, too close for comfort, tilted to the side just a little, felt his grip on you falter the slightest bit, as if your response had startled him just as much as it had you. And you weren’t surprised in the least. What the hell happened here?

To your great relief, he let you sink back down until your feet touched the floor again, alleviating some of the pain and discomfort in your upper body from straining against his hold so much.

Face hot from both arousal and humiliation, your visor started to fog up with the humidity of your hard breathing, making it hard to see through it, all the while hoping that maybe he decided to let you go after all. But he wasn’t moving away from you, nor was his hand leaving its place around your neck.

The vibration of his dark voice, modulated by that mask, shook you to the core as he hummed in thought and intrigue, the sensation going straight between your legs. You clenched your knees together to make it a little more bearable, hot arousal was making itself known in your core, pulsing in the rhythm of your heartbeat.

Damnit, why did this turn you on so much? A small sob was bubbling up in your chest, you didn’t want to enjoy how Reaper was treating you, but your body thought otherwise. He was still staring at you, his scrutiny was starting to become unbearably intense and mortifying, but oh how you enjoyed it.

“You like this,” he observed suddenly, and you wanted to die of shame at his comment, because it was true. Why, oh why was it true?

You tried to turn your head to the side, but he used his hand on your neck to keep you in position, you were no match for his sheer strength; it made you weak in the knees.

“You like being manhandled. A little… roughed up.” His voice had taken on a raspy, hoarse quality and it did nothing to soothe the fire that had started to burn through you. Images of him pushing you against the wall, clawing the clothes from your body bombarded you, of him just bending you over the big meeting table and having his way with you.

Another feeble moan left you as you rubbed your thighs together, trying to get some kind of friction against your core. But of course it didn’t help, you doubted anything could help right now but the things you wanted Reaper to do to you. At the same time you were way too afraid to voice these desires, sure that the mercenary would simply dismiss you, humiliating you even further. You were glad that the helmet hid your fierce blush and glassy eyes.

You watched him through your lashes, he was still looking at you in an expectant kind of way, was he waiting for you to confirm his theory, that you wanted to be ‘roughed up’ by him? Oh, he was so right, but no way in hell were you going to say it, not if you were still sane enough to bear in mind the consequences. What good would it do you, he’d probably laugh at your pathetic desire for something he would never give you in the first place. So you stayed silent on the face of his inquisitive stare.

Suddenly you were pressed against the wall again, but this time by both his hands on your shoulders, evidently he was done waiting now, the moment was gone.

Relief and disappointment warred within you, the latter leaving a sour taste in your mouth.

“Next time you object to my orders in front of the team you’ll face much worse,” Reaper spoke dark and dangerously, “got it?”

With a frantic nod you sagged against the wall when he finally released you.

Without another word he simply turned and left through the door, not even bothering to close it again.

As you stood there staring after him, you wondered what the hell had just happened and why that insistent throbbing in your nether regions didn’t seem to want to stop. Something was seriously wrong with you, it was a miracle that he had left you pretty much unscathed, aside from your hurt pride.

***

It was late in the night when you finally retired for the day, your joints ached and your muscles were sore from a long day of wearing your armor. You entered the communal showers alone, the only upside of staying up so late, you figured.

As you removed your armor, your thoughts wandered to Reaper and what he had done just a few hours ago. Goosebumps rose on your skin when the cool air of the changing room hit you, or was it the memory of being held by a strong hand around your neck? Probably a bit of both, you shouldn’t let what happened get to you so much, especially now that you’d had a little time to let your mind shift focus from the feelings and urges that the man had invoked.

A small shiver ran down your spine, goodness, you really had let yourself get carried away there, you needed to make sure it would never happen again. Best to stay as far away from Reaper as possible.

Curiously, you stepped in front of one of the mirrors hung above the sinks in the shower room, your eyes immediately landed on your neck and your mouth fell open in shock at the dark angry marks you found there. You touched your skin with two slightly shaking fingers, tilting your head and tracing the bruise from the front to the side where there were additional scratches left by sharp claws.

A small shuffling sound behind made you clutch your chest in fright and turn around, but there was nothing to be seen, you were still alone in the room. Must have been your frayed mind playing tricks.

