#he even finds some he’d thrown aside or in the trash because he didn’t like them very much

[http-byler]

begging on my hands and knees for Will to find Mike’s gay little binder of drawings that he’s collected from Will in s5

#byler #okay but imagine #like s5 in the UD they’re in Mike’s house and everything is the same as 1983 #will is looking around all fond at all of the toys mike used to have and the d&d set up #and he looks at a shelf he never really acknowledged before and sees that there’s a binder half full of paper sticking out #as if it was hastily put away #and he looks inside to find years worth of drawings he’d given mike #he even finds some he’d thrown aside or in the trash because he didn’t like them very much #each one with crease marks. like it’d been gently smoothed out #and Mike walks in like ‘oh hey Will whatcha got ther-‘ #cue the full body flush and stuttering defense for having all of those drawings #but wills not even really listening bc he’s so /in love/ with this goofball #god. fuck. #will byers #mike wheeler #stranger things #elijah speaks

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

a kiss from the moon | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: All these years, all these summers, Jeon Jungkook has loved you. His problem? You have no idea. Mostly because he has always said it far too platonically and thrown up in your lap after saying it. Drunk. Fuck. Oh, yeah, and you're also Park Jimin's best friend since preschool. Shit.

warnings: language; alcohol consumption; pining; JK gets distracted by (your) tits during his quest, typical; non-idol!BTS - purple-haired!Jungkook x sleepy af, noona!reader, ft Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung radiating big soulmate energy; childhood friends-to-lovers

yes, it's JK from the 'Butter' beach photos

--

“I love you!”

You lifted your head out of the mountain of pillows, groggy and hazy, squinting at the moonlight filtering through the floating curtains. The night breeze was warm, drifting in softly with the low hum of cicadas. But what was that other sound? That other sound was familiar, wasn’t it?

You heard your name being shouted, followed by, “Wake up!”

You made a face and stumbled out of the bed, sticking your head out of your bedroom window, your own hair flying back and smacking you in the face.

“Yah! Jeon Jungkook, are you trying to wake up the whole damn neighborhood?!”

“Get down here!”

You put on your best disgruntled expression and peered down at the form on your front lawn, shoving your own hair aside.

“What are you going on about?” you muttered, seeing Jeon Jungkook looking up at you, puffing his cheeks, long wet purple hair fading to gray because of the chlorine from swimming all night at that party Park Jimin had invited you to earlier today, to which you had responded, no thanks, I’m going to sleep all day, I worked three double shifts in a row and I have zero desire to be flung into your family’s swimming pool at this time, but I will acknowledge that your offer is very generous, and then promptly passing out for a good – you glanced at your phone with the pink bunny case Jungkook had given you two summers ago – ten hours and it was still not enough for you to comprehend why your best friend’s best friend was standing on your front lawn yelling at your parents’ house that you were watching for a month while they were in Italy getting drunk on far too expensive wine and eating cheese they probably couldn’t pronounce.

Jungkook was shirtless, clad only in orange swim shorts and sandals like a fucking hooligan. He was clutching a plastic red Solo cup and he threw it at the house, yelling your name again.

“Oh my fucking God, don’t litter, you idiot!” you bellowed back, throwing yourself away from the windowsill and crawling on the floor to your bedroom door like the evolution of mankind, making it from all fours to two legs by the time you got to the stairs – good thing too, you might have broken your neck if you were still disoriented – and you dragged yourself downstairs, yanking your white slip dress straight. Not your choice of pajamas. Your mom’s, who told you to be more ladylike, whatever the fuck that meant, and who also informed you in the same breath that it was your only choice of pajamas since they donated all your clothes from high school.

Awesome.

You go to university and your parents yeet all evidence that they had a child and go vacationing.

Good for them.

You wrenched your front door open and shoved your feet into your dad’s giant brown sandals and clapped your way over to the pink-faced, mildly drunk, shirtless man in swimming trunks on your front lawn.

“It’s two in the morning. Why are you standing here drunk and professing your love like some kind of deranged Romeo?” you sighed, rubbing your eyes. “Why aren’t you at Jimin’s?” You spied the red Solo cup and picked it up, whipping your head back to Jeon Jungkook.

He was staring at you with his mouth open.

Charming.

He didn’t say anything for a good ten seconds.

“Alright, fine, let me call my loser of a best friend and tell him to pick up his loser of a best friend, so I can go back to sleep,” you muttered, about to turn around.

Jungkook seemed to sputter back to life. “Wait, um, noona–”

“He speaks! He’s not dead.”

“A… Ah… Um…”

You squinted at him and reached up to knock the side of his head. “Hello? Anyone in there?”

Jungkook blurted out, “I love you.”

His breath smelled a lot like alcohol.

“Yeah, I got that. You also said that when I got you through your Chemistry and World History exams. Both times. You also say that to like, what, six of your guy friends? Don’t get me started on the amount of times you’ve said it and thrown up in my lap right after. Don’t do that this time,” you added sternly, prodding at his chest. “I’ve got one set of pajamas because my mom forgets that human beings change clothes, so throw up on the grass.”

“Uh… that’s pajamas…?”

“Lady pajamas,” you grumbled sarcastically, lifting the lid and chucking the crumpled Solo cup into your parents’ trash can. “Since I’m not lady enough apparently according to my mom, even though I’m ninety-nine percent sure giant band t-shirts are completely unisex but, whatever, it’s just a dress, not a big deal.”

“Um.”

You looked at Jungkook, who looked back at you, who put your hands up and gestured him to say something, who in response rose his hands and flapped them in confusion, giving you absolutely zero helpful communication. The movement reminded you he had gotten his right arm and hand tattooed in the last couple years, the black ink standing out against tan skin. You hadn’t seen him too many times during your university years, too busy completing research papers and staying late nights in laboratories, only to now end up working on hospital software and sitting on your ass all day. Life, eh? These past three days were spent on working through bugs for the next software update and you had maybe lost all social skills as you attempted to unravel lines of code that you stared at for forty-eight out of the past seventy-two hours.

Fun!

“Do you need a cookie? A shower? The Bible?” you offered, waving your hands. “Maybe tell me why you’re here, yes?”

He was staring and you realized you were slightly bent over in your gesture, your breasts firmly pressed into the cups of the slip dress. You straightened and Jungkook’s wide dark brown eyes went back to your face.

“I… I didn’t realize you had come back, noona.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about? I told Jimin last week. He said he was hanging out with you and Taehyung. I figured he’d just tell you guys then.”

Jungkook shook his head quickly, gray-purple hair flying about. He pointed to the left, where Jimin’s house was several blocks over. “He only mentioned it just now, when he was throwing up in the bathroom from doing eight shots in a row because Taehyungie dared him.”

“…. Maybe he needs the Bible…” you muttered, shaking your head.

Then the realization hit you.

“Did you walk here from Jimin’s and straight up abandon the party?”

Jungkook tilted his head and thought about it. “Yeah.”

You looked around to find the camera and see if you were being pranked, but there was no camera because this life wasn’t purely for entertainment, right? Nah, this wasn’t The Matrix.

Mhm.

“Hah, well, what’s wrong? Are you upset I didn’t go to the party or something? I had three double-shifts this week, I wasn’t going to be any fun passed out before actually drinking–”

“Yoongi-hyung was passed out before drinking.”

“In some ways, I swear that guy and I are the same person,” you laughed, shaking your head. “Anyway, I’m sorry I didn’t go and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I really banked on Jimin not being an airhead, but once again he is, so maybe I should reconsider him as my best friend…”

“Noona, I…”

You looked up from your mental consideration of Park Jimin’s pros and cons, the first pro being he punched that ex of yours that cheated on you with some Tinder hookup and that was already enough to stop contemplating, so you blinked at Jungkook curiously, looking into wide brown eyes, long strands of ash-purple floating around his handsome face from the night breeze, brushing against his parted lips, highlighting the mole underneath them, placed perfectly in the center like a kiss from the moon itself.

“Can I take a shower and sleep it off here?”

You tilted your head. “Yeah, sure. You can borrow my dad’s clothes. You should call Jimin though. You don’t want him to panic that he lost you.”

“Y… Yeah, okay…”

-

Jeon Jungkook really thought he could say it this time.

Collected all his courage and ran, ran as fast as he could, couldn’t believe Jimin had neglected to say she was coming home over the summer for more than a day, days without her reminding Jungkook that he was a coward for not saying it when he could have, having lost his most important person in the world because he was too afraid of telling Park Jimin that he was in love with his best friend.

He remembered that smile wearing nothing but a large t-shirt, sitting on Jimin’s bedroom floor, crushing all of them at UNO and cackling as Jimin blew up for ending up in last place for the third time in a row, yelling that the game was rigged, and Jungkook remembered thinking, I should tell her tonight.

And he didn’t.

He remembered her saying to Taehyung that she just wasn’t into girly things. They were having this argument over pizza and Taehyung was waving his around saying she should at least try a dress on every once in a while, never know, might actually like it, and her rolling her eyes as she shot back that she didn’t have to do anything just because it was stereotypical for her gender. Taehyung told her to stop using big words and waved his hands, accidentally flinging his pizza slice into her lap, and Jungkook remembered thinking, I should tell her after we clean up.

And he didn’t.

He remembered seeing her prepare to leave for university once again, holding a small package from the internet and handing it to her, a small but practical belated birthday gift, both of them surprised when she opened it, not the matte black phone case he had ordered, but somehow mixed up with a pink bunny phone case that had no business being owned by someone who didn’t like girly things.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t order this–”

And she laughed, shaking her head. “That’s okay, I gotta go, thanks anyway, Jungkook!”

The years went by and every year Jungkook told himself, this is the one, and every year he just couldn’t say it.

He thought he could say it now, drunk and furious at Jimin for not preparing him for this moment, but on his way here Jungkook figured that perhaps this was preferred, that maybe it was better that he couldn’t sit around nervously overthinking what to say.

But, of course, the problem was…

He had already said it in a platonic way.

Shit.

He really fucked himself throughout the years.

Jungkook sighed, now wearing borrowed clothes, holding the note of her handwriting as he rubbed his hair with the towel.

I washed your shorts and they’re hang-drying now. You can sleep in the guest room. I left a glass of water and some hangover meds. If you need anything, I’ll be asleep but you can attempt to wake the dead if you want.

He walked down the hall, towel around his shoulders. Her bedroom door was open. He stood outside the entrance, sighing, seeing her sleeping form and her bedside table, her phone sitting on the charger.

His breath caught in his throat as he recognized that pink bunny phone case.

-

“Where’s Jungkook?”

“Probably at her parents’ place, confessing his love,” Kim Taehyung snickered, picking up the beer bottles left behind next to the pool.

“Hah, of course he would leave without cleaning up,” Park Jimin grumbled, pushing the recycling bin along as Taehyung tossed each bottle inside.

“You think he’s gonna tell her?”

“He didn’t even tell me,” Jimin muttered, shoving used napkins into the bag hanging off the side of the recycling bin that he was going to toss into the trash later. “I had to find out from you. I think he’s hopeless. Why does he like her anyway? She’s fun to be around, yeah, she’s good at school, yeah, knows a lot of random facts, yeah, if you get into philosophy with her like Namjoon-hyung does, you begin to question humanity and reality, yeah, but other than that…”

“You hitting on your best friend, dude?”

“I mean, she’s kinda hot, she wouldn’t say no to me.”

Taehyung snorted.

Jimin smacked him in the ass with the recycling bin.

“Anyway, he’s probably just standing in her bedroom creepily watching her sleeping.”

-

Jungkook stared down at her sleeping form.

He looked up, looking out the window into the late, late night. He was tired, and yet he couldn’t sleep, too busy wondering.

I don’t deserve her if I’m not brave enough to say it.

“Jungkook?”

-

You squinted at the large form in your bedroom.

“Why are you just staring moodily out the window?” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. “Is something wrong? Are you hungry? I can make you a snack…”

“Noona, do you know what the worst feeling in the world is?” he asked softly, still looking out into the warm night.

You grunted and scrunched up your face. “Stepping on a Lego?”

You heard Jungkook laugh and you smiled a little despite your groggy state, hearing a little bit of his old self, the younger Jungkook hanging out with you, Jimin, and, later, Taehyung, the four of you getting up to no good. Somehow, in the past few years, he had gotten quieter and quieter, at least around you, but then again you only came home to visit for a day or two before going back to university.

“Have you ever been in love, noona?”

“Yeah, with the red bean popsicles they used to sell at the ice cream trucks, but then they stopped, those assholes, I’ve never been so heartbroken in my life,” you grumbled, remembering the day where the ice cream man told you they were sold out and your young teenage heart shattering.

“I love you, you know.”

Was this a fever dream? Why did he keep repeating himself? You looked over to his back, still looking outside onto the street, the street where you all used to run and laugh every summer, pretending you were surviving in the wild and not in the middle of a suburban neighborhood, sitting around sipping lemonade and complaining about the heat even though you all could have gone inside, lighting sparklers at night and seeing whose would last the longest even though such a thing was only based on chance anyway.

“Is that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?” he added quietly.

“The worst thing I’ve ever heard was accidentally hearing Jimin jacking off. Twice.”

Jungkook finally turned around, giving you a disgusted look. “What?”

You placed a hand on your face and sighed heavily, trying not to remember. “For some reason he thinks the bathroom isn’t echoey or something, like, at least do it in the shower, so the water masks the sound…” You chuckled, shaking your head. “Anyway, I would much rather hear you say you have love for me than listening to Jimin getting off.”

“I don’t have love for you.”

You raised your hand from your face and shifted your gaze to him, half-smile lingering on your lips from remembering Jimin’s carelessness. You made eye contact the second the words left his mouth, those brown eyes shrouded in shadows, but still so clear, a little helpless, a little sad.

“I’m in love with you,” Jungkook whispered softly.

Your eyes widened.

A soft breeze swept through the window, lifting the purple-gray strands from Jungkook’s face, revealing his lost, desolate expression.

The cicadas hummed.

A car alarm honked loudly, screeching through the night.

Both you and Jungkook jerked to face the window. You bolted out of bed and you both threw your hands onto the edge of the window, yanking it shut, wincing at the loud noise.

“Ah, jeez… what the hell…?” you groaned, slumping to the ground.

“What’s with people…?” Jungkook muttered, falling to the floor beside you, yanking the towel off his shoulders.

-

“Fuck, I pressed the wrong button!”

“Taehyung, what the hell, turn it off!”

“I was just trying to put the tangerines your parents gave me in my car!”

“I don’t care what you were doing, turn it off!”

-

“Anyway, sorry, you were saying something important and you got interrupted by some dumbass,” you sighed, nudging Jungkook with your shoulder.

“Uh… well, that was it…”

You blinked at him, tilting your head. “What, that you’re in love with me?”

“Y… Yeah?”

You blinked some more.

“Not the, want to go to the arcade and see who can get the highest score in PAC-MAN or go watch shitty action movies and rate the unrealistic plot lines or dare each other to eat whatever expired delicacy is in Taehyung’s fridge, kind of love?”

Jungkook made a repulsed face. “I regret eating that tofu. Don’t think I can ever look at uncooked tofu without gagging a little now…”

You leaned over and caught his eye.

“Do you mean the… want to date and get married and make babies, kind of love?”

His lips parted and the moonlight lit the small mole placed perfectly underneath his lower lip.

A delicate kiss from the moon itself.

Then you realized he was staring at your tits.

You yanked the neckline up a little and Jungkook started, looking back up at you with wide eyes.

“Sorry, I’m just not used to you in a dress, sorry, I’m being really rude–”

“It assures me that you’re at least interested in the making babies part,” you chuckled.

His ears turned red and he reached up to cover them, trying not to look down. “S… Sorry…”

“So…?”

He chewed on his lip, messing with his earrings with his fingertips. “Um… yeah, that kind of love. The latter kind.”

You lowered your hand. “You’re not messing with me, right? I swear, if this is one of Taehyung’s elaborate ideas to mess with me, I’m going to ki–”

Jungkook shook his head quickly, purple hair flying about. “I’m not joking around. I wanted to tell you for a long, long time, but…” His eyes darted about, panicking a little, before looking back to you helplessly. “You’re Jimin’s best friend, besides Taehyung, and what if… what if you thought I was gross or something and then I don’t think I could hang out with you guys anymore, but then you went to that prestigious university far away and I thought, I’m so stupid, I should have said something, anything, but every time I could even think about it, I didn’t know what to say, nothing seemed right…”

He let out a big sigh and tapped his head against the windowsill, closing his eyes.

“Also, I said it before and threw up in your lap right after, so that kinda fucked me up.”

“Can’t say I was really feeling the romance, yeah.”

He groaned and covered his face with his hands.

“I’d date you though. For real.”

Jungkook removed his hands and blinked at you. “What?”

You chuckled. “Why are you acting so surprised? I’m not going to date Jimin, blergh, I’ve known that guy since I was in preschool. I’m not dating Taehyung, I’m pretty sure he’s on a different brainwave than other human beings.”

You smiled at him and turned around to pick up your phone, holding it up.

“I don’t like girly things or cute things very much, but I kept your gift because it was from you and, funnily enough, I think it made me realize that I was rejecting femininity because society puts such a negative connotation on things young women like and because my friends growing up were primarily male, thus I wanted to seem cool or relatable so I rejected stereotypically feminine concepts…”

“… What?”

Now it was a confused what.

“Uh, never mind,” you laughed awkwardly, putting your phone back on your nightstand. “Anyway, Jungkook, you made me realize things about myself, and I love being around you, but I thought a handsome guy like you would want to date a pretty girl, and I’m not really that.”

Jungkook furrowed his brows. “What are you talking about? You’re the prettiest girl in the world. No one could ever be prettier than you.”

You felt your neck heat. “Yo, don’t inflate my ego when it’s not the truth,” you chuckled sheepishly, waving a hand. “You’ve been drinking anyway. Alcohol makes everyone prettier.”

“It’s the truth.”

Was he drunk or were you drunk? Why was Jeon Jungkook getting closer?

“Would you really date me?”

You stared into those chocolate eyes and smiled.

“Yes, I would.”

And you leaned forward and kissed him.

His eyes widened, staring at you and you closed your eyes, pressing your lips to his, inhaling his scent, memories of hot summers and mirthful laughter filling your head, standing beside Jungkook and kicking Jimin and Taehyung’s ass at table tennis even though Jungkook was doing most of the work, finishing a movie together after Jimin and Taehyung had passed out on the couch on top of each other and talking excitedly about it until you both fall asleep, getting lamb skewers after Jimin and Taehyung went off to eat ramen in a huff, unable to agree on the same meal as a foursome, but it was fine, no, better than fine, perfect even.

Because you were with Jungkook.

You broke the kiss and opened your eyes, smiling at him.

He blinked slowly, looking down at you.

“Noona…”

His hand raised, fingers spreading out longingly. You quickly reached up and pushed it back down.

“Jungkook, I swear, I do want to touch you in a less than holy way, but maybe not when you’re wearing my dad’s clothes, including his underwear, because that’s really fucking weird.”

Jungkook looked down at the brown t-shirt and beige shorts. “Oh. Yeah. Right.”

“You know, come to think of it, I feel like Taehyung has slowly stolen Jimin from me over the years, so maybe this was fated…” you mumbled, remembering at the moments you had shared with Jungkook were because your other two friends had abandoned you.

“I feel you, sometimes I feel like a third wheel…”

-

“I’m so sleepy.”

“I’ll tuck you in first, but I’m going to get us some water so we don’t die tomorrow morning.”

“Ugh, Jimin, bring another pillow please.”

“Hah, fine, but you’re buying breakfast tomorrow…”

--

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #bts fluff #jungkook x you #jungkook x noona #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Wings [Pt.4]

Daryl Dixon x reader [Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.5] [Pt.6]

You rode all the way to the medical facility and took a small break to discuss your plan before going into the building. Making sure it was all secure before starting to collect everything and formulate an escape plan was the first thing you did as you got inside. Sweeping floor after floor you only ran into a handful of walkers that the two of you could easily deal with, but it took way longer than you had hoped to since a lot of the stairs had been barricaded by previous groups of survivors that had used the building for shelter. After making sure everything was secure you started to look for all the items you needed. You found the medicine storage but it was mostly raided already so you could only take what was left to take. You agreed to start at the top floor and go room by room and dig through everything to see what was left to find. "Daryl, can you help me get this cabinet moved? It's too heavy." You whined after trying to drag the heavy thing aside but it just wouldn't budge. With Daryl's help you were able to move it enough for you to squeeze yourself between the cabinets and dig through their contents. The large drawers that were blocked by the fallen cabinet still held quite some medicine on your list so you filled your bag with as much as you could take and then moved on to the cabinet. This one used to hold a lot of glass bottles that were broken when it fell and all the other contents were now ruined because of the leaked fluids and nothing could be salvaged anymore. You didn't feel too bad since you already got so much more than you would have guessed from the drawers so you left everything as is and moved to the next room over where Daryl was sorting through a box of gauzes, checking if any of them could be saved.

“Hey you. How’s it going over here? Got my first bag filled almost all the way.” You rambled as you made your way over to him, draping yourself over his shoulder comfortably, knowing there weren’t any walkers nearby. “S’fine. Got everything here.” He got up, dislodging you from his arm and grabbing his stuff. “Let’s go downstairs.” And so you did. The two of you moved down the cleared stairs and carefully progressed from room to room, sadly not finding anything useful on this floor and moved down to the next one where you found some medical suture and needles still sealed far away in a box. You put it in your bag and let out a loud yawn. You didn’t even realize you were getting that tired and looked outside only to see you had been going almost all day and it was getting dark outside already.

“Hey, Dee?” You called out to the next room. Daryl quickly peeked his head through the door opening and scanned the room for any danger you might have missed before. When he couldn’t find any he looked at you. “Why’d ya call me? Hurt yerself?” He looked you over once but couldn’t see anything that would have hurt you. You shook your head. “No, just starting to get tired. It’s also getting too dark to find stuff soon.” He agreed with you, it would be useless to look for stuff in the dark. It’d be impossible to see what was still usable and what wasn’t.

“One floor up had a room with beds, wanna see if they’re good?” He teased, quickly jumping away to dodge a wad of gauze that came flying towards his head at that remark that you may or may not have read wrong. Making your way back upstairs the two of you happily teased each other. “We’re jus’  sleepin’, Green. Don’t be gettin’ all nasty in tha’ head o’yers,” You turned around at the top of the stairs, hands on your hips. “Shouldn’t have made that bed comment, then. Also,” You turned back around as he got closer and walked over to the room with the beds to set down your bags. “I’m sweaty as hell and covered in walker leftovers since we got here so I’m physically unable to not be nasty.” Daryl laughed at that and had to admit defeat in this case. “Come on, let’t get this room secure.” You said, pushing two beds against each other towards the wall while Daryl started on moving the heavier cabinets in front of the door. Since you were on a higher floor and were only staying for one night there was no need to secure the windows. Once you were settled you both took something to eat and laid down together to rest up.

Rest came to you pretty quickly, but for Daryl it just wouldn't show. He'd been laying awake, very aware of your arm on his chest and your leg lazily thrown over his. It was only when you turned around and had your back towards him that he finally fell asleep. You woke up as soon as the sun came out, as usual and tried not to wake Daryl when you crawled out of the bed. The difficult part was carefully stepping over him since you slept on the wall side. You tried to evenly divide your weight as evenly as possible and slowly move over him but as you felt something at your side you shrieked and were suddenly pulled down by two arms around your waist. "G'mornin' to you too." Daryl lazily hummed in your ear. "Good morning, can you please let me go now?" You whines and tried to wiggle out of his grasp which ended in you only getting yourself more tangled and stuck instead of getting free so you could get dressed and grab some water. You kept struggling and squealed as his hands reached a ticklish spot on your side when you rolled over, causing you to jerk your knee right into his side. He groaned and let go of you and had you roll right off the bed and land with a thud. "Okay, truce. Truce!" You spoke from down on the floor. Daryl peeked his head next to the bed to check on you, but you were back on your feet quickly and getting properly dressed.

"sorry for throwin' ya off." He apologised as he got out of bed himself and accepted the water bottle that you offered him., taking a quick drink and putting it away again. "We good to go?" You were asked when everything was packed again. "Yeah, let's get that last floor done and go home." You sighed, really not in the mood to deal with anything at all.

Daryl had already started to clear the doorway again and before you got a chance to help he had it cleared just enough for the two of you to slip through and move on. With your bag heavy on your shoulders you moved down to the first floor, finishing the last room. You found nothing there and quickly left the room again to move back to the small walked barricade you put up on the stairs towards toe ground floor. It was only a small barricade that would hold off any small amount of walkers that could have made it into the building and upon opening the door towards the stairs it all proved to be worth it. You could hear the growls coming from down the stairs. You and Daryl made a quick plan of attack and went for it, taking out the small group of walkers pretty quick. The fact that they were stuck behind a barrier of trash helped a lot as well. Daryl could take out the ones in the back with his crossbow and you could stab the ones within reach with your knives. After all the walkers you could reach were gone you started taking away the barrier bit by bit. You took away a piece of wood near the bottom and turned to hand it to Daryl when something grabbed your leg and you slipped. "Shit!" You tried to reach for your knife but you couldn't and kicked at the hand that was holding you down. The concrete steps were digging into your side and thigh and no matter how you turned you were in pain. It didn't last long thanks to Daryl stabbing the walker as soon as he had the large piece of wood disposed of. He had no way of just dropping it somewhere without it coming back down the stairs and most likely hit you. "Ya alright? Did it get ya? Can ya move?" You had never seen Daryl so worried except that one time Judith ran into a walker when she went out to the woods with you two. "I'm good, Daryl. Just didn't see that one." He helped you back up and checked you for any injuries. When it was clear you were unharmed you continued on taking down the barrier, this time checking each piece before taking it off and setting it aside. When you had an opening big enough for you and your bags to fit through you went down the last bit of stairs and went back to scavenging for useful items. This floor had a small amount of walkers again that were easily taken care of and the rooms had barely anything left so before you knew it you were back outside and on your way back to Daryl's bike. Finding it where you stashed it, you puzzled how to get all the bags on it and carry the both of you as well. It took a while but you eventually had everyone and everything settled and went back home.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead #twd #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead x reader #twd x reader #twd imagine #sometimes i write

[libraford]

We interrupt the feral celebration of ousting an oligarch to bring you a story about Yeehaw and his Branch of Mystery.

  It has been a while since we last had some co-worker drama, but man- has it been a weird summer. I mean... we all had a weird summer in 2020, but I don't think I was really expecting this particular... flavor of weird?

 This is a story about Yeehaw, but it starts off with a story about Aggie.

 Aggie was someone we were excited to hire and part of our excitement was that it's rare to find someone with prior floral experience and we'd concluded at this point that it does no one any good to be picky about new hires in the middle of a pandemic. So finding someone who knew the difference between a carnation and a rose was a big deal for us.

 I say that in jest, but saying that we do 'on-the-job training' means that we've had to explain that yes- the flower in my hand that looks like a carnation is a carnation and not some other flower that looks like carnation but is not a carnation. Floristry is a very straightforward practice and for the most part a rose is a rose and a daisy is a daisy and if someone asks for those things, you give it to them.

 The hard part is, as always, making them look good together.

 Which is why we were pleased with Aggie- who previously did weddings for her friends and seemed to have a basic understanding of how to do things with her hands. We were happy to have her aboard.

 ... until you gave her criticism.

 She made her vases embarrassingly short, and if you tried to tell her how to fix it, she'd snap back with "I'm not DONE yet."

 She was done until you said something.

 If you gave her an order for two dozen white roses, she would take it upon herself to mix white and yellow roses together 'because it looks better.'

 It did not.

 Hashtag: #selftaught

 When a client asks for all white roses, there is likely a reason they asked for all white. Given that 90% of our work is funerals, it stands to reason that they are asking for all white because that is a traditional color for mourning. Working with a client means doing exactly what they asked for. Doing a wedding for your friends may get you high praise from people who trust you to work in the same aesthetic as them, but in a shop setting you are being paid to follow things to the letter. Doing so shows that you can follow directions, and they may come back next time.

 You don't know customer entitlement until you've been torn another asshole for leaving out a single rose.

 This seemed to never occur to her, and so criticism was a painful realization that perhaps she wasn't perfect at an art that was exceptionally susceptible to criticism. There were plenty of opportunities to make something in her own aesthetic, it wasn't like she was being stifled. There was a considerable amount of downtime where she filled the front cooler with her own creations- enigmatically giving each of them their own names like "Autumn Walk" or "First Snowfall." (This is not something that we do, on the whole.)

 Not very many of those sold.

 But I think what bugged me the most is that she only ever designed. She didn't take out the trash, she didn't answer phones, she never helped customers. She just... did flowers. Nothing else.

 Oh... and the chatter.

 "Do you travel? Oh, you simply MUST go to Bali sometime! You've never been to Asia? Well, there's nothing like achieving inner peace at a Buddhist temple on a mountaintop in Nepal. They have temples here in Ohio, but it's nothing like the real thing! You say you've never even been off the continent? Well, what are you waiting for? You only live once, you know!"

 Ma'am... we're in the middle of a pandemic. Ma'am... I only get paid so much...

 While trying to relate, I talked about my summer in Montana and she gave me the BIGGEST stank-face. "Montana? Ew, WHY?"

 Look, lady- I lived on a mountaintop next to an active, world-destroying volcano system. If that's not cool, I don't know what is.

 But thankfully, she only worked on weekends. See, this was her fun job. The job she does to stay social during a pandemic and flex her creative muscles while she makes money at her much more lucrative,but boring,HR job. So I only had to see her twice a month when I was manager on duty.

 Then she got fired from her weekday job and went full-time at the flower shop. Poor thing wasn't used to waking up at 7am every day. She was full of suggestions.

 "I think it would be easier for me if we only opened at like... 11am."

"Don't you think we should be taking proper photos of our work? All we would need is a nice camera and a soft lighting setup. Couldn't be much more than $1000."

"Oh I know! We should be doing inventory on tablets instead of writing things down!"

 Okay, you go buy those things then. It took her about a week of making those suggestions to realize that she wasn't real clear on how things worked around here and stopped. She became quiet, less enthusiastic about her 'fun' job now that she wasn't immediately the star of the show.

 Enter Yeehaw.

 We were excited about Yeehaw, too. He didn't just have experience with flowers- he had experience with a flower shop. He gave a good interview, he seemed like he knew what he was doing and was very passionate about flowers. He was definitely an entire hippie, but about 1/3 of all plant people are. Most importantly, we still had like three spots to fill left from our pre-Covid staff.

 Hired.

 There was an overlap of about a week where Aggie and Yeehaw worked at the same time. His work was... immaculate. Just... astonishingly beautiful work. You didn't even have to show him how to make anything. He just... knew.

 Well, Aggie didn't  like that much- we had only nice things to say about this new guy but all she ever got was criticism. And if we complimented him on something he made, he would give a little 'namaste' bow. And I could see her fuming with rage each time he did this.

 One day, she rushed into the back to take a phone call and any time someone went back there for a vase she would lower her voice as if keeping a deep secret. Twenty minutes later, she called Grandpa into the back as well to discuss something. Ten minutes later, Aggie left the building with her Live, Laugh, Love bag, looking pissed.

 "Where did Aggie go," I asked Grandpa.

 "She got a new job," she said. "Doing HR somewhere."

 "She didn't even say good-bye," Blue said, appearing unsurprised.

 And so we went on with out lives without really putting much further thought into Aggie, apart from the occasional 'you simply MUST visit Bali' line thrown in for bougie emphasis.

 Which brings us to the next part of the story, and that is Yeehaw.

 There are some details to know about Yeehaw that are kind of difficult to fit into a story neatly. Here is a brief list that may come in handy to know later.

-He lives with his mother.

-He drives a Tesla.

-He can afford the Tesla because he was in a terrible wreck that had him hospitalized, and a lawsuit was won.

-Because of this, he has two screws in his head at the temples.

-Unrelated, he has hair that goes all the way down to his back.

- And...

 "Grandpa, we need to tell you something," Blue said. "In private."

 Blue and Kali pulled Grandpa aside while Yeehaw slowly put together a funeral order. "Grandpa, there's no polite way to put this: Yeehaw is drunk as fuck."

 "He smells like whiskey," Kali said.

 "He's stumbling everywhere."

 "And he won't stop... burping."

 Grandpa paused. "There's something I need to tell you," she said, and she reached for a manila folder. "Yeehaw has something called... what's it called..." She leafed through the file and produced a paper, reading from it. "Auto-brewery Syndrome. His body actually produces alcohol anytime he eats bread or sugar. If he's drunk, it's because he can't help it."

 We each had a chance to go over the doctor's note, verifying that yes- that sure does look official. Everyone had questions, but it did answer the one I had about why he was sitting in the break room literally drinking peanut butter from the jar.

 So that was incredibly interesting and we no longer asked about the burping or why he was so slow.  

 However, the fact that he was so slow was extremely frustrating. Our average number of orders runs approximately 100 per-day. This can be eased somewhat when we have a full-staff with five designers- an average of 20 designs per person in an 8-hour day, 3 per hour.

 But it's a fine line some days, and if one person cannot keep up it turns into a struggle for all of us.  

 We did our best to accommodate. We gave him all the day-ahead orders so that we wouldn't be behind and he'd have all the time he'd need to make his gorgeous pieces.

 We were willing to make it work.

 A number of factors came into play one day, but most notably: Yeehaw's Tesla wouldn't start and he had to take the bus. So he was late.

 I think I saw him make one entire item in the two hours that we were in the same room. He went to lunch around 12:30, I took mine around 1:00. I saw him stumble back in from lunch, looking... out of it. Just... absolutely incomprehensible- mumbling, barely upright, his hair out of the bun, quite possibly sleepwalking- who knows?

 I saw him for that brief Sasquatch moment... and that was the last that I saw him that day. It was around 4:00 that  Grandpa asked the question:

 "Where's Yeehaw?"

 And no one had an answer. We all had places that we thought we'd seen him: cleaning the cooler, in the break room, heading to the bathroom... but no one had really... seen him since he stumbled back in around 1:30.

 We checked all these places.

 None of them.

 The person who actually managed to find him was Sarge, who noticed his feet sticking out from behind the bushes behind the building.

 "Huh," he said, presumably. He gave the feet a light kick and Yeehaw slowly sat back up. "Hey dude. You... okay, there? They're lookin' for you inside."

 Yeehaw mumbled something to Sarge and got to his feet, stumbling back into the shop without further interaction. He appeared into the workspace, holding a branch in front of his face for mysterious reasons. There were still twigs entangled in his long hair.

 "Where were you at," Grandpa asked, concerned.

 "Oh, I was in the bathroom," he lied from behind the branch of mystery. "I'm pretty tired. Is it okay if I go home?"

 Bewildered, Grandpa gave him permission to leave. It was soon after he left that Scout found his phone in the empty sink. "Who's trying to wash their phone," he asked in the loud manner that is characteristic of old white men. It rang while in his hand and one of our designers snatched it from him. It was his mother.

 "Hello," said the designer. "Yeehaw went home early, but he left his phone behind. Can you bring it home to him?" Mom agreed, she was just over at Trader Joe's anyhow.

 We thought, of course, that we were doing something smart and nice. Yeehaw's mom looks just about what you would expect the mother of a 30-year-old hippie that drives a Tesla to look. Grandpa, in a polite way, explained that he'd fallen asleep in a bush. To which Mom seemed neither surprised nor concerned about his behavior.

 "Okay. I'll be at Hallmark."

 Somewhere between the bus stop and Bexley, Yeehaw must have realized that his phone was not with him and so he came back looking for it. Despite his mother being literally in the same strip mall as we were, he seemed irritated that we'd taken the initiative to make sure his phone got to him.

 "Well, I bet if you just went down to Hallmark she'd give you your phone and probably give you a ride home."

 He mumbled something and then left.

 This seems like a decent place to pause, because him leaving the second time in the day should be the end of the story. However... at 5:00 in the evening there was still two hours left in the work day and from past experience... that is plenty of time for a lot of things to happen.

 The thing to happen was a phone call.

 "Hi, this is Jade from the main store. We've gotten... some... interesting phone calls. Is there... a... hmm... is there a dead body out in front of your store?"

 Pause.

 "We'll take care of it, bye."

 Who wants to be the one to poke the cadaver on the sidewalk? A volunteer from the audience! Ms Crowe: won't you come down?!

 I have had it planted firmly in my mind that Crowe certainly understands the concept of fear but does not recognize it. Apart from being one of our most reliable drivers, she is also a performer, a street medic, an activist, and most notably... a fire-breather.

 You have your hobbies.

 Point is- she's brave enough to check to see if the person laying on the sidewalk was dead or simply overdosed.

 As it turns out, it was Yeehaw- curled up in the fetal position with his arm covering his face.

 "Hey," Crowe said, poking him with her foot. "Heeeeeeey," she said again but more firmly this time. He moved, blinking in the evening the sun. "Buddy, you can't be laying around on the sidewalk. You gotta move on."

 Again, he slowly got to his feet. At this time, his mother emerged from Hallmark to see him talking with Crowe. A group of four people escorted him into Mom's car while he stopped every few feet to perform another 'namaste' bow.

 You think this is the end. But what have we learned?

 There's always more.

 He came in the next day as if none of this had happened. Conversation was difficult because we both desperately needed to know what the fuck happened and also did not want to trigger something. So we didn't bring it up. He apologized for leaving early: chronic fatigue syndrome, you know.

 Other places would have fired him, but we're a very forgiving workplace. Falling asleep on company time is not, in any way, the worst thing that someone has done at this location while still keeping their job. There was Sugar and her drugs, there was the dude that used the company van to pick up prostitutes (this was before my time), there was the guy that screamed at customers over the phone... it's a long list.

 The primary concern of our employers is whether or not you are a reliable person. If you routinely show up for your job and do the work, you're going to be okay at least for a little bit. And Yeehaw, for all his impeccable fuckery, at least showed up every day.

 We kept this at the back of our minds.

 One day, after the Day We Found Him In a Bush was behind us, one of the designers mentioned that they'd seen where Aggie works now. It was not in HR.

 It was our major competitor.

 Now, Grandpa knows this competitor well. She knows all her competition. It is the nature of a lot of florists to, once they've gotten sick of one place, move on to the next one and spill the beans on their operations there. So Grandpa gets the dirt on everyone.

 This particular shop was very regimented. You don't wing it- you follow the recipe as listed. He's been known to pick discarded flowers up off the floor and tell you exactly how much  money you're costing the company by letting it fall, to the cent. If you get so far as to make casket sprays, he will take your first one and chuck it across the room if it even looks like the stems are in there too loosely.

 This is what I mean about us being an easy place to work.

 Hashtag: #ohfuck.

 People come in and out of your life like that, in little ways. Sometimes you just have to have a little laugh at it. But what I thought was funny was that she felt the need to keep her new employer a secret, as though we would get jealous or tattle. Curious thing.

 Now that the glamour of Yeehaw's arrangements had worn off, we were starting to see more and more odd behaviors that didn't seem completely related to drunkenness.

 "Did you just fart?"

 "No, that was a spider barking."

 Amazing.

 Conversation with him was becoming... difficult. As I sat in the break room with my quick lunch and he drank soup out of a mayonnaise jar, he mentioned his area of study in college.

 "Cognitive Psychology and Hindu Philosophy, huh? That's an interesting combination."

 "Yeah," he said, funneling an amount of squash soup down his throat. "It'll take the rest of the world about 100 years before they catch up to where I am."

 I sat, posed in front of my beef and broccoli which I was eating with a fork, trying to process a logical reason why the rest of the world will be sleeping in a bush in one hundred years. "Uh... huh."

 This was followed by another thirty minutes of silence where I desperately wanted to know what he meant by that but didn't want to be the one to ask him.

 People will tell you that a hippie is generally an ineffective, benign kind of person who chants 'love love, peace peace' in a circle and consider that to be an action for change. But I can say with absolute certainty that I have met some downright egotistical hippies in my life. Those were lessons in bias- which I will have to save for other times.

 Eventually, Grandpa became frustrated with his slowness. We presumed that his speed of choice was a combination of his meticulous nature and his various ailments, but with the Christmas season coming upon us it was becoming much more than a series of symptoms.

 Previous persons who lacked speed were chatty, would play on their phone, or get distracted. But Yeehaw... Yeehaw simply moved like a tranquilized sloth. He slowly picked off each leaf, each thorn, each guard petal and took a minute for each action. He would put in his greens and then contemplate it powerfully for ten minutes before putting any flowers in... slowly.

 In the time spent doing this, I had already made something of a similar size and was starting on the second one.

 It was during one of these times that Grandpa finally said something.

 "Yeehaw, that spray is due in thirty minutes. Is there a way you can go any faster?"

 He looked up from his greens, held one carnation to his face, and said:

 "If you wanted me to move faster, you would pay me better."

 Let me start by saying that we do not get paid well. We don't. Compared to other flower shops in our city, we are probably the lowest-paid. This is something that the company is starting to work on with benefits and raises, but any amount of change takes time. (And its still better paying than when I worked in retail. But that's another book.)

 Yeehaw had been here for exactly one month. I don't know a single workplace that gives you a raise after one month and still lets you sleep on the clock without firing you. He knew what he was getting paid when we hired him.

 So anyways, he slowly grinds down our nerves to a very fine dust- burping, farting, falling asleep on his feet, staring intensely into space, talking about how much he should be making but isn't, bragging about his enlightenment, and generally just slowing down production.

 And then Grandpa had her well-earned vacation week. Blue was in charge for the most part and the week leading up to Halloween is generally pretty slow, so it was a good week for her to have a break with few mishaps.

 Eh... hehe. Yeah.

 Yeehaw... disappeared again. We checked the cooler, we checked the break room, we checked the bushes out back, we checked the sidewalk out front.

 He was in the bathroom.

 So we left it.

 He was still in the bathroom an hour later.

 We had one of the male drivers pound on the door to check on him. When Yeehaw opened the door to the men's room, there was a wad of toilet paper on the floor that he'd been using as a pillow.

 If I may pause here to explain- our men's room is disgusting. I have deep cleaned it several times only for it to become a germ-fest once more in a matter of hours. I don't ask who is peeing all over the floor because, honestly, I have no desire to know what grown man can't aim his willy in the right direction.

 So in order to fall asleep in the bathroom, you have to be willing to sleep in pee. During a pandemic.

 He reappeared in the workroom, put his apron back on, looked around at all of us still working and said: "Wow, it must be really hard to get fired here."

 It was at this point that Blue informed Grandpa.

 "Tell him that he's fired," Grandpa said, clearly 1001% done with this.

 "I'm not going to fire him," Blue said. "I don't think I can fire anyone."

 So she had the driver that found him do it, which was confusing for all of us. He ended up calling Grandpa to clarify. And by 'clarify,' I definitely mean 'beg for his job back.' A synopsis of the 20 minute phone call went like this:

 "What do you mean, I'm fired?"

 "Just that. You're fired. I'm tired of it, Yeehaw. You don't work here anymore."

 "Why?"

 "What do you mean 'why?' You spend all day making a total of three arrangements and then you wander off somewhere and fall asleep."

 "I can't help it if I have chronic fatigue syndrome!"

 "This is a physical job. If your body can't handle an 8-hour shift without falling asleep for two hours, this isn't the job for you. Tell me: where is that fair to the girls that you do 3% of the work while they pick up the slack and you wander off to sleep on the clock?"

 "I simply do not care about them."

 "You don't care that you're shoving all the work on your coworkers, and that's why you're fired."

 "I wish you'd given me a warning."

 "Tell me, Yeehaw: how many employers can you find that will allow you to sleep on the clock for two hours and let you off with a warning?"

 End of discussion.

 Now, you're probably wondering where Aggie comes back into this. Just hold tight, I'll get there.

 The Sunday after he was fired, he came in to pick up his paycheck. I was busy handling a minor emergency where one of our funeral homes forgot to order a spray and I had to make one as fast as I could. We held a brief conversation while I made the spray in a hurry.

 "I'm here to pick up my check," he said while I greened the spray and leafed through the paychecks simultaneously.

 "Here you go," I said, handing it to him without much fanfare. I presumed that he was looking for sympathy or some kind of followup or... I don't know. Sorry you suddenly care about your job?

 "So what are your next plans," one of the designers asked, trying to coax more information out of him while I did the work of three people.

 "It's kind of funny," he said slowly... as he did all things. "I've only ever been fired from flower shops." He paused, thoughtfully. "I think I'm going to go apply to the shop in Bexley that Aggie went to."

#as the world turnips

[violet-knox]

The School Smugglers

Year 7 - Chapter 69

Summary: Severus tries carve a better path for himself but finds it more difficult then expected.

Word count: 1614

Previous Chapter - Chapter 1

~

Severus lost himself as he slowly stirred his cauldron. Every thought he had in every minute of every day this past week had been about you. How sad you were, how different you’d been, how reserved you’d become. He’d never felt alone before when he was with you, even when you were just friends, your company had always felt comforting. But every time you sat next to him, it was like you weren’t even there. You’d stopped sleeping next to him, claiming you were too tired to sneak into his dorm. He’d only seen you twice outside of class for more than five minutes since the incident with Connor and both times you had your nose in a book, barely conversing with him. He wasn’t sure how long this would go for or if he’d ever be able to regain your trust again, but every night before he left the Gryffindor tower, you’d tell him you loved him. Every night he’d walk to the dungeons smiling, his heart fluttering with hope and lust for your relationship and every night he went to sleep wondering if the next day would get any better.

He stared down at his potion and immediately yanked his spoon out of the cauldron, realizing his stirred it one more than it needed. Drops of the potion splattered all over his table when he flung his spoon as more dripped from the end as he held it, staring at it with no care whatsoever. His grades had dropped this past week, something you had yet to notice and he dreaded what would happen if he kept it up. He needed the grades if he wanted to make anything of himself, just one step into proving his value to the Wizarding world. But right now, at this moment, he could care less about his values, his goals and ambitions. He could care less about this damn potion. He’d let it turn to sewage water to get back to normal with you.

With a heavy sigh, he turned off his burner and set the cauldron down to cool as he retrieved some vials. He poured as many as he could and stuffed them into a pouch before cleaning up and gathering his belongings to drop them off. He clutched the strap of his bag as he began walking down the hall from the potions classroom to the drop off point, waiting in anticipation until finally he heard footsteps coming his way. His heart quickened as they grew nearer. He played back the speech he’d spent all night preparing in his head and as Avery emerged from the shadows, his body tensed, his expression stern with determination.

“Snape,” Avery greeted him so casually, like they were meeting up for lunch. He stood there, waiting for Severus to hand over the vials but he had to say his piece first. He couldn’t let his plan fail this time, it’s over for him and it was time for him to start craving a better path for himself.

“This is my last batch, Avery. I’m done.” His tone stayed firm, his face stiff as he stood up straight and held his ground. Seconds passed by like hours as he tried to read Avery’s response through his body language, but it was like time had stood still, taunting him for daring to try and improve himself. As he shifted his weight, he wondered if Avery had even heard what he said. Was it all in his head? Had he practiced his lines so much that he fooled even himself into believing they were real? He opened his mouth to say it again when Avery suddenly burst into laughter.