With a deep breath you grabbed a towel and went into one of the shower stalls to turn on the water on the hottest setting. Mist was soon rising from the tiled floor where the water was disappearing down the drain, giving you the signal that it was finally warm enough.

When the hot water hit your shoulders you sighed in pleasure, the warmth always helped you relax and soothe your aches from a long work day, today was no different. As you closed your eyes to let the water run over your head as well, you let the serenity of the darkness and warmth hold you for just a moment.

Talon’s standard soaps, shampoos and shower gels had a very distinct marketed-for-men-smell, like they had only been chosen with the male part of the organization in mind. And unfortunately, as you started to soap yourself up, it started to have an effect on you; you were getting aroused again, just the thought of a man with you–it had been so long since you’d had any form of physical contact like that–you really yearned for someone’s touch.

With a small sigh you lathered up your chest, went up and over your breasts, enjoying the feel of the slippery bubbles against your wet skin and how nice it felt when you brushed over your nipples. Closing your eyes and pretending it was somebody else–some faceless Talon grunt–you went even further with one hand down your stomach, swirling a finger around your belly button and finally cleaned yourself between the legs.

Oh yes, this was nice. Pent up frustration from earlier brought you to full arousal in an instant, two fingers found your clit and the last thing on your mind was cleaning yourself. The hand that was still at your chest was going higher, first over your left and then your right shoulder before it caressed your neck.

It was like you’d touched an open wire; electricity ran through your entire body, connecting every nerve ending and lighting them on fire. Pure heat gathered in your abdomen, your fingers pressing into the bruises on your skin and feeding that electric current with a mixture of pleasure and pain. A small part of you was raising its voice in alarm but there would be another time and place to reflect upon what you were currently doing, right now you needed release–badly.

Slowly, the faceless Talon grunt in your mind started to change, his red mask was losing its color, revealing white bone surrounded by black leather flowing down into a long coat, his gloves became sharp talons gouging into your skin. Your fingernails were a poor imitation for the claws you remembered though, and you whimpered with want for the original.

Still, that orgasm you’d been working on was fast approaching, the sensations bombarding you as the water was running down your body, your hand wrapped around your own neck and you rubbed yourself fiercely between the legs.

Just as you leaned against the shower wall to completely let yourself go, there was this shuffling sound again, ripping you from the cusp of that climax and flooding you with adrenaline and fear of being caught masturbating in the shower. With wide eyes you tried to see through the mist that had accumulated during your shower, but it was nigh impossible to see further than a few feet in front of you.

Then you heard them, heavy steps were moving over the tiled floor, growing louder with every footfall.

Petrified, you stayed very still, your hands not moving from where you were still touching yourself, convinced that their position on your body would not be mistaken for what you were actually doing. This person would pass your shower stall and go about their business… right?

But you actually knew that this was not an agent going to take a shower at two in the morning, those footsteps could only belong to one person. The question was, what was he doing here?

Like a deer caught in the headlights, you didn’t move a muscle until Reaper stopped right in front of you, the dark, vague outline of his broad shoulders slowly cutting through the milky-white mist. You didn’t dare breathe as he came forward, one hand extending towards you, but ultimately landing on the shower controls. The water turned off and left you standing in deafening silence, leaving only the mist to keep you warm.

Shivering, you blinked through wet lashes at the mercenary towering above you, his hand still next to your arm on the shower wall, unmoving and menacing. His mask was staring at your face blankly until it turned downwards and landed on your hand still wrapped around your neck. As if his gaze burned you there, you dropped that hand and used your forearm to hide your chest from his view.

“So it was you,” he growled in his otherworldly raspy voice that was reverberating in the small shower stall around you, intimately close.

Right, he hadn’t seen your face in the briefing room, but the marks on your neck gave away that it had been indeed you whom he had strangled. And now he had found you, not only with your hand between your legs, but also with your other in mimicry of his fist around your throat.

Talk about awkward.

“S–Sir,” you stuttered, unsure of what was happening or his intention of cornering you in the shower in the early morning hours. You tried with all your might to suppress the urge to apologize, you’d already told him you were sorry for speaking out of turn earlier, there was no need to do it again. Also, it should have been him apologizing for surprising you like this, while you were naked in the shower, alone, helpless, vulnerable.

Again you shivered, the true extent of your circumstance beating you down like an oversized sledgehammer.

Had Reaper come to finish what he’d started, was he going to strangle you to death? Or–and you were really hopeful it was true–had he come because of how he had noticed how turned on you’d been and wanted to lend a hand?

There was only one way to find out.

Tentatively, and with shaking fingers, you resumed your ministrations on your clit, rubbing it in very small circles, trying to override the fear still lodged in your brain with the pleasure created by the friction, while staring back at Reaper through half-lidded eyes wet from the water.

Again his mask tilted down and down until he saw you working yourself up. Your pulse spiked when he took a small step towards you, his heavy boots stomping wetly against the ground and blocking the exit of the shower stall.

You barely managed to keep your eyes open, but they went wide again when you felt his gloved hand against your throat. This time it was even more intense without your armor in the way. Would it hurt you even more like this, without that protective barrier between your soft skin and his sharp talons?

You couldn’t help yourself and moaned quietly, feeling your own voice vibrate against his palm that was not yet pressing or squeezing, it was just resting there on your windpipe, a reminder that this was in fact real and happening.

The hand between your legs sped up a bit with arousal, Reaper’s presence driving you into a frenzy. There was just something about the danger he exuded, the threat of violence and death that short-circuited your brain and turned your body into goo. How he just held you, loosely, but with that unmistakable strength underneath that grip, it made you shiver in delight, wrung a small whimper from you.

Now if he just squeezed a little, made it hard to breathe–you needed to feel that lightheadedness, the darkness creeping in at the edges of your vision, to lay your life in his hands. You needed more.

“Please,” you whispered, barely audible, but you knew he’d heard when you finally felt that pressure on your throat, wringing another moan from you as you lay your head against the wall. A few spare drops of water ran down your face, you felt his gloved palm slicked up by the water on your skin, could smell the leather even over the shampoo you’d used.

Cold was creeping in around you know, it ghosted over your wet skin, leaving goosebumps wherever it touched, small shivers racked your body, your knees were shaking. But on the inside you were burning up, a blush had formed on your cheeks, the result of his proximity and just the fact that he was looking at you, while you were pleasuring yourself, no less. Goodness, you wanted him to fuck you so badly, it made you whine desperately, speed up your fingers against your clit, and your free hand hold onto the wall behind.

Just a few more seconds and you’d come, you knew it in your bones, in the way your hips were undulating and how the heel of your hand was now pressed against that bundle of nerves and how you’d slid those two fingers inside your hot core in search of that spot.

But still you needed more. You had Reaper here with you and you needed him to choke you, leave it up to him if he wanted you to live or die. Give away all control, wanting to know if he deemed you worthy of his mercy.

When had you become such a frantic mess?

Were you that desperate to die? Reaper wasn’t known for his kindness after all, the possibility of him just fucking killing you was very high. And this was what was turning you on so much you would have slid down the shower wall if it hadn’t been for Reaper holding you by the neck.

Freshly wet eyes were staring at the man before you–his cold, dead mask–you tried to blink away the stubborn tears flowing freely down your cheeks, hoping he would not notice them on your already wet face, while you were angry at your emotional response.

Angry and so turned on.

“Harder,” you gasped and immediately closed your eyes in bliss when he generously gave you what you craved so badly. A papercut fine scratch made your breath catch, one of his claws must have broken your skin.

It took only one more thrust of your fingers, one hard press against your clit and you came with a sob, your body going rigid for a few heartbeats before going completely slack in Reaper’s grip.

The pressure on your neck had abated somewhat, Reaper gave you the chance to catch some much needed air, and you sucked it in greedily, panting like a dog through a dry mouth.

Heat had spread through your entire body, the cool kiss of the air against your skin barely feasible to your blissed out senses. The only sensation you were aware of was Reaper’s hand, just holding fast enough to keep you on your feet.

Somehow you couldn’t look at him anymore, the reality of the situation slowly creeping along your conscious and making you aware of how fucked up it was what just happened. With the awareness came the awkwardness, the slow panic of self-conscious fear–the need to say something, to get away. But at the same time you were speechless, still incredulous that what happened actually happened.

With a final deep breath you closed your eyes and before you could open them again the presence of the man’s hand had disappeared, and when you did manage to look again, so had the rest of him. Just vanished into thin air.