“Good one Snape. I truly believed you for a moment.” Avery smiled as he crossed his arms. It was a joke to him, just as he’d been a joke to the house of Slytherin all these years, believing he could be one of them if he lent out his skills and did what he was told. He’d spent so much effort, so much time trying to fit in, trying to find a place to belong, thinking that if his mother once belonged to Slytherin, he could too. It was foolish to think that way, but he was young and he didn’t know he didn’t have to cater to others to belong. No more. He was going to correct his mistakes and he didn’t care what they thought of him anymore. “Now hand them over so we can go our separate ways.”

“I’m serious.” Severus didn’t move a muscle as he looked Avery straight in the eye. He needed him to accept this termination before any other exchange occurred.

“No, you’re not.”

“I am.” Avery’s smile finally dropped as he seemed to understand the seriousness in Severus’ statement. He clenched his jaw and Severus gripped the strap of his bag tighter as he waited for the rebuttal.

“Snape, that’s not how this works mate. Nobody quits something like this.” Severus was rather disappointed in the response. He wasn’t expecting a flat-out rejection, though he wasn’t surprised. No one else at this school would be able to brew as well as him. At least no one they could hire.

“Well, allow me to be the first.” Severus smirked as he held his head up. Whether Avery and the rest of them accepted it or not, he was done with this business and he was done with all of them.

“You’re not hearing me, Snape. Nobodycan quit. The only way out is if you drop dead, but if that’s what you want mate, I’d be happy to help you ‘give your resignation’.” Severus’ shoulders dropped at the insulting remark thrown his way. There had to be something he could do, a middle ground they could find but before he could say anything else, Avery snatched his bag from him and tore it open, searching for the vials. “Look Snape, even if you manage to leave, you don’t think you’d be able to leave unscathed, do you? I mean, you’re lucky your only punishment for prancing around with the enemy was public exile from your own house.”

“If that’s what it’ll take to leave, then so be it. I’ll take whatever comes my way.” Avery found the vials and tossed the rest of his belongings to the ground before looking back at Severus.

“Can (Y/L/N) take whatever comes her way?” Severus’ eyes pierced into his with anger. How dare he speak your name! How dare he threaten you like this! He clenched his fists, but as always, he knew he couldn’t do anything because it wasn’t just Avery and the others that would be to blame if any harm came your way, he shared the blame as well. Something he would have to live with for the rest of his life but how was he supposed to make a better life for himself, for you if he couldn’t get out of this stupid deal.

“Stay away from her! She has nothing to do with this.” Severus rose his tone in anger, one hand slipping from his backpack strap to where his wand was concealed beneath his robes. If he had to send a message through Avery then so be it, but he wasn’t going to have them threatening you again. He’d die before he let anything happen to you.

“What world do you live in, Snape? She’s the reason you have this job mate.” Avery looked as though the answer was obvious, like you weren’t worth the trouble and he was a buffoon for forgetting his place. But Avery was the foolish one for not accepting his resignation, for not seeing how amazing you were and what a great opportunity he had with you.

Severus wanted to tell him off, to show him he had no right denying him his freedom, but Avery had his only leverage. He looked up to find a smirk of victory smeared on Avery’s face as he gripped the vials tightly in his hands. “I’ll see you in a month, Snape.”

Just like that Severus was left to the mess on the floor, tossed aside like trash on the sidewalk. He watched his second chance walk back into the shadows, disappearing along with his faith before sinking to the ground and slowly began to pick up all his belongings. His arms felt like noodles about to fall off as he carelessly tossed things back into his bag. His mind was blank, his body shaking with fear of what was to come next. No matter how he looked at it, whatever path he chose now would lead to danger for the both of you. He couldn’t risk your safety, but he didn’t want to lose you either.

He zipped up his bag and stood, but his legs refused to move. What was the point? It was hopeless. He was lost, a self-proclaimed failure. The only hope he had now was to find a time turner and reverse the awful mistake he made of aligning himself with Malfoy and his friends. He couldn’t keep this up, he couldn’t hide this business from you forever, but he couldn’t face the disappointment on your face if he told you. No, the safest bet for you was for him to find a way where they wouldn’t need him any longer. Perhaps his product will slowly decline in quality, or perhaps he won’t be able to fulfill their orders after graduation. The only thing he knew for sure was he needed to quit, and he needed to do so safely. Merlin only knows now how he’ll manage to escape the leash he was on.

~

Next Chapter

~

#severus snape #severus snape x reader #snape x reader #severus x reader #young severus snape #young severus snape x reader #my fic #my writing #pro snape #snapedom #female reader

[marshmallowprotection]

Iris

Pairing: Choi Saeran/Reader, 707 | Choi Luciel/Main Character

Description: Was there faith in a false paradise with a savior that spilled honey sweet lies to make you agree? There is no life to be found amongst those in a rotting flowerbed, only those clinging to the roots as the world awaits your demise. Why is he still here when others had long been plucked from the dying earth? And better yet, why are you still here after everything, clinging to his roots as if he’ll bring you life? Or is he the one clinging to you?

SE Saeran x Former Believer Reader

Word Count: 6000

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[Read On AO3]

Chapter Fourteen

Unknown didn’t know what to do with himself anymore. He frankly had no idea what was running through his mind. It was like he was back at square one again where he was a child that only knew how to scream and shout miserably.

It seemed as though that was the way that his world was always meant to be. Once, he had accepted that as it was, but now that it dug its ugly fangs into his skin, he felt sick to his stomach. It felt like his world was caving in around him all of a sudden. It was like nothing he did or said mattered.

His Savior had worked with the very person that she promised that he would be allowed to destroy, and what was worse, was that he had been subjected to all this bullshit without you by his side to help him make sense of those feelings of agony. Nothing made sense unless he was standing by your side anymore.

There had been a time before you came into his life that he could’ve done anything, said anything, and ruined things for everything and never sweated the thought. He could destroy and live how he wanted to live because that was the purpose of his existence in the first place. He was meant to get rid of everything and then it would just click. Any confusion that he had would be done if he just got done with the mission.

Except, the longer he was involved in his mission, the more confused and out of touch he came with everything that he was doing. He was committed to paradise but the longer he remained, the more this ugly feeling in the pit of his chest started to tell him that he needed to think about if the paradise even wanted him in the first place.

If he was valued to them, why were you not valued as much as he was?

Why were you dangled in front of him like you were nothing but a tool? Sure, he treated you like his assistant, but he had wanted you for a reason. You were his partner, you weren’t his tool. There was a strong difference between those two things. He knew what it felt like to be a tool and he was fine with that but the idea of you… well, you weren’t him.

You weren’t the man that he was and you never deserved to live through that shit. You were his Iris, you were something different from all of this, and he wanted you to be kept by his side so he didn’t have to think twice about why he did what he did.

Unknown was who he was because he had a job to do to make everyone pay.

If that meant he had to follow a few damn rules, that was fine, but when the promises that were made to him weren’t kept and broken over and over again, how could he trust any of them? He had been hurt by lies at the start of his life, and to think that someone who told him that they would never lie to him would go against him…

It was outright infuriating.

He had taken you from the pools of nothing and made you something because he yearned to be able to grasp at you. He knew that you were worth something from the second that he saw you, almost like a faded memory that he could reach with his fingertips. You were the one thing in his sea of black and white that made sense to him. You were the only thing that made him feel like he was alive again.

For so long and far, Unknown had lived in the darkness and made himself content with it. That all changed for him the day that he saw you for the first time. He didn’t know what it was about you or what it was that even made him stop that day and look at you. He never looked at anyone as he lived in Mint Eye.

It was a sea of nameless, shapeless, faceless people who meant nothing to him but everything to his Savior’s goals. He didn’t care about that. He cared about his revenge and what it was going to do for him in the long run. He never stopped working and he kept his eyes trained on the prize that had been dangled on a string like a carrot for years.

He wanted to see the destruction of everything that he believed hurt him.

But was that happening right now? How could it be happening right now? His Savior had not only threatened you weeks ago, but V of all people had shown up as if he was forgiven and on their side. It felt a sour taste in his mouth that made him want to retch. It was as if everything he knew was thrown to the wayside. He had been made to believe something and that something had been thrown away from him like it was trash.

The world at large was meant to be something that he understood. He was meant to understand that a long time ago and now it felt like he was a child again that didn't know everything. He didn't like to feel like he was a child. He wasn't that pathetic child anymore. He was supposed to be the strongest person. He was the strongest person in this damned place.

Right?

This is supposed to be with his Savior who had always told him. The world was supposed to be a horrible and cruel place. The only heaven that was going to make sense, in the long run, was going to be paradise. Everything else outside of that was going to have the fullest of intentions to destroy him. The world had wanted to kill him since the moment that he breathed life. That much he did know.

The outside world was supposed to be an ugly and bitter place. The moments that he thought he tasted freedom underneath that blue sky were not moments of freedom. They were only merely fleeting moments of taunting. The world had dangled the lovely things that existed on a string in front of him and he would never be able to touch it. No matter how much he wanted it. At some point, he thought he stopped caring.

He was supposed to be happy and safe in paradise. The darkness and the walls around him were supposed to conceal him from the evil that existed. Things were supposed to be in a very specific way. As it turns out, they're not like that at all. This realization made him sick to his stomach and it confused him even more about his alignment. Everything was supposed to be cut and dry but it wasn't.

The things that he thought he knew just didn't make sense anymore. No amount of begging and screaming for answers was going to get him anything that he wanted. It was like everything that he thought he was... was trash. It was like everything that he thought mattered didn't matter. It was like promises didn't mean what they meant.

How was he supposed to trust the people that mattered if they were doing things that went against everything they had ever told him?

God.

Unknown was seething. No amount of trying to figure out any of this was going to make it any better. It was something that he wasn't going to find answers for. His blood was boiling and he just needed to solve that. He'd been dragged to hell and back by that agency and yanked around by that liar and his band of idiots long enough. It was the worst week of his life and he wanted for it to all be over and everything to be as it should.

Everything was supposed to go back to the way that it was. He kept thinking that it would, but the reality that things would never be that way was starting to dawn on him. He should’ve known that things weren’t ever going to be what they were… the moment that his Savior dangled you over the top of his head like a trinket or a toy that he could never reach out and grasp.

Unknown thought that upon his return, his Savior would explain that this was all some kind of test and it was going to be over before he knew it. But, she cast him aside and demanded that he leave and go back to the world. She looked him in the eyes and sent him away like a child that spoke too much, too soon about things that the grown-ups didn’t want him to talk about or know about yet.

She ignored his demands and shouts and jeers of what happened with the wave of a hand.

Just like that, he was sent away. He wanted to know everything about why the traitor was here doing work that he was meant to do, why you weren’t waiting for him, and worse, why the woman that he trusted like a mother had seemingly ignored her promises to him all while keeping her eyes glued on his twin brother and the idiots that he belonged with. She ignored him and disregarded him as if he were trash in the bin.

Unknown had faith in his Savior but she had burned him twice in a row now. She had burned him twice and it felt like the sting of betrayal was going to wash over his skin and make him sink into a lot lower into the depths of the earth where darkness wanted to blanket him and pull him deeper into the abyss where the magma core would be rid of him once and for all if it had its way before all was said and done.

He didn’t know what to think anymore, frankly.

He tore apart the hallways and corridors the second that he left the Savior’s room, scowling and barking at anyone that got in his path, knowing that he had work to take care of and that by the time he finished, maybe he would be able to make sense of whatever the hell was going on in this place. The mess didn’t please him but it did sate the urge inside of his chest that hissed in a low rumble, “ Destroy, destroy, destroy ”.

It was the only thing he knew how to do.

Unknown knew how to dismantle everything that hurt him and he knew how to make it go away. He thought that it was enough to keep him from reliving the darkest parts of his memories, those pieces that lingered in the back of his head that only spoke of isolation and pain, memories that’d made no sense to him because they were clouded with a haze of elixir and dust.

Memories that he had no control over because they felt like they weren’t his own.

Whatever it was that bound him to this reality was starting to pull away at the seams and all he wanted at this point was to feel the relief of retribution. If he could have what he wanted, this wouldn’t be happening in the first place.

If the bomb hadn’t gone wrong, if that idiot hadn’t tried to rip him away from paradise, if people from the outside would stop meddling in his what he’d been promised, and if his word could be kept—

None of this would be happening in the first place. If things had just gone according to the plan that he intended, nothing would’ve blown out of this scale. He could’ve held control of all of the cards and the fates of those that he wanted. He could hold the strings to their bodies and use them as puppets to get what he always wanted out of this backwater reality that gave him nothing from the moment he was born.

He clawed his way to where he was today and he would be damned if anyone got in his way. It didn’t matter anymore, nothing mattered anymore, but he was going to do something about it whether his Savior liked what he was doing or not. He was promised something and he was on whatever path it took to get it. His head was just confused with how he decided to get there. His bated breath felt heavy in his lungs now.

Destruction was left in his wake with every step that he took and the more believers that got in his way, the more people that clung to the walls and tried to run away from him. He was a monster for a reason and he always had been. That was just a reality for Unknown. But, for his Savior to ignore what he had become to please her stung like betrayal. It stung like the first time he was left alone to rot in the darkness.

It felt like he was being buried alive once again.

And, for what?

Why was he being abandoned and thrown out with the trash? He never thought that he would be treated like this in a place that was meant to shelter him from everything that tormented him all the years that he had been forced to live. He never thought for a moment that things would go from a point of control to a realm where he had nothing to show for his work except the failures that she’d dangled in front of his face as if it was the price for his sins.

What did he have to show for any of this?

What, if anything, did he have to prove what it meant to be Unknown?

That thought hung over his head like a ton of bricks just waiting to squash his head and make him clatter to the ground. A part of him might have welcomed that at this point because the aching he felt in the pit of his stomach made him feel sick. He wanted to cry, to cry, to shout, to let out all of the feelings that were suppressed inside of him but he was burnt out. Nothing that he was going to do was going to mend what he felt inside his chest.

He wanted relief… he wanted something that made sense… he wanted this splitting headache to go away. The Savior was doing everything wrong and the more that he thought about it, the more he felt like he was going to lose control.

It all started because of you.

Did it start because of you?

No, it couldn’t have been because of you but you were the only one that survived the dismantling of the garden staff for a reason.

Unknown knew your face well before you knew his. That was a fact that you’d never known and he never cared to mention. He knew your face because it was etched into his memory for whatever reason. It was like a flickering spark in the back of his head, a hushed whisper that said that you’d be important to him and he could make use of you.

Something in his memory told him about a vision of someone standing at the window, watching a gardener work from afar only to be pulled away back to the darkness.

Were those memories his, though? Unknown wasn’t sure. He just knew that he knew your face and the second he caught you in the hallway, he knew that he could finally make use of you. It’d been easy. He worked past that strange memory and made his way ahead to look through your files and see why you stood out amongst the sea of nothingness that belonged to Mint Eye.

Why was it that your face stood out in the crowd?

Normally, when he looked out on the crowd of people, he would find himself staring at only the darkness that shrouded faces. But when it was you, he could see the glimmer of your lips from the darkness and that enough told him that you were worth something. Why waste someone who had potential like that? He saved you, that’s what he told himself, he saved you from being thrown out like trash with the other gardeners.

It was the moment after he proposed the idea of taking you into his Savior that she mentioned that she would be getting rid of the rest of the gardeners. There were whispers of a liar amongst the few and the loud, saying that there was a gardener that was trying to convince others to step away or try to escape. However, since nobody knew which one it was, the Savior decided that it would be wise to start over fresh and scrap what remained of the workers.

After all, paradise could always gain more help in the way of the outside world with the wave of a gentle hand. She didn’t want to waste her time on finding out who did wrong.

She just wanted to solve the problem, and frankly, Unknown understood why she was doing what she did. Yet, for him to think that you were almost wrenched away and thrown into the basement before you’d be buried in the very dirt you mended?

For some reason, even in his apathy, the thought made his stomach curdle and no matter what he did, he couldn’t stop thinking about how close you had come to the end. He had been there in his life many times, but that stupid face of yours… you would never survive if you were thrown to the dogs like that.

You were made for a paradise of bliss, not for the torture that came for those who’d needed to learn their lesson in the first place.

You were something else and he knew from the moment that he caught a glimpse of you. He wasn’t the type to care about others or get sentimental, but you were his and once he made that choice, it meant that you were always going to be his. Nobody could take that from him because you were promised to him. That was the point. You were made to be his and the idea that they’d try to take you away from him…

It’s what clouded his mind in the first place and allowed for those idiots to get under his skin. He made that mistake on his own, but he wasn’t going to do that again. He was going to make all of the idiots pay for it if he could. The bite of acid burned at the back of his throat but he kept going forward as he walked onward, following the hallway and making a mess until he got back to the room that was yours.

It was his and yours.

That was something else he was enraged about. He had no idea where you were… the Savior didn’t say a word about you, she merely told him to go back to work and that the ceremony for the liar… would be coming in due time. That’s all she said. He didn’t know what to think when he looked into her eyes because she hid many truths and lies behind them. It was a mask that Unknown had known very well since the moment he met her, but he thought that her truth was only meant for him.

Had she chosen to lie to him because of you?

There was no way she had any idea about what he’d done in his fit of anger from the elixir that you were meant to take. He was damned good at making his dosage and making something that looked like it. He needed the stuff or he would get sick, but the amount that you took in each week was such a low amount that it made no difference in taste or quality for you to drink a fake.

He even took the measure of making sure you took your fakes every week, the emerald shine gliding past your lips as he kissed you and held you down until there was nothing left of it. Those moments he knew that you were going to be covered for. He knew that he could keep you as his assistant and he wouldn’t have to worry about a damned mess in the wind later on when he got his revenge.

He didn’t think that far ahead, he just knew that he couldn’t afford for you to be blitzed out of your mind when he needed someone to help him navigate the storm. That’s what he told himself, that’s what he kept telling himself whenever he felt a twinge of doubt in the back of his head in the way of going against the will of paradise. Unknown had just been too angry to stop himself from asserting his right.

Paradise was supposed to be just as much his as it was the Savior’s, and that’s what he told himself as he lived his path to this point. But, was it his when the Savior was pushing him around like a pathetic stray? The look in her eyes hadn’t comforted him. It made his blood boil and all he could think of was the desire to destroy everything for making him who he was today.

Unknown would go to grave lengths to make sure that you weren’t gotten rid of like the rest of them and what did he have to show for it? Nothing. He had nothing and everything that he did have was being stolen away from him. His life was nearly meaningless. Nothing made sense and every part of him was pooling with dread and agony over these thoughts. He was running around in circles that didn’t have answers.

He slammed his hand against the keypad the second that he reached the doorway to his workroom, his fingers hitting the long string of code that locked him from the outside. It took him a few tries simply because he was so angry, but he managed it and the electronic code let him inside. His room was still a mess from the confrontation that had happened long ago. Nobody had picked up from the aftermath.

That twisted his stomach in knots as he thought about you again, wondering where you were and what you were doing. Where were you? His bated breath burned in his lungs as he looked around the room, a growl in the back of his throat the more that he looked around for answers. He kicked at a pile of papers, only to stop when he realized that you were strewn across the couch with tired eyes and clammy skin.

You looked like roadkill and as if someone had run you through a wringer over and over again. He felt sick looking at the bruises and scrapes that littered your skin. It looked like you tasted hellfire in your veins and nothing stopped it from happening. This was one of the things he feared most, to see you on the floor, twisted up like a ragdoll who meant nothing to the world but what good they could offer.

For some reason, that image was something that haunted him… it wasn’t something that he cared about happening to him, but it was different with you. You weren’t like the others, and as much as he wanted you to stay in paradise with him… as much as he craved to kill them all and dance on the graves with you in his arms, enough was enough.

Nothing made sense anymore but he was going to make sense of it if it was the last thing that he ever did.

The thoughts that ran through his mind weren’t pretty.

It made him sick. The anger that had been boiling over inside of him had reached a point that he couldn’t ignore anymore. It was haunting, it tasted like bile, and this was the last straw. It was the last piece of the puzzle for him. It was at that moment that he snapped and there was no way for him to go back from the path that he was thinking of at that moment. He just broke, and he felt it coil up inside of him only to snap and come undone for the last time.

Unknown ignored the urge to wake you up, no, he just flipped his chair out of the way after he stormed across the room, unlocking his computer and starting to work on what he needed to get done. This was it for him. This was why he was so angry all the time and he had to make a change if he wanted to see something happen.

His mind was all over the place but he knew what he had to do now after seeing you broken and abandoned. That was it. That was the last straw. He couldn’t take it anymore and something had to change before his head blew off of his shoulders. He just had to do something now before it was too late. It probably was too late, it likely was beyond too late, there was nothing that he could do here to—

He wanted to—

He needed to—

That was it.

This was the last straw.

His fingers moved along the stream of code faster than he knew what to do with himself, and he started the process that he had set out to create weeks ago. He just had to add a few things along the way to ensure that everything went smoothly. He just had to enter this next stream of code to get what he wanted. He just had to do this—

Unknown kept typing and typing away as his fingers burned against the keys. He was hitting and stroking them faster than he knew what he was doing, ignoring the way that his strangled breath hit his lungs, knowing that he needed to get this done now before he lost the steam that he had to work with and broke down. He needed to do this. He needed to be able to do this and make sense of this bullshit as fast as he could before it made him explode.

The strings of code attached to his screen kept flooding from the top to the bottom. He focused on that until he felt a hand brush against his shoulder. It made him recoil and whip his head to the side to come to see you. You were staring at him through bleary eyes and a confused expression that seemed to say that you weren’t all there in your head. Your hair was a mess and rings of purple laid around your eyes. It was like you were broken.

He had tried to ignore looking directly at you but now he could see it, he could see the pain in your eyes. He hissed, almost without thinking, feeling the coil beginning to burn in the back of his head with the things that he wanted to do to those that had hurt you in the first place. “Get back down,” he found himself saying. “Get back down!”

“Are you real…?” your voice was fragile, much like the body that you possessed, and you tried to reach out yet again for him. He had to resist the urge to slap your hand away with everything he had in his body. “I don’t know how much of this is real anymore… I thought I knew but I’m just lost again.”

Unknown’s jaw was tight as he sat there, unable to look away from you, knowing that no matter what he did, he couldn’t stop this feeling. “How much? How much did they make you drink while I was gone?”

Like a lost puppy, that dazed look in your eyes still felt like it hadn’t quite understood what was happening around you just yet. Your trembling hand tried to touch him but he found himself only able to hold you back by grabbing your wrist. He wanted you close but right now, he knew that if he let himself stop, he was going to break down. “I lost track… I keep seeing you in my dreams… I don’t know what I did wrong… the Savior hates me… she hates you… I don’t understand anything anymore...”

“I was in the basement for days… I’m not sure that I’m not there even now… I just… I… Unknown, tell me I’m real. Tell me you’re real. Tell me this is real… we’re real… please, just tell me that you’re here with me, I just need to hear it. I don't care how miserable or pathetic that sounds. I… I need to hear it… please… I need to hear your voice.”

“She did this to you?”

“...It was the Savior, yes.”

“Everything?”

“She wouldn’t stop… she said she was angry I was… tricking you... I don’t understand why. We’ve only been committed to paradise. You didn’t run away! You’d never run away! I don’t know why she thought— I don’t understand—I’m so—I can’t. I can’t… I can’t… I can’t… I’m so sick… I’m so tired… I want Unknown back…”

“I can’t believe this shit! I can’t believe it!”

Whatever they told you, it screwed with your head. You were speaking nonsense and circles of the days that you had suffered while he was away. He was right to think that his Savior would use you against him like this. You had been tortured as she warned him and that reality did not pass him readily. He knew that this was possible but he never wanted to believe that it would happen to him or you.

He wanted to believe it was a farce. He wanted to believe that things would never turn out that way because he was given a promise. But, it wouldn’t be the first time that someone went back on those promises, would it? It wouldn’t be the first time that someone left him in the dirt to rot after they said that they would never leave him behind to burn alive in the isolation and misery that he’d been given since he was born.

What was belief when all his faith meant nothing to anyone? What was a Savior to a believer if they broke their word? What was a man to a God if God had already forsaken him? What was a family to you if you had been burned by everyone that said that they loved you and would never leave you behind? What was anything when he had nothing to show for it? What was the point in all of the grief if he never won?

But, after all… he was the one that dumped the elixir out of the blue when she threatened him. He might have known that she was going to do that to him all along. That she was going to do this to you all along. That stung because this was supposed to be heaven and heaven was meant to be without misery or pain.

It was supposed to be a place of comfort and safety but where the hell was comfort when you looked like roadkill?

Where was paradise when you suffered?

Where was paradise when he suffered?

What was the truth?

What was his truth?

In the end, he didn’t know what the truth was. The coil that he had control over steadily snapped once more, and he found himself frozen as the computer dinged behind him. It meant that what he wanted to happen was nearly complete. He forced himself to stand up and ignored the sounds of crackling and hissing from his joints. He just yanked you by the wrist and pushed you into the bedroom.

That seemed to pull you from your daze almost instantly as you stared at him, wide eyes realizing that he was, in fact, real, and there was no dream left to be had. You opened your mouth to try to say something but he cut you off by kissing you deeply. It was the most painful kiss of his life and he refused to pull away until you were smashing against his hand to try to breathe. Unknown did not stop to think. He was running on adrenaline.

“You’re real,” your voice cracked. It was a painful sound that sounded like relief. You tried to hug him but he didn’t let you. He adjusted the jacket that lingered against your shoulders and then as you felt secure, he pulled away, slamming the door shut and locking you in the bedroom with the lock twisted tightly from the outside.

Unknown knew what he had to do now. He knew what he was going to do. He could feel his mind already made up. He was going to confront the Savior whether she liked it or not, and he was going to get you the fuck out of paradise if it was the last thing he did. He tried to stop the elixir from the burn that you faced, and he turned against what he believed in because he thought it would keep you by his side.

He had been promised anything he wanted and the Savior fucking lied to him. She lied about the liar, she lied about the traitor, and she lied to him about you. If there was truth in those lies, he was going to make them fucking tell him the truth. No matter the cost, he needed to know and he was going to find out. His blood boiled and the angry roared its ugly head.

You banged against the door but to no avail would it open. “Let me out! Let me out! I need to be with you!”

His voice still sounded nothing like his. “Stay here and don’t fucking move a muscle. I can’t trust any of them! I can’t believe she did this to you! I can’t believe she did this to me! This is a fucking nightmare, Iris— this is a fucking nightmare! I’m living in a fucking nightmare! She promised me my paradise—us, our paradise—and if I can’t even trust my Savior with you, who the fuck am I supposed to trust anymore? She’s choosing them over us! She’s choosing them! I refuse to be the one left behind!”

“Unknown—”

He felt those dangerous words flooding to the surface before he could stop them. “I refuse to let her destroy you as she destroyed me! I’ll rip them rip from fucking limb before I let that happen! Never again! Never again! Never again! Never again! Stay in that fucking room until it’s safe again!”

“Come back! Unknown, come back! Please, don’t leave me again! I can’t do this! We’re supposed to do everything together side by side! I can’t be alone! I promised that we would do this together and you— you can’t! Please! Please, come back! I don’t know what I did wrong, but I’ll work hard and I’ll make it right! I don’t care what happened, I just want us to be where we were! Please, please come back!”

No matter how much you screamed, cried, or begged for Unknown to turn around and come back, he wouldn’t. Unknown made sure that your files were erased from the database so that if things went wrong, nobody would ever know what you did or who you were. He was preparing himself for the worst as he decided what he was going to do today. He knew that no matter what happened, it was the end.

Something was going to end today and there was no turning back.

He swiped the keyboard clean of what he’d done and headed for the door, bathing himself in the light of the sunshine that he had long been denied. Unknown was going to give you that sunshine, no matter what the fuck he had to do or break to make it happen. This was his choice, and the cry you made was only spurning him to fight

#iris #mystic messenger #mysticmessenger #mysme #mm #mod kait #saeran choi #choi saeran #se saeran #se saeran choi #saeran mm #mm saeran #mystic messenger saeran #mysme saeran #saeran mystic messenger #saeran mysme #saeran x reader #reader x saeran #se saeran x reader #reader insert #fic rec #long post

[knifewieldingenby]

I have a prompt. How about geralt realising that is writer boyfriend is actually the famous Julian pankratz and that jaskier is a name he use for some of his work. I don't know if you can something out of this. Take care of yourself ❤️

Okay so this is definitely not exactly what you asked for (I took some liberties) but I hope you still enjoy it! 

Geralt hadn’t meant to snoop through his best friend’s desk. It’s just that he’d let Jaskier borrow one of his favorite pens last night and the junior had forgotten to give it back, and, well...Geralt was maybe a tad bit possessive of his belongings. He didn’t have much growing up, so what little he had, he coveted. 

And of course Jaskier’s desk was a trainwreck and a half. Stacks of papers, notebooks, highlighters thrown about, a few glasses of now unidentifiable liquids that made Geralt cringe. He’d tried to be gentle and fast, moving things aside to search for his pen. He didn’t much care for Jaskier’s academic writing, but when the pages started resembling lines of poetry he got curious and careless.

Jaskier is writing again?

Geralt slowed down and picked up one of the pages. Definitely a poem. Months ago Jaskier had burst into their shared room, thrown himself on Geralt’s bed, and declared that he should never write again.

(“I shall never write again!” Jaskier had his arm thrown dramatically over his eyes. Geralt nudged him over so he could stretch his legs out and continued tapping away at his research paper. “Don’t you want to know why, my dear friend?”

“Not particularly.”

“I shall tell you anyway!” Jaskier crawled into a sitting position and threw his hand back over his forehead. “My muse has broken my heart for the last time! Never again shall ink touch paper, not by the hands of this poet.”

“Hmm,” Geralt muttered unhelpfully. He knew Jaskier would be over it in a matter of days, as soon as he found a new muse.)

The problem was, Jaskier didn’t get over it. In the days that followed he became solemn, quiet, and distant in a way Geralt wasn’t used to. He was used to Jaskier hanging around at all times, joining him at practice most weeks, staying up late to watch tv and talk about (e.i. distract him from) his papers. After his announcement he made himself scarce, spent most of his time in the library or the office of the student paper, editing others' works instead of publishing his own. 

But this. This was clearly quite new. Geralt felt a burst of happiness for a moment, glad that his best friend was finding his muse again. That is, until he read the first few lines and felt the nagging suspicion that he’d definitely read these words before. 

Taking the piece of paper with him, Geralt dug through his trash can until he found the most recent copy of the student newspaper. He normally cut out Jaskier’s pieces and saved them in a binder he kept hidden under his bed, but since the poet stopped writing he’d taken to skimming over the paper and just throwing it out. He turned to the last two pages that displayed student creative writing and his eyes immediately went to the poem on the bottom right page. Starlight. It was clearly a love poem, about a silver-haired beauty who slipped through the poet’s fingers. He’d loved it, but he didn’t want to say so to Jaskier. No point making the boy jealous of some punk named Julian Pankratz. 

But now…

It was the same poem. Line for line, word for word; it even sounded like the poet’s style, if a little more melancholy. Before Geralt had time to process his emotions the bedroom door swung open.

“Ah, Geralt, you’re here! Terribly sorry to be a downer but I’m quite tired, can I- what the fuck are you holding?”

Geralt bristled, suddenly defensive. “I was looking for my pen.”

“Oh.”

Jaskier plopped his backpack on his bed and began rummaging around. He finally brandished Geralt’s pen and held it out to him tentatively. Geralt took it and, before he could talk himself out of it, held out the poem. Jaskier’s eyes widened.

“That’s-”

“You’ve been writing again.”

The silence that followed was beyond uncomfortable; Geralt was mad, but did he have any right to be? He hadn’t exactly been very responsive when Jaskier first told him he wasn’t writing anymore, why would he expect the boy to share it with him now?

Because he always did, his stupid, wounded brain supplied. 

To his surprise, Jaskier spoke first. “I’m sorry Geralt. I didn’t mean to mislead you-”

“No, I think that’s exactly what you meant to do. I just don’t understand why.”

“Because it hurt.” Jaskier moved to join Geralt where he was leaning against his bed. “I was in pain and I didn’t want you to know.”

“Why not? You’ve never hidden it before.”

“Have you been reading these poems?” Jaskier poked the newspaper laying idly on Geralt’s bed.

“Yeah,” he said slowly. He’d read every poem written by Julian Pankratz over the last two months, loved every one. 

“They’re...they’re about heartbreak. And I didn’t want to make things awkward between us.”

Either Jaskier really wasn’t making sense, or Geralt had taken a beating in practice. Either way, none of it was adding up.

“Why would it be awkward?”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and sighed, defeated. “Because they’re about you, Geralt.”

Geralt must have been a ridiculous sight, body frozen to the spot and eyes owlishly large. The lights were on, but clearly no one was home upstairs. 

“Come on Geralt, silver hair? How many people do you know with silver hair?”

“But- I- I assumed you were embellishing!”

“While that does seem like exactly the thing I’d do, this time I didn’t. This time it was all real. All of it was for you. I can...go, if you need time.”

“No!” Geralt gently grabbed him by the arm as Jaskier made a move to leave the room. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Jaskier laughed, but it sounded painful. “I did. Don’t you remember when I asked you out after your big game a few months ago? You told me you’d rather date a baboon.”

“...Oh my god. I thought you were making a joke!” 

Geralt shoved his head in his hands and cursed himself. 

“Would your answer have changed if I’d made it more clear how serious I was?” Jaskier’s voice was so soft now, so fragile. Geralt sighed and dropped his hands. They were standing close enough that their hands knocked together, and he couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and thread their fingers together.

“Yes. I would’ve instead told you how long I’ve wanted you. And I would have done this.”

Slowly, he leaned toward Jaskier, giving the man enough time to pull away if he no longer wanted Geralt - and he wouldn’t blame him at all - until their lips met in a soft kiss. It didn’t last long, but it made Geralt’s heart soar all the same. 

“God, you’re an idiot,” Jaskier grinned. Geralt rolled his eyes, but this time he couldn’t deny it. He pulled Jaskier against his body and kissed him again, because he wanted to, because he was finally allowed to have this.

And in the back of his head he was figuring out how to get a hold of the last two months worth of newspapers. Julian Pankratz’s poems belonged in his poetry binder. 

#my writing #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #malmete

[duelistkingdom]

you’d come back to me

chapter thirteen: meaning

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Summary: Seto Kaiba has been presumed dead for four years after the events of Dark Side of Dimensions. His return causes both unresolved feelings of grief to be brought to the surface and the past to be dragged right back up. In hopes of helping Seto move on and reintegrate back into society at large, Mokuba asks Yugi to work on Spherium II with Seto. Never one to leave a friend hanging, Yugi agrees. Over the course of the project, Seto and Yugi both come to terms with their mutual grief and grow towards a better understanding of each other.

Rating: T

Ships: Yugi Mutou/Seto Kaiba, Mokuba Kaiba/Rebecca Hopkins, Katusya Jonouchi/Mai Kujaku

Warnings: aged up characters, grief, references to suicide

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Yugi had requested months ago to be allowed to work remotely on Spherium II from the Kaiba Corp’s New York City office for Anzu’s birthday. He had planned on taking Anzu’s birthday off already but something had changed as of late. While the words “boyfriend” were never said out loud, the implication of the relationship between him and Seto felt obvious. Despite this, there was lingering doubt that perhaps they should clear the air and actually talk about it. Getting Seto to actually sit down and talk was another story, however. Yugi knew the perfect way to address their relationship, however. Yugi felt rather awkward approaching Seto after work on their way to their usual Friday night dinner. “Seto,” Yugi finally said, steeling his nerves. “You know that Anzu’s birthday is coming up and I… was wondering if you’d like to come with me to New York City.”

Seto’s stony gaze bore into Yugi and the desire to bolt was there. Yugi knew that it was simply nerves about taking a leap into asking Seto to be his and yet… “Why would I do that?”

Yugi supposed that was a fair question as he thought back over how he’d asked Kaiba. “As a date,” Yugi clarified, heat rising into his cheeks. He was somewhat grateful that Kaiba’s own cheeks began to turn red as well. He’d managed to make Seto feel just as awkward as he felt. “I mean, you don’t have to say yes. I just thought that since we’d been…”

“Why would you want me to go out with you?”

The statement threw Yugi through a loop. He didn’t expect Kaiba to question why he’d want to go out with him. He’d expected a yes or no, not a quizzing. “Because… I like you,” Yugi said simply, bewildered. Exactly what was he supposed to say that didn’t sound like an awkward teenager asking their crush out? He felt like he was sixteen again and asking out someone he’d admired from a distance rather than someone he’d already done relationship level stuff with. “And I… I was hoping maybe you felt the same way?”

It hung in the air. Yugi wondered if Seto could feel the electric tension between them too. Yugi could hear his heart beating and he wondered if Seto could hear it too. It sounded like thunder. Seto had managed to make his face unreadable. Finally, Seto responded and there was a tinge of awkwardness as he said, “Okay. I’ll attend Mazaki’s party with you.. As a date.”

Yugi let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and grinned. “Cool,” he said, cringing internally at how he sounded just a little bit too lax. Granted, it was better than completely falling apart over asking Seto Kaiba out. “Uh, so I was going to just get a hotel, for the record.”

This opened the floodgates to discussing what would be the plans of their trip to New York City. Seto insisted on a nicer hotel than the one Yugi had planned on getting and he wound up settling for first class instead of the private jet. Yugi had refused to let Seto fly them to New York City and Seto was still a little bit salty about that. Then again, he supposed he understood Yugi’s position when they’d finally landed in New York City after three layovers. He was absolutely exhausted and it was hard enough to wind up checking into the hotel room.

He woke up in the hotel room, unable to remember how he’d wound up in bed. Yugi, for his part, was sound asleep in the clothes he’d worn on the flight. Neither of them had bothered to change, actually. Seto suddenly understood why Yugi had elected to wear pajama bottoms and a black hoodie on the plane. It wasn’t just to make it easier to hide his identity - it was in expectation of this. Seto shucked his shirt off, tossing it aside as he got up to check their luggage. His heart slammed in his chest as he realized his laptop was missing. He rushed over to Yugi, shaking him awake. “Someone stole my laptop.”

Yugi was slow to wake and it made Seto annoyed. When Yugi blinked awake, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. Seto repeated himself and Yugi rolled his eyes. “No one stole your laptop,” Yugi said, looking annoyed. “I took it out of your luggage. This isn’t a work trip.”

“You took my laptop?”

Seto was stunned at the audacity. Meanwhile, Yugi merely sleepily nodded. “What time is it,” Yugi said as he reached for the clock. He noted that it stated that it was one fifteen and looked towards the blackout currents. “Is that morning or night?”

“Wouldn’t it be night,” Seto remarked as he went back to his luggage, searching for a pair of pajamas. “One fifteen is at night.”

“No, Anzu told me that American clocks all use that twelve hour clock,” Yugi replied as he got up, pulling back the black out currents aside and blinking hard as the bright sun came in. “You had a point in this hotel room, though. This is an insane view.”

Seto shrugged, supposing it was alright. They were overlooking Central Park, the Hudson to the side of the tops of the buildings they could see over. It was certainly a view comparable to the ones he’d seen from the tops of penthouses. “When is Mazaki’s party, anyway?”

“Tonight at six,” Yugi said as he looked back at their luggage. “So we got some time to kill. What do you say we check out the city?”

It was strange to have Yugi to himself like this. Yugi had some knowledge of New York City, remarking which places Mazaki had talked about. It turns out that five hours simply was not enough time to explore New York City. He had to remember to come back with Yugi at some point. Seto didn’t know what to expect when it came to Mazaki’s birthday party. It was in a part of New York City that Seto had never stepped foot in before for starters. Mazaki had seemingly settled into her dance school well as there were people here that even Yugi hadn’t met before. At some point, however, Yugi managed to get separated from him. He scanned the abandoned warehouse, wondering why Mazaki chose to have a party here instead of some place less… wild. Whoever decorated it should be fired. Neon signs lined the walls and it had the vague feeling of a club attached to it.

Mazaki was easy for Seto to find and he felt strange about the way her eyes lit up when she saw him. “There’s Yugi’s date,” Mazaki half yelled and Seto assumed it was probably due to the fact that it was just simply so loud around them that she’d gotten used to talking louder to be heard. “How’s the date going?”

He stiffened as she threw her arm around him, forcing him to bend down to meet her height. Mazaki was stronger than she looked. She ruffled his hair and Kaiba pushed her away as she laughed. “It’s fine,” Seto said, immediately closing off. What did Yugi tell her? Did he think that he was boring? He didn’t know and that bothered him. “Have you seen Yugi?”

“Yeah, he wished me happy birthday earlier,” Mazaki said as another party-goer pulled her into a tight hug. Instantly Seto felt awkward about merely being here. This was a bad idea. Coming here had merely reminded Seto that he was always out of place and should’ve stayed missing from this world. “Then someone recognized him and well, you know. He’s too nice. Got dragged off by some people who wanted him to check out their decks.”

Well, that explained where Yugi was. Seto’s eyes narrowed and he turned off without properly ending the conversation. Mazaki would have to deal. Yugi had dragged him here and Yugi wasn’t going to get his time monopolized by some stranger. He found Yugi mere moments later at a table with haphazardly matched chairs, intently listening to something someone that Seto had never seen before was saying. There were Duel Monsters cards spread across the table and it seemed that someone had been matching out potential combos in the various cards. By Seto’s guess, there were more than enough cards here to make at least four decks.

“Oh, hi, Seto,” Yugi said as the stranger finished up their statement that Seto hadn’t bothered to listen to. He was immediately thrown by Yugi’s smile brightening upon laid eyes upon him. “Care to join us?”

Seto scoffed as he examined the cards in front of him. “Now why would I waste my time with these clear...” Seto trailed off as he noted that a card named Kuribohrn was among the cards on the table and Seto found himself sitting down next to Yugi automatically. He picked the card up, examining the effect on this new Kuriboh card. You can discard this card, then target 1 monster in the graveyard that was sent there this turn by battle and special summon it. “What is the goal of this deck?”

One of the people at the table immediately looked embarrassed. Good. They should be embarrassed about the trash they were running in this deck. “Er, I was trying to summon from the graveyard to make the new link mechanic work for me.”

“I was just pointing out that it would require graveyard setup in order to truly be effective,” Yugi said, blithely ignoring that Seto had no idea what “link mechanic” referred to. “There’s plenty of archetypes that take full advantage of link summoning and special summoning. Have you thought about the kind of monsters you’re looking to work with?”

So the “link mechanic” was referring to link summoning. Kaiba still had no idea what that meant and he had no intention of asking. Surely he could figure it out if Yugi just kept talking. Unfortunately, he didn’t know the right things to ask about link summoning and he had no idea if it was another extra deck thing (when did the fusion deck become the extra deck?) or if it was in the main deck. He supposed it would probably help if he didn’t keep ignoring everyone who wasn’t Yugi when they talked. However, he didn’t need to listen to these amateurs explain the game to him.

Eventually, Yugi began to talk again. “You can’t expect to rely on this monster,” he said, holding up a level 8 monster with stats that shocked Kaiba. It was a Black Luster Soldier monster but it was an effect monster that allowed the user to bring back one of their light or dark monsters and banish an opponent’s monster once per turn when it was normal or special summoned. Kaiba instantly could see an advantage in this card. “If you’re looking to summon out Soldier of Chaos, the top tier duelist that uses this chaos deck often uses Super Soldier and Envoy of the Beginning and a Knight card to link summon it.”

Kaiba could see no advantage in going negative three to summon a monster and that was before factoring in the fact that Super Soldier was a ritual monster. He thought it was strange that Yugi referred to another duelist using a chaos deck and didn’t bother to mention he had no idea who Yugi was referring to. “I would think Sacred Soldier would be good to keep in the deck for Trade In now that Graceful Charity is banned.”

“Graceful Charity is banned,” Kaiba remarked with surprise. “Since when?”

“It’s broken as hell,” Yugi remarked to Seto’s surprise and Yugi had a slight smirk on his face as he leaned back in his chair. “Why do you think I won almost every Duel when we could use Pot of Greed and Graceful Charity? Sure, Graceful Charity isn’t giving you any pluses but it lets you set up your graveyard and now, there’s a lot of monsters with effects that trigger upon going to the graveyard. It’s even worse in a chaos deck. When Graceful Charity was legal, Kubota was completely unstoppable.” Yugi laughed. “I remember watching her discard both her knights using Graceful and getting both Envoy of the Beginning out and then bringing out a Super Soldier. Banned the next day.”

“It was already on its way to being banned even before that combo,” one of the duelists at the table remarked and Seto noticed for the first time that everyone at the table was drinking. Even Yugi himself had a beer in front of him that was half drunk. The instinct to remark that Yugi was not old enough for that before realizing that yes, he was. “It just showed off that we were on the way to having plenty of potential OTK combos using Graceful Charity.”

“Fair enough,” Yugi said with a light laugh, his arm throwing around Seto absently. Seto’s back stiffened as he started to overthink the spirit of a law versus the letter of the law. In many ways, he was only nineteen. On his passport, however? It declared that he was twenty-three, the same age as Yugi. The letter of the law stated that legally, he could join Yugi in a drink. He’d barely noticed the conversation move on to other banned cards and the potential of them coming off the list. “Oh, Fiber Jar’s definitely never coming back,” Yugi remarked, dragging Kaiba back into focus. “The chance to reset the game by shuffling literally everything back into the deck? I’m surprised it was printed in the first place.”

“Didn’t your friend use that effect to great value prior to its banning, though?”

Jonouchi had run Fiber Jar? Seto supposed he never bothered to look into what Jonouchi’s cards had been. He’d looked over Jonouchi and never bothered to learn about what made him a top ranked Duelist. “Yeah,” Yugi said with a look of pride. “Jou’s great. Adapted well to each ban list.”

Seto pulled his phone out and finally looked into each of Jonouchi’s matches. He was surprised to discover that Jonouchi was considered one of the toughest Duelists, tiered with him and Yugi. He was even more surprised to realize that Yugi was right - Jonouchi’s main quality in each of these articles was about his adaptability. A lot of the articles discussed other Duelists whose decks had since been restructured with each new ban list.

A surprising discovery was that Yugi regularly wrote articles speculating on the future of Dueling and was considered one of the most brilliant strategists in Dueling. Well, it wasn’t surprising that he was considered that, just that Yugi actually cared to talk about Dueling still after everything that happened. It wasn’t just Jonouchi, in Seto’s opinion, that was adaptable.

“Was it true that Jonouchi was excited about Harpie’s Feather Duster being banned?”

Yugi laughed and it struck Seto how wonderful the sound was. He���d never really gotten much of a chance to hear it before. “Yeah, Jou was pretty excited to Duel Mai with Harpie’s Feather Duster banned,” Yugi remarked with a grin. “Admittedly, some of his strategy fell apart when Painful Choice was banned alongside Feather Duster.”

“What was the plan with Painful Choice,” Kaiba remarked as he remembered the effect on the card. Select five cards from one’s deck and show them to one’s opponent. The opponent would then pick one and the rest would go to the graveyard. Seto could imagine the goal would be to special summon from the graveyard unless he was missing something. He wondered what led to that card being banned, anyway. Monster Reborn was limited to one so it didn’t seem like one could get much use out of that card.