There was no trace of Reaper at all, no sound of heavy footsteps or the swishing of his leather cloak, nothing.

As you used the wall for support to stabilize yourself, you risked a glance outside the shower stall, searching for any sign that he had been indeed in here. There was no way you’d only imagined it all, it had been way too real; cold fingertips felt along your neck where his hand had been only seconds ago, then reached up to wipe at your still wet eyes.

You were slowly going insane, that must have been it.

Wrapping a towel around your rapidly cooling body, you tip-toed into the changing room to dry off completely. As you passed the mirrors, you had to stop and stare for a moment–there was a very small cut on your neck now, the blood already dried, but as you scratched at it there was new red liquid oozing out.

So it hadn’t been your imagination after all.

Huh.

–end.

#gabriel reyes #overwatch #reaper #reaper x reader #fanfiction #gabriel reyes x reader #female reader

[ncitygirls]

matryoshka - part 1, 4k

sibling!johnny, taeyong x f reader, mark x f reader, platonic/‘sibling’!haechan

nct crime au, angst, cw: character death, death, mental illness, police, injury, violence

300 days

There are few people who can disarm a man like Johnny Seo. Since the rather untimely, and inexplicable death of his mother and father at the tender age of fourteen, he quickly adopted this persona. He considers it a token from his late mother. She had always said, in a voice as soft as the breeze in spring, that to be polite is to be in control. He holds himself to that quite forcibly, reminding himself time and time again that there is power in making others fold to him. At time it is as simple as approaching an adversary with a smile, and awaiting the flare in their skin, the bugle in their veins and the ripple in their muscles. There are few who can disarm Johnny Seo. But few does not equate to none.

“When will you discharge her?” Johnny began, the words rolling off of his tongue with an air of nonchalance that bordered on flippancy, but an edge that was new to even him.

“Mr Seo,” without thinking, Johnny rolls his neck, bracing himself for a response he knows he will refuse. He thinks it odd to loathe an act he is yet to commit, especially when he can still prevent it. What he hates more however, is that you are here to witness it. When the doctor sighs, letting his glasses hang around his neck, he smiles sympathetically. Johnny sees nothing but pity. “I’m not sure how else to say this, but physically? Your sister is stable enough to go home. When we went in to remove what was left of the bullet fragments and saw to her ruptured spleen, we managed to mend her torn ligaments. Her blood work came back clear, and for the most part, her vitals are stable. With a few weeks of physio, I think we would be able to discharge her. Ideally, she could go home this week.”

“Wonderful,” Johnny’s hollow cheer guides his hasty movements as he, unthinking, strips you of your blanket to reveal a sight he thinks might change his mind. Rows of red line your skin, moons of dried blood covering the heels of your palms. He cringes at the dirty cotton cuffs that strap you to the metal frame of your hospital bed. Johnny can’t seem to make sense of the sight. “Did this happen during the shooting?”

“No, Mr Seo,” the doctor shakes his head, his frustration with his patient’s only living relative shedding every second he watches Johnny take in your limp frame. “It is like I was saying. Miss Seo is fit enough to leave. But mentally-”

Johnny simply raises his palm, ignoring the tears that pool in and out the corners of your eyes, a steady stream gathering in your hairline as you relive the events the two refer to so flippantly. “She will do better at home.” It is unclear for whom the assurance is intended. The doctor, you, himself. It is all just hope. So it doesn’t matter. “She will do better once she’s home.”

“Mr Seo, as your sister’s physician, I must implore you to reconsider.” Johnny understands where the doctor is coming from, he truly does. Johnny, taught well by his father, prides himself in being understanding. Like his father before him, Johnny prides himself in being calm in the face of not only danger, but regular folk - those who go about their lives, slaves to normalcy. Those who live life year to year, those who plan their lives, who wake up to sleep, expecting to see the sun once again. Those who consider life a right, rather than a privilege. Johnny has come to understand men like this. Not by choice of course, but because he had to. Especially once you met Taeyong.