“One of his Red-Eyes cards has an effect that pops in the graveyard,” Yugi remarked. “Painful Choice would’ve gotten that card in the graveyard quickly. It also sets up a Red-Eyes in grave which a lot of cards need to make the deck work for him. He had to think quickly and restructure his deck fairly quickly to make it tournament legal.”

“You really have been out of the game for a while, huh,” one of the Duelists remarked with a smirk at Kaiba. “Almost every deck these days has cards you want to put in the graveyard, in fact.”

Yugi shrugged. “Some decks can be just fine without cards that pop in the graveyard,” Yugi said as he took a swing of his drink. Any comment that Kaiba had died on his lips as he watched Yugi. “Not only that, Kaiba’s got that White Stone of Ancients so I’m certain he’s very aware of floating graveyard effects.”

Kaiba felt himself growing bored of the conversation, if only because he was tired of sharing Yugi with the crowd of sycophants. He knew it’d be rude to demand Yugi to leave in the middle of a conversation and yet, he couldn’t find it in him to care. “You know, we should go find Mazaki,” Kaiba said, ignoring the jibe that he might not be as good as he used to be. “Tell her goodbye before we leave.”

It had the effect Kaiba wanted. Yugi was too caught off guard by Kaiba suggesting they tell Mazaki goodbye before leaving to argue. “Good point,” Yugi said. “Sorry, guys, we did just fly in here from Japan and we’re still shaking off jet lag.” Seto was surprised that this excuse worked. The group of admirers wound up letting them go with no problem as Yugi’s hand took Seto’s. “Let’s go find Anzu, yeah?”

Seto wound up in front of Anzu again, whose eyes darted down to their hands interlocked and a grin across her face. “I'm guessing you guys are ready to go back to your hotel room, huh?”

This made Yugi flush for a reason that Seto couldn’t figure out. “Sorry, Anzu,” Yugi said, sounding genuinely apologetic. “Jet lag hit us pretty hard. I’m glad to have seen you again, though. When’s the next time I’m going to get to see you?”

Anzu laughed at this. “I’ll try to make it out for winter holidays,” she promised. “You two go get some rest. We can hang out again tomorrow and I can show you guys some of the best places in New York.”

There might have been a point when hanging out with Yugi and one of his friends would have sounded insufferable to Kaiba. Instead, he actually felt like it might be a good thing to get to know Anzu better. It made him feel like he was actually part of Yugi’s life now. Seto knew that at this point, he was bound to Yugi in a way that he’d never been bound before. Regardless of what happened next, he was fully Yugi’s.

#myfanfic #fic: you'd come back to me #rivalshipping #rivalshipping fanfiction #dropping this on the day the vrains dub committed a homophobia was NOT intentional but is p funny

[thinknicht]

Kakashi loses his father and Minato gains a puppy

Kakashi had been mad at his dad for months now – for screwing up that stupid mission, for losing all his awesome reputation because of it, for getting replaced by a ghost. Everybody had said his dad was going to cost them the war, that he was a selfish bastard; everybody had whispered and subtly let Kakashi know just how much of a disappointment his father was. 

It was so unfair! Why did he have to make a stupid mistake? He was supposed to be perfect, Konoha’s elite White Fang. Everybody was supposed to love and admire him… it shouldn’t be like this. The Hatake Sakumo he knew and admired was always proud and straight-backed, confident and sure. He wasn’t supposed to make mistakes, to have people hate him so much that they’d treat him and Kakashi both like trash. Kakashi… couldn’t do much. He was just a kid – but he could feel. He’d felt all sorts of things – he had been scared and ashamed and sad at it all – but mostly he’d been furious. He’d been mad at the old ladies gossiping about his dad on the street, at his classmates who’d previously admired him but would now shoot him derisive looks, at their parents who mumbled bad words behind his back, thinking he couldn’t hear – or perhaps not caring. But most of all he was mad at his dad for not defending himself, for not defending him. 

Picking up Kakashi from the Academy, he must have heard the whispering parents too, seen the looks Kakashi’s classmates kept shooting at him – but instead of standing proud whilst slinging Kakashi upon his shoulders like he had used to, Sakumo had bowed his head and said nothing. They had walked silently home, side by side – yet it had felt like they were worlds apart. He couldn't stop thinking about how his dad hadn’t met the eyes of those gossiping parents, or even their children. Of what those parents had said and how his dad’s hand had trembled on his back as he’d led Kakashi away.

The dishonoured White Fang. He too, must know the gravity of what he’d done, they whispered. Just look at him, at those eyebags and posture. It seemed like the pathetic scumbag at least recognized what he was. Suits him right, they crowed, for almost costing Konoha the war. It’d be better if that drunk disgrace just ended it already. 

The words had hurt – but they couldn't compare to his father's reaction. It had challenged some of Kakashi’s most visceral beliefs about what his dad was like. Day after day, his father would pick him up from the Academy and never defend him,  never look anyone in the eyes, like a beat down dog. Then, one day he didn't come. After waiting in the rain for over thirty minutes, Kakashi  had realised this. He’d been forgotten, cast aside.  No one would come to pick him up. Kakashi had begun walking home alone after that – every day. His father hadn’t mentioned it at dinner. The added responsibility was not as exciting as he’d always pictured it to be.

Some days it had all gotten to be too much and he’d said something rude and frustrated to his dad – but he hadn’t really meant it! He’d just been acting petulant. He’d just wanted things to get better… to go back to how they’d used to be. He’d wanted Sakumo to snap out of the weird dazes he got into lately, maybe even get angry at him and defend himself, even if Kakashi had to take the brunt of his fury. It would have been okay. Kakashi had just wanted him to react – anything at all would have been preferred to the emptiness that constantly seemed to follow him, dull grey eyes unnerving… unfocused… wrong . Kakashi had just wanted things to return to how they used to be.

 The winter was cold and harsh, reflecting Kakashi's mood perfectly. Overcast skies and short days were not conductive to good humor, but with the beginnings of spring, Kakashi felt the beginnings of new hope sprout within him. Perhaps, now that everything was brighter and better, his dad would get better too?

He'd been in a good mood all week so much so that he didn't even mind that much when his dad forgot to make breakfast or lunch or shown his face at all. This had happened a few times before, him falling asleep and not waking up for a long time. By dinner Kakashi decided to go look for him, maybe get him to come out to the porch and look at the rabbit den he'd spotted in the garden. And yet dad wasn’t in his room or the living room or the bathroom or the kitchen. After checking everywhere else he could think, he’d gone to the west wing. His father had always avoided it because it contained his mother’s old bedroom, the one both of his parents had used to sleep in before he was born… the one dad never used anymore. 

 There was a smell in the corridor… unpleasant, disgusting. He had been ignoring it until now, and he kept doing so. Maybe his father had left to the bar or even a mission! Or maybe he’d gone to mom's grave. He should just… 

He went back to the kitchen and ate dinner. He brushed his teeth. He put on his pajamas and went to bed. It had been a long time since his father had tucked him in. Normally, Kakashi was responsible in following his bed time, but that night he felt restless. Against his father’s wishes (who was he kidding, nobody would scold him) he flipped on the light again and paged through a scroll – he would look for dad tomorrow, hopefully by then the smell would be gone. But the stench was getting worse and worse and finally he set the scroll aside and propped himself up. There was no way he could keep ignoring it any longer. It had penetrated up his nostrils and into his bloodstream, slinking into the very marrow of his bones.  Those of Hatake descent had extremely sharp noses; at this rate sleeping would be impossible.

Resigned to some inminent pain in his nostrils, Kakashi crawled out of his futon and folded it carefully, his stomach pooling with dread. It was unreasonable. He wasn’t a little baby anymore – he was six . It was just a smell. Maybe some dead animal had gotten in, he told himself. He’d throw it out and that was that. And yet every part of him told him to turn around. He didn’t. 

 Earlier, Kakashi had left his mother’s room out of the search for his father before – perhaps because a part of him had known all along what he would find.  Still, the sight of his father’s rigid corpse shocked him down to the very core. It had to be a joke, a trick, a training exercise, he thought wildly, but he didn’t dare step into the room to check.  Kakashi was a logical creature even then and he knew that that made little sense – Sakumo hadn’t trained or played with him in months, and he was sensitive about strong smells. No. What he was seeing was exactly as it appeared.

He was dead. Not murdered or assassinated – dead.

The body of his dead father was sprawled upon the blood-splattered floor, flies buzzing around it noisily. A katana gleamed, reflecting the moonlight that streamed in from the window as it protruded from his stomach. Sepukku. The samurai’s suicide ritual.

Kakashi had known something was wrong even before going into his mother’s old room, but nothing could have prepared him for this. His father – dead. The flies, the blood, the smell, the choice he had made – seppuku .

After standing there for maybe minutes or maybe seconds, his recollection of the night’s events got blurry. Kakashi barely remembered running out of the house in still in his pajamas and barefoot, or stepping on glass as he rushed away, away, away. He barely remembered barging into the hokage tower, leaving bloody footprints in his wake and sobbing uncontrollably. He barely remembered explaining much of anything, other than repeating ‘sepukku’, ‘sepukku’, 'sepukku’ like a mantra. The look in the hokage’s eyes said he understood. Someone had sedated him after that.

  It had been a month since then. He couldn’t go to sleep at night anymore without seeing Sakumo’s cold body sprawled upon the blood-stained wood whenever he closed his eyes, without smelling that smell . He couldn’t dream anymore, couldn’t get a full night’s sleep. He couldn’t train with Sakumo anymore or count the days until he’d be back from his latest mission. He couldn’t do any of those things – because Sakumo had abandoned him.

 The villager’s behavior toward him didn’t improve. In fact, it was as if Sakumo’s death had been kindling thrown into a fire. Where previously people had only whispered about the White Fang’s shameful, pathetic, selfish behavior, now they all talked about it openly. Every gossiping old lady told their neighbor that they’d always known there was something cowardly and dishonourable about that Hatake dog. Drinking himself into a stupor to then commit suicide, and to top it off with his kid at home! It was rumored that the poor boy had found the man in a pool of blood and sake. What a pathetic waste of space he had been! 

Kakashi’s mask, until then vehemently hated, had suddenly become a reprieve – he was harder to recognize with it. His training, which had previously been the way in which he connected with Sakumo, the way in which he strove to impress him when he returned from missions, now became the only thing he had left. He trained constantly, both resenting and missing Sakumo in equal measure, his exertions the only outlet. During those moments, when his body and spirit trembled and his eyes misted, he swore to himself that he would never make the same mistake.

 Sakumo had died (had killed himself) for breaking the rules. Everybody said so. Kakashi had always known that the rules were important, but a few times he’d felt tempted to question them – like when that frog girl had crossdressed as a boy. He had seen her sometimes afterward, when he’d glanced out of his classroom window, sitting all alone and friendless in the yard outside while her classmates played – and he had known immediately that this was his fault, that his rule-abiding had done that. Before he’d confronted her, she’d had friends, he’d seen it. He hadn’t liked that… somehow it had annoyed him, he didn’t know why. He’d told her sensei about it, just kind of expecting she’d get into trouble for a bit and maybe find him to throw another tadpole at him afterward… but that hadn’t been what had happened. She hadn’t found him to throw tadpoles at him whatsoever, and instead had started looking sullen and withdrawn and sad whenever he saw her from the window. He hadn’t wanted that. He’d just wanted to follow the rules.

A part of him had begun to doubt his decision then. A part of him had felt guilty.

He had thought about breaking the rules other times too, like when a hard test was coming up and he’d been tempted to sneak into the teacher’s room to check the answers – this was practically in a ninja’s job description after all – though he’d settled for studying all night in the end. 

He had felt bad, too, about more indirect breaches like getting all riled up when that frog girl called him names. Ninja weren’t supposed to fall for taunts, it was in the shinobi handbook that they show no emotion because talling for taunts lead to mistakes. But he kind of enjoyed the breach in the monotony that the frog girl and her loud bowlcut friend provided. He liked that they weren’t all admiring and brown-nosing around him like all his classmates, and, though he’d never admit it to himself, he liked the stories they came up with too, and when he was bored in class he would sometimes picture the annoyed faces frog girl would make at him when he outsmarted her and snicker. But ninja should live in the present, without distractions or indulgences in childish make-belief games, he realized that now. That girl was a rule-breaker more than anyone else he knew, and if Kakashi had learned something from his father’s death it was this: he would never, ever break a rule again. Any rule.

 He stopped going to frog girl and bowlcut’s meadow. At first a part of him missed them. He was all alone, after all – but – he still didn’t go, didn’t want to see their looks of pity – or even worse – disgust. He kept wanting to drop by but then not doing it. He had other things to keep him busy, like being a genin. He was a ninja now.

He wouldn’t make his father’s mistakes in his career, he swore to himself. He’d follow the ninja handbook to a T and then nothing like what Sakumo had gone through would happen to him. He had graduated now and frog girl and bowlcut were just kids . He had better things to do than them now, like training and having endless nightmares.

 At night, he couldn’t keep lying to himself. He cried himself to sleep often.

During the day, he kept his mask on and his feelings off, and surely things would get better if he did that. He had been accustomed to living alone from when his father left on missions, but this was different. He was in charge of his dad’s money now and other things like cooking and cleaning and bills and… he felt anxiety just thinking about it. He knew he’d have to pay some kind of bills for electricity and hot water and heat and all that later on, but he didn’t know how or where or when to do it. Money wasn’t an issue, his father had never lacked it, but he still got nervous thinking about what if he suddenly ran out or someone scammed him?

 He had spent the first week after That Night with another family – the Sarutobi household – the first week after his dad had died. Then he’d graduated the Academy and the hokage, Sarutobi Hiruzen, had told him that he was welcome to stay with them, though he could become independent now too if he wanted, seeing as he was now a genin – legally an adult. Kakashi had jumped at the chance of being alone. Asuma’s constant invasive presence and probing questions had been stifling, his mom’s mothering unwanted, the pitying looks they all kept shooting at him less than welcome.

“I will return home,” he’d told the hokage immediately. The more Hiruzen had insisted to the contrary, the stronger Kakashi’s determination to be left alone.

  Now, he was regretting that decision… he hated living alone, hated the empty spaces and the silent Estate. At this point he'd agree to live with anyone, but his pride kept him from going back to the Sarutobi household. He missed his dad… he missed frog girl and bowlcut but didn’t know how to reach out. He felt so, so alone. He wanted to be independent and strong and rule-abiding, but he wanted a hug too and a good night’s sleep and some excuse to leave this stifling estate where his dad had killed himself, but he couldn’t let himself look weak, he couldn’t , didn’t even know how – and he didn’t know what to do.

 He had started going to the central market in Konoha, even though it was very far from the Hatake Estate, which was located at the village’s outskirts. He told himself it was just because the central market was better than the small shop he’d used to frequent, even though he’d never bothered to go there Before.

At the market, he would dawdle and soak in the people and chatter, floating through the lively atmosphere. It made the loneliness starker but also duller. Before, he had loved to have his peace and quiet, but now silences haunted him. Now the noises of people had become a balm. He often just walked around the stalls, peering at the wares and at the people and listened . He didn’t do anything else. A part of him had hoped to maybe run into someone he liked there… but of course he never did. He should have known that none of his classmates or frog girl or bowlcut would be there, of course. If he had really wanted to find them, he knew he could, but somehow he didn’t.

 He was shaken out of his musings when the blond man appeared again. Kakashi and the blond man had coincided a few times in the market already. The blonde would often sit on a bench and do nothing in particular, though he’d sometimes bring books to snicker at, or chat up girls and vendors alike when they passed him by. The blonde man had a radiant smile and people seemed to love him, Kakashi had noticed. A part of him wanted to be mad at him for that, for having something he so sorely wanted but didn’t have, not any longer, not after that mission – but he mostly found himself being unable to muster up much resentment.

Sometimes, Kakashi wondered why the blond man would spend so much time at the market, just like him. Was he lonely too? Did his family leave him behind like Kakashi’s father? Despite himself, he’d gotten curious. He had made a habit of going to the market every day and he’d started getting to know the regulars. During his excursions, Kakashi always wore bland clothes and the mask so that he wouldn’t be noticed as much, but he in turn did notice the people, and the blonde man was often there – except sometimes when he left on missions, or so Kakashi assumed. The blonde man was a ninja.

He’d never dared to approach, but today he felt tired… so he sat down on the bench across the blonde to eat an apple he’d bought. He tried to divine what the man was reading, to subtly glance at his book’s cover… but he got caught looking. The blonde gave him a smile, then returned to his book. Kakashi didn’t dare to look again but his heart pounded. A while later, the blonde was cornered by some civilian ladies who wanted his opinion on some of their wares and ushered him away. Finally, Kakashi dared to steal another glance, then stood up and stretched, readying to go back to the estate.

 That smile… it had struck him like a punch to the gut. How long since anyone had just… smiled at him? He couldn’t remember the last time. Lately, he was always alone, and when he wasn’t, all he saw in people’s eyes was either disinterest or distaste, depending on whether they recognized him or not. Sometimes there was pity in the case of his father’s former friends like the hokage. 

Missions weren’t any better. In fact, he found that he hated the whole thing. Without fail, he always got passed around the genin teams, mostly replacing recently deceased members, and was never liked by the other integrants. He wasn’t sure if it was because they knew his reputation, because he was so much younger (and better, he privately thought) than them, or because he was the replacement of their dead friends. Yes, Kakashi thought. Nobody had smiled at him in a long, long time… He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it until that very moment.

 The next day, he sat on the bench across the blonde again… and the day after too. He always noticed when the man was gone on missions and he… it wasn’t like he was stalking him or anything, but the man – Minato, the old ladies called him – would always smile that warm smile at him, and Kakashi… Kakashi cherished it. He mustn't know who he was, that Minato. A part of him feared what would happen if he found out… would he start glaring at Kakashi if he did?

 One day, Minato sat down next to him. Kakashi froze and almost bolted… but the blonde just pulled a book out of his pouch and calmly began to thumb through it, like always. He talked to the merchants like always too, and Kakashi slowly relaxed. The week afterward, when Minato returned from what must have been a mission, he sat next to Kakashi again, surprising him once more, but he relaxed quicker than last time.

 “Mind if I take one?” Minato asked, peering at him from over his book. “Those oranges look mouth-watering.”

Kakashi startled and looked at Minato suspiciously. “You’re an adult. You shouldn’t be asking kids to give you their oranges.”

The blonde’s lips quirked into that smile again and Kakashi almost forgot he was supposed to be acting pissed-suspicious. “Yeah, but aren’t you one too?” Minato asked with a chuckle. “A legal adult? I’ve heard about you, you’ve made genin, haven’t you?”

Kakashi was startled for two reasons: one – adults never acknowledged he was independent and two – Minato knew who he was! And he still smiled at him?

“I guess you can have an orange,” Kakashi decided, handing it over.

Minato laughed. “Thanks, kiddo. Also, I was going to say that I would pay you back before you interrupted me.” He chuckled. “You’re always here, so I figured I’d treat you next time we meet.”

Next time.

Kakashi’s breath hitched. “S-sure. I mean whatever, it’s just an orange.”

The blonde chuckled. “So you don’t want to get treated, huh? Well, I guess it’s no sweat off my back…”

“That’s not what I said!” Kakashi exclaimed, wide-eyed. He took it back! He wanted to meet with Minato again!

The blonde teen laughed, suddenly reaching out to give him a mighty head ruffle. “Alright, alright. I’ll treat you to some dango then, I think.”

“I don’t like sweets,” Kakashi informed, crossing his arms, but secretly wishing for another head-ruffle.

“You say that now … but have you tried the fried eggplant with honey?” the blonde prodded happily. “Maki-baa makes ones to die for!”

“Eggplant,” Kakashi repeated dubiously, “with honey ? What kind of crazy person would make a sweet out of eggplant ?”

Minato smirked at him. “Just you wait. You’re going to be blown away, Kakashi!”

“H-hey! How do you know my name,” Kakashi muttered. “Stalker.”

The blonde chuckled. “Kid, I’m a master infiltrator. Knowing these things is pretty much my job.”

“Yeah, well you look like a girl,” Kakashi spluttered, embarrassed for some reason. “And way too young.”

“I’ll have you know, I’m nineteen and my looks are great for making people underestimate me, so… peace!”

“You’re weird,” Kakashi declared.

“Ah, wait till you try the eggplant. You’ll join the dark side soon.”

“ Right .”

  Somehow, Minato never suddenly decided that Kakashi was a persona non grata. He never avoided him, never stopped being kind. Kakashi found himself missing the blonde intensely when he was gone on missions, though he never admitted to it.

Life continued and things got easier… or maybe he just got used to his situation. He got used to his nightmares, used to the silence, used to the glares. Like all shinobi worth their salt, Kakashi adapted. He stopped getting crawls just from looking at the Hatake estate, though he still avoided the west wing like the plague. He completed D-ranks with ease and watched as other genin got sent out to the field and didn’t come back. He got used to being a replacement for the dead genin too… there were many. Still, a part of him wished he could have his own team, his own sensei. He wanted it so badly… why couldn’t he have what everyone else did? He surmised none of the jonin wanted to get stuck with the little kid, with the White Fang’s spawn. He understood. He still wished though.

Autumn came and went and the days got colder. Less people visited the market now, but Kakashi still went religiously. Despite his pride, he had finally worked up the courage to ask Minato how to deal with taxes and bills… even though he’d hated doing it, because he was afraid Minato would think he was a little kid after all if he asked. But the blonde hadn’t done that. He’d gone into long-winded, excited explanations on book-keeping, tax-paying, old fogies who might try to mess up his taxes so he needed to check everything over carefully, remember that, Kakashi!, and most importantly, what Minato had happily dubbed ‘money-saving ninja skills’. Kakashi had never enjoyed learning about anything more, but maybe that was because it was Minato who was teaching him.

One day, Minato showed him how to fish in order to save money. Another day he invited Kakashi to a training ground and taught him how to season said fish. Then, the week after they went to the woods and they cooked a rabbit. Minato would often give him tips on how to save money whilst doing all of this, though Kakashi privately thought that the blonde wouldn’t really need to follow his own advice since merchants were constantly gifting him their wares or inviting him over. At the beginning, Kakashi had wondered why everyone liked Minato so much, but now he understood. Minato was special… he was… sometimes, Kakashi couldn’t believe that someone like that would bother to give him the time of day. It was... the best thing that had happend to him in a long, long time. Maybe ever.

  Over the years, someone had taken up the nasty habit of drawing odd preschooler figures on his window when it was fogged up from the cold, or with crayons and chalk during the summer. Kakashi had been trying to catch the perpetrator ever since they'd begun, thinking that it might have been frog girl or bowl cut, but never managed. When he grumbled about it halfheartedly to Minato one day, the blonde  burst out laughing.

“Ah, the henohenomoheji? That was me!”

“What?” repeated Kakashi dubiously. “You’re the person who draws them? But they look like they were made by a preschooler!”

“Ah, I guess it’s a habit, from when my siblings were still… anyway, yeah! I’m not an artist, that’s for sure,” Minato told him sheepishly. “But I wasn’t trying to bother you, I promise. The henohenomoheji were just my way of telling you that I’d returned to the village after a mission, Kakashi. I always stop by your place to sketch a quick one on my way to the tower.”

“Oh.” The tower was on the other side of the village. Kakashi gulped. He felt happy Minato went out of his way like that, he really did, but… a part of him had hoped…

“Kakashi? What’s with that look?” Minato asked softly. “I… didn’t know it would upset you. I’ll stop, I promise.”

“No, don’t,” Kakashi mumbled.

He should have known it hadn’t been those two. Of course they must have thought the same as everyone else, that he was a disgrace and not worth hanging out with. Why had he even expected otherwise? Frog girl and bowlcut had probably forgotten all about him by now. He felt some part of him freeze at that. If they’d forgotten him so easily, he had no reason to expend energy thinking about them either. Firmly, Kakashi pushed the two out of his mind. He would not think about them again.