2,109 days

“I met a guy today,” the words crackle through the phone, Johnny’s fingers stilling as he finally takes a break from his work, placing a mental bookmark on his train of thought. He wants to ask where, but he doesn’t enjoy seeming interested in affairs of the heart. They sicken him. “He was really weird,” you hum as you kick the curb, swinging your arms as you traipse through what Johnny thinks must be your university campus. He pretends he bother to know your schedule, but never has a reason for why he always gets himself up before you leave every morning. “A good weird,” you add, “his clothes hardly fit, they were all baggy. It’s hard to explain.”

“You kids and your trends,” he huffs, spinning in his chair to watch the city, eyes landing on the bell tower of your campus. “What happened to a nicely fitted suit?”

“It’s a college campus, John. Plus, it’s like half ten in the morning,” you can hear his next question before he even asks. “I mentioned his clothes because I wanted you to envision him, not judge him.”

“Well, I am envisioning a bum.”

“Okay, but envision a cute bum,” you try. “A beautiful, cute, funny bum.”

“That is still a bum, y/n.” You hear the faint sound of floor boards creaking, a telltale sign that he’s pacing. “Did he ask you out?” You hum in agreement, always too shy to admit anything so personal outright. It is times like this he wonders why you bother calling him and not just Haechan. He’ll never tell you this however. Lest he lose his spot as your first call. “I hope ope he’s taking you somewhere nice?”

“Yeah, of course,” he knows you’re lying. He knows it’s Hyuck’s you're both going to. Not that there as an issue with Hyuck’s. Even if you’ve already had the menu four different ways, front to back and then back again. It’s where you take all your first dates, you give Haechan a chance to size them up, figure out if they’re worthy. “I just wanted to tell you first because I think he’s a real contender this time.”

“And you’ll be late home, so you won’t be making dinner again?” Your affirming grunt forced a long sigh from Johnny. However, no matter many times he claimed his annoyance was due to your absence inconveniencing him; you both knew the loneliness bothered him now. “Well, have fun.”

“I’ll try,” you sing. “And I’ll bring that coffee cake you love so much, okay?” Johnny offers his own affirming grunt. Though it sits a couple octaves below your own, you hear the sliver of joy he lets through. “Love you.”

He doesn’t respond. He had already hung up.

300 days

“Mr Seo?”

Johnny had finally shrugged off his suit jacket and let his shoulders sag when he heard his name for the umpteenth time that day. He wanta to ignore it, but what would mother say?

“Yes?” SMPA. The badge is hard to read as it glistens under the glaring hospital lights. But he can’t miss the shape, the obnoxious insignia.

“Good evening,” the detective starts, his smiling eyes are in direct contrast to the gloom and doom of the last few days. Johnny wonders if smiling with teeth is proper practice when greeting someone who almost lost their little sister. “I am Detective Lee, I have a few questions for you about the shooting at Hyuck’s Diner. If you have a moment.”

“Of course,” he sighs, straightening his spine. “I am sure you are aware, but I wasn’t there.”

“I think it’s lucky you weren’t,” the detective adds, a sad smile settling on the bed to your right. “I am a friend of Donghyuck’s.”

“Oh,” there’s a short second where Johnny feels an odd sense of comfort, one he believed would only come when you finally opened your eyes. He also feels some guilt. “I didn’t know he had any other friends in Seoul, I tried to reach everyone I could.”

“And thank you for that,” the detective lets his eyes fall on his friend’s unmoving figure for a moment, his gaze returning to Johnny when he feels a familiar prick. “I have been hard at work on this case. I received word you did not wish for your sister to remain in hospital. May I ask why?”

“It is a public hospital,” Johnny responds, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I can afford better.”

“Then why did you let her stay?” The detective asks, scribbling away. Johnny wonders what dictates the parameters of an investigation versus a friendly conversation. “Her psych eval?”

“No,” he sighs, eyeing Haechan to your right. “They wouldn’t let me take him too,” when the detective tilts his head, surprise evident in his round eyes, Johnny lets himself laugh for the first time in over a week. “You wouldn’t want to be me when she wakes up to find I left him behind.”

2,361 days

It is past midnight when you fly into Johnny’s bedroom, a dew gathering on your forehead, chin and neck. In his sleepy haze, he hears only the end of your ramblings, your steps ordered in a manner Johnny can only describe as frantic. It is not in his nature to panic, he leaves such trivialities to you. But when your wide eyes find his, fear brimming as you scramble to get ready, you throw him your phone and he finally sees why.

“There are a bunch of guys who won’t pay up at Hyuck’s and he’s scared. Let’s go.”

That’s how Johnny found himself parked outside Hyuck’s Diner in downtown Seoul, just north of the river. You didn’t give him a chance to park up as you dashed out the still moving vehicle, door left wide open. Johnny is thankful it’s late, but quickly notes it being far too late for Hyuck’s to still be open. As he parks up, he watches you storm into the near empty diner, sees the relief on Haechan’s tired face as you round the bar. Johnny can’t really make out what you’re saying, but he can see the fire in your eyes. He sniggers as he stalks after you, seeing his mother in them too.

“I said, pay up, or give it back.”

“That’s funny,” one of the burly men says, food spitting out his mouth and onto the clean bar top as he laughs in your face. While Johnny only counted two from outside, he can now see a third standing off to the side. When his eyes meet Johnny’s, he falters slightly, thick hands running through his hair as he avoids Johnny’s haunting figure hovering by the only exit. “Who exactly is gonna make us?”

“Me,” you grin, reaching for the back of his head and slamming it hard down onto the bar. You hear Haechan yelp in what you assume is fear for his newly polished, now dented bar top. As the guy to his left lunges at you, you’re quick to utilise your surroundings. Johnny almost applauds your ingenuity as you quickly reach for a used butter knife and practically mutilate the man’s fist. It is then Haechan disappears from your side, his head nearly halfway down the drain pipe as blood splurts onto his newly polished, now dented, now blood stained bar top. The first guy had rounded the bar, only to be met with a fist to the throat, and knee to the gut. Johnny sees you’re expecting something to happen as you repeat the motion before seeing sense. With your hand latched to his collar, you drag his doubled over body out onto the street before you knee him again.

In the middle of the intersection pours his unpaid bill, meeting one end of the deal. Johnny laughs at how visibly dissatisfies you are, considering how long their bill actually was. You fish his wallet out of his back pocket, taking a few hundreds to cover the balance. “Who even carries cash anymore?”

Johnny wonders too as you pass by him, walking back inside and turning on the third guy. “Your friend covered yours, so you’re free to go.” As he scrambles to leave, he keeps his eyes fixed on your brother, halting when Johnny moves to stop him, a lone finger pointing toward the man's weeping companion.

“Take them with you.”

It’s a few seconds before their presence is no more than a distant memory. Johnny is quick to clean the bloody bar top, and rearrange the furniture. He even loads the dishwasher as you tend to a still queasy Haechan. “When I text you, I didn’t think you would do all of that,” he huffs, backtracking as he notes the hurt look in your eyes. “I mean, I am so grateful. Really, I am,” he smirks, fatigue stealing the light that usually fills his eyes. “But I didn’t know you were The fucking Bride.” When you roll your eyes, he presses on, glimpses of his usual self slowly return as the adrenaline begins to kick in. “No, honestly! I wish I had cameras in here because- fuck! That was insane!”

“Alright, whatever. Get your things, you’re staying with us tonight.”

“Do you think they’ll come back?” Haechan asks, the worry in his tone hurting you beyond belief. “Do you think I should call Mark again?”

“Who, the cop? No, they won’t be coming back, trust me,” you hum. When Johnny emerges from the back, drying his hands on a clean rag, you jest, “no thanks to angel eyes over there may I add.”

“Oh my god, hyung! And you!” Haechan restarts, allowing you to pack up his things while he recounts the terror in the third man’s gaze as he locked eyes with your brother. “It’s like he saw a ghost or something.”

“Yeah,” you laugh, grabbing Haechan while Johnny locks up. “Or something.”

It’s nearly dawn when Haechan crashes. It was Monday and he needed to find cover for the open. But getting cover didn’t stop him fretting, and no amount of herbal tea nor booze could settle a frantic Haechan. It is laughable though, how it took no more than a film opening to send him off. You slip away at sunrise, snuggling up to Johnny who gave up on sending you away shortly after your parents passed. However, he still makes sure to express his disdain for the affection.

“At least stick to your side, y/n-”

“Thank you for coming tonight,” you breathe, clearly uninterested in satisfying his request. “I know you have to be up soon, and I’m sorry. But having you there was- yeah. Thank you.”