“Kakashi? Is everything… alright?” Minato’s deep blue eyes were filled with concern and Kakashi felt the coldness that had spread in his gut thaw.

“Yeah, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Minato nodded slowly. “Well… I have some news that will cheer you up! I applied to be a jonin sensei. How’s that for cool?”

Kakashi frowned. “A… a jonin sensei?” Hope lit up within him. “Does that mean… you’ll…?”

“Yep! You’re my student now, Kakashi! Hope you’re not too put off by this pretty face.”

Kakashi’s lips split into a large grin, his cheeks hurting from the rare action. The mask would cover it, but Minato had never had any issue with reading his expressions before. Smiling brightly, the blond teen lurched forward to give him one of those wild head-ruffle noogies Kakashi adored so much.

“I guess it could be worse,” he muttered, failing rather spectacularly at hiding his excitement.

“Don’t be coy with me, Kakashi! I’m your sensei now and what kind of pupil lies to their sensei!”

“Sh-shut up, Minato… sensei.”

“Awww! And he’s blushing! I need to take a picture!”

“DON’T YOU DARE!”

Note: this is an extract of my story misnomer, hence the frog girl oc, but I figured this chapter pretty much doubled as a Kakashi character stude so here you go! Hope you enjoyed!

(Also, in case it wasn’t obvious from the japanese characters, the image above is not mine.)

#Kakashi #hatake kakashi #sakumo #minato #feels #suicide #writing #fanfiction #team 7 #team minato #character study

[confusednarcissistwrites]

Teenage Dirtbag PT.3 (K.S.)

Sorry for the delay guys! I should really get a more regular posting schedule for this, but for now it’s just as I get parts written lol If anyone would be interested in being added to a taglist, let me know! Enjoy some building angst 😉

(suggestion of smut, mentions of alcohol, cursing)

You and Kyle were jerked awake by the sound of banging on the door.

“Wake up and get dressed!” called a voice, making rounds to clear out their house of all the overnighters.

It took you a second to gain your bearings through the hangover. You were naked in a room you didn’t recognize with your ex-boyfriend who was also naked. Fantastic.

Kyle groaned and rubbed his eyes harshly, clearly on the same page. Avoiding eye contact, you both got up and searched for your clothes that were thrown about the room. Though the tension was nearly unbearable, the thought of talking about what had happened made your already nauseous stomach so somersaults.

“Do you need a ride?” You were surprised he was the first to speak. You looked up at him, watching as he pulled his shirt over his head. You hated how attracted to him you still were.

“No, I drove with- oh shit.” Missy. You’d completely forgotten. You snatched your coat up off the floor and pulled your phone from your pocket hurriedly. Thankfully, there was a text from her last night:

‘Getting a ride home from Kelly, hope you’re okay xx’

You sighed in relief, holding your aching head for a moment. Everything was spinning.

“You don’t look too good. Maybe I should drive you home,” Kyle pressed, spinning the ring on his thumb, a tick of his you’d come to recognize.

“Okay.” You really didn’t want to, but you also knew he was right about you not being able drive safely like this.

He unblocked the door, and you followed him out. The house was trashed. People were passed out on the floor while others stepped over them trying to clean up half empty cups of liquor and the remnants of a silly string war.

He was parked in the back where the band had performed the night before. Only then did it dawn on you that that was why he was at the party. You climbed into the passenger side of his old beater, wishing like hell that you could just drive yourself home. Too much had happened in that car for you to not feel just the slightest bit disgusted with yourself for finding yourself right back there again.

He flicked on the radio, his favorite jazz cd filling the silence between you. All the little things you thought you’d made up in your mind to make him more endearing in your memories were right there in front of you. You fought so hard to hate him, to remember all the pain he’d put you through. Yet, you still ached for him to reach over and hold your hand like he used to.

‘God, Missy is going to kill me.’

Pulling up in front of your dorms, Kyle put the car in park and looked over at you. He spun his ring, looking down. Never before had you seen him look so shy.

“I uh..”

“Thanks for the ride. I’ll give you a call and we can talk later, okay?” you interrupted, sparing you both from his struggle to find words.

“O-okay. Sounds good,” he replied, looking up to meet your eyes. You sat looking back at him for half a second before climbing out of the car and heading into the building, not looking back. To say you felt shaken was an understatement. You hurried to your dorm, trying to slip in quietly in case Missy was still sleeping. Should you be so lucky.

She sat cross-legged on her bed sipping from a mug of coffee and staring judgmentally at you over the brim. “Coffee is still hot if you want some.”

You hung up your coat, not saying anything as you poured yourself a mug and reached for the aspirin, awaiting the incoming ass-chewing.

“Kyle Scheible. Again. Because it went so well the first time.”

“We just fooled around, Missy. It didn’t mean anything. We were both drunk,” you said defensively, though you weren’t sure who you were trying to convince.

She sighed. “Look, I’m not your mom. I’m not going to lecture you. Just think about it.”

“Nothing to think about,” you deflected with a little shrug. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

You gathered up your things, saying a quick goodbye as you left the dorm to go wash last night’s events from your skin and hopefully ease your headache. Fortunately, the showers were almost empty this late in the morning, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Glimpses of the night before came back to you as you slipped out of your clothes. The less you wore, the more bruises and scratches you found. You felt.. wrong. It felt wrong that no matter how much you over thought the events of the night before, you didn’t feel much regret for what had happened. Stepping under the hot stream of water, you let out a contented sigh, feeling your tense muscles relax. ‘What do I have to feel bad about?’ you rationalized. He had initiated. You tried to fathom what his game was. Perhaps there was no game. Maybe it was just sex. You washed away what little remained of your makeup, feeling a bit deflated. You decided to rest that afternoon, and then decide whether or not you would call him.

However, when you got back to your room and checked your phone, there was already a text from him waiting for you:

“Let’s meet at the park instead. Hate talking on the phone. 8 work?”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Yeah, that’s fine.” You should have known you were going to get out of this that easily.

++++++

After spending the afternoon in bed relaxing around the dorm, you got up and got dressed to go out and meet up with Kyle. Needless to say, you’d been thinking about it all day. Would you guys be able to finally talk about things, or would this just be another screaming match? Did he even want to talk? What was his endgame? You had no clue. Even worse, you weren’t sure what you wanted out of meeting up with him. You looked into the mirror, tugging your high collared shirt a bit higher to try and cover the dark marks he’d left. After slipping on your shoes, you wrote a quick note to let Missy know you were going out once she got back from her class. You spared details knowing they would just make her worry. A deep breath and then you were out the door.

When you arrived at the park, you spotted Kyle’s car tucked away behind a grove of trees. You rolled your eyes, parking next to him. You never did understand his paranoia over people knowing where he was. He watched as you hopped out of your car and into his passenger seat, a hand-rolled cigarette hanging from his lips.

“Hey,” you exhaled, your anxiety flaring. He was even harder to be next to when you didn’t have any alcohol in your system.

“Hey,” he replied, exhaling smoke out his cracked window before offering the cigarette to you. You took it, cracking your window and taking a pull. The tobacco he used always tasted so much better than the cheap Malls you bummed at parties. Kyle had been the first to introduce you to it all. You felt your nerves easy slightly, handing it back to him. He tapped it in the ashtray, looking over at you expectantly. “You wanted to talk?”

You voice caught in your throat. Shit. It had been you who had said you would call. “I-I mean I didn’t.. really have anything to say. I just.. thought we should.” You wiped your sweaty palms on your ripped jeans, avoiding his ever-intense gaze.

“About?”

You shot him a look, sensing him toying with you. He just looked right back at you. “Well, I mean the fact that we slept together last night, for starters.”

He cleared his throat, stubbing out the butt. He stayed quiet, reaching out and pulling your collar aside slightly to see the pink, purple imprint of his mouth. You watched his eyes darken. “It was good.”

You swallowed, drawing your knees together slightly. You wanted to ask him if he regretted it, but you knew that was never Kyle’s style. If it brought him pleasure in the moment, then it was always worth it no matter the consequences. “Yeah,” you breathed, distracted by his fingers brushing over the mark. You knew full well that what you had done was not “good,” but, God, it certainly had felt good. Feeling a bit panicky under his touch, you reached for the cigarette and took another pull. Your eyes met as he watched you carefully. You couldn’t miss the way his eyes drifted to your lips as you exhaled, smoke swirling gracefully between you and curling around his face.

Suddenly his hand was at your nape and his lips were on yours. Without the filter of alcohol this time, you were able to feel every ounce of his need for you. No matter why it was there, it made him absolutely magnetizing, and you just couldn’t resist. You kissed him back for no logical reason other than the fact that it felt so damn good. His free hand found your thigh, making you gasp softly and allowing him the chance to invade your mouth with his tongue. Your hands tangled into his curls. You noticed his hair was longer now. His hand tightened on your thigh, eliciting a soft whimper from you.

He pulled away, his eyes blown with lust. “Backseat?”

You didn’t even hesitate.

+++++

When it was all over, you were tucked under his arm and you were both covered by a thin blanket he’d had in his car for emergencies. The windows were fogged over, and you were both still trying to catch your breath. You couldn’t fathom how on earth you possibly had ended up back here again so easily. Sitting up, you began to pull your clothes back on.

“Y/N,” he called softly, halting your movements. You turned to look back at him, and he sat up, his hand sliding along your jaw as he pressed a lingering kiss to your lips. “That was so good.”

You couldn’t help but blush, a ghost of a smile on your lips as he continued peppering kisses along your neck and face. “Kyle.. I need to go,” you giggled ticklishly, lightly pushing him away. When he sat back, you were able to see he was smiling too. A wave of emotion washed over you, and you promptly realized how fucked you were. Your smile faded, and you hurried to finish getting dressed. Once you were fully dressed and he was decently, you popped open the door and slid out. You looked back to him, hesitating only a moment before you closed the door behind you and got back in your own car.

It wasn’t until you were almost home that you felt the tears falling down your cheeks.

#kyle scheible #kyle scheible imagine #kyle scheible smut #kyle scheible x reader #timothee chamalet #timothee chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet fluff #timothee chalamet smut #timothee chalamet x reader #timotheé chalamet #timotheé chalamet imagine #timotheé chalamet fluff #timotheé chalamet x reader #timotheé chalamet smut #ladybird #ladybird fanfiction #blurb #imagine #one shot #teenage dirtbag #confusednarcissistwrites

[thevioletjones]

31, because I can’t see it fitting Ian/Mickey easily and know you’re a good enough writer to prove me wrong ☺️

Thanks! I tried. 🙂

Prompt 6: “I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.”

Ian’s Box of Crap

Being currently unemployed, Mickey didn’t have much of a leg to stand on when attempting to deflect Ian’s demands that he get chores and household tasks done while his husband was out earning an honest paycheck. He wasn’t even allowed to shake people down anymore, let alone pull robberies, or get back into the drug trade. Ian had made it clear that divorce wasn't off the table if Mickey deliberately did something stupid that got him thrown back in prison for a long stretch.

He didn’t much like being told what to do, but what he liked even less was not having Ian in his life. He’d had to go too many years without him in the past, and nothing good ever came during those times. Unfortunately, Ian Gallagher was it for Mickey Milkovich. That meant that he actually had to stay in line and put in the work if he didn’t want to lose him again. Ian wasn’t as soft as he used to be. Never really had been at his core, but the maturity of age had cemented his backbone rather rigidly, and Mickey was actually loathe to piss him off too badly these days.

So he did the bullshit grunt work requested of him, just to keep the peace. He was tired of fighting every day of his life, and what was the point of marrying Ian if they weren’t going to try and make each other happy?

In the past couple weeks, Mickey had done everything from laundry and dishes, to vacuuming and mopping. He’d patched up a couple of big holes in the wall that Frank had made, and fixed the loose parts of the wooden outdoor steps and banisters, both front and back. He’d even gone so far as to babysit the tiny, helpless Gallagher spawn a few times, which had been interesting and somewhat terrifying. Then Ian had given him this look when he caught the scene one afternoon, eyes shining, smile beaming. It reminded him of that brief time they’d helped take care of Yevgeny, which made Mickey’s head spin. He didn’t need Gallagher getting the whole ‘having kids’ thing back in his head right now. Mickey was in no way ready for all that. Hadn’t been the first time, and they’d all seen how that turned out.

Today, he was supposed to clean out the attic. He told Ian that asking someone outside the family to do it sounded like a bad idea. How was he supposed to know what shit the Gallaghers wanted to keep, and what they wanted to get rid of? What if he made a mistake? If anyone had asked him what to keep from the hoarded piles of shit in the Milkovich house, he would’ve laughed in their face, then set everything on fire. Mickey wasn’t the sentimental type. So did Ian want him to just toss everything?

Ian had rolled his eyes, clarified that Mickey was a Gallagher now, and given him a run-down. Anything that had obviously been made or cherished by a Gallagher kid, any family photos and albums, or small boxes of keepsakes, those stayed. Anything that wasn’t being used by anyone, but could be of use and handed down to the youngest or recently shacked up of them, set them aside to be put in rotation. Anything that worked, but they already had one of or didn’t need, donation box (because apparently they actually sometimes donated shit to the local shelter). And anything that looked completely unnecessary for anyone, throw it in a Best Choice trash bag, but don't take them to the curb yet. Ian would go over everything when he got home to make sure it was sorted correctly.

“So you’re gettin' me to do all this boring-ass grunt work, then you’re gonna have to go through it anyway? What the fuck, man?” he’d asked.

“It'll make the whole thing way easier on me, so can you just shut the fuck up and do me the favor? I’ll blow you later for your trouble.”

“Like you wouldn’t be doin’ that anyway.”

Ian had shrugged. “If you don’t, I won’t.”

“Threatening to withhold sex? That’s a bitch move if I ever heard one.”

“Whatever, deadbeat. You want me to support you, gotta help out when I ask. A blowjob would just be a bonus, because I’m generous of spirit.”

“I’m not gonna forget this hardcore manipulation, Firecrotch. I’ll get my revenge eventually.”

Ian merely kissed him on the nose. “Sounds like a plan. See ya.”

And he was out the door.

“Asshole,” Mickey’d muttered under his breath.

And now, a few hours later, here he was; sitting on the dusty, hard planks of the weird-smelling Gallagher attic, sorting through the memories and forgotten things of the family he’d married into less than six months ago. He’d dawdled as long as he could on the couch, eating junk food and watching his favorite daytime game shows, judge shows, and salacious ‘who’s the baby daddy?’ shows. The only hint of fun left in the remainder of his day was in the bong and the beer he’d brought with him up the rickety ladder. After every box sorted, he’d take a rip or two and chase the smoke with a long swig of cheap alcohol.

The most interesting things he’d found so far were some old pictures of Ian when he was little, his hair a curly mess, and his pale skin covered in dark freckles. His smile was too big for his face, and he looked goofy as all hell. Nothing like the hot hunk of man he was today. It was the Ian Mickey remembered from Little League a million years ago. And maybe he’d set one of the photos aside to keep for himself and taken some pics of others with his phone, so what?

Mostly he’d had to sift through little Debbie’s ridiculous girly shit, and Frank’s completely random assortment of insignificant trinkets with a side of what looked like bondage gear. He’d since moved on to a group of boxes obviously labeled by Carl when he was younger. He recognized the scrawl, occasional backwards lettering, and lack of possessive apostrophes. The words were short enough not to be atrociously misspelled, and consisted of a Gallagher first name in plural, followed by: ‘box of crap.’

Everybody had one, including Fiona, who hadn’t taken it with her when she’d left Chicago, and the kids she’d raised as her own, behind. The most scandalous item in there was a dildo of decent size that Mickey definitely would’ve packed in his suitcase if he’d been the one moving away as a single chick. The thought crossed his mind to pilfer it for his own collection, but he figured that Ian would be weirded out by the association. Sex toys were probably the only thing Gallaghers never shared between them.

Carl had a box of his own, semi-well-hidden compared to the others, and Mickey discovered why when he’d managed to get the copious amount of packing tape off. It was full of straight porn mags with big-tittied women and shaved pussies, underneath an array of dangerous weapons the family had forbidden him to have when he was underaged. He found everything from nunchucks, to throwing stars, to switchblades, to brass knuckles. No guns or attempted homemade bombs, thank fuck. He chucked the porn in the trash pile, cuz nobody needed to see that shit, and set the switchblade aside for himself, deciding to give the rest to Ian to sort out.

He saved Ian’s box for last, opening it up to find a grab bag of old army decorations, tattered paperbacks, comics, a bunch of loose paper covered in scribbles, and a stack of notebooks.

Mickey didn’t realize Ian was such a huge nerd that he’d kept his high school notebooks, but giving a quick flip through the first two revealed they weren’t school-related at all. He remembered Ian going through a phase when he was always writing shit down, ranting about having great ideas he needed to save for posterity. Before he went to the hospital. A manic phase. Probably one of many he’d cycled through, yet Mickey had missed some of those extremes.

Everything had been so chaotic then. He’d pushed Ian away, then gotten the same treatment in return. Their typical messiness pervaded everything back then. And now, he had in his hands Ian’s unfiltered thoughts about what happened back then.

“Fuck,” he said to himself, setting the notebooks down and going for the beer/weed combo again.

There were exactly two ways to go about this: he could put the notebooks back into the Ian box and not invade his privacy, or he could skim through them and hone in on the interesting relevant bits and maybe get a few long-pondered answers. On the one hand, Ian would probably get pissed if Mickey read them. On the other hand, Ian never had to know about it, did he?

It really wasn’t much of a choice… he’d always been curious as to what the hell was going through Ian’s head back in the day. They’d never exactly been great at talking things out, and he didn’t have it in him to try and make Ian relive some of the lowest moments of his life just to give Mickey some peace of mind. Plus, they were always facing some new bullshit obstacle head-on, so the past always just kind of got lost in the shuffle of their present difficulties.

Mickey took a deep breath and opened one of the notebooks again. The pages weren’t dated, and a lot of it didn’t make much sense. There were many lists with lines crossed out, but they didn’t describe things ‘to do,’ more like an endless inventory of concepts and feelings. The thought patterns were totally abstract, and Mickey couldn’t really make heads or tails of them. It hit him sharply in the chest when he realized that when Ian had been out of it, he’d really and truly been fucking out of it. These seemed like the crazed rantings of an unmedicated schizophrenic babbling on public transportation. It pained Mickey to the core, and it scared the shit out of him too.

He flipped through it fairly quickly, then opened the next one. It seemed to be calmer, more legible, and less unintelligible. It was more like a diary with bad poetry sprinkled in, and it only took a few pages for Mickey’s own name to jump out at him among the wall of words. It must have been written during Ian’s lost months, after going AWOL from the Army when he was 17.

He described running away from Chicago, scamming his early enlistment, crashing and burning his way out of bootcamp, shaking and selling his ass as a club boy, snorting, smoking, and swallowing all manner of substances, and crashing anywhere from penthouses to flophouses with sexual favors sprinkled in liberally. It was like the chronicle of a person going mad and coping in all the wrong ways. It surprised Mickey how emotional it made him to read these things in vivid detail. He’d completely forgotten how worried he used to be about Ian. When he was gone, when he went missing again, and when he started doing irrational things that could’ve ended so much worse than they did.

Ian was the one that had to live out all the drama and trauma of his disorder, but Mickey was the one caught on the sidelines, not having a single clue what to do or how to fix it. He’d never felt so useless or helpless in his entire life, even through all the bullshit he’d suffered growing up with Terry as a father. Maybe it was because of his age, or how Ian made him feel a certain way he’d never felt before. He just remembered hating it, and being so fucking sad.

These pages reminded him that through the mania, Ian was a bottomless well of sadness himself.

It was tough text to get through, and more than once, he felt like maybe he shouldn’t be reading it at all. Ian had never intended for other people to see his innermost thoughts, even Mickey. But it was impossible to stop now that he’d opened that floodgate. It was like reliving a part of their shared history through the eyes of his partner in crime. It was too fascinating.

After countless pages of dark tales from the void, Mickey came upon a page that was actually addressed to him. Surely, Ian had never intended to hand it over, but it was his nonetheless.

Mickey— I never had the balls to tell you this, But you’re the only boy I’ve ever loved. I thought you loved me too, But now I’m not so sure. I’m so confused and I go back and forth, Never really knowing what to actually think, Or what the truth is. All I really realize now is that I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you. It took you forever to let me, And now I just do it with anyone, Cuz I don’t fucking care. I just miss you, And I wish you were here. But also, I don’t, Cuz I don’t want you to see me like this. I’m having a great time on my own adventure, But also not. You shouldn’t be a part of it right now. You’re on your own strange journey, I guess. Maybe one day we’ll be on the same road together again, And also for the first time, since we never really were.

Mickey barely had enough time to sniff and wipe away the stray tear that had fallen, when his husband’s voice startled him out of his reverie.

“You’re still up here?”

“Jesus Christ!” he cried out with a visible jolt of his body.

His head snapped toward the attic hatch, where Ian’s dumb red head was surveying the musty space. Mickey let the notebook fall from his grasp, but Ian was already climbing the rest of the way in before it occurred to him that he was about to be caught red-handed with journals that were supposed to be deeply private. He could only flip it closed and grab his beer to polish it off, before Ian was crouching in front of him and taking a seat.

“Can’t believe you actually did this for me, to be honest,” Ian said with a chuckle, glancing at the bong. “Anything left?”

“Baggie’s right there,” Mickey replied nodding his head to the left.

“Nice.”

Ian got distracted with loading a bowl, so Mickey very subtly tried to nudge Ian's notebooks aside with his foot, like maybe if they were slightly farther away, he could claim complete innocence as to knowing what they were.

He watched Ian take a couple hits before passing it to him, and Mickey welcomed the opportunity to temper his suddenly sullen mood.

“How was work?” he asked between hits, before passing back to Ian.

Ian snickered and furrowed his brow. “You never ask me about work.”

Mickey shrugged. “Don’t mean I don’t care.”

“Uh huh.” Ian looked even more skeptical, and finally glanced around at what Mickey had in his vicinity. That sent his brow up high, in a decent imitation of Mickey’s usual expressiveness. “Oh. That my box?”

Mickey gulped and nodded. “Yeah. Just sorting it out. Should’ve just left the whole thing for ya. Sorry.”

Ian’s gaze snapped to his face. “You read stuff.”

It was a statement rather than a question.

“Just a little,” Mickey admitted. “I shouldn’t have. Fuck, I’m an asshole.”

But Ian only shook his head. “Nah, it’s okay.”

“You don’t have to say that. I’d be pissed.”

“I’m not. I promise.”

“Really? You’re not mad?”

Ian shook his head again. “No. Actually, I’m kinda relieved.”

“How the fuck so?”

“It's all stuff I wanted you to know. I mean, part of me used to be really ashamed, maybe still is, but… another part of me always just wanted to be totally honest with you. In a way I haven’t ever been with anyone. Even Lip. But I didn’t have the words to say it, you know? And I know a lot of it is just scary rambling. I don’t even understand what some of it means, but the stuff that’s real… the lucid stuff… it’s depressing as fuck, but it’s the truth. We didn’t always tell each other the truth, but we showed each other. And this was something I couldn’t really show you. So maybe you were meant to find these. Do my dirty work for me.”

“Damn, Gallagher, that’s kinda heavy. These were… kinda heavy. Made me feel shit I’d forgotten about, you know?”

Ian nodded. “Yeah. I haven’t read ‘em in years, but I remember. It’s why I wanted to put ‘em away, I guess. Plus, I didn’t want someone else snooping around and finding out too much. I mean, you never know in this house. It’s possible every fucking Gallagher already read them, but I hope not.”

“Ian…” Mickey started, but didn’t know exactly what he wanted to say. Words of reassurance? It was all in the past, and Ian was doing so well now. He was diligent about his medication, and he hadn’t spun out of control since before prison. Anything Mickey said now would just be cold comfort, since that notebook version of Ian barely existed anymore. Ian was always afraid that it would recur, but Mickey wasn’t. They were truly in it together now, and he’d never let Ian cross the threshold into the uncontrollable. “I wish I coulda been what you needed me to be back then. However impossible it was. Some of it was my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t even my fault, really. It was some shitty shit that happened to me. I reacted the only way I thought I could. There’s no use in either of us wishing we’d done things differently now. At least we got the right outcome, right? We’re together.” He clasped their left hands so that their wedding rings touched. “Forever.”

Mickey couldn’t help but snort. “Okay, you didn’t have to get that gay about it. I already had to suffer through a buncha your faggy teen poetry. I deserve a break from the high drama of it all.”

Ian laughed, kissed his hand, dropped it, then smacked him on the cheek. “Fuck you.”

“Just say when,” Mickey responded with a smile.

“After we go through all this shit, Romeo. Explain the piles.”

“Well,” said Mickey, pointing to the nearby corner, “Carl has a shitload of contraband in there. Weapons, not drugs. Frank has some shit that might be S&M gear, not sure, then aside from your lunatic journal ramblings, everything else is boring as shit. Oh, and Fiona left a big blue dildo.”

#ian x mickey #fanfic #gallavich #fanfiction #asks #answers

[mallickshah]

A club council meeting.

Because of the unfortunate events that transpired and were (falsely!!) reported by The Deck, on the morning of September 7 2024, The Club Council found themselves obligated to hold an emergency meeting at their current headquarters, Ace of Club Mallick’s house. This meeting took place in a living room that now resembled more of a formal office than a family living room.All 8 members of the Council were present during this meeting, it went as follow.

✨with the brilliant participation of: @nihtegalc​ (bry) & @hilo--keahi (alex)✨ ✨(great collab, let’s do this again \o/)

The news came as a bit of a shock; but not the kind that would leave him terrified and disoriented. More so of the kind that had him rubbing at his temples and closing his eyes as he leaned back further in the chair he was in. The cushion welcomed him instantly, a recent gift from one of the people he’d helped, it was also gods given since it was halting whatever throbbing in his skull would have begun to pound by now. The present hadn’t been necessary and Mallick hadn’t wanted it when he’d received it but now, he could only think about how much he would have regretted that decision. 

Aside from that, it did help him remind why he had to think about this recent issue with a clear head. Did he have his doubts when it came to the decisions he took, or the ones he’d taken? Of course, how could he not? Everything he did from now on would always fall back on his shoulders and right on the head of every member of his faction. But he had to, because it would help to do so.

It didn’t help that he knew these people like the back of his hands and that was also why he did not want to control them, but rather turn them towards something more beneficial. On their own. So of course, Mallick shouldn’t be surprised by these types of incidents. But why Spades of all factions? Clubs had never shown any signs of wanting a war with them in particular, as far as he’d witnessed growing up, Spades had been a sore point sure--what’s with their respectability and the reputation they held contrasting strongly against Clubs’. But Mallick had always felt this weird agreement with other Clubs that trash talking them was one thing, actually going against them though? Another one they’d been entirely not into for the longest.

This smelled like more than it seemed; especially with the report that some key evidence pointed directly to his involvement. Mallick would love to see what that key evidence was exactly.

For now though, he kept his ears ope to the council members sat in the room were talking about, they were mostly arguing over the next measures to take from what he could gather. They’d already ruled out that Mallick had ordered the attack, if the attack had been done by Clubs at all. Key evidence or not, he’d had no time to plan any attack on anyone. But Mallick had not ruled out that someone in this room might want something bigger than the chair they were sitting in. He hadn’t ruled that out from the moment he’d formed an alliance with them. Mallick let his fingers part as he peeked at them through it, he could use a truth potion right now. Or a spell. 

Something to reveal their cards in a less suspicious way than the one he felt like he’d be forced to take soon enough. His first attempt at quitting them was interrupted by one of the members suddenly voicing out something as ridiculous as, “I’ll bet ya’ they did the whole thing all by themselves to accuse us and cause a war!” 

“Yeah, I mean who would benefit from this? Not us.” Another voice agreed, and out of all seven of them, Mallick had always known those two for being the first to start talking about things that made little to no sense. However, they’d been posted there because of the trust some very highranked Clubs had in them. Mallick had appointed those he trusted beyond measure and he’d made sure to pick out from the rest those who would do the job ‘just as well’ as the ones he’d handpicked. He couldn’t just have a council of members full of only his people, Clubs would not settle for that. 

He wanted to interject right then and counterpoint this, but something told him to sit back and wait for more of them to add more theories. Which made Fallon speak in turn, against these allegations. Mallick wasn’t surprised, even if he forgot sometimes that she did belong to the Spade faction. 

“Why would they attack us now when they’ve always been friendly or neutral?” 

Fair point. They all looked at each other, the ones who had thrown the accusations probably ransacking their empty brains only good for inciting feuds to answer her. But as none came, he heard her take in a sigh, which made him hold back the grin he had on his face. He would have missed this if she hadn’t decided to be part of the whole thing, the way her expression gave away how stupid she thought people ideas were sometimes. Good old Fallon of course went on imperturbed. 

“We’ve been through a water crisis before and they didn’t need our supplies then, why would they need our supplies now?” 

To be fair, Mallick had thought that this was definitely a ploy by someone--Spades specifically? Maybe for a tiny second. He wouldn’t tell her that though, he’d prefer to not get chewed out by her silence, that spoke with more volume most times. But he agreed with her, there was no surprise there. Although recent news about Spade’s Ace could leave room for some reasonable doubts.

Which meant as soon as the other members were beginning to try to find a way to justify their accusations he finally interjected, he didn’t want this wild idea to plant seed and start growing a monstrous infected tree. Plus some of them were now mumbling about Fallon being ex-spade, so of course she would be defending them, and what said she wasn’t actually on their side despite having defected? 

“Enough.” He commanded and they all stopped and turned their eyes on him, Fallon included. Mallick heaved out a soft sigh, “If Fallon was not for Clubs, she would not have helped us for 3 whole years without ever asking for anything more than what was offered to her as a deal. If you cannot trust her, maybe it is you that needs to rethink your role here as a council member.” 

Displeasure lined up some member’s features, but that was now common to see. Plus, how rich of him to say this when he didn’t trust half of them in this room. Mallick cleared his throat and shook his head. He’d already made peace with the fact that some discussions would simply never end up with them seeing eye to eye, it was expected. He’d had years of experience doing this in The Resistance.

“Spades are not our enemies, they’ve never been, end of that topic.” Whether his stance pleased them or not, they needed to move on from this. “Let’s put our brains to better use.”

They needed to focus on a solution, not what another faction wanted out of this, but what this meant for them as a faction. What was done was done, there was no turning the wheels back. Something had been stolen, but more importantly, lives had been lost. Mallick knew what he had to do next. 

“Did we find the stolen shipment anywhere on our territory?” He asked with a calmer tone this time. That was the one that always seemed to get them to take him more seriously, he’d noted that earlier on. 

“No, we’ve sent some people to take a look but so far nothing’s come through.” 

Before Mallick could interject with another inquiry, another member of the council leaned forward on their elbows and added in, “No witnesses either, but some villagers said they heard a whole lot of ruckus on that same day. A lot of groaning and screaming too, another villager said. They live close to an Inn.”

There did exist a mention of no other bodies but the ones of the Spades being found, plus some of the Spades having disappeared. Mallick took his hand off his face, interest piqued as he regarded the member who’d just spoken. 

“And where’s that Inn located?” 

“Close to where the ambush happened, too close to my liking even.”

Mallick also wanted to throw his hands in the air, scream a little, let out some of this frustration. But he couldn’t, not with them in the same room, he also would never find the time to. The image he wanted to upkeep would not let him do such a thing even by himself, because nowadays, by himself he felt as though he had to stay even calmer. 

This meeting had to come to an end, Mallick surveyed the members of the Council, an eyebrow arching expectentantly, “Any last thoughts?” hoping it would be something new and not going back to any of the other points they’d dismissed. It seemed alas, that someone had something else to add.

Hilo who had remained quiet until now, observing the fight without participating, most likely gathering his thoughts without yet voicing them. Said thoughts that Mallick was certain would bring forth a new angle. Hilo had always managed to bring it back to something even more important in every change that occurred in these meetings, right back to the lowrankers. It was his main point of focus after all, so there was no surprise there. If Clubs and Spades went to war, it was them who would likely suffer the worst of it. So when his call for last thoughts came out and he finally made to speak up, Mallick was attentive and he expected the rest of the Council to do the same.

“It’s important we find out who’s behind this, but it’s just as important that we patch things up with the Spade faction, too.” Hilo cast a brief glance towards Fallon, one that spoke of a shared understanding for those existing between two separate worlds. 

“We should approach them with some sign of goodwill. If supplies were stolen or destroyed, we should swallow our pride and offer some. Show them that even if it was Clubs, whoever carried out this attack doesn’t speak for the best of us. And even if it wasn’t, we’re better than rising to the bait.” 

Hilo leveled a glance at the worst of the quarrelers then, arms unfolding from his broad chest in a half-shrug. Mallick agreed with a nod, whatever disgruntled thoughts others had, he seemed to catch sight of some expressions turning contrit at the fact that this was not a lie in itself. This had been one of his main talking points many times before, the pride that lay in being a Club and how they had to take it back and make it entirely theirs and no one else should have the right to monopolize it.

“There’s honor in fighting. It’s the way of the Clubs. But there’s no honor in letting someone else pick our battles for us.” As Hilo concluded, Mallick could only lay back one more time and raise his hand towards no goals particularly, a silent applaud for Hilo’s words maybe. 

“I couldn’t agree more, giving back what they think we took or destroyed will be handled then. As to the last point about our honor that Hilo made, I think at least on that one we’ve all always seen eye to eye or am I wrong?” 

The challenge was evident in his tone and he already knew that Hilo and Fallon would not be the one he had to survey, but he was pleased to notice that as usual, when it came to the main objective this Council had been created for, choosing better or worse for themselves by themselves, the consensus would never change. So the nods of approval, even if underlined with other disagreements, was slow, receptive and that was all Mallick needed to put an end to this meeting. 

With a quiet sigh he regarded one of the Council members in charge of communication coming in and going out. 

“Bring forth two messengers and someone else to write down the messages; I’d like to request a meeting with the deck and a scroll of advice sent out to every house in this faction.” 

They gave him a nod and left the room without any further comment, leaving Mallick to softly dismiss the meeting. Farewells were given and once alone, Mallick knew he’d have at best five minutes to rest before he had to keep moving again, that should be enough for him to close his eyes and fill his mind with nothing but a welcomed void. 

#club ( council ) #nihtegalc #hilokeahi #alone together ( solo ) #hey mom and dad aka admins look we did a thing!! we made it better or worse but we did a thing ahem. give us our flowers.

[confused-stars]

Alienfam AU - Chapter One

ao3 link here! ko-fi link here!

Chapter One: The house lay still and empty beneath the overhanging trees when Hitoshi approached on the road.

Just as he'd planned. He didn't want to talk things out right now, just wanted to quietly fume for a while because didn't he deserve it? Having a parent who always tried to understand everything sucked sometimes.

And some things couldn't be fixed by talking.

Hitoshi unlocked the front door and toed his shoes off. He was immediately greeted by the welcoming meow of their cat, Coffee. For once, he didn't immediately lean down to scratch her head, and she seemed mildly perplexed at that.

Hitoshi just ignored her and moved past into the kitchen living room combo. There was a covered bowl of something sitting on the counter, along with a note.

The note read 'if you need to talk, text any time. i'll see you tomorrow otherwise.'

Short and to the point. Hitoshi looked at it for a long moment. Then he crumpled it up and tossed it in the trash.

He ignored the food, too, instead grabbing a pack of cookies from the snack drawer - he deserved comfort food right now.

He hated fighting with his dad. He didn't want to snap at him, ever, but it had been happening more and more lately. Sometimes, Hitoshi couldn't stand his worried looks, his prying questions, his 'your teacher called again' this and 'you don't need to shut me out' that.

Hitoshi wasn't six anymore. He knew his dad couldn't just magically make everything better.

Besides, it was fine. He was fine. He just wanted to be left alone for a change, was that too much to ask?

Except... no, that wasn't quite right, was it?

The crux of the problem was that Hitoshi didn't have anyone. Aside from his father and the cat, that was. Maybe Aunt Nem when she wasn't off traveling.

And Hitoshi didn't like to socialize, either. But sometimes... sometimes he just felt entirely alone in the world. Mostly when everyone else in school ganged up on him, calling him names, whispering about him, even throwing things at him or breaking his stuff, sometimes. He hadn't told his dad about the broken spinner keychain yet. He didn't want him to get angry and make a fuss with the school. No, this was Hitoshi's own problem to deal with and he was doing just fine.

He sat on his bed and booted up his laptop, wrapped in a comforting cocoon of blanket, cookies in his lap. Maybe a good horror movie or something would help. No way was he sleeping yet, despite being bone-tired. He wouldn't be able to, anyways.

Hopefully he'd collapse some time close to the early morning hours so he wouldn't have to pretend to be asleep when his dad checked on him. He never quite believed he was all that convincing.

Hitoshi clicked his way around Netflix aimlessly, nothing really catching his eye. Not even his usual comfort movies seemed to hit the spot. There was just... nothing. Staring at the one slightly off colored spot on the ceiling all night was starting to sound tempting.

But he had to think back to the insults thrown at him by a handful of boys in his class today. Well. Not at him. More like they'd all grouped together and talked about him so loudly he'd be sure to hear.

'Obviously she didn't want him. If I were stuck with him, I'd try to get rid of him, too.'

Since they'd learned about his mother, things had only gotten worse.

It was fucking unfair. Hitoshi had done nothing to them and he couldn't understand how they didn't even have the common fucking decency to not make digs at family stuff like that.

He didn't even miss his mom. He hadn't known her. His dad had always been enough.

But the fact that they had dared... he'd gotten so angry. He hadn't gotten physical, he'd never been the type and the martial arts classes his dad had signed him up for helped channel any of that sort of energy into something safe. But he had cursed quite a bit as he'd shot back at the boys, talking about how one of their dads was probably fucking his secretary who always picked him up from school, and how another would die alone in a ditch somewhere by twenty-five, high out of his mind.

They had laughed. But the teacher who had overheard him hadn't been so amused.

And neither had his father.

Hitoshi closed his laptop forcefully and fell back on the bed. No one gave a shit about his opinion. He couldn't even fight back - all they ever did was laugh and not at all take him seriously. That feeling of complete and utter powerlessness, combined with how much he just wanted a single friend... it was overwhelming enough that he felt his throat tighten painfully now, and tears shooting into his eyes.

It wasn't fucking fair.

The universe had it out for him specifically.

... said universe chose that moment to make itself known.

The bright light outside the window flashed up so suddenly, and was so strong, that Hitoshi instinctively wrenched his arm up to protect his face and still only saw little dots of light for a good few seconds, long enough to almost panic. A cacophony of noise followed, cracking, frantic beeping, something... impacting.

Then silence.

His vision returned, and Hitoshi was left blinking into the darkness of his room. The hair on his arms stood on end. Not only from whatever shock this had been, but because the air felt almost charged with... something.

He slowly sat up and looked towards the window.

Nothing. He couldn't have just imagined this, could he?

When he stood, his knees buckled underneath him for a moment. Huh. He walked over to the window and peered outside.

There was no more glow.

But the forest that started beneath their house seemed... oddly shaped against the dark night sky. He couldn't see much, but it seemed like some trees had been forcefully bent out of the way of... something moving through them. As he watched, one of them slowly leaned further to the side and finally, with a loud crack, broke and fell.

Hitoshi stared for a long moment, his own heartbeat loud in his ears. A... meteor? Did that kind of thing happen outside of tv? Didn't people have ways to predict their flight patterns now, so they would've been warned?

Except... what if it wasn't a meteor?

Hitoshi wished his dad was here, but only briefly, as he scrambled to find his phone buried under his sheets. He shoved it into his pocket and all but sprinted to the front door to pull on his shoes.

Hitoshi didn't believe in aliens. He didn't believe in much of anything, really. Only in himself and his dad and maybe that cats had nine lives.

But he wanted to know what was going on, and if it was something weird, the area would be off limits soon enough. He just wanted to be the first to get a look. Just one look.

The event had shaken him from his self-pitying stupor, so he felt like he had to keep the momentum going.

Coffee was nowhere in sight even though she normally tried to slip out at night if he wasn't careful about the door. T he crash must have freaked her out, too. Hitoshi made a mental note to check on her when he got back, even as he rounded the house and jogged towards the edge of the woods.

The faint smell of smoke lay in the air. Was something burning? There was a... metallic note to it. It almost bit into Hitoshi's nose as he breathed.

He climbed over the low fence separating their backyard from the woods, and then he was off, following the path he'd followed hundreds of times in his life, deeper into the woods.

The smoke in the air got thicker as he walked, until it was bad enough that he had to stifle coughs, but there was a faint flickering of light visible through the underbrush now, and he just wanted to catch a glimpse. Then he'd turn around. Just a glimpse.

Hitoshi climbed over a fallen tree, pushing through the branches that made up its crown. As his feet hit the forest floor again, his field of vision was finally cleared.

And... fuck.

Hitoshi stared.

Coughed against the smoke.

Kept staring.

That... wasn't a meteor.

In front of him sat a crater, with smoldering fires dotting it here and there, and there was an object resting in the middle of it. But said object was not a large rock like he'd expected.

It was a spaceship.

It was undoubtedly, irrefutably, a spaceship.

Or what was left of one anyway.

It didn't look like just some piece of space station trash, either - there were thrusters and what looked like a windshield, or whatever you would call that on a spaceship... fuck, it was a spaceship.

Hitoshi shook his head. His eyes were stinging from the smoke, but they weren't fooling him.

He really needed to get out of here. What if the authorities came and decided to silence him or something, because he'd seen too much? A Men in Black style mindwipe would be the best outcome in that scenario.

He took a slow step backwards, not taking his eyes off the wreck.

And then the latch on its side opened with the hissing of decompressed air.

Hitoshi should have bolted right there, but for the first time he understood why deer didn't just run off the street when a car came barreling towards them. He felt rooted to the ground.

A hand appeared, grasping onto the edge of the opening Hitoshi couldn't quite see into from this position. Then a second hand. There was a soft noise of effort, and then out came tumbling a small figure.

The alien hit the ground with a pained, high-pitched cry, and stayed curled up there, face turned away from where Hitoshi was standing.

It looked... human. At least its shape did. There were four limbs and the hands had looked just like normal hands, even if they were small.

The alien had silvery white hair that was splayed about it in a messy tangle now, and it was wearing some kind of white, shapeless tunic.

It wasn't moving, but Hitoshi could see it still breathing.

He closed his eyes and counted to ten.

Then he begun his descent into the crater.

#j writes #alienfam au #this is a lot shorter than i thought it was but i love it a lot anyway

[sepublic]

Campfire, Canyon of the Golden Winged Snakes, Hey Ho Whoa!

           AMELIA IS BACK BABY!!!

           Let me tell you, when I first saw her, I had to do a double-take… Like the way the characters just so casually passed her, I blinked and was like- Wait, was what Amelia?!? And then I realized it was, and I just… WHAT!

           I was a bit afraid we wouldn’t see her, but it seems that she’s our NEW fourth companion, to replace Tuba… RIP to Tuba, you had a good funeral, and given the trajectory this season is going as of now, we… Really won’t see you again, huh?

           Screw you Simon.

           We’ve gotten SO many fascinating revelations in these three episodes… I can’t say I’m surprised at all that Amelia, or at least the revelation of her, would return to help Grace (and maybe Simon) resolve her issues! That was a very neat twist with the massive pile of numbers actually indicating it was AMELIA and her monumental issues, not the Apex! Very clever of the writing team to have us heading towards her the entire time, though it makes me wonder when we’ll get back to the Apex given how we only have TWO episodes left…!

           What’s interesting is that according to Amelia, there’s ‘corrupted code’ in some cars, and apparently this refers to any cars that SHE made while trying to figure out the perfect world? Amelia mentions ‘quarantining’ them, and One-One wants them gone as well… Given what Amelia says about ‘ejecting’ cars, does that mean they’re all transported to the very end of the Infinity Train, and just… thrown off?

           Are there a bunch of cars strewn about somewhere in the wasteland, is there even an END to this Infinity Train??? Or are they all just lumped together and some sort of force-field is placed around them, or some other barrier, to keep the corrupt code from –presumably- infecting the other cars around them?

           It is a bit weird to see One-One insist on getting rid of those cars, though… I hope the denizens inside are okay, especially those corgis! Given his lesson with Tulip about not blaming himself worked, I feel like this is contrary to what he’d learned? Or is he simply allowing those worlds to exist, and remain ‘weird’, while still fixing the corrupted code so it doesn’t spread and disrupt the world of other cars who have their own thing going on? Regardless, as Amelia said… it seems One-One is still working on his issue of viewing passengers as ‘numbers’ to fix, like the cogs of a machine! It seems he’s at least TRYING to be more personable, but, well…

           It seems that Amelia is still working on that sound-motif she’s always had, which is pretty neat! She mentions a ‘pulse’, so I presume it’s sent out from the engine, and when it scans an ‘anomaly’ (AKA anything with corrupted code, including stuff and denizens from the unfinished cars) they’re ejected… Given Amelia mentioning having to quarantine Hazel soon, I imagine this pulse heads out every now and then? Shouldn’t one pulse alone have done the trick, or is there a certain range to them and Amelia has to travel through the cars and activate the pulse from her location, to allow maximum effect?

           Anyhow, Amelia! You know, I mused that Episode 7 of this season would introduce the Book 4 protagonist, given how our previous Episode 7’s worked… Each one established the general idea/setting for our protagonist, as well as a formal introduction! The Chrome Car told us about Lake and her deal with wanting to be her own person, escaping the Flecs… The Mall Car established the Apex and properly introduced us to Simon and Grace…

           So… maybe The Canyon of the Golden Winged Snakes Car re-introduces us to Amelia, while establishing the conflict of the next Book; Fixing the corrupted cars! This is just speculation on my part, of course…

           Back to Amelia, I guess I shouldn’t be all-too surprised that she’s still kind of a jerk, what with the way she just… steamrolls over what Hazel has to say to ‘correct’ her with the proper facts, and whatnot! I’m a little glad, because it doesn’t completely forget that she still has a bigger number than Simon or Grace by FAR… But also upset, because c’mon Amelia, Hazel is a freaking kid! I know you’re trying to erase multiple decades’ of past sins and mistakes, but she doesn’t know!

           I also like seeing her just trash-talk Simon and calling him a child, especially since we know that he and Grace are only eighteen thanks to the Reddit AMA by Owen Dennis… Even if Simon were physically older, mentally he really isn’t! Granted I guess I can’t blame him for THAT, though I can blame him for Tuba’s death…

           I remember when the writers discussed juggling multiple characters, so after seeing Tuba die, I was wondering what was really the point… But I see now! It’s because they ALSO have to handle Amelia as well! And dang, she’s still remarkably callous… She doesn’t remember Grace at all and doesn’t even seem remotely interested… And upon hearing that a cult was started in her honor, she just does NOT care! It really shows that Amelia still has a LOT to work on, that just fixing the broken cars isn’t enough for her…

           It was a bit weird to have our main trio just pass by this obvious, fellow passenger, and just totally ignore them… But given Grace’s rule about ‘not trusting adult passengers’, I guess I’m not surprised? I have to wonder when it was made, and how young she was when it was established; If Grace was a kid and that was part of her apprehension towards adults, and/or they were actually trying to get their numbers down, so she saw them as ‘deceitful’ or whatever! Coupled with adults being less likely to fall for the Apex’s propaganda, and it makes sense…

           What’s really fascinating is that One-One doesn’t even know about the Apex, according to Amelia! Which, given the implied length of the Infinity Train, it really says a lot about how much stuff could’ve happened, completely independent from one another! It almost seems like fate that Simon and Grace encountered so many kids and brought them together… Whereas Tulip didn’t encounter ANY passengers, sans Amelia, on her journey!