For the first time in years, Johnny lets you snuggle with him. An hour later, for the first time ever, Johnny lets Haechan do the same. He fears that this might become a pattern, the two of you craving so much affection it might suffocate him. Johnny knows it just might, but has found peace in that. Much like he has found peace in your insistence that Haechan be one of you. Because he is one of you, he too left orphaned at a young age, you took him under your wing. So much like that day, as Johnny falls asleep to the sound of your light snores, he also decides-

300 days

“He’s family.”

“He speaks so highly of you both,” Mark adds, smiling thankfully at your sleeping frame. “But I’m sure he would forgive you for doing what’s best for her.”

“She wouldn’t.” Johnny adds, though a part of him knows he might have trouble forgiving himself.

“What is it you do for a living?” Mark asks, eyes quickly scanning Johnny’s crisp suit. “I can’t say I recall Hyuck ever mentioning it.”

“A bit of this and that,” he jokes, glancing towards you. “That’s what she calls it.” He hates the melancholic tone he has adopted. It is pitiful. “After our parents passed, I took over their pharmaceuticals company just after I turned twenty-one. We dabble in everything; medicine, cosmeceuticals, nutrition, you name it.”

“That must keep you busy.”

“I work from home,” Johnny knows he is being foolish, trying to falsely place an accusation in Mark’s assumption. Johnny knows he fell into the classic trope of throwing himself into his studies, and then his work, just to avoid the harsh reality that his parents were gone and they were never coming back. He would readily admit he abandoned you in the beginning to grieve on your own, to figure it all out on your own. He just wouldn’t take that from a stranger. “I tried to be around for her as much as I could.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Mark’s smile is kind, full of unfiltered sympathy. Johnny wonders if you have to practice such a thing, and if so, whether someone should have the doctors do the same. “I just wonder if you are wearing yourself thin is all.”

“You needn’t worry about such things Detective.” Johnny reminds, drawing the line between the two so simply, his eyes flicking slowly to Mark’s badge. “Worry about the case.”

“Of course,” Mark rushes, scrambling to defend his statement. “I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

“And I you,” when the doctor enters to take both yours and Haechan’s vitals, he greets Mark warmly. Johnny feels no resentment to this warm reception, none whatsoever. But he can’t help but wonder what about him denies him the same warm greeting. He is quickly reminded of the first time he was to meet Taeyong.

1,977 days

“Your knees are shaking the counter, hyung,” Haechan sniggers. He knows he shouldn’t, he does. But he can’t help but bask in his friend’s nerves. How can the coldest man he knows be so scared to meet his sister’s boyfriend. As calm and collected as he behaves, Haechan is no stranger to worry, and it worries him to no end how the evening will go. From what he has heard from you, Taeyong is as nervous as one can be. And yet, your main concern lies in how your brother will react, and Haechan is an empathetic soul. He just knows he will feel it all. “Your vibe is really killing the mood, lighten up.”

“Shut up, kid.” Johnny warns, eyeing his watch every so often. “They’re late.”

Strike one.

“You know what y/n is like, she’s probably trying to talk him out of it.” Haechan notes how innocent Johnny looks with his head tilted, confusion bleeding into his features. “You are pretty scary hyung, maybe she thinks you’m scare him off.”

“Maybe he isn’t worthy then.”

Strike two.

“Or,” Haechan sings, adjusting his embroidered apron, Hyuck’s opening anniversary gift from the very man he is about to berate. “Maybe you’re not ready to watch your sister grow up, so you sabotage everything with your scary eyes and bad vibes,” Haechan shrugs with his chin in his palm, blinking sweetly at Johnny who resists the urge to flick his forehead.

“Don’t you have coffee to go pour?”

Haechan sniggers once more as he does just that, refilling Johnny’s coffee and shrugging. “Or maybe they’re stuck in traffic.”

So he can’t fly?

Strike three.

300 days

After a few hours, Mark returns for a detailed description of the three men he suspects may be involved in the shooting. Johnny says as much as he can recall, even going as far as to emphasise the detective’s lack of involvement. He suspects it is in direct retaliation to his earlier comment and ignores it, though Johnny quickly sees his own guilt reflected back in the detective’s guilt ridden eyes. “Will that be all?”

“Almost-” Mark starts, before glancing over at you. “I just,” he can’t seem to push past the lump in his throat. Johnny has given him everything he knows, that much is true. But after speaking with the doctor, Mark can’t help but wonder. “Why haven’t you tried speaking to her? Doctor Kim said she may respond well to a familiar voice.”

“I’m not sure what to say.”

Mark knows it’s a loaded statement. One dripping in regret, in guilt, and in shame. But Mark can’t afford for Johnny to be ashamed. Not with Haechan lying unconscious as you lie there, reliving that day over and over and over again. Mark needs you to wake up. But Mark also swore to never relinquish his compassion. All Mark knows of you is the stories he’s heard through Haechan. Though some have a rosier hue due to his familiarity with you, Mark is sure there is no exaggeration in your case. You are a good person. One who cares deeply, who loves deeply. Mark thinks those parts of you are the ones Johnny can tap into. He just won’t.

“Haechan was my first friend in Korea. When I moved here as a kid, my parents worked at the orphanage he was at. He made fun of my Korean for a year straight before I could finally understand and speak fluently enough to defend myself. But, I guess it was okay, you know? He was helping all the same. I was a scrawny kid, I used to get picked on a lot. He was always there. Even though he got beat up too. He’s in all my earliest- my best memories. growing up. He’s like my brother. If he was awake, I think I’d-”

“But he isn’t,” Johnny reminds, eyes locked on your sunken face. Johnny knows what Mark is doing, he knows the tactic very well. He is quite acquainted with guilt as a form of persuasion. “He’s not awake, detective. The doctor said he doesn’t know if he will ever wake up. You know, I overheard the doctors say they haven’t seen spinal fractures that severe in their fifty years of combined experience. They said if Haechan ever opens his eyes again it will be a miracle. If he walks again? This hospital would be internationally renowned. Those surgeons would be infamous. But they can’t. They can’t so it. They can’t do it because they don’t have the facilities for such an operation, and even if they did, Hyuck couldn’t afford it. Even if he could afford it, y/n would have to wake up and give them the okay, because this idiot made herself his guardian so he could practically sell his soul for the loan for that fucking diner.

“So, I’m sorry, detective. I’m sorry that the only thing standing between you ever seeing your friend again is my selfish sister.”

“Mr Seo-”

“But you must agree, she is selfish. She thinks she’s the only one hurting, the only one who has lost something, lost someone.” Mark only sees what Johnny is doing a few seconds too late. As Johnny raises a lone finger to his lips, his eyes catching on the stream pouring down your temples. Mark’s heart nearly beats out of his chest as your vital signs begin to whir, the machinery at your bedside coming to life as Johnny reminds you that, “people die every day. Our parents, Hyuck’s parents, and now Taeyong-”

“Don’t!” You scream suddenly, your body nearly thrashing off of the bed. Johnny fears the force with which you rise could snap your arms in two, but nothing is more worrisome than the bloody red rimming your crisp white eyes; the visible and painfully rapid rise and fall of your chest; the tremor in your chapped lips. “Don’t! Please! Please don’t say it-”

Johnny had never moved so fast. His hands clinging to your trembling frame as he stroked the back of your head. He chanted quickly in your ear, pleading with you to stay with him as he promises to stay. “I won’t go anywhere, I won’t leave you. Never. I promise. Just please, stay with me, okay? I need you here, Hyuck- Hyuck needs you, okay? I need you to stay with me, we’re all we have. Please, y/n-”

Mark couldn’t help but feel intrusive. His earlier pushing began to feel filthy, unfair, unjust. But how could he know you were this far gone, this distraught. Nothing is more sickening than the soft, croaky ‘yes’ that spills from your lips. Your bloodshot eyes lingering on his frozen frame before you see Haechan. You tremble again, your body nearly convulsing as you recognise the boy beside you.

“Shh, he’ll be okay- I promise- we’ll get him help. I promise you- we’ll be okay.”

Johnny rarely spoke out of hope. He was a man who would cling so tightly to reality, you would sometimes joke that his knuckles would snap from the pressure. But as he holds you tightly in his arms, rocking your hollow frame back and forth, he realises he has nothing more than hope.

But since when has hope ever been enough?

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