           (Well, there was that ONE dude in the next car over who immediately got sent back home. And she was only there for five months, but still!)

           I feel this low-key ties back to what I discussed earlier, about One-One being an ‘ends justifies the means’ sort of person; That the situation with the denizens is less a matter of them dying, and more about what that says about the Apex passengers as people! Of course, he doesn’t even KNOW about them, which honestly blows my mind… He really IS disconnected, huh? I guess Tulip helped make a dent in his metal head, but there’s still a lot of work to go… You know, Amelia’s criticism of One-One seeing passengers as just ‘numbers’ reminds me of what some other fans brought up, on the idea of if whether or not issues can actually be quantified like that!

           Given what Owen said about the train also being wrong sometimes, and I have to wonder if this will be resolved by the end of Book 3… or perhaps Book 4, assuming we get it! Yeah, most of the team has been laid off and the viewings are low, so SERIOUSLY- WATCH on HBO Max, spend actual money on this thing if you want it around because you’re LITERALLY paying for Book 4’s production by this point people! And spread the word!

           Anyhow, looks like other fans were right- Hazel IS a failed creation of Amelia, in this case her attempt to recreate Alrick… Although she implies that Hazel is more than just a ‘clone’ of him, is this referring to Hazel being a little girl, or something else entirely? Is the implication that Hazel would’ve been her and Alrick’s child, because uh… Amelia and Alrick are white. She also mentions a ‘handkerchief’, so what’s THAT about…?! Did she just toss one aside and it glitched into Hazel…?

           Hazel is taking this about as well as you’d expect a child, and I’m wondering if Grace suddenly turning around and calling her ‘null’, only to ask to stay overnight… Means that she has a plan to ditch Simon and hang out with Hazel and Amelia, for the rest of her life? Either way, Simon is apparently taking her ‘betrayal’ to heart… That, or he’s expressing genuine remorse at seeing what he did to Hazel, but probably not. Honestly, the way his character is going it seems like he may go off the deep end…

           OR, maybe not! Because we get some more development on him and THE CAT… Samantha! That’s right, an actual name! I guess I’m not shocked that ‘Samantha’ managed to smuggle some tiny One-Ones out of the Tape Car, and even a miniature player as well! I have to wonder how she finds her stuff, honestly… Considering how vast the Infinity Train is, it’s not out of the question for people to go entire months without encountering others! It’s actually kind of a miracle of fate that The Cat has encountered so many passengers, over and over, across this show…! Given the possibility aired by Mace about some characters being ‘destined’ by the Infinity Train, and I’ve got to wonder…

           It’s interesting that even when Simon is taking his rage out physically, he NEVER goes for The Cat… and she knows this, no less! Not once is she ever scared for her life, instead she’s more concerned for what this has to say about Simon! It’s complicated, all right, and apparently all we know for now is that The Cat accidentally left Simon behind, and ultimately stuck with her choice to prioritize herself! It’s interesting, the idea that even if Simon and The Cat have a better understanding as to why the other did what they did, they won’t ever really ‘forgive’ one another, or reconcile- Just go their separate paths, for now and likely eternity…

           Simon is of course getting mad at Grace for not talking to him and is confused by her changing her mind! A confrontation between the two is inevitable in our last two episodes, and given how we haven’t seen Grace’s number at all… It’s probably low. I can see the two reuniting with the Apex at the end, only for Simon to invoke his larger number to turn them on Grace… Or try to head back to the Apex to do exactly that!

           Still, given how the show is still making the point to delve into his perspective and trauma, and how he STILL won’t harm The Cat… I have to wonder if the season really will end with Grace leaving the Infinity Train, and Simon staying behind to fix his own issues? Of course, what about Hazel… We know she’s a denizen for sure so she can’t leave, right? Unless her fake number can fool One-One… Speaking of which, was Amelia’s number at 337 when she first arrived? Because that seems a bit small for someone who had otherwise hijacked the Infinity Train by then and was making unfinished worlds…

           Back to Amelia, if Simon doesn’t help… I wonder if Book 3 will end with HER taking lead of the Apex and leading them down a new path? It’d be ironic given how she mentioned about not being great with kids, and tie back to her penance… Or, maybe Grace will continue to live with the Apex and help! Maybe Simon will join Amelia… Who knows? Personally I’m fixated on the fact that Amelia just UTTERLY outclasses Simon… I expressed previous appreciation at Tuba being able to defend herself, until you know what…

           But given how Amelia is a lot more savvy, jaded, and cynical about this sort of situation; I think she’s probably safe for now! It’d feel a bit unresolved for Simon to get HER killed off too…

           Overall, a fascinating turn of events, and I can get a good sense of why the episodes were clustered the way they were together, to be released separately! Each does its own little arc… The first one establishing the mood and having Tuba, only for her to die! Then the next one involving Amelia and the fall-out of the Hazel revelation… And the last two episodes will be THE finale, just like it’s traditionally been in the past! I can’t wait to see what happens next…

#infinity train #infinity train spoilers #spoilers #infinity train book 3 spoilers #infinity train season 3 #infinity train book 3 #infinity train grace #grace monroe #infinity train amelia #infinity train simon #simon laurent #infinity train hazel #analysis #speculation

[sweetdreamhellofanight]

Return

Tyler Rust x Reader Warnings: None Word Count: 1,600 Summary: It’s like he never left

“You didn’t pick up,” you said, walking into his apartment. 

He only stepped aside to let you in, staring at you. His arm was out of the sling but still wrapped up. His apartment was still pristine, somehow, and you had to take a moment to admire that. 

“I was asleep,” he mumbled. 

“Been sleeping a lot more lately,” you said. He made a noise, but said nothing else. You set the bags down on his counter, careful to keep the food from spilling out, turning to face him. 

He didn’t look at you, instead walking back to the couch where the TV was still on, sitting down slowly, wincing in pain. 

“How’s the arm?” you asked. 

“Fine,” he said, shrugging, but even that seemed to be painful from the way his face scrunched. 

“I brought dinner. I figured you probably hadn’t eaten yet. I haven’t, either.” 

He nodded, 

“Thanks,” he mumbled. 

“And some other stuff. Those cookies you like, the ones from that weird health store all the way across town. Some juice since I know you’re out, and these plums that I got from the farmer’s market this morning.” 

He said nothing, and only nodded. 

You sighed loudly, hoping to get some sort of reaction out of him, but you were pretty sure he was half asleep at this point. 

So you put the stuff away, following the organized pattern he had throughout his cupboards. 

You took the food out into plates, hoping that maybe this would force him into some interaction. All you were looking for was him sitting at the table with you. 

You weren’t asking for much.

Not even a conversation. 

Just…

Proximity. 

The kitchen was neat, hardly touched, you realized. The trash was piling up, but everything else was clean. 

You looked around at the rest of the apartment, everything else just as untouched. His bedroom door was ajar, and you could see the corner of his bed, covers thrown to the floor, sheets wrinkled. 

In the corner of his living room sat his guitar, and in the last rays of afternoon sun, you could see the dust gathering over it, untouched for longer than you would’ve thought. 

“You’re not playing anymore?” you asked, nodding to it. 

He turned his head slowly to look at it, eyes lingering on it for longer than he should have, before turning back to you and raising the bandaged arm. 

“Can’t really do that right now,” he mumbled. 

You sighed, 

“It’s been longer than that,” you said, making your way to him. Still, you waited at the edge of the couch, watching him, his head dropped back against the seat, eyes closed, arms loosely crossed over his chest. 

He hadn’t been sleeping, not regularly, and you knew he was dozing off during the day to make up for it. 

“Lemme see your hand,” you said, softly, holding out your hands to him. 

He lifted the bandaged arm, without looking, 

“No,” you said, sitting down beside, pushing that hand away. “This one.” 

You picked up his right hand, and turned it over in yours. Rough and calloused palms, skin peeling at his knuckles, old cuts long since healed lighter in color over his hands, slightly raised. 

You’d finally gotten his attention, lifting his head slightly just to look at you, watching as you examined his hand. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” you said, softly, “that everything’s blocked right now. That you’re not getting anywhere.” 

“It’s been three months,” he mumbled. He sat back, but left his hand in yours, 

“And I know these things take time,” you continued, a new edge to your voice, “but how much longer are you going to hide?” 

“I’m not hiding,” he mumbled. 

You pulled his face towards you, but still his eyes averted, choosing to stare at the ground instead. 

“You will have your moment,” you said, softly, “but not like this. Not when you’ve neglected everything around you.” 

You felt his jaw clench. 

Finally, he looked at you, eyes glossy, the bags under them deeper and darker, 

“I’m so tired of this,” he whispered. 

You smiled, as best you could, and nodded, 

“You have done so much in so little time,” you said, “let yourself breathe.” 

“Diamonds are made under pressure, right?” he mumbled. 

“And dough rises when it rests! And flowers grow in the spot you leave them in!” you said. “It’s not going to be the same every time.” 

“If I’m not there? If they’re not seeing me every week, then I may as well not do this at all. It’s already like I don’t exist to them!” 

His voice cracked over the words, 

“No one’s forgotten you,” you whispered. 

“That’s exactly what’s happening,” he said. 

You gripped his chin tighter, holding him in place and forcing him to look at you, 

“So leave,” you said. 

He looked at you, confused, opening his mouth to respond but shutting it almost immediately. 

“What?”

You shrugged,

“Leave. Like you said, you don’t exist to them anymore, so why stay on?” 

His brows furrowed, confusion turning into insult, into unreadable anger, 

“Why would I do that?” he asked. 

“You just gave some pretty good reasons,” you said. 

“You think I should leave? My-my dream job? The one thing I’ve done all my life, the one thing I’m good at? I should just leave that because, why? I’m sad?” 

You sat back, watching him as he spoke, bandaged hand flailing around as he spoke, a smile growing on your face the longer he went on. 

“If you think I’m just gonna quit then you’re wrong and you don’t know me at all,” he finished, standing up in front of you. 

“But I didn’t say all that,” you finally said, “you did.” 

He stopped, his back turned to you. You could see his shoulders tense, one hand curled into a ball, just before he relaxed and turned back to you, an exhausted smile on his face, 

“I hate it when you do that,” he mumbled. 

You took him by the hands and pulled him down beside you, lacing your fingers together, and pressing a kiss to his bandaged hand, 

“See how ridiculous all of that sounds?” you asked. 

He nodded, pulling your hands up to his chest, keeping them there. 

“It’s not going to last forever. Not this break, not this feeling, none of it. You have worked so hard to get here, why would you ruin it for yourself like this?” 

He sighed, leaning in to kiss you, 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, pulling back, 

“Don’t,” you said, shaking your head. “You’re tired and I understand, but you can’t do that to yourself. You deserve better.” 

“I just…” he started before sighing and falling back into the couch, “I feel blocked. Like, there’s nothing in front of me and the harder I try to be positive about it the more it feels like I’m just...stuck.” 

You nodded, 

“It will pass,” you said, resting your head on his chest, his arm coming to wrap around your shoulders, “sooner than you think, too.” 

He looked down at you, 

“You know something I don’t, sunshine?” he asked. 

You smiled up at him, 

“Only that the dinner I spent all day making is getting cold, and I’m trying to cheer you up as quickly as possible so we can eat.” 

He smiled wide, eyes crinkling with it as he kissed you again, 

“Thank you,” he said, this time, still not moving, “for putting up with me.” 

You watched him for a moment, rubbing your thumb over his chin, the prickle of his stubble more satisfying than you’d remembered, 

“We make it work, don’t we? No matter what.”

He sighed. 

“Your time will come,” you said again, “and when you get back out there, I promise you it’ll be like you never left at all.” 

He shook his head, but smiled, still, 

“When you say it I believe it,” he said. 

“You should. And not because I’m saying it, but because it’s how the world works. From now on, you let the world work its magic and let yourself be moved with it.” 

He nodded, 

“I promise,” he said. 

“That’s my guy,” you said, softly, “let’s have dinner.” 

His appetite came back, the two of you eating on the balcony instead of the dining table, as the muggy air slowly tapered off,  watching the sunset together. Occasionally, you glanced up at him, pressed up against his chest, your legs stretched out in front of you, resting on the ledge. He hadn’t dozed off, yet, but looking at him you knew that for the first time in months, his mind wasn’t off wandering on paths of Maybe’s and What-If’s. 

It wasn’t going to be forever, you’d told him. He would find his way out of the slump, back to his real self. 

And this was the start. 

It wasn’t long after that his smile returned. 

Slowly, at first, but it returned all the same. 

The bandages came off his hand, the movement returned, and before long he was moving as though he’d never missed a beat. 

And from the comfort of the backstage monitor, you watched as he entered the ring once more, with a smile that shone brighter than all the lights in the building. 

You watched as he made his way back, hugging friends, old and new, with a new kick in his step, a new energy flowing through him, as he ran to you and picked you up, hugging you tight. 

“Sounds like they remember you,” you whispered against his lips, 

“Like I never left,” he replied. 

#nxt fanfiction #tyler rust #tyler rust x reader #my writing #**** #SO UH GUESS WHO CAME BACK LAST NIGHT AND FILLED MY HEART WITH SUCH JOY THAT I HAD TO WRITE SOMETHING FOR HIM #this is for me and like two other people so don't mind this

[simp-for-spencer-reid]

Flavor Shot

The Five Times Spencer was Shrimp’s Favorite and the One Time He Wasn’t Series Masterlist

1- 

Cate was rushing around her apartment, getting blankets and pillows and cleaning clutter around the living room that wasn’t supposed to be there. She had invited Spencer for a stay-in movie date and her apartment was in shambles. Most of her cleaning consisted of shoving the clutter in a closet to tend to later. She had just gotten home from The Empty Mug and was running a bit behind schedule. Spencer was due to show up at any minute. Shrimp sat in a corner of the living room, watching Cate scramble around. He flicked his ears toward the door and sauntered over to sit by the door. At that moment, a knock on the door sounded through the apartment.

Cate slid on her socks toward the door, nearly bumping into Shrimp. She opened the door to reveal Spencer, looking unusually comfy in a large sweatshirt and baggy sweatpants. 

“Hi,” Cate smiled at him, standing aside so he could come in. 

“Hey,” Spencer replied, holding a bottle of sparkling apple cider, “I brought some nonalcoholic drinks for us. I figured we could be fancy and drink it out of some wine glasses if you have any.”

“Perfect!” Cate walked towards her kitchen to find her wine glasses. Shrimp found Spencer’s legs as soon as he walked through the door, rubbing against his ankles and smearing his cheeks on his pants to spread his scent. Spencer chuckled at the ginger cat and leant over to pet him while he sat on Cate’s bench to take his shoes off. 

Cate came back with a couple of glasses, leading Spencer into her living room, but not before admiring her cat and the man who had her heart. Trying to pick a movie proved to be difficult, with Spencer preferring documentaries and Cate preferring thrillers. They settled on a movie adaptation of a musical- mainly because most thrilling movies hit too close to Spencer’s job and Cate didn’t feel like reading subtitles to a movie about the first Russian satellite sent to space.

The two sat next to each other on Cate’s sectional. A soft throw blanket thrown across their laps and Spencer’s arm over Cate’s shoulder. Midway through the musical, Shrimp sat in front of the couch, his big green eyes staring up at the two. Cate smiled and patted the couch to try and lure him up. Shrimp blinked and looked between Cate and Spencer before hopping up and stepping across Cate’s lap to get to Spencer’s side of the sectional. Shrimp distanced himself on the next cushion over, but closed his eyes and rumbled in content next to the doctor. 

2-

Cate had thought nothing of Shrimp choosing to sit next to Spencer on the couch. Shrimp usually liked to sit on the couch with people, and Cate was on the end so it was natural for Shrimp to sit next to Spencer. It wasn’t until that weekend when Cate invited Spencer over for a sleepover did she start recognizing a pattern. 

Spencer had come straight from work, wearing his usual collared shirt with dress pants. He had brought his go bag with him so he would have a change of clothes. It was dark, and Spencer had finished filing all his paperwork and writing up his reports. 

Cate was already in bed, in some matching sleep shorts and a top. Shrimp was sleeping next to her on the bed, while she scrolled mindlessly on her phone. She heard Spencer let himself in with her spare key. Shrimp stirred in his sleep, listening to the commotion with his eyes still closed. 

“You didn’t have to wait up for me,” Spencer whispered as he dropped his things on Cate’s bedroom floor.

“I wanted to see you before I fell asleep,” Cate said through a yawn. He quickly grabbed his extra set of pajamas from his go bag and went to change in the bathroom.

Coming back into Cate’s room, he put his folded dirty clothes into the front pocket of the go bag to not mix them with the clean clothes. He lifted Cate’s comforter and got settled underneath- the only thing separating him and Cate was Shrimp’s curled up body between them. Cate giggled when she rolled over and saw Spencer try and contort his body around the cat. All the movement must’ve proven to be too much, because Shrimp stretched and stood up, allowing for Spencer to get more comfortable on the other side of Cate. Waiting for everyone to get settled, Shrimp took a few steps over Spencer’s legs and laid back down in the makeshift nest created by the back of Spencer’s knees. 

In the middle of the night, Cate woke up expecting Shrimp to have moved to her side of the bed. It wasn’t a secret that Spencer wasn’t a peaceful sleeper. He twitched and rolled and moved his legs in his sleep. Cate used the dim light of her phone in time to catch Shrimp’s slanted eyes and pinned back ears. Shrimp raised his paw as he grumpily laid next to Spencer’s twitching leg. His tail twitched with annoyance, but he was a stubborn little thing and insisted on laying next to Spencer. Shrimp swatted and batted at Spencer’s leg in an attempt to cease the movement, but was still purring nonetheless. Cate shook her head and had to suppress a laugh at her grumpy orange loaf.

3-

A few days later, Spencer had come over to Cate’s apartment again for a takeout dinner date. They had opted to sit on the floor and use the coffee table in Cate’s living room. Jeopardy played on the television while they ate. It wasn’t a secret that Cate occasionally shared her food with Shrimp, for it made him an exceptional beggar. And that’s where Shrimp could be found now: perched across the room, observing Cate and Spencer and what was on their plates. Deciding that he wanted some, he sauntered over to Spencer, brushing against him, making sure to drag his tail along him too. A soft meow escaped Shrimp’s mouth as he stared into Spencer’s eyes. Spencer was busy listening to the categories of the night’s game show.

When Cate caught sight of her cat, she puckered her lips and made missy sounds at him, holding out a small piece of meat for her cat. Shrimp merely glanced over to Cate, before sitting directly next to Spencer. If he were any closer, he’d be sitting in Spencer. Cate tried to coax him again.

“Come on, I’m literally offering you a piece, but you’d rather wait for Spencer?” Cate scoffed at her cat. At this, Spencer looked between Cate and Shrimp. Letting a small smug smile grace his lips, he tore a small piece of meat and handed it off to his new little friend. “Don’t give into him!” Cate playfully pushed into Spencer’s side. 

“I can’t help it if I’m his new favorite!” Spencer joked back. Shrimp purred as he munched on the treat Spencer gave him.

4-

Spencer was really milking his position as Shrimp’s favorite. Any time he was visiting Cate’s apartment, Shrimp was stuck like glue to Spencer and even let Spencer carry him around the apartment over his shoulder like a baby. 

Cate and Spencer were baking in Cate’s apartment, dancing to music playing through the kitchen from her speaker. Being more comfortable in Cate’s place, Spencer no longer felt the need to announce his everymove, so he gently placed Shrimp at the stool at the island and made his way to the bathroom. 

Without his knowledge, Shrimp hopped down from the stool and padded to wherever Spencer was going. Spencer walked to the bathroom, turning to close it behind him. With his gaze turned downward as he was ready to unbutton his pants, he noticed an orange cat sitting by the toilet staring at him. Spencer carefully picked Shrimp up and placed him again outside the door, but Shrimp pushed his face into the door, trying to accompany Spencer into the bathroom like he’d done with Cate so many times. 

“No! Out!” Spencer tried to push Shrimp’s face out of the way of the door. His cries caught Cate’s attention and she laughed as she walked over to help Spencer. Spencer finally got the door shut, but Shrimp purred as he slid his paws under the door, a futile attempt to get Spencer to open the door. She picked up Shrimp and walked him back over to the kitchen so Spencer could use the bathroom in peace.

5-

Spencer and Cate had finally gotten her things situated in Spencer’s apartment after her lease ended. The BAU team and Marta were over for a sort of house warming party, despite Spencer rambling technicalities about how it couldn’t be one because he was already living there. Penelope was standing with Cate and Spencer in his room. She insisted on meeting her “new godcat” and had brought a small basket of cat toys with treats. It resembled an Easter basket with the cellophane wrapped around it. 

“Come here, Shrimp. It’s okay,” Cate was on all fours trying to get Shrimp out from his camp under Spencer’s bed. He was just out of her reach and the noise of all the people in Spencer’s apartment didn’t help. 

“That’s alright, I’ll leave the basket in here and I’ll just stay late and be the last to leave so he won’t be as scared!” Penelope said as she placed the basket by the bed and walked out with Cate- who was apologizing for Shrimp’s shyness. Spencer held back, lingering in his own room. 

Sensing everyone had left, Shrimp squeezed out from under the bed, sniffing the basket. Spencer scooped up the orange cat, who began purring. 

“Pen! Babe!” Spencer poked his head out his bedroom door, calling to Cate and Penelope. Cate froze at the nickname, but turned back into the room with Penelope.

“Oh, isn’t he precious!” she squealed in Garcia fashion, taking him from Spencer’s arms. Shrimp became like a ragdoll when he was held, floppy in Penelope’s arms. “And don’t you think for a second we’re gonna just brush past that little nickname!” Penelope cooed and baby talked to Shrimp, but her words were directed towards Spencer. Cate blushed. “No we won’t! No we won’t!” she scratched Shrimp’s cheek as he closed his eyes, soaking in the pets. 

1-

Everyone had gone home. Spencer’s apartment was quiet at last. Cate was collecting some plates left in the living room while Spencer was taking the trash bag out of the barrel in the kitchen. Cate was still reeling from the pet name Spencer had called her for the first time. Spencer joined her in the living room, putting everything back in its place. 

“So… ‘babe’ huh?” Cate smirked at Spencer who was becoming flustered and stammering.

“Uh, yeah it sort of just came out?” He spotted Shrimp, sleeping on the armchair from Cate’s apartment that they squeezed into his living room. “If you don’t like it I can change it?” he swallowed. Cate had to admit she liked seeing him squirm.

“I like it.” She smiled and reached for his hand. He gave it a squeeze and then reached to Shrimp, who woke when he felt the touch. He lunged for Spencer’s hand and after he tried to bite him, he hissed. Spencer was speechless. Cate laughed, knowing his behavior from her old apartment. “He doesn’t like to be disturbed on that chair. It’s his chair.” Spencer gave Cate a look like she was crazy. He watched as she gave a gentle touch to her cat’s forehead and in return, Shrimp stretched his arms out in front of him.

“How did you do that?” Spencer was in disbelief that Shrimp hadn’t tried to bite or hiss at Cate for touching him.

“I’m his mother.”

